Registering the Name (2)
After pondering it from every angle, I realized there was only one way for them to acknowledge me as a registered lay disciple.
It was to prove both my merchant talent and my martial talent at the same time. If I only proved my merchant side, they'd cripple my dantian and tell me to get lost. If I only proved my martial side, they'd demand why I wasn't joining as a core disciple.
But even if I was confident in my merchant talent, could I really prove my martial talent? Thinking that far just complicated things too much. Better to put it off for now.
"Oh, you're really getting into it."
Cheonghwa said with a smile. He was pleased to see me throwing myself into training that I'd normally done with obvious reluctance.
Right now, I was doing the brute-force workout of hugging a boulder and hauling it back and forth. Truth be told, I hated this kind of physical labor.
If only I could grab another bite to eat instead.
But what could I do? Becoming a registered lay disciple was tempting to me too.
It guaranteed my actions as a merchant and let me learn the Wudang Faction's advanced martial arts. This was what they called having your cake and eating it too—draining the ditch and catching the crayfish.
"Heh heh. They say you took down the head of the Victory Gate back in Uichang, so I guess you've gotten a taste for martial arts. A competitive spirit and sense of superiority are powerful motivators for any warrior."
Cheonghwa still didn't know about the special proposal for me to become a registered lay disciple. I'd asked Cheongsu to keep it secret from him.
Cheonghwa was the one most obsessed with core disciples, after all. No telling how he'd react.
"Accept your fate. You were destined to become a core disciple of Wudang. I can't fathom how someone with your martial talent went unnoticed until now, but for Wudang to find you at last—what greater stroke of fortune could there be?"
"Y-yes, sir."
"If only you could fix that tone of yours."
Doing something I hated was a chore, so of course my words came out listless. It wasn't like moving this rock was going to pay me.
"You couldn't even budge it once at first, but your adaptability is truly astonishing."
Even as I harbored such irreverent thoughts, Cheonghwa encouraged me. Anyone would be impressed by a guy who'd been grunting in frustration now trying his best—and actually succeeding.
◈ Price: Five silver taels
Of course, this was the effect of the Sturdy Body I'd bought from the martial talent shop. In my previous life, I'd been cursed with a constitution that built no muscle but piled on belly fat easily.
Oh, and the five silver taels for Sturdy Body? I got them from Cheongsu. I'd saved him four hundred taels, so I demanded it shamelessly. "Just give me a little something." He looked annoyed and tossed me about ten taels. When I asked for more, his face said he'd seal my pursuit acupoint, so I bolted.
Thud.
I set the boulder down and wiped my sweat. Even with superhuman strength, you had to rest to generate more power.
I immediately opened the money pouch at my waist and peeked inside. Seeing the shiny silver taels made me grin.
"Aw, my babies."
"What am I to do with such a materialistic punk."
Cheonghwa clicked his tongue, but I ignored him. Why worry about others' opinions when adoring my own money?
"One, two, three, four..."
I rolled the taels in my fingers. Few moments in life beat counting money.
I'd tallied six silver taels plus some coppers. Tempting to buy another talent, but no knowing when a sale might pop up, so I'd wait. Six taels wasn't chump change, but it wasn't a fortune either.
"You seem to have decent bone structure."
Cheonghwa remarked. My ears perked up. Unlike the other third-generation disciples, I'd only been doing stamina training so far.
"Then?"
"Time to pick up a sword. Wudang is a sword faction, after all."
"Me wielding a Wudang sword? Man, you learn something new every day."
"How long do you think you've lived to say that?"
"Longer than you think, Daoist."
"Enough nonsense. Take this."
Cheonghwa tossed a wooden sword my way, flipping it up first. I caught it on reflex. Its weight settled nicely in my palm. The thought of learning Wudang swordsmanship had me buzzing with excitement.
"What I'll teach you is the Three Basic Sword Techniques."
Cheonghwa's words doused my enthusiasm. Weren't the Three Basic Sword Techniques the trashy basics even lay disciples learned? Probably not even being taught to folks like Jeon O-su right now.
"Do you know the forms? Cheonghyeon must have taught you."
"Mount Tai Crushing the Summit, Eight Directions Wind and Rain, Sweeping a Thousand Armies Horizontally."
"You've absorbed the theory well."
"Even the Jang fellow at Gyunhyeon Butcher Shop uses it. A truly versatile and excellent art."
"You seem disappointed. But don't worry—you'll learn a different Three Basic Sword Techniques from the lay disciples."
"There are different kinds?"
"Not kinds, exactly—it's about depth. Lay disciples swing a few times and move on. But the vertical chop of Mount Tai Crushing the Summit, the diagonal slash of Eight Directions Wind and Rain, and the horizontal sweep of Sweeping a Thousand Armies are the foundation of all sword arts. You can't gloss over them if you want to become a true warrior."
Cheonghwa's voice turned serious. I agreed—fundamentals mattered in anything.
"So how is it different?"
"I'm not telling you how it's different. You create it."
Daoists and their cryptic nonsense made me want to scream. Merchants didn't deal in vague clouds.
Imagine asking the price of goods and hearing, "Somewhere between three and five taels, but that's not for me to decide." Who'd buy?
"How exactly do I create it?"
"Most get it by now, but you've got talent without the insight."
"Come on. I'm quick on the uptake and judgment. No merchant survives without it."
"You're not a merchant. You're going to be a Wudang core disciple."
Cheonghwa chuckled. He really had a knack for pissing people off.
"Fine, as precise as you want: Swing each form ten thousand times."
"Pardon?"
"A huge difference in depth. Lay disciples usually do about a hundred each before moving on."
I nearly dropped the wooden sword in shock and rage.
"How is that pointless repetition worth anything?"
"It's not pointless at all. More valuable than anything you could do right now."
"Haa..."
Sighs poured out. But I needed martial talent recognition. Cheongsu was swamped as Hall Leader of the Grain Hall, leaving Cheonghwa as my only teacher.
"Got it. I'll swing as fast as I can, then."
"Fast or slow, your call. Just hit ten thousand reps. But no cheating."
"Trust me. I never lie."
"Lying already."
Cheonghwa vanished with a laugh, his voice lingering on the wind.
"Damn it."
I almost hurled the sword but held back. No point arguing, and he outranked me in martial knowledge. I had to follow his advice—at least somewhat. Ten thousand was absurd, though.
I gripped the wooden sword overhead and brought it down.
"...One."
Nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine to go. Stay positive in tough times. The glass isn't half empty—it's got a drop left.
Swing again.
"Two."
Again.
"Three."
Again.
"Four."
......
"Arrrgh!"
Exactly on the fifth swing, my positivity shattered.
What to do with that kid?
A while later, Cheonghwa snuck back to watch me swing the sword. He'd known I wouldn't be great, but it was worse than expected.
Instead of a proper vertical chop, he was just flicking his wrist, lips pursed. That wasn't a chop—it wasn't even respect for martial arts.
Raise it overhead, then slam down with the intent to cleave the opponent in half. That was a vertical chop. No growth from flailing like that.
Whew.
He wanted to charge out but held back. Better if I figured it out myself, and those flicks wouldn't count anyway. Imagining my despair made him grin. Teasing me was fun.
Of course, ten thousand wasn't just to torment me. Cheonghwa had done it, and every core disciple had swung vertical, diagonal, and horizontal chops ten thousand times each.
"Ahem."
After a bit, Cheonghwa made his presence known. I switched stances without flinching, though sloppy from all the flicking.
"You're here."
Wiping sweat after Mount Tai Crushing the Summit, I looked the picture of diligence. If he hadn't seen the flicking, even Cheonghwa might've been moved.
"So, doing well?"
"Of course."
"No shortcuts, I hope?"
"Haha, me? Never."
"Really?"
Cheonghwa drew his sword and mimicked my wrist-flick perfectly. My face froze.
"I worried you might be doing it like this."
"...You saw?"
"Think I wouldn't?"
My face crumpled.
"All those reps are disqualified."
"No, don't lie. I've done two thousand already."
"Does that count as swinging?"
I was speechless. Even my silver tongue couldn't wriggle out of getting caught red-handed.
Cheonghwa tsked.
"At this rate, you won't make the evaluation match."
"Evaluation match?"
My eyes widened slightly. Cheonghwa smirked inwardly. As expected—competitive fire. Born warrior. Time to stoke it.
"Yes. The third-generation disciples gather for sparring to gauge each other's skills."
"When is it?"
"A month or two away."
"I see."
"Feeling that competitive spark?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Boiling up. Whoa."
His unheroic tone deflated the moment, but showing interest was enough.
"The other elders will attend too, right?"
"Probably. They'd want to see Wudang's future with their own eyes."
My expression turned serious. I stared into space, deep in thought.
Soon, I clamped my mouth shut and assumed the Mount Tai Crushing the Summit stance again.
Sword tip, forehead, and crown formed a perfect equilateral triangle. Flawless stance.
I grimaced, as if slicing through tough hide with resistance.
"...!"
Cheonghwa watched, entranced, until the sword tip pointed at the ground.
Impossible to believe this was the same guy who'd been flicking moments ago. Cheonghwa blinked.
"I get it. You mean it's unbelievable they left a martial prodigy like you to flounder with basic techniques. I understand."
"Pardon?"
I shot him a "what nonsense" look. But before I could explain, Cheonghwa continued.
"Got it. From now on, I'll oversee all your training. That work?"
"...No?"
"Don't refuse. I know it's a burden, but you're worth the investment."
"No, that's not—"
"Swing!"
I raised the sword on reflex. My face was a mix of frustration. Cheonghwa took it as guilt over his past neglect. The misunderstanding deepened.