The Divine Dragon Emerges
Gongson Yoye couldn’t tear her gaze away from Cheong. “Lady Seomun, you’re so, so beautiful. Heavens above. How can anyone be this…” Her eyes were practically boring holes through Cheong, brimming with such raw envy that Cheong herself began to feel embarrassed.
“Yoye, what’s wrong? Why are you bare-faced?”
“Well, as a martial artist stepping before the public, wearing makeup feels rather… womanly. Ah, that wasn’t directed at you, Lady Seomun! You’re already a peerless beauty, so of course it’s different. Someone as shabby as me would only invite ridicule if I tried—”
“Come now, are martial artists forbidden from wearing makeup? A female martial artist trying to imitate a man is just that—an imitation. My master said as much, you know?”
Cheong launched into a passionate lecture on the necessity of beauty for female masters, in the unmistakable style of Seomun Su-rin.
“Me, a representative of female masters? That’s far too generous…”
“Why not? At your level, aren’t you already the finest among the younger generation? Of course, this body of mine exists as well, but—kuk, what a pity for you. Here, look at me. Good thing I brought this just in case. Wait right there! Just one moment!”
Having received Seomun Su-rin’s personal instruction on the art of feminine beauty, Cheong was already a master of hair styling and makeup. Unlike her hair, which she constantly fussed over, makeup was something she rarely bothered with. The Central Plains boasted as many makeup techniques as it did styles of dress. Cheong favored a rather classical approach.
She began with the eyebrows—thin, delicately arched as if slightly furrowed. Then she thickened the lash lines to enlarge the eyes. Beneath the lower lids she applied a faint flush, the so-called “after-crying rouge,” giving the impression of having just wept. The cheeks received only the lightest touch of color. For the lips, she avoided the sharp cherry shape in the center, instead spreading the hue outward so it faded gently toward the corners in a natural gradient.
“Oh my, you’re gorgeous. I’m falling for you.”
“Even if you say such things, Lady Seomun…”
“Me? I’m just riding on Fairy Art. You haven’t even learned it yet, and you’re already this beautiful. Why not pick it up? It’d be a waste otherwise, with such a fine foundation.”
“Later… later…”
Though she had only colored her eyes, cheeks, and lips, Gongson Yoye’s entire face flushed crimson. She bowed her head deeply.
Just then, a Martial Alliance staff member came to hurry them along.
“Are you not ready yet?”
“Ah! We’re quite ready now! Yoye, let’s go.”
“Y-yes!”
With that, Gongson Yoye began walking stiffly, her limbs creaking like rusted joints. Why is she frozen up again? Cheong gently took her hand.
“What’s wrong? Nervous? It’s not like you’re going out there to swing a sword.”
“Lady Seomun, aren’t you nervous at all? I… I’m not the sort of person people particularly like.”
“So what? I’ve already lost all interest in the people out there. They’re strangers now, and they’ll stay strangers. What does it matter whether they like us or not? As long as our friends do, isn’t that enough?”
“Then—! I, that is… no, it’s nothing.”
Gongson Yoye’s voice suddenly rose, only to shrink to an ant’s whisper afterward.
“Why? Why stop mid-sentence? There are two ways to make someone angry, you know. One is to stop talking halfway through.”
Gongson Yoye waited quietly for the rest. When Cheong merely grinned at her, she tilted her head in confusion.
“See? That’s exactly what I mean. So what were you going to say? We don’t keep secrets from each other.”
“Ah… It’s just… Lady Seomun has so many friends, I thought perhaps I’m not particularly special, just someone you tolerate…”
Once again, the latter half dwindled into near silence.
“How could that be? Aren’t we friends who’ve shared a bed? I’m quite fond of you and Yoye, you know?”
“Ah, but then half of me would be…”
“Oh, there’s also Jang Myeong and Uimae.”
Gongson Yoye’s expression turned forlorn.
“Hm? What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing. Half of a half… or perhaps two and a half parts—no, that’s not right either. Um, Lady Seomun? Perhaps we should hurry? They’ve already waited long enough.”
“Ah. You’re right.”
Though her words remained odd, her movements had grown more natural. It seemed her tension had eased a little. Cheong clasped Gongson Yoye’s hand tightly and led her up the steps to the stage.
----
The spectators at the martial demonstration stage weren’t so much expectant as they were waiting with bated breath. Just how beautiful could she be, that even a Shaolin monk had made such a disgraceful spectacle of himself? Most concluded that the young monk was simply an inexperienced youth who would lose control at the mere brush of a woman’s sleeve. Besides, they’d heard her beauty was so distracting she had to cover her face—though Cheong had never actually said that. What kind of face required hiding? They snorted, wondering if she feared that anyone who saw it would be so bewitched they’d drop their weapons and surrender.
And if she were truly a great beauty, why endure the mockery of being called a “swordswoman with a pockmarked face” or “a bear-like woman whose face was so scarred the rice she ate came back up”? Surely there had been no need to suffer such insults.
Thus, when Cheong finally stepped onto the stage, the crowd collectively nodded in understanding.
Of course. Even a venerable high monk would have lost his composure. Yes. With a face like that, covering it makes sense. Who would dare approach such a beauty? Besides, calling a peerless beauty ugly would accomplish nothing—she wouldn’t even listen.
They simply stood with mouths agape, marveling at the sheer wonder of how two eyes, one nose, and one mouth—identical in number to everyone else’s—could arrange themselves into something so transcendent.
Each person was busy composing descriptions of Cheong’s beauty in their minds, for such firsthand accounts were the finest boast one could make. In the primitive wilds of ancient Murim, the chief entertainments had been village wars involving thrown stones and the plundering of storehouses and women. Beyond that, there was only the telling and hearing of heroic tales. So they diligently stored away every detail, preparing to regale others later: “I saw the greatest beauty under heaven, and let me tell you…”
----
The entire Murim knew that one of the world’s supreme techniques, the Yeorae Shinjang, had been lost to time. It was a peculiar affair. Usually, when a supreme art vanished, it signified the decline of its sect. Even Shaolin, overflowing with divine techniques—so many, in Cheong’s words, that one could simply pick whichever purple-ranked manual one desired—would not lightly announce such a loss.
Seomun Su-rin had dismissed it as the natural consequence of having no successor, but that was the opinion of a female martial artist with longstanding grievances toward Shaolin (the foremost sect being restricted to men). Strictly speaking, it was true, yet there was also a sorrowful tale attached.
Long ago, a great flood had overturned the world. Shaolin Temple, perched atop the mountain, escaped harm, but the common folk below suffered terribly. In response, Shaolin devoted itself to relieving the people’s suffering. They flung open their vast storehouses—filled through alms, tenant farming on all surrounding lands, and the sale of spiritual medicines—and distributed everything in charity. The warehouses seemed bottomless, greatly easing the world’s hardships, and all under heaven praised Shaolin’s compassion.
The Son of Heaven found this displeasing. If a Son of Heaven existed to rule the Central Plains by Heaven’s mandate, how could lowly monks receive such acclaim? During the disaster he had merely sucked his thumb, declaring it Heaven’s will and hosting banquets instead. Yet when Shaolin performed its relief work, he accused them of treason and turned cannons upon them.
Meanwhile, the Yeorae Shinjang naturally had its manuals. There were even backup copies made just in case. The originals were stored in the Scripture Pavilion, the most famous repository of martial arts texts in the world, alongside other divine techniques. The backups were kept in the Hidden Scripture Pavilion, prepared for unforeseen calamities.
That the Baekbo Shin Kwon had been more popular than the Yeorae Shinjang was something even the Shaolin monks could not help. The Baekbo Shin Kwon was easier to learn if one wished to master ranged palm techniques, and it harmonized well with Shaolin’s other arts. Techniques like the Daeryeok Geumgang Jang or Honwon Jang existed, making the Yeorae Shinjang a less appealing choice even for internal energy methods. Thus the manuals had simply been left quietly in the Scripture Pavilion, with copies made as well, in the hope that someone might one day take an interest.
No one could be forced to learn it. If there was no affinity, there was no affinity. Following the Buddha’s teachings, Shaolin would never compel anyone to practice a technique against their will. Surely someone with the proper affinity would come along someday.
Then, beneath the government’s cannons, the Scripture Pavilion burned. The Hidden Scripture Pavilion burned as well. In the end, that affinity was lost forever. They could only console themselves that perhaps it had never been meant to be.
Yet now, that affinity had been revived.
“We must recover the divine technique!”
“It is an indispensable root of our sect. We must retrieve it at any cost!”
“We must investigate this thoroughly! How could a technique never to be taught outside the sect appear in another’s hands?”
“We must send someone to the Goddess Sect at once… No, I shall go myself.”
The Shaolin warrior monks raised their voices. Abbot Muhak clicked his tongue.
“I know my grandaunt’s temperament. If the divine technique had been with the Goddess Sect, she would have returned it long ago and taken every Great Rejuvenation Pill in the process. Since she did not, it means the child formed a personal connection with it.”
“But she is the Grand Elder of her sect, is she not? She would never relinquish such a technique—”
“I’m telling you, she’s not the sort to hide it even if she had it. In any case, you lot are making a fuss over nothing. Still, if we’ve seen a lost family heirloom, we ought to try to recover it. But would anyone accept us suddenly claiming something lost two hundred years ago as our own? So, what should we offer in exchange? What price would be fitting for a divine technique? We risk the sin of putting a price on something priceless.”
A priceless treasure had no price because its value could not be measured. Conversely, once a price was attached, its sacred nature would be diminished. If one paid ten thousand gwan of gold to retrieve it, it would simply become a technique worth ten thousand gwan of gold.
“What about the Great Rejuvenation Pills? If we offer all we currently possess in the Grand Medicine Hall—”
“Tsk. Selling the Great Rejuvenation Pills would be equally absurd. Are you saying ten of them would buy the technique?”
“Then how about offering another divine technique in exchange? We could at least secure a promise that it won’t be taught to outsiders…”
“How could we impart our sect’s essence to an outsider? Abbot, please speak sensibly.”
“What? Do you think everything this bald monk says is nonsense? Then do you have anything to offer? Or shall the Abbot serve fifty years of penance to earn it?”
“Kuh…”
They continued debating among themselves, muttering about the Muscle Tendon Change Classic, the Immortal Radiance Steps, the Fourfold Ninefold Pill, the White Lotus Divine Fist—anything they might offer. Abbot Muhak clicked his tongue again.
“Goodness. You’re not monks, you’re merchants. Sitting here calculating prices to buy it back—why did you ever enter the monastery? All the talent for becoming great merchants has gathered here. Tsk tsk.”
“Then what shall we do?”
“We must purchase it not with coin, but with kindness. We’ll simply hand over the Great Rejuvenation Pills, the Small Rejuvenation Pills, the divine technique—everything. When the world hears of it, they will say, ‘As expected of Shaolin.’ And in the future, should Shaolin lose anything, people will return it first, hoping to earn our gratitude.”
“But what if it leaks out afterward?”
“Then the day will come when all one hundred and eight Arhats descend the mountain. That too would serve as a lesson to those who would exploit Shaolin’s kindness. Still, we can worry about leaks when they happen. No need to fret over it in advance.”
Some monks wore expressions of sudden enlightenment and murmured in admiration, while others remained visibly displeased, their sour faces unconcealed. Yet if Abbot Muhak declared it so, then so it would be.
“If you’re truly worried, let us first observe the child’s character. If she is frivolous and greedy, we cannot simply give her the technique. But if that is the case, she may yet be swayed by material wealth.”