Yeonmu Hall (3)
Learning martial arts is no easy task.
It was such an obvious truth that everyone acknowledged it as gospel.
To master an inner cultivation method, one first had to learn to wield the subtle true qi—something most people couldn't even perceive—like an extension of their own limbs.
To execute forms, they had to manipulate that qi at just the right moments while moving their bodies.
Fail to do so properly, and you'd suffer internal injuries that left you bedridden, or worse—succumb to qi deviation and prepare for death.
That was the foundation of martial arts.
Dang Beom had never met warriors outside the Tang Clan, but he knew even his grandfather, a first-rate expert who had spent a lifetime infusing intent into his qi, had barely scratched the surface of true mastery.
Yeah. Learning martial arts is difficult. Even for him, a genius acknowledged by the Yeonmu Hall instructors.
Impossible.
Dang Beom recalled the first time he'd gripped a hidden weapon.
Having barely succeeded in learning an inner method, everything had seemed possible when he first held the needle.
But reality was different.
His fingers wouldn't obey. When he tried to infuse qi, his wrist stiffened; when he loosened his wrist, the qi scattered.
His body and inner energy moved independently.
Throwing without qi was far more efficient—and looked better, too.
The instructor had approached his frustrated self, assuring him it was normal, nothing to despair over. A consequence of the Tang Clan's profound arts.
He'd drilled each form's motions into his body dozens, hundreds of times. Thousands of throws later, infusing qi each time...
Only then did he master his first form. It took a full half-year.
She's been training less than a month since starting martial arts. No way she can perform hidden weapon techniques already.
It was common sense in the martial world.
Yet his heart churned all the same. Was it because of Grandfather's orders?
Or Lord Dang Munhyeon's expectant gaze?
Or... had he sensed, from the moment Grandfather took interest, that Dang Hoiyeong's talent defied martial common sense?
Dang Hoiyeong casually swung both arms left and right. Three ox-tail needles sliced through the air, tracing arcs toward their targets.
To Dang Beom's eyes, it was the textbook Flying Swallow Twelve Forms.
Straight lines fanning out in a perfect arc.
But when they were about a jang from the targets...
The trajectories suddenly bent inward.
As if each needle had a soul of its own, converging on the central target.
— Papapapak!
The three needles struck the central target's brow with exquisite precision, spaced just a finger's breadth apart.
Dang Beom couldn't even fathom how she'd done it. Such refined technique.
He ground his teeth and muttered.
"I could do that too. If I just had the chance."
If he'd learned advanced arts instead of basics, he could wield such wonders.
But without backing, he'd wasted ten years on fundamentals.
His thoughts reached that point, and rage boiled up, making his body tremble.
A kid barely a month into training, showing superior hidden weapon skill? Unthinkable without supreme arts.
By the time those thoughts passed, class had ended.
Dang Beom shot to his feet, face twisted.
"H-Hyung, where are you going?" "To the direct-line miss? For real?"
His younger brothers watched nervously, trying to hold him back.
But Dang Beom just growled low.
"Don't follow me."
He had to obey Grandfather anyway.
— If she's the lazy, immature brat the rumors say, keep her close. No peers, so she'll be easy to approach.
As the one who dominated Yeonmu Hall's kids, he'd easily keep Dang Hoiyeong from stray thoughts.
— If she's just building ambition for martial arts as I suspect, crush her moderately and keep her close. If she has real talent...You don't need to know. Just report her level to me.
Yeah. Easy.
Compared to scraping by in Yeonmu Hall all these years, it was easier than lying down for rice cakes.
No hesitation needed.
I have to gauge her level anyway.
This wasn't personal grudge-crushing. Unavoidable. Unavoidable.
With that, Dang Beom headed to the corner.
Forgetting that the technique Dang Hoiyeong had first used was unmistakably Flying Swallow Twelve Forms, not some supreme art.
— Papak!
Dang Hoiyeong gazed at the neatly clustered ox-tail needles in the target and grinned—heh.
Clean as hell.
She'd worried this body might not obey for her first real go, but legends were legends.
Of course. No way a technique from this body wouldn't bend to her will.
Hands on hips, chest puffed out, she shot Dang Munhyeon a smug look.
Any second now, the praise would flow... Uh. Praise would...?
She belatedly checked his face.
Dang Munhyeon stood frozen, mouth agape. Like he'd seen something forbidden.
"Uh. L-Lord Pavilion Master?"
At her call, he shook his head and cleared his throat.
Then he eyed her seriously, suspicion in his gaze. The sudden weight made her step back.
"Wh-Why? Did I mess up?" "Miss... well. It's..."
Dang Munhyeon opened and closed his mouth several times, then forced it out.
"No mistake. This old body is just shocked. Er... because it was too perfect. Surely today was your first time actually performing hidden weapons? You only posed before."
Dang Hoiyeong inwardly winced—whoops.
In her rush to end class and play, she'd gone all out...
Even Dang Munhyeon, who saw her as grandmaster material, would find such precision on a first try absurd.
A bit much, huh.
He'd believe anything she said, sure.
Past life story? "Hand moved on its own." Snide "Is it that big a deal?"
He'd gush, "As expected of our miss!" and back her up.
But others? Over-the-top talent might brand her a demon or ill omen to eliminate early.
She needed an excuse.
For him, it didn't need polish—just plausible.
"Well... actually."
"Yes."
"Before I hated martial arts... I had Nanny show me poses a few times. Many times."
"Is that so?"
"Yeah. No inner energy, just motions. So, not totally first time."
"Hm."
"And last night..."
She paused awkwardly, scratched her head.
"Studying the manual, I tried poses and snuck a bit of qi control."
"Eurm!"
"It was funner than expected. Guiding-Reversing Three Yangs Return to Origin Art? Or 'cause I'm a genius? Qi flowed smooth, so I tinkered and..."
"Tinkered and?"
"Got carried away... pulled an all-nighter. Haha."
Dang Munhyeon's body shuddered hearing it all.
Too half-assed?
She swallowed worry.
Then he spoke.
"You... pulled an all-nighter yesterday?"
"Eh, yeah."
"To learn Flying Swallow Twelve Forms..."
His voice trembled deeper. He clamped his mouth, eyes misty.
"L-Lord Pavilion Master, are you crying?"
But he ignored her, pressing on.
"And this Dang Munhyeon! Unaware of your hidden efforts!"
"..."
"You trained all night, yet I resented you—even a speck—for being a shichen late!"
"N-No, calm down."
"You trained through the night, and this old bag waited just one shichen!!!"
He clenched a fist, eyes blazing with resolve.
"This Dang Munhyeon finally understands your will! I never knew your passion ran so deep. As expected—we must extend lessons from two shichen to six...!"
Dang Hoiyeong shut her eyes in resignation at his manic gleam, now monologuing.
Crazy bastard.
And his rant continued until a boy—looking a full cheok taller, brimming with hostility—arrived.
Dang Munhyeon snapped from his frenzy at the outsider, donning a stern face.
Watching, Dang Hoiyeong realized he'd deliberately ignored her plea against extending training.
She'd remember this.
Anyway.
The savior cupped his fists and spoke.
"Greetings, Elder."
"Hm. It's been a while. Your name was...?"
"Dang Beom."
"Ah, right. Dang Beom. Third Elder's grandson, yes?"
"Yes."
"What brings you?"
Dang Beom spoke evenly.
"I heard the miss is our age, so I came to greet her. May I?"
"No need to ask me. Go ahead."
Dang Beom turned to Dang Hoiyeong.
"Greetings, miss. I'm Dang Beom."
For some reason, his eyes burned with hatred, rage, inferiority.
Eyes she'd seen countless times in her past life—she read him easily.
She hadn't done anything grudge-worthy this life, but whatever.
She shrugged it off. Picking at every motive was endless. Past life's lesson.
Genius always drew envy and jealousy.
I like it.
His eyes weren't clouded, either.
Clouded with that hate? Hopeless trash, usually.
But blazing like his? Tenacious, useful types. Never quit easy.
Her favorite kind.
Probably 'cause she'd had eyes like that as a kid.
"Hm. Yeah, hi. Dang Hoiyeong here. So?"
She grinned playfully, looking up.
Dang Beom glared, hesitating on words.
Youthful inexperience? Lacked bite.
Time to help.
"You came for something, right? Not just greetings."
"..."
"Just greetings? Okay, business done—I'm heading out."
She turned playfully; he finally spoke.
"During class, I saw your sublime hidden technique. Won't you spar with me?"
He seemed embarrassed, glancing at Dang Munhyeon.
Obvious why.
Around fifteen, challenging a ten-year-old newbie?
No idea how long he'd trained, but against the rumored fresh beginner.
"Hm. Spar, huh..."
She nodded exaggeratedly, humming.
Dang Munhyeon snorted in disbelief but stayed silent, awaiting her choice.
Figured she'd win, probably.
Trouble. Everyone expects a match.
Time to deliver.
"Nah."
"Good. There's a sparring area over there... Pardon?"
He'd nodded with a shady smile; Dang Beom assumed acceptance.
But...
"Challenging a total newbie? Don't you know better at your age?"
His face flushed crimson—shame and shock, ready to burst.
"Age? I'm at least five years older!" "Then feel the shame."
"No...!"
"Shh. Quiet."
She pressed a finger to her lips.
"I want to spar, but..."
"But?"
"Class is over. Nap time."
At her absurd words, Dang Beom ground his teeth.
— Crunch.