My Friend the Heavenly Demon
Mu Yun blinked several times and shook his head vigorously. The two sets of memories might have gotten tangled, leading to a mistake.
Did I remember wrong?
But no matter how many times he retraced it, back in the old days, the only tributary flowing down from the northern Ak-yang into the city stream had been that one. And come to think of it, that massive boulder sitting all alone in the middle of the stream hadn't been there either. There was no way he could have forgotten something at least five jang tall.
Mu Yun's gaze shifted to Ak Mu-gil. Maybe he'd say something different.
"It really looked like that even from the ancient past?"
"Of course. You think a human could make something like that?"
"...Still."
Ak Mu-gil tossed in a light joke. "Unless it was some incredible martial artist. Like Cheonma Yahul-gyeom or something."
In that instant, Mu Yun's entire body jolted as if struck by lightning. His wide eyes and gaping mouth refused to close for a long while.
Cheonma. The first time he'd heard that name.
Yahul-gyeom is Cheonma?
The absurd thought scrambled through his mind. Yahul-gyeom was the second disciple among Yeo Hwi's three. He'd passed the alliance leader position to his eldest senior brother, Eunsa Hong, and put Yahul-gyeom in charge of the Qinghai region.
Of course, Yahul was a common surname in Sin-gang, so it could just be a coincidence. But what was this spine-chilling tremor?
Mu Yun shook his head firmly.
I can just check. There should be records.
He glanced around and muttered to himself. "Where's a bookstore?"
"Huh? It's at the far right end of the market street, isn't it?"
Mu Yun shot off like an arrow.
Whoosh!
"I'm heading out first."
"Huh? Hey! Bangju, we gotta have a drink! Where you going?"
"Later!"
The two stood there dumbfounded for a while, unable to move.
Meanwhile, one pair of eyes still lingered on Mu Yun and his group. Yeon Sa-gu, the young master of Hao Mun in Chim-ju, narrowed his gaze.
What an odd guy.
He was infamous as Hao Mun's biggest headache in Chim-ju. Famous for slacking off endlessly despite getting scolded daily by his uncle, the branch manager Yeon Dae-bo. There was no way he'd be here for profitable intel.
He'd just overheard Ha Hu pass by and, out of boredom and curiosity, stuck around. Already bored out of his mind, Yeon Sa-gu had tailed Mu Yun all day. And now this guy, who moved with lightning speed, was standing there gawking like a country bumpkin new to the city before suddenly bolting off again.
Yeon Sa-gu's lips curved into a slight grin.
Fun guy.
The next day, at the Cheong-ho Bang headquarters.
Yeom Jung-tak yawned and casually asked the hulking Ak Mu-gil. "Is the Bangju still holed up like that?"
"Seems so. Hasn't come out of his room."
"What the hell kind of book has him acting like this?"
"Mostly wild histories of the jianghu."
"We know that much already. Why's he like that?"
"Looks like he's searching for something."
Meanwhile, in the Bangju's room.
Mu Yun's body trembled as he stared intently at one book.
This can't be.
He'd scoured the market bookstore and gathered every jianghu wild history. Not a single one mentioned Cheok-go-ryeon.
But while searching out of curiosity about who Cheonma was, two familiar names jumped out.
— Cheonma Yahul-gyeom killed his senior brother Eunsa Hong and ascended as cult leader.
Mastered Cheonma Singong and attacked the Central Plains, only to be defeated.
Later created demonic arts with the Demon Physician and spread them across the world.
Yahul-gyeom had surpassed his eldest brother Eunsa Hong in every way. But his intense hatred for the Central Plains kept him from the alliance leader role. Rebellion wasn't a worry since Yeo Hwi would outlive him.
Every book said the same. He'd flipped through them all hoping for differences, but nothing changed. Just a few lines each—nothing more to scrutinize.
Emptiness hit before anger, leaving him unable to steady his heart for a while.
No mention anywhere of Yeo Hwi or Cheok-go-ryeon. What the hell happened after he left?
Mu Yun couldn't shake the bewilderment.
How can there be no records at all?
If all thousand-year-old history was gone, fine—but mentions of Yahul-gyeom existed, yet nothing from decades earlier? The first unification of the jianghu, an event still unprecedented?
Someone erased it?
The first suspects: those calling themselves the righteous sects. Yeongheung-sa, the top Buddhist sect back then; Taoist Sara-san (later Wudang); Kunlun; Huashan; among families, Namgung, Paeng, and Dang Mun.
All had knelt to Yeo Hwi. Yeongheung-sa, Sara-san, and Kunlun lines had died out now, but survived two to three hundred years after Mu Lun left.
Then another question arose.
And what the hell is Cheonma Singong?
Still hailed as one of the supreme arts of past and present. Of course, he hadn't created it. He knew the cult leader who mastered it and Cheonma-gyo had vied for jianghu supremacy dozens of times over the past millennium.
Never conquered the Central Plains, but kept their lineage alive in Sin-gang for a thousand years.
Suddenly, a gut-wrenching realization hit.
Yahul-gyeom! Did you really create those demonic arts?
Unheard demonic art names filled the pages, none his creation. Yeo Hwi wouldn't have made such things after he left either.
Reverse blood flow and drugs appeared in other arts; color arts, qi absorption, and star-sucking methods had been researched sporadically before.
But eating human blood and flesh, using animal brains or corpse energy, losing reason to mindless slaughter—these unspeakable atrocities were listed.
If Yahul-gyeom created them, the roots traced back to what he and Yeo Hwi provided.
A deep sigh escaped.
Ha! Demonic arts!
But he couldn't confirm if these records were true yet. Checking wild histories in longstanding clans would help, but not possible now.
Suddenly, Bo-ta Munju came to mind.
She might know!
Founded around when he left, with the first Bo-ta Munju from Yeongheung-sa. Maybe records there.
He had doctrinal debates to share with Munju Un-seon anyway—perfect excuse to probe subtly.
Mu Yun idly flipped through the wild histories one last time, organizing before heading to Bo-ta Mun.
Then a phrase caught his eye. Words supposedly left by Cheonma.
"Those who go to meet the dawn shall see me."
He'd smirked at the pretentious nonsense the first time. Yet it appeared in every book.
Ridiculous.
True Yeo Hwi wouldn't leave such Zen koans. And it hinted at a martial art legacy, but Sin-gi Sim-ui Gong was something he had to pioneer himself—couldn't be written down, and Yeo Hwi's personality meant no other art left behind.
Someone must have fabricated it over those long years. If that arrogant bastard left anything, it'd be this:
"Those with nowhere left to climb, seek me."
Suddenly, a wistful look crossed Mu Yun's face.
Damn it!
Mu Lun and Yeo Hwi's sole friend, whose name meant dawn.
Yeo Dan!
The phony phrase had made him forget. No Chim-ju clans existed a thousand years ago. No ties linking back to him.
But one thing endured across a millennium: where they cremated their dead friend Yeo Dan and scattered his ashes.
Mang-san.
Officially Cheon-tae-san, but locals called it Mang-san for its vast, boundless expanse.
The thought struck, and he moved.
He'd thought no one left to speak of the old days.
Yet atop Mang-san, overlooking all Chim-ju, his old friend's scent lingered.
Regret swelled for his belated visit.
I should have come right away.
Moments later, Yeom Jung-tak shouted at the rushing Mu Yun. "Bangju! Where to?"
"Meeting a friend!"
Mu Yun bolted without looking back.
Ak Mu-gil tilted his head. "What? The Bangju has friends?"
"Yeah. Who from out of town?"
"...?"
Soon after, on a peak of Mang-san.
Mu Yun's eyes quivered as he stared at a spot near the summit.
It's still there!
Mang-san's high altitude made it the only southern Central Plains spot with winter snowflowers. That modest rock delicately blanketed in snow. From atop it, they'd sent their friend Yeo Dan soaring free.
The poignant memory still vivid, he met the past for the first time since crossing a millennium.
His eyes moistened gradually.
Long time no see, Yeo Dan!
He dashed up in one leap to the spot where they'd bid farewell.
The three often climbed this perpetually fog-shrouded place.
They'd come at dawn the day after unifying Chim-ju's underworld too.
Suddenly, that memory surged vividly.
It was when Mu Lun was immersed in learning to read.
He'd pulled out what he'd prepared to brag.
"Hey! Now we're Bangju, deputy, chief officer—how about name changes? Jang-i, Yeom-sam—too hickish."
The one called Yeom-sam grinned wide.
"Sure. Then I'll be... I like these dawns. Something fitting?"
"...Yeo Dan! Means dawn. What do ya think?"
"Hey! That's cool. I like it! I'll go with that. What about Jang-i?"
The one called Jang-i shook his head.
"Nah, I'm good. Changing names doesn't change anything."
"Aw, c'mon! We got four Jang-i's in the bang already. Can't confuse the Bangju—change while we're at it."
Mu Lun chimed in. "Yeah, Jang-i. Change yours too."
Gazing at the fog ahead, Jang-i spoke. "I like the light piercing that fog."
"Why?"
"It punches through the crude fog and endures to the end. Gotta do the same to protect you weaklings."
"Huh? Lemme think... Ah! Yeo Hwi—that's perfect. What say?"
Yeo Dan, somewhat literate, tilted his head. "Isn't that evening glow?"
"No, that's Yeo Hwi as evening glow; this is Yeo Hwi as lingering light. Fitting?"
Even Jang-i's impassive face lit up approvingly. "Yeo Hwi? Sounds decent."
"Great. From now on, Yeo Dan and Yeo Hwi. Got it?"
The newly Yeo Dan brought up another topic. "Mu Lun, why not change yours too? Got it 'cause a foggy day carriage nearly flattened you, right?"
"Nah, keeping mine."
"Why?"
"Got hit by that brutal wheel and came out unscratched. Named for averting disaster. Who knows? Might dodge a death crisis thanks to it."
Yeo Hwi snorted. "Crazy bastard! By that logic, last light me lives longest."
"Yeah. Live till you're painting walls with shit."
"Don't worry. Planning to."
"Sure, let's see if the constant fighter outlives."
Then Yeo Dan, struck by a thought, asked Mu Lun—the one obsessed lately with studies under teacher Mok-u.
"Mu Lun, you seem to love letters."
"Love? Nah."
"Huh? Then why so into it?"
Mu Lun's eyes sparkled brighter than ever. "Why'd we flee Yeong-ju?"
"Why bring that up? Those bastards tried live burial for the lord's funeral."
"Obvious. Why'd they do that?"
"'Cause lowly us are fine dying like that."
"Ugh, why drag it up? Annoying."
"Felt the same here. No matter the money or underlings, we're still lowly."
"Duh, obvious."
"No! Teacher Mok-u said—from Buddhist sutra: all sentient beings equal; enlighten, become Buddha."
"Pfft, just lip service."
"Thought so too. But famous monks around Buddha? Many lowborn. Even prostitutes."
"Gasp! For real?"
"Yeah. Mok-u told this: from Hyeon-u-gyeong sutra. Buddha passes, lowborn splashes shit."
"Gasp! Head chopped?"
"No, Buddha bathed with him. To puzzled folk: Ilche Jungsaeng Sil-u Bulseong."
"What's that?"
"Tough, but simple: before truth, all equal."
Yeo Hwi asked, "So you're becoming a monk?"
"Crazy? Can't live without meat!"
"Then?"
"We're not lowly. Buddha proved it; I'll do the same."
"How?"
"Martial arts!"
"Martial arts?"
"Yeah. With you, Yeo Hwi, we can make better than the elite arts. Prove we're not lowly."
Yeo Hwi's eyes gleamed. "Make that, world won't see us low?"
"Obviously. Wanna try?"
For the first time, fiery determination blazed in Yeo Hwi's eyes.
"Absolutely. Right now!"
"...!"
That martial art creation reached its end. But who knew it'd lead to this a millennium later.