The Lonely Path of the Sword
On the lonely path of a solitary person, gazing toward the end of the sword.
“So, you’ve come to see the Sword-Carving Cliff?”
“Yes. My sword friend—well, Young Master Namgung—said I absolutely had to see Mt. Hua’s Sword-Carving Cliff.”
“Hehe, the Sword-Carving Cliff holds the insights that the great senior Mucheon-daeje gained after observing Mt. Hua’s sword. It is also a sacred treasure of our sect. We cannot show it lightly to outsiders.”
It seemed this was no ordinary spectacle offered to just anyone. Cheong had assumed that no matter how beautiful a natural landscape might be, how impressive could it truly get? Yet the scenery she witnessed while climbing Mt. Hua far exceeded her imagination. After all, this was the first time the former factory worker who had only ever lived inside an industrial complex had encountered a vista of the wider world.
Korean scenery was beautiful, yes, but its scale felt modest and never truly overwhelming. Cheong could not hide her disappointment.
“Ah, I see…”
True Person Yuhwa smiled gently.
“However, since our youngest is part of our Daoist family, it would be wrong to call you an outsider.”
“Then may I see it? Can I look?”
“In return, if anything comes to mind after viewing the Sword-Carving Cliff, will you tell me? With talent like yours, youngest, you may perceive something the rest of us cannot.”
“Of course. I’ll write you a full, airtight appreciation essay with every single impression.”
“Hehe. There is no need to go that far.”
Of course, True Person Yuhwa had not truly expected anything of the sort. Even Mt. Hua’s greatest expert felt only the crushing gap of overwhelming skill when facing the Sword-Carving Cliff. What could a mere girl in her late teens, a late-stage Peak realm martial artist, possibly comprehend from it?
Behind them, Paeng Daesan and Namgung Sinjae sat like folding screens and exchanged glances. They were utterly dumbfounded.
The mission they had been given was to show the Sword-Carving Cliff to the heirs of the great clans. It was neither difficult nor dangerous, yet it was exceedingly tiresome and offered no guarantee of success. That was why they had left the comfort of their clans to wander the gangho.
Naturally, it was not a compulsory order demanding they devote their entire hearts and souls. Still, having seen the cliff, they at least needed to pretend they had carried out their duty. They could not simply return home and collapse into bed.
And yet here they were. With Cheong it was all “yes, yes, how adorable, oh what a precious child, let’s go see the Sword-Carving Cliff right away.”
They understood the bond between Daoist sects. But this difference in treatment was simply too much.
To True Person Yuhwa, however, the matter looked different. No matter how much the Five Great Clans or Ten Great Clans spoke of regional dominance among the righteous white path factions, in the final moment of choice they would always pick family over greater cause.
Senior Mucheon-daeje had said as much. The only ones who truly acted for the world were the great mountains of the righteous path. And Grand Matriarch Seomun Su-rin stood as a particularly lofty peak among them. It was not the Goddess Sect itself, but Seomun Su-rin as an individual.
These were already uneasy times because of ominous divinations. He had not revealed the Sword-Carving Cliff to the clan heirs and incurred a debt for nothing. If, as the divination foretold, a great calamity rose upon Mt. Hua, perhaps they could borrow Seomun Su-rin’s strength through Cheong’s goodwill.
Of course, he had also simply found the youngest, who was like a granddaughter to him, utterly adorable. As one grew old and rose in station, the young ones all hesitated with difficulty. It was only natural to fall completely for the bold youngest who smiled so brightly.
“Hehe. I would love to speak longer with my youngest junior sister, but the head of a sect is always so busy. There is an entire cartload of people I must meet, so I cannot spare much time.”
“Ah. You’re busy? I didn’t mean to trouble someone who—”
“Since time is short, let us go see it quickly. I can at least spare this much for my new youngest junior sister.”
The world turned ashen gray. The only figure retaining color was an old man with snow-white hair tied back tightly. A stubborn-faced grandfather stood with a long sword hanging loosely from one hand, eyes closed, quietly regulating his breath.
White flower petals flowed from his sword. The blades scattering into pure white petals looked as if the sword itself were melting away.
And then the sword moved. Along its trajectory, countless petals bloomed. They floated, swept by the wind, fluttering, then gently settled only to suddenly burst upward again with laughter. They whirled like a gale, then without hesitation spread across the vast sky until the entire world was filled with nothing but a rain of petals. The whole field of vision dazzled with white flowers.
Alone within a storm of light so beautiful it chilled the soul.
Cheong unconsciously reached out. The world overflowed with petals, yet when she clenched her fist and opened it, nothing remained. On her palm, which she stared at with bitter longing, a single petal gently landed.
Something that could not be caught no matter how hard one tried. Something that only approached if one remained still.
Cheong lifted her head. The old man had vanished, leaving only a single sword. The old man was there. The old man was the sword, and the sword was the old man.
At last the sword flew. Countless petals—each a ring of sword qi—chased after it in a storm. The starlight frolicked with innocent laughter, swirling wildly, until the cliff groaned beneath the weight of its scars.
Cheong looked at the cliff. It was the message Mucheon-daeje had left behind. Chaos written in irregular strokes made of incomprehensible random numbers. A message.
From the mouth of the dazed Cheong, words flowed out.
“The flapping of a butterfly’s wings in the flower fields of Cheonghae Province stirs up a storm in Beijing. This is because all the changes of the world are born from the will of a single insignificant creature.”
They were words she spoke, yet not words she spoke. Cheong herself did not even understand what she was saying.
“If even a mere creature can do this, then with the countless wills of humans in the world, no change can possibly be predicted.”
Cheong looked up at the sky. The sky was overcast and the surroundings dark.
“Ten thousand changes and transformations. Can a person dare to understand the will of heaven? Does martial learning truly place its truth in that pure domain beyond the nine heavens that humans cannot reach?”
The old man despaired. Yet he never broke. Because it is only before frustration that humans display their purity. Because they are creatures that have advanced precisely in that way.
The old man opened his mouth.
“Heaven’s—”
At that instant, Cheong’s senses expanded. They crossed Mt. Hua and the lands of Shaanxi. Mt. Hua’s disciples laughing, chatting, and training. In distant cities and inns, the usual fights and quarrels. Inside drinking houses—oh, she hadn’t meant to peek, but the sun hadn’t even set yet and it was already so lewd. Still, that was quite an interesting position, wasn’t it? Wait, just a little longer—
Her senses expanded further. Beyond the Central Plains, past the world’s tallest mountain range. Ah, those red-skinned Hongin savages. The Hongin tribe chatting while eating pig slop, the Hongin tribe burning witches, the Hongin tribe in iron shells charging in the name of their god… And finally crossing the ocean, brushing past people who pitched tents and wore feather hats.
At last Cheong faced the blue planet and flew into the sea of stars. A majestic universe unfolded before her eyes—the most beautiful world a human could ever face.
That was when it happened. Every star twinkled at once, welcoming her. The stars whispered in innocent, gentle voices.
—
—opened his mouth.
“I shall not seek the understanding of heaven or earth. I will simply walk the lonely path of a solitary person, gazing at the end of the sword, and devote myself to training.”
Dokgo-gugeom
Eighth Stance — Thousand Changes, Myriad Transformations
“Blegh!”
Cheong suddenly vomited blood. Black blood splattered heavily onto the ground.
“Child! Child!”
“Cheong! Are you all right?”
“Sword friend! There’s blood!”
“Young lady! Are you unhurt!?”
Four voices struck her ears at once. Cheong waved her hand, signaling that she was fine for now. Her insides were still churning, though.
“My… my back…”
Cheong pointed at her back and shook her hand. One of the four—whichever it was—thumped her back firmly. The remaining nausea surged up at once.
“Urrghhh, hu, hu, urrrghhh.”
With mortifying noises, Cheong kept vomiting blood. She looked ready to empty every drop in her body. Strangely, once it was over, her insides felt refreshed.
Cheong wiped her mouth with her sleeve.
“Whew! Now I feel like I can live again. Wow, that’s refreshing.”
Her body felt oddly light. Was it just her imagination? Or was she truly lighter?
“Youngest junior sister, are you all right?”
“Ah. Just a moment…”
Cheong opened the martial arts window that had sent her a notification. A new technique had been added, sparkling. It even had a purple border.
A stance from a martial art that suddenly came to mind—one she had never known before.
Dokgo-gugeom. Eighth stance, Thousand Changes, Myriad Transformations.