Guwon Gong (2)
Heukcheon was a genius.
Though, truth be told, the word "genius" alone couldn't quite define his existence.
Inventing a martial art was an absurd endeavor—taking the principles of martial and crafting something from nothing into being.
Even those hailed as prodigies of their sects spent their entire lives merely refining a single existing technique.
That said, one could grasp just how ridiculous the talent must be for those who created supreme arts that formed the foundation of entire schools.
In the martial world, such holders of irrational gifts were called grandmasters, their names etched into history, praised by generations for their greatness.
So, how utterly preposterous was Heukcheon's existence?
He wasn't born into some prestigious family lineage. He hadn't received tutelage from a great sect.
Not even the familiar warmth of an ordinary household was granted to him.
The streets. Born a heaven-forsaken orphan without even parents, he received no one's teachings.
Crude letters glimpsed over shoulders. And a single, trashy manual so low-quality it was embarrassing to even call it third-rate martial arts—that was his only teacher.
In the world of martial arts, a single misstep in a formula or a line of qi circulation could mean life or death. A wrong interpretation led to qi deviation; a twisted breathing method meant instant death.
Yet Heukcheon, ignorant of the martial world, fearlessly seized that garbage and elevated it into true martial arts.
He instinctively patched every flaw hidden in the crude trash. If the text was wrong, his talent filled the gaps. If the flow was blocked, his genius carved a new path.
That was how he entered the martial world.
No master, no sect, no background needed.
And, in a ridiculous twist, at the tender age of thirteen, he created no fewer than fifteen supreme arts capable of upholding a faction for centuries—and handed them to his closest subordinates.
This went beyond mere "talent." Thus, the heukdo warriors reverently dubbed him grand sovereign master.
Damo the Patriarch of Shaolin, progenitor of all Central Plains martial arts and Zen ancestor. Jang Sam-bong of Wudang, who embodied the essence of Daoist martial learning and infused the principles of taiji into the sword. And the Heavenly Demon, who in an age of chaos raised the Demonic Cult to solidity with absolute power.
Heukcheon was considered to stand on their level.
At least, to those in the heukdo martial world.
Had he not met such a pointless death, no one in the world could have denied his ascension to the ranks of grand sovereign master.
Offering condolences for the tragic death of the young grandmaster who possessed the qualities of a grand sovereign master.
Heukcheon hated the title of grand sovereign master.
He knew full well he didn't deserve it.
The ignorant heukdo fools loved fawning over him as the heukdo grand sovereign master, but he knew that elsewhere, the term was used as an insult.
How laughable was it to praise someone unworthy as a grand sovereign master?
In the end, I died in my past life without completing my unique clan's martial art.
Because his subordinates betrayed him and he died young?
No.
Dang Hoiyeong coldly concluded that she probably never would have completed it, even if she'd lived to old age.
Her past life's unique clan art, Guwon Gong, had been a patchwork of scraps.
Starting from street-level third-rate martial arts, patched together with insights from real combat and the teachings given to subordinates, woven into one...
A sandcastle of an art, half-baked in every way.
She didn't know what was missing. She couldn't even guess where it went wrong.
A martial art's name holds intent.
Like the one who named it Thunderclap Palm dreamed of thunder, or the one who named it Flowing Water Sword dreamed of flowing like water.
Dang Hoiyeong gazed at the Doban Samyang Guwon Gong in her hand.
Guwon... Return to Origin.
Maybe the answer she'd sought in her past life lay here.
That thought made her grip tighten unconsciously.
Do I still have lingering regrets?
I'm Dang Hoiyeong. Not Heukcheon.
I don't care about becoming a grand sovereign master. I don't care about reaching the pinnacle of martial arts.
"Miss?"
Dang Hoiyeong had been clutching the Doban Samyang Guwon Gong and standing motionless for a long while when her nanny spoke up.
"Huh? What is it, Nanny?"
"Your face is pale. Are you alright?"
"Oh, I just zoned out for a bit. I'm fine."
Dang Hoiyeong shook her head to clear it.
If I died like a dumbass, I should just stay dead.
Why did this heart method have to have Guwon Gong in the name too? Tsk.
It was needlessly throwing off the mood. She'd struggled so hard to get here.
Suddenly, practicing the Doban Samyang Guwon Gong felt off-putting, like it might drag her back into her past life's regrets.
But it was the highest heart method in the Tang Clan closest to supreme arts.
Considering the benefits to the family from her mastering it over other inner arts...
This is still the best choice.
A girl not even ten years old mastering a heart method bordering on supreme arts?
The clan would flip out for sure.
What other move could upend her situation so dramatically?
With that in mind, Dang Hoiyeong opened the Doban Samyang Guwon Gong.
If only I'd seen it in my past life.
That thought lingered in a corner of her mind.
Dang Hoiyeong examined the Doban Samyang Guwon Gong.
Other supreme arts' outlines she could grasp in moments with her genius talent, but this was different.
An hour passed as she scanned its contents, then she went back to the beginning and reviewed them again.
Once. Twice. Three times...
The second pass took half an hour. The third, a quarter-hour.
But the fourth required two full hours again. The fifth, three.
As Dang Hoiyeong, eyes bloodshot, tried to scan it once more—
"Miss!"
Her nanny shook her shoulders and cried out.
Dang Hoiyeong's head creaked around like rusty hinges.
Life returned to her unfocused eyes.
"...Oh. Nanny."
Her voice cracked dryly. Her eyes burned like they were on fire.
How long had it been?
"I'm sorry, Miss. The librarian said not to disturb you, but it's already been a full day..."
Terror laced her nanny's worried voice.
The librarian seemed to think she was in enlightenment and left her be.
But the nanny's patience had run out.
"Thanks, Nanny."
Dang Hoiyeong gathered her foggy mind and replied.
A day. A whole day.
She prided herself on comprehending even supreme arts' essences in a quarter-hour.
Yet to her, the Doban Samyang Guwon Gong was flawless perfection, without a single gap.
So why couldn't she understand it fully?
Why hadn't such an art reached supreme status?
One thing was certain, though.
This wasn't a supreme art. She'd never seen a supreme art's formula, but she'd experienced them firsthand.
Like her past life's Guwon Gong, the Doban Samyang Guwon Gong was incomplete.
As a supreme art, it rivaled the best. But by supreme standards, it was undeniably unfinished.
Something crucial. Both arts lack that something.
She didn't know what.
But that didn't mean she'd gained nothing.
Their natures are similar. No surprise, with Guwon in both names. Martial arts held intent, after all.
And filling lacks to evolve arts was one of Heukcheon's specialties.
Merge the Doban Samyang Guwon Gong with Heukcheon's Guwon Gong.
As Dang Hoiyeong sank back into thought, her nanny asked worriedly again.
"Miss, are you really okay? Your face... it's paler than paper."
"I'm fine, Nanny. I just got too focused. But I get it now."
"You understand it?"
Dang Hoiyeong nodded at her nanny's shocked question and turned to the librarian.
"Librarian."
At her call, the old man—who'd been staring dazedly from afar—hurried over.
His eyes held awe beyond shock.
He couldn't fathom this child comprehending a fourth-floor art—the founder's unfinished absolute art—in a single day.
So he asked cautiously.
"Miss. Do you truly claim to grasp the essence of Doban Samyang Guwon Gong?"
"To a degree. Enough for entry, at least."
"What does Dobanmean?"
Dang Hoiyeong answered without hesitation.
"Guiding yet reversing."
"What does Samyangmean?"
"Jingyang, qiyang, shenyang. What the world commonly calls jing, qi, shen."
The old librarian's eyes shook.
Interpreting Samyang as jing, qi, shen was a realm only top experts in the Tang Clan on this art could reach.
Nowhere in the manual was it stated. One had to read, cultivate, and realize it oneself.
In a single day?
Swallowing his turmoil, he posed the final question.
"What does Guwon mean?"
Dang Hoiyeong didn't waver.
"Returning."
"Returning where?"
"To the origin."
"Where is the origin?"
A brief silence fell.
"If we knew that, this art would be called supreme in the martial world, wouldn't it?"
The old librarian froze.
It was spot on. No—even after ten years since gaining elder access to this art, no one had pinpointed the core more accurately than her.
Guwon. Return to the origin.
Because they didn't know where the origin was, Tang warriors had stagnated for centuries.
"...Ah."
His voice trembled.
"At last, one with the qualities of a grand sovereign master has appeared in the main family. This old bag of bones wandered before it for ten years, but today I finally see the path."
Yes. If they'd known the path to guwon, this would be a supreme art.
Why hadn't they faced that simple truth?
The old man's stagnation came from arbitrarily defining and refining the origin to his liking.
But this child was different.
By admitting ignorance instead of forcing a definition, she'd flung open the art's potential.
"Allow me to reintroduce myself. Dang Munhyeon, lord of Cheondok Bigak. If this worthless old man can guide your entry into martial learning, there is no greater honor."
"...Mm."
Dang Hoiyeong nodded solemnly, thinking:
Fuck, I'm screwed.
I just wanted to chill in the main compound sucking on honey. Now some ridiculous bigshot's latched on.