47. But I Still Don't Know Yet (2)
We were resting at our lodgings when word came that the head of the Zhuge Clan had returned. He wanted to see us right away—the guests from Wudang.
"The spot by the furnace is so warm, I don't wanna get up."
"You a kid or something?"
Myeongseong shot back instantly at my drowsy complaint. Myeongil didn't even bother responding, just grabbing his outer robe and slipping it on.
"Adults are people who can hide that they're kids at heart. But deep down, they all are."
"What kinda nonsense is that?"
"You'll get it when you grow up. How much adults whine and wanna stay in bed like kids."
Myeongseong shook his head like he couldn't comprehend, then started getting ready. I glanced at Myeongil and Myeongseong. Myeongil looked steady, but Myeongseong's face was grim.
Truth be told, I'd thrown out that silly remark because Myeongseong hadn't seemed in high spirits. Ever since the brief meeting with the Zhuge Clan folks, he'd been in a foul mood for some reason.
I couldn't pinpoint why, exactly. He hadn't gotten into a verbal spat like Myeongil, or been insulted like me. But kids are like a single dry blade of grass in winter—who knows when they'll crumble.
A servant guided us to the clan head's hall. It was lavish and imposing, like a palace within a palace.
"From here on, follow in a straight line. Stray even a little, and the mechanisms might trigger."
The hall was laced with formations far more intricate than those at the clan's main gate. Amid the mist, gears clicked and hummed with vibration—it was impossible to relax as we walked.
Even in peacetime, laying down such vicious formations must feel suffocating. Poor servants. Tsk tsk.
Treading so tensely left my back soaked in sweat. Just as the damp discomfort peaked, we finally emerged from the formation.
"You can enter right away."
The servant opened the door and ushered us in. Cheonghwa and Outer Court Leader Zhuge Chan were already there, along with some elderly elders who looked the part, and Zhuge Yeon. In the midst of them all sat a kindly-faced middle-aged man, smiling.
"Our guests have all arrived at last. Forgive me for not greeting you sooner as clan head—I had business at Yungzhong Mountain."
"It's fine."
It had been ages since I'd seen Cheonghwa so stiff and rigid. Even he, usually so composed, seemed uneasy before the head of one of the Five Great Clans.
"It's been a while, Cheonghwa. How fares the sect leader?"
"Quite well. In fine health."
"Haha, splendid. Splendid. We should share a cup of tea sometime. You're right next door, yet so hard to visit."
The clan head finished with Cheonghwa and turned to us. His gaze lingered equally on Myeongil, Myeongseong, and me—precisely the same duration each time.
"Wudang's young heroes. A pleasure. I am Zhuge Gyeom, head of the Zhuge Clan."
Zhuge Gyeom. A name I barely recognized. Not one who'd left much of a mark, apparently.
"Myeongil of Wudang."
"Myeongseong of Wudang."
"Muk Hwi-yeong, lay disciple of Wudang."
We offered formal clasped-hand salutes, and Zhuge Gyeom waved us off with a smile, signaling us to drop the formalities.
"I've seen Myeongil before, but Myeongseong is a new face."
Zhuge Gyeom's eyes slid past Myeongil and Myeongseong to land on me, brimming with interest and curiosity.
"You're that renowned lay disciple Wudang's finally produced after so long, right?"
"Yes."
"For the proud Wudang to accept a named lay disciple—impressive. Even as an outsider, a fellow orthodox sect member, my expectations are high."
"I'll do my best not to disappoint."
Feeling the pressure, I just bowed my head. Then someone knocked from outside.
"Come in."
At Zhuge Gyeom's permission, a servant entered cautiously.
"The sparring arena is fully prepared."
"Ah, excellent."
Right to the spars, then. Makes sense—Gyeonhyeon and Yangyang were close enough that claiming travel fatigue would be embarrassing.
We followed the servant straight to the sparring grounds. There stood the two Zhuge kids we'd seen earlier, plus one my age.
Seeing the clan head approach, the three bowed deeply.
"Greetings, Clan Head."
"No need for formalities. This isn't an official event—just some friendly exchange with a neighboring sect. Call me whatever."
"……Understood, Father."
Zhuge Hyeon seemed awkward saying "Father." The other Zhuge kids mumbled it too, despite the age gap. Siblings, then. Throw in Zhuge Yeon, and maybe all four were?
"Plenty of time for talk later. Let's start with the spars? Reviewing them afterward will teach us more."
With Zhuge Gyeom's smile came a low rumble—ku-gu-gung—and the central ground surged upward. Staring in awe, a rectangular sparring platform soon formed.
Pillars at its corners were linked by ropes of varying lengths.
"Whoa."
I let out an involuntary exclamation. Raising the earth with mechanisms—impressive. The Zhuge Clan excelled not just in formations, but mechanisms too.
Zhuge Gyeom turned at my gasp and grinned.
"Sichuan's Tang Clan is famed for mechanisms, but we Zhuges are no slouch."
"Is that so."
"Indeed."
Pride rang clear in his voice. And rightly so—it was impressive. Practical? Eh, maybe not—but cool all the same.
"Shall we start with the kids' matches?"
Outer Court Leader Zhuge Chan suggested, likely pushing my bout to last.
"Very well."
"Understood. Then, Mun-er, come forward."
One kid was Zhuge Mun, apparently. He stepped up and glared openly at Myeongil with hostility.
No orders from Cheonghwa needed—Myeongil advanced naturally.
"Zhuge Mun of the Zhuge Clan."
"Myeongil of Wudang."
Zhuge Mun scowled at Myeongil's perfunctory reply. Both drew swords. Zhuge Mun's aura was sharp; Myeongil's, serene.
"Begin."
At Zhuge Chan's solemn call, Zhuge Mun charged. Myeongil just watched, stock-still.
Anyone could see it as disdain. Zhuge Mun's face twisted further.
"Haaah!"
With a rather predictable shout, Zhuge Mun thrust sharply at Myeongil.
Myeongil moved only when the blade was three chi from his solar plexus.
"Oh, he's improved a lot."
Cheonghwa chimed in from the side. And it showed to me too—faster, stronger, more fluid than before. A huge leap from when he'd sparred me. No wonder he was the top of the Three Great Disciples.
Myeongil's sword was swift yet graceful. Building on Cheonunbo, he varied his footwork, circling and pressuring Zhuge Mun. From afar, it might look like swaying, but each was a flowing deflection.
"This—!"
From Zhuge Mun's view, it'd be maddening—close but untouchable. But to me, the gap between them was vast. That it stayed so close was proof.
The Zhuge Clan really did lag in martial talent compared to others. Smart and strong? No room for the rest of us. The Jade Emperor had balanced things for humanity.
"A pointless match."
Of course Zhuge Gyeom and Cheonghwa saw it too. But he didn't seem disappointed—more relieved, like as expected. Accepting his son's limits? A fine father.
As the words implied, Myeongil won handily. His wooden sword tip met Zhuge Mun's throat while the boy's was far from Myeongil's collar. Only then did Zhuge Mun seem to grasp the skill gap, face flushing red.
"This match goes to Myeongil."
Zhuge Chan declared flatly. Zhuge Mun fled the platform in shame; Myeongil descended calmly.
"You've gotten much stronger."
"Obviously. Beating that level is a given."
Myeongil showed no pride—just stated fact. Zhuge Chan, sensing the mood, hurriedly called the next pair.
"Next, Han-er."
Now Zhuge Han versus Myeongseong. For some reason, Zhuge Han shot a glare not at his opponent Myeongseong, but at the already-descended Myeongil.
I caught Myeongseong's face then. Contempt filled his trembling eyes. That's when I got why he'd been upset.
Even in that brief earlier meeting, no one from the Zhuge Clan had spared Myeongseong a glance. With Myeongil as the top prodigy, it was predictable. Society's harsh truth: attention goes to the capable.
"Begin."
Both charged, clashing mid-center. Myeongseong flowed ceaselessly too.
Honestly, after Myeongil's display, it felt a step down. But I thought it plenty good—clear growth.
Zhuge Han could only block the flurry of Myeongseong's strikes, dazed. But was thrashing the hosts like this okay?
Glancing at Zhuge Gyeom, I startled. He wasn't watching the match—he was looking at me.
I whipped my head away, but his smile lingered like an afterimage, as if peering into my thoughts.
Truly an uncomfortable fellow.
Cheonghwa's unease might not just be rank or position. Just a hunch.
"Guhk!"
Myeongseong's sword tip pierced Zhuge Han's solar plexus, hurling him off the platform. One-sided; no peril for Myeongseong.
But a thought struck: No way could the clan head misjudge his own kids' skills—or Wudang disciples'. The gaps were obvious. So why this setup? To deliberately implant defeat?
"Young Master Muk."
Zhuge Gyeom snapped me from reverie. Startled by the sudden address, I straightened and replied.
"Yes."
"Haha, no need to tense up."
"Ah, yes."
"And no need to watch my reactions. Wins and losses between warriors—what's the big deal? Who cares who triumphs or falls?"
"True enough."
But why was he talking only to me? So awkward. I glanced at Cheonghwa—feigning ignorance, no rescue coming.
"Our clan's martial talents are middling at best, but Hyeon's swordsmanship is decent enough."
"I'll give it my all, then."
"As you should. As you should……"
Zhuge Gyeom trailed off smiling, then his smile cut sharp, voice chilling.
"But don't you dare think of winning."
"Pardon?"
As I blurted in shock, Zhuge Chan called from the dais.
"Hyeon and Young Master Muk, to the platform."
I had no time to respond—up I went. Cheonghwa probably hadn't heard; it had echoed only in my ear. Transmission, surely.
Well, damn.
A clan head, reduced to threats. No real intent before—but now, I had to win.
"Ready?"
Zhuge Chan eyed us both. Zhuge Hyeon and I nodded.
"Begin."
I gripped my sword hilt tight. The match was on.