Now We Had to Admit It
Now we had to admit it.
This wasn’t something I could just ignore and let slide.
No matter how ignorant I was about martial arts, it still made no sense.
Was it really normal to catch a beam with your bare hands and reshape it into an energy bullet?
I couldn’t keep brushing it off with, “It just kind of works.”
“The real question is why it works.”
I muttered to myself as I sat on the veranda and looked down over Wudang Mountain.
The awe on the Taoists’ faces back in the training ground. The look of pure shock on Qingha’s face as her mouth fell open.
Until now, I’d been telling myself I didn’t know enough to judge, that maybe this was just how things were in this world. But no—my abilities really weren’t normal, even by the standards of the martial world.
“Why did I pretend not to notice for so long?”
Thud.
I lay back, lacing my fingers behind my head.
The reason was actually simple.
I genuinely hadn’t realized it.
It had been nearly a month since I came down from Mount Hua.
And in all that time, I hadn’t done a single moment of proper training.
Which meant that, exactly as I’d feared at first, I’d been steadily getting stronger all along.
At the same time, the transformation into Ddyuddyai was advancing.
I’d mistaken my own daily life for normalcy because as long as I kept my head on straight, nothing seemed off.
But the mental decline brought on by Ddyuddyai’s Curse was far more severe than I’d thought.
Once my brain slipped into Ddyuddyai mode, it made me wave away problems I should have been able to recognize with even a little thought.
I should’ve been less embarrassed and tried acting alone in my room at least once.
It wasn’t until I’d done calisthenics under the moonlight the other day that I’d finally returned to something like normal intelligence and noticed the problem.
“But what am I supposed to do about it?”
I still needed to build my strength.
The only real expert I’d ever fought in earnest was the leader of the Beggars’ Sect, and even now I didn’t think I could beat him easily.
After all this agonizing, the only thing I could conclude was that the black history I’d written had, for whatever reason, become something truly mysterious—and that I was a far more powerful and uncanny being than I’d ever imagined.
Which meant the answer was simple.
I wasn’t just some genius beauty.
I was a top-tier beauty with cheat-level performance.
I’m a total monster, aren’t I?
With a face like this.
With this kind of skill.
The world really was unfair.
To think everything had been dumped on me and me alone.
How were ordinary people supposed to live with this kind of grievance?
The corners of my mouth lifted on their own.
When the deer saw me sprawled on the floor, snickering to myself, it cautiously kept its distance for once.
“But I mustn’t let my guard down, desu.”
I wouldn’t relax until the day I stood above all under heaven as the greatest of all.
And besides, if this world had even sacred beasts like this deer, then I had to consider the possibility that inhuman beings existed as well.
More than anything, my black history was the biggest variable—and the biggest threat.
That thing called Yahaeng Sephonggyeol I’d obtained the other day was already based on some unknown monster, wasn’t it?
If my black history had truly brought nonexistent mysteries into this world, then I had to consider the possibility that other beings outside all expectation might also appear.
I sprang to my feet.
“So what you’re saying is, I need a finishing move.”
As I kept collecting more and more of my black history, enemies would eventually appear that couldn’t be handled with simple time stop and punches alone.
I needed a countermeasure.
And conveniently, I already had an idea.
“If it’s turning into energy bullets, then the obvious answer is an energy wave.”
Something like Galaxy Impact, or the Makankosappo.
Wasn’t that exactly the kind of romance every kid dreamed of?
Just imagining it made me giddy, and my motivation surged up all at once.
All right. Today I’d practice that.
**
“You say she took the qi the other one launched at her… and gathered it in her hands?”
There was disbelief in Hudojin’s voice.
He had been preparing, as usual, to instruct the disciples in the training ground, when he’d heard the report from one of them and simply couldn’t believe it.
“Yes, sir. Miss Qingha gathered her inner energy with fierce momentum, shaped it into something visible, and fired it out, but Lady Celestial Maiden received it so naturally you’d think it had always been hers.”
Qi was the origin of all things between heaven and earth.
To refine it, shape it within the body, and make it interact in harmony with the self—that was the foundation of inner energy and martial arts.
There was no need to force the natural qi of the world into form outside the body; doing so was nothing but wasteful.
And yet Qingha had done exactly that with ease, an accomplishment that alone already exceeded the limits of what was normal.
And to then handle her opponent’s qi as if it were her own?
“The energy, which had looked like a beam of light, wrapped around her hand and changed into the shape of a sphere.”
“Then she just clenched her hand and scattered it, sending it back into nature as if nothing had happened.”
“We saw it with our own two eyes, we did.”
The disciples who had witnessed the match between the two of them eagerly described the astonishing scene of that day.
As he listened to their excited voices, Hudojin recreated the image in his mind.
Their explanation was so vivid that it wasn’t difficult to imagine.
What principle could be hidden in that?
To make another’s energy one’s own and wield it at will.
To gather and disperse the energy of nature.
One word flashed through Hudojin’s mind like lightning.
Creation.
It was, in truth, the very pinnacle of counterforce pursued by the Taiji, the harmony of yin and yang itself.
The realm in which softness subdued hardness, and the enemy’s power was turned back on itself and neutralized.
Lady Celestial Maiden must have gone to the trouble of demonstrating this so she could teach the disciples.
But these foolish disciples hadn’t realized that at all; they had only stood there amazed and excited.
Hudojin narrowed his eyes, but he couldn’t afford to waste any more time on them.
He finished his thoughts and headed straight for the detached quarters where Song Hyeon was staying.
He wanted to confirm her teachings with his own eyes.
Taking care not to interfere, he quietly approached, and there he found Song Hyeon in the small clearing before the quarters.
She was absorbed in something, all by herself.
Hudojin hesitated, wondering how to bring up the subject, and then concealed his presence a little more, watching her.
Even if his clumsy hiding place was meaningless before her, he still didn’t want to interrupt her.
Song Hyeon was slowly moving, drawing up inner energy at a measured pace.
She wrapped herself in qi, released it again, then gathered it into her hands.
She drew out several strands of blue light, shaped them into beads, tossed them into the air, and caught them again.
She would move slowly, bringing both palms together, then stretch her body as if pulling something long and invisible toward herself.
Is she training her inner mind?
Hudojin held his breath as he observed.
He was so afraid of missing even a single movement that he nearly forgot to blink.
Of course, Song Hyeon was merely recreating a scene from a cartoon she remembered.
Maybe just saying “Kamehameha” directly would be a little too cringe? If I change it, is there a proper Chinese-korean-style name that fits?
For a while, time passed as the two of them focused on entirely different things.
Before long, Song Hyeon was catching the energy bullets she had fired herself, reproducing the training method she remembered.
Hehe, this is fun.
To Hudojin, who was already deeply mistaken, even that seemingly meaningless play looked like a profound process of cultivation.
There was no way that the Celestial Maiden Song Hyeon, fully aware that Hudojin was watching, would be doing something pointless.
It was only natural that he misunderstood.
Her very form was already so alien that it shattered his common sense, and the way blue energy rippled around her and shone in the sunlight made her seem almost unbearably mystical.
As though she were controlling qi and creating an imaginary opponent.
As though she were reading the movements in advance and striking them back with exquisite grace.
Hudojin kept watching, and within that spectacle he found a clue to an old, long-forgotten Wudang technique.
Taiji Hygeom…!
The lost martial art of Wudang.
That great sword technique had been passed down only by oral tradition to the sect leaders, but during a past crisis it was lost when the lineage was cut off.
To restore Taiji Hygeom, whose name and only a few fragments of its formula remained after it had long since vanished from the world, was one of Wudang’s greatest unfulfilled desires.
Perhaps Song Hyeon, with the way she freely manipulated natural qi and parried it back, was trying to point them toward that very clue.
The true flexible sword moves the blade with the mind and bends space to make it one’s own. Even the enemy’s qi is no different at its root from my own.
Just as Hudojin reached this realization, Song Hyeon, who had been amusing herself alone for a good while, scattered the beads of qi and stopped moving.
The timing of her stopping was so perfect that Hudojin didn’t dare to doubt it.
Seeing the blue energy that had spread around her being drawn back in, he carefully approached and clasped his hands in salute.
“Lady Celestial Maiden. Please… show me a little more of that profound teaching.”
Song Hyeon jumped at his sudden appearance, but she didn’t show it.
Why is this old man at it again?
She’d only been happily trying out random things by herself, and now he was calling it teaching.
He was misunderstanding something again and spouting nonsense.
Blushing, Song Hyeon waved her hands quickly.
“Ah… no. I, um, I’m done now.”
But that embarrassed refusal struck Hudojin in an entirely different way.
Ah… How could I, an outsider, have expected to rely on the long-held wish of Wudang? My foolishness in trying to obtain too easily what should have been realized through my own insight must have offended her.
Beating himself up for his own rashness, Hudojin bowed deeply.
“I’m sorry.”
After apologizing, he stood there quietly and sank into thought, replaying every movement she had shown him.
Song Hyeon stared at Hudojin, who had turned into a stone statue, and had no choice but to leave the spot.
...That’s my detached quarters.
She had lost her place to rest.
**
“This isn’t going to work.”
After the day Elder Hudojin had made up his own misunderstanding and occupied my detached quarters, I’d begun thinking it might be time to leave Wudang.
Not only had my embarrassing little solo act with the energy bullets been seen by someone, but I’d already stayed at Wudang for quite a while.
If I didn’t head out soon, I might not reach Yangyang on time.
More than anything, the pile of misunderstandings growing around me under the name of “Lady Celestial Maiden” was becoming more and more of a burden I couldn’t handle.
“We’ve fooled around enough, haven’t we?”
I sprang up and said that to Qingha.
She was taking a break from training today and drinking tea with me outside the detached quarters. She nodded.
“I suppose so. Then should we move out soon?”
Qingha had always listened to me well, but after that duel she’d begun supporting me without a single complaint at all.
We hurried to gather our things.
When it comes to leaving a place you’ve grown attached to, you have to do it the moment you think of it.
If you drag it out, you’ll get tied up here and there before you know it.
Since we’d arrived like a sudden gust, it was only fitting to leave like the wind.
We didn’t have much to pack anyway.
I grabbed a few changes of clothes I’d worn over the past few days and tucked away a few snacks the Taoists had brought us.
Someone must have seen us preparing to go, because by the time we came out with our luggage, the Taoists had already gathered with solemn expressions, ready to see us off.
“We’re deeply sorry that our hospitality was lacking.”
Hudojin stepped forward as their representative and greeted us.
“Oh, no. It was wonderful. I was comfortable during my stay at Wudang. I’m the one who’s sorry we didn’t do anything for you.”
When I smiled brightly and said that, the Wudang Taoists looked moved beyond words.
“Not at all. We’re only grateful for the teachings Lady Celestial Maiden shared with us.”
What teachings?
I’d decided I wouldn’t ignore my own strength or the weirdness of my black history, but the way people in this world saw me was still impossible to get used to.
Still, I couldn’t exactly throw cold water on such a warm atmosphere, so I nodded and turned away.
It was too late to clear up the misunderstanding.
We might as well run.
Receiving the formal farewell of the Taoists, we passed through the mountain gate of Wudang.
Seeing them all clasp their hands in salute as we left was so close to the picture I’d always imagined that it made me a little emotional.
Once we’d gone through the gate and started along the road, a white deer appeared in the middle of the path and blocked us.
“Ah.”
Come to think of it, I hadn’t said goodbye to the deer.
Unlike at first, it hadn’t been staying by my side every moment lately, but slipping off somewhere on its own, so I’d never even thought of it.
When I reached out toward it, the deer seemed displeased and started nibbling at the hem of my clothes.
“Sorry. We have to go now, so let’s see each other next time.”
I stroked the bridge of its nose and apologized.
But the deer dodged my hand and shook its head.
When those huge eyes looked at me, my heart softened.
For a moment I even had the illusion that its eyes were brimming with tears.
But there was nothing I could do.
I couldn’t take this giant deer with me, and besides, wasn’t it a sacred beast of Wudang Mountain?
Unless it could disguise itself somehow, it would stand out too much.
I held its face and looked it straight in the eyes.
When it came time to part, I had to be firm.
Having spent time together, I’d learned this thing was a fairly clever beast.
No matter how much I explained, it probably wouldn’t matter.
“No. You need to stay here. Wait here.”
The deer blinked.
It understood, didn’t it?
“Let’s meet again later. If you wait, I’ll definitely come back. You need to protect Wudang Mountain.”
Luckily, this time my intention seemed to get through.
The deer stared into my eyes for a moment, then licked the back of my hand as if reluctant to part, tilted its head, and presented one of its antlers to me.
Looking more closely, I saw a tiny bead hanging from inside the antler.
“You’re giving this to me?”
The deer nodded.
“Thank you.”
It was even giving me a gift.
I’d made a promise with no set date, but I thought that if I ever missed Wudang someday, it would probably be because I missed the deer too.
That gaze on me until the very end still tugged at my heart a little, but there was nothing to be done about it.
“Goodbye.”
I said farewell to the deer and descended Mount Wudang.
From behind us, the deer's long cry rang out.
“Unnie, are you crying?”
“…I think I got attached without realizing it.”
My vision blurred slightly.
This was exactly why you weren’t supposed to get attached to wild animals.
It was a shame, but unless it could disguise itself as a person, there was no helping it.
Goodbye, deer.
I’ll never forget the feel of your soft fur.