The Sting of Sensory Training
With Cheon Yuhak ditching her for the day, claiming he had business to attend to during the Hidden Dragon Tournament, Cheong stood there wondering what to do next. True to her usual reckless drive that never bothered looking back, she asked around and headed straight for a large fabric shop. She had been completely swayed by his words that there was no point bundling up if it was going to be hard to endure anyway. Since she was already out and about, she figured she might as well look for some suitable clothes.
“What sort of garment are you looking for?”
“I’d like to buy some cotton fabric. Do you have anything fine? The highest quality you’ve got.”
“Ah, you’ve come to the right place. We just received a precious bolt—one hundred eighty count, six-ply. Would you like to take a look?”
One hundred eighty referred to the fineness of the thread; the higher the number, the thinner the material. Six-ply meant six strands twisted together. In other words, the clerk was offering cotton woven from extremely fine 180-count thread that had been plied six times.
“Whoa, you actually have something like that? Can I see it?”
“Of course.”
Just hearing the description told her the softness would be far from ordinary. When she actually touched the fabric the clerk brought out, it really was heavenly—light and smooth, no different from silk. Which made it something of a dilemma. If it was going to feel like that, she might as well just wear silk.
“It’s nice. How much? How much do you have in stock?”
The clerk’s face lit up like a flower in full bloom. A big customer!
Cheong, who had never learned the meaning of thrift, bought up every bolt of the expensive cotton and then wandered among the finished garments hanging throughout the shop.
“Miss, are you looking for a particular style of clothing?”
“Just browsing.”
The phrase “just browsing” translated roughly to Don’t talk to me; I’ll look on my own.
After the clerk retreated with a disappointed expression, Cheong slowly examined the clothes one by one. But since she had never paid much attention to clothing before, she had no idea what she was looking at. The thin garments all seemed far too embarrassing, yet her master’s words kept nagging at the back of her mind.
As she wavered back and forth, one particular garment suddenly caught her eye. Oh. That one?
At a glance it was clearly a stiff hemp robe.
“Excuse me, that hemp robe over there…”
The clerk, who had been gazing regretfully at the big-spending customer, rushed over as if he had been waiting for this exact moment.
“Hehe, it’s quite the unique piece, isn’t it?”
The clerk explained that it had been ordered by the wife of a high official. It was originally woven as mourning clothes, but the woman had remarried before the garment was even completed. Since it was made from the highest-grade hemp, they couldn’t simply throw it away. So they had dyed it and put it on display.
“How about it? The black has such a subtle, elegant beauty, doesn’t it? Even after starching, there isn’t a single loose or uneven thread. That’s the skill of our dyer. If you have any clothes you’d like dyed…”
After listening to the explanation, Cheong realized this wasn’t so much an item for sale as a signboard to show off their dyeing prowess.
In the Central Plains, “black” did not mean the pitch-black of her homeland. It referred to a deep gray—the exact shade modern mothers would call “dark rat color.” Not completely black, yet not too bright either, since the base was black. A properly dyed black like this gave a truly refined and elegant impression.
The color really was beautiful, but that was all. A thought suddenly flashed through Cheong’s mind.
“How much for that one?”
Mourning clothes had been created to be uncomfortable from the very beginning. When one lost a parent, a teacher, or a ruler who had done nothing for them, there was no way to prove the grief and discomfort inside. Therefore, mourning attire existed to flaunt to the world that at least one’s body was definitely suffering.
Thanks to the luxurious dyeing, it didn’t feel like mourning clothes at all. But the discomfort was very real.
“Ughhh…”
Cheong’s idea was simple. If the problem was feeling too good, wouldn’t it be better to get used to feeling bad instead? The silk-like softness brushing her skin was simply too much, so why not wear hemp that scraped her raw?
With a pounding heart she tried it on immediately. Whoa. This is… intense.
Hemp fibers were originally rough and stiff, but after repeated starching and rubbing, the stiffness vanished while the threads developed hook-like barbs that made them even harsher. On top of that, the finished garment had been dyed and chemically treated to set the color, which naturally made it rougher still.
The end result was closer to a scrubber than fabric—no, rougher than a scrubber. It felt more like the wood-planing sandpaper from her hometown.
It was like wearing sandpaper with skin as sensitive as her fingertips. Every movement brought a stinging sensation as if her skin was being grated away.
“This seems… a bit too much right from the start.”
Still, pain was better than the alternative. With her skin screaming every time she moved, it actually cleared her head and sharpened her awareness. Besides, the clothes were perfect for training.
Hemp robes were originally designed for ventilation, with wind passing through freely. The stiff jacket also caught on any protruding obstacles and fell straight down, leaving a gap the width of two fists at her stomach so the breeze could flow in and out at will. Since the weather was gradually growing warmer, the coolness alone was worth appreciating.
“Hngh.”
She just needed to get used to the discomfort that bordered on pain and soreness.
According to Cheon Yuhak, there was no special training method for the art of reading space through skin sensation. It was simply the accumulated result of unconsciously gathered experiences. If one lived for a year or two with wind constantly touching the skin, one would naturally come to sense what lay behind from the flow alone, expanding one’s awareness in all directions.
If one tried to shorten that period, the only option was to walk around completely naked. Therefore, the important thing was to wear clothes that allowed maximum airflow and visit as many different places as possible. By experiencing strong winds and gentle breezes, crowded places and empty ones, enclosed spaces and open areas, one could greatly reduce the required time.
Of course, all of that was still far off for Cheong. When she couldn’t even get used to the sensations she already possessed, how could she spare any attention for the wind?
As Cheong wandered the night streets of Kaifeng, her thoughts ran like this:
This feels like my skin is all scraped off. Am I bleeding? I just want to give up and go to sleep.
Yet despite making all sorts of grimaces, she stayed out until late at night, so she somehow managed to endure. Therefore, Cheong couldn’t help but feel proud.
Wow, today was fulfilling too. Almost every moment of life is training.
This kind of empty pride was closer to self-consolation that could hardly be called good. But it was still far better than avoiding everything by simply playing and eating, so it could be said she had improved compared to before.
The council was a gathering where the Murim Alliance’s exalted figures discussed the future major policy directions of the alliance. Although anyone could participate in the council during the Murim Grand Assembly, the truly weighty matters were decided among themselves like this.
In this meeting that felt like a gathering of shadowy masterminds, Seomun Su-rin asserted strongly,
“How long do you intend to tolerate those Black Market bastards? Their evil deeds grow worse by the day. How can the righteous Murim Alliance of the orthodox path simply stand by and allow this?”
As a supreme expert from two generations prior, Seomun Su-rin’s speech was blunt and without reservation. Perhaps because of that, the listeners’ expressions were far from bright.
“But Senior. It’s not as if everyone in the Black Market is purely evil, is it? And with so many commoners whose livelihoods depend on it, how could we carelessly interfere and cause an uproar?”
The Black Market was a hotbed of every dirty transaction, but it was also a lifeline for peddlers without their own shops. Emboldened, others began adding their own opinions one by one.
Many orthodox martial artists were customers of the Black Market, so eliminating it would make it difficult to avoid the authorities’ eyes or quickly obtain rare items when needed. The Black Market would cooperate if villains went too far or in cases involving Murim public enemies, wouldn’t they? Rather, because they tightly controlled the back alleys, the situation was easier to grasp at a glance.
The one who delivered the final word was Abbot Muhak.
“Daoist Seomun, then how exactly should we deal with the Black Market? They are not the sort who will stop simply because we tell them not to, so we cannot imprison them in Cham-hoe-dong for re-education. Nor can we slaughter them all and clean house.”
“Hmph. What’s wrong with slaughtering those worthless vermin? If you’re going to spout outdated nonsense like the precept against killing—”
“Then how far would you go with the slaughter? The corrupt officials and the meat merchants? And where do you draw the line? What about those who directly supply them? Are those who only handle distribution in the middle guilty of a capital crime? What about the fences? Should we kill the robbers who injure people but spare the pickpockets who only steal objects in secret?”
Seomun Su-rin frowned deeply. That damn bald monk is being slippery. That polite speech he used with everyone was extremely irritating, like a wily snake.
In the first place, when beating up villains, what was the point of setting standards for who to save and who to kill? If they caught the eye, they died. If they were lucky, they might live. They might continue their bad habits and get stabbed one day, or by some slim chance change their minds and step into the light.
Since the Murim Alliance was not a gathering of god-like beings who had reached the heavens like the Three Emperors and Five Emperors, even if they set standards with firm determination, not everything would be carried out. So if asked to state the criteria here, how could there possibly be an answer? It was truly a cowardly rhetorical trick.
Therefore she could only sigh deeply and issue a threat.
“If we avoid uncomfortable matters, a great disaster will eventually occur. They grow more unrestrained by the day, so they are bound to cause a major accident someday. By the time something happens it will be too late. Tsk. Leaving aside the humiliation that would come then, how would we calm the hearts of the people of the world?”
“We can simply punish them when they cross the line. It’s not as if the righteous Murim caused the evil deeds, so why would public sentiment blame us?”
The conclusion was rejection.
“Tsk.”
Seomun Su-rin clicked her tongue. This is exactly why I didn’t want to come to the Murim Grand Assembly.
Whether she liked it or not, the council continued.
“Then the next agenda is the matter mentioned by Daoist Cheonbi. Regarding the opening of Uijeong Muhakgwan…”
On the second day of the Murim Grand Assembly, the Hidden Dragon Tournament schedule featured matches from Group Two and Group Four.
Cheong had taken a seat in the spectator stands at Seomun Su-rin’s suggestion to watch the match of the Shaolin disciple Wolbong. The idea was to let her observe Shaolin’s martial arts—said to be the best under heaven—in advance to prepare for the semifinals.
To her right sat Jegal Ihyeon, in charge of commentary. To her left sat Dang Nan-a, in charge of friendship. And on her lap, Jegal Hyang had settled perfectly into the role of cuteness supplier.
For Cheong, it was a satisfactory composition of left and right protectors plus a pet.
However.
“Khuk.”
Since Jegal Hyang was a child even by Korean standards, the tournament apparently didn’t look very interesting to her. Sitting on the lap, swinging her legs and fidgeting without being able to stay still, the sandpaper-like fabric roughly scraped against her skin as if peeling it away.
As Cheong’s pained groan leaked out, Jegal Hyang bent her waist backward, tilted her head up, and asked,
“Big Sister Gaga, am I heavy? Ah, it’s so fluffy.”
Jegal Hyang shook back and forth, bumping the back of her head against Cheong with repeated bonks. At that sight Cheong’s heart sank. What is this? What the hell is this cute creature? How can something be this adorable?
“No. Hyang is light. But, Hyang, aren’t you having much fun?”
“Yeah… a little. Hwaam.”
And then she let out a big yawn.
Cheong’s face brightened and she hugged Jegal Hyang’s body so the child could lean against her. Yes. It would be better if she slept instead. Because if she fidgets, it rubs.
“Then take a nap. Lean comfortably.”
“I’m not sleepy…”
Even though she said that, before long Jegal Hyang had fallen fast asleep. Children originally fell asleep quickly.
With a much more comfortable attitude, Cheong watched the matches when she suddenly tilted her head.
“Was it called Wang Sohyeop? Was he always like that?”
“The chair changed, right? I heard the chair broke during the last preliminary match so they obtained a new one. Originally that chair is a powerful exotic weapon with blades, so it can’t help but be weak against tournament blades that have had their edges blunted.”
“No, that’s not what I mean…”
Cheong looked at the martial artist Wang Sohyeop who used a chair as a weapon. She remembered him because of his unique weapon; it seemed he had placed in the single digits during the preliminaries. But what on earth had he done to suddenly become such a bad guy?