The Limits of Evasion and the Warmth of Friendship

Seomun Cheong was not the type to hesitate once she made up her mind. To put it nicely, one could say she had excellent drive. To put it bluntly, she was impulsive, careless, and completely lacking in patience. That very night, she traded in three thousand points and devoured the Emperor's Sword Form, then raised both the highly cost-efficient Six-Star Wave-Treading Micro-Steps and its performance rating all the way to the twelfth level.

Whether that twelfth level actually meant anything, however, was another story. Originally, reaching the twelfth level—known as Great Completion—meant fully mastering a martial art and then completely melting it down into one's own unique style, perfecting a personal interpretation of its core principles. But all the Murim System Window could do was faithfully follow its original functions. Dump every technique into it and it hit ten stars. Unlock the hidden forms and it reached eleven. Grant it the unique effects each art possessed (usually a massive pile of stat bonuses) and it hit twelve.

Since it was the only twelfth-level technique in the world by Cheong's standards, it was less Great Completion and more like a cheat-sheet injection of memorized tricks. Still, the stat boosts had long since transcended human limits. At this point, her body was so sturdy that falling naked from a decent cliff would only leave her with a few scratches. She could brush herself off, grumble about how annoying it was, then casually ram her elbows into the rock face and climb right back up, feeling refreshed as if she'd just had a good workout. And even after transcending humanity, she kept getting stronger.

Honestly, at this stage one had to wonder if a human this strong even needed martial arts anymore. Maybe that was precisely why she remained stuck at the late Peak realm. Of course, Cheong might feel a bit wronged by that assessment. After learning so many incredible divine arts, how could she still be like this? But just because someone studied from the best verified textbooks didn't automatically make them an honor student. It was hard to reach enlightenment with third-rate trash manuals, but even the best textbooks didn't guarantee straight A's. In the end, it all came down to talent and attitude.

However, Cheong was a modern military service veteran and peerless beauty who thought the very concept of "martial studies" sounded ridiculous. She had started from zero and was only in her fourth year. Once next month passed, she would complete four full years, and the fact that her pure, unassisted comprehension had already caught up to the Peak realm was something that deserved endless praise and admiration. Especially considering she wasn't from any special forces unit and her only prior "martial arts" experience was stubbornly refusing to memorize even a single Taekwondo form during her military service. She had been an ordinary social science major, after all.

The swordsmanship of the Goddess Sect was elegant. Their founder was the Flame Emperor—one of the most ancient, mythical, and extremely conservative fathers in history. There was no way such a man would have taught his daughter a style that let her prance around like a wild boar. The Flame Radiance Self-Protection Sword, created by modeling his ideals, drew beautiful flowing arcs with even the slightest changes in its graceful swings. In the Murim System Window's grading, it was a gold-bordered technique. Even a plain gold border was enough to call it a supreme divine art.

When a Profound Realm master wielded such an advanced sword art at Great ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Completion, facing it was nothing short of a nightmare. Yet the version Seomun Su-rin had reinterpreted at Great Completion was not flashy. Instead, she had filled that empty space with the profound principles of the heavy sword. It was elegant and refined, yet carried a solid, unwavering power that made one's bones tremble.

The bladeless wooden training sword swept toward Cheong's waist with a soft, horrifying sword energy that was impossible to imagine coming from a practice weapon. The tip of the blade wavered up and down, capable of extending in either direction at any moment. It was as if a single sword was simultaneously striking at her head, torso, and legs.

At that moment, Cheong's body moved in a bizarre manner. She extended her arm in a wide swing while her feet danced lightly left and right. Then, like a formless ghost, she pierced straight through the sword's trajectory and reappeared five steps behind Seomun Su-rin.

Seomun Su-rin spun around gracefully and extended her sword in a precise, unhurried thrust that seemed to condense the entire flow into a single point. Cheong, startled, quickly moved again to avoid the strike aimed at her back. Leaving behind cheerful afterimages like scattered dots, she reappeared far to the west, standing with her back to her master.

Seomun Su-rin lowered her sword and looked at her disciple. Cheong scratched the back of her head with an awkward expression.

Seomun Su-rin nodded in agreement. They said that learning the world's greatest footwork meant one would never be defeated. In Cheong's case, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it seemed the technique was peerless at exactly that—never being defeated. While executing Wave-Treading Micro-Steps, one had to follow an exact sequence without even being able to breathe freely. The result was always appearing with one's back to the enemy in one of the sixty-four directional positions derived from the eight trigrams.

If one's foot direction deviated even slightly during the steps, the legs would tangle and one would tumble spectacularly. Countless attempts had been made to apply the footwork offensively, but they had all failed. This was simply the nature of a technique that was closer to a formation stepped out with the feet than pure movement arts.

Therefore, it was a footwork useful only for avoiding battle and escaping. But precisely because of that, wasn't it truly a supreme divine art? If one could flee with their body completely intact, then just as the description claimed, one would truly never be defeated.

Of course, it wasn't without weaknesses. Someone who properly understood formations could block all sixty-four transformations of the Eight Trigrams and Eight Palaces in advance. Even without that, it was vulnerable to techniques that filled the entire space or to blind, random swings that didn't rely on sight.

Seomun Su-rin's teaching style was generally like this. She would draw out as much of the martial arts Cheong already knew in her head as possible and open paths for her to develop them through application. As a result, Cheong's daily routine involved sparring diligently while the sun was up, rolling around the training ground, then eating dinner, resting a bit, and playing the flute for a while. Since everyone around her kept praising her, saying she was so good, so pretty, and the best, the flute—which she had never once played outside—had become a rather enjoyable hobby indoors.

After that, she would return to her room, light a lamp, open a book, and diligently copy it until late at night before finally going to bed. Even so, the special double-layered cotton quilt made by her senior martial sisters worked wonders. She would spread it on the floor, lie down at one end, grab the quilt, and roll herself up like a dumpling until she was tightly wrapped. In this way, the mat and quilt became one. The bottom was soft, and it blocked the wind from all sides with no gaps. Even in a drafty room with no windows or proper doors, a single quilt created a soft and cozy sleeping space.

Originally, Cheong was the type who couldn't sleep properly unless her face and limbs were sticking out of the blanket, but since a typhoon rather than a mere draft blew through her room, being a bit stuffy was preferable. There was also a positive effect ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that Cheong herself didn't realize. After sleeping in that rigid position for a few days, her wild sleeping habits gradually calmed down until she slept as still as a corpse.

The books she had copied piled up one by one until more than half were done. It felt like only yesterday that she had eaten her fill of mooncakes to celebrate the New Year, yet more than twenty days had already passed. The cold had now reached its peak. While her body's health remained unaffected, the plummeting perceived temperature made even Cheong's expression look forlorn.

At that moment, Dang Nan-a carefully broached the subject.

"Hey, Cheong. Um. So..."

"What?"

"I was thinking... maybe I could stay over at your place for a night? I've always wanted to sleep over at a friend's house..."

Ever since the incident at the Tang Clan where she had been caught groping Cheong's chest, Dang Nan-a had been firmly rejected every time she suggested sharing a bed. However, Cheong unexpectedly agreed without hesitation.

"Really? Then come by tonight."

"Huh? For real?"

"Of course. It's natural to want to sleep over at a friend's house once in a while."

A rare smile bloomed on Cheong's face as she answered. Dang Nan-a was momentarily stunned. What the—why is she so pretty...? It was understandable. The girl who was always shivering with a pitiful expression had suddenly shown a bright face after so long.

Having secured the promise, Dang Nan-a—whose intentions were unclear—took a short nap right after dinner and arrived at Cheong's thatched hut in peak condition. But... was this a house or an abandoned ruin? There wasn't a single window or door panel. The only furnishings were a desk, a pile of scriptures stacked in the corner, and a bundle of clothes roughly tied together.

Cheong, who had been diligently transcribing scriptures today as well, greeted Dang Nan-a with a somewhat wicked smile.

"I don't really have anything to offer. Want some cold water?"

"On a day this cold...?"

"I was too lazy to gather firewood, so there isn't any."

Cheong's state of undress was simply the result of Seomun Su-rin's pettiness. In truth, lighting a fire wouldn't have been a problem. In the Goddess Sect, the principle was that disciples gathered their own firewood. The rule wasn't to cut down just any tree, but to descend the mountain all the way to the gate at the base and bring the wood back up. Most of the sightings of fairies on Wushan were actually disciples who had briefly gone down to gather firewood.

Going all the way down the mountain just to cut wood and come back was annoying, and as someone who received a certain level of respect, she couldn't steal the disciples' kindling. Besides, if she got cold, she could just roll up in the quilt. Problem solved.

"Come on, come on. I'm sleepy. Let's sleep."

Cheong said this as she spread out the quilt. It was the only one she had.

"Huh? That's all? What about pillows...?"

"Don't have any of those. It's a bit shabby, I know."

They lay down side by side. Cheong pulled the remaining half of the quilt over them.

"...C-cold."

"What do you mean, cold? You're wearing warm clothes."

"N-no, th-this is... s-so c-cold..."

Dang Nan-a shivered violently. It was freezing! This was a space with no warmth whatsoever in the middle of winter, nothing but a roof and huge holes for the wind to blow through. If she stuck her head out, it was so cold her eyes hurt as if they would freeze. If she pulled her head inside the quilt, she couldn't see anything, it was stuffy, and she couldn't breathe. And the inside of the quilt wasn't particularly warm either.

If one could smile brightly and endure the freezing wind of a winter night on a mountain peak with just one quilt, that person wouldn't be Dang Nan-a, the Understanding Poison Flower. It would have to be someone like the Ice Flower of the North Sea.

"Th-this... i-isn't... w-working..."

"Then there's nothing we can do. I can't even see you off like this."

And so Dang Nan-a fled, trembling. So that's why she agreed so easily. But was it really okay to live like that? Did she have North Sea blood in her veins or something? Fine. This time, my preparations were insufficient.

Dang Nan-a cleanly admitted defeat. However, the famous Wicked Flower of Sichuan was nothing if not persistent. She resolved to prepare properly next time—wearing four thick layers, a hat with fur that covered her ears, and even a face mask. Of course, that might allow her to withstand the cold. But then she wouldn't look like someone visiting a friend's house. She'd look like a bandit going to rob one.

---

Seomun Su-rin received a single letter. It was stamped with the official seal of the Murim Alliance. The letter, which began with To the respected Senior Seomun, reported various pieces of news from the gangho. It spoke of the Demonic Cult suddenly demanding a one-sided reconciliation, the annihilation of the Jinju Eon Clan, and the rampaging of bizarre new demonic bandit groups. All of it was messy, and none of it was good. At the end, it reached its conclusion.