Jang Ho (1)
The Dragon-Phoenix Tournament—a grand martial competition hosted by the Murim Alliance, held once every four years.
Only Orthodox prodigies aged twenty to twenty-nine were eligible, and the tournament existed to sift out exceptional talent through formal duels. More than anything, it was a stage for lifting the morale of the Orthodox faithful and openly championing the young talents who would one day lead the murim. The most brilliant man of each event earned the title of Dragon, the most brilliant woman that of Phoenix—though for the most part both went to the Nine Sects and One Union and the Five Great Families. A natural consequence of the great sects' gift for raising disciples, as I'd noted some time ago.
"Not always, though."
"Like who?"
"The Ice Phoenix!"
"Ah..."
Zhuge Yang had just corrected a gap in what I thought I knew: I had overlooked the North Sea Ice Palace, a sect standing outside the mainstream. The North Sea Ice Palace—sometimes even thought to sit on the border between Orthodox and Demonic—had fought alongside the Orthodox faction in the Great Orthodox-Demonic War of the past, and had been counted among the Orthodox ever since. The newly minted title of Ice Phoenix had, from that day forward, famously gone to sons and daughters of the North Sea Ice Palace. The martial arts honed in that frozen sea delivered results that crushed the ice arts practiced in the Central Plains, and no rising prodigy had ever suited the title better than one of theirs.
"But then... why is there never an Ice Dragon?"
The question had struck me out of nowhere.
"Because ice arts only show their true power when cultivated in a woman's body, obviously."
Hm. The men up there must feel sorely cheated—outmatched by the women from the day they're born. Then again, yang-attribute arts would favor the men, I supposed.
This year's tournament would be held at Shaolin, presided over by the Divine Monk Master Jeonggak, one of the Ten Great Masters Under Heaven.
"Shaolin... so I'll finally get to see the place I've only ever heard about."
"Interested in Shaolin?"
Zhuge Yang asked at my murmur.
"Shaolin's standing is truly something else, you know."
Even in the occasional tale where the Orthodox faction was painted as hopelessly feckless, Shaolin was always depicted as the heart of the Orthodox world. Perhaps because entering the order meant a shaved head and an unconditional vow of distance from women, it almost never served as a protagonist's home ground.
"You're not... thinking of shaving your head and joining a temple, are you?"
For that very same reason, I could answer her question with my head held high.
"Of course not! I'm going to found the Ma Family, remember?"
"Ahahahaha! Good, then we're all set!"
I had wanted to found a family of my own from the very start, but once I learned this body had been born into the Hunan Ma Family, it had begun to feel less like ambition and more like destiny.
To say a little more about Shaolin: it was a place of such history and tradition that all martial arts were said to have begun with Patriarch Bodhidharma, who founded the temple upon Mount Song. And like the Namgung Family, it was famous for producing one of the Ten Great Masters Under Heaven in every generation.
And the present generation had Master Jeonggak.
For all my wandering, I had yet to lay eyes on a truly great sect. I had passed Mount Wudang, seat of the Wudang Sect, on business alone; the Zhuge Family's estate sat near Longzhong, but on the far edge of my usual operating range; and the Namgung Family I had gone out of my way to avoid.
So this would be my first time actually setting foot in one of the great sects. I had undergone my Physical Rebirth and learned genuine martial arts, but only now did it truly sink in that I had entered the murim for real.
Zhuge Yang spoke up carefully.
"Have you... decided where you'll found the Ma Family?"
My first thought had been Hubei—home to the Wudang Sect and the Zhuge Family alike. I had toyed with the idea of founding my clan there and growing it while hobbling the Zhuge Family at every turn, but my thinking had since changed.
"I'll found it on Mount Heng."
"I knew it. So that makes it a rebuilding of the Hunan Ma Family, then?"
"That's right. Plenty of sects there already sat within my father's sphere of influence, so we can cut down the time it takes to build up our strength."
"Good thinking. It's a shame the Whirlwind Fist was lost, but you have plenty of other fine arts."
The Whirlwind Fist had never registered on my Treasure Locator. It seemed to have been destroyed beyond recovery when the clan was exterminated. I couldn't judge what its treasure value might have been, but if that art alone had carried my father Ma Ho to the Transformative Realm, then the credit surely belonged to his Heavenly Martial Body. There was nothing to gain by mourning it.
We talked of the Ma Family's future as we made our way toward Longzhong. We needed to see whether Jang Ho, to whom I had taught the Cho Family Spear Art four years ago, was still dutifully waiting.
Evening came, and a red afterglow spread across the western sky.
"Almost five years now, isn't it?"
I murmured it as I stepped into the outskirts of Longzhong village.
Longzhong was a small village. It lay within the Zhuge Family's territory, but it was no great city like Anhui Province, where the Namgung Family was seated, and there were no patrol teams in sight. And even had we run into Zhuge Family warriors, Yeon Hwa and Zhuge Yang wore gauze veils, so there was no risk of being recognized.
"Look at that! A dragonfly!"
Somewhere along the way, dragonflies had begun flitting through the air. Zhuge Yang unfurled the Gold Silk Hand and plucked one of them straight out of the sky, snatching it by the wing. The dragonfly, evidently rattled, thrashed violently in a bid to escape, but it couldn't so much as budge.
"Hold still just a moment. I'll let you go right away!"
Zhuge Yang—politely asking permission even of a dragonfly.
"Is it that season already, when the dragonflies come out?"
"Yeah! Back then, I never dreamed I'd get to see a dragonfly again..."
That's right. I remembered. It was near the end of the autumn she turned thirteen that Zhuge Yang, in a heartbreakingly small voice, had promised the last dragonfly left in the reed field that they would meet again. It had been a stroke of monstrous fortune that watching her suffer that day drove me to bury myself in medical texts.
"No more of that next time."
"Hm? No more of what?"
"No more hurting alone. No more groaning through it. If something's weighing on you, if anything happens, you tell me—always."
Realizing the words came from worry for her, Zhuge Yang smiled.
"Ahahahaha! Okay, okay! I promise I'll tell you!"
She released the dragonfly, and we set off for the inn that was our destination. If Jang Ho was waiting for me, he would be there. That was what I'd left written instructions for him to do, after all.
"Oh my, just look at that young master... so handsome...!"
"Shh! He'll hear you—he's a murim man!"
"How would he hear us from this far away?"
My party was no motley crew: one master of the Transformative Realm and two of the Super-Peak Realm. Which, come to think of it, meant a force on par with a mid-ranking great sect was on the move.
In any case, distant as they were, there was no way we could fail to hear words spoken from a range at which ordinary folk could plainly make out my face.
Truth be told, I had heard the same thing countless times in every village we'd passed through on the road to Longzhong.
The first time someone complimented my looks, I went red to the ears. I had lived a whole life in the modern era without ever once being praised for my appearance, so I had no immunity built up.
The second time, I preened. By then I had fully accepted that this face belonged to me now.
And going by everything the journey had taught me, what I felt now was a faint thrill of anticipation.
Is it coming? Is it coming? Is it coming...? There it is!
I felt an arm steal slyly around mine, and in the same instant Zhuge Yang pressed her whole body flush against it.
Squish!
This. This was the one.
It felt a hundred times, a thousand times better than any praise of my looks from women I didn't know.
It was with exactly this in mind that I had refused, back when Zhuge Yang and Yeon Hwa—veiled themselves—tried to press a wide-brimmed bamboo hat on me.
Zhuge Yang buried her head deep and tugged me along by the arm. She seemed eager to reach the inn quickly.
"What's with that woman?"
"Wrapped up so tight you can't even see her face."
"She is... a woman, right...?"
Following where Zhuge Yang led—she who had shattered every other woman's fighting spirit on presence alone—we came upon an inn.
The only inn in all of Longzhong.
"Welcome, welcome, young hero and fair heroines!"
The moment we stepped inside, a middle-aged serving woman came darting out and bowed with practiced courtesy. In Ma Won's memories, he had once been chased off by this very woman while begging. Such deference now—it felt like a different age entirely. Her eyes kept darting to the blades at our waists; it seemed that our being murim folk was what had decided her manner.
"We'll be having a meal."
"Yes, yes, honored guest! What shall we prepare for you?"
"Duck and dumplings, and Dongpo pork, please."
"Oh my, what a fine eye for good food you have, sir! Our Dongpo pork here at the Longzhong Inn is a true delicacy, I'll have you know! Just rest a moment and I'll bring it right out!"
It was mealtime anyway, so after ordering a few dishes, I called the serving woman back.
"Would there happen to be a man named Jang Ho staying here?"
At my words, the woman flinched.
"Oh dear... well, yes, he is staying here. Might I ask what your business with him might be...?"
"An acquaintance."
"Oh! An acquaintance, you say! Why, that fellow has lodged here for years now! He should be back any moment!"
At the word acquaintance, she gushed out Jang Ho's circumstances in an excited patter and then bustled off with a spring in her step.
"Why is she so delighted about it?"
"Right? Won, all you said was 'an acquaintance.'"
"Well, happily he's still staying here, so we'll see him soon enough."
Before long the dishes began arriving. The curious part was that instead of the serving woman, a man who looked to be the cook and owner both brought the food out himself, sneaking glances at us all the while.
"Did you have something to say to us?"
I couldn't help but ask.
"W-well, you see... the man you're looking for, Jang Ho..."
"That's right."
"The debt he owes—"
Even on hearing only that much, I could piece together what was happening. Because a young man had just walked in through the inn's entrance.
Jang Ho—clothes worn down to rags, his spear evidently sold off somewhere, nothing on his back but a lone long wooden pole, bare of even a spearhead.
So he'd racked up quite a bill at the inn. Beggarly as he looked, he was waiting just as I'd instructed, and the sight of it was so admirable, so welcome, that I made to greet him.
But Jang Ho was quicker.
"Please, Chef! Here's what I earned today! I-I swear I'll pay it all back, so might you see your way to just one bowl of noodles?"
"Y-you...! And when exactly do you mean to repay it? It only ever grows!"
"Haha... I got paid extra this time for doing the job well. I'll have it all cleared in no time."
"Your debt has passed twenty nyang of silver, and a few extra coppers will settle it?!"
With one nyang covering a family of four's living expenses, that was a considerable sum.
I had given him ample travel money, and he now looked to be at least a Second-Class warrior—something about this was fishy.
The back-and-forth between the cook, who seemed to own the place, and Jang Ho continued.
"Ah, the moment the people I'm waiting for arrive, I can pay back every last coin!"
Up to his neck in debt as he was, Jang Ho hollered back with remarkable nerve.
"Ah! Look there—are those guests the acquaintances you kept going on about?"
The cook, who had been snapping irritably at Jang Ho's clinging, finally seemed to recall us.
I waved a hand at Jang Ho.
"Those aren't them!"
Jang Ho failed to recognize my changed face, and the cook collapsed where he stood, clutching the back of his head.