13. Gungdo Pavilion (2)
I had a pretty good idea of what was going on here. Merchants formed factions based on their regions or backgrounds. It was only natural that martial artists did the same.
Organizations always splinter into factions, and it seemed these kids were no exception.
"They're disciples of Cheong-yu Sasuk."
Someone spoke up beside me. It was one of the kids standing next to Myeong-gyeong.
The children around Myeong-gyeong had surrounded me, each taking a position like they were guarding me.
"Cheong-yu Sasuk and our master don't get along all that well."
"Is that so?"
"Yeah."
Maybe they felt some sense of belonging since Cheong-hwa had brought me here. Myeong-seong had nagged me a bit, but he seemed like the type who protected his own kids. Trusting these little ones to have my back—truly a disgrace for someone like me, Jicheon-myeong.
Anyway, if the adults were at odds, there was no way the kids would get along. That explained why Myeong-han kept picking fights with Myeong-seong. Myeong-seong clearly didn't want to deal with it, but he had no choice because of the excuse I provided.
"Myeong-seong, get out of the way. I need to hold this lay disciple accountable for disrupting Wudang's discipline."
"He's a temporary headquarters disciple."
"Same difference."
Myeong-han and Myeong-seong were locked in a tense standoff. What was so discipline-shattering about a reed pipe? Then again, with nothing much to do on Wudang Mountain, even a reed pipe might seem thrilling.
"You gonna move or not?"
"He's going to be my junior brother. If anyone's disciplining him, it'll be me."
"We may not share the same master, but we're still seniors and juniors, right?"
"By convention, we don't touch another master's disciple."
"No. If something's clearly wrong, it's a senior's duty to correct it. You gonna stand by if your junior walks around with his hands in his pockets?"
"That's different."
"Explain how."
"Come closer, and I'll explain with my sword."
Even as kids, their killing intent was fierce. Growing up in this cutthroat environment explained why common folk might see it as normal.
"Fine by me."
Myeong-han drew the wooden sword from his waist. Their auras clashed sharply.
"Senior Brother Myeong-seong is 108 wins, 93 losses against Senior Brother Myeong-han in 201 matches."
The kid next to me explained. Not even blood enemies would fight 200 times. Must be the hot blood of youth.
"Myeong-gyeong, get back inside."
"Yes, senior brother."
Myeong-gyeong, caught in the middle, was saved by Myeong-seong. He quickly retreated to my side.
The fight started right then.
Without a word, Myeong-seong and Myeong-han lunged simultaneously.
The clash of wooden swords rang out viciously. A solid hit would likely cause serious injury.
Yet their movements flowed gracefully and freely. Wudang swordsmanship was said to embody softness conquering hardness. Their style clearly showcased that trait.
Myeong-seong parried Myeong-han's strike and redirected it; Myeong-han did the same in return. The exchange continued endlessly.
Young as they were, their swordsmanship was remarkably refined. At around ten years old, they must have trained for at least five years.
Of course, it paled in comparison to Cheong-hwa's Taiji Subtle Sword, but they had their own flowing elegance.
I watched, utterly entranced. As a merchant, fights had looked like mere brawls, but now that I'd learned some martial arts, I could follow the flow.
The reason I could read their rhythm was that they were using variations of Cheonunbu. Their footwork didn't stray far from it.
I can see their steps.
Knowing Cheonunbu let me predict their next moves. It was amusing when they followed my expectations. I could see why martial artists got hooked on this—fights between experts grew more enjoyable the more you understood.
"You still can't see it clearly, right?"
Myeong-gyeong suddenly spoke up while I was enjoying the show.
"Pardon?"
"I was the same at first. Couldn't keep up with the sword movements."
Myeong-gyeong puffed out his small chest, as if to say it was only natural.
I can see everything.
With footwork laid bare, I could roughly predict their sword paths too. But Myeong-gyeong thought I saw nothing.
"Once you learn martial arts, your eyes will sharpen."
"Ah, yes..."
No need to embarrass the kid by bragging. For a lay disciple, not seeing martial arts might be normal.
Has my two months of Cheonunbu practice borne such fruit?
Their swordsmanship and stances were impressive, but footwork-wise, neither seemed exceptional. I felt I could match their movements. At first, I thought they were holding back for sparring, but their expressions showed they were going all out.
Then, the deadlock broke. Myeong-seong, circling sideways, suddenly stepped forward.
It was like a brilliant move in go that shattered the opponent's territory. An application of Cheonunbu, of course.
"Gah!"
The kids, including Myeong-gyeong, reacted late.
My eyes for the fight seemed sharper than theirs. With my years of experience watching top-tier experts risk their lives—not kids' wooden sword spars—I had the edge.
Once the balance tipped, the even match collapsed rapidly. I sensed the end. Myeong-han's footwork tangled in panic.
He's gonna trip over his own feet.
Sure enough, Myeong-han stumbled backward, landing on his butt. Myeong-seong's wooden sword halted at his nose.
"It's over."
Myeong-seong panted, pushing his limits. Myeong-han's face twisted. Victory went to Myeong-seong.
"Now scram."
"Why should we, senior brother?"
The reply came not from the seated Myeong-han, but one of his followers.
"Myeong-un."
The one called Myeong-un drew his wooden sword.
"Mind teaching me a move too?"
Myeong-seong frowned. So did the others, including Myeong-gyeong.
Anyone could see it was a cheap shot, striking while Myeong-seong was fatigued.
But Myeong-seong didn't back down. He drew his sword again.
"Bring it."
Myeong-han retreated; Myeong-un advanced. Though junior to Myeong-seong, he showed no respect.
He charged without warning, pressing with brute force unlike Wudang style—exploiting Myeong-seong's exhaustion.
"Cowardly bastards."
Myeong-seong gritted his teeth. Myeong-un just sneered, dominating him.
That was the martial world. Winners took all. Losers' excuses meant nothing, even if truly foul.
The kids, including Myeong-gyeong, clenched their fists.
Myeong-seong couldn't block Myeong-un's onslaught; a strike hit his hand. He dropped his sword, and Myeong-un's pointed at him.
No one would call it a proper defeat, but right now, Myeong-un was the victor.
"I'll ask for a move next."
Now Myeong-gyeong. By age, he seemed youngest, but ranks weren't strictly by age in the martial world.
Myeong-un nodded. Having started it, he couldn't refuse.
Myeong-seong and Myeong-han's duel had escalated into a factional clash between disciples of different masters. Myeong-han had come prepared for that.
But Myeong-seong's group were still kids. Myeong-gyeong crumbled effortlessly against Myeong-un's unflashy sword and steps.
As Myeong-seong's face hardened, Myeong-han's relaxed. For them, upholding their master's honor mattered more.
"Playing with reed pipes is why your juniors are like this."
Myeong-han mocked. Myeong-seong fell silent.
That damn reed pipe. I couldn't grasp what made it such a big deal. Sure, it was just an excuse, but they kept harping on something I'd bought, and it was grating.
Finally, the last from Myeong-seong's side barely beat Myeong-un. Now, one remained on each side.
But Myeong-seong's direct junior was drained from beating Myeong-un, while Myeong-han's was fresh. Even physically matched, Myeong-han's side looked stronger—disadvantage clear.
Both leaders seemed to foresee the outcome. Myeong-han grinned despite losing the captain's bout; Myeong-seong looked grim.
I glanced at Myeong-gyeong beside me, already defeated. His humiliated expression was striking for such a young kid.
"Daoist Myeong-gyeong."
Not yet a senior, so I addressed him formally.
"...What."
"It's fine. Losses happen."
"You mocking me?"
"No. I'm serious."
Sincere advice from a merchant's experience.
I'd been pushed out countless times. Booted from spots while peddling, blocked by rivals from selling a thing.
But I'd risen above, becoming a grand merchant. The end mattered most. This defeat was fertilizer for ultimate victory.
"As long as you don't die, revenge is always an option."
"It's unfair."
Myeong-gyeong grumbled. Too young for my words to sink in.
But raw emotion now wasn't bad—it would nourish him too.
In the end, Myeong-han's last disciple beat Myeong-seong's, ending the fight. Individual wins didn't matter; Myeong-han's faction won. Their faces said it all.
"Now, can I discipline the lay disciple?"
Myeong-han said.
Oh.
I'd been so engrossed in the martial display that I'd forgotten why this brawl started.
Myeong-han had come to punish me but was blocked by Myeong-seong. With him fallen, nothing stood in the way.
Myeong-seong trembled silently, accepting defeat.
Myeong-han approached smugly. Even bulky, he was a head shorter than me—a man in his thirties.
"Hold on."
I said.
Myeong-han halted.
Sorry, but I had my pride. At my age, being scolded by ten-year-olds was unacceptable.
"Teach me a move too."
My words widened eyes on both sides.
Myeong-han paused, then sneered.
"Ha. A mere lay disciple dares challenge a headquarters disciple?"
"Hey."
My sudden casual tone froze him. A supposed inferior using banmal flustered him.
"You dropping honorifics now?"
I'm not even your junior—why should I? It's weird for a kid to yap formally at an adult.
Of course, I wouldn't say it outright. Explaining in a intimidation contest just looked pathetic.
Instead, I stepped forward. My shadow, head taller, loomed over him.
"You wanna lose?"
My chilling voice shook his eyes. He felt the pressure—I was the adult here.
After countless standoffs with market thugs, cowing kids was nothing.