Visitors from Wudang
“Sect Leader, really. Why hide something written this well?”
Having nagged and pleaded with Baek Su-gyeong until he finally relented, So Ssaang-a clutched the manuscript as she made her way back. Watching the sun dip low on the horizon, she grinned from ear to ear.
This is going to be huge.
Baek Su-gyeong, the actual author, had claimed he was scared of Wudang's reaction... but still.
“Master Baek is just too timid.”
With all the scammers out there slapping famous sect names on their cons, what could possibly happen over a little book? Besides, Wudang had been silent for ages. It had been over ten years since the once-mighty Sword Mountain closed its gates—not officially sealed, but effectively shutting out the world. Sure, they might come after Baek Su-gyeong for it, but what if Wudang Sword Hero ended up benefiting the sect? Everything would change. They'd probably brush it off as a minor thing. At least for now.
“This book's definitely going to make it big.”
So Ssaang-a hugged the Wudang Sword Hero manuscript tight to her chest.
To her, Baek Su-gyeong was an irreplaceable lifesaver. Three years ago, he'd rescued her from collapse in Wuan's back alleys. Wudang Sword Herohad to succeed. It was the most groundbreaking, entertaining story she'd ever read. Even if it didn't sell on its own, she'd make it happen.
“That's how I'll repay even a fraction of the debt I owe Master Baek.”
There were plenty of ways to get books or food without her. But he'd entrusted everything to her specifically. She knew what that meant. To him, it was just a good deed. His kindness had kept her stubbornly clinging to life. If Wudang Sword Hero succeeded, she might even start rebuilding her family merchant group—the one she'd longed for.
“Later, I'll tell Master Baek for sure.”
About this small, fragile feeling in her heart. One day, she'd confess the truth to him.
Behind So Ssaang-a, walking the main road, the evening cicadas chirped.
Xianyue, home of Wudang. Also known as Sword Mountain.
True to its name of "mystical peak," it was a Taoist sect and sword school boasting breathtaking scenery. But after a decade of silence, Wudang's prestige had faded. No world-shaking masters had emerged from its ranks to command the jianghu, leaving the headquarters steeped in stagnation and rigidity.
Or at least, that's how it had been.
“Muryangsubul...”
Hyeonseongja, Wudang's current sect leader, gazed down at his diligently training disciples with a satisfied smile. He'd been agonizing over the lack of great talents in his generation to elevate Wudang's name. Seeing the disciples train with such fervor, shaking off the gloom—it filled him with joy.
“Has a fresh wind finally begun to blow through our sect?”
A dojo and a martial sect. Taoist and sword-focused. More of its members wielded swords and honed martial arts than pursued pure Taoist enlightenment, far from the secular world. Not as entangled as Huashan, but Wudang couldn't fully sever ties with the jianghu either.
“Heh heh, this must be the Original Celestial Venerable watching over us.”
In a world where stepping off the mountain with a sword turned you from monk to bandit in others' eyes, he'd pushed reforms to change that image. Yet the disciples had rejected them, steeped in aversion to martial pursuits. Now, those same disciples were picking up their swords again. How could he not be thrilled?
“Joyful indeed, truly joyful. Muryangsubul...”
Of course, beyond that lay a truth Hyeonseongja hadn't even imagined. He remained blissfully unaware.
Ten years is no short time. Enough for rivers to change course and mountains to wear down. Even a once-mighty sect would gradually decline. Wudang was no exception.
To combat the lax, stagnant atmosphere, Hyeonseongja had enacted sweeping reforms. But they'd backfired, driving disciples to abandon their swords. Trapped in rigid schedules without freedom, they'd rejected their masters' teachings. That was the birth of their martial aversion.
Despite Hyeonseongja and the elders' desperate coaxing, the disciples hadn't budged—until one book drifted into Sword Mountain from the jianghu.
“We must spread Great Hero Jin-un's spirit far and wide!”
“Wudang must embody true jianghu righteousness!”
“Everything we've learned was futile! We've walked the demonic path—now we'll tread the righteous one!”
“Our eyes are finally open. We've been fools!”
Wudang Sword Hero. A battered volume, cover frayed from countless hands, author's name long erased. Yet its contents captivated Wudang's disciples in an instant.
Jin-un, a talented disciple who'd lived like a rogue despite his gifts. A sword master called Wudang Sword Venerable, dying in a final battle against the Heavenly Demon, regretting his ways—only to regress to his youth. He repented, walked the path of heroism, and elevated Wudang's glory.
No one could read it unmoved. Naturally, they'd reclaimed their long-forsaken swords.
Wherever you went, Wudang Sword Hero tales echoed endlessly. It didn't take long for the rumors to reach Hyeonseongja's ears.
“...”
Hyeonseongja frowned down at the bowed disciple. He wanted to scold him harshly, but alienating the ones who'd finally picked up their swords again would ruin the momentum. Still, his displeasure was hard to contain.
Beguiled by some demonic trash novel...
Muryangsubul. He chanted to calm himself as his disciple kept his head low.
“Forgive me, Master. But I...”
“Enough.”
Hyeonseongja's voice was gruff. When the disciple had presented the tattered book, he'd nearly ignited it in samadhi flames—but spared it for his face. Now, as the boy opened his mouth again, it was torture holding back the heretical words unfit for a Taoist.
Separate from his rising anger, a strange curiosity gnawed at him.
Heh heh, what power does this trash hold...?
The disciples training passionately was good. But crediting this rubbish? Unacceptable. If he hadn't probed the elders about this "Jin-un" the disciples kept praising, he might not have known it circulated in the sect. His cheeks trembled with rage.
Muryangsubul, muryangsubul...
Pushing down impure thoughts, Hyeonseongja spoke.
“Leave.”
“Master.”
“Go on.”
At the gentle rebuke, the disciple departed. Hyeonseongja sighed deeply. The book before him tainted Wudang's ethos—it should burn. But first, he had to know what it was. Curiosity, masked as duty, guided his hand.
“If it's truly demonic trash, burn it at once.”
Resolved, he opened the pages. His gaze plunged into Wudang Sword Hero.
“What is martial prowess?”
The book hurled that question at readers from the start.
“Hm...”
Moving to the next line, Hyeonseongja's eyes trembled slightly. As Jin-un's tale unfolded—a Wudang disciple forsaking righteousness for rogue ways—his body shook. Fury at using mighty Wudang as fodder for trash fiction. Yet the gripping plot held him fast, self-loathing rising for not putting it down.
Even faint disgust at himself for pulling an all-nighter over such drivel reared up.
“Not trash, but a wondrous tome.”
He could judge it no other way. Jin-un's bold, heroic saga—fit as a model for Central Plains warriors—ignited fire even in this aging Taoist's heart. No wonder the hot-blooded youths were enthralled.
“Heh heh heh...”
Hyeonseongja set down volume 1 of Wudang Sword Hero. He needed to trace its origins. If it came from outside, the Finance Pavilion Master would know. Tucking the precious book away, he left his quarters.
“Did I hear that wrong?”
Baek Su-gyeong stared at the two Taoists—one tall, one short—in utter disbelief.
Three months ago, he'd handed So Ssaang-a a manuscript copy of Wudang Sword Hero volume 1 for promotion. Today, these mysterious Taoists had shown up unannounced. So Ssaang-a hadn't mentioned visitors like this. He'd relaxed, assuming Wudang hadn't heard yet.
“No, you didn't.”
“Jeongjin of Wudang.”
“Jeongu of Wudang. Muryangsubul.”
Before the two men claiming Wudang affiliation—swords at their waists, no less—Baek Su-gyeong steadied his pounding heart. They'd come straight to Baekun Seogwan, backdrop of Wudang Sword Hero.
How could he not panic?
“What brings two esteemed Wudang Taoists to this humble bookstore...?”
“Well...”
Jeongjin and Jeongu exchanged glances, faces troubled as if unsure how to broach it. The taller Jeongu scratched his cheek and spoke.
“We wanted to know when volume 2 of Wudang Sword Hero comes out.”
“Pardon?”
What nonsense was this? They'd come to punish him, right?
“To judge me for sullying Wudang's name?”
“Nothing like that! Reading it taught us true heroism!”
The shorter Jeongjin erupted passionately. Baek Su-gyeong was dumbfounded.
“Jeongjin, calm down.”
“Senior Brother.”
“This is the author himself. Mind your manners.”
Baek Su-gyeong was floored. It'd only been three months. So Ssaang-a had picked up more copies midway, but Wudang already? She'd said it was selling like hotcakes, hands too busy copying—but he'd doubted it.
Jeongjin bowed politely.
“Forgive us, but might we have the honor of your esteemed name?”
“No great name to speak of.”
Honestly, it was overwhelming. Hugely so!
What the hell is happening?
It was just a novel written in a fit of pique. Disappointed by a jianghu lacking true heroes, he'd penned it—and now it had reached Wudang, dragging disciples all the way to Wuan? Butterfly effect? This was a butterfly typhoon. No, a natural disaster!
“Perhaps a pen name...?”
Jeongu pulled out a pristine copy of volume 1. Clearly a manuscript, since Baek kept the original. No name listed, yet they'd tracked him down. The jianghu was terrifying.
Feeling cold sweat trickle down his back, Baek Su-gyeong forced an awkward smile.
“Su-gyeong.”