On the Cliffside Path (3)
Seo Baek read Jin-mun's thoughts and spoke.
"I grew up in Shika Manor, nestled deep in the mountains, so we used ropes all the time. The terrain crossing from Sichuan to the Western Frontier is just as treacherous as Song Mountain."
Hearing this, Jin-mun nodded without thinking.
Sichuan had long been renowned for its savage landscape.
Its heartland was fertile plain, but the encircling ranges were so formidable even murim warriors shrank from them.
To reach the Central Plains from Sichuan, one had no choice but to pass through Jianmen Pass in Hanzhong or Shu Dao Pass.
It was no exaggeration to say there was no other way out. The jagged peaks hemmed it in like a folding screen, and a single misstep meant death.
And the borderlands between Sichuan and the Western Frontier? They made the Central Plains mountains look tame by comparison...
A boy raised in such wilds being adept with rope knots was only natural.
Not just in martial arts, but every skill—this youth was extraordinary.
Age aside, he's the sort who could aid the entire murim world.
Though barely enough time had passed to sip a cup of tea since they met, Jin-mun judged Seo Baek so in his heart.
If not for the revenant plague, all murim would be buzzing about the rise of a new supreme master.
"Then let's cross the cliff face."
At Seo Baek's calm words, the refugees nodded, faces set like stone.
Spanning a thousand-foot abyss on a single rope.
Ordinary folk would quail at the mere thought.
But these were no mere refugees—they were martial artists, and so they hardened their resolve.
The three had wildly different builds.
One gaunt as a withered trunk, one potbellied like a midsummer melon, one tall and evenly muscled.
The gaunt one went first, straddling the rope loop like a swing seat. Seo Baek and Jin-mun braced their feet against the cliff base and gripped tight.
"Then I entrust myself to you."
The gaunt man dashed to the edge and hurled himself into the void.
Seo Baek tensed, and the rope snapped taut in a straight line.
The man's form streaked across the gulf in a blur, sliding to the far side.
Whoosh.
The higher vantage on Seo Baek's side made all the difference. A lower start would have defied an easy slide.
Moments later came a whistle from across, then a clack against the rock where Seo Baek's sword was lodged.
Song Hyun flicking another pebble.
Signal: refugee safe.
Seo Baek and Jin-mun exchanged nods.
"Success."
"Amitabha."
Next, the potbellied brute.
Terror pinched his face at first, but the gaunt man's safe passage sparked courage. He wedged himself onto the rope.
"Th-then... I entrust myself...!"
He gulped and leaped.
Whoosh. His bulk plummeted down the line in a flash.
Song Hyun signaled soon after—even sooner than before. The extra weight had accelerated him far beyond the gaunt one.
The last was almost too easy. The calm-eyed man loosely hooked the rope and launched wordlessly into the abyss.
From his poise, Seo Baek pegged him for a true expert.
Now only Seo Baek and Jin-mun remained.
"You first."
"And you, layman?"
"I must retrieve the sword from the cliff."
"Very well. This monk takes his leave."
Jin-mun hesitated at leaving the boy last but quickly reconsidered.
The youth who had pierced the thick fog to find their sole escape.
His lightness skill and crisis-honed decisiveness would rival—no, surpass—a Shaolin 18 Arhats like himself.
Judging prowess by age was the height of folly in Central Plains murim.
My thoughts were narrow.
Were the Shaolin abbot present, he'd skewer that shortsightedness with a razor retort.
Jin-mun sighed faintly, picturing the outwardly kindly yet inwardly piercing abbot.
"Then I entrust myself."
Hooking his forearm rather than his full body for security, Jin-mun gripped firm and leaped.
Seo Baek reckoned the monk heavier than the refugees. Solid bone outmasses flab.
He toed the cliff like a stamping kick, hauling the rope harder than ever.
But just as Jin-mun neared midway—
The line went slack.
"...?"
Tension vanished; Seo Baek staggered but backstepped to steady.
No slack now—the middle sagged like a hammock.
One meaning.
Underground Hall men across had let go.
Why?
Seo Baek yanked. The rope slithered back limp. No monk's weight.
No pebble from Song Hyun—Jin-mun hadn't arrived.
Then... he might have plummeted!
Disaster.
Crisis sharpened Seo Baek's mind to crystalline clarity.
He drew deep breath, then vaulted toward the sword-pierced rock.
Fog parted; hilt in hand, he dangled.
No pause this time.
Foot in a hollow, sword yanked free. He kicked off, soaring toward the far cliff.
Then—
Scree-scree-scree!
Air shredded before his face.
Hidden weapons...?
Mid-leap, Seo Baek twisted, sword whipping wide.
Clang-clang-clang!
They ricocheted off the broad blade.
Fortune beyond measure.
But deflection's spin bled his momentum dry.
A lightness master leaps three zhang with ease.
Lateral hops simpler still—less weight to fight; experts bridge ten like stepping stones.
But surging higher airborne? Impossible.
Masters redirect mid-air kicks within a zhang. No stair-stepping the void.
Only immortals ascending could.
Seo Baek plummeted.
Something tumbled from above. His hand flashed—caught it.
One of the weapons flung at him, now falling parallel.
Seeing it, his brows knotted.
Crossbow bolt?
Steel quarrel, frame-loaded, mechanism-fired.
Evoked Jegal Seong's judge's brush—save shorter, slimmer.
Bare flesh struck? Muscles shredded, pierced clean through.
Haste had blinded him to type before.
But crossbows, not darts or needles...
And multiples.
Clear implication.
Underground Hall fired them.
How? Mere spears before.
Searchers bore pouches, but crossbows' vertical bulk defied them.
Where concealed?
Insight struck.
So that's how.
Seo Baek understood.
Released mid-crossing. Aimed at him diving to save.
Betrayal from the start.
Why?
Irrelevant.
Murim turncoats peddle endless justifications.
His sole concern: retribution.
Reap what you sow.
Before Seo Baek's leap.
Refugees reached the Underground Hall side one by one.
Gaunt. Potbellied. Calm-eyed.
But gaunt and potbelly approached Gil Sang-baek.
Song Hyun's impassive gaze caught it.
Odd.
When the search party found Shaolin monk Jin-mun, he'd claimed the rope bridge severed, injured refugees immobile.
Yet these two bore no wound traces.
Injuries aside—perhaps superficial.
True issue: familiarity with Gil Sang-baek.
Implication?
Not refugees. Underground Hall spies.
Info-gatherers for Shaolin, tendrils everywhere.
This op perhaps spy rescue, not monk.
Song Hyun pooled qi in his dantian, ears straining. Whispers rang clear.
As suspected: spies.
"...Mission?"
"Complete."
Underground Hall agents, secret task fulfilled, returning.
But next words snagged attention.
"Who's that one?"
Gil Sang-baek jabbed at the third arrival.
"Unknown. Stray peak warrior, looks like."
"Fine then. Proceed."
"Understood."
Suspicious talk. Mission done—what "proceed"?
Gil Sang-baek nodded. Gang Pyo whistled, arm up—then down.
Four Underground Hall men released the rope.
Whirr. Taut line slackened, snaking into fog.
...!
Song Hyun lunged to seize it.
But realization hit.
No accident. Deliberate. Then...
Gil Sang-baek's crew: betrayal.
Crisis dawned. Song Hyun whipped his rusted sword from his sash.
Instantly, the Underground Hall men wheeled, loosing hidden weapons at his back.
Swoosh!