Fame (3)
The schedule for heading to the Zhuge family would be set through mutual consultation, they said. So for the time being, I'd stick around at Wudang to shake off my travel fatigue.
Of course, "sticking around" didn't mean lounging about. I was putting on a show of the Taiji Fist and Three Talents Sword Method I'd been practicing, right in front of my senior brothers.
"You've improved a lot."
Myeong-seong tilted his head. Among Cheong-hwa's disciples, he'd been the first to enter the sect, making him my eldest senior brother, technically speaking. I didn't call him that, though—and he didn't seem to care much for the title either.
"Not bad, right?"
"Yeah. Were you just half-assing it before?"
Myeong-seong eyed me suspiciously. Before that gaze could linger too long, Myeong-gyeong cut in with a smug, triumphant grin.
"Senior brother, I made him like this. I woke him up every dawn for training."
"Ah, that explains it. Good job."
Myeong-seong patted Myeong-gyeong's shoulder. Myeong-gyeong immediately broke into a goofy beam. They say in any group, the real power player isn't the eldest but the second-born. The oldest just watches, while the second handles the dirty work.
Suddenly, it hit me—there was another senior brother besides Myeong-seong and Myeong-gyeong. He had such a low presence that I could barely recall his name. Ah, right.
"By the way, where's Senior Brother Myeong-jin?"
"Right behind you."
"Whoa!"
I whipped around and nearly toppled over. Myeong-seong and Myeong-gyeong burst into giggles.
"Ah, right—you don't have any internal energy. Can't blame you for not sensing his presence."
"How long have you been here?"
"From the start."
"You could've made some noise or something."
"Myeong-jin's always hard to spot."
To be precise, I did have internal energy—just not the kind I could admit to. Demonic qi. I let out an awkward laugh. Myeong-jin didn't seem to care whether I'd noticed him or not. Unlike the others, he had this utterly expressionless vibe. Quiet, too.
Myeong-gyeong was a chatterbox by nature, and even the eldest here, Myeong-seong, had that boyish air about him. But the youngest, Myeong-jin, showed none of it. Bizarre.
"At this level of mastery, you could start on the Ohaeng Geom."
"Ohaeng Geom?"
"Yeah. That's where the real essence of Wudang's arts begins."
My eyes lit up. The Three Talents Sword Method I'd used so far lacked any profound subtleties, which was its strength—it could encompass all techniques.
But the Ohaeng Geom was forged from Wudang's subtleties themselves. A sword without them versus one infused with them? Worlds apart in difficulty. This would be my true first step as a Wudang warrior.
"Sounds good."
"The Ohaeng Geom has five forms. You can't do the recommended footwork yet, but since you handle a sword well, memorizing them shouldn't be hard."
Myeong-seong slowly drew his sword and assumed the stance. Unlike the straightforward mid-guard of the Three Talents Sword Method, this ready posture had a fluid, flowing tilt to it—like something slipping away.
"I'll demonstrate from the first form through the fifth."
Myeong-seong moved his sword with deliberate slowness. Having learned a bit myself now, I could tell: even the same form, drawn without tremor or haste like that, proved insane levels of training and proficiency.
"First form: Nok-mok Gae-hwa."
I dove straight into watching his sword. Nok-mok Gae-hwa was a brisk speed sword, light as a breeze rustling leaves.
"Second form: Yeol-hwa Beon-cheon."
His sword picked up speed. The first had traced elegant curves; this one sacrificed curves for raw velocity, slashing and thrusting in brutal straight lines through the air.
"Third form: Hu-to Pa-ji."
The third began with a forward step loaded with internal energy, kicking up dirt and sand. It shifted from swift blade to heavy sword, speed giving way to weight.
"Fourth form: Geum-ryong Hoe-cheon."
Impressively, even demonstrating this slowly while narrating, Myeong-seong's breathing never faltered once. That spoke volumes about his dedication.
Now the heavy sword bordered on blunt force. Slower, yes—but relative to his body, it cleaved all eight directions without a millimeter's error.
"Final, fifth form: Suryu Yongseom."
Myeong-seong pivoted on his right foot in a spin, sword whipping out. If there'd been a circular wall, it would've left rippling water-like sword traces. Fittingly, the last form embodied water of the five elements.
Water held paramount place in Daoism: the highest line one couldn't do without, yet it lingered in the lowest places—a symbolic substance.
Suryu Yongseom spun fiercely to cleave, but with wrists relaxed enough to parry any strike, flowing into graceful changes.
Myeong-seong returned to ready posture and sheathed his sword. He was just a kid about ten years my junior, but damn if he didn't look cool.
"See it clearly?"
"The subtleties shift endlessly."
"That's the five elements for you."
"Definitely a Daoist's words."
I chuckled. As a merchant, I'd never had leisure to ponder the five elements. Rainy days meant selling umbrellas; scorching sun meant fans. That was the extent of it.
Watching swordplay express nature's roots like this? Sword arts had their charm. Maybe a touch less than merchant craft, but still.
"Let me give it a shot."
I steadied my breath, drew my sword. My turn to swing.
The blade flowed gracefully. My seniors' eyes locked on my tip. Gathering their gazes, I slowly unfolded the forms.
Selecting who to take to the Zhuge family fell to Cheong-hwa, as did leading them.
The Zhuge were famed for formations, but that alone wouldn't have elevated them to one of the Five Great Families. They also boasted superb sword arts and ascent techniques via the judge's brush.
'Your time with the Zhuge will prove invaluable. Choose wisely.'
Cheong-hwa recalled her senior brother the sect leader's words as she concealed her presence. Revealing it would disrupt the third-generation disciples' natural training.
When an absolute peak master like Cheong-hwa chose to hide, none of the third-gen kids could detect her.
Even here, nepotism bent the arm inward. Cheong-hwa first sought her own disciples. They usually trained in the archery hall's rear garden.
She headed there. By now, clashes of steel or kids' chatter should fill the air—but silence. Extending her senses, she found the kids were present.
Peeking around the corner, she saw Muk Hwi-yeong swinging his sword with unexpected seriousness. One glance at the stroke screamed Ohaeng Geom.
'Did Myeong-gyeong tip him off from outside?'
She'd instructed her disciples beforehand: once Muk Hwi-yeong caught up, teach him the Ohaeng Geom. Kids could perform it flawlessly anyway—no harm.
The disciples were entranced by his sword dance. Even Cheong-hwa, who'd only peeked, stepped out, arms crossed, to watch. His dance had drawn her forth.
Then, from the cluster of seated disciples, an unbelievable exchange leaked out.
"...Myeong-gyeong, did you teach him the Ohaeng Geom outside?"
"No. This is his first time performing it."
It was Myeong-seong and Myeong-gyeong, spectating.
Cheong-hwa's brow furrowed oddly at that—not in denial, but awe. She saw far deeper than her disciples did.
Same technique, same subtlety: deeper insight birthed a different art. Muk Hwi-yeong's Ohaeng Geom revealed profound enlightenment unlike the third-gen's versions.
He might think he'd never pondered the five elements, but decades as a merchant had ingrained insights and philosophies. His past life's withered husk was blooming through the sword.
Cheong-hwa, oblivious to that truth, could only marvel. Mastering one sword art meant mastering a philosophy.
For a mere youth in his twenties to grasp the five elements' philosophy? Sheer genius.
"Impressive."
The words slipped out unbidden. The disciples whipped around at the sudden voice.
"M-Master!"
"Quiet. Watch that sword art closely. You'll be learning the Ohaeng Geom from Hwi-yeong."
Myeong-seong let out a disbelieving laugh. He'd just taught it moments ago—now he had to learn from the newbie?
Even funnier? It made perfect sense. He hadn't pierced as deep as Cheong-hwa, but even superficially, Muk Hwi-yeong's Ohaeng Geom outshone his own in completion.
"......"
Myeong-seong clenched his fist. Another wall of talent.
Past walls had choked him with height; this one loomed infinitely distant, piercing the clouds—impossible to gauge.
"Myeong-seong."
"Yes."
"Don't let it break you."
"......Yes."
Cheong-hwa gazed at him pityingly. Among the third-gen, Myeong-seong trained hardest. Such talent couldn't help but shake the heart.
By now, Muk Hwi-yeong finished the final form, returning to ready posture. He shook his head like waking from a trance and glanced aside.
"Master. When did you arrive?"
"Doesn't matter."
"You're prickly."
Muk Hwi-yeong grinned, oblivious to his own feat. His juniors still drowned in the afterimages of his swordsmanship.
"Hmm."
"What're you staring at?"
Cheong-hwa eyed him. She'd known his talent was genius-level—but not that it'd surpass her expectations.
"Nothing."
Great show or not, she hadn't come to spectate his arts. She'd come to select kids for the Zhuge trip.
Muk Hwi-yeong, with his stunning display, was already a lock—not under consideration.
She glanced at Myeong-seong. Emptiness shadowed his eyes.
"Myeong-seong."
"Yes."
"Prepare to depart for the Zhuge family with me."
"Pardon?"
Cheong-hwa turned and left. Overcoming it was his burden alone—but creating opportunity? That was the master's role.
The Zhuge party was set at three: Myeong-il, hailed as the top prodigy among Cheong-hwa's third-gen disciples; Myeong-seong next; and me.
"It's been ages since I traveled with disciples."
Cheong-hwa seemed refreshed. Myeong-il might feel awkward sharing a master with me and Myeong-seong, but he showed no sign of it. If anything, he resembled Myeong-jin in temperament.
Myeong-jin was absent, but Myeong-il stood out. Daily sword practice, seeking Cheong-hwa for questions whenever puzzled.
And now I learned Myeong-seong was a practice bug no less. I stuck out my tongue.
"How do you do that every day?"
"How do you skip it and still keep up?"
"Do what?"
"Let's not go there."
Cheong-hwa shook her head. I did train—just instinctively knew the Ohaeng Geom was battle-ready.
Swinging to keep senses sharp? Sure. But training for growth? Pointless.
"At the Zhuge family—fellow prestigious sect—we'll need extra decorum. You're my biggest worry."
"I'm the oldest adult here."
"Not the most martial."
Fair point. No rebuttal.
"But just in case."
"Yes?"
"What if the Zhuges pick a fight?"
"As if. Among the Five Great Families, they're the most reserved."
"Still."
Cheong-hwa paused a breath, then smiled slyly.
"Then... show them what Wudang is."
"Love it."
Wudang's Gyunhyeon and the Zhuges' Yangyang weren't far.
We arrived before long.
"Hey, isn't that the Hubei Divine?"
"Hubei Divine?"
...And no sooner had we arrived than someone recognized me. Crowds swarmed like clouds.