No Confidence
The Dharma Arts Talent Contest. In plain terms, it was a talent show. As long as you drew enough of a reaction from the crowd, it did not matter what technique you used. A rather slapdash competition, all told.
Even back in the game Yeonhwa Seonrok, players would howl every time a Dharma Arts Talent Contest rolled around, complaining that they had no idea how the rankings were decided.
It did not have to be strong. It did not have to be large-scale. It did not even have to be flashy. The only criterion was “response”—but the game never implemented a response effect, nor did it display any numbers for it. Player complaints were inevitable.
“Do you have a specialty, Sajil?”
“I’ll have to think about it.”
“The fact that you have to think means you don’t have one, doesn’t it?”
Baekri-wan’s words landed like a needle, as they always did. She was not wrong. The idea of cobbling together a specialty on the spot was absurd to begin with.
Even so, Han Yuhyeon was confident. His companion, the Mongan Hyeolseo, sold practically everything.
He racked his brains as hard as he could. He needed to recall which techniques he had used, back when he was still a player, to take first place in the Dharma Arts Talent Contests.
“As it would be difficult to judge if everyone participated, we shall limit entrants to one per sect.”
Gu Jinseo spoke. A reasonable rule. Each sect had brought a different number of people. The Baekun Sect had six in total, while a place like Geom Jung-gun’s Socheong-chae had only sent one man.
At once the sects grew noisy and chaotic as they began discussing among themselves who to send.
“Kyaaaak!”
Just then Biyong, who had been asleep, jolted awake with a scream. It scrambled up his leg in a flash, perched on Han Yuhyeon’s shoulder, and stiffened its tail straight up. A clear posture of alarm.
“Did you have a nightma— ah.”
Han Yuhyeon turned his head and immediately understood why Biyong had screamed. Using the bustle as cover, Geom Jung-gun had crept up with his presence suppressed, both hands outstretched and a greasy, unpleasant smile plastered across his face.
But there was no way he could fool Biyong—not an ordinary spiritual beast, but a dragon. Purely in terms of senses, there was almost certainly no cultivator present who could surpass Biyong.
“Haha. This little friend has sharp instincts.”
Han Yuhyeon looked at Geom Jung-gun’s embarrassed excuse with pure pity.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“I haven’t seen Biyong in so long that I started getting withdrawal symptoms.”
“When did you ever see it enough to get withdrawals?”
“Just once. Let me hold it just once. I want to feel that soft, fluffy fur with my own hands, my own skin, my own senses.”
The desperate way he wriggled his outstretched fingers made him look like some disgusting old pervert. Sensing danger, Han Yuhyeon immediately scooped Biyong into his arms.
“Dream on. Even if I said yes, Biyong wouldn’t allow it.”
“If its owner tells it to, it’ll listen a little, won’t it?”
“And why would I tell it that?”
“If you let me hold it just once, I’ll give you some of my spirit stones.”
“How many?”
Han Yuhyeon switched gears without missing a beat. After buying the Blood Shadow Nine Nights Sword yesterday, he was down to a mere nine low-grade spirit stones. The more spirit stones he had, the more options the Mongan Hyeolseo opened up. There was no reason not to take them.
“Kkii-ing.”
Watching its master haggle over it, Biyong curled its tail in clear disappointment. This was why you did not want a beast that was too smart. As a dragon, its intelligence was probably higher than a human’s. It was only this tame because it was still young and could not speak human language. If it could talk, it would have unleashed a stream of curses on the spot.
“One low-grade spirit stone. It’s only a single hug, after all.”
“Who do you take for a beggar? You want to touch our Biyong for that price? Does Biyong look that cheap to you?”
True to the Han Yuhyeon whose manners rating on secondhand trading platforms in his previous life had hovered around a frosty eighteen degrees, the negotiation was anything but easy.
Haggling was half the fun. That was his ironclad rule of trade.
“Ahem. Then three?”
“Nah. Not happening.”
“Five.”
“Try a little higher. Look how cute it is.”
As he spoke, Han Yuhyeon gently tipped Biyong onto its back and scratched its belly. Biyong opened its mouth in a smile-like expression, purred, and twisted its body. The sheer cuteness made Geom Jung-gun’s eyes spin.
It was salesmanship polished enough to pass for a promotional event. Watching from the side, Baekri-wan shook her head at Han Yuhyeon.
“Ten—no, twenty!”
“Sold.”
Han Yuhyeon cackled. Twenty low-grade spirit stones just for letting someone pet a spiritual beast once. There was no easier money in the world.
“Payment in advance, valued customer.”
“This son of a— never mind. Fine. Sigh.”
Geom Jung-gun nearly swore in a surge of anger, but he wanted to hold Biyong badly enough that he pulled the spirit stones from his storage pouch and handed them over. Han Yuhyeon counted all twenty, confirmed the total, and broke into a broad grin.
“Payment confirmed, valued customer.”
Beaming, he picked Biyong up and held it out. Unexpectedly, Biyong of its own accord went over to Geom Jung-gun’s waiting hands.
Color flooded Geom Jung-gun’s face—but only for a moment. Instead of settling into his hands, Biyong flew up and perched on his shoulder. The instant Geom Jung-gun reached toward his own shoulder to grab it, Biyong skittered down his body and fled toward his waist. It seemed Biyong had gone over purely to mess with him.
“Hey, catch it for me already!”
Even as he complained to Han Yuhyeon, Geom Jung-gun kept trying to catch Biyong, but Biyong cruelly refused to be caught even once.
Amusingly, Biyong never left Geom Jung-gun’s body while dodging every grab. No matter how frantically the man swiped, Biyong was too agile. Watching Geom Jung-gun twist himself into knots and thrash around trying to catch the creature stuck to his own body was pure slapstick comedy.
“Aigoo, so close! Move those hands a little faster!”
“Hahaha.”
By now it was not just Han Yuhyeon. The surrounding cultivators found the spectacle so entertaining that they all watched and laughed together. Geom Jung-gun had been turned into a clown on the spot, yet with his eyes spinning over Biyong he willingly played the role.
Every gaze nearby was fixed on the scene, and as Han Yuhyeon watched them all enjoying themselves, a thought flashed through his mind like lightning.
“Ah!”
He clapped his hands. He had figured out what to do for the Dharma Arts Talent Contest. Biyong, mistaking the clap for some kind of signal, froze for a second.
“Gotcha, you little thing!”
Geom Jung-gun did not miss that tiny window. Biyong tried to bolt in a panic, but Geom Jung-gun’s hands were faster.
“Kkyaaang!”
Caught, Biyong cried out. Drenched in sweat, Geom Jung-gun finally began to smile—and the smile was so perverted that everyone who saw it frowned.
Even so, once caught, Biyong did not thrash around trying to escape. It had the air of a good sport humbly accepting defeat in a game of tag. Biyong’s resigned expression practically said, GG, well played.
“Kkya-eung.”
Geom Jung-gun stroked Biyong with an expression of pure rapture. A man who looked every inch the mountain bandit, face and build alike, grinning that lecherously was deeply unsettling.
After granting access to its body for a while, Biyong shook itself off, flew back to Han Yuhyeon, and stuck firmly to his calf again.
Geom Jung-gun looked regretful, but he at least respected Biyong enough not to make a further spectacle of himself trying to grab it again.
“Ahh. What a miraculous stretch of time that was.”
“Yeah. Glad you look happy.”
“So next time I can hold it again if I pay twenty spirit stones?”
At first he had looked deeply pained about handing over the twenty stones. Now he was volunteering to pay them himself. Of course Han Yuhyeon’s answer changed at once.
“Nope. It’ll be more expensive by then.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s the seller’s privilege.”
Geom Jung-gun looked wronged, but Han Yuhyeon did not even glance his way. There was something more important.
“Elder. I’m going to the latrine for a moment. Suddenly need to take a dump again.”
“Please do not volunteer information I never asked for.”
“I was worried you might worry if I just vanished without a word.”
“I will not worry.”
Baekri-wan’s face twisted sharply. For someone whose reactions were usually so muted, the intensity made Han Yuhyeon have no choice but to shut up.
He briefly wondered what kind of reaction he would get if he later described the shape of the droppings. Then he decided it would probably earn him a real technique to the face from an actually furious Baekri-wan, so he shelved the idea.
He headed roughly in the direction of the latrine. The talent contest was set to begin in one shichen, so he had plenty of time.
The latrine was definitely cleaner than anything at the Baekun Sect. So-ui-ju had far richer spiritual resources than Yeongil-ju, so it was only natural.
Psssh.
“Ugh!”
The moment he opened the door, something sprayed from somewhere. Assassination attempt? He instantly covered his mouth with his sleeve and went on guard—only for a pleasant floral scent to bloom. They had apparently implemented some kind of smart diffuser as a dharma tool.
It was a tool he had never once seen in Yeongil-ju. Different regions really did mean entirely different standards of living. No wonder Un Song-byeok was so desperate to relocate the Baekun Sect to So-ui-ju.
“Nice.”
No toilet stench. Perfect conditions for browsing the Mongan Hyeolseo.
Balance: 29 Spirit Stones (Low)
Compared to yesterday, when he had still had over a thousand low-grade spirit stones, the balance looked rather pathetic. But twenty-nine low-grade stones was not actually a small amount. Converted to the lowest grade, it was twenty-nine thousand spirit stones.
Even the Taeheo Honwon-gyeong, which he had been using to great effect this whole time, had only cost two hundred fifty lowest-grade spirit stones.
Of course, the Taeheo Honwon-gyeong was mainly a good cultivation method from a player’s perspective. Its defining trait was that it handled all five elements. That meant its true value only appeared when practiced by someone with Five Spiritual Roots—the so-called trash roots. For ordinary cultivators who only possessed three spiritual roots, it was garbage. That was probably why the price had been set so low.
I don’t need anything grandiose.
And what Han Yuhyeon was looking for right now was not even a technique with genuine combat performance. As long as it looked novel enough to pull a reaction from the crowd, that was enough.
What was the defining feature of the Mongan Hyeolseo? It sold every kind of random junk imaginable. That was knowledge he had picked up when buying free catnip for Cheongho.
Soon enough he found what he wanted. Clink. The sound of spirit stones knocking together. Proof of purchase.
Having bought the item, Han Yuhyeon returned at once to where he had been. A few cultivators were already practicing their techniques for the show.
Seeing him come back, Un Song-byeok asked,
“Ah. Yuhyeon. Will you be entering the Dharma Arts Talent Contest?”
“Yes, I will.”
“Mm. Cheon-o said he wanted to enter as well.”
Right—only one entrant per sect. Blinded by the prospect of easy spirit stones, he had completely forgotten that basic rule.
“Cheon-o, is it.”
Han Yuhyeon turned his head and looked at Jeong Cheon-o. Jeong Cheon-o flinched. Jeong Cheon-o was now Han Yuhyeon’s junior.
“Sssss.”
Just as Han Yuhyeon drew in a breath to start playing the overbearing senior—
“Oof, of course Sahyung should go out.”
Jeong Cheon-o’s situational judgment was remarkably fast. Getting chewed out and then yielding looked far worse for him—and for his future—than volunteering the spot of his own free will.
“Good. Good. That’s the right attitude.”
“Hehe.”
Han Yuhyeon patted Jeong Cheon-o on the back, and Jeong Cheon-o grinned like an idiot. Their senior-junior relationship had flipped in an instant, but both of them adapted at impressive speed.
A quick look around suggested the other sects had mostly settled on their entrants as well.
“Sahyung, aren’t you going to practice?”
Jeong Cheon-o asked. The other sects’ participants were all rehearsing, while Han Yuhyeon just stood there with his arms hanging at his sides, quietly watching them.
“It’s fine. I don’t really have anything to practice.”
“Excuse me?”
Time passed, and the contest was about to begin. Only then did Han Yuhyeon take a strip of red fluorescent light from his storage pouch and tie it around the tip of Biyong’s tail. Every time Biyong flicked its tail, the glowing ribbon swayed with it.
“…What exactly are you trying to do?”
Baekri-wan finally asked. It was probably the question on everyone’s mind. Han Yuhyeon put a finger to his lips with the most infuriating expression he could manage.
“It’s a secret.”
“I genuinely want to kill— never mind. Slip of the tongue.”
The expression must have been truly enraging, because Baekri-wan nearly snapped. The other Baekun Sect cultivators rounded their eyes; they had never seen her react that intensely before. Baekri-wan fanned her face with her hand, looking embarrassed that she had let the words escape.
“Now then! We shall begin the Dharma Arts Talent Contest hosted by the Wonhu Gate!”
When the time came, Gu Jinseo stepped up onto the platform and called out. Everyone welcomed the start of the contest with cheers.
Han Yuhyeon crossed his arms, wore a crooked little smile, and gazed up at the platform.
He had no confidence.
No confidence that he would fail to take first place, that is.