Am I the Strange One?
Am I the strange one?
“The Sword Immortal, you say…….”
Wonder swept across Hyeon Un's face.
The title of Sword Immortal had always belonged to the greatest living blade among the Taoist schools of the age. In this generation, no one had earned the right to claim it—the sect leaders of Wudang, Mount Hua, and Kunlun each refused to acknowledge the others' superiority.
And yet here was someone bold enough to call himself the Sword Immortal outright.
He turned over the faces of every notable he knew, but no one fitting the description came to mind. Of course, even as an elder of Wudang, Hyeon Un could hardly claim to know every Taoist and every master in the world.
Well, naturally. Beyond the seven great Taoist schools that represent this era, the sects of the Dao are as countless as grains of sand.
With so many sects, there were just as many recluses and hidden masters. Taoists in particular had a habit of vanishing from the world entirely, living out their days in solitary cultivation without ever announcing their names.
And if one of them were a true inheritor of the Quanzhen Sect's lineage…….
There would be nothing lacking in calling himself the Sword Immortal.
With that thought, Hyeon Un hurried into the inn, where he found Jin Seongun—no, Seongun-ie—locked in a standoff with a middle-aged man.
“As you can see, everything's been wrecked, so I'm afraid we can't do business for the time being.”
“I'd settle for a lousy bowl of rice!”
“We have no ingredients prepared either. My apologies, but if you could come back another time…….”
“What did you say! A mere waiter dares tell me to come and go as he pleases…….”
Just as the middle-aged man was about to unleash his fury on the young waiter, his gaze slid slyly past the fellow's shoulder.
Over the waiter's shoulder, an old man's face had risen like the sun itself. And the pure white beard and brows, those unmistakably luminous eyes, made it abundantly clear that this was no ordinary person.
“No one said he couldn't eat.”
Hyeon Un spoke in a low, quiet voice. He made no overt threat, yet something uncanny in his presence made the middle-aged man swallow hard.
“Ahem, ahem.”
After a few rounds of fake coughing, the man retreated with an embarrassed shuffle. Watching him go, Jin Seongun allowed himself a moment of irreverent reflection: wouldn't life be a great deal easier if he could hire someone like Hyeon Un as his waiter?
“Now then, Seongun-ie.”
At some point, the address had shifted from Jin Seongun to Seongun-ie.
“Yes, elder?”
“Where might your master be these days? I find that I simply must meet him.”
A martial artist who had inherited the martial arts of the Quanzhen Sect, whole and unbroken. As an elder of Wudang—of the entire Taoist world—how could he possibly restrain himself?
At the question, Jin Seongun's expression stiffened. It was the very face he used to put on, back in his powerless days, whenever Black Dao thugs came looking for trouble.
Then, with the most tragic air imaginable, he gave a small shake of his head. Naturally, this was advice straight from Sangwang, that supreme master of self-presentation.
Seongun-ie, your fake expressions are decent enough, but when you tell a flat-out lie it shows on your face. So do it this way: deceive people with the smallest sliver of truth.
Just as Sangwang had predicted, Hyeon Un interpreted Jin Seongun's face and manner entirely on his own. Suddenly, he too was heaving a sigh of grief, his features collapsing like a dam had burst.
“Heogh……!”
What a truly pitiable tale it must be.
Hyeon Un had concluded that the man who called himself the Sword Immortal was a hidden master standing at the threshold of Ascension. He must have recognized Jin Seongun's talent and, sensing his own ascent drawing near, passed down the entirety of his lifelong enlightenment.
Of course, such a thing was absurd. Had anyone else told him this story, he'd have snorted and called the man a fraud.
But the proof was standing right in front of him. Jin Seongun himself—the martial arts he displayed—was the evidence.
“So then, you are now cultivating alone, running this inn by yourself.”
“Yes, well…….”
Hyeon Un nodded with a look of deep approval. And then, like a bolt of lightning, a single thought struck his mind.
Jin Seongun, blessed with talent the world had never seen. The martial arts he had learned belonged to the Daoist lineage—yet not to any school of the present day, but to the Quanzhen Sect of a distant past. Which meant, in other words, that he stood ready to absorb any Daoist art whatsoever.
He had no master at present. And by Oh Jeongsan's account, no family either.
“Oho, rah.”
Jin Seongun judged that the light in the old man's eyes had turned slightly dangerous, and took a step backward. Hyeon Un, entirely unbothered, pressed on with his dark scheme, an insidious smile spreading across his face.
For a Taoist, accumulating virtue was the goal of an entire lifetime. Aiding the pitiable, making offerings, disciplining the mind through ascetic practice—all worthy pursuits.
But the fastest, surest method of all was to take in a truly outstanding disciple.
The reason was simple: a disciple's virtue was the master's virtue. And when that disciple took a disciple of his own, and that disciple took another after him, the master simply sat back while merit piled up on its own.
This was why, it was widely known, the sect leaders of great Taoist schools like Wudang almost invariably succeeded in ascending. Some scoffed that it was nothing but a scheme to swell a sect's influence and dismissed it as a multi-level scheme—but at the end of the day, Taoists were seekers of the Dao, and there was nothing wrong with the world holding more immortals.
“Seongun-ah. What are your thoughts on the Wudang Sect, if I may ask?”
“Hmm. A good place?”
In truth, he had never given it much thought. Until he'd met Oh Jeongsan, there had been no reason for him to cross paths with the sect at all.
And yet, at Jin Seongun's answer, Hyeon Un's smile only deepened further.
“Is thaaat so.”
At first, many would object. Who would accept a man already past twenty as a disciple? It would throw the entire generational order into disarray.
But if he taught Seongun-ie the sword of Wudang, and the boy displayed staggering talent and results, then in the end everyone would applaud.
Jin Seongun was a genius among geniuses, having mastered the Quanzhen Sect's arts with such fluency at barely twenty years of age. Already, Hyeon Un's head was brimming with fantasies of the decades to come: Jin Seongun inheriting the title of Sword Immortal, becoming the sect leader of Wudang, while he himself—the master behind the man—basked in oceans of accrued virtue.
He would stand at the very summit of the multi-level scheme itself.
“Heh heh…….”
As Hyeon Un's laughter grew more insidious and more dangerous by the second, Jin Seongun retreated two steps. Hyeon Un advanced three.
That was when it happened.
Oh Jeongsan entered the inn.
His master had ordered him not to follow, but worry had gnawed at him until sitting still was simply impossible.
The moment he stepped inside, Oh Jeongsan beheld a baffling scene: his master approaching Seongun-ie with a dangerous glint in his eyes while Seongun-ie backed away, one step at a time.
Oh Jeongsan had seen that look once, long, long ago. Back when the head of Wudang's Medicine Hall gathered the young disciples to teach pharmacology, one endlessly curious and precocious pupil would not stop asking questions—and the Hall Master's face had settled into exactly that expression.
Afterward, the boy was kidnapped—no, recruited—into the Medicine Hall. Rumor had it that to this day, the child never saw proper sunlight again, devoting himself wholly to pharmaceutical research.
What is this?
Why on earth was his master looking at Seongun-ie that way? Even as the question formed, Hyeon Un spoke.
“Jeongsan-ah.”
“……My apologies, Master. This unworthy disciple dared defy your order—I was so worried I had to come.”
“It's of no consequence. More importantly—how would you feel about gaining a junior brother?”
“Excuse me?”
Oh Jeongsan's face went blank with confusion. Then, all at once, the pieces clicked together in his head.
A bolt of lightning tore through his mind as well. Like master, like disciple.
Blood runs thicker than water. If Seongun-ie and I became sworn brothers…….
Expanded influence over the Yichang merchant circles. Seongun Inn, the Hyeongju Merchant Guild, and the Oh Family all bound together by the great tether of Wudang.
Jin Seongun, who had annihilated the Prosperity Association and the Black Serpent Corps at barely twenty. What position he would occupy by the time he reached forty was beyond imagining.
There was one wrinkle: if his master, an elder, took in Seongun-ie, the boy's generational rank would become equal to that of the First Disciples. That would put him a generation or two above the boys his own age…….
As if that's any of my business.
He had already left the sect as a lay disciple. Spectating from across the river was just another form of entertainment.
Oh Jeongsan's eyes turned just as dangerous as his master's.
“Seongun-ah, come—let's have a little talk with my master here.”
Jin Seongun wore an expression of pure bewilderment.
One thing, at least, was certain: something dangerous was about to happen. He had followed the Sword Immortal's and Sangwang's advice, and Hyeon Un's suspicions had thankfully faded—but it seemed some entirely different problem had sprung up in their place.
“……Why are you all doing this?”
Driven steadily backward, Jin Seongun finally found himself cornered against the wall. A man who wouldn't so much as blink while ordinary masters swung blades at him was now genuinely feeling the crunch of crisis.
That was when Seo Yugyeom wandered over and spoke up.
“The old-timer says he wants to take you on as his disciple.”
Seo Yugyeom was simply enjoying the show. The very model of spectating from across the river, you might say.
“Not a bad offer, though? The inn's waiter becoming the disciple of the White Cloud Sword—that's a full-blown class jump right there.”
He snickered and added, and Oh Jeongsan swiftly chimed in as well.
“Seongun-ah, this is a real opportunity. I'm not saying this just because he's my master—it will genuinely be a great help to you.”
Jin Seongun looked at Hyeon Un.
Somehow, the old man had straightened his back and struck a triumphant pose. And why wouldn't he? Anyone who knew the reach of the Wudang Sect in the present murim, anyone who knew the name and fame of the White Cloud Sword Hyeon Un, would consider this situation a heaven-sent opportunity.
With every eye in the room fixed on him, a brief moment of silence passed.
Hyeon Un and Oh Jeongsan felt it instinctively—something was going terribly wrong.
The emotion on Jin Seongun's face was not awe, or gratitude, or being moved. It was awkwardness, embarrassment, and sheer discomfort.
Before long, Jin Seongun spoke.
“I'm grateful for the offer, but…….”
“It was a joke.”
The easiest way to avoid being refused is to give up before you can be turned down.
True to his decades of mastery, Hyeon Un chose the most underhanded—but easiest—option on the table.
“Oh. It was a joke, was it?”
Jin Seongun sagged with relief.
Hyeon Un's head bobbed in a stiff, creaking nod.
“Hmph. Can't even crack a joke these days. Isn't that right, Jeongsan-ah?”
“Th-that's right. Hahaha.”
With that, the two masters of Wudang fled the inn as though their heels were on fire. Jin Seongun gave them a small bow, and Seo Yugyeom struggled to hold back his laughter.
Far from Seongun Inn, the two of them walked on in silence.
Hyeon Un's face was as red as a ripened apple, and Oh Jeongsan was beside himself with guilt toward his master.
“I'm so sorry. I moved too hastily, and I dared to tarnish your dignity, Master…….”
“The fault was mine. Even I have grown too comfortable with meaningless titles like One of the Seven Wudang Masters, the White Cloud Sword. I was arrogant. It never once occurred to me that he might refuse.”
Perhaps, without even realizing it, he had looked down on the profession of waiter.
For an inn waiter, an offer like that is an enormous opportunity, isn't it?—such a thought had crept into his mind unbidden.
Shame washed over Hyeon Un's face like a tide.
“Master. What do you intend to do now?”
Oh Jeongsan asked carefully.
In truth, he hoped his master would not give up. The reason was simple: Oh Jeongsan himself was the one who had burdened his master.
His master was a genius. Hailed as one from his earliest childhood, and even now counted among the finest masters the Wudang Sect had ever produced.
Oh Jeongsan had found such a man's teachings nearly impossible to grasp. In the end, the genius's instruction had become poison instead of nourishment, and his progress had stalled entirely.
His master never spoke of it, but he knew the man carried a quiet guilt, a lingering regret.
That was why, since Oh Jeongsan, his master had taken not a single disciple.
Becoming someone's master—like becoming someone's father—was a decision capable of steering the entire course of a life.
And so he wished his master would take Seongun-ie in. Seongun-ie would be more than equal to his master's teachings.
But given his master's temperament—so devoted to face and pride…….
“It won't happen, will it. I'm sorry, Master. If only this unworthy disciple had been a little more talented…….”
“As a drizzle soaks a garment drop by drop, so it seeps in slowly.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“How could the steps toward Ascension ever be taken all at once?”
“As—Ascension?”
Oh Jeongsan blinked, unable to see what Ascension had to do with any of this. Hyeon Un, paying him no mind, continued with utmost seriousness.
“There is, however, one matter of concern. Do others know of Seongun-ie's martial attainment?”
“Not that I'm aware of. There's the old man at Sangwon Fabric Shop across the street, but he's hardly versed in the murim, so he'd have no way of gauging Seongun-ie's level.”
“Is that so.”
Hyeon Un nodded with evident satisfaction.
“Good. It would do no good for others to find out. The Mount Hua Sect above all.”
Wudang had no direct connection to the Quanzhen Sect. Mount Hua, however, was another matter entirely.
Was not the founding patriarch of Mount Hua, Patriarch Haedaetong the True One, one of the Seven Masters of Quanzhen?
If Mount Hua ever caught wind of Jin Seongun's existence—of the existence of an heir to the Quanzhen Sect's arts—they would move heaven and earth to recruit him.
At Hyeon Un's words, Oh Jeongsan nodded along. He hadn't the faintest idea what his master was talking about, but beyond even the fact that suspicion toward Seongun-ie had been cleared away, the fact that his master's resolve to take a disciple was this unshakable could only be a good thing.
“By the way, Master—what of the South Black League?”
“What about them?”
“The son and followers of the Southern Black Lotus Lord were killed here in Yichang. I doubt their lord will simply let that pass.”
“And that is what concerns you now?”
“?”
But it is a concern, isn't it?
As Oh Jeongsan wore a look of pure bafflement, Hyeon Un clicked his tongue and said,
“Do not behave like a small-minded man before great matters. With something this momentous at hand, there is no room to spare for the likes of the South Black League.”
With that, Hyeon Un resumed walking. Somehow, his stride was brimming with fresh resolve.
Oh Jeongsan followed behind, tilting his head again and again.
A waiter who killed the Southern Black Lotus Lord's son and men, yet remained perfectly composed.
A cook who'd been there for all of it and seemed to have nothing but a grand old time.
A master who treated the South Black League like some neighborhood corner shop.
And at this point……
Am I the strange one?