Chapter 14: The Heavenly Net Dance
Yeo Hwi methodically unraveled the reason for leaving behind the dance.
Since your body has changed, you should now be able to cultivate martial arts. Sin-gi Sim-ui Gong—you already know the path, so no need to worry. But there are a few things I want to say about the direction you'll take.
As you know, I unified my heart, body, and intent through battles drenched in blood, walking that path with the will of fury. But I hope you won't do the same.
Sin-gi Sim-ui Gong was not a martial art pondered in the mind. The will could not supersede the body's intent. It wasn't an exaggeration to say that its beginning and end lay in aligning the heart's message with the flesh.
In the past, after Yeo Dan's death, Yeo Hwi had fled to Sin-gang with Mu Yun, fueled by a fury as vast as his rage. But Sin-gi Sim-ui Gong could be cultivated through any of the seven human emotions—joy, anger, sorrow, pleasure, love, hatred, or desire.
Yeo Hwi was telling him to choose something other than blood-soaked anger, perhaps through dance.
Do you remember? Scholar Mok-u also recommended dance to us once.
There had been such a time. When Mu Lun was deeply immersed in his studies, the wandering Taoist Mok-u had come to Chim-ju. He was the one who had passed down the true formulas that formed the foundation of Sin-gi Sim-ui Gong's heart technique.
He had stayed by Mu Lun's side, claiming he was good at managing the underworld forces and watching over the common folk, teaching him Buddhist sutras and much more. In particular, after imparting his self-created Taoist heart formula, Ye-ui Jin-gyeol, he had coaxed endlessly: "Dance to its rhythm and cadence, and you'll find joy."
Mu Lun hadn't missed the intent behind the recommendation—to teach them, who lived in a harsh world, the value and pleasure of life. But it had felt like ill-fitting clothes, so he'd only pretended a few times before giving up.
Haeng U-ja from Do-baek-pa, that close friend of yours, said something worth heeding too.
"Dance consists of two elements: memory and improvisation. Among them, formless improvisation is the shortcut to realizing emptiness. There is no better path toward wu wei.
Do-baek-pa has no shortage of dance scriptures."
Mu Yun couldn't help but chuckle inwardly. If anyone hated dance more than he did, it was Yeo Hwi. And yet, for that man to recommend it?
This bastard! You never did it yourself—what the hell...
But the next line stopped Mu Yun's cynicism cold.
The dance I created, I named Cheonra Mu.
No way—did this guy really...?
I tried crafting it from joy and pleasure among the seven emotions, but as expected, I couldn't. Anger would have been meaningless. So I formed it in a state of no-mind and transcended the Life-Death Realm in one leap.
A radiant smile bloomed on Mu Yun's lips. What greater joy could there be than his friend reaching the realm he'd so desperately sought?
Ha! Hearing this makes it all worthwhile.
Then a sudden curiosity struck.
Wonder where this guy learned to dance? He's the type who'd die before admitting it anywhere.
The answer came right away.
The form comes from a Buddhist dance, Barata Natiam, I chanced upon at Yeongheung-sa. Originally a dance from the Tianzhu royal family to draw out primal desires, someone infused it with Buddhist teachings to make it a martial art. Whoever it was, they were as eccentric as me.
Mu Yun pulled out the transcribed sutra marked Barata Natiam. Flipping through a few pages, his face flushed red. The solo parts were innocuous enough, but vivid illustrations of men and women dancing together filled half the volume.
He vented his pointless irritation at the absent Yeo Hwi.
Ha! How the hell is this called a Buddhist dance?
As if reading his mind, Yeo Hwi had the answer ready.
Ban Gak thought the same as you and tossed it in a corner. But look closely—you'll see it's no less than any martial art we created.
Yeo Hwi never lied. If the situation called for it, he'd simply seal his lips.
His gaze drifted curiously to another book. Another copy of the Barata Natiam transcript.
Why two copies of the same thing?
This one had annotations below each chapter. Skimming it, Mu Yun tilted his head.
Why note down lower dantian heart methods here?
With Sin-gi Sim-ui Gong, no other heart methods were needed. Right below was an answer that felt half-hearted.
This dance can be learned by men and women together, so I organized the lower dantian heart method separately. You don't need it, but pass it on to someone. I really hope you do. If we'd had descendants, it wouldn't have been forgotten. We can't repeat the same mistake—don't forget.
What nonsense is this!
He was too flabbergasted for even a scoff. He knew it meant "meet a woman in this life." But dancing this lurid dance with one? The heart method alone, maybe.
Forcing it aside, he moved to the next line. The plea continued.
Forget the past. You're someone else now—devote yourself fully to that body; that's the way of the world. The dance is your choice, but I hope you'll at least try. Call it a friend's final request.
A few more notes followed.
In case you need money, I saved a little.
Mu Yun snorted derisively.
A little?
He'd gathered rare gems in one place. Even that was worth a fortune. But Yeo Hwi's lack of any sense of money was the real issue, past and present.
You bastard! Do you know how much one piece of Cheon-seol Cheong-ok is worth!
Gold has a price, but jade does not. The value of the Cheon-seol Cheong-ok surrounding him was incalculable in coin. Of course, Yeo Hwi knew he wouldn't sell it—that's why he phrased it that way—but "a little" was absurd.
There were other things too. Yeo Hwi wrote of them plainly, as if no big deal, but they stirred Mu Yun's heart the most.
I added some Buddhist sutras, Taoist true scriptures, and a few herbology books for when you're bored.
Judging by the handwriting, Yeo Hwi had transcribed them all himself. Mu Yun's eyes caught stacks of spare bamboo slips piled against one wall—thousands of blank ones.
You transcribed them all here.
A warm glow enveloped his chest, soon swelling into deeper emotion.
Thank you.
The guy who'd griped endlessly at Mu Yun's sutra chanting had painstakingly copied each character. The image rose unbidden. As long as these books remained, Yeo Hwi would always be by his side.
A faint smile graced his lips.
Got it. I'll keep you close always.
The loneliness of being alone now could be swept away on a single breeze.
I tossed in a few other martial arts for boredom too. The left shelf has things you'll enjoy. Not stolen, mind you—just traded.
Inspecting the left shelf, Mu Yun was dumbfounded.
What the hell did this guy do!
It wasn't just a few. Secret arts from massive orthodox and unorthodox sects alike filled his view. Absolute arts, every one.
Of course, their owners wouldn't have parted willingly. "Traded"?
Aigoo, you bastard! As if they handed them over happily.
Absolute arts overflowed in his mind already. To Mu Yun, they were mere curiosities, as Yeo Hwi said.
The right shelf holds what our kids snatched during the great rivers-and-lakes bloodbath. You'll see—mostly Do-baek-pa stuff. Yahul-gyeom wiped them out and swept it clean. Most of my transcribed Taoist scriptures came from former sect leader Haeng U-ja, but what can you do?
Do-baek-pa!
The sect was long gone now. Sa-ra-san, where it stood, was called Mu-dang-san, home to the supreme Taoist sect Mu-dang. The face of his old friend Haeng U-ja surfaced, a pang of wistfulness brushing his eyes.
Sorry it turned out this way.
No lineage survived anyway—nearly nine hundred years had passed. Nothing more to think on.
And the final words.
Just as you were always by my side, I'll always be by yours. Don't forget, my friend. This time, don't live for others. Please, enjoy your own life. I'll be watching.
Yeo Hwi's emotions must have run high here—or perhaps added later—as the final promise to watch differed slightly in ink and script.
Mu Yun let out a deep sigh.
Whew!
Yeo Hwi's words eased some burdens but piled on others. Among the new weights was one Yeo Hwi hadn't mentioned.
No word on So-ryeo.
Wol So-ryeo, whom he'd raised like a daughter—no, she was his daughter. Yeo Hwi knew he'd wonder, yet nothing.
Mu Yun shook his head vigorously.
Don't overthink it. She's lived well.
Even recalling her now bred fear and unease. Setting down the bamboo slip, Mu Yun's eyes drifted shut.
Thoughts swirled on how to live from here. Organizing them in his mind's eye took no small time.
The azure glow of the surrounding Cheon-seol Cheong-ok gathered and poured over his heart like soothing rain.
The next evening, at Cheong-ho Bang's compound.
Ak Mu-gil, now deputy leader, floundered before an unexpected guest. He yearned to ogle the beauty before him, but she was Bo-ta Mun's sword pavilion candidate for little sword queen. One wrong glance could spell disaster.
He repeated inwardly: Mu-gil, hold it together. Living's the priority.
Jin Seo-yeon, presuming it was about yesterday, relayed her intent again.
"It's not me who wants to see him. Our sect leader does."
"Why would I dare lie about such a thing? He went out yesterday to meet a friend and hasn't returned. Truly."
Jeok Myo-ye chimed in from beside him.
"We wouldn't lie to someone helping us. Brother's telling the truth."
"Then when will he return?"
"We've searched the whole city without luck, so probably left town."
"We depart tomorrow morning. If he returns before then, please pass the word."
"Got it. I'll tell him to come straight away."
"Alright."
Jin Seo-yeon swallowed her regret and turned away. That gaze during yesterday's debate with the sect leader lingered.
Regrettable. I wanted to hear more.
She'd thought they could share stories for her own reflection. After the Shaolin assembly ended, she'd head to the Murim Alliance. Passing the Demon Extermination Squad trials would cement her warrior's path.
In a group tasked mainly with slaying demons, killing was inevitable. Joining meant the Buddhist path grew distant.
Yet from this mere underworld drifter, she'd glimpsed hope for both paths. Mu Yun, an unorthodox wanderer, had walked that bloody road already. But his unwavering convictions and eyes yesterday still proclaimed him a true Buddhist.
Back when he'd mercilessly cut down the Jusan Army monks, her heart had screamed. Any more blood on her blade, and the Buddhist way was lost forever.
She'd even begged her division leader for secluded training after. Yet the burden lingered. She'd sought another's experience for guidance, but even that proved difficult.
A faint sigh touched Jin Seo-yeon's lips.
If our fates end here, so be it.
Once she vanished from sight, Ak Mu-gil exhaled hugely.
"Phew! Had me sweating—what a scare."
Jeok Myo-ye's eyes arched playfully.
"Doesn't seem like it."
"What? What're you on about?"
"Wanted to say one more thing, but feared getting beat. Now she's gone, and it's a shame. Something like that, right?"
Ak Mu-gil's face burned crimson.
"What the hell! Hey, she's a sword queen candidate. As if I'd harbor such thoughts!"
"Your face says otherwise."
"Well, er. Ahem!"
Yeom Jung-tak nearby tilted his head.
"But bro, the leader wasn't exaggerating. They talked alone in his room forever, and now mighty Bo-ta Mun's leader wants another meeting."
His brother Yeom Ri-ung joined in.
"Yeah. I may not look it, but I got an eye. Leader's gaze then was like a different man. Definitely some story there."
"Right? With that level of learning, he seems like a scholar."
"But his moves scream orthodox sect."
Ak Mu-gil glanced around, then erupted.
"Watch your mouths! Loose lips sink us all!"
"Aw, it's just us."
"Hey! Birds hear night talk, mice hear day talk. You know the saying."
"Is that right? Isn't it backwards?"
"Hey! Get the point, don't nitpick! Treating your deputy leader like dirt these days."
"Aw, c'mon, over that? My bad. Happy?"
"Ahem! Should've been sooner."
Atop the roof nearby, a lounging figure's eyes flashed.
Dogs barking over scraps. Bo-ta Mun's leader met privately with a drifter?
Yeon Sa-gu, Hao Clan young master of Chim-ju's Ha-o Mun, grinned ear to ear—his habit when stumbling on fun.
This guy's got something real.
“My Friend, the Heavenly Demon”