Stealing a Disciple’s Heart

Let’s have a spar. If you’ve set your mind on stealing something, then actually pulling it off is what qualifies you as the Shintu. But how exactly does one steal another person’s disciple? Of course, it could be done physically. Kidnap the kid, lock them up in a cave halfway up a sheer cliff in some remote mountain valley so they can’t escape, and then declare with a creepy giggle, “Hee hee, you’re not leaving until you’ve learned everything.” There was that method.

However, first of all, the target would need to be weak enough to actually get kidnapped. Having already seen that the girl’s footwork had reached an advanced level, there was clearly no way to stop her from running away. Second, if it were a boy, he might eventually open his heart and fall for the two characters of Shintu, but if you did that to a woman, you wouldn’t become the Divine Thief—you’d become the Pervert Thief and end up as a public enemy of the entire Murim world. You might somehow manage to pass on the martial arts, but the long and noble lineage of the Shintu would be severed right then and there.

Therefore, what needed to be stolen wasn’t the disciple’s body, but the disciple’s heart. That meant he had to steal the heart of a still-young child and make her serve two masters. After all, even the previous generation’s Shintu was currently pretending to be an elder of a famous righteous sect whose name everyone knew, acting all dignified as if he had no shady past. Being a Shintu was not a full-time job—it was a side gig!

With that realization, the Shintu thought back to his own master. What had his master said when he tried to lure him in?

Because of his background, the moment the sword-carrying Taoist mentioned martial arts, he had immediately followed him. Thinking back on it now, it was completely useless advice.

Hmm…… Then how should he lure her?

The Shintu blinked his eyes.

It was the fifteenth day of the fifth lunar month. With the Murim Alliance Grand Assembly just ten days away, the preliminaries for the Hidden Dragon Tournament began first.

Of course, this had absolutely nothing to do with Cheong. That was because the truly outstanding talents whose skills had already been verified skipped the preliminaries and went straight into the main bracket. The preliminaries were nothing more than a stage where disciples from minor sects or still-unknown young newcomers fought over the few remaining spots in the main tournament.

Participants from the Nine Great Schools and the Ten Great Clans started in the main bracket by default, along with those the Murim Alliance had judged did not require preliminary screening. In truth, it was purely a matter of connections.

But there was no need to sigh and lament, “Ah, the Murim Alliance really is rotten to the core.” It was actually better this way for the preliminary participants as well. Imagine stepping onto the stage full of ambition and desire for fame, only to find a Shaolin disciple standing across from you. How unfair and heartbreaking would that be?

After all, simply reaching the main bracket would earn you a fairly decent nickname, so it was far better to avoid the dazzling rising stars with their incredible new techniques and face opponents of similar caliber instead. And for the privileged ones who had already secured their main bracket spots, it was also satisfying. They could observe the dangerous individuals in advance and prevent the embarrassment of losing to an unknown fighter right from the start.

Just like right now.

“I hear he uses a rather unusual style called Ground Tang Fist.”

“Ground Tang Fist? You mean the one where you lie on the ground, Jegal?”

At Cheong’s official request for commentary, Jegal Ihyeon launched into an excited explanation.

“Ah, Sister! To explain what Ground Tang Fist is, I must first begin with the fundamental nature of martial arts……”

The basic characteristic of martial arts was that it began with footwork, with the shifting of one’s center of gravity from the soles of the feet ultimately exploding into destructive power at the tip of one’s weapon. That was why martial arts were fundamentally performed while standing. One could even call it standing-style combat.

Therefore, when a martial artist was knocked down, the standard responses were either to stand up immediately or to roll away to create distance before getting back up. In contrast, martial arts classified as Ground Tang Fist were premised on lying on the ground. They were the so-called lying-style techniques.

Since martial arts were created to fight people, techniques for attacking an opponent who was lying on the ground were surprisingly rare in almost every style. Moreover, because Ground Tang Fist techniques kept the center of gravity firmly attached to the ground and targeted the area below the opponent’s waist, they were not easy to deal with.

“Then isn’t it a really powerful technique? My master never taught me anything like that. He only said, ‘There are guys who fight while lying down, so be careful.’”

“Well. First of all, almost no one learns it. It doesn’t look very good from the outside. You know how important face is in the Murim. In a world where people mock you for rolling on the ground even once and call you a donkey, it’s only natural. That’s why Ground Tang Fist is ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠also called Dog Fist.”

The same character used in the Dog Beating Staff Technique—the gou character that means dog. Dog Fist literally meant a martial art only dogs would use.

“Hmph. Who cares about face when it’s life or death? Everyone talks big but rolls around just fine when they need to. Ah, what are the current odds here? Four to seven on Young Hero Ma? Then give me one silver coin on Young Hero Ma.”

A vendor selling victory and defeat tickets happened to walk by, so Cheong smoothly completed her purchase as if water were flowing. Victory and defeat tickets were a form of gambling on the outcomes of matches. You paid money to buy a ticket, and if you guessed correctly, you received a payout based on the odds.

Since this primitive, uncivilized ancient Central Plains had not yet established laws regarding gambling and lottery tickets, merchant guilds openly bid to run official gambling rings before major tournaments like this.

Cheong took the ticket and asked, “Four to seven? That seems like they’re giving him really low odds. Is Ground Tang Fist actually that threatening?”

Paeng Daesan snorted. “I said it was threatening, not that it was powerful. But you’re betting on such low odds?”

“Reverse odds are usually the real sure thing, you know? In the end, a match is either win or lose, right? It’s fifty-fifty. If you win on a fifty-fifty match, you get more than three silver coins, and if you lose, you only lose one. So isn’t the person who doesn’t bet the one losing out?”

“……? How is that fifty-fif—”

“Oh, it’s starting.”

Paeng Daesan tried ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to argue back, but the loud ding ding ding of the gong signaled the start of the match, and he missed his chance.

The matchup was between Young Hero Ma, who used Ground Tang Fist, and Young Hero Seong, a disciple of the Huacheon Sect from somewhere in the Central Plains.

Young Hero Ma’s Ground Tang Fist looked far less ridiculous than expected. He mainly used kicking techniques rarely seen in martial arts, launching his body into the air, drawing his legs together, and delivering a clean, powerful kick. It was an excellent flying kick.

The moment Young Hero Seong staggered from taking a solid hit to the chest, Young Hero Ma landed on the ground using a falling technique, spun his lower body like a windmill, pushed himself up with both arms, and continued the assault with more kicks.

Whoa, breakdancing. Does this guy know how to groove?

Cheong swallowed her exclamation in her native tongue for the first time in a while.

“Hmm. It actually looks pretty cool, doesn’t it?”

“You think that looks cool?”

“I think it looks cool…… Oh, ooh.”

Cheong’s eyes sparkled as she watched Young Hero Ma’s performance—no, his Ground Tang Fist. To someone with a modern sensibility, it looked quite stylish. There were similar dance moves back home, and ground techniques existed in martial arts, so it didn’t feel awkward at all.

“It’s because you haven’t seen it performed properly yet.”

“Why? I think this level is pretty good—uh……”

Suddenly, Young Hero Ma’s movements changed completely. He spread both legs wide and planted them on the ground, but lowered his torso so his stomach was almost touching the floor. His limbs flailed in bizarre patterns, and the speed only made it look even stranger. He scurried across the ground like a bug, flipped over into a spider-like stance to target Seong’s shins and the backs of his knees, then spun like a swallow, kicking, hooking, and striking. The line between arm and leg usage had practically disappeared.

Honestly, it was a bit…… ugly.

“……Yeah. It’s a little much.”

“Of course it is.”

Paeng Daesan let out a short, knowing laugh as if to say I told you so. By now, many spectators were either bursting into laughter or sneering coldly. Especially the part where he kept his back glued to the ground, pushing forward rapidly with his legs while swinging his arms. It was a sight so unforgettable that one wondered when in their life they would ever see it again.

And finally, the match was decided. Young Hero Seong, defeated by such an unsightly martial art, couldn’t even lift his head. He left the stage with tears streaming down his face. Even though Young Hero Ma had won, it was hard to call it a proper victory after receiving so much ridicule.

Thus, the true winner was Seomun Cheong, who had turned one silver coin into four silver coins and seventy copper coins.

The final victor gave her impressions.

“But honestly, I don’t think I could beat him either. In a real fight I’d kill him instantly, though.”

Stuck to the ground like that, one strike from the Heavenly Demon’s Tyrannical Step could probably burst his internal organs. But if it was a spar where you had to subdue the opponent without injuring them, there was truly no good way to handle it.

“At first glance it looks complicated, but in the end, the areas he targets are limited, aren’t they? He tries to sweep the legs or push the back of the knee to knock you down. If you keep that in mind, he shouldn’t be an opponent you lack confidence against.”

“That’s correct, Sister. Many of those bizarre movements are merely meant to distract attention. If you observe carefully to distinguish the real from the fake until the end, he is not a difficult opponent for someone of your level.”

Cheong scratched her cheek.

“The thing is…… I’m a bit weak in that area.”

“Weak?”

“Ugh, do I really have to explain it? If someone gets under me, I literally can’t see them anymore, okay?”

At that, both Paeng Daesan’s and Jegal Ihyeon’s gazes instinctively shot toward one particular spot before they quickly put on awkward expressions and pretended to look at a distant mountain that wasn’t even there. Cheong’s blind spot beneath her feet was vastly larger than other people’s.

“Still, it’s good that I saw it in advance. If I’d been hit by it without knowing, I would’ve been completely helpless and lost. It was worth coming to watch. Are there any other matches I should check out?”

“I heard there are a few warriors who use unusual weapons. Chairs, abacuses, iron writing brushes. It would be good to see them at least once.”

“A chair? Like, the kind you sit on?”

“Yes. That kind of chair.”

“I can’t really imagine it.”

What Cheong was imagining was simply using a folding chair—which hadn’t even been invented in the Central Plains yet—to smack someone with it in a refreshing manner.

“Sister, even if they are unusual weapons, they aren’t anything special. They’re only tricky because people aren’t used to them. If they were truly powerful, wouldn’t they have become mainstream long ago?”

“That’s true. There’s a reason everyone uses swords.”

There was a reason martial artists mainly used swords and blades. Aside from the long spears and moon blades that couldn’t develop ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠properly due to interference from the government, any other unusual weapons were simply unusual and nothing more.

After returning to the Mucheon Pavilion and spending the rest of the day diligently sparring, when it was finally time to sleep after such a fulfilling day, Cheong then realized a critical fact.

The Boksinjeok had been stolen!

In place of the Boksinjeok, an unfamiliar lacquered wooden flute was neatly tucked into her waistband. When she pulled on the end that was sticking out, a letter written on thin silk ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was revealed.

“Hmm. I only just saw this now……”

The hour of the Rooster was roughly around six o’clock. And right now it was the end of the hour of the Pig, just before eleven at night, right before bed.

Since Cheong had no immediate use for the Boksinjeok, she had simply kept it tucked at her side like an accessory and paid it no attention. Only when she was about to set it down before sleeping did she realize that instead of the flute, some random other flute was in her hand.

What should she do? Should she go even now? But it was already very late. Since the letter said there was no ill intent, maybe they would contact her again in another way.

“Lady Seomun? Is something wrong?”

Gongson Yoye, who had been sparring with her all evening until now, called out to Cheong.

Since it had already left her hands, there was no point in stomping her feet and worrying about it. They would probably contact her again.

Having forcefully shaken off her worries, Cheong spoke in a carefree tone as if nothing had happened.

“It’s nothing. Aigoo, I trained so hard today that I’m already feeling super sleepy. Let’s go to bed, let’s go to bed.”

Incidentally, the Shintu continued to wait. Perhaps she was avoiding other people’s eyes and would come at night? He stayed up all night long.