The Immortal of Zhangjiajie
"Again."
"I told you, no, you blockheaded disciple. Again."
"Does this look like a circle to you? Again."
I'm seriously going to die.
It had already been a full week since I started drawing five hundred circles at my master’s command.
And the reason it had taken a week was simple: whenever he examined the circles I drew and decided even one of them was slightly off, he ordered me to start over from the beginning.
Thanks to that, my life had become a living hell.
These days, if I wasn’t eating or sleeping, I was only drawing circles on the floor and on paper,
and now the circles had begun lingering in my vision like afterimages, wavering before my eyes.
That didn’t mean I could cheat, though.
Even if I hid a mistake inside the circle I thought I’d drawn best, my master would inspect every single one and somehow spot it as if he had eyes like a ghost.
And when I finally thought to use a compass, he saw through that too.
"You sneaky little disciple. Did you really think your master wouldn’t notice you used a compass?"
Needless to say, after he flew into a rage and made me kneel for three straight days, my legs were utterly ruined.
And so I had drawn and redrawn circles, then submitted them to my master for the seventh time.
"Again."
My master was telling me to redraw them after looking at the 482nd sheet, and hearing that, I barely managed to keep my mind from going blank as I quickly wrote on the paper.
[Master, may this disciple be so bold as to ask a question?]
"What is it?"
[Why am I doing this?]
"Tsk tsk, foolish disciple. Didn’t you agree to be taught martial arts?"
No, Master, I did, but—
[I’m asking what drawing circles has to do with martial arts.]
"That too is written in the Ink Path I gave you."
At his words, I opened the book again and looked it over.
Power this, circles that, compass this and that.
Was I just stupid, was my master’s meaning simply too profound, or was the martial-arts system in this wuxia world just plain bizarre?
I couldn’t find an answer no matter how hard I tried, so I risked offending him and asked again.
[This foolish disciple cannot fathom your intent, Master. Please instruct me.]
"Tsk. Seeing you ask again, I think I know what’s bothering you."
My master gave my forehead a sharp flick—so hard it rang with a clear, bright sound—and said,
"You’re fretting because the secret manual I gave you lacks the grandeur of Mount Hua, the gentleness of Wudang, the boundlessness of Namgung, and the sturdy principles of the Peng Clan."
W-well, yes, but...
"Are you not troubled because you’ve been distracted by the absurd stories spread by travelers and wanderers passing through Mureung County?"
That was true, but—
[Shamefully, yes.]
"Then what, in your mind, is a martial manual supposed to be?"
[I thought it would contain marvelous phrases full of the mysteries of martial learning or inner-cultivation methods.]
"I’ll tell you plainly. Stuffing a book made for training with airy nonsense like that is nothing more than ornamental pretension."
Ah.
So Master was about to shatter my fantasies about the martial world and the jianghu again.
"For instance, let me tell you about the Namgung manual. The Azure Heavens Without End Sword Art says to infuse your blade with the boundlessness of the heavens and strike down with the momentum of thunder. Can you understand from that exactly how you’re meant to swing a sword?"
I didn’t have the courage to ask how, exactly, he knew the contents of the Namgung clan’s sword manual, so I answered his question instead.
[I’m not sure.]
"You gather strength and unleash the Namgung clan’s blue sword aura and sword qi. Then you raise the sword at an angle of 116 degrees to the ground and cut the enemy down in a straight line."
That’s what it meant?
After saying that, my master clicked his tongue as though he had just spoken something unfit for polite ears, then turned back to me.
"Now do you understand how the Azure Heavens Without End Sword Art is executed?"
I didn’t understand the exact words, but I understood the gist, so I nodded.
In other words, rather than approaching martial arts from a humanities student’s perspective, I was supposed to analyze them from an engineering student’s perspective.
Honestly, that seemed even less sensible, but this was, after all, a wuxia world.
If a powerhouse in the Transformation Realm said it, then I should just accept it. Martial arts, after all, were meant to be understood with the heart rather than the head, so what else could I do?
According to Master, martial arts were in fact meant to be learned with the head, not the heart, but if I kept arguing that point, there would be no end to it, so I ultimately concluded that Master was right.
But I couldn’t stop one more question from rising in me, so I immediately asked him.
[Then since Master also understands the theory, can you execute the Namgung clan’s Azure Heavens Without End Sword Art?]
"The thing that creates that difference is inner-cultivation. Inner-cultivation is the discipline one cultivates in order to wield martial arts. Since your master has not cultivated the Namgung inner method, I cannot unleash Namgung inner energy. Naturally, even if I were to use the Azure Heavens Without End Sword Art, it would amount to little more than a wide swing and could never become true swordsmanship."
As he said this, my master tapped the circle drawings I’d made with his finger and went on.
"The Ink Sect’s inner-cultivation method does not torment its disciples with the kind of airy, delusive language other sects favor. The martial arts of the Ink Sect depend entirely on precise measurement, quantification, and analysis."
So, in other words, he wanted to leave out all poetry and romanticism and make everything ruthlessly calculated like the other sects had never done.
Figures. Engineers really are like this.
"What’s with that expression, disciple? Do you have some complaint about your master’s teaching?"
[As if I would.]
But those words didn’t reach him.
Whether he had trained some kind of mind-reading art or not, my master instantly saw what I was thinking, flicked my forehead again, and said,
"Hmph. I can see exactly what you’re thinking, you hopeless disciple. You’re probably saying there’s no romance in it, aren’t you?"
[Master, do you live inside this disciple’s head?]
"You simply can’t hide your face, you blockheaded disciple."
My master said that in exasperation and let out a small sigh.
"Master Mo said this: ‘If we spread good defensive arts widely so everyone learns only defense, then no attack could ever break through, and that would lead to the uselessness of war.’ That is why the Ink Sect’s defensive arts were naturally refined to make them as easy as possible for all under heaven to learn."
Then he tapped the page of the Ink Path with his finger and continued.
"Disciple. When you’re cooking, which is easier to understand: a cookbook saying, ‘The soy sauce must gather and gather into drops, then trickle like a stream, and you must maintain that momentum for this many breaths,’ or one that simply says, ‘Add four spoonfuls of soy sauce’?"
[Obviously the latter.]
"The martial arts of the Ink Sect are the same."
Master, you’re making this crystal clear.
"There is also a proper reason for drawing circles. A circle is perfect and without gaps, and it can also transform into anything. That is why all the martial arts of the Ink Sect begin from the circle."
As he spoke, my master took a piece of wire, bent it into a circle, then applied force with his hands and reshaped it into a triangle, then a square, then even a dodecahedron to demonstrate.
How did he even make a dodecahedron?
When he finished his explanation, my master glanced at me, then slowly rose to his feet.
"That will do. Looking at your condition today, any further training would be meaningless. Bring the basket of herbs and follow your master. We’re going to Mureung County."
[Do you have business in Mureung County?]
"Were you so busy drawing circles that you forgot what day it is? Today is the day we distribute herbs to the farmers of Mureung County."
***
"You’re still as slow as ever, you worm of a disciple. At this rate, how are you supposed to learn martial arts properly?"
Do you not think you’re a little too fast, Master?
Unable to say that aloud, I panted as I looked up at him, and my master lifted the corner of his mouth and motioned with his chin.
"You go around from that side and hand out the herbs. I’ll circle around the other way."
When he finished speaking, he immediately started walking and silently began distributing herbs to the common folk.
"Oh, Immortal Sir! You’ve come again! The weather’s lovely today!"
"Good heavens, what a precious thing! Just a moment, Immortal Sir. I dug up a yam the other day, and it’s so thick and sturdy there’s no doubt it tastes wonderful!"
From far away, I could see villagers greeting my master and handing over all kinds of things.
I’d heard that my master’s family had performed charitable acts in Mureung County for generations, and because of that, the villagers had come to accept their kindness gladly and repay it in their own small ways.
Even before my master was called the Immortal of Zhangjiajie, there had been another Immortal of Zhangjiajie before him, and that tradition had continued for a thousand years.
And that tradition was now being extended to me as well.
When Grandma Ju and Mr. Jeong saw my face, they stopped hoeing and came toward me carrying armfuls of something.
"Well now, if it isn’t the Fair Lady!"
"Fair Lady, these are pastries made with mountain strawberries and honey. If you keep one in your mouth and let it sit there, I’m sure even you’ll taste the sweetness!"
The reason people called me Fair Lady was simple.
The Immortals of Zhangjiajie had protected the people living in Mureung County for nearly a thousand years, generation after generation, and this generation’s Immortal of Zhangjiajie, my master, had taken me in as his disciple.
So, in the villagers’ eyes, I was the next Immortal of Zhangjiajie, and naturally the way they addressed me became "Fair Lady."
To be honest, it was a painfully awkward title.
I was only eight years old. What the hell kind of Fair Lady was I?
I could kind of understand why my master disliked being called an immortal.
But that still didn’t mean I could simply turn away from the sincere goodwill those people showed us.
In the end, my master and I simply endured it and let it pass.
After I handed out the herbs from the basket, villagers began swarming toward me like clouds, following Grandma Ju and Mr. Jeong.
Before I knew it, the basket had been filled with things other than herbs, and I was on the verge of receiving more gifts from the villagers than the herbs I had brought in the first place.
"Eek, Fair Lady! You’re adorable as always today!"
"Get your hands off him, you shameless hussy! How dare you flirt so brazenly with the Immortal’s disciple!"
"Fair Lady, try this too! It’s an egg laid fresh this morning by the hen in our house."
"Haha, Fair Lady! Please accept it as payment for the herbs. This is scented tea my mother made for you to drink!"
At first I tried refusing their gifts with hand gestures, but even the gestures I waved at the crowd swarming around me like ants were little more than a child’s cute antics.
If I hadn’t been mute, I could have politely refused and said it was enough, but thinking about it, even if I could speak, it didn’t seem like the villagers would have backed down so easily.
And so I kept receiving, and receiving, and receiving gifts for what felt like two full shichen.
By the time I’d circled half the village, what I held in my hands was no longer a basket of herbs but five huge woven baskets full of tribute-like offerings.
Was this the wuxia version of the miracle of the five loaves and two fish?
As I staggered along carrying the gifts to our meeting place, I heard my master’s voice.
"What’s all that, disciple?"
Even my master seemed quite stunned by the five baskets of gifts clutched in my arms, and he looked at me with slightly widened eyes.
I set them on the ground for a moment and wrote on the dirt.
[These are things the villagers gave me as payment for the herbs.]
"Payment for the herbs? You only took out one basket’s worth, so how in the world did you get so much back? Do you think you’re a doctor from the Qingnang Sect?"
[What am I supposed to do when they force all of this into my hands?]
"Then you should have simply refused and said you didn’t need them."
[I can’t speak. How would I have had time to say that to a crowd swarming around me?]
"Huh."
My master seemed at a loss for words too. He stared at the bundles of gifts for a moment, then shook his head.
"Fine. This must be thanks to the virtues your ancestors accumulated. Still, next time, if people try to load you down with this many gifts, just refuse. You may even run away with lightfooted movement if you like."
[Does it really need to go that far? They’re only doing it out of pure goodwill, not expecting anything in return.]
Seeing my words, my master grimaced and shook his head.
"That’s because it becomes a burden for me. Did I ever tell you that they once took me for a true immortal and set up an altar to worship me?"
[This is my first time hearing about it.]
"In the end, this master had to tear down the altar and sternly tell them not to do such foolish ghost-and-spirit worship. Only then did they stop. Master Mo said there are no such things as ghosts, and yet these country folk are so pure-hearted it becomes a problem."
I understood perhaps one-tenth of my master’s hardship and nodded.
My master gently patted my head, then lifted half of the gift baskets and turned away.
"Let’s go. When we get home, I’ll teach you how to draw circles."
So we were doing that again after all.
As I followed after my master in a melancholy daze,
"Aaaagh!"
"W-where do those bastards get off waving swords around!"
"Immortal Sir, please, call the Immortal Sir!"
When screams rose behind me, my master’s expression turned sharp in an instant.
Beyond us, I could see a gang with blades leveled at Mr. Jeong, who was pinned beneath a collapsed fence, while they snickered among themselves.
"Heh heh. Didn’t expect to stumble into a windfall out here on the mountainside."
In the hand of the burly, vicious-looking man was the dwarf Solomon’s seal I had just handed out.
"Big brother, look over here too. Each house has precious herbs, doesn’t it?"
"Well, well, this really is a windfall! Who’d have thought we’d find a fat purse with no constables in sight all the way up here in the mountains?"
A broadsword was pressed to Mr. Jeong’s throat.
From the skin at his neck, which had been cut only slightly, a thin line of blood trickled out like a needle.
"H-haaah!"
"Now then, where did you get such treasures? If you tell this old man obediently, I might spare your life. Of course, after I’ve taken a handsome amount of spending money, naturally."
At the words of the man who seemed to be their leader, the rabble burst into rowdy laughter.
All the while, my master’s face hardened further and further, until it began to transform into something like a yaksha’s.
Ah, that expression.
It was even more ferocious than the look he’d worn when I activated Mokeung in his study.
"Disciple. Watch carefully and do not miss a single movement of your master’s body."
With those words, my master stepped forward.
"I’ll let you taste, however little, the mysteries of the Ink Sect’s martial arts."