Chapter 75
Chapter 75
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 75
Chapter Title: Have a Meal With Me (2)
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In the end, I pumped thick loads of semen into Eon So-young's pussy right up until dawn.
Honestly, I had the stamina to keep going until sunrise, but she seemed exhausted, so I let her sleep.
Circulating qi is great for recovering physical strength, but it can't perfectly make up for a total lack of sleep.
I don't mind pulling all-nighters myself, but I still feel clearer after catching about an hour of shut-eye.
"Hoo..."
With nothing much to do after stepping out at dawn, I ran through a full session of the Fist Form.
I flowed through the forms in sequence while visualizing enemies in my mind.
Vast inner energy surged from my dantian, flowing powerfully along the Lung Meridian of the Hand Lesser Yin, manifesting as palm strikes that poured forth.
Finger Winds followed, slicing through the air and occupying every spot a foe might dodge to.
Unable to evade, the imaginary enemy blocked the Finger Winds head-on, then launched their own at me. I dodged while countering with fist winds.
Most forms are structured with direct combat in mind.
For instance, the core palm technique of twelve forms, the Mystic Heaven Palm Method—the first form, Mystic Heaven Qiankun, lightly probes and forces the opponent to shift left or right.
The follow-up, Mystic Heaven Single Hammer, is designed to deliver a powerful strike in that narrowed range.
Executing the forms in order makes it easier to overwhelm the foe.
'Of course, if they just tank the first form head-on without budging, it'd throw everything off.'
That's the advantage of knowing your opponent's martial art patterns.
Even righteous sects study the tendencies of other schools' techniques to some degree.
They might not mimic them without knowing the inner energy flow, but they know how to disrupt the rhythm.
'But what about my arts?'
Defy my master, and you're dead—no data left behind. He wouldn't bother with friendly spars either.
As long as the Sword Saint doesn't catch on, my techniques have no data out there, giving me an edge over other contenders in the Nine Dragons Contest.
My goal is to be the best in the world, so yeah, telling Huangbo Hyo-seon I didn't want to get crushed by Huangbo Gang was total bullshit.
'Still, if I can squeeze out even better results, why not?'
There are probably guys around my age who've already hit peak mastery. I've heard there always are.
Beating them... would be tough.
'At least I need to crush the first-rates.'
Among the new six spots, I aimed for at least third—fourth at worst.
As I trained with that fire in my belly, dawn began to break.
After a moment's thought, I stopped, caught my breath, and replenished my spent inner energy.
"Guess I should go see him off."
The inn where the monk was staying. If he had a destination, he might head out at first light.
I knew forcing him to stay could backfire. Still, a proper goodbye was in order.
I wove lightfoot techniques into my steps and dashed out of the estate.
Sure enough.
The monk was already geared up perfectly, ready to hit the road first thing in the morning.
His shabby robes looked neatly washed—must've done laundry, and dried them with inner energy or something.
"Good morning, monk. Rest well?"
I bowed my head in greeting, and he returned it with pressed palms.
"Good morning, benefactor."
His straw hat hid his expression, but it felt like he'd half-expected me.
His vibe had always been so subdued, though—it was hard to tell.
"Leaving right now?"
"...Yes. My thanks for your kindness."
"Wasn't looking for thanks... Anyway, safe travels."
"...?"
The monk seemed thrown off.
"Letting you go like this feels too cold. Walk with me a bit."
Better to let him go when he says he's ready. People like him—the drained ones—hate being clung to and forced to cheer up most of all.
Especially crap like "hang in there"—it's basically lobbing a grenade.
Just sticking around a little longer might coax out one more word.
"...Very well, benefactor. As you wish."
On the way, I bought some rice cakes and stuffed them into his travel sack.
He couldn't refuse when I insisted he needed something in his stomach, accepting the food meekly.
I wanted to toss in more traveler grub, but everything else had meat.
Can't feed a monk meat.
[Oh no, oh no... Father...!]
We'd been walking when the monk stopped. A crowd buzzed around a house—family lost, maybe?—with a man who seemed like the son wailing loudly.
Not a casual sight. Glancing at the monk, his face was grim as stone.
Something told me he'd lost someone precious too, and that's what broke him.
He noticed my gaze late and turned away, resuming his walk.
I didn't pry, just followed silently. Soon we reached the edge of the market district.
"Benefactor, this should suffice."
Drawing that line, I couldn't follow further.
"I see."
I just watched quietly as he prepared to leave.
She didn't bolt right away, standing there absorbing my gaze before speaking up.
"Benefactor... how do you think one should live after losing someone precious?"
That scene back there must've stirred it up.
"No idea. Never lost anyone close..."
No right answer to a question like that anyway, and nothing he'd find satisfying.
But my unique situation let me offer something.
"I can say what the one who left might think, though."
"Pardon...?"
His liveliest reaction yet—heat flickered in his eyes.
"They'd want you to never forget them."
"..."
"Even if you eat delicious food, find new love, have amazing adventures—they'd want you to remember them and shed tears."
"...You think a loved one wants you to live in pain?"
"No. Not suffering, not dying. Just... not being forgotten."
That's how I'd feel, at least.
"Isn't it sad, me remembering them forever while they forget me?"
"...How do you know?"
"I'm the one who left. My parents didn't want it, neither did I, but here I am."
"Can't go back?"
"Not unless I die."
Back in Korea, I'm officially missing or dead. My parents are probably crying over me.
But I don't want them forgetting me entirely and laughing carefree.
Sorry—really sorry—but ache for me now and then.
"Life has no single answers. Just my take."
The monk mulled it over, silent for a while.
"Not sure if that helped, monk."
He startled at my voice but soon spoke calmly.
"My thanks for sharing, young hero."
Young hero now? Benefactor to young hero—who knows the line. I nodded casually anyway.
"Just my thoughts—too kind."
He didn't reply much. No instant enlightenment, no beaming turnaround.
He checked his sack one last time, then spoke.
"Come to think of it, young hero."
"Yes."
"I never caught your name."
"Kang Yun. Just a nobody yet to make a name in Jianghu..."
Huh.
Did the monk chuckle? I swear I heard a soft "hut."
"You already carry a great hero's spirit. Keep at it, and Jianghu will know your name soon."
Didn't care much if Jianghu knew, but yeah—to live with my women, I need status. Good blessing.
"I'm Hoyeon of Shaolin."
"Yes, Hoyeon Monk."
Her inner energy was clear, but the robes differed from Emei, so not them. Shaolin made sense.
Hearing "Shaolin," even the frayed, pilled robes seemed dignified.
"Your words... struck deep. If you ever need Shaolin's aid... seek me out."
Hoyeon left those words and departed.
Still far from brimming with energy, but his steps had a bit more vigor—good sign.
'Wonder what he'll be like next time.'
If he shakes it off completely, heals the scars... maybe ask if he'd try dating a guy.
<Your husband and child would want you to forget them.>
<Hoyeon, true happiness is the path to letting your departed family find peace.>
"No, Master..."
Hoyeon recalled her dying husband and son.
Until now, even thinking of them felt sinful—she'd prayed to Buddha to erase the memories.
She'd flogged herself to forget and be happy tens of thousands of times.
Her husband and young son, succumbing to plague, too weak even for a sip of water, bodies growing cold.
She, a Shaolin lay disciple with inner arts, survived while her frail husband and child perished.
She couldn't even regret not teaching their son martial arts.
For over a decade, per her master's words, she'd drowned in sutras to forget.
"Son... you wanted Mom not to forget, right?"
It's okay not to forget. Pull them out sometimes, ache for them—that's what they want.
Hoyeon pried open the lid on emotions she'd forcibly sealed.
"Hngh..."
Tears she'd held back poured down her cheeks.
"Hwaaaang...!"
She curled up by the roadside, face buried in her knees, sobbing bitterly.
Honey, sorry. Son, sorry. Sorry I survived alone.
As if making up for lost time, the tears wouldn't stop.
Amid the sad memories she'd scrubbed from her mind rose happy ones, caressing her.
It hurt, paradoxically fueling her will to live.
The tears she couldn't shed when her heart died now mended its cracks, bit by bit.