On the Cliff Path (2)
Seo Baek pulled his limbs tight against his body, curling into a compact ball.
A method to minimize friction with the air.
Song Hyeon's flung stone shot forward in a straight line. Seo Baek's leap, by contrast, followed a parabolic arc, creating a time lag before it would strike the cliff face.
Seo Baek calculated that interval in his mind.
Three, two, one… now.
Suddenly, a sheer rock wall loomed out of the mist.
Song Mountain was famed for its seventy-two peaks that pierced the heavens like awls. The jagged cliff before him was surely one of them.
Seo Baek extended his tucked limbs and drew his sword from his back.
Shika Heart Method.
Flash.
He spun the sword in both hands, gripping it inverted, then plunged it into the cliff.
Sching. The blade sank into the rock like a knife through tofu.
Seo Baek halted his momentum by bracing against the embedded sword, hanging suspended from the wall.
As Song Hyeon had warned, the cliff was thickly coated in moss and slick with night dew. Even with bear hide strapped to his shoes, his foot nearly slipped on contact.
Had it not been for his greatsword, he would have plummeted straight into the abyss below.
Of course, Seo Baek had accounted for that in his leap.
First leap: success.
Next came the second leap, across to the cliff where Shaolin monk Jin-mun waited.
The distance from the Underground Hall to Jin-mun's cliff was too vast for a single bound.
Executing Lightness Skill might make it possible—but that was as realistic as a fairy tale. Lightness Skill was a transcendent art that appeared once a century, if at all.
Thus, Seo Baek had anticipated another wall from the echo of sound and used it as a stepping stone.
He planted his feet against the cliff, probing for a less slippery spot.
Here.
Luckily, there was a depression in the rock.
Seo Baek yanked enough rope free, looped it once around the sword hilt, and secured his footing for the second leap.
Thwip. His body shot through the mist.
At that moment, Jin-mun's voice rang out from the Shaolin monk.
"Over here."
Jin-mun had heard the leap and already grasped the plan.
Hearing the voice confirmed to Seo Baek that his trajectory was spot-on.
Thanks.
Song Hyeon had estimated distance and position with the stone; Jin-mun's guidance made it perfect.
As a new cliff face emerged from the fog, Seo Baek hooked his foot onto its edge.
Simultaneously, a massive forearm—thick as a man's thigh—shot out from the mist and seized his hand. Grip.
Thanks to it, Seo Baek landed more smoothly than on the first cliff.
He offered a fist salute to the monk who had grabbed him.
"My thanks. I am Seo Baek."
"Amitabha. I am Jin-mun, disciple of Shaolin."
True to Shaolin custom, Jin-mun clasped his hands with only his right.
The half-palm salute unique to Shaolin Temple.
Jin-mun cut an imposing figure, broad-shouldered and thick-limbed, the epitome of a Shaolin warrior monk. In this era of rampant revenants, a liaison like him must hold a key position in the temple.
Seeing Jin-mun in his Shaolin robes and kasaya, Seo Baek finally felt the reality of reaching Shaolin Temple, his chest swelling with emotion.
Three others stood on the cliff besides Jin-mun.
"Who are they?"
"Refugees we met on the cliff path. They fled the revenant horde up here and barely saved their skins."
The three refugees bowed their heads to Seo Baek in greeting.
"To come rescue us in person—our deepest gratitude."
"A true young hero!"
"No need for such words."
Seo Baek smiled at them and returned a fist salute.
But while his lips curved, his gaze coldly assessed the refugees.
They're no ordinary refugees.
Their clothes were ragged, as if they'd endured hell evading the horde.
Yet each wore a sword at their waist—a detail that caught the eye.
Not from a prestigious sect, perhaps, but clearly martial artists.
Especially their eyes: alive with hidden intent, faintly gleaming.
One who barely escaped a revenant swarm should be exhausted in body and spirit—yet theirs burned with veiled purpose.
Suspicious bunch.
Martial artists had their secrets, especially in this revenant-plagued age.
Sects dispatched scouts across the Central Plains for intelligence. With underworld and bandits everywhere, disguise was essential.
Wasn't the Underground Hall itself tasked with relaying martial news to Shaolin?
One of these refugees might even be from the Underground Hall.
No need to pry into their identities, then.
Unless they hid them to sabotage Seo Baek's group…
Then we cut them down.
Either way, knowing they weren't helpless civilians lightened his load.
Trained in lightness skill, they'd cross with just the rope.
That simplifies things.
With the situation clear, Seo Baek turned to Jin-mun.
"Why were you isolated on the cliff path?"
"This side and where the donor came from were linked by a rope bridge. But we found it severed for some reason."
"Cut deliberately?"
"No rope fragments remain, so we don't know yet. The spot's close to the ground—we can investigate."
"Could revenants have climbed up and chewed through it?"
"Entirely possible."
The reason Jin-mun and the refugees couldn't reach the Underground Hall was clear.
The real issue lay ahead.
Couldn't they just turn back to Shaolin Temple?
Seo Baek voiced the question.
"Why stay on the cliff path instead of returning to Shaolin?"
"The path back crosses a revenant-infested stretch. Normally, we'd breach it in daylight when they're sluggish, but lately they've grown bolder—no passage."
"I see."
The mystery resolved unexpectedly simply. The path to Shaolin wasn't fully secured.
If breaching now was impossible, best to retreat to the Underground Hall first.
Jin-mun and the refugees had endured night dews for days; rest there, then head to Shaolin.
Seo Baek decided.
"Then let's prepare to cross."
He uncoiled the rope from his waist and tensioned it taut. Beyond the mist, it led to where his sword was embedded.
Confirming direction, he flicked his wrist up and down.
Whooo. The rope writhed like a serpent, sending vibrations forward.
Timing mentally, he spun his wrist next. The rope whirled in a helix through the air.
Invisible through the thick fog, but the loop around the hilt would have loosened.
Done.
Wrapping it ensured he knew the sword's exact position. A misjudged landing would be disastrous.
Shaolin monk Jin-mun watched, inwardly impressed.
The boy's actions were astonishing for one not yet twenty.
The twisted hemp rope—tough enough that even Long River boatmen struggled to coil it—was writhing like a live snake from a single flick and twist.
Impressive inner power.
Seo Baek's cultivation was unbelievable for his age.
Shaolin, pinnacle of the martial world, boasted top inner arts.
Even entering young as a formal disciple, could one grow so fast?
Jin-mun doubted it.
Few in the world matched Seo Baek's inner power now.
None his age reached such heights.
Suddenly, a tale came to mind.
The abbot once shook the martial world with his inner arts as a boy.
If this boy matured, he'd rival the current abbot.
Perhaps sooner—even by twenty, unrivaled in inner power.
Jin-mun had doubted at first, but now trusted Seo Baek's prowess.
Inner arts alone, he wasn't sure he could win.
No—mine might be a step below.
A thought flashed.
"If I may ask…?"
"Of course."
"Shaolin awaits a guest from Sichuan. Are you…?"
"That's me."
"Amitabha…"
Jin-mun, unflappable leader of the Eighteen Arhats, drew a deep breath.
The abbot will be pleased.
"The abbot and Murim Alliance elders await you at Shaolin."
"Good. I look forward to meeting the abbot."
Jin-mun gazed at Seo Baek, moved anew.
Who'd expect Shaolin's awaited guest to be a boy not yet twenty?
Crossing the Central Plains amid revenants, from Sichuan to Song Mountain in Henan. He'd proven himself repeatedly; Jin-mun felt it viscerally.
"What brings you to the cliff path?"
"The Underground Hall reported lost contact with Shaolin monks, so we came to assist the search party. We were heading to Shaolin anyway."
"I see. Disciple Jin-mun of Shaolin thanks you."
"No need."
Seo Baek slung the rope coil from his shoulder and began knotting.
First, coil it round, tie a loop on top. Slip the freed end through, bind the bottom—done.
Soon, four lü-shaped knots formed.
He threaded the upper loop of each onto the rope held by the Underground Hall side.
Now, slip into the lower loop like a swing, slide across to the other cliff.
No mere refugees but martial artists—they'd manage without, but knots prevented mishaps.
Jin-mun noted the expert knots.
"Ever worked the waterways?"
"No. First time on the Long River since birth."
Foolish question.
Jin-mun chided himself.
A boy that age shunning rough boatmen's toil?
Yet the skill was masterful.
Legends spoke of hidden masters thick as Central Plains sand.
New prodigies reshaping the martial world every decade.
This boy: no sect disciple, barely twenty.
Qualified as both hidden master and prodigy!
What is this boy?
Jin-mun's curiosity stirred.