Master's Grace (5)
Has there ever been anything I've truly thrown myself into without a shred of regret? Probably not. As far back as my memories allowed, there wasn't a single moment I could claim I'd given it my all. I'd grown so weary of constant comparisons that I'd clipped my own wings.
"Master, I..."
"If you'd truly poured everything in without regrets, I could understand you giving up. But from what I see, that doesn't seem to be the case."
Yi Jeon-hwi fell silent.
"Accept what Namgung So-jeo, Gal So-jeo, and So Danju are teaching you. Make it your own to the best of your ability. That's the first step."
"Will that... even work?"
"If you shrink back in fear without even trying, nothing will change."
Baek Su-gyeong tilted his cup while gazing at Yi Jeon-hwi.
"I had no talent for martial arts. Nothing at all. At least you're better off than I was, aren't you, Young Master A-hwi?"
Baek Su-gyeong and Yi Jeon-hwi were in vastly different situations. Yi Jeon-hwi, born the second son of the Yongmun family with every advantage laid out before him, had despaired and refused to move forward. Baek Su-gyeong, a lone soul dropped into the Central Plains, dreaming of becoming a murim warrior—yet unable to achieve even that. Their positions couldn't have been more different.
"I'll just open the door for you. Young Master A-hwi, spend this winter thinking it over seriously. Ask yourself if you've truly put in enough effort to convince yourself."
With that, Baek Su-gyeong set down his cup.
"Forget that for now and drink up. Taking a day off won't hurt. Rest well tomorrow. It'll get tough again the day after."
"Master..."
"The food's getting cold."
Yi Jeon-hwi bowed his head at Baek Su-gyeong's words as he pretended nothing was amiss and picked up his chopsticks. Only the light clack of utensils passed between them. Luoyang's night deepened.
After that, Yi Jeon-hwi shared many more stories with Baek Su-gyeong. With each round of drinks, the tangled knot of inferiority he'd harbored unraveled like a ball of yarn coming loose. Empty white porcelain bottles rolled messily across the table. Yi Jeon-hwi slumped face-first onto the drinking table, mumbling with a slurred tongue.
"Do you... do you know how hard it's been for meee? Yessh~? Even with all my crazy bullshit, you still..."
"You're quite drunk."
"Heh, hehehe. So what? This Yi Jeon-hwi won't lose to a little booze!"
Yi Jeon-hwi grabbed another cup and poured it straight down his throat, as if determined to vomit out every pent-up emotion. It was binge drinking at its finest.
Baek Su-gyeong watched him. Outwardly fine, but inwardly shattered—a scion of a prestigious house. Yet he hadn't crossed any unforgivable lines, holding to a reasonable boundary. That alone revealed Yi Jeon-hwi's true nature.
The weight on his shoulders must have been that heavy.
Baek Su-gyeong left Yi Jeon-hwi alone as he buried his face and chuckled. He'd been clutching those emotions for so long, letting them scorch his insides black. For now, at least, it was right to let him be.
"...Strange."
Wasn't the bizarre pressure of the entire Central Plains watching his brushstrokes much the same as what he felt? At least Baek Su-gyeong took pride in his writing.
Yi Jeon-hwi had grown up surrounded by his grandmother who shielded him, his father who disapproved yet tried to mold him into someone useful, and others who only compared him to his siblings. The stress piled up must have been immense.
"Urrrp~."
After his drunken rambling, he now slept like a child, face planted on the table. He must have been exhausted. Baek Su-gyeong sat alone, tilting his cup with a smile.
"If he hasn't crossed the line, there's still a way back..."
Yi Jeon-hwi had mimicked the rowdy ways he'd learned, but never gone too far. If he'd habitually killed or robbed as a matter of course, Baek Su-gyeong wouldn't have taken him back. But he hadn't.
Sure, consorting with ruffians had tarnished the Yongmun name, but that was something Yi Jeon-hwi could fix in time.
Baek Su-gyeong's eyes softened with faint nostalgia as he poured Chukyeopcheong into his cup.
"Come to think of it, he loved the finer things."
From childhood, Yi Jeon-hwi had excelled at the qin. He played the flute masterfully too, handling all sorts of instruments with deep musical insight. Why had he ignored that?
"My thinking was too narrow."
Had he been trapped by the prejudice that the Yongmun family dabbled in every path? He'd unconsciously assumed it was a three-way choice: official, merchant, or warrior seeking fame. He'd overlooked what Yi Jeon-hwi loved most since boyhood.
Am I even qualified as a master?
"What a fool..."
Of course, that didn't mean stopping the lessons now. He'd just change the approach—for Yi Jeon-hwi's sake.
"If he has something he loves, teaching that is my duty."
With his resolve firm, Baek Su-gyeong lifted his cup. The moon high in the sky gazed down like a flower in full bloom, smiling upon him.
Time flowed on, bringing December. The winds bearable through November now bit with icy chill, forcing even Baek Su-gyeong—acclimated to Luoyang's cold—to bundle up in the winter clothes Yi Jeon-hyo had prepared. Lingering snow blanketed the pavilions' roofs in white, a familiar sight. Streets swept bare of snow hardened into ice under footprints, sliced by razor-sharp gusts.
"...It's getting so cold now that 'chilly' doesn't even cut it."
Baek Su-gyeong rubbed his goosebumped arms while closing the window left open for ventilation. The cold was so fierce that even a crack let it seep in like frostbite. Still, he needed fresh air to focus while writing, so he couldn't keep it shut entirely. A habit from his modern days lingered.
Gal Ye-ryeong, trimming her nails, spoke up.
"Why don't you learn some qigong, Teacher Baek?"
"No thanks. I told you before."
"...Tch."
"If you're scheming to drag Teacher into the Myeongwang Society, give it up."
Gal Ye-ryeong snorted at Namgung Som-in's sharp tone.
"Wasn't planning to."
"Sure."
"Guild leader, today's when volume 8..."
Baek Su-gyeong nodded at So Ssaang-a's words.
"Right, volume 8 hits the streets today. What do you think?"
"I'd give it high marks for Jinwoon's first real crisis. And I thought Gucheon Bigung would be a one-off villain, so that was a fresh surprise..."
"What? You read the whole thing already?"
"So Danju-nim, that's cheating."
So Ssaang-a flashed a toothy grin at Gal Ye-ryeong and Namgung Som-in's reactions.
"It's a perk of running the distribution guild, right?"
"Don't spoil it all—that kills the fun. Leave some joy for those who haven't read it. That's consideration."
"Yes, Guild Leader."
Turning from So Ssaang-a, Gal Ye-ryeong propped her chin.
"By the way, why teach that wastrel young master music, Teacher Baek?"
"It came to me what Young Master A-hwi loved."
A question mark seemed to float over Gal Ye-ryeong's head at his words. Baek Su-gyeong chuckled.
"Young Master A-hwi handled instruments masterfully from childhood. He was more sincere about music than anything. Back when I taught him, I was like a machine just doing the assigned tasks, so I ignored it."
He hadn't forbidden it, though. He'd just piled on homework bombs if Yi Jeon-hwi neglected duties for his passions.
Baek Su-gyeong stroked the table.
"Looking back now, maybe the environment broke him. Can't help thinking that."
"Environment...?"
"Born into the Yongmun family, forced to choose."
Doubt flickered across Gal Ye-ryeong and Namgung Som-in's faces at Baek Su-gyeong's words.
"Official, merchant, or warrior chasing fame. I thought those were the only paths. I fell into the same prejudice."
"Teacher..."
"That's why I changed the method."
Lately, Namgung Som-in and Gal Ye-ryeong weren't teaching swordsmanship or qigong anymore. They'd shifted to calligraphy and music, dividing tasks by their strengths. Baek Su-gyeong planned to adjust what he taught too.
"I'm thinking of teaching Young Master A-hwi how to write."
"Guild Leader, writing...?"
Baek Su-gyeong smiled at So Ssaang-a's cautious question.
"Who knows? Maybe I'll get another author to succeed me. Just trying it out."
Winter's arrival blanketed the world in white snow—a law of nature. Even Xianyue, Wudang Mountain's formal name, was no exception. Peaks shrouded in pristine white gleamed like candle flames tipped with molten wax under the sun.
Wudang's highest summit, Cheonjubong—pillar holding up the heavens—was where the disciples gathered. Past Sangcheongjeon, the sect leader's residence, lay Okcheonggung and Taecheongwan. At the peak's end, clouds spread like a sea, welcoming visitors.
On a broad rock before Cheonjuam, a small hermitage, sat Cheongmyeong in meditation, long hair unbound.
"──Hoo."
Snow piled softly on his shoulders amid the blizzard, yet he hadn't stirred. Cheongmyeong opened his eyes. Exhaling white breath, he brushed off the snow. Despite his youth, his profound inner energy kept his shoulders dry—no meltwater.
Blinking, he gathered his thoughts.
"Tricky. The martial arts from Sword Hero Chronicles."
Having embodied Samcheong Mugyeok Geomhye and Samnyeong Mugyeok Jingi, even he struggled with Jinwoon's new Hyeoncheon Mugyeok Singong and Jinmu's Thirteen Swords. A Wudang genius or not, assembling techniques from scratch without foundation was tough.
The elders supported him fully, but the pressure weighed heavy.
"Maybe visit Master Su-gyeong after all."
Baek Su-gyeong would understand his struggles. With a short sigh, Cheongmyeong shed his outer robe. His top slipped, revealing bandages tightly wound around his torso—clean, no blood or pus.
Changing from days-old clothes into fresh ones, his body shivered in the chill air. His gaze fell on Wudang Sword Hero volume 8, enshrined on the rush mat like a sacred vessel.
A perfect excuse came to mind.
"The Yongmun Conference is soon in Luoyang..."
He could meet Baek Su-gyeong there. Resolve set, Cheongmyeong dressed swiftly.
"Time to see the Elder."
Tucking volume 8 securely into his robes, he bound his hair neatly, straightened his attire, and stepped from Cheonjuam. Fat snowflakes fell like those blanketing Luoyang over Wudang Mountain.