Heaven's Mandate (2)

With each step Cheonghwa took closer, the pressure crushing down on my body intensified. The blue energy gathered in his hand felt like it could shatter my dantian at any moment.

"Wait, just a moment, please."

"Do you have something to say?"

"Yes, yes. So, could you please put away that menacing hand of yours first?"

"You're not seriously saying you've come all this way just to become a main sect disciple again, are you? That would be disappointing."

"No, that's not it. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠So, just stop for a second."

At my earnest plea, Cheonghwa halted. But his eyes were still fixed on my dantian. Even his gaze alone made it feel like it might crumble.

"First off, there are other ways for me to prove myself worthy of recognition. I wanted to demonstrate my martial talent and business acumen."

I spat out the words as quickly as possible, before Cheonghwa could change his mind. Speaking fast and clearly in the marketplace was a skill honed to perfection.

"A named lay disciple belongs ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to Wudang but can accomplish what even main sect disciples cannot. I can fill that gap. That's my business talent. I thought proving it would make the elders see me differently."

"There are plenty of merchants lining up to cozy up to Wudang anyway. That's not enough."

"My business talent isn't like those incompetent fools who just want to latch on. I'm not reaching out to Wudang—I'm offering Wudang my hand. I want to make that clear."

"Fine. Business is outside my expertise. But without martial talent, there's no need to make you a named lay disciple."

"I planned to prove my martial talent in the evaluation match, but in a way, it's fortunate. In my current state, I don't think I could beat Myeongil."

Cheonghwa's eyes darkened deeply.

"So you're saying that later, you could win?"

"You read between the lines perfectly. Yes."

I said it with full confidence. Of course, it wasn't a situation to be confident about. Myeongil's martial arts were on another level entirely.

But I'd just discovered the key to beating him.

"How do you think you can beat Myeongil? I'm not belittling your talent, but he has talent equal to or greater than yours. And he's young too. No matter how hard you train, you can't surpass him. Not for at least ten years. At minimum, ten years."

"I can win. That's why I'll convince the elders."

Cheonghwa had been about to seize my dantian because he was certain the elders wouldn't recognize me. It was a mindset of 'since it's pointless anyway, take the hundred silver nyang and send him packing.'

But what if I succeeded? Even Cheonghwa would have to rethink things.

"I've heard named lay disciples can serve a master just like main sect disciples. I think I'm worthy of being your disciple. Whether through business or martial prowess, if I make waves in the world, your name as my master will rise with me."

Cheonghwa's pupils wavered. Merchants are experts on human desires. You have to know your customers' wants to sell.

From what I'd observed, the average Central Plains man's desires were money and stability. But murim warriors were different. Hadn't I just pledged my entire fortune without hesitation?

Did that mean they had no desires? I didn't think so. If they lacked greed for money, their hunger elsewhere must be immense. That was fame.

"Ahem. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Your confidence is impressive. Don't forget there are plenty of people dying to take you as their master."

"You rejected them because they didn't catch your eye, didn't you? I've caught your eye, so here I am, getting offered main sect disciple status."

Cheonghwa's mouth clamped shut at my words. He did want me, so he had nothing to say.

Verbal battles aren't about who bluffs best or shouts loudest. They're about who holds the advantageous facts—and eloquence is the skill to deploy them at the right moment.

"No need to look far. Aren't you already seen as my master? If I beat Myeongil, from that moment on, everyone in Wudang will look up to you."

"...If you can't beat Myeongil, it's all meaningless talk."

"Then I'll just win. Simple as that."

"How? I heard the sect leader gave you three months' grace. Two months have passed, so you have only one left."

"That's plenty."

I shrugged casually, driving the nail home.

"Just wait one month, Daoist. If I can't beat Myeongil, cripple my dantian and kick me out like you were about to. You lose nothing by waiting."

"Let's hear your plan, then."

"Just one."

"What is it?"

"Talent."

Cheonghwa's face twisted. But I wasn't lying.

Right before my eyes floated talents I could buy for a hundred silver nyang.

***

I needed a solid strategy. A hundred silver nyang wasn't pocket change. And I wanted to avoid losing my dantian.

Traveling the jianghu, you occasionally see murim warriors with sealed dantians. They're usually mentally broken or struggling with daily life due to poor stamina. A single flaw like that ruins everything.

Merchants don't need brute strength, but stamina is crucial. If you take a bandit-infested route, you might march sleepless for days. Or go hungry endlessly.

Merchant life bathes you in hardship. Leave home for foreign lands, return, and loved ones might not recognize you. The spirited young trader gone, replaced by a sickly old man—it's inevitable.

'Buy 7th-grade? Or multiple 8th or 9th-grades?'

Higher grade doesn't always mean better. Not for me, anyway.

Normally, meat costs more than rice per weight, but for someone bedridden long-term, rice porridge beats steak.

For someone of high standing in the jianghu, Poison Resistance would be essential.

But who's trying to poison me now? A warrior could kill me by smacking my head with a tree branch—my brain would rattle. Poison Resistance won't beat Myeongil anyway. Useless for me.

'Any good 9th or 8th-grades?'

Quick reflexes offered amazing cost-performance. Looking closer, there were similars.

This seemed like a downgrade of Solid Physique. There were also Fine Dexterity, Leg Strength, Grip Strength—plenty of physical boosters.

I had a hundred silver nyang now. That's ten thousand copper nyang, since 1,000 copper = 1 silver.

I planned to buy all 9th-grade talents first. They wouldn't cost much.

'Group purchase discount?'

As I pondered that trivial thought, the Talent Shop title suddenly shook side to side with a blaring alarm.

My vision blurred suddenly. I hadn't anticipated this. Was I too naive about life? There was a limit to equippable talents.

'Damn it. Warn me about stuff like this earlier.'

I cursed inwardly. But it made sense. Otherwise, why have lower and higher grades? Sturdy Body and Solid Physique wouldn't stack. It meant talents could be swapped. They had to be. For now, since I didn't know my limit, hold off on bulk buying.

'Then buy the highest grades possible.'

If there's a limit, go for the best. 8th-grades ran 3-20 silver ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠nyang; 7th-grades 50-300. Plenty of 7th-grades beyond my budget.

'Who sets these prices? No conscience.'

With the world's only shop, they name their price. Rarity always favors the seller.

I scanned 7th-grades. Physical boosters there too.

Perfect price match. Felt fated. But I shook my head.

"Never fall in love with the product."

Merchant's iron rule. Judge value with reason and cold eyes only. Trying to dazzle me, the great magnate Muk Hwi-yeong? A century too early.

'This stuff won't cut it anyway.'

Myeongil was born with insane talent. Probably 3rd-grade equivalent. Top late-stage disciple even among the Nine Great Sects.

I needed something to flip the situation instantly. Not general-use talent, but something so bizarre it'd fluster Myeongil.

"Tricky."

I browsed 7th-grades. Physical enhancers? Later. Lower-grades could cover those, and they wouldn't beat Myeongil anyway.

But nothing suitable. No instant-win cheats from the start.

"Damn."

I needed one moment's opening. How to create it?

Then, a brilliant idea flashed. Yes. One way to rattle Myeongil.

***

After Cheonghwa spread word of Muk Hwi-yeong to the elders, even third-generation disciples knew about the named lay disciple business.

In a tight-knit place like Wudang, rumors spread in a day. Elders told direct disciples and first-gens; first-gens bragged 'secrets' to second- and third-gens.

"Do Daoists have such loose lips?"

"I was short-sighted."

Cheongsu clicked his tongue at Cheonghwa's sullen voice. He wasn't usually like this—only Muk Hwi-yeong made him weird.

"Had to spread it anyway. Beating Myeongil in secret is pointless. Elders watching means they'll acknowledge him if he wins."

Cheongsu comforted him. Cheonghwa sat chin-in-hand, ignoring his favorite tea.

"Now even folks outside Wudang in Junghyeon know. Some lay disciple grinding his blade to beat Myeongil for named status."

"...Myeongil's heard too, right?"

"He'll be floored."

Even Cheonghwa would be. Hearing some unheard-of lay disciple boast of beating you?

"And meanwhile, Hwi-yeong's not training—just playing a reed flute. No idea what he's thinking."

"Overwhelmed by pressure, gone mad?"

Cheongsu joked, but Cheonghwa's face clouded again. Thinking it his fault Hwi-yeong snapped.

But Cheongsu thought differently. The Hwi-yeong from Uichang was bolder and deeper than anyone.

What are you thinking, Muk Hwi-yeong?

Cheongsu's question lingered unanswered as time slipped relentlessly by.