Chapter 56
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 56
Chapter Title: The Art of Three Joys
-----------------------------------------------------------------
In truth, the Great Cloud Bright Religion itself was a faith built upon the lowliest of the common folk at the very bottom of society.
This hellish world was mere illusion, they preached, and the true realm of reality belonged to them—the masses—as masters of that authentic world. That was the core doctrine of the Ming Cult.
They divided the world strictly into dichotomies: light versus darkness, good versus evil, the real versus the illusory—never to mix. In the end, the Lord of Light would triumph over the forces of darkness to redeem this world.
It had always been thus in Chinese history.
Whenever the ruling powers exploited the people mercilessly, the masses inevitably rallied under the banner of the Great Cloud Bright Religion, overthrowing the old order to usher in a new era. The most prominent example was the current Great Ming Empire.
Yet the very Zhu Yuanzhang, who had conquered the Central Plains with that power to found the Great Ming, proved the most ruthless in suppressing the Ming Cult after seizing the throne.
He knew better than anyone the might and danger it posed. Subsequent emperors followed his precedent as if it were sacred writ.
Compounding this, the martial world factions now hailed as the orthodox sects stood at the forefront of the imperial hounds, leading the persecution of the Ming Cult.
* * *
The next day at dawn, the main street before the Intoxicated Hero Inn bustled with activity.
The Shenzhou Merchant Group’s caravan, having rested for two days, was setting out once more.
But the Great Cloud Merchant Group, which was supposed to follow, still lingered without departing.
Originally five wagons strong, their convoy now boasted two more.
The road ahead was little more than a barren wasteland, like a desert.
Horses needed water and hay, none of which could be found there, so extra wagons dedicated to carrying them were essential.
Seonwoyong no longer sat on the driver’s bench of the wagon Dogaang steered.
He perched high on the saddle of Gwiroa’s back—the horse he had walked beside until now—overseeing the entire Great Cloud Merchant Group.
In his hand was a bronze staff none had seen before.
Of course, it was the Victory Sword.
No one paid it special heed or thought it odd.
They were entering the vast grasslands indistinguishable from desert, where dangers could lurk anywhere.
Carrying spears, swords, bows, or arrows was hardly unusual. For the caravan leader to wield a baton of proper length was only natural.
Seonwoyong’s face was etched with deep furrows of irritation.
Dogaang was the problem again.
The driver’s seat of the wagon he was supposed to handle sat empty.
Worse, Yitaejeong, the Wudang apprentice meant to travel with him, was nowhere in sight.
“What now? The Shenzhou group’s already passed through the gates.”
Bangchoong asked as he galloped up from the direction of the gates.
“We’ll wait a bit longer. It’s still a distance we can catch up to.”
“True, but we should depart within half a shichen. If need be, I could drive that wagon for you. Haha…”
Bangchoong laughed heartily, clearly in high spirits.
“Appreciate the offer, but no need. I’ll handle it.”
“Where’d you disappear to all day yesterday? I know some good spots—should’ve taken you along.”
“Looks like you hit those spots yourself.”
“Why not? Once we leave here, we won’t see another soul for at least a month. Better to let off some steam beforehand, right?”
That explained Bangchoong’s unusually serene expression.
“Not really my thing…”
Seonwoyong didn’t spare him a glance, his eyes fixed on the far end of the road.
“By the way, nice staff you’ve got there. Bronze?”
Bangchoong finally took interest in the Victory Sword.
“Picked it up along the road yesterday. Fair price…”
“Looks solid. Perfect length, perfect thickness.”
The Victory Sword’s appearance was utterly ordinary—a plain bronze rod.
“Nothing special. If you like it, it’s yours.”
At Seonwoyong’s nonchalant reply, Bangchoong waved him off.
“Heavens, no—what would I do with that? This suffices for me.”
Bangchoong held his ever-present horsewhip.
Just then, two figures raced toward them from down the road.
“Good lord, isn’t that the famed Wudang Cloud-Step Technique? Kekeke…”
Bangchoong burst into guffaws at the sight.
Dogaang led, Yitaejeong followed—their lightness skill unmistakably Wudang’s signature Cloud-Step.
“Ran late. Sorry. Hehe…”
His words said sorry, but his face showed no regret.
Dogaang’s attire was a pitiful mess.
His upper robe hung untied, trousers barely cinched.
Yitaejeong, arriving right after, at least looked somewhat presentable.
“Let’s go. But I’ll deduct one silver tael from this month’s pay.”
Seonwoyong’s cold words rang out, followed by the signal to depart.
With Elder Jang and Han Sojung’s wagon in the lead, the Great Cloud Merchant Group’s wagons lurched into motion.
Seonwoyong watched Dogaang and Yitaejeong dash into the inn to grab their gear, then followed at the convoy’s tail.
The Great Cloud Merchant Group, exiting Lanzhou’s gates, caught up to the Shenzhou group around noon, when the lunch hour neared.
Merchants on the road didn’t prepare separate lunches.
They simply halted horses and wagons briefly, pulling out water skins and simple rations or steamed buns.
“Hey, toss me one too. Starving here. Kekeke…”
Dogaang approached Han Sojung, begging for buns.
The Intoxicated Hero Inn had provided enough steamed buns for two days’ lunches, but Dogaang and Yitaejeong, having failed to collect theirs, could only watch.
“How do you show up without even grabbing breakfast?”
Han Sojung handed over a bamboo steamer piled high with buns.
“What else? Cleaned out Lanzhou’s top gambling den. Kekeke… But seriously, this many okay?”
“No worries—eat up. Packed extras for you two.”
Elder Jang gruffly interjected.
“You two are the best. Hehe… Thanks. I’ll buy you a big round of drinks later.”
Dogaang snatched the steamer gratefully, but Han Sojung pressed on.
“But your outfit this morning didn’t scream ‘fled mid-game.’”
“Oi, kids don’t need to know. Gambling’s just one of life’s pleasures—a path to a lady’s embrace. Haha…”
Fearing vulgar tales, Elder Jang cut in swiftly.
“Young master, once you’ve eaten, go see Young Master Seonwoo. Didn’t he say yesterday during practice something felt off?”
“Oh, right.”
Han Sojung hopped down from the wagon and dashed to Seonwoyong.
Seonwoyong ate his bun amid chatter with the new drivers, erupting in laughter.
“Your tales are refreshingly bold—gotta hang with you more to chase away the boredom.”
Seonwoyong grinned as the driver he’d been speaking with bowed deferentially.
“You honor me, Pavilion Master. I fear my crude yarns of sights and sounds only vex your ears.”
His name was Yuktong, midthirties, lean build, pointed face.
Naturally, he was Baek Moon-gwisoo Ha Hongjin’s trusted aide, tasked with liaising with Seonwoyong.
He’d just transmitted private matters via inner force while prattling idly aloud.
“Anyway, I’ll hop on your wagon now and then. Haha… Off I go.”
Seonwoyong turned and approached Han Sojung, waiting nearby.
“What’s up?”
“Last night, something weird happened.”
“What weird thing?”
Han Sojung thrust out his left hand without preamble.
“I was definitely playing The Art of Three Joys. But this left hand’s fingers didn’t even touch the strings, yet the notes sounded pressed. What’s this?”
The seven-stringed zither used the left hand’s fingers to fret strings for pitch, the right to pluck them for sound.
Seonwoyong ignored the hand, scrutinizing Han Sojung’s complexion.
He hadn’t checked on him during their Lanzhou stay.
“And the pitch—was it accurate?”
“Perfectly. Not just accurate—the tone was incomparably pure and resonant.”
“Hm… Resonant, you say.”
He then seized Han Sojung’s left hand, taking his pulse.
Seonwoyong’s expression grew grave.
Examining the boy’s eight extraordinary meridians yielded astonishing results.
Where two months prior no internal energy had stirred, now a vast wave surged through.
It had been two months since Seonwoyong taught him zither.
Thus, two months since imparting the Ink Dragon Primordial Art.
Not as a foundational internal art, but as breathing for zither and mind-calming—yet it was unmistakably the Ink Dragon Primordial Art.
Han Sojung’s innate physique was extraordinarily rare.
Born a man yet with the Extreme Yin Body, seen only in women.
He should have died within three days, but his mother was a Ming princess, daughter of the current emperor. His father, the scion of the Central Plains’ most prestigious clan.
Bathed in precious Azure Spirit Jade Oil, fed decoctions of legendary ten-thousand-year snow ginseng mixed with milk from mountain goats of the snow peaks—tales that beggared belief.
Oddly, both ingredients held the purest Extreme Yin essence in heaven and earth.
An incomprehensible treatment, but dosing an Extreme Yin infant with only the finest Extreme Yin essences proved a resounding success.
He had grown without issue to age fourteen.
And now, through the Ink Dragon Primordial Art Seonwoyong taught, that latent power awakened.