The Flute of Ten Thousand Years Cold Iron
Seomun Su-rin narrowed her eyes. “In detail. Tell me everything in detail.”
“So it was the Demonic Cult’s advance… wave? No, the Raging Wave Unit?” Cheong tilted her head. Huh. Was that the name when they combined the First and Second Units? It sounds right, though?
Cheong briefly searched her memory. Seomun Su-rin was stunned. It was only natural—Cheong had already taken her breath away from the very first sentence of the story.
“The Demonic Cult! Those damnable wretches!”
“They really were awful people.”
Indeed, there hadn’t been a single one among them with low karma. She had heard that the Demonic Cult was where all the villains gathered to live, and it seemed the information had been accurate.
“This happened when I, um, entered a certain city. There was this old lady there…”
Cheong naturally glossed over the city’s name. Reciting every proper noun that flew by was the kind of parlor trick only protagonists in novels could pull off. Instead, she recited an epic tale of a great hero who had obtained a flute, deliberately omitting certain names for similar reasons.
Only, it was heavily seasoned with the storyteller’s own creative interpretation.
The evil Demonic Cult’s indomitable Raging Wave Unit! Cheong had stood alone like Romance of the Three Kingdoms’ Zhang Fei at Changban Bridge, single-handedly blocking their path and claiming the enemies’ heads. The evil Cult’s minions had then wet themselves in terror and fled in panic. Thus, the disciple had pursued the foes like a raging storm. Finally, upon confronting the enemy leader, the villain had been in the middle of finishing a grave robbery. So the disciple faced the Transcendent enemy leader…
“The captain of the Demonic Cult’s combat unit was in the Transcendent realm? I have never heard of such an elite unit bearing the name Raging Wave.”
Cheong flinched. Ah. So she knows about the Demonic Cult’s combat units.
She quickly changed her story. “It wasn’t quite Transcendent. More like… a fully packed late-stage Peak, something like that…?”
Feeling guilty, Cheong shifted the heroic tale into something closer to a personal experience log. This included the scene where she had cornered the enemies, offered to spare just one, and watched as they immediately stabbed their own captain in the side—completely devoid of any loyalty.
“Yes, that is exactly how those wretches of the Demonic Cult behave. Oh-ho. Your achievements were truly remarkable! At last, a heroine of the Jianghu renowned for her chivalry has appeared!”
Seomun Su-rin was overjoyed. For Cheong, purely sharing in that joy was a bit awkward.
“However, since my disciple’s cultivation is still shallow, it is not yet time for your name to resound throughout the Jianghu…”
“But that disciple is already at late-stage Peak…”
“Is late-stage Peak not still merely late-stage Peak? In this world, any decently sized city’s martial hall has at least one Peak expert. How can my disciple be so frail, delicate, and sickly…”
It was a statement that would have made every Peak expert in the Jianghu weep. If a twenty-year-old girl at late-stage Peak was considered frail, then the ordinary people who only reached Peak at fifty and celebrated it would have to shed rivers of tears in self-reflection.
Still, it wasn’t entirely wrong. After all, the opponents Cheong would face in the future wouldn’t necessarily appear at similar ages. This was an era when the martial standards of the Jianghu had reached unprecedented heights. It was all thanks to Senior Mucheon-daeje, who had won freedom for the Murim from the imperial court.
The now frail, delicate, and sickly Cheong protested. “Still, I actually defeated a Transcendent expert, you know?”
“Oh? A Transcendent expert would surely have had a nickname, no? Tell me.”
“The Cannibal Demon Lord…”
“……?”
Seomun Su-rin had been listening with an all right, let’s hear it attitude, so when a familiar name suddenly emerged, she was visibly shaken. It was a notorious devil whose infamy was well known, a fiend whose cultivation had surpassed the mid-stage of Transcendence.
“What exactly are you saying? The Cannibal Demon Lord?”
“It was at this lake called Dongting Lake. Oh, do you know Dongting Lake? It’s an incredibly vast lake. At first, I thought it was the sea.”
“Is there anyone in the world who does not know Dongting Lake?”
Ah. She knows about Dongting Lake too. Cheong felt a pang of regret for failing to show off her worldly knowledge, not realizing how short her own leash actually was.
“The Cannibal Demon Lord… Did you finish him off completely?”
“Yes. Just like you taught me, Master, I used the Internal Heavy Water Technique and made him go boom.”
“Just where did you learn that vulgar way of speaking—never mind. You did well. Those demonic practitioners are as narrow-minded as insects. You must thoroughly eliminate any future threats.”
Seomun Su-rin nodded in satisfaction. Then, a sudden question occurred to her.
“Wait. You said Internal Heavy Water Technique, but no matter how deep your internal energy may be, an ordinary technique should not have been able to overcome such a gap in realms.”
“Ah. That’s because—do you know the Yeorae Shinjang? It is ab-so-lute-ly terrifying. I hit him with the Yeorae Shinjang and—boom! The Cannibal Demon Lord went boom too! That’s how it happened.”
Cheong thrust her arm forward in demonstration, proudly showing off her divine might. With each boom, she swung her hand, and a deep, resonant dong, dong—the adorable sound of a temple bell—rang out.
Yeorae Shinjang
“……?”
Seomun Su-rin was stunned once again. The Yeorae Shinjang. It was a secret technique of Shaolin. However, it had already become a legend existing only in records. This was because of a similar martial art called the Hundred Steps Divine Fist. Since its foundation was in fist techniques, it harmonized well with Shaolin’s martial arts, and its power and range were exceptional. As a result, the direct disciples chose the Hundred Steps Divine Fist and abandoned the Yeorae Shinjang, causing its lineage to be severed at some point. It was already a lost supreme art of Shaolin.
So why was it being displayed by her disciple’s hand? Yet she could not dismiss it as a bluff—she had personally heard the temple bell sound, the hallmark of that supreme Buddhist energy art.
“No, how… What is this?”
Seomun Su-rin fell into confusion. However, as the highest senior of the current Murim with profound internal energy, she quickly regained her composure.
“Well. What does it matter? Those bald donkeys of Shaolin neglected their own secret technique. If some remnant of its lineage ended up in my disciple’s hands, what complaint could they possibly have?”
Seomun Su-rin’s face brightened like a flower in bloom.
“Serves them right. Their secret technique, which they guarded so jealously while treating women like monsters, has ultimately been inherited by a woman. Ha! The more I think about it, the more refreshing it feels. My disciple is truly a blessing in my old age. How can you be so lovely?”
To Seomun Su-rin, Shaolin Temple was nothing more than a den of uncouth bastards who completely forbade women from entering. It was as if they believed women would seduce their monks. The nerve of those bald fools.
Once again faced with the radical language of a female warrior, Cheong had no idea how to respond. Usually in these situations, smiling was the safest option.
“Hehe…”
“I have told you countless times not to laugh so foolishly—haah. Never mind. If those bald donkeys ever cause trouble over that divine art in the future, use your master’s name. Let them try saying anything then.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Good. Since there must be more to the story, your master will not ask about the origin of the divine art. By the way, have you learned any other martial arts?”
Cheong carefully gauged Seomun Su-rin’s reaction. Seeing how pleased she was about the Yeorae Shinjang, maybe the Sosu Magong would also pass without too much trouble? In any case, if her pulse were ever checked, it would be discovered immediately. Her master was already a great master of Eastern medicine! So even if it became a problem, it would be better to confess honestly while she was still in a good mood, right?
“Well, Master. Somehow, I ended up learning a demonic art.”
“A demonic art?”
Seomun Su-rin’s eyebrows shot up dramatically. Cheong shrank her shoulders. At that sight, Seomun Su-rin’s heart softened again.
“I see. A young girl wandering the Jianghu alone might indeed need to carry at least one ruthless technique for survival.”
To a martial artist, a life-saving final move—a hidden ace—was an essential quality. In that sense, one demonic art was…
That was what Seomun Su-rin thought.
“So, what is this demonic art?”
Meanwhile, Cheong breathed a huge sigh of relief. Ooh. It’s working!
“Yes! It’s the Sosu Magong!”
Cheong shouted with a bright, innocent face. It was faith in a master who cherished her disciple.
It was faith that was immediately betrayed.
THWACK!!!
“Eek!”
A frog-like shriek burst from Cheong. It felt like her skull had split open. She clutched her head and rolled on the ground. The pain was as if her cranium had been shattered. Her face flushed bright red in an instant, her eyes and nose stinging as tears and snot poured down. In her mind, which had gone pure white, only raw agony existed—a pain akin to torture.
Crazy! It really hurts! Did my head actually crack!?
Normally, a nuclear noogie should have flown in. However, at that very moment, Cheong’s gift was still in Seomun Su-rin’s hand. From ancient times to the distant future, a flute was one of the most powerful weapons and divine objects a master could possess!
Moreover, the Boksinjeok was a solid lump of ten-thousand-year cold iron.
“Oh no! Are you all right!?”
Even Seomun Su-rin realized her mistake too late. She had forgotten it was a ten-thousand-year cold iron club. She had completely failed to control her strength. The destructive power was comparable to an eighteen-thousand-three-hundred-pound tungsten rod falling from the depths of outer space. It was truly the power of a divine staff!
If not for Cheong’s exceptionally high bone and muscle stats, a great tragedy of a master smashing her disciple’s head open would have occurred. In fact, even if she had cracked the skull, it would have been ruled innocent. Her disciple had learned the Sosu Magong! There were limits to how much one could tarnish their sect and master’s name.
“Stop acting and get up.”
“It really, really hurts…”
A single teardrop rolled down from Cheong’s now bloodshot eyes. Seomun Su-rin let out a deep sigh.
“Just where did you learn the Sosu Magong—no. Even if you did, what on earth were you thinking to learn such a vicious demonic art?”
“I didn’t know demonic arts were that bad…”
Cheong had her own reasons for feeling wronged. Her origin was from beyond a boundary—whether it was a different timeline, a parallel world, or simply the other side of a monitor screen—a modern person. And modern expressions were, compared to the Central Plains, not merely crude but downright blasphemous. While people might frown at friends casually exchanging curses, no one would turn deathly serious and lament that families were collapsing and society was crumbling. Moreover, Koreans were a people more tolerant of extreme expressions than any other nation on Earth.
For someone like Cheong, the heavy weight of the term “demonic art” simply didn’t register. If it had been called something like Human Trash Art, Bastard Son Art, or Life Imprisonment Art, she never would have learned it. Therefore, to a game-obsessed idiot like Cheong who knew nothing of wuxia, demonic arts and magic were basically the same—brothers from the Ma family. She had thought there was no real problem to begin with.
“What am I to do with this foolish girl…”
Seomun Su-rin could do nothing but let out a frustrated sigh.