The Pig Trotter Enlightenment
If you asked whether orthodox Murim warriors needed to preserve any dignity for the villains of the unorthodox factions, eight or nine out of ten would answer no. But if you followed up by asking whether that meant it was acceptable for those villains to die from being beaten with a pig's trotter, they would all look uncomfortable and say that seemed a bit excessive. Why not just beat them to death with your fists? What kind of cruel technique was that? After all, it was the worst possible way to kill someone—one that turned even death into a joke.
To die from a pig's trotter, and for a seasoned martial artist who led an entire sect, no less? How would they even hold the funeral? How could the survivors swear their revenge? We will avenge our leader who perished by pig's trotter! We will punish the wicked enemy who swung a pig's trotter at our leader! That wench's trotter will shatter before my sword!
And so Lee Wang-chul found himself facing a crisis. Not just any crisis, but a truly monumental one—an unprecedented catastrophe that no martial artist, indeed no human being, had ever encountered before. (Though it might have been a common occurrence for apes.)
In the face of such a crisis, some people collapse where they stand while others grit their teeth and break through. Lee Wang-chul was decidedly the latter. It was only natural for the leader of a faction.
The instant the smooth, glistening, perfectly clean pig's hind leg bone—with not a scrap of meat left on it—reflected in his eyes, Lee Wang-chul's latent potential exploded. It was a miracle born from the desperate prayer not to die by pig's trotter.
Even with the floorboards shattered and his footing unstable, Lee Wang-chul poured every ounce of his strength into taking one step. Yes. Just one single step.
In that moment, every muscle in his body, every tendon controlled by those muscles, every bone those tendons connected, and every joint linking those bones united for a single purpose. It was a majestic and harmonious chorus.
Too much is worse than too little. The exquisite distribution of force from the large muscles pulling on bones and joints was instead like a generous person gently pushing smaller muscles aside to yield their seat. And so the nameless minor muscles suddenly erupted with power beyond their limits, steadying the swaying torso that had lost its balance.
Thus, with a single step. Not in haste, but in an utterly natural motion, he simply took one step back.
Whoosh.
The round joint of the vertically descending pig's trotter grazed the tip of his nose. It came so close that not even a single hair could have fit between them, touching at the shortest possible distance before slicing down through empty air.
An ordinary backward step. A small footstep. But for Lee Wang-chul, it was a transcendent leap.
In that instant, a great realization struck him.
True strength did not come merely from forcing one's way forward. The large and small must each fulfill their proper roles. Different bones, different muscles—all of them had to function as one, only as one, before he could truly control this body as a complete individual.
The internal energy he had forcibly held within his body. This was called jeong—the vital essence a person possesses.
The techniques remembered only through repetition. This was called gi—the principle drawn from matter.
The knowledge he thought he understood through formulas and theory. This was called sin—the power held by the spirit.
The boundary between the three, the "knowledge" of internal energy, mind, and body melting into one complete whole. Complete understanding. In other words, ilwon—the singular origin.
Thus, what martial artists spoke of as perfect comprehension—the flawless harmony of internal energy, technique, and understanding. The realm of harmony. The Harmonious Realm!
It was a dramatic moment in which a martial artist who had already transcended himself now became perfectly one with himself.
The sudden enlightenment. The pig's trotter that had departed also suddenly returned.
Crack!
His head split open with one blow. The brain of the great Harmonious Realm master escaped the confines of mortal flesh for the first time in its existence and emerged into the world to savor freedom.
The enlightenment brought forth by the pig's trotter was the very thing that sent it flying away because of the pig's trotter. This was the virtue of seeing a task through to the end—taking responsibility for what one had begun.
"Huh? What the hell? Why is he just standing there?"
Cheong lowered the arm holding the pig's trotter with a bewildered expression. The red liquid dripping down was not blood. She had never even considered that he might dodge the surprise attack, yet he had slipped away with an almost mystical movement. And then, with completely unfocused eyes, he stood there stupidly staring off into the distance.
He hadn't even raised his defensive energy, so his skull had been cracked open in one hit.
What was going on? Well, whatever. A guy whose brain had literally escaped didn't seem likely to survive, so there was no point wondering.
Instead of pondering why the sect leader had fallen into some kind of stupor, Cheong simply raised her voice in triumph.
"Enemy leader defeated!"
The Salwol-pa warriors snapped back to their senses.
"Sect Leader!"
The Hwaryongjo youths also came to their senses.
"Let's exterminate the villain!"
But why did people shout loudly after defeating the enemy leader? Just as the presence or absence of a head determined life and death for an individual, for a group the presence or absence of its leader determined victory or defeat.
With their sect leader's head smashed in by a pig's trotter bone, the young hot-blooded members of the Hwaryongjo had their spirits surge straight to the heavens. The late-stage disciples of the Hwaryongjo who charged forward with weapons in hand felt the liberation of truly becoming heroes in that moment. Drunk on the act young blood loved most—slaying evil villains—and intoxicated with themselves for practicing chivalry, their overflowing confidence manifested as they cut down wickedness.
However, the Salwol-pa warriors who had witnessed their leader's head burst from the pig's trotter bone were already terrified by that cruel technique. A vicious method that even insulted a person's death!
Of course, Cheong had not harbored such wicked or terrible malice. She had simply been in a hurry, and it was what she happened to be holding. Whether the meat had been cut beautifully or the cook had been a novice, there was almost no flesh left on the bone, making it resemble a wooden club. The meat attached to the bone was the tastiest part! Cheong had gnawed it clean until it shone, so when the situation turned urgent, that long, heavy object in her hand had been perfect for swinging.
If left alone, a quarrel with Huimae would have broken out, and since Murim affairs usually began with words and ended in blood, if a fight was unavoidable, it was better to smash the leader's head first. That way she could protect Huimae and minimize casualties among the Hwaryongjo members, her righteous orthodox family.
And that was exactly what happened.
The Salwol-pa warriors couldn't even properly raise their swords before turning tail and fleeing. The sounds of them tumbling down the stairs, the crack of breaking railings, and the screams of those who fell in panic filled the air.
At least the Salwol-pa executives who had joined the dinner displayed the skill of seasoned, unorthodox-faction-trained escape artists. Without getting tangled in the narrow corridors and stairs, they smashed straight through the paper doors into the opposite private room, then through another set of doors to the railing, and jumped down without hesitation.
The perfectly square Jinhae Pavilion followed Central Plains architectural style, but at its primitive ancient level the top was narrow and the bottom wide, allowing them to step across the tiled roofs on each floor and demonstrate a swift retreat to the ground.
They were cold-hearted older brothers who used their cherished younger subordinates as bait to make their escape. Of course, in their minds they had already fabricated heroic memories: Ugh, my brothers! I won't forget your sacrifice. The Salwol-pa executives had already edited their memories to include dramatic scenes where their subordinates cried out, "Big Brother! I'll hold them off! Please retreat!" and sacrificed themselves for the sake of loyalty.
The greatest victims in this incident were neither Lee Wang-chul, who had died from being struck by the pig's trotter, nor the Salwol-pa executives who had lost their cherished direct subordinates, nor the quick-thinking escapees who had survived despite being tangled on the stairs, breaking bones and suffering injuries.
Lee Wang-chul had, at any rate, tasted the great realm of the Harmonious Realm—even if only the tiniest bit—before dying as a martial artist. And a dead man was not a victim but, if one had to categorize him, more of a victim corpse.
The fleeing executives including Wang U had saved their lives and escaped the Cheonhwa-geom's vicious pig's trotter attack. The Salwol-pa warriors who had rolled down the stairs, suffering bruises, bursts, and breaks but still clinging to life, needed no further mention.
But what about the remaining Salwol-pa thugs who had been searching other rooms, threatening innocent private-room guests?
The stairs were already blocked with no escape route, and they couldn't even grasp the situation. So when the righteous young orthodox warriors charged in with battle cries, they fell without being able to flee, stabbed by blades that offered no questions or answers—Die, you evil faction trash!
What felt even more unfair was the reaction of the private-room guests cheering them on. As expected of the orthodox faction! We believed in you! Overwhelming thanks! And more thanks! Thanks to all of you, we avoided great humiliation. The orthodox faction is the best. We love the orthodox faction. As expected, the orthodox faction takes care of all the big problems. We know this—Shaolin, the Nine Great Schools, the Murim Alliance. To the evil faction thugs bleeding out as they died, these were truly tear-inducing words. Those bastards and us are all the same, living by stabbing people…
The Salwol-pa thugs who had surrounded a single woman, kicking her and striking her with weapons in excitement, met the same fate. To be precise, rather than the same fate, they suffered an even more miserable and tragic end. A whole crowd of additional men killed by the pig's trotter joined the pile.
"These so-called thugs ganging up to beat a woman. Guys who always talk about being manly. Are you okay, Miss?"
The woman who had curled into a ball with her head covered slowly turned to look. Her eyes, devoid of any expression as if nothing had happened, gazed up at Cheong from the floor.
"Thank you. May Rangrang ask the name of the great hero who has granted Rangrang the gift of life?"
"It's Seomun Cheong."
"Seomun Cheong? Is that Seo Mun-cheong or Seomun Cheong? According to common Central Plains naming conventions, if it's the latter, then you are that Cheonhwa-geom Seomun Cheong?"
"Um. What kind of Cheonhwa-geom are we talking about here?"
"A monster said to have three heads, or perhaps five. However, this Rangrang has realized that was a misunderstanding on Rangrang's part. Not a monster with multiple heads, but because you are a beautiful woman possessing breasts of a volume comparable to a head, the expression should be 'three-headed beauty.' Indeed. Rangrang has learned something new."
"You're being extremely rude, you know that?"
"I apologize. Then may Rangrang ask what reason causes you displeasure? Do you perhaps prefer the even rarer expression of five-headed?"
"No, what the hell is five-headed…"
"From the precedent of comparing massive mass to a head, one can infer that five-headed refers to the buttocks—specifically one of the cheeks. However, Rangrang cannot comprehend this. Because the volume of the Cheonhwa-geom's buttock is greater than that of her head."
"Aish, what kind of girl even is this?"
Then Cheong suddenly tilted her head. The woman had been beaten so hard it sounded like dust was flying everywhere, yet she looked surprisingly fine.
"But are you okay? Does it hurt anywhere?"
"If you are inquiring whether there is any threat to the maintenance of life, physical disability, or inconvenience of movement, then Rangrang is fine. However, the pain is severe."
Hmm. She really was a strange person. From the way she referred to herself by her own name, Cheong already wanted to keep some distance.
"Miss? Can you get up?"
"It is possible. However, this Rangrang wishes to remain lying down for one quarter-hour. No, two quarter-hours."
"Ah. Yes. Then go ahead."
With a sour expression, Cheong looked around and watched the lady named Rangrang—who was lying there expressionlessly yet crawling across the floor with unnecessarily precise, disciplined movements.
Wondering where she was crawling to, Cheong saw her stretch out a hand, grab the knocked-over roasted pigeon with a crash, pull it to her chest, tear off the flesh, and begin munching away.
Since her face remained completely blank, it was impossible to tell whether it tasted good or bad. But seeing her jaw movements gradually speed up, it seemed she rather liked it.
Above her head, as she lay there, a Western numeral appeared in blue—the number one—lying sideways to form the Central Plains character for one. A good deed. Only one point.
She didn't seem like a bad person. Well, seeing that she still had the presence of mind to eat, she appeared to be fine after all.