The Divine Dragon Appears
The arena trembled as thunderous cheers erupted. Waaaaah!Uwooooh!
Of course, the odds on Cheong had once again been ridiculously low, so countless dreams came crashing down into the abyss. Yet the loss of money paled in comparison to how utterly spectacular the match itself had been. Cheong’s sunset-colored true qi blooming in every direction, the dazzling golden sword qi visible to the naked eye—spectators had held their breath throughout the legendary bout. It was the kind of thrilling spectacle they could brag about for the rest of their lives. A deep pride swelled within them for having witnessed a monumental event of the era.
Yes. It truly was a monumental event.
A single woman. Not from one of the Nine Great Clans, but from a minor sect several ranks below them. To stress the point once more: a female martial artist! A female martial artist from a minor sect had defeated the disciple of Shaolin Temple—the greatest sect under heaven—and not just any disciple, but the disciple of the First Under Heaven himself!
And that wasn’t all! The Goddess Sect was a sword sect, and Seomun Cheong was a swordswoman! A sword user who had sheathed her blade and fought with palm techniques, shattering Shaolin’s divine arts and sending the disciple of the greatest expert under heaven packing in defeat.
The finish had been a little awkward, true, but to the eyes of ordinary spectators it looked as though Cheong had completely dominated the match with her flashy evasions and those long, sweeping lines of force. The experts’ opinions weren’t much different, either. The result was acknowledged by everyone in the world except one person: Wolbong himself.
Even after Cheong vanished from sight and slipped through the passage beneath the stage, the wildly excited cheers refused to die down. Well, she hadn’t cared about any jeers anyway, but this kind of reception felt surprisingly pleasant.
“Your master has always known you were excellent, but today you were even more so. Are you hurt anywhere?”
“Of course not. You know how sturdy your disciple is, right?”
Cheong had been confidently asserting she was fine until a sharp groan cut her off. Seomun Su-rin had jabbed a finger straight into her chest.
“If it hurts, say it hurts. You foolish girl, always insisting you’re perfectly all right.”
“Hehe, honestly, I might be weak to cuts and stabs, but I’m pretty tough when it comes to getting hit. It just leaves a few bruises at most. Impacts to the torso actually get handled pretty well by my defensive—”
Thump. Seomun Su-rin delivered a light noogie.
“Since you don’t seem particularly bothered, this master feels relieved as well. When martial artists fight, anything can happen. Striking the chest or aiming for the face is only natural, so I was simply going to tell you not to hold any resentment over it.”
Surprisingly, Seomun Su-rin held no real ill will toward Wolbong’s indiscriminate attacks. She had actually found his early hesitation—avoiding vital points out of excessive propriety—far more despicable. How could one distinguish between man and woman when both were martial artists? That was her stance. It was precisely why, whenever Seomun Su-rin had been treated as a woman in the past, she would respond by kicking straight between the legs. The notoriety of the Female Mad Dog was no empty rumor.
For that reason, when Wolbong had finally fought with sincerity, she had thought it was for the best. He had recognized her disciple as a true martial artist and possessed a proper mindset. Of course, it later turned out he had simply not treated her as a woman because he assumed she was an ugly hag with her face covered, which transformed him into an utterly despicable fellow.
“Mm. Now, let us do your makeup. We must give you time to wash and tidy up before the greetings. What is the rush? Tsk tsk. As expected, the Murim Alliance is filled with nothing but men, so they lack any sense of delicacy.”
Seomun Su-rin clicked her tongue.
Following the semifinals, there was an event to introduce the martial artists who had advanced to the finals of the Hidden Dragon Tournament to the public. The reason participants had appeared with nothing but their origin and name during the tournament itself was to keep all attention on the matches. Therefore, a stage had been prepared before the finals where they could proudly reveal themselves to the world and raise their names high.
“Uh, do I really have to wear makeup? Since I’m appearing as a martial artist, shouldn’t I look the part—”
“As this master has told you time and again, a true expert must be elegant and beautiful. Even that young monk said the same thing, did he not?”
Seomun Su-rin drove the lesson of beauty into Cheong. Before a martial artist there was no distinction of man and woman. But there was beauty and ugliness.
No matter how supreme an expert who held the world beneath their feet, if their appearance and conduct were ugly, they would never be acknowledged. It was the same for men and women alike. An ugly man had to be outstanding in martial arts at least; born ugly, with no relationships and hiding away in shame, they could focus solely on martial arts—and receive nothing but mockery for it.
Although it did not discriminate by gender, if one were to be precise, female martial artists received far worse treatment. Even an ugly man who became a high expert could live prosperously with a beautiful wife, wealth, and fame. But an ugly woman who became a high expert usually ended up living alone her entire life. No one wanted to live beneath a wife who would beat them. It was essentially admitting they would do something to deserve a beating, and that was simply how the world’s sentiment worked.
Seomun Su-rin took out her makeup tools and said, “Therefore, you must show it proudly to the world. That the next First Under Heaven is such a beautiful woman.”
Wolbong could not lift his head. The shame of being flustered by Cheong’s beauty and the yang energy surging within him left him dizzy, and the words that emerged were even more mortifying.
“I am sorry, Master. This foolish monk has disgraced both our sect and your name.”
Abbot Muhak burst into hearty laughter. “What nonsense is this, you fool? The one who was disgraced is your own name and face. Why drag perfectly fine Shaolin and your master down with you? Kehehehe, I knew this day would come.”
“Master?”
“Just because you lost in both martial arts and personal dignity, does that mean Shaolin surrenders its title as the greatest sect under heaven? Does the Goddess Sect suddenly become the greatest sect under heaven? Does my own realm drop because my disciple lost? I remain the First Under Heaven, Muhak. The only one dirtied is you. Shaolin and your master are perfectly fine, you idiot.”
It was exactly as he said. The one who had been embarrassed was Wolbong; Muhak and Shaolin were not at a level that could be shaken by something so trivial. No matter how fierce the wind, Mount Tai simply stood firm.
“I always thought your arrogance would one day bring you great humiliation. Why do we call ordinary people foolish? Is it not because they truly are? The foolish do not listen to words, so I stayed silent, letting you experience it for yourself. How does it feel?”
“It… is devastating and shameful…”
“Well. Everyone carries at least one memory they wish to erase from their hearts. That is enough. Go and prepare to show that face of yours to the public. Tsk, the handprint on your head is remarkably clear. He takes after his master with those heavy hands…”
It was true. The clear imprint of Cheong’s palm strike remained branded vividly from Wolbong’s forehead all the way to the crown of his head.
“Master, how can I appear before the public in such a disgraceful state? I am afraid. I am terrified they will laugh and mock me.”
“You idiot, it is nothing. A man who will live another fifty years or more—will one incident stain your entire life with disgrace? Once it passes, it will simply become a funny memory. You should reflect on your own shortcomings whenever you recall it.”
“But—”
“Well. That child’s beauty truly is exceptional, so—keuhuk, kwahahahat!!! Did I not say it was Mara? Mara! What a masterpiece! Mara Papiyas! Do you think you are some living Buddha like Shakyamuni that the Demon King of the Sixth Heaven would personally descend to tempt you? Kwahat!”
Even Mara would only come in person to tempt someone of Shakyamuni’s caliber. There was no reason for him to descend just to tempt a single young martial monk from Shaolin. Abbot Muhak roared with laughter. The other high monks of Shaolin either laughed or smiled, in any case mocking him, leaving Wolbong alone and at a complete loss.
“This is why I call you arrogant. And when a person makes a mistake, they ought to feel proper shame. Go and receive plenty of it. A man can make a verbal slip or two. Besides, that child’s beauty is hardly ordinary, so the public may understand your feelings. There is at least a possibility, is there not?”
The long, trailing question was essentially a way of saying “if not, then never mind.” With his master’s attitude like this, even Wolbong’s shame began to subside from its wildfire surge.
“Go change your clothes. Do not even think about covering it with that bamboo hat. It would be far more embarrassing if the donors below see it clearly and spread rumors. Better to reveal it openly.”
Wolbong left with slumped shoulders to adjust his attire. Only then did Abbot Muhak’s expression grow serious as he muttered to himself.
“Mm. That aside, the Buddha’s Palm… Just what price could possibly match the value of such a divine art? It feels like committing the sin of putting a price on an invaluable treasure, yet…”
As soon as the match between Cheong and Wolbong ended, several people shot up from their seats. The event introducing the heroes of the Hidden Dragon Tournament followed immediately afterward. These were spectators who had purchased seats on the floating stage in order to see everything up close.
The Murim Alliance was naturally an organization that required money, so they sucked in every coin they could while the opportunity lasted, displaying their frugal nature. The warriors of the Murim Alliance called out for A-section, B-section, and so on, directing the crowd. Even amid the complicated proceedings, people steadily filled the floating stage without any chaos.
Of course, this had nothing to do with the Central Plains people’s excellent sense of order. It was simply because the Murim Alliance’s event staff were all carrying swords. In this barbaric era, listening obediently to those with blades was considered a virtue.
Thus, starting with the extremely expensive A-section seats (which were actually standing room) closest to the introduction stage, the seats filled up one by one. Those without money or who saw no need to watch from so close remained in the regular audience seats. Even they, however, were now thinking that if they had known, they would have spent a little extra to move down there.
All because they were unbearably curious about the beauty of the Goddess Sect’s disciple who had managed to enchant even a Shaolin monk.
And so, beginning with the early eliminations, the contestants revealed themselves one by one, introducing the hidden dragons of the tournament to the public. Not merely their origin and name, but also their age, region of activity and notable deeds, their nickname if they had one, their sect’s history if they belonged to one, and their master’s name if they had a master.
Because of this, the introductions for rogue cultivators tended to be somewhat thin, but it was true that rogue cultivators generally did not have much to boast about in the first place.
Wang Nopil and Ma Youngjeon had reached the top eight, so they appeared much later. In the spot where the four eliminated top-eight contestants stood in a line, Wang Nopil and Ma Youngjeon glanced at each other and shook their heads.
Originally, after discussing among themselves, the rogue cultivators had decided to slightly embellish and reveal their story involving the Blood Sect to the public here. Saying that Lady Seomun had been captured in their place could spark scandal even if it had only been for one night. So they would omit such unfavorable details and instead raise their names through the heroic tale of saving foolish rogue cultivators and crushing the evil of the Blood Sect.
After matching their story accordingly, they had asked Seomun Su-rin for permission, reasoning that announcing it this way would cause Lady Seomun no harm whatsoever. However, they had each received one nuclear noogie for “doing unnecessary things” and were told to drop it, so the matter was treated as if it had never happened.
Next came the semifinal loser Wolbong, appearing alongside none other than the most handsome man in the world, the Jade Qilin.
Piercing screams of “Kyaaaaak!” shook heaven and earth. People clutched their ears in pain, while countless women fainted on the spot.
Though the content was pure affection, the screams were so ear-splitting that even Wolbong standing beside him found them eerie. Sensing not mere romantic longing but something closer to ghostly obsession, Wolbong glanced sideways to check if Brother Paeng was all right. He did not look all right. The man was grinding his teeth, brow deeply furrowed.
After Paeng Daesan’s introduction—the first to have fought—came Wolbong’s turn.
Twenty-seven years old this year. Shaolin Temple’s youngest Arhat Monk. A young expert of Shaolin under the tutelage of the First Under Heaven, Abbot Muhak!
Cheers of “Waaaah!” swept across the arena. Wolbong’s heavily hunched shoulders relaxed just a little.
There were, of course, some mocking voices mixed in. Still, for Wolbong—who had trembled at the thought of standing there amid pouring jeers in utter humiliation—it was a level of ridicule he could endure.
And then, at last, it was time for the long-awaited finalists to make their appearance.