Heaven's Mandate (1)
Sure enough, at the end, Cheonghwa had unleashed a technique I couldn't possibly block. And I'd somehow managed to parry it by a miracle. From the start, he hadn't even thought I'd make it to the evaluation match.
I bolted straight to Gungdo Pavilion and barged into Cheonghwa's quarters.
"Barging in without knocking? I taught you better respect for your elders."
"Are you a con artist or what?"
"Hoho. Not just disrespecting your elder, but outright insulting me."
"Didn't you say non-core disciples can't even participate in the evaluation match?"
"That's exactly what I told you. That you'd miss the evaluation match."
"And how were you planning to make that happen? Wasn't it because of my swordsmanship?"
"No. It was because you kept strutting around like some lay disciple."
Cheonghwa grinned from ear to ear. This time, I couldn't hold back—my fist flew. But the moment it shot out, I somehow ended up flat on my back, staring at the ceiling.
"The essence of Taiji Fist lies in Ihu Jeomok. Of course, the Taiji Fist taught at Wudang is worlds apart from what old folks in the village practice for health."
"...Damn, that pisses me off. For real."
"You think I didn't hear from the sect leader? He personally wanted to take you as a core disciple, but you refused? You were dead set on smearing my name."
"No, even the branch leader doesn't have to do what he doesn't want."
"Becoming a Wudang disciple is your heaven's mandate. It's not up to you to choose."
"Cut the nonsense. My life is mine to design and decide."
"Even choices fall under the arrangement of the Primordial Heavenly Worthy."
This damn bald monk wouldn't see reason. They say religion makes people go off the deep end, and Wudang's baldies were no exception.
From my past life, the Daoist sects I'd encountered were at least better off with Huashan or Zhongnan. They still carried some secular vibes, but Wudang was pure, unadulterated Daoism—endless explosions of mind-bending nonsense.
"Then why the hell did you have me practice that damn Samjae Sword Method?"
"You felt it in our spar, didn't you? A lay disciple couldn't have withstood my blade. Without honing the Samjae Sword Method to its limit, you wouldn't have lasted a single exchange."
"And?"
"That's the difference between lay and core disciples. Still don't want to be one?"
"Yes. I don't. Anyway, you only made me a provisional core disciple knowing full well I could never truly become one, right? I'm not fit for it. Didn't you see me fiddling with the sword when you weren't around?"
"No. I was dead certain you'd become a core disciple. The sect leader just blocked it. But now he's approved, so you should naturally join the core ranks. What? Registered lay disciple? First I've heard of such a system."
"It exists, doesn't it? Might as well use it."
"Think it over. I heard about registered lay disciples from the sect leader too, but they can't access Wudang's pinnacle arts. Things like the Taiji Sword, called the essence of Wudang—you can't learn those. Back when the Demonic Cult rose, they rushed training, so no time for the depths."
"That's plenty for me. I dream of being a merchant."
"Of the four classes—scholars, farmers, artisans, merchants—merchants are the most despised. How'd you end up with such a dream?"
"Can't explain it without invoking heaven's mandate myself."
"Isn't your life yours to design and choose? You should pick the better path if it's there."
"No. The Primordial Heavenly Worthy left me only the merchant option."
Our argument ran parallel, going nowhere. Cheonghwa shook his head like he'd given up.
"Anyway, you planned to win the elders' recognition through the evaluation match, right? Can't happen. Not until you're a core disciple. You've already mastered Cheongunbu, so I wish you'd just become one. What's so hard about it?"
Now Cheonghwa was appealing to emotion. But after he'd stabbed me in the back, I wasn't swayed.
"No thanks."
"Fair enough. But you won't end up some weird registered lay disciple either. The elders all know now. Some shady lay disciple scheming to steal Wudang arts and run. They're furious."
"How'd it escalate that far? And how'd they find out anyway?"
"I told them."
"You're really unlikeable."
"You're meant to be a warrior. Wasting that heavenly talent is a crime against the Central Plains."
"Now you're turning a perfectly fine guy into a criminal?"
In the end, our bickering resolved nothing.
Still, training continued. Cheonghwa kept critiquing my arts, and I kept learning to prove my worth. I hated taking lessons from him, but he was the only one who could teach me.
Cheonghwa, meanwhile, taught even more kindly. Figured he couldn't bully me into compliance anymore.
Evaluation match day arrived. As expected, I couldn't participate—not being a core disciple.
But I could watch. No other lay disciples around, so Cheonghwa must've pulled strings. Didn't make me like him any more, though. Probably just bait to lure me into core discipleship.
I stood beside Cheonghwa, but the sharp glares from the sect leader and elders opposite us were piercing. With what he'd spread, it was no surprise. I glanced at him; he looked away. Damn bald monk.
"The evaluation match begins now."
With Cheonghwa's words, the name-allocation kids' matches kicked off.
A few I recognized. Not many—Cheonghwa's disciple Mingsung, or Minghan, the one he'd clashed with.
The matches were a spectacle. Fights are always fun to watch, but seeing familiar techniques doubled the thrill. What would I do in that spot? I pondered as I observed.
"Next: Mingil versus Mingun."
Mingil was new to me, but Mingun was Minghan's direct junior. Another who'd picked a fight with me.
"Watch closely."
Cheonghwa spoke out of nowhere. I grumbled back.
"Watch what?"
"Mingil's match."
Before I could ask why, it started. I instantly knew why Cheonghwa wanted me to pay attention.
"Ooh!"
Gasps rose from spectators and elders alike. Cheongunbu flowed like silk. I'd thought my grasp was solid, but next to Mingil, mine was amateur hour.
His footwork was elegant curves, but his swordplay plain. Straightforward. No flourishes, no bends mid-swing. Just hurtling toward the target.
I knew what it was. The beauty of simplicity. The Samjae Sword Method. Mingil wielded only that.
"The Samjae Sword Method is the foundation of all arts. No technique lacks a vertical cut, horizontal sweep, or diagonal slash."
Cheonghwa murmured beside me. Still, I couldn't tear my eyes from Mingil's forms.
Feet tracing arcs, hands straight lines. A mismatched combo that somehow harmonized perfectly. Curves complemented straights, straights bolstered curves.
Mingun's face flushed red. Overwhelmed by basics alone, he looked ashamed. Mingil's expression stayed blank, serene.
"Tasanapjeong presses down like crushing a peak into twin summits. Hoengsochungun sweeps like severing a thousand-man army at the waist. Palbangpungu slices like fierce winds flattening rain. Well? Still call the Samjae Sword Method third-rate?"
I was speechless. Mingil's sword matched Cheonghwa's description exactly. Every swing carried real weight.
"Thus, the Samjae Sword Method embodies power and speed. Without grasping that essence, it's no Samjae at all."
"I see."
It felt like he'd dragged something from the depths of my mind I couldn't reach. Mingil's sword and steps were leagues beyond mine.
Mingil opened Mingun's guard with Hoengsochungun, then thunderstruck with Palbangpungu. Shoulder smashed, Mingun crumpled to the dirt.
"Mingil wins."
The sect leader declared. Mingil turned and returned to his spot. Cheongyu from before hoisted the fainted Mingun and hurried off—probably to the infirmary.
"Impressive."
I meant it. Cheonghwa smiled faintly.
"Become a core disciple, and you'll wield arts even cooler than that."
"Pass."
I heard Cheonghwa click his tongue, but ignored it.
Mingil was undoubtedly the top prodigy among the name-allocation kids. The "il" in his name was no fluke.
After his bout, the other kids' matches looked like child's play. And I wasn't the only one who felt that way.
"Mingil really stands out."
"He'll be the next Taiji Sword heir."
Even as others fought, whispers about Mingil filled the air.
The evaluation ended with Mingil's championship. Predictable, really.
"Hwi-yeong."
"Yes."
We walked back to Gungdo Pavilion together. Dusk had fallen after the matches, but I could navigate Wudang Mountain without torches now.
"You really don't want to be a core disciple?"
Cheonghwa's voice held real gravity. I answered with equal sincerity.
"No, sorry."
"But I heard from the sect leader: if you can't win the elders' approval, you have to become a core disciple."
"That's right."
"And if you do?"
"I'd cripple my dantian and leave. Life without qi cultivation would be inconvenient, but manageable if I don't overdo it."
"That serious, huh. You truly see merchant as your heaven's mandate."
To be precise, I was torn, but I needed to show resolve now.
"Then I'm truly sorry. I wanted you as a core disciple so badly, I went and spread nasty rumors to the elders."
"That was a bit much."
"Indeed. Slandering others as a Daoist—how lacking in cultivation."
I'd half-joked, but Cheonghwa was dead serious.
"To win the elders' recognition, you'd need to beat Mingil at least. You'll probably end up a core disciple."
"Maybe."
"But you'd rather cripple your dantian and descend the mountain."
"Yes."
Cheonghwa pulled a money pouch from his robes and handed it over.
"Open it."
Inside gleamed silver taels—roughly a hundred nyang. I stared at Cheonghwa in shock.
"It's the winnings from that Infinite Battlefield voucher you entrusted me."
"That was just a hundred coppers."
"I held it for you, so interest is due."
"That usurious? Where'd you even get this much? Gokjeon Pavilion wouldn't cough up this easy."
“Folks I've helped on Jianghu trips send me gifts now and then. Converted to silver. Daoists shouldn't hoard private wealth, but everyone does. Figured it'd come in handy someday.”
"Quite the stash."
"My entire fortune."
Cheonghwa smiled casually, but it stunned me. Who hands over their life savings? As a born merchant, I couldn't fathom it.
"Use it as seed money for your business. I messed with your heaven's mandate out of greed—this is the least compensation."
"...Elder."
"But as a Wudang man, I can't break sect rules. To me, those rules are heaven's mandate."
Qi surged from Cheonghwa, freezing me in overwhelming pressure.
"Lay disciple Muk Hwi-yeong. What Wudang gave, Wudang reclaims."
Blue light flashed in Cheonghwa's eyes.