12. Gungdo Pavilion (1)
I'd heard my shop's grade had gone up, so I summoned the Infinite Shop once more.
"Oof, my eyes."
The moment it appeared, I winced. There were just so many tiny lines of text—it hurt to look at. If I were my old self from my previous life, no way I could've read this. Good thing I was young now.
That meant the number of talents I could buy had increased dramatically. Did higher shop grades unlock better talents? It was fun just browsing the new ones.
Damn. Five thousand silver taels was an amount even the Hwi-yeong Merchant Group in my previous life couldn't handle lightly.
Anyway, a ton of good talents had unlocked, but there were too many to sort through now. I'd have to organize them properly when I had time later.
That aside, running all over Wudang Mountain was definitely tempering my body properly.
Sprinting across the slopes honed my balance, lightness skill, and endurance. Scaling cliffs built strength throughout my entire body.
Sure enough, abs I'd never dreamed of as a merchant had taken shape on my frame. Not just abs—my muscles were now sharply defined all over.
And this had all happened in the last two months. I'd delivered documents to every corner of Wudang in that time. No choice—they'd beat me if I didn't.
Some days, I wondered if I was a true inner sect disciple or just a glorified errand boy for the sect.
I'd figured a temporary inner disciple would at least train with others, but Cheonghwa had just left me to rot in the Crop Fields Hall. Well, "rot" wasn't fair—she checked on me every day.
Every time, I'd ask when I'd finally leave the Crop Fields Hall, if this was why she'd made me an inner disciple. Her answer was always the same.
—All things have their time.
That was when I realized Cheonghwa and Cheongsu were in cahoots.
Now I understood why Cheongsu had pummeled me so viciously on day two. At first, I thought he was just crazy, but it turned out to be Chugung acupuncture points—a technique to unblock qi and meridians.
No wonder I'd felt refreshed and clear-headed every time I got back up despite the beatings. Who could've guessed that wild, frenzied barrage was actually precise meridian therapy?
Cheongsu would occasionally beat me as "punishment" for being late, but that was Chugung too. So I'd gritted my teeth through the pain.
As I'd suspected, they were tempering me—preparing me to become a true inner sect disciple of Wudang. And my hunch was spot on.
"Looks like we've forged the bare minimum, at least."
Today, Cheonghwa and Cheongsu eyed me appraisingly as they spoke. Without the Infinite Shop, I'd have been baffled.
"Why talk about a person like they're merchandise?"
"A martial artist is a single blade. In that sense, calling you an object isn't entirely wrong."
Cheonghwa smiled benevolently. I wanted to know how he could smile like that without pissing everyone off.
"So, is my service at the Crop Fields Hall finally over?"
"No. People are more satisfied with your work than expected. Keep serving when you're not training."
"Did the other messengers break their legs or something?"
"They were just temporary herb gatherers from Hebei anyway. It's time for the herbs to grow back, so they're returning to their main work."
"Then shouldn't you pay me their wages to make the accounts balance?"
"How could filthy money exchange hands in the sacred master-disciple bond of our sect?"
These stubborn bastards. They still scorned money. I gave up on the idea of getting paid for my labor here.
"So when do I get my hundred taels?"
"After your service at the Crop Fields Hall ends."
"You said you're extending it because you like my work. It should've been done by now."
"But it isn't."
"Don't you rewrite contracts for extra deliveries?"
"No idea."
"Fine, then I'll shit all over the messenger duties from now on. Make your precious work unsatisfactory."
"Get caught by someone with a bad temper, and you might never shit again. You okay with that?"
"The guy in front of me seems to have the worst temper."
"Haha. Unlikely. There aren't many like me in the sect— paragons of character."
"You saying that yourself?"
Unbelievable. But I had no real choice. If they said jump, I'd jump. Like a tiger in the shadows, I'd just bide my time. Waiting for a chance to escape this demonic Wudang Mountain...
"Let's head to Gungdo Pavilion first. You can meet my disciples there. If you become a formal inner disciple, they'll be your martial brothers."
"Understood."
Cheonghwa and I bid Cheongsu farewell and headed to Gungdo Pavilion. I'd passed through a few times as a messenger, so I knew the way.
Gungdo Pavilion was where Wudang researched its martial arts. Fitting for a top expert like Cheonghwa.
Martial brothers, huh. Hopefully ones I could talk to, like Jeon O-su.
"Hey! Flute boy!"
"It's broken! Fix my flute!"
But harsh reality awaited.
The kids, led by Myeonggyeong, were Cheonghwa's disciples. So that's why he'd bought the flute.
I tilted my head and shot Cheonghwa a look.
"I have to call these kids martial brother?"
"You do."
I stared blankly at Myeonggyeong and the others. Even the oldest looked about ten or eleven.
Normally, a generation spanned ten years or so. With Cheongja generation in their forties and fifties, first-generation disciples were around ten.
Of course Cheonghwa would mentor third-gen kids.
"I'm almost eleven now."
"And?"
"Calling kids who look ten years younger than me 'martial brother'?"
"Common in the martial world."
Cheonghwa said it casually. Sure, among murim folk obsessed with generations. Normal people went by age. I swallowed my rising frustration.
"...I'm still temporary."
"True. No need to call them that yet. Plenty of time ahead."
I'll find a way out. Not figuratively—I couldn't serve actual children. For someone like me, who'd lived outside the murim, it was humiliating.
"You'll train with the third-gen disciples, though. Your foundation as a warrior is just basic muscle and bone right now."
The physique I'd built dashing around Wudang for two months. I'd slept maybe four hours a day. Even rushing, handling all the errands was grueling.
"Got it."
"Get familiar with their faces since it's your first meeting. Say hi. I have things to do."
One blink, and Cheonghwa was gone. I awkwardly faced the kids. Three of them, including Myeonggyeong.
Only Myeonggyeong had bought a flute—he'd brought friends from other masters.
"Hmph. So you're the one who's gonna be my martial junior?"
The oldest-looking one charged in. Twelve or thirteen at most. I nearly blacked out but held it together.
"Guess so."
"'Guess so'? Don't talk like that in front of me."
"...Yes."
"'Yes'? That tone's got attitude."
Getting chewed out by a ten-year-old was disorienting.
The others, including Myeonggyeong, stayed silent, so this kid must be the senior here.
His practiced scolding suggested he'd tormented the others plenty.
"My dohyo is Myeongseong."
"I'm Muk Hwi-yeong."
"No dohyo yet, huh."
"Correct."
Myeongseong tsked irritably. Impressively snotty for his age. No wonder murim bred such assholes—they grew up like this. Prime martial world sapling.
"You're the one who made flutes for the juniors?"
Myeongseong glanced at Myeonggyeong, who hastily hid his flute.
"Sold, technically."
"You really set out to disrupt Wudang's order."
"Pardon?"
"Not just juniors—even other brothers and sisters play flutes during training time. What'll become of Wudang?"
Zero tolerance for breaks. What a stellar martial world sapling.
But no sapling beats a merchant oak.
"It's all about how you use it. Proper rest boosts efficiency. I sold flutes, sure, but I didn't say to slack on training while playing. If your junior visits a brothel and fools around with courtesans, do you chop their head off?"
My words flowed smoothly; Myeongseong looked flustered. He wanted to retort but couldn't.
I had a tongue forged in market brawls with difficult customers. To a merchant, the tongue is like a warrior's sword. To me, this inner disciple was just an innocent mountain boy. Roasting him was child's play.
"In my humble opinion, senior, there's only one way to guide your juniors properly."
"...What?"
"Lead by example."
I pulled a flute from my satchel—one I'd kept for boredom. Who knew it'd come in handy.
Myeongseong's pupils dilated. Bingo—he wanted one.
Too proud as senior to snatch a kid's toy, so he'd thrown tantrums. A customer whose desires a merchant spots is like a rabbit baring its neck to a tiger.
I played a tune: Hoga Sip-pal-bak, one of the Ten Great Melodies. True artisans don't blame tools. At my level of leisure mastery, even a reed flute could play masterpieces. The kids gaped in awe.
When I finished, Myeonggyeong eyed his own flute—identical, yet how could it sound like that?
I wiped mine on my sleeve and handed it to Myeongseong. He fumbled, nearly dropping it—adorably flustered.
"If you use the flute only during breaks and focus purely on training otherwise, won't your juniors follow? How could they rest if their senior doesn't? Not in a prestigious sect like the Nine Great Clans, surely."
"Mm, true."
"Then use it to keep the juniors in line. A gift."
No point keeping it—I never had time anyway, dashing with documents. Even rare breaks made me crave liquor, not flutes.
"...W-Well, I'll take it then. Ahem."
Myeonggyeong and the others stared at Myeongseong in disbelief.
His grin confirmed it—they'd realized he'd craved the flute too.
And we weren't the only ones who noticed.
"Heard the tacky tune and came to see Myeongseong losing his mind over a flute."
We turned. Kids with builds unbelievable for ten sneered at Myeongseong.
"Myeonghan."
Myeongseong scowled. Fellow disciple, probably. Flanked by two others, who chimed in.
"Shame on you, Myeongseong."
"Not embarrassed in front of juniors?"
Myeongseong rubbed his forehead wearily. Looked like this wasn't the first time.
Wisely, he ignored them. Myeonghan kept prodding, but no response.
Frustrated, Myeonghan spotted me. His ire turned my way.
"You're the merchant peddling flutes. Selling that crap in Wudang? Want your wrists chopped?"
"Yeah, my junior got reamed by his martial uncle over your flute."
Myeonghan's crew closed in. Hate to admit it, but these ten-year-olds were intimidatingly built. Born murim kids were different, alright.
"No, that's not—"
As I started explaining, Myeonggyeong wedged between us.
"S-Senior. I'll discipline the junior myself."
A far cry from tormenting lay disciples. Still just a kid. But his words only provoked them more.
"Junior? Juuunior? This merchant scum's your junior?"
"Not yet, but temporary..."
"Temporary?"
Their eyes scanned me sharply. Then realization dawned, eyes gleaming wickedly.
"Oh ho. You're that guy. The lay disciple trying to join the inner sect. Heard from master. A lay disciple as inner? At your age?"
Bratty kids mocking my age.
They eyed me like prey, advancing slowly. Myeonggyeong paled between us.
Then Myeongseong appeared beside him, expression screaming reluctance.
He drew his wooden sword, aiming precisely at them.
"Don't come closer. He's my direct junior."
A sly smile crept over Myeonghan's face. Like he'd waited for this.
Tension choked the air among the kids.