The Thrill of Low-Level Fights and a Palm to the Crown
The schedule called for the twenty-four warriors who had advanced through the Hidden Dragon Tournament preliminaries, along with the forty who entered the main bracket on the recommendations of the Righteous Faction, for a total of sixty-four competitors in the first round. Today featured the opening matches for Groups One and Three—which meant standing around in the waiting area with no idea when their turn might arrive. Cheong’s plan to track down Cheon Yuhak, complain that the side effects were far too severe, and ask if there was another method got shoved far into the background. Damn it, I don’t even know where Master is. She had heard him muttering something about selling tonics, so he was probably at the market, but once he finished peddling everything with his signature mystical salesmanship—also known as aggressive hard-selling—there would be no way to find him at all. So here she was, already restless, forced to watch these bottom-tier scrubs fight. Well… it was actually pretty entertaining.
Low-level bouts had always been far more fun than clashes between true experts. High-level fights were often impossible to follow, but low-level ones let you see every detail at a glance. The tension, the narrow escapes, the way the outcome could swing on a single mistake—it kept your palms sweaty and your eyes glued to the stage.
Oh, Ma So-hyeop of the Earth Crawling Fist has advanced too?
The expert from the Earth Crawling Fist, Ma So-hyeop, faced off against Chae So-hyeop, a disciple of the Guyang Gate, and immediately dropped to the ground and began crawling. Normally crawling would signal imminent defeat, but since Ma So-hyeop’s entire style revolved around crawling on the ground, he actually looked like he held the advantage.
The poor Guyang Gate disciple flailed helplessly, clearly having no idea how to attack an opponent slithering around below knee height. To be fair, virtually no sword art in the entire gangho contained techniques for dealing with someone crawling on the floor.
Eventually Ma So-hyeop slithered forward like a snake, pinned the back of his opponent’s knee, and tangled his legs as he fell, subduing him completely. Chae So-hyeop struggled with all his might to break free, but each attempt earned him a crushing pain that felt like his bones were about to snap. All he could do was choke back his screams.
The Murim Alliance expert serving as judge watched the pinned Guyang Gate disciple’s escape attempts a few times before rendering a swift decision. It was not a biased call; he had simply been confirming whether any realistic escape was still possible.
Victory! Ma On-sa of the Goddess Sect wins!
Cheers erupted from the stands. Ma So-hyeop waved happily, while the unfortunate Guyang Gate disciple hung his head and trudged away. At least in a martial duel you were supposed to show some dignity, but against an opponent like that, even dignity was out of reach.
“Tsk tsk. How wretched. How can that boy hold his head up after this? Still, you can’t exactly tell the child not to use the Earth Crawling Fist.”
Seomun Su-rin spoke with genuine pity. She had previously instructed that no matter how weak or unskilled the opponent, one should at least exchange ten moves. This was not a life-or-death battle; on this fine occasion where the entire Righteous Faction had gathered, everyone deserved a chance to display their skill.
Yet the only reputation Ma So-hyeop would gain from this victory was that of an expert in an ugly martial art that involved crawling on the ground, while the loser would simply be remembered as the pathetic fool who lost to it. There was little to gain from winning, and separately, the Guyang Gate disciple would now hate Ma So-hyeop like a mortal enemy. This was exactly why people avoided the Earth Crawling Fist—its drawbacks leaked out everywhere.
The matches continued, and familiar faces appeared here and there. Gongson Yoye easily crushed Sangbaeksong of the Seocheon Trading Company, while Jegal Ihyeon swung his iron fan and knocked someone from the Cheonghae region unconscious. Before long, it was Cheong’s turn. A Murim Alliance warrior in charge of proceedings announced that it would be soon and guided her to the waiting room.
The waiting room was a ship floating on the canal beside the arena. The moment she stepped inside, a loud snort echoed. It was less a snort and more like someone blowing their nose. Cheong turned toward the source.
“Ha! Lady Seomun is finally showing her true colors? Just what are you wearing?”
If there was one woman in the world who would pick a fight the instant she saw Cheong, it was Moyong Juhee. She pointed an accusing finger.
“What exactly is that blatantly obvious waist sash? Are you trying to announce your figure to the entire Central Plains? If that’s the case, why not just take off your top and be done with it?”
A “chaedae” referred to a woman’s waist belt. Unlike in Cheong’s original world, Central Plains belts came in countless varieties; anything worn visibly around the waist over clothing was called a chaedae. Cheong had wrapped her midsection tightly with a wide band of cloth specifically to prevent skin contact. Unfortunately, with her already narrow waist and exaggerated curves above and below, the extreme difference only made the shape stand out even more.
Cheong let out a long sigh. So that’s her version of a greeting.
“Lady Moyong, doesn’t constantly picking fights get tiring? The way you’re talking, everyone’s comparing us now. Excuse me, everyone—sorry to bother you, but could you please stop staring?”
Sure enough, the other waiting contestants were looking back and forth between Cheong and Moyong Juhee.
“Ugh…!”
Moyong Juhee’s face flushed crimson. She bared her teeth and swept a fierce glare across the waiting warriors. The contestants immediately adopted awkward expressions and pretended to study strange patterns on the floor, walls, or ceiling.
That was when it happened.
“Kyaaaaah!”
“Kyaah! Kyaaaah!”
Sudden, piercing screams erupted outside the waiting room all at once. They were desperate, gut-wrenching cries. The startled contestants jumped to their feet and rushed to look outside.
There they saw—
“Kyaaaaah! Young Master! Young Master Paeng! Look over here! Kyaaaaah!”
“Jade Qilin! Kyaaaaah!”
“Oh my, our eyes met… what do I do… ahhh…”
Thud. Women were fainting left and right. The world’s most handsome man could destroy a woman’s mind and make her faint with nothing but a glance. Even the recent ugly rumors had done nothing to diminish his popularity. The streets of Kaifeng were apparently flooded with women dressed in beggar rags just to catch his eye.
What the— I got startled for nothing.
Cheong sat back down with a bored expression. Surprisingly, Moyong Juhee also frowned deeply and turned away. When Cheong looked at her through the veil, Moyong Juhee’s scowl only deepened.
“Why are you acting like that? Is it strange that I’m not going to watch the world’s most handsome man? How ridiculous. Do I look that pathetic, throwing myself at a man who clearly doesn’t want me?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your eyes said it all.”
“You can see my eyes? Have you reached the Harmonious Realm or something?”
Cheong still didn’t understand the principle, but she had heard that masters of the Harmonious Realm could see straight through a face veil.
“Tch.”
Moyong Juhee whipped her head away as if she couldn’t be bothered to deal with her. Cheong felt the same, so she simply let it be. It’s not like we’ll be seeing each other after this anyway.
Another round of wild “kyaaah kyaaah” screams rang out from outside. Having experienced it once, Cheong didn’t need to look. Seems like Daesan won.
Soon it was Moyong Juhee’s turn. She was led down the corridor, and before even a quarter-hour had passed, the announcer’s voice declared her victory. Only then did Cheong’s own match arrive.
She followed the ship’s interior, crossed several planks at the prow, re-entered the hull, and climbed a set of stairs. A launching platform with a convenient handrail had been installed. So that’s why everyone had been leaping up from the ground using movement techniques to seize the initiative. Even someone weak in footwork could jump that single story with a handrail to push off from.
Cheong lightly stepped onto the platform using the Moon Maiden Mountain Walk’s anti-gravity steps and soared upward. She landed soundlessly on the fighting stage, touching down on her toes with elegant grace.
“This one is called Hwan-yuk, a disciple of Wudang. I have learned the Taiji Divine Sword and the Cotton Palm.”
He demonstrated half a form with his sword and half with the palm of his left hand. Cheong responded by showing the basic stances of the Goddess Sword and Moon Maiden Sword.
Then, suddenly, Daoist Hwan-yuk asked, “Lady Seomun? Have we met before? Your face seems familiar…”
What is this guy talking about? Is this some kind of trick?
Was the custom of using irritating small talk to seize the psychological initiative before a match not limited to the modern world but also present in the Central Plains? Cheong, who never lost in that department, fired back.
“Isn’t that a rather inappropriate thing for a Wudang disciple to say?”
“Pardon? What do you…”
Hwan-yuk paused, then realized his mistake. Telling a veiled woman that her face looked familiar could easily be taken as a cheap pickup line. In truth, he had simply felt a vague sense of déjà vu regarding her unusual physique, but saying it out loud was equally rude. It came across as “You have an amazing figure—have I seen you somewhere?”
“I apologize. Please forget I said anything.”
This guy who can’t even beat me is picking a verbal fight.
Cheong curled her lip in amusement. Hwan-yuk couldn’t see it behind the veil, which was unfortunate; he would have felt quite wronged. He really had asked out of pure curiosity with no ulterior motive.
“I’ll yield the first move.”
“How could I? It is only proper that I yield to you.”
“If you insist.”
Given Cheong’s seniority, she had no obligation to show courtesy to the Nine Great Schools. The only people who knew her true realm were the elders she had already met. To any unrelated sect, she was simply a young girl from the Goddess Sect. Moreover, the previous generation’s cunning experts who had sent their secret disciples had not bragged about them. That was why Cheong had done the same, and why Shaolin’s Wolbong had done the same.
Without further hesitation, Cheong flicked her ankle and advanced lightly. Master said Wudang’s sword is softness itself. I wonder what he’ll show me.
She swung her sword lightly. It was the third form of the Goddess Sword Art—Heavenly Maiden Great Hero—a simple diagonal slash that Seomun Su-rin liked best and Cheong herself favored. Hwan-yuk met the blade, his arm drawing a large vertical circle while his feet traced a large horizontal one. The iron sword, lifted behind his right side, flowed in a gentle arc that deflected Cheong’s attack and pushed it aside.
Cheong did not resist the pushing force. She spun once and faced Hwan-yuk again. One exchange.
Ah, so that’s how the movement works.
To read an attack, watch the eyes. To read the martial art, watch the feet. She didn’t fully understand the Taiji Divine Sword yet, but the footwork was clearly different from anything she had seen before. Footwork existed to find the most suitable position for each technique so that power flowed properly into the weapon.
Namgung Sinjae’s footwork was static, meant to root the body firmly rather than for movement. Paeng Cho-ryo’s footwork used diagonal advances and retreats to maintain continuous rotation. Paeng Daesan’s footwork moved dramatically up and down to maximize the destructive power of his saber. And now Hwan-yuk’s footwork stretched left and right in curves, as if drawing a large circle centered far behind Cheong.
Two exchanges. Three. Four.
Cheong continued analyzing. It’s less about distance and more about angle? He was guiding the flow outward while positioning himself to add force in the direction of travel. If she got caught up in it, she would soon find the initiative stolen and the attack reversed.
Five exchanges. Six. Seven.
It was like a matador’s movements—inducing the opponent’s straight charge, then slipping sideways, pushing, and trying to mount their back.
So what should I do? Overwhelm him faster and harder to crush the circle in one breath? Mix in feints to force him into a blocked path? Or respond with rotation of her own?
Eight exchanges. Nine. Ten.
They had been spinning softly together, sword meeting sword in gentle harmony. Cheong smoothly lifted her right foot. And at that instant—
She slammed the raised foot down violently. BOOM! The entire training ground shook with the impact. Cheong’s body instantly leaned forward a full step. A fierce thrust followed the motion like lightning!
Hwan-yuk hurriedly swung his sword to deflect it. CLANG! The sound of shattering iron rang out. At the same time, a shadow suddenly fell across his face. His gaze shot upward.
Beneath the May sky, a beautiful white hand blocked out the sun and cast its shadow. It sliced through the air, drawing closer.
The sword was a feint. Hwan-yuk realized it too late. Far too late.
Then—
Tap.
Cheong’s hand blade gently touched the crown of his head.