27. Pride (1)
As I'd anticipated, the news of my victory over Myeong-il spread throughout Wudang in less than half a shichen.
You could tell from the way Cheonghwa burst into my quarters, her eyes bloodshot.
"What the hell did you do?"
She came right out and asked. I understood perfectly but pretended not to.
"What are you talking about?"
"How did you beat Myeong-il?"
"How? I went 'hiya, ya!' and won, that's how."
"Don't mess around. I'm not in the mood."
Cheonghwa looked deadly serious, just as she said. But that didn't mean I was about to spill the beans. I couldn't exactly say I'd bought Swift Movement from the Hwi-yeong Merchant Group shop to pull it off.
"Guess I'm just stronger than Myeong-il."
"Were you hiding your martial prowess?"
"No way. You would've noticed if I was, right?"
Hiding your cultivation level in front of true experts isn't easy. They'd even probed my inner energy earlier.
"How... how on earth...?"
Cheonghwa was so shocked she couldn't even finish her sentence when someone appeared behind her. My quarters were a hot spot today.
"Muk Hwi-yeong. You're summoned to Samcheong Hall."
It was Cheong-su, master of Gokjeon Pavilion. Cheonghwa whipped around in surprise.
"You scared me! When did you get here?"
"If you couldn't sense my presence, you must really be out of it."
Cheong-su dragged the still-dazed Cheonghwa and me off to Samcheong Hall. The sect leader Cheong-ui was already there, along with Myeong-il—who I'd fought—several third-generation disciples who'd watched, and the instructors who'd judged the match.
"You're here."
Cheong-ui spoke as the doors closed behind us. They cut straight to the chase; it must've been urgent.
"So, Myeong-il really lost to Hwi-yeong?"
"Yes. That's correct."
One of the judging instructors answered Cheong-ui's question. They'd probably paused the discussion until I arrived.
Cheong-ui turned to Myeong-il, who hung his head like a condemned criminal.
"Lift your head, Myeong-il."
Myeong-il slowly raised it, his face etched with profound humiliation.
"Say it yourself. Did you lose to Hwi-yeong there?"
"...Yes."
"Louder. I can't hear you."
"Yes!"
Thankfully, Myeong-il wasn't the sore loser type who couldn't accept defeat. He did shoot me a resentful glare, though.
"But if we fought again, I'd win for sure. His movements suddenly changed, and I got caught off guard..."
He was still a kid at heart, making excuses. In this situation, though, excuses were poison. Cheong-ui's brow furrowed visibly.
"That kind of talk just makes you look more pathetic. Don't lose your dignity. You're a disciple of Wudang."
"...I'm sorry."
Myeong-il bowed his head again.
"Myeong-ha. You explain. Tell us how the match unfolded."
The instructor's Buddhist name was apparently Myeong-ha. The third-generation disciples addressing him confirmed it.
Myeong-ha, tense in front of the sect leader, explained in fits and starts. But it was enough to grasp the overall flow of the match.
Like Cheong-su's description of my proxy battle with the Seungroe Sect's deputy leader, Myeong-ha added vivid details. Martial artists were trained to recall fights like recording a go game notation.
As Myeong-ha spoke, the expressions of Cheong-ui, Cheonghwa, and Cheong-su—who hadn't been there—shifted.
"Hah."
Cheonghwa even let out an exclamation when I described dodging Myeong-il's brilliant move with Cheongunbo footwork.
"Impressive."
Cheong-ui summed it up once Myeong-ha finished. Myeong-il bit his lip hard, the sting of defeat reigniting.
"Impressive. Truly impressive. Even if it was some irregular shift in movement, that's still skill."
Seeing Myeong-il's aggrieved look, Cheong-ui continued.
"For a martial artist, one defeat is like death. Win ninety-nine out of a hundred fights, but lose once, and you're dead. Even if you could beat Hwi-yeong in a rematch, what would it matter?"
"I understand, Master. But I've shamed you, and I can't face you."
Myeong-il's voice trembled as he bit his lip. If I teased him even a little now, he might burst into tears. But as a mature adult, I had no intention of stooping that low.
"If you hadn't accepted the result here, I would've been ashamed. But you did, so it's fine."
Cheonghwa finally tore her gaze from Myeong-il and looked at me.
"Hwi-yeong. You've proven it. At least the reason you can't just remain a lay disciple."
"I got lucky."
"Too modest. I never taught Myeong-il carelessly. He's not someone who loses to luck."
Cheong-ui's gaze toward me had changed too. Beating some unknown Seungroe deputy leader hit different from defeating his own disciple.
"Seeing such young talent lifts my spirits."
"You're too kind."
"So, let me make the offer again. Join as a main mountain disciple."
I was about to refuse without a second thought, but Cheong-ui had more to say.
"If you join the main mountain now, I'll give you a Tae-cheong Pill."
Everyone's eyes—including mine—went wide. I knew what a Tae-cheong Pill was. If Shaolin had the Great Return Pill and Huashan the Purple Spirit Pill, Wudang had the Tae-cheong Pill.
As a merchant, I didn't know the details, but it was a legendary elixir revered across the Central Plains. From what I recalled, only Wudang's main mountain prodigies received them. Giving one to me? Unbelievable.
"...For real?"
"Do I look like a liar?"
No, he didn't. Honestly, that offer shook me. You couldn't buy a Tae-cheong Pill with all the gold in the world.
But I shook my head. Cheong-ui and even the watching Cheonghwa looked disappointed.
"I'm sorry."
"I see. I won't ask again."
The others stared at me like I was crazy. Turning down main mountain status plus a Tae-cheong Pill? Unfathomable. Cheong-ui and Cheonghwa seemed to have half-expected it, though.
"Fine. But know this: separate from beating Myeong-il, the elders recognizing you as a named lay disciple is another matter."
"I understand."
"Commendable resolve. But the next elders' meeting is just over ten days away. What more can you show? You've already shown everything, I'd say."
"No. To be a named lay disciple, proving martial talent alone isn't enough. I planned to prove two things from the start."
"Two?"
"Martial talent and merchant talent. I have to show it's worth keeping me around for Wudang's gain. Elders may disdain money, but they'll grasp its necessity."
Cheong-ui tilted his head at my words.
"Fair enough, but time's short. Can you prove merchant talent that fast? It'd take longer than martial prowess."
"Not at all."
I grinned.
"Commerce is my pride. I won't need much time."
Everyone looked stunned at my bold claim. Merchant talent was indeed harder to prove. Martial talent? Beat someone, done. But commerce? How do you demonstrate that?
Not easy. If I'd tried proving it bare-handed, it would've taken time.
But I was with Wudang now. Among countless sects in the Central Plains, one of the Nine Great Sects. Their name alone was enough for me.
I proposed a new business to Wudang. Naturally, Gokjeon Pavilion Master Cheong-su looked skeptical. His pavilion handled Wudang's finances, but as a mountain hermit, he wasn't business-savvy.
"...Will that really make money?"
"Guaranteed."
"I don't get it. Why go through us when direct deals are cheaper? Who'd bother?"
Cheong-su was decent with numbers—for a Wudang Taoist, at least.
My pitch: distribution. Take goods from merchant groups passing through Hebei and deliver them onward. Only Wudang could pull that off in Hebei.
No one was more trusted. At least you wouldn't worry about goods vanishing.
"I thought you'd sell something when you said business. This seems so trivial."
"We're selling trust. Intangible, but real value. Wudang's reputation as a Nine Great Sect makes it possible."
"Sounds like a scam."
"You're just not used to selling intangibles."
Everyone knew the Central Plains were brutal. Seeing treasure stirs greed—plenty would just rob you blind. Merchants worried constantly.
That's where Wudang came in as middlemen. No one dared draw steel against them. For a modest fee, of course. People would pay gladly for safety.
Cheong-su didn't even grasp what brokering delivery meant, let alone that it'd profit. He eyed me suspiciously.
It didn't take long for those looks to change.
"...Insane."
Once Wudang took over brokering, merchants flocked, drawn by the name.
Cheaper than hiring escorts—and safer. I'd priced the fee below a day's guard hire strategically.
"...No words. I got nothing."
Cheong-su just muttered it repeatedly, shell-shocked.
All we did was store and forward—no heavy lifting. Yet money poured in. We'd just inserted ourselves between direct trades and skimmed fees.
In my past life, Hwi-yeong Merchant Group tried this but failed due to lacking trust in our muscle. Now, Wudang breathed life into it.
In under ten days, Wudang raked in over two hundred taels of silver.