Chapter 31: Sanwol Hall (2)
Chapter 31: Sanwol Hall (2)
The daily routine of a ten-year-old Murim NIS black agent was as follows:
"Young Master. Young Master? Please wake up!"
"Please, please tell me that’s not the sun, Nang-nang. Please… it’s just a very bright moon, right?"
"Sadly, it is indeed the sun, Young Master."
"Aaaaaagh! No!!"
I woke up every morning cursing the sun.
"Meat! Bring me meat!"
After securing as much essential nutrients and protein as possible—stuff not found in Grain-Avoiding Pills—I would drag my feet toward Sanwol Hall.
When I pushed the doors open in the early morning, Peng Ik-cheon would be waiting with a bored expression, gesturing with his chin.
Following his silent command, I’d take my seat, and a massive tome would thud down in front of me.
"Right. Today, you shall memorize the personnel register of the Heavenly Thunder Alliance."
"Wow, what’s with their scale? How am I supposed to memorize all this?"
"You’re better off than most since you’ve got a decent head for schemes. When I tried teaching this to your seniors, I thought my blood pressure would burst."
I had to memorize the names, aliases, characteristics, and signature techniques of every martial artist the Hebei Peng Family might come into contact with.
I had to know their traits so well that I could recognize them instantly if we crossed paths on the street.
You know how it goes in these stories.
—Wait! Is that not Gwak Bu, the Sun Shadow Shining Star of the Ten Thousand Swords Hall?!
—My god, why is the Sun Shadow Shining Star Gwak Bu—the childhood friend of the fifth son of the third sworn brother of the Ten Thousand Swords Hall Master—here of all places?!
Exactly. These lunatics have a bizarre culture where they substitute greetings with showing off how well they’ve memorized everyone else’s family tree.
Think of it as a medieval Chinese expansion pack of the "Do you know who my big brother is?" game.
Memorizing just one or two people from each major Orthodox or Demonic sect easily puts the count over a hundred.
And among them, how many have died in some ditch, and how many have gone missing?
Yet, our Sanwol Hall forced us to memorize every single person from every sect in the Northern China region who had even a possibility of coming into contact with a Peng Family martial artist.
For the record, the first thing I had to do was memorize our own family’s register.
I started by memorizing every single person belonging to the twelve departments—six in the Outer Hall and six in the Inner Hall.
Once the brain-melting morning session ended, I took a brief test, and if I passed—
Crunch, munch.
"Hurry up and eat. How can it take you so long to swallow a Grain-Avoiding Pill?"
"A gentleman does not rush."
"What kind of nonsense is 'gentleman'?"
"I am the Peng Family’s greatest prodigy, having passed the local civil service exam with top honors. If I am not a gentleman, who in this family can claim the title?"
"Do people usually define a gentleman by the civil service exam?"
"Haha, but of course… Those who merely chew on herbs without seeking to rise in the world and make a name for themselves are not gentlemen, no matter how much they’ve learned, for they fail to apply the Way to a greater purpose. Even Confucius himself certified this."
Surprisingly, the foundation of Confucianism is "rising in the world and making a name for oneself."
The basic motto—Cultivate oneself, put family in order, govern the state, pacify the world—is practically bursting with ambition.
Confucianism isn't a religion; it's a philosophy of governance. And to govern, one has no choice but to achieve status.
Or, at the very least, start a dynastic revolution.
Both were methods of political participation encouraged by Confucius and Mencius.
"If you’re done eating, get out here."
"Yes, yes, I’m coming."
Dragging my feet once more toward the inner courtyard, I found Peng Ik-cheon waiting with his blade slung over his shoulder, creating distance.
From now until evening, it was time to get beaten.
In the weed-choked, dust-covered inner courtyard of Sanwol Hall, even the humid midsummer sun of Beijing couldn't seem to reach.
Sunken pits were hollowed out amidst the withered weeds.
Those were the traces of the Mountain King Steps I had trodden for months.
Stepping onto the broken flagstones of the training ground where the bare earth was most exposed, I looked at the old man.
His eyes were crinkled in a smirk.
A blatant sneer played on that damn geezer’s lips.
He was asking if I was ready to get the hell beaten out of me again today.
I spat on the ground and drew my blade.
"Come on then. I’ll make sure to stick a blade in you at least once."
At that, a flash of joy appeared in the old man’s eyes.
A look of delight so intense it was almost euphoria.
What a sadist.
The moment that thought crossed my mind—
Kaaaaang!!
"Good."
The old man’s heavy blade slammed into mine, letting out a thunderous roar.
He seemed less pleased by the fact that I blocked it and more by the fact that, despite getting thrashed every day, I was getting angry instead of giving up.
If I may offer an excuse.
I am a clearly pacifistic and gentle 21st-century modern Korean.
I’m a moderate with soft sensibilities who, throughout my entire life, never once threw a punch except maybe in kindergarten.
But the ancestors of the Hebei Peng Family sleeping in my blood were shouting every day and every night.
[The world is just asking for it, isn't it?] That seemed to be the sentiment they were screaming.
And Confucius specifically said that the root of all etiquette lies in honoring the virtues of one's ancestors. (The root of ritual lies in sacrifice, for it honors the virtues of the ancestors and manifests their achievements. — Book of Rites: Sacrificial Methods)
As a scholar who has read the classics, how could I possibly defy the great will of my ancestors?
According to the rules of syllogism, it is perfectly acceptable to kill anything that pisses me off…!
"I’ll send you to join the ancestors, Great-Uncle!!"
"You said that out loud, you brat!!"
Therefore, this wasn't filial impiety; it was a blessing.
I’m sure the ancestors are in a much better place, after all.
*
"Old man, I brought snacks. Were you eating those bug-eaten Grain-Avoiding Pills again? You’re not some Taoist monk; you should grease your stomach once in a while…."
A young man with a slick smile pushed open the doors of Sanwol Hall.
He entered with a loud shout but paused when he saw the main hall was empty.
"Where did our old man go this time…? Huh?"
Clang! Tinnng…!
The sound of a blade fight reached his ears.
The violent noise of clashing steel—a familiar sound of combat.
The young man walked slowly toward the inner courtyard.
And there.
Skreeeeeeech!!
"More…! Show me more! Drag out everything you’re capable of!!"
"Gah…!! Please, just let me hit you once before you say that…!!"
He narrowed his eyes as he watched the boy and the old man frantically exchanging moves.
He read the killing intent in every strike, tracked the direction of the offensive and defensive exchanges, and followed the boy’s pupils as they moved in between.
Crunch!!
He saw the droplets of blood scattering every time the boy’s gauntleted fist struck the old man’s blade.
"Hoh."
Beyond the Hunyuan Art, was that the Chain Blade?
He noted the old man’s posture as he tried to trip the boy or shove him with his shoulder, and scanned the boy’s movements as he used footwork to counter. He read the trajectory of the boy’s lead foot.
Iron Plucking Skill too?
Kaaaaang!!
As the boy’s blade flashed, a spray of light scattered.
The boy’s eyes were gradually overflowing with rage instead of clarity.
The change was so drastic one might suspect he was practicing demonic arts, but in the midst of it—
A faint, misty haze flickered on the blade he held, then vanished.
The early stages of Sword Qi formation. He was completing the minimum requirements for internal energy to dwell within an external object.
Immediately after it faded, the old man smirked and reached out.
A punch scattered all of the boy’s defensive moves and slammed directly into the center of his abdomen.
"Cough—!!"
The boy’s waist buckled as he collapsed.
Pushing aside the unconscious boy, the old man looked over.
Peng Ik-cheon, the Master of Sanwol Hall, approached the young man who had entered the courtyard.
"Finished already?"
"Yes, I’ve organized the report and submitted it. But listen, ever since those assassination pavilion bastards closed their doors, those lowlifes from the Jinzhou Eon Family and the Murong Family have been… Anyway, who’s the kid? A recruit?"
"My youngest grandson."
"Aha, the Young Family Head’s fourth son? I’ve heard rumors a few times… Hoh. I see. No wonder the Hao Clan Leader was drooling over him. I guess the rumor about him taking down the Black Dragon Gang alone at age seven wasn't total nonsense?"
"How does he look to you?"
"He’s already entered the Iron Plucking Skill at that age, so why even ask?"
The young man smirked as he approached the unconscious boy.
He checked the boy’s body once, then hoisted him onto his shoulder.
"He’s a genius, obviously."
The young man tossed the little young master into the Purple Tiger Hall and grinned at Peng Ik-cheon.
"Make sure to put him under me later. He’s not the type to die easily, so he’ll be useful."
*
Seriously, goddammit.
"Uuuuugh…."
That wasn't the sound of a zombie; it was the voice of a boy in his early teens.
I panted as I shoved the porridge (80% meat content) Nang-nang had brought into my mouth.
"Gotta eat… gotta eat to live…."
Every single day, I was beaten until I fainted, woken up to be beaten again, and dragged to the Purple Tiger Hall once I was a tattered mess who couldn't stand.
Sparring sessions with Peng Jeon-gun, who visited every ten nights.
Martial arts education directly from my father once every two weeks to a month.
Lessons on the state of the Murim while playing Go with my grandfather once every three months.
Living that life on repeat made time pass so quickly—so very quickly.
The sweltering summer days of Beijing passed, and the leaves fell.
"The Chain Blade is a technique contrary to the Hunyuan Art you’ve practiced until now. Do not use the Heart-Protecting Fist for defense; you must learn to block and deflect using the blade."
When all the leaves had fallen and the snow began to drop.
"My son. The focus of the Iron Plucking Skill lies in a lower body that remains unshaken in any posture. Connect it with the essence of the Mountain King Steps; only when you can deflect all force regardless of the direction of the attack can you be said to have achieved Great Success."
When the snow melted and the weeds of Sanwol Hall grew under the spring sun.
"It’s not just about blocking and deflecting. Yes, good. Lower your stance and twist your waist. Remember the force of the Iron-Breaking Hammer. Block the offensive with the Chain Blade, then close in—."
The seasons cycled like that several times.
Training, testing, and execution.
I memorized every sect in Northern China, the relationships between them, and the prominent martial artists active within them.
I identified the relationships between those martial artists and the massive networks drawn from those connections.
I read the new ripples created as the Peng Family members scattered across the Dragon Slaying Alliance interacted with them.
I plotted all of it onto maps.
Moving beyond the Iron Plucking Skill and the Chain Blade, I reached what could be called the 'next' level of martial arts.
By the time I reached something that could truly be called 'martial power,' I had turned seventeen.
Crunch.
"I finally understand now, Grandfather."
"Understand what?"
"Why the Founder divided and passed down these techniques."
Why the Hunyuan Art was the introductory skill, and why the Iron Plucking Skill and Chain Blade learned afterward didn't seem to harmonize with it at all.
Why this curriculum taught to the young members of the Hebei Peng Family was almost entirely limited to physical techniques.
"The Founder was simply too brilliant."
Peng Dan-san. The hero who first established the Peng Family in this land of Northern China.
The man who burned down the Shaolin Temple’s Library during the chaos of the Yuan-Ming transition and marched into Beijing with the Hongwu Emperor, yet ultimately remained a local lord without entering the government.
The records of that era varied by sect, and in that chaos, no authoritative history book even existed.
The records of that turbulent period 200 years ago, when the entire Central Plains was engulfed in war, were mostly filled with rumors and superstitions.
However, by reading the pulse of these martial arts—the intent sleeping within the Peng Family’s martial arts—one could deduce what kind of person Peng Dan-san was.
He was too brilliant. Brilliant enough to take pride in being the best in the world.
Thus, he realized that his successors would not be able to inherit his true essence in its entirety.
So, he fragmented the martial arts he had created and established a system.
First, the Hunyuan Art. To build the body, set the posture, and lay the foundation.
Next, the Iron Plucking Skill and the Chain Blade. He let them gradually learn opposing martial principles that would surely cause confusion if taught alongside the Hunyuan Art.
So that only when all the foundations were ready could one finally enter the true gate.
"Hunyuan Thunderbolt Blade. Heaven and Earth Chain Soul-Stealing Blade. And, the Five Tiger Single-Door Blade."
Only when all the fragmented martial principles were internalized could one naturally master the Divine Arts that constituted the family’s secret legacy.
"It’s still a realm too high for you to discuss at your level."
"I’ve certainly grasped at least one strand of it."
I smirked, stepping on the parched weeds.
Beside me, I saw the inner courtyard of Sanwol Hall.
I saw the training ground flagstones that had been cleared of weeds and left bare by my footsteps over the years.
This unmanaged training ground, which had been full of dust and weeds when I first entered, was now so clean that the flagstones were neatly exposed in every section.
I brought my blade toward a stray patch of grass and slashed.
Sssssss…!!
The grass crackled and burned away, scorched by the force dwelling in the blade.
I had completed the Hunyuan Thunderbolt Blade.
In the spring of my seventeenth year.
"I never told you directly, fearing your nature would become arrogant."
Peng Ik-cheon laughed hollowly as he watched the force dissipate from my blade.
"In the history of our family, there has been only one person who completed the Hunyuan Thunderbolt Blade at an earlier age than you."
"Who was it?"
"The Family Head."
I couldn't help but chuckle at those words.
It meant I was walking at the same pace as one of the Fifteen Lords of the World.
"Now, even if you perform the duties of Sanwol Hall, you at least won't die in some random ditch."
Who am I? A Jedi Master in the Murim.
Crackle!!
Lightning flickered on the blade in my hand.
Zap, crackle. Thunderous energy scattered along the blade, flashing light into the dark night sky.
I had just finished Sword Qi formation and was within reach of the realm of Sword Qi Hurt Humans.
In other words, I had halfway opened the door to the First-Rate realm.
First-Rate. Murim First Class. In wuxia novels, this is the realm of extras who get treated like "trash who can't even manifest Astral Energy!", but here, you have to focus on the word "First-Rate."
What does First-Rate mean? It means one has achieved Great Success in a field.
It means they’ve learned everything worth learning. If you had to categorize it, it’s like having a Master’s degree in Murim.
Definitely past a Bachelor’s, but haven't quite earned a PhD yet.
In a more common classification, it is the "final limit an ordinary martial artist can reach." The destination an ordinary martial artist can reach after a lifetime of training is precisely the realm where they can harm people with Sword Qi—the First-Rate realm.
And now, lightning comes out of my Sword Qi.
Murim Taser, Murim Electric Eel, Murim Thunderbolt….
"Please stop doing that. It’s distracting."
"Ah, are you talking about my 'Hunyuan Thunderbolt Blade'? To think you’d recognize it… I cannot help but be amazed by the insight of the Great Elder Peng Jeon-gun."
"Cut the crap."
On the way to the Purple Tiger Hall, Peng Jeon-gun, who had been waiting for me, clutched his head and sighed.
It felt like that old man’s sighs increased every time I saw him.
Stress is the enemy of aging; this is a problem.
He needs to live a long life.
"Watching your nonsense makes me forget what I was going to say. Stop that distracting business and follow me."
"Eh? Is something else happening?"
"It’s about your fiancée. It’s not something for others to overhear, so follow me quietly."
Ah, right. Hwa-yeong.
I was engaged, wasn't I?
No, if I may offer an excuse here, honestly, nothing had progressed since then except for exchanging a few letters, so I thought it had just fizzled out.
I mean, by the standards of this era, an engagement is something that can be broken without any legal, social, or reputational burden.
A trivial promise like an engagement is just a minor issue that the men of the Central Plains Serengeti don't even need to worry about….
Anyway.
"Did something happen to Hwa-yeong?"
"Heh, it’s become difficult to call her that now."
"Pardon?"
Sitting in the main hall of the Purple Tiger Hall, Peng Jeon-gun continued with a subtle expression.
"The eldest son of the Heavenly Demon died from Qi Deviation."
"What…?"
"Which means the only blood relative the Heavenly Demon has left is that brat, Im Hwa-yeong."
"Uh… hmm."
Hwa-yeong had two older brothers, and I heard one of them died falling off a cliff a few years ago.
The Demonic Cult was turned upside down, but the body was never found….
And since there was only one brother left, the eldest, I remembered him being groomed as the successor, even being called the Little Heavenly Demon.
"Then has Hwa-yeong become the Little Heavenly Demon now?"
"That’s right, you brat. If the marriage goes through, you’ll be the husband of the Heavenly Demon in the future."
"Oh…."
Hwa-yeong must be devastated.
She was such an innocent kid who got so happy over a simple game of cat's cradle, and now her brothers have died one after another in just a few years...
I picked up a brush to write her a letter of condolence for the first time in a while.
*
The Hall of Ascending Heaven of the Sixth Heaven Esoteric Buddhism, Heavenly Demon Cult, Mount Tianshan.
One of the Fifteen Lords of the World and the Three Evils Beyond the Great Wall, Heavenly Demon Im Won-un, let out a deep breath as he looked down at the woman walking between the rows of the Ten Great Demonic Lords.
A face so pale it was almost white in contrast with her pitch-black palace dress, small and delicate fingers peeking out from under her sleeves—the woman walked into the inner hall of the Hall of Ascending Heaven with a faint presence and soft footsteps.
She soon knelt before the Heavenly Demon, meeting his gaze.
Those pitch-black pupils were like an abyss where not even a fragment of emotion could be seen.
She was so alien that not even a trace of the delicate daughter could be found in her anymore.
"Listen, all of you."
To the youngest daughter who had killed all three of her older brothers, the current Heavenly Demon spoke slowly.
"This child shall now inherit the legacy of the Cult."
The long-standing succession struggle of the Sixth Heaven Esoteric Buddhism was settled.
The Little Heavenly Demon.
A bright, flower-like smile spread across Im Hwa-yeong’s lips as she finally reached that name.
"Hwi, just wait a little longer."
Even when the absolute ruler of the Sixth Heaven Esoteric Buddhism turned his gaze away from her, her eyes remained fixed on the Heavenly Demon.
She had now risen to the position of being below one person and above ten thousand in Mount Tianshan.
It had taken ten years to get here.
"Really, truly, just a little more."
The girl, standing below one person and above myriad demons, lowered her head, avoiding her father’s gaze.
Now, if just one more person 'disappears,' this world will be at her feet.
Myriad demons will follow in her footsteps.
On that day, no one in this world will dare to hurt her or Hwi.
Even if she has to cast everyone who blocks her path into the depths of hell.
Even if she has to burn the entire Central Plains.
No one. Dare.