3. Wudang Sect (3)
“……Oh.”
When I demonstrated the reed pipe, the children's eyes lit up.
They might have that bloated sense of superiority as core disciples of the Nine Great Sects, but they're still just kids around ten years old.
And not just any kids—they'd been cooped up on Mount Wudang since they were little, with no playtime, just grueling martial arts training. They couldn't help but be drawn to something as simple as a reed pipe.
“Ahem. My name is Mingjing. Mind if I give it a try?”
His childish instincts clashed with the need to not look like a kid, resulting in that old-mannish tone.
“Of course. Free demo included.”
I handed him the best one I'd made. Mingjing glanced at the other kids in his group before blowing weakly into it.
—Whiiik.
“Whoa!”
The clear high note from the reed pipe sent the kids into a frenzy.
The lay disciples looked utterly baffled. To them, tainted by worldly views, a reed pipe was just childish nonsense.
But everything's relative. Mingjing passed it to the kid behind him, urging him to blow. Every time a sound came out, they reacted instantly.
“What a sweet tone.”
“How'd you even make this?”
The prickly attitude from before was gone; now they were just a cluster of adorable kids huddled together.
“Senior brother, check this out. Doesn't this sound just like the morning reveille flute?”
“It does.”
Mingjing nodded contentedly. He seemed to be the oldest senior among them here.
Capture the king to capture the thieves. If you want to catch the enemy, target the leader first. I knew exactly who to pitch to.
“Three copper coins each, but buy five and I'll do ten for you.”
I rubbed my palms together. But at my words, the faces of Mingjing's group all darkened in unison.
“……Money.”
Mingjing looked flustered and glanced back at the others. I caught on immediately.
Of course they wouldn't have money—they weren't out on some excursion. I'd just probed to check.
The kids looked like drowned rats in the rain, but business isn't run on sentiment.
“I don't have any money right now……”
Mingjing made a troubled face. Seemed like he was bringing it up for the sake of the kids behind him.
“On credit, then?”
“Ah, yes. Credit. That would be perfect.”
I put on a thoughtful expression, squinting at him. When our eyes met, he hurriedly looked away, clearly embarrassed by his own request.
“Got anything besides money? Items, maybe.”
“It- items? We have the robes issued to us……”
As if those would fit me. What use would I even have for them?
“Not really something I need.”
“I'm begging you. I've never seen my juniors this happy.”
Mingjing clasped his tiny hands in a formal salute and bowed his head.
“Please.”
That was enough teasing. My real goal was just to build a connection with the core disciples, not squeeze money out of them.
“Your situation's pitiful. Fine, have one on the house.”
“Really? Not even on credit—just giving it away?”
Mingjing's face lit up. The tense kids behind him relaxed too.
“Yes, free of charge. It's an honor to gift something to core disciples of the Wudang Sect.”
“Ahem. You know how to show respect to core disciples. Not bad for a lay disciple.”
And though no one knew it yet, that flat-headed kid named Mingjing would one day become a renowned master in Wudang.
With the moniker Taiji Invincible Sword, if I recalled. Making ties with someone like that was good business.
“Well, I'll be.”
Jeon Oh-su sighed from behind, clearly annoyed. He'd paid three copper coins for his, so giving them away for free must've irked him.
But a guy like Jeon Oh-su would figure out what I was aiming for.
“Thanks, then.”
I handed over a reed pipe. Or tried to.
As our hands connected via the pipe, a sudden gust whipped up. Mingjing's face went pale in an instant.
The reed pipe had snapped in two before I knew it.
“Greetings, Master!”
Mingjing called out first, and the other kids in his group bowed in unison with formal salutes. When I blinked and looked up, a middle-aged man stood before me. A face I'd never seen.
The master of the Ming generation disciples would be from the Cheong generation. But why would someone from Cheong show up out of nowhere like this? In my memory, it never happened even up to when I left.
The middle-aged man eyed me and opened fire right away.
“What the hell are you?”
“Pardon?”
“What kind of scum uses parlor tricks to beguile my disciples?”
I barely held back a frown.
How was it that martial artists dismissed everything but martial as vulgar?
My voice came out sharper than intended.
“Music can be enjoyable entertainment in its own right.”
“Such wild eyes.”
A chill ran through me the moment he spoke. It felt like a blade at my throat.
“And your tone rubs me wrong.”
My spine went ice-cold; words stuck in my throat. I knew exactly what this was. I'd been through it plenty in my past life.
Using internal energy like a coward.
I bit my lip hard. My feet were firmly on the ground, yet it felt like I dangled from a cliff. The terror of certain death if I moved even slightly overwhelmed me.
But I knew better. This was just fear. No matter how reckless Wudang got, they wouldn't kill over something like this.
Trembling, I forced my mouth open.
“There's an old saying: 'What wavers is not the target, but your eyes, your drawing hand, your doubting heart. The target stands steady at the same distance.'”
Even as my voice shook, a glint of interest flashed in the middle-aged man's eyes.
“Standing firm against my Qi Projection and still speaking. You've got spirit.”
Eogi Sangin—harming someone with nothing but emanated internal energy. Proof he was a true master.
“Even if this were 'beguilement' as you say, one who knows the truth wouldn't be swayed.”
The man's face hardened. The kids didn't catch it, but he did.
It was tantamount to saying, If you'd taught them properly, what would they have to fear?
“Should I take that as an insult to Wudang?”
“How can a tree block the wind? It can only pray not to break.”
“Hahaha!”
The man burst into laughter. The crushing pressure vanished in an instant, like a noose released from my throat. I dropped to my knees, hacking up a storm.
“Unbending to the end.”
He seemed to grasp my final words too.
I didn't see it that way, but if the strong one thought so, fine—a jab laced with mockery.
“True. A reed pipe might liven up the dull mountain life. But we'll have to drill our studies harder to match.”
“Thank you for understanding.”
“Heard that reed pipe incessantly, so I came to check. Found an amusing one.”
I bowed my head. The sound couldn't have carried more than a few jang. Yet he'd come personally for that faint noise. Martial artists were indeed beyond normal.
“So, how much for the reed pipes?”
“Three coppers each.”
“I'll take them all.”
I was stunned but inwardly cheered. I'd only planned to cozy up to the core disciples, but actual cash? Jackpot.
“How many you got?”
“About thirty now.”
“Five for ten, right? Sixty coppers, then?”
“No, ninety.”
“That's not what you said.”
Seeing his confusion, I decided to haggle once more.
“The discount's only for Ming generation Taoists. Cheong generation elders pay full price.”
“Hah. Cheeky.”
He pulled a bill from his robe. I took it—hundred coppers, stamped by the Infinite Money Hall.
“Don't carry coins. Exchange it at Infinite Money Hall. No change needed. Call it hazard pay.”
“Thank you.”
The value of my threatened life: ten coppers. High enough. Plenty of scum worth less than one.
I handed over the bundle from my satchel. He glanced inside, then tossed it to Mingjing.
“Ah.”
“Play well. My gift.”
“Thank you, Master!”
Mingjing and the kids shouted thanks. The man smiled watching them excitedly grab the pipes.
“Never heard such genuine gratitude, even teaching them priceless martial arts.”
“Kids are like that.”
“Talking like you've mastered life.”
I shook my head.
“How could I presume to know life? Just reading the customer. Helps sell one more.”
“Is that so.”
He pondered briefly, then asked.
“What's your name?”
“Muk Hwi-yeong.”
“Muk Hwi-yeong. I see.”
Curiosity struck me.
“May I know your Taoist title?”
“I am Cheonghwa.”
I froze. The lay disciples behind me did too.
Cheonghwa—one of Wudang's top five absolute masters. Later, one of the Eight Venerables.
Regaining composure, I saluted properly.
“Greetings, Senior Wuji Divine Sword.”
“Didn't know who I was, huh.”
“Only heard the fame, not seen the face.”
“Fair enough. Now you know who you sassed.”
Yeah. If I'd known it was the Wuji Divine Sword, I wouldn't have mouthed off. Pups don't fear tigers, indeed.
“My apologies. But as Wudang has its Dao, merchants have theirs.”
“Still flapping that mouth freely. Master that silver tongue, and you'll go far.”
Cheonghwa chuckled, seemingly pleased, and left. The Ming kids followed, piping away among themselves.
“Impressive.”
Jeon Oh-su's voice came from behind.
“What?”
“You said your piece to Cheonghwa without flinching.”
“Didn't know who he was.”
“Even if you didn't, some won't see it that way. Might think you knew and mouthed off anyway.”
True. Core disciples aside, lay disciples were rivals. One slip, and you'd get booted like past-life me. Earning "Wudang lay disciple" was no easy feat.
“Talking like it's someone else's problem.”
“It is.”
“Fair.”
“Well, I'm off.”
Jeon Oh-su seemed about to say more, then ducked into his quarters.
As I tilted my head at the sudden shift, someone called out.
“That was impressive.”
Turning, I saw a group of kids approaching.
“I'm Sagonghyeon of Seungroe Gate. Nice to meet you.”
“……Ah.”
I sighed up at the boy a head taller than me.
Jeon Oh-su, you bastard. You'd bailed.
In my memory, the worst rider on the horse had latched on.