A Sparring Match and the Taste of Nuclear Fists
The Murim Alliance Leader’s daily routine was busy. At least, that was what the Murim Alliance Leader himself believed. The people around him had slightly different thoughts. All the leader ever did was greet guests, eat meals with them, drink tea, or spend the entire day chatting while nibbling on snacks. Once the sun set and the visitors left, he would only pretend to work a little, stamping documents on bamboo slips with loud thunks. So how terribly harsh that must be. Jo Hyeon-ryang spent all his working hours entertaining guests he never wanted, and only after dinner could he finally look at bamboo slips during his precious personal time. Now, with the Murim Competition just four days away—three days once tonight passed—he told himself that once the event was over, things would quiet down again. Then he could finally devote himself fully to the training he had postponed while preparing for the competition. Yes, he would go into closed-door training for a whole month. The competition would be finished, so even the Alliance Leader should get some training in. The Murim Alliance Leader was a martial artist too, damn it! A martial artist!
With dreams of closed-door training after the event dancing in his head, Jo Hyeon-ryang was just stepping out of the Alliance Leader’s Hall, his stomach bloated from drinking tea all day, when a voice called out behind him.
A chill ran down Jo Hyeon-ryang’s spine. A person’s voice didn’t change much with age, unless they were one of those lazy bastards who rolled and smoked hemp leaves all day. And he recognized this voice immediately.
“Surin? Didn’t you say you weren’t coming? I’m sure that kid Seomun Cheong told me…”
“I wasn’t planning to. It felt ridiculous for an old hag to butt in. I was still debating, so I snuck in like this.”
Jo Hyeon-ryang’s face twisted. “Goddamn it. Everyone else uses the ‘it’d be ridiculous’ excuse to stretch their legs and rest at home! But I’m the only one stuck doing this Alliance Leader bullshit, still slaving away even in my old age.”
Seomun Su-rin gave a cold laugh. “Hmph. You brought this on yourself. Did you really not see this coming?”
Jo Hyeon-ryang felt deeply wronged. This was all because of—! But he couldn’t possibly say that he had stepped up as a representative to stop her from becoming the leader. Then, as he looked at Seomun Su-rin’s face, he flinched in surprise. Somehow, this woman looked even younger. For a martial artist who had reached the Profound Realm, it was possible to age in reverse, which meant she had achieved a great breakthrough.
“Are you already staring at the peak of the Profound Realm?”
It was his way of asking if she had reached the mid stage. The last he had heard, she was at the early stage—twenty years ago, before she had shut herself away in the Goddess Sect and refused to see anyone.
“It’s been about seven years. After reaching this level, I can’t help but think that bald monk Muhak is truly incredible. At this point, each step feels like an entirely different mountain. Every single stride is blocked by a sheer cliff. I don’t think I can climb any higher. This must be my limit. In the end, I simply wasn’t talented enough.”
Seomun Su-rin’s expression turned bitter. Calling him “that bald monk Muhak” referred to the current First Under Heaven, the Divine Monk of Shaolin Temple.
“Hmm. So that’s why you raised a disciple? Yes, I’ve seen the child myself. I hear she’s been dragging all her close friends together and training like a madwoman from dawn till dusk these days. Where on earth did you pick up such a diligent child? I never knew you had a talent for raising disciples.”
“Really? That child?”
Seomun Su-rin’s lips curved into a gentle smile. Jo Hyeon-ryang’s expression, by contrast, could only be described as equal parts envy and annoyance. In one’s later years, the only things worth bragging about were one’s children or disciples. It couldn’t be helped.
“By any chance, do you have some secret method for fixing their character? My great-grandson has gone completely insane over women and is running wild. No matter how much I scold him, it does no good. But that Seomun Cheong child of yours seemed remarkably well-behaved.”
“She was a good-hearted child from the start. Her sense of chivalry was outstanding too. Even when facing two opponents far stronger than herself, she boldly cried out against injustice. That’s why I took her in.”
“Hmm. Still, there must be some trick to it.”
“Whether then or now, the best method is to give them a good, painful scolding if they refuse to listen.”
Jo Hyeon-ryang snorted. It seemed she had mellowed a bit with age. In the past, the Female Mad Dog would never have phrased it so mildly. She used to say that if someone wouldn’t listen, you just had to beat them half to death until they did. Now she was putting on airs, talking about “giving them a good scolding.” And the usual violent rhetoric that followed her around—how a man needed to be beaten once every three days to come to his senses—seemed to have been washed away considerably. Perhaps that was precisely why her realm had advanced.
“Anyway, what brings you all the way here? From what you said earlier, I thought you had no intention of showing your face.”
“I was thinking of submitting an agenda for the Murim Competition. Yes, exactly how long are we supposed to tolerate those Black Point bastards? They’re vermin that disturb the world. Shouldn’t the Murim Alliance step forward and clean them up?”
“……Why bring up the Black Point all of a sudden?”
Jo Hyeon-ryang’s face soured. It was true that the Black Point bastards committed all sorts of evil deeds, but asking whether they needed to be eradicated was a bit ambiguous. He couldn’t defend their involvement in human trafficking, stolen goods, or the distribution of human flesh, but at least when all the bugs gathered in one place, they didn’t spread everywhere else. They were also the only open channel where one could openly purchase items banned by the government.
“Those lunatics apparently put a bounty on my disciple. Ten thousand strings of cash, was it?”
“……Ugh.”
Jo Hyeon-ryang let out an uncomfortable groan. Why the hell would those crazy bastards poke a sleeping mad dog? he thought. However, he couldn’t decide the agenda for the Murim Competition on his own, and honestly, the topic didn’t particularly appeal to him. So instead of giving a clear answer, he changed the subject.
“Let’s talk about that at the Murim Competition. I’ve given your disciple the entire Mucheon Pavilion, so why don’t you two spend some quality time together as master and disciple? There’s no need to bring up such grim topics right before the event, is there?”
----
Cheong’s injuries had now stopped bleeding completely. All that remained was a lingering, tingling pain. She claimed it had more or less healed, but judging by the severity of the wound, it looked like it had only been about two weeks since the injury. A body that transcended human limits naturally included transcendent recovery speed. Still, since Dang Nan-a—as a physician—said it was too early to be reassured, there was no harm in observing her for a little longer.
But for Cheong, it was nothing but harm. For the past several days, everything that had touched her lips was honeyed goat milk. When she grew tired of that, it became honeyed water. When she grew tired of that, it became honeyed milk. That damn honey! Now even the smell alone was torture.
So the meal she finally received after six full days was truly a sea of emotional tears—a grand feast among feasts. Even though it was only porridge.
“What? Is it really that delicious? Your eyes are bloodshot.”
Cheong nodded vigorously. As expected, a meal needed to have saltiness. Sweet, spicy, savory—those flavors should only be added after a solid salty base. Meals had to be salty! They must not be sweet!
On top of that, after so long without chewing anything, she finally understood with her whole heart why teeth were considered one of the five blessings of life. The porridge was made by boiling dried seafood for a long time until the rice grains practically melted, then diluted further with extra water. Yet to Cheong, it was pure paradise.
And once her heart started pounding again, she was allowed to resume sparring—on the condition that she took proper rest afterward. These days, the others sparred and played among themselves even without her, so Cheong, who had been quietly peeling radishes in the corner, felt a subtle sense of alienation and loneliness.
Besides, her carving hadn’t progressed at all! This was seriously impossible to keep doing! There needed to be at least some visible progress to make it fun. The status window could raise physical abilities, but it couldn’t do anything about mental aspects. Therefore, Cheong’s catastrophic artistic sense remained exactly the same. No matter how outstanding one’s physical senses were, they were merely tools. Having good tools didn’t mean anyone could become an artist. It was a matter of innate talent.
Of course, since the total sum of talents wasn’t equal, there were those filthy cases where someone good at one thing was also good at others. In the myths of the Central Plains, this was distinguished between people carefully molded by the goddess and those casually slapped together. The Chinese goddess of human creation, Nüwa, was said to have carefully sculpted each person in her own image, making them beautiful one by one. But after making them one, two, three at a time, she realized this was no ordinary task. “How long will it take to fill the world if I make them one by one like this? I can’t do it. It’s too much of a hassle.” So she took a vine, dipped it in mud, and wildly swung it around. The mud that splattered everywhere turned into people. Unfortunately, none of the mud that splattered onto Cheong contained any aesthetic components whatsoever. That was why, despite her outstanding physical senses, she was only good at producing culinary garbage.
After wasting perfectly good radishes for so long, the reins had finally come off. Cheong was not the type to hold back just because her tongue stung a little. She rampaged about, rolling, flying, getting beaten, pretending to rest a bit when Dang Nan-a nagged her, then charging in again. She barely maintained a one-in-ten win rate while thoroughly stretching her body for the first time in a while.
On her way to the bathhouse, she gave Cheon Yuhak a polite bow, returned refreshed and clean, and the moment she flung open the door to the guest hall—
A guest who had entered without notice and was sitting boldly in the center turned to look at her. Cheong’s face bloomed like a fully opened flower.
“Ah! Master!”
Without even taking off her shoes, Cheong dashed forward and leaped straight into her arms. She clung tightly to her master’s embrace, showing no sign of letting go.
“Goodness. Look at you. A grown woman with no sense of shame—what is this disgraceful behavior?”
Even as Seomun Su-rin spoke sternly, the corners of her eyes were crinkled with delight.
“Hehe. I missed you.”
“Hmph. How long has it even been since I left?”
Seomun Su-rin, who had been stroking her disciple’s head, suddenly tilted her head in confusion. Was this child always this affectionate? Well, she had always been affectionate, a disciple who charged at her master without any hesitation. But she didn’t remember her acting this spoiled before. She had always been a fearless disciple who didn’t know how to be reserved around her master, yet there had been a subtle reluctance whenever their bodies touched. Or so she thought.
However, Seomun Su-rin brushed it off as unimportant. Perhaps a child who had grown up alone had only now learned how to receive affection and was slowly opening up.
“I heard you’ve been extremely diligent in your training. Have you achieved anything?”
“Um. Well, lately I’ve been training in the profundities of the sword.”
“Excellent! Very good. Your learning has always leaned somewhat toward the river. So, did you obtain the Taiji Wisdom Sword?”
“Not the Taiji Wisdom Sword yet. Ah, but I somehow ended up learning the Emperor’s Sword Form.”
“Oh? Did you manage to learn something from it?”
“Well, you see……”
It was a strange conversation. Picking up someone else’s secret technique, “not yet,” “somehow”—if anyone else heard it, they would turn pale with shock. It was right then that Seomun Su-rin, who had gradually been focusing on her disciple’s mouth, finally realized her eyes were not mistaken.
“……Disciple? Your mouth… your tongue… what on earth happened to it? Heavens, what is this?”
“Ah. This… I got a little cut. While training. Oh right, do you know about that sword training? It’s for comprehending the profundities of the sword, and……”
Forgetting Dang Nan-a’s warning, Cheong chattered away excitedly. She explained the advice from the master suspected to be the Divine Thief, how diligently she had trained, and the unfortunate accident that occurred—
Thwack!!
“Aaaack!!”
Cheong clutched her head and rolled at high speed across the highest-grade carpet of the highest-grade room in Mucheon Pavilion. Aaaargh, it really, really hurts! Even when her tongue had been cut off, it hadn’t hurt this much. Yet despite the pain, she had still felt too embarrassed to cover her mouth and hang her head. But the moment she received Seomun Su-rin’s nuclear weapon, all other thoughts vanished. Only pain remained, sweeping away all miscellaneous thoughts. It was practically the realm of nirvana.
“Ughhh, this really, really hurts……”
A single teardrop finally rolled down from the corner of Cheong’s eye. It was the only moment when the man Seomun Cheong ever shed tears.
“To brag in front of your master about ruining your tongue…!”
The veins on Seomun Su-rin’s forehead were still bulging.
“Sigh. Stick your tongue out and let me see.”
“Yes……”
Cheong obediently stuck out her tongue. Or at least, she tried to be obedient. Sticking her tongue out in front of her master didn’t exactly create the polite image she intended.
“Goodness, what is this? With it like this… Hmm. Can you move it properly? Your pronunciation doesn’t seem off. Can you still taste things? You, who loves food so much.”
Seomun Su-rin’s voice was filled with worry. Cheong reassured her master with a bright, cheerful smile.
“You don’t have to worry. I heard from Nan-a that the tongue muscles are originally bundled separately, so there’s no problem even if it looks like this. Oh, right! I can move it separately too. Look!”
Cheong wiggled her tongue—which was split about an inch at the tip—in an utterly obscene manner. It was obviously not something to show one’s master. Especially not to a master whose forehead veins had yet to subside. It was a talent perfectly designed to earn a beating.
Thwack!!!!
Cheong froze like a wooden statue with her mouth wide open. It was the moment she learned that there was pain beyond pain, and that when it truly hurt, one didn’t even have the presence of mind to roll around on the floor.