Yeonmu Hall (2)
She'd overslept a bit and arrived late, but thankfully, Pavilion Lord Dang Munhyeon didn't seem to have been waiting long.
Huh? What was that?
You saw from afar earlier that his expression looked sour, like he'd been waiting quite a while?
No way.
Dang Munhyeon wouldn't lie to me about that.
He just said he got here himself.
Of course, if Nanny Dang Yeonseol had seen this shameless(?) display, she'd have scolded her with loving discipline, saying she ought to apologize. But unfortunately, the nanny wasn't here.
She'd escorted Dang Hoiyeong all the way to Yeonmu Hall and then hurried back to the main compound, claiming she was busy.
So, right now, there was nothing to rein her in.
She was invincible. She could do whatever she wanted.
'Hurry up and wrap this, then head back to the main house for some rest.'
Anyway, though her conscience had pricked a little at being late, Dang Hoiyeong felt much relieved by the pavilion lord's claim that he'd just arrived, and she continued speaking.
"Good thing. If you'd come early and had to wait, I'd have felt so bad I'd train an extra hour. But since you just got here... whatever."
"Ahem. Actually..."
"But! There's no way you'd lie to me, right, Pavilion Lord?! I trusted you completely and showed you everything—surely you wouldn't fib over something this trivial?!"
"O-of course not. This old man, Dang Munhyeon, is far removed from such falsehoods..."
Dang Munhyeon nodded glumly.
Dang Hoiyeong giggled at the sight.
She always thought the same: this old man was endlessly fun to tease.
She wanted to slack off and drag it out a bit more, but it was about time to start the lesson proper. Any longer, and the session might drag on extra.
Dang Hoiyeong opened her mouth casually.
"So, what's on the agenda for today's lesson?"
Dang Munhyeon cleared his throat and composed his expression.
"Ahem. Did you read over the Flying Swallow Twelve Forms yesterday?"
"Eh, I skimmed it. Was pretty easy."
"Is that so?"
Dang Munhyeon eyed her with sparkling yet suspicious eyes.
But Dang Hoiyeong just scratched her head, looking bored as she yawned widely.
To her—for whom the Flying Swallow Twelve Forms was mere basic Tang Clan hidden weapon play, not even advanced martial arts—it was child's play.
Not an internal art, so it took some time to assume the postures and make corrections.
But an hour was plenty to master the theory, drill the forms, and reach great completion.
Of course, oblivious to all that, Dang Munhyeon spoke with a mix of anticipation and worry.
"The fourth form: what's the core principle of Swallow's Wing Flutter?"
"Gathering inner energy at your fingertips and scattering it in a fan shape."
Dang Munhyeon nodded. Crude phrasing, but correct.
As he moved to the next question—
Dang Hoiyeong kept going.
"But yesterday, I roughly tried the posture in the annex? And the needles' spacing got too wide."
"...!"
"So, right as I bent my fingers, I hooked the pinky-side energy like a claw. The needles pushed each other's airflow and traced paths on their own. That's right, yeah?"
Dang Munhyeon blanked out at her words.
Is this even possible?
The young lady's an unparalleled genius—that's undeniable. Hell, that's why I recognized her talent and stuck by her side.
But this was different.
'Until now, it was internal arts.'
Internal arts came with detailed qi circulation paths in the manual; sure, insight was needed, but all the keys were written down.
Hidden weapons were another beast. Body movements. Force application. Postures. None of it could be fully recorded.
Trial and error over tens, hundreds, thousands of reps—that was the norm.
Yet this girl, who'd never properly thrown a hidden weapon in her life, had grasped the essence.
And what she'd just described wasn't even in the Flying Swallow Twelve Forms manual.
It was basic, after all. The principles listed were simplified, with minimal theory.
But it was still a Tang Clan art—the foundational hidden weapon technique upholding the clan for centuries.
Easy to enter, hard to master. Great completion rivaled advanced arts.
But as it wasn't designed as advanced, deeper insights weren't in the book.
What she'd said was the kind of realization from countless battles, after achieving great completion.
'Unbelievable.'
An innate sense for martial essence. Understanding of airflow only masters with millions of throws could possess.
And she'd awakened it bodily in one night?
Meanwhile, Dang Hoiyeong wore her usual apathetic face. That indifference sent chills through Dang Munhyeon.
Not hungering for answers, but reciting the obvious like hurry up and move on.
'No envy for the legendary Heavenly Martial Physique.'
Dang Munhyeon's lips twisted oddly. Excitement trembled in his voice.
"As expected, truly remarkable."
"...You know your face looks super scary right now, yeah?"
"Ahem. Does it?"
Dang Munhyeon cleared his throat and fixed his expression.
"Still kinda scary."
"My apologies."
"Anyway, that's the right answer?"
"Yes. Spot on."
"Lesson over for today?"
Dang Munhyeon snapped out of his daze and stated firmly.
"Hardly. Only an hour's passed."
"Tch."
"Haha. Theory seems perfect, so let's move to practical."
Of course, it looked like great completion, but he needed to see it with his own eyes.
Maybe just theory and sharp intuition mimicking it.
She'd never thrown properly, after all.
Above all...
'I must guide the young lady.'
She was the type whose head filled with slacking schemes at any opening.
She only moved with firm guidance and clear goals from the side.
'I must serve her properly—the one who'll become Sacheon Dangga's great ancestor!'
Dang Munhyeon watched Dang Hoiyeong's back with burning zeal as she walked toward the targets.
Unbeknownst to her, the mildly annoying guy had transformed into a major pain.
"Next!"
With everyone watching, Dang Beom stepped to the center of Yeonmu Hall. He deftly gripped ox-hair needles between his fingers and assumed position toward the targets.
Dang Beom's eyes narrowed. Four targets. Different distances. Different angles. Tricky.
But...
'I can do it.'
I've trained this long.
If he scored well, his teacher promised a recommendation to enter Cheondok Bigak.
Then he could ditch basics for advanced arts.
No mistakes allowed.
The teacher's signal came.
"Begin!"
Dang Beom's wrist flared outward wide.
His foot slammed the dirt, body arching back as his wrist spun invisibly fast.
Four ox-hair needles left his hand, arcing through the air.
'Got it!'
Dang Beom's lips curled.
—Thwip-thwip-thwip!
All four hit true: center mass, left shoulder, right throat, forehead.
Not one missed.
Brief silence...
The teacher broke it first.
"Perfect!"
Pride swelled in his voice.
"Spacing, depth, trajectory—all flawless. Few your age wield Swallow's Wing Flutter like that."
"All thanks to your teachings, Teacher."
"Haha! Listen to this flatterer."
The teacher turned to the kids.
"See that, children? That's the throw of one who's etched the principles into their body. Flying Swallow Twelve Forms' essence isn't flash—it's piercing the precise spot at the precise instant! Dang Beom showed my own level today. Applaud him!"
Cheers and claps erupted amid exclamations.
Dang Beom clasped hands in salute, then returned, pride shining on his usually stoic face—except when snapping.
The younger kids chattered.
"Bro, that was awesome."
"Whoa, my turn soon—can I do that?"
"Nah, no way."
Dang Beom laughed heartily.
"No, you can too. Maybe not today, but diligent practice, and you'll match me."
The kids beamed, chattering noisily again.
Dang Beom basked in triumph, then remembered his task and glanced to the corner.
Dang Munhyeon and Dang Hoiyeong showed zero interest.
Not in the cheers, nor the teacher's hype.
No glance their way.
The utter indifference—not deliberate snub—twisted something in Dang Beom's gut.
As his face soured, a younger kid whispered.
"Bro, that's the girl?"
"Yeah."
"She's tinier than I thought."
Another piped up cluelessly.
"But the elder looks super pumped?"
Dang Beom shifted gaze from Hoiyeong to Munhyeon.
His expression was awkward.
He'd seen the elder occasionally en route to Grandpa's; words Grandpa said then resurfaced.
—Don't fall for that kindly mask. He's a madman obsessed with martial arts—nothing else.
Looking into Munhyeon's eyes then, it rang true: encouraging kindly, but eyes empty.
Yet now, staring at Hoiyeong, they brimmed with something.
And Hoiyeong, receiving that expectation, looked bored.
—Grind.
Dang Beom spat.
"All an act. Even a moron can't be harsh to direct-line young miss."
"Really? But..."
As the clueless one replied, another jabbed his side, whispering.
"Shut it..."
Dang Beom ignored them.
Gaze locked on Hoiyeong.
To fulfill Grandpa's orders.
Finally...
In the corner, Hoiyeong boredly picked up an ox-hair needle.
The kids spoke.
"She's done for. Newbie trying hidden weapons already."
"Elder can't keep up the act much longer?"
Dang Beom nodded silently.
Yeah. That's how it should be.
A whiner dragged out reluctantly deserved that end.
Forced technique, huge flop, elder scolds her.
It seemed to unfold as he thought.
Her grip and prep looked decent enough.
But right before release—her form was a sloppy mess he'd never seen.
'Has to be sloppy. A novice bug just starting can't outdo me.'
Dang Beom ground his teeth, thinking so.