Winds of Anhui (3)
Twelve Go boards were arranged in a circle at regular intervals, with the sword masters of the Cheongan Twelve Swordsmen seated before them. In the center stood Yeon alone.
Damenki. A format where one player faces multiple opponents simultaneously. In this case, with twelve boards in play, all progressed at once, making the mechanics straightforward.
Yeon slowly opened her mouth.
"Let's begin."
"……."
The twelve members of the Cheongan Twelve Swordsmen, their faces stern, raised their hands in unison and placed their stones. Tak— Though they moved together, only one sound rang out, a testament to the grueling training they had endured to synchronize so perfectly.
Yeon moved slowly. She placed a stone on the first board, then immediately shifted to the second for another move. Third, fourth, and so on, circling back to the first after the twelfth. But simplicity ended with the method.
Each of the twelve boards followed its own rhythm: one still in the opening phase, another deep in midgame combat, yet another nearing the endgame. The swordsmen could focus solely on their single board, but Yeon had to hold twelve entirely different worlds in her mind with every step—memory, judgment speed, and the ability to grasp the state of the board at a glance were as crucial as skill itself in damenki.
Thus, damenki was proof of one's ability to embrace twelve worlds without faltering.
But Yeon was a child who had already played dozens, hundreds of games simultaneously in her mind.
Ttak—
"…?"
The young swordsmen facing her soon found themselves on the defensive, confusion etching their faces—a natural progression. They had started lightly, thinking it manageable, but as the games entered midgame, their pondering times lengthened. In Yeon's original world, Go had strict time limits, with defeat for exceeding them; here in this romantic martial realm, there were no such constraints, allowing endless deliberation.
"……."
Clack.
Namgung Shinyeop's brow furrowed as he gripped his stone. He had expected his adopted little sister to play well, given her confidence, but this was beyond measure. It was stamina no child her age could possess, naturally conjuring the word genius in his mind.
Watching the Cheongan Twelve Swordsmen ponder, Yeon sorted her own thoughts. Her goal today wasn't victory over them but advancing their martial arts to secure their support. To control those ruffians, she needed recognition from the swords—making herself untouchable. To Yeon, whether the Nine Great Beggars Sect or the Five Great Families, they were just thugs of varying scale and power—gangsters, in the blunt terms of her original era.
And she found the answer: the moves they all overlooked, the paths they couldn't see.
Not all the same—precisely split down the middle. Six failed to spot the sacrifice of a few stones that would save the whole; the other six overlooked the sole escape route, as if veiled from view.
As if someone had covered their eyes.
What linked those six warriors? Yeon approached Namgung Mumu, deep in thought, and asked.
"Brother?"
"Hm? I'll play soon. Just give me a moment to think…."
"No, I have a question. Would it be rude to ask the warriors' cultivation levels?"
"Hm. Not if there's no mockery intended—especially not from you. We're family from the same house, after all."
"Ah, good. What level is Brother Mumu's martial prowess?"
"Late first-rate, I suppose you'd understand that."
"I see. And the others?"
"Mostly similar. These six are stuck at late first-rate, while Brother Shinyeop's group over there is at the early peak realm. That's enough to make a name in the jianghu."
"Ah, so you're all around the same."
Namgung Mumu chuckled at her words.
"Except for one monster."
"Pardon?"
"Never mind. There's a monstrous fellow not here now—he'll return soon enough. Anyway… what to do? I can't see a move no matter how I look."
With that, Namgung Mumu sank back into thought, and Yeon slowly surveyed the Cheongan Twelve Swordsmen.
First-rate late and peak early warriors missed different moves. Overcoming that might let them see what was hidden—and perhaps shatter their martial walls in the process.
Yeon hypothesized as much. Composing herself, she quietly asked the six at a similar juncture, led by Namgung Shinyeop.
"Where are you stuck right now?"
Namgung Shinyeop, chin in hand and glaring at the board, answered without looking up. He didn't mind losing, but a warrior's competitive spirit lingered.
"…To keep this flow, I have to take a loss somewhere, and it's not easy."
"Then," Yeon continued calmly,
"why not take the loss?"
The Cheongan Twelve Swordsmen flinched in unison.
"……."
"What's wrong with a little shortfall? Or imperfection in this one game?"
"That's…."
"You don't need to win perfectly. Go is completed by one brilliant move amid ninety-nine ordinary ones. Obsessing over flawless plays makes you miss the living path."
"……."
"Try it. The discarding move. Only when you can willingly abandon the stones you cherish, the home you've built with care, does the true path appear."
"…!"
It wasn't loud. A soft murmur, seemingly trivial—yet as her words ended, Namgung Shinyeop and the six peak warriors snapped their heads up as if struck by lightning.
The discarding move. In their minds, the Go board overlaid with their sword paths.
Naturally, swordsmen pursued perfect sword paths. Thousands of days honing to strike exactly where intended, with sweat and breaths numbering in the hundreds of thousands—that bone-grinding training had forged their current peak realms.
How could they release that perfection? Yet true swordsmanship demanded wielding imperfect strikes to advance further. It was the courage for flawed swings that enabled today's flawless ones.
They had forgotten what once seemed obvious. Yeon's words revealed the unseen path, drawing gasps from the Namgung warriors.
"Ah…."
"Oh…."
The six young warriors plunged their heads back to the boards, eyes glazing dreamily. Yeon had witnessed this once before, but the others hadn't.
"…? Brothers?"
As the first-rate warriors rose at the odd aura, Yeon pressed a finger to her lips.
"Shh. No, don't."
"……."
Namgung Mumu, half-standing awkwardly, glanced at his brothers' faces—indeed, the exact moment of martial epiphany during cultivation. Strange to see it over a Go board instead of swinging swords, but unmistakable.
'Did this child really guide them there?'
The first-rate warriors, staring at Yeon in disbelief, sat quietly. Yeon resumed circling the boards, calling moves.
"Four-eight."
"Three-eleven."
"Eighteen-four."
Each call severed half their painstakingly built structures—moves they never would have considered, let alone played. As their hands, entranced, cut their own territory, Yeon gently guided the survival paths for the rest.
Tak—tak.
With Yeon's final placement, the long games of the six peak masters ended.
Tak—.
As the last stone fell, life returned to their dazed faces.
"Ah…?"
"What in the world…."
Befuddled, they stared at the boards and then at Yeon, entranced—until epiphany struck, and they bolted up.
"The sword—I need to swing the sword."
Fearing the insight might vanish, they dashed to the training grounds. The first-rate warriors watched blankly.
"What…."
Namgung Shinyeop alone remained entranced, eyes vacant on the board. Yeon watched him briefly, then bowed to the first-rate warriors.
"Brothers, I may have overstepped. I'm sorry, but could we play again tomorrow? You should look after the brothers who ran to the grounds."
"Ah… yes, let's."
"B-Brother! Let's go!"
Blood brothers who had shared countless missions, they naturally yearned to witness their kin ascend realms. The first-rate warriors followed, leaving Yeon, the unrousable Namgung Shinyeop, and Namgung Mumu.
Yeon gazed at Namgung Mumu, who grinned sheepishly.
"He's still the squad leader, after all. Waking to find no one beside him might disappoint. True subordinates stand firm by their leader's side, right?"
"True enough."
"Ah, by the way—I never thought it'd really work. Incredible. Seeing the brothers charge off like that. Haha."
"Tomorrow, Brother can achieve great success too."
"Hahaha. Think so? Feels like a dream. But since it might not pan out, I'll hold off on hopes to avoid blaming you later."
As Namgung Mumu joked, Yeon smiled faintly, then stared. Her pretty adopted sister gazing intently embarrassed him, prompting a needless cough.
"Ahem. Cough. What's that look? Something on this brother's face?"
"…When the other brothers doubted me, why did only you believe?"
"Ah, that?"
Namgung Mumu waved it off casually, stretching his legs.
"I just hate seeing that kind of thing."
"……."
"A group ganging up on one—er, the relatively weak. What's that called again? Haha, can't recall."
"Ah… that… bul—"
"Hm?"
Yeon caught her near-slip.
"…Never mind. I get the sentiment."
"Anyway, it's just my temperament—not for you specifically. Haha. Couldn't stand watching 'elders' bully a young sibling."
"Still, thank you."
"……."
Embarrassed by such words, Namgung Mumu feigned distraction before changing topics.
"Ah, how'd you meet Elder Yuanju?"
"Hm… He asked to keep it secret, but shall I tell you alone?"
"…Better not. Then the kids who came with you—are they siblings?"
"No, actually—"
With hearts opened, they chatted amiably beside the entranced Namgung Shinyeop. Six hours later, at dawn,
he slowly opened his eyes.
"Zzz—"
Namgung Mumu's snores echoed through the hall.