Chapter 136
Chapter 136
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 136
Chapter Title: Leap or Soar (4)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Seran, Damcheong, and Geum Yeongyeong prepared to head out.
Today was the day for observation class.
Geum Yeongyeong yawned as she spoke.
“I got up so early... I’m really tired...”
Seran and Damcheong’s eyes narrowed slightly.
Even if they left right now, there was no guarantee they wouldn’t be late.
It was all because Geum Yeongyeong had refused to get up.
Her feet itching, Geum Yeongyeong hurriedly activated her flight spell.
The metal beads on her bracelet flashed, transforming into a shield artifact.
The trio of guardians climbed aboard the shield.
They finally arrived at the scripture hall.
From the hallway, they could hear the students reading aloud.
It seemed class had already begun.
The three sneaked in through the back door of the classroom.
There, they made eye contact with the parents who had arrived first.
After a brief exchange of nods, Seran and her group joined the cluster of parents.
The observation class proceeded smoothly.
Ho Hye-mun read a passage from the scriptures first, and the students followed along in unison.
Once the explanation of the meaning was done, she even gave a simple question.
Ho Hye-mun said.
“Anyone know the answer?”
Every single student raised their hand without fail.
Seran briefly wondered if it was staged.
She couldn’t help it, being a worldly adult and all.
Class ended.
The parents, having witnessed their children’s impressive display, left with satisfied expressions.
The students, loaded up with pocket money, were delighted too.
Siksan Daebung was no exception.
Seran, speaking as the representative of the guardian trio, said.
“Daebung, you can’t spend it all recklessly, okay?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Have fun with your friends.”
Siksan Daebung bowed in greeting and went off to his friends.
It was a strangely novel sight—a massive bulging-eyed figure squeezed in among the little kids.
Yet they all seemed to be having a blast together.
Ho Hye-mun, who had been exchanging greetings with the other parents, approached the trio and asked.
“How was the observation class? If you have any suggestions, feel free to tell me anytime.”
Perhaps because it was a formal setting, her tone wasn’t as warmly familiar as usual.
Damcheong and Geum Yeongyeong answered in turn.
“The atmosphere for study is truly excellent.”
“The students’ zeal for learning was impressive.”
Ho Hye-mun, Damcheong, and Geum Yeongyeong’s gazes naturally turned to Seran, who hadn’t spoken yet.
Seran flashed a liar’s smile and said.
“Enrolling Daebung in Teacher Ho Hye-mun’s scripture hall seems like it was the best choice we could have made. Oh, no suggestions in particular.”
Damcheong’s detective eye gleamed.
Truth, and falsehood.
Seran did have a suggestion she wanted to make.
On the way back, Damcheong asked.
“Seran, didn’t you actually have a suggestion?”
“How did you know?”
“Well... isn’t it just you and me?”
Seran gave a wry smile and said.
“As expected, I can’t fool you, Damcheong...”
“So what was the suggestion?”
“Well...”
Seran hesitated to continue.
Geum Yeongyeong, sitting beside her, chimed in.
“Just spit it out already.”
Finally, Seran laid bare her dark inner thoughts.
“Actually, I was going to suggest adding an introductory book on puppet arts to the recommended reading list for students... but I held back.”
Geum Yeongyeong asked.
“Why’d you think of that?”
“I just thought maybe the next generation could break puppet arts out of being a fringe pursuit...”
“Ah...”
Seran voiced her deep regret.
“Why don’t Single Spirit Root Holders get voting rights on sect operations? If we did, I’d have pushed to make puppet arts a required part of the curriculum... Why won’t anyone learn this wonderful puppet art?”
Geum Yeongyeong offered no reply.
For a moment, she felt relieved that Black Bamboo Sect and Gold Craft Sect were rationally run organizations.
At least they wouldn’t end up like Three Ring Sect.
*****
Siksan Daebung and the kids headed to the streamside.
The pocket money was long spent by now.
That’s just how kids were.
Siksan Daebung and the girls played house, while the boys climbed trees.
One of the girls hiked up her skirt hem and waded into the stream.
She picked up a flat stone.
With just a touch of the children’s imagination, a stone could become a fish.
The girl playing fisherman and dad said.
“Honey, I’m home.”
The girl playing fisherman and mom replied in kind.
“Welcome back? You must be tired—hurry and change, then rest. I’ll prepare dinner.”
“Thanks as always.”
“Oh, it’s nothing.”
Then the girls playing kids, along with Siksan Daebung, came home one after another.
Each held a stone in hand.
Like the parents, all the children were fishermen too.
The family shared the fish (stones) amicably and then began cultivating all at once.
Questioning why fishermen would cultivate was pointless.
Kids born in the capital sects assumed all families lived like that.
As the girls showed off remarkably convincing martial forms, the boys were picking fruit.
Some tossed fruit from the tree, others caught it below.
This was no first or second time—they were pros.
One of the boys catching fruit asked.
“Hyung, isn’t this one underripe?”
The boy in the tree answered.
“Nah, they’re all ripe.”
“But this one’s green?”
“Just take a bite. It’s sweet, I swear.”
The younger boy eyed the fruit dubiously before chomping down.
His face twisted in horror.
“It’s unripe and bitter!”
The older boy roared with laughter.
There was nothing so joyful in the world.
He laughed so hard his abs hurt.
Then the boy lost his balance.
His arms flailed desperately, eyes panicked, body tilting backward.
The tree wasn’t that high, but a fall would definitely mean serious injury.
The boy who’d eaten the bitter fruit cried out.
“H-Hyung!”
The kids’ eyes turned at the urgent shout.
First to the boy at the tree’s base, then up to the one in the branches.
Siksan Daebung was no different.
In that split second, Siksan Daebung realized.
The boy in the tree had completely lost his balance.
No chance of regaining it alone—only a wingless plummet remained.
Even with good luck, it’d be fractures at minimum.
The boys who’d been catching fruit below all rushed toward the predicted landing spot.
But it would be futile.
It’d just add more injured kids.
Siksan Daebung instinctively spread his wings.
He planned to catch his falling friend midair, shield him with his own body, and land.
The custom thruster Seran had made for him howled.
The baby bird shattered the chains of fear to save his friend and took flight.
But there was one variable Siksan Daebung hadn’t foreseen.
There had been two boys in the tree.
Another boy swiftly grabbed his friend’s arm.
“You okay?”
“Th-Thanks...”
“Be more careful.”
Siksan Daebung shot past beneath the branch the two boys clung to, like a gust of wind.
*****
Whenever Ho Hye-mun looked at her disciples, she thought of the siblings she’d been separated from as a child.
Kids parted from their mother the moment they could speak.
Their similar ages made it hit harder.
Ho Hye-mun’s father meted out harsh punishments for even minor mistakes.
Stumbling while reciting scriptures, or slightly crooked handwriting—he tolerated none of it.
The children were punished every time.
Ho Hye-mun’s father never wielded the rod himself.
He was far too frail for that.
Instead, he ordered the servants by number.
Usually fifty, sometimes a hundred.
The number of strokes from the switch.
The servant silently counted as he swung.
Ho Hye-mun had been punished countless times.
Bruised calves, tear-blurred vision, the sharp crack of the switch, trembling siblings awaiting their turn, her father’s cold expression.
Even fifty years later, those memories remained vivid.
Ho Hye-mun’s father had died over twenty years ago.
He’d lived long for someone so sickly, and died early despite all the elixirs.
But her siblings still lived unhappy lives.
They killed themselves or others.
Some swallowed poison and suicided.
Some withered away in seclusion, listless.
Some slew several servants with a blade before being confined deep in the estate.
Once, they’d been the brightest of boys and girls.
But their brilliant wings had been clipped long ago.
Even after the man’s death, his shadow lingered as invisible chains binding her siblings.
None had turned out as pitiful as the seventh daughter, Ho Hye-mun.
They were all clever and overflowing with talent.
It was simply that Ho Hye-mun, bearer of a spirit root, had left the royal capital at ten, while they remained.
That was all.
A sudden noise snapped Ho Hye-mun awake.
Her desk was buried in paperwork.
She must have dozed off amid the documents related to the observation class.
The noise that woke her grew louder.
It sounded like knocking on the door.
Followed by a young man’s voice.
She had a feeling who it was.
Ho Hye-mun rose from her seat.
It was late at night—no need to disturb the neighbors.
Opening the door, Ho Hye-mun said.
“What brings you here?”
The lovesick man spoke.
Once a problem child, once her student, now a young man in his mid-twenties.
In the dead of night, he came to confess to his old teacher—the woman he loved.
In the past, when asked why she hadn’t given up on the problem boy, Ho Hye-mun had replied:
You never know if a flower will bloom until you water it.
The boy, eavesdropping from a street corner, had fallen for her from that moment.
The young man pleaded desperately.
From that instant, Teacher had been his everything.
His heart brimmed with love for her.
To the young man who finished his confession, Ho Hye-mun replied with the face of the teacher he remembered.
“Life is wholly your own. That’s why you mustn’t be swayed by others. Forget me—but if you remember my teachings, that alone suffices. A teacher is a disciple’s stepping stone.”
The young man’s face clouded with sorrow.
He knew intuitively.
This was Ho Hye-mun’s final teaching as his master.
The man wept aloud for a long while.
Then he turned and left.
Ho Hye-mun hoped her aged disciple would safely break his chains and soar.