Chapter 20
Chapter 20
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 20
Chapter Title: People Fighting Clams
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Penglai, situated on the eastern coast of Shandong Province, was a land of winds. Year-round, the winds blowing in from the sea dried fish, kelp, and the sweat of people weary from hard labor.
And unbeknownst to the people, one branch of the Hundred Schools of Thought was quietly passed down in lowly places.
The academy was called White Deer.
The old scholar never held office, but his fame was renowned throughout the region. Perhaps because of that, many came from afar to study.
Among them were young experts from martial sects. Unlike the scholars who stayed at the academy year-round, these martial juniors arrived on splendid horses in late autumn.
They lounged lazily through the winter, then rode equally splendid horses back to their sects the following spring.
It was because their sect elders had forced them to come. They had no interest in honing their scholarly pursuits.
They even jested that their time at White Deer Academy was a self-imposed winter retreat. Life there felt as stifling as asceticism in a temple.
Instead, they banded together and threw themselves into nightly martial arts practice. They especially loved hunting, to the point where no rabbits or pheasants were left in the hills and fields.
With two kinds of study in a single academy, factions inevitably formed among the students. There were no outright clashes or conflicts, but neither did they share the close bonds of sect brothers.
To the scholars studying literature, the martial juniors were mere transients passing through. To the martial juniors, the literature scholars were nothing more than sickly bookworms.
Their paths in life simply diverged.
But not everyone was like that.
There was a woman who was a martial junior and a man who was a sickly bookworm. When the man read in the shade of a tree, the woman practiced her martial arts beside him.
When the woman practiced under the moonlight, the man played his golden flute nearby, matching her dynamic movements.
Then one day, the woman asked,
"Can you make some time tomorrow?"
"What's this sudden matter?"
"The young experts from the Southern Martial World are planning to take a pleasure boat out on the sea."
"But why ask about my schedule?"
"I want you to come along."
"Why go to a place where martial artists play? No thanks."
"It's a great chance to befriend martial artists. It'll help in life, not harm it."
"I know exactly how martial artists view scholars. I'd just end up insulted for no reason. No, I'll just appreciate the thought."
"The guts that let you stiff a three-thousand-tael gambling debt to the Blood Sea Gang and still stroll around the docks—where did that go?"
"Nine-story pavilions start with three cartloads of dirt, they say. Who could've known the three hundred taels I borrowed at the start of spring would balloon to three thousand by winter solstice? That wasn't guts; it was a blunder."
"So you're saying no?"
"I'm not going. I can't go."
"You will."
"No chance."
"I could always drag you by force."
"Better to choke me instead."
"They say a bunch of handsome young masters are coming. If one of them subtly confesses to me, what should I do? They say Southern men and Northern women go together—and my face seems to subtly appeal to young Southern masters. What should I do?"
"Then isn't that a good thing?"
"Do you really think so?"
"You'd know better than me."
"What if I don't like it?"
"Then there's nothing for it."
"But why are you smiling?"
"Who's smiling?"
"You just smirked."
"You're grabbing at straws."
"Senior."
"Speak."
"What exactly are we to each other?"
"Fellow students, senior and junior."
"Is that all?"
"What else would it be?"
"When I get hurt practicing martial arts, your heart skips a beat, right? When you lie down at night, my face keeps floating in your mind, and just thinking of meeting me makes you grin like an idiot."
"Not at all."
"The other day when I nicked my ear practicing swordsmanship, why did you come rushing over? You were supposed to be heading to Shandong but turned back on the spot."
"I forgot something. And since it came up, let me say this: are you really a martial artist? What kind of martial artist cuts off their own ear practicing swordsmanship? Were you out of your mind?"
"It wasn't cut off. Just grazed."
"Grazed, and blood pouring out?"
"It wasn't that dangerous a stance."
"The ancient sages said, 'Men don't trip on mountains; they trip on molehills.' You must respect the terror of the small and trivial."
"So it hurt your heart?"
"Hmph. What nonsense is this?"
"I won't tell a soul, so be honest. Your heart dropped, and your chest pounded, right?"
"Hey now, I said it's not like that."
"That's how I feel. When I lie down at night, I keep thinking of you. Even practicing swordsmanship, knowing I won't see you for a month makes it hard to focus."
"......"
"If I take just one step closer here, I feel like I'll fall for you. What should I do? Should I come closer or not?"
* * *
Over a dozen years ago that day, Heuk Do-san ultimately boarded the pleasure boat where the young experts of the Northern and Southern Martial Worlds were holding their gathering.
Perhaps because of Mo Yong-ak's face, they all approached him at first, speaking kindly and treating him well.
But as time passed, urgent news arrived for Mo Yong-ak. The Moyong family's escort goods had been stolen by ignorant bandit riffraff while passing through Shandong.
Everyone rushed to help, but Mo Yong-ak insisted on going alone, saying it wasn't worth ruining the fun over something so minor.
In the end, it was settled with a Mount Hua Sect disciple—who had been occupying the seat beside her—going along.
The trouble came after that.
As night deepened and he was left alone, Heuk Do-san became the plaything for the drunken martial juniors.
"We hear your skill on the golden flute is superb. Might we request a tune?"
It started with polite tones like that. But afterward, some forced liquor down his throat, some demanded he dance, and some suddenly proposed wrestling before tossing him into the sea.
He learned the reason later.
It was all the work of Northern Martial World juniors friendly with the Mount Hua disciple, scheming to separate him from Mo Yong-ak. The Mount Hua disciple had long harbored feelings for Mo Yong-ak.
It was then that a woman from the Southern Martial World reached out to him as he floundered in the sea. She had a slender waist, and when she drew her hidden weapons, she resembled an autumn wasp in full sting—earning her the nickname Autumn Wasp.
She bore an uncanny resemblance to Mo Yong-ak. A woman's face is like a flower, where the smallest difference matters greatly. Yet the two looked so alike in smiles and frowns that they seemed sisters.
Thus, the martial juniors likened the pair to twin flowers blooming in spring: South Cherry, North Plum.
If Autumn Wasp was a vibrant cherry blossom, Mo Yong-ak was a serene plum.
And now, ten years later, that very Autumn Wasp—Dang Yak-ran—stood before him. When he first saw her on the galley deck, he'd thought her familiar face was just reminiscent of Mo Yong-ak, but it turned out she truly was familiar.
Heuk Do-san shook his head vigorously, as if to dispel the unwelcome memory.
"Why are you here?"
"I could ask you the same. I thought White Deer Academy stayed out of the Righteous-Demonic Great War. So why is a scholar like you joining it?"
"It just happened that way."
"Trying to earn merits for an official post?"
"......?"
"I heard from the Northern juniors back then. Scholars from White Deer Academy can't rise in officialdom. That's why one head disciple wasted his days in drink and gambling."
It was ancient history now. What use was excuses after all this time? And it wasn't entirely untrue.
"Enough of that talk."
"You've changed a lot. Ten years ago, you were just a frail scholar toyed with by martial artists. You couldn't even meet my eyes back then. Now you talk so boldly."
"If you're miffed, drop the formalities yourself."
"You're still treating people so casually. If I did too, what then? I'll keep up the respect to the end."
"That doesn't matter. But why did you pretend not to know me on the galley?"
"Don't misunderstand. I didn't recognize you at first either. I heard the name Heuk Do-san later and wondered, so last night by the campfire, I was going to ask just in case."
Of course, it was a lie.
Dang Yak-ran had recognized Heuk Do-san from the start. Everything else had changed, but not those deep eyes that seemed to hold lingering sorrow.
But it stung her pride too much that she alone remembered while he didn't.
Besides, what was it about those eyes that made her remember for so long?
Heuk Do-san widened his eyes.
So that's why last night by the campfire she'd stared at him so intently, asking strange questions like what he'd thought when he first saw her?
'That was close—I nearly fell for it.'
"And you—why were you staring right through me on the galley? Still going to say you were just checking how I look?"
"Because you resemble her."
'Mo Yong-ak...!'
Dang Yak-ran felt anger rising to tears. Then sadness washed over her.
Why did all men remember only Mo Yong-ak?
That night ten years ago, it wasn't just Heuk Do-san who was hurt.
* * *
Dang Yak-ran liked him.
She liked his broad shoulders and his transparently pale skin, uncharacteristic of a martial artist. Above all, she loved the stylish wrinkles that formed at his eyes when he smiled brightly at her.
His name was Seop Dae-gang.
Seventeenth-generation disciple of the Huashan Sect of the Present Profound Orthodox School, current inheritor of the Plum Blossom Swordsmanship—one of the Three Great Sword Arts of the martial world, alongside Jeomchang's Death Day Swordsmanship and Wudang's Taiji Swordsmanship.
She had crossed the continent to Shandong just to meet him. Throughout the gathering, Dang Yak-ran was aware only of Seop Dae-gang.
Though the boat held nearly twenty young experts from North and South, to her there were only Seop Dae-gang and herself.
The many conversations they'd shared under the starlight during his visit to the Southern Martial World still rang vividly in her ears.
Yet somehow, Seop Dae-gang spent the whole day gazing only at Mo Yong-ak. He smiled when she smiled and raised his cup when she did.
That was when she learned Seop Dae-gang liked Mo Yong-ak. And that she herself was merely the little sister of his deceased friend.
She had known from the start that the Northern juniors were scheming to give Seop Dae-gang and Mo Yong-ak time alone. One of his followers had tipped her off in advance.
As scripted, someone brought false news of the Moyong escort goods being stolen, and Mo Yong-ak and Seop Dae-gang rode off together.
The trouble erupted afterward.
The Northern juniors, who had long disliked how close Mo Yong-ak was to White Deer Academy's scholar Heuk Do-san, took turns tormenting him.
They plied him with drink until he was soaked, then used wrestling as an excuse to hurl him into the sea. As he thrashed in the waves, the Northerners laughed themselves sick.
He somehow swam back to the boat, but no one reached out to pull him up.
That was when Dang Yak-ran extended her hand.
"Grab my hand."
"No need."
"Grab it. It's over ten li to shore. You planning to swim? In this freezing winter?"
Heuk Do-san finally took Dang Yak-ran's hand. Once aboard, he was a sight: clothes plastered to his gaunt frame, limbs shivering violently, teeth chattering nonstop.
Dang Yak-ran took off her guard's wind-resistant cloak and draped it over him. But his first words were these:
"Keep this secret from Lady Mo Yong-ak."
"Why?"
"I don't want her falling out with her friends because of me."
"You're a guest of Mo Yong-ak. Treating you like this is as good as insulting her."
"As you all say, I'm just a guest. A fleeting one. I hear young martial experts exchange visits from childhood, building bonds like blood oaths. A place to make lifelong friends who'll guard your back in battle."
"So you don't want to ruin that bond? You don't resent them?"
"When Lady Mo Yong-ak faces mortal peril someday, won't they help her once? That's enough for me."
"......"
"Please."
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