Kicking Away the Torch (3)
Disciples other than Muk Hwi-yeong felt a suffocating terror from the demonic qi, as if they were choking.
In the end, the others couldn't endure it any longer. Sobbing and sniffling, they fled beyond the formation's boundaries. This formation tested mental fortitude precisely because one could escape it under their own power.
A few children were still holding out, blood trickling from their noses, but everyone's gaze was fixed on Muk Hwi-yeong.
"Keruk. Kruk."
Lying on the ground with his eyes rolled back, his waist and back arching spasmodically—Muk Hwi-yeong didn't look like he was suffering from the demonic qi. He looked possessed by it.
"Shouldn't we go in and pull him out?"
A few disciples in blue robes voiced their concern as they watched him.
His own master, Cheonghwa, eyed Muk Hwi-yeong with suspicion. It had grown harder to detect his lies since he'd begun training in martial arts, but this seemed like an act.
She considered entering just in case he was truly suffering, but decided to hold back. The formation induced horrifying agony, but it wouldn't actually kill.
Time passed, and fewer people emerged from the formation. Over half had already fled, unable to bear the fear and pain of its demonic qi. Those still inside were demonstrating superhuman willpower.
"They're holding out impressively."
Cheongui let out a sigh of admiration. The survival rate for this test was actually higher than the previous one.
"Shouldn't we end it soon?"
Cheongyu subtly asked Cheongui. Glancing inside, she saw her disciple Minghan writhing in agony. Of course, Muk Hwi-yeong's divine performance had drawn all eyes, so he wasn't getting much attention.
"No. Let's watch a bit longer."
Cheongyu swallowed a groan of anxiety at Cheongui's words.
Soon after, Minghan vomited and stumbled out. Cheongyu let out a regretful sigh.
"Minggang's the steadiest of them."
Cheongui took note of Minggang. Among the third-generation disciples, there was Mingil; among the second-generation, Minggang.
Unlike the others, Minggang wasn't screaming or showing pain. He simply sat with his eyes closed in silence.
"And the noisiest is that one."
"...Ahem."
Cheonghwa coughed awkwardly at Cheongui's remark. No need to specify who—his gaze was locked on Muk Hwi-yeong.
Now, Muk Hwi-yeong wasn't just arching his back; he was twisting his neck and drooling profusely.
"That's an act, right?"
Cheongui asked quietly. Cheonghwa sighed. Do it in moderation. Even the sect leader had seen through it.
She considered denying it but opted for honesty.
"Seems like it."
"Then Hwi-yeong has enough mental fortitude left to act."
"Exactly."
That was astonishing in its own way. If it was all fake, then Muk Hwi-yeong was enduring the best of them.
"Inexplicable. His mind shouldn't be cultivated at all. How's he managing? Even kids who've trained for twenty years struggle."
"Maybe his mind was already perfected before joining Wudang."
Cheonghwa recalled how he'd executed the Five Elements Sword flawlessly on his first try. Cheongui knew she didn't speak without basis, so he regarded Muk Hwi-yeong anew.
"What a shame."
Cheongui said sincerely. With such talent, he'd have etched his name in Wudang's history as a main peak disciple.
"That's enough."
As Cheongui spoke, the haze sank into the ground. The children, trembling in agony, collapsed to their knees and vomited.
"Urk, uweeek!"
"Ugh, um. U, waaack."
Cheonghwa and Cheongui exchanged wry smiles as they watched Muk Hwi-yeong glance around before vomiting.
***
My test was over. I'd endured to the end, after all. Sure, passing so easily pricked my conscience a bit, but what could I do? I hadn't prepared the Demonic Cult's formation myself.
"You really went all out, didn't you?"
I was inwardly impressed by my own acting. So naturally, I expected Cheonghwa to fret over me the moment she saw me.
But her eyes held not worry, but pity.
"You could've just stayed quiet and passed. Why the performance?"
"Ah."
Shame and humiliation hit me a beat late. So she'd known from the start that my deathbed-bug routine was fake.
"How'd you know?"
I asked, cooling my flushed face with my cold palms.
"How? Obvious at a glance."
"Ahem..."
"Still, the sect leader approved transmitting the Yang Heart Divine Art. He praised your acting skills."
"Mental fortitude? No, acting?"
"Yep."
Cheonghwa's face reddened, perhaps feeling secondhand shame. But I was relieved of my own embarrassment. As long as I'd gotten permission to learn the Yang Heart Divine Art, that was what mattered.
"How'd the other seniors do?"
I'd been too immersed in my role to notice who'd passed. Cheonghwa smiled.
"Mingseong and Minggyeong made it."
"Senior Mingjin failed, then."
"Yep."
"Too bad."
"Your sincerity's lacking."
"I got what I wanted, after all."
I grinned broadly. The Taiji Sword Master trials lasted a fortnight, testing mental strength one day, scholarly knowledge the next. None of it concerned me, of course.
We headed straight to Sambong Hall. Cheonghwa pulled a book from a high shelf—even without asking, I knew it was the Yang Heart Divine Art manual.
"I'll give it to you, but you might not understand it. And if you feel anything unpleasant or strange while practicing, stop immediately."
She warned repeatedly as she handed it over. No need for her guidance, she said. It wasn't a technique she'd mastered herself, and as a heart art, one had to figure it out alone anyway.
Beaming, I returned to Gungdo Pavilion with the Yang Heart Divine Art manual. Honestly, I was confident.
As a merchant building competitiveness, I'd read tons of books and amassed all sorts of knowledge. I figured I could comprehend it fine without the Hwi-yeong Merchant Group's help.
"Urgh..."
But that was arrogance. The manual was bafflingly cryptic.
"Who just splattered ink everywhere?"
One side black-stained paper, the other blank white. That was it—no text anywhere, just black and white pages no matter how you flipped.
"Crazy bastards."
I immediately cursed the unknown ancestor who'd made it. If this was a manual, I could've churned out a thousand. I'd expected profound prose brimming with immortal qi, as Wudang's secret art.
The old me, prizing practicality, would've chucked it at the wall. But my Unyielding talent compelled me to keep at it.
I stared piercingly at the pages, like a staring contest with the book.
Left: black paper. Right: white paper.
I tried everything. Staring only at black, only at white, closing one eye. All to no avail.
The Yang Heart Divine Art created two dantians. But not literally splitting the qi sea acupoint.
Two minds. Could a person have two? If two, why not three? Why no Three Hearts Divine Art...?
"Ah. So hard."
Tortured by stray thoughts, I finally closed the book. Not giving up, of course—just my eyes hurt. Still, black and white pages shimmered in my vision.
I stepped out of Gungdo Pavilion for fresh air. Wudang Mountain in the dark was pitch black, yet training voices echoed.
I quietly headed to the back yard—our unspoken spot for the senior brothers' practice.
As expected, the two excluding Mingjin were training: Mingseong and Minggyeong, sparring each other.
Come to think of it, first time seeing the seniors spar. Surprisingly, Minggyeong dominated Mingseong. They were three or four years apart, by my reckoning.
At older ages, that gap meant little, but at theirs, it was huge.
"You weren't this strong before."
Mingseong smiled bitterly from the ground. Minggyeong looked embarrassed as he offered a hand to help him up.
Even to me, they'd seemed evenly matched before. Accounting for age, Minggyeong's progress was superior, sure.
But now, Minggyeong was pulling ahead.
In my past life, I'd heard of Minggyeong and his title Invincible Taiji Sword, but never Mingseong's Taoist name.
"I got lucky."
"No."
Minggyeong tried to console him, but it rang hollow.
Minggyeong trained diligently, but less than Mingseong, whose volume topped the third-generation disciples. That willpower had gotten him through the first trial.
Yet losing to his young junior must sting bitterly.
"Let's call it today. Junior, keep going if you want."
"No, I was done too."
Minggyeong smiled and headed inside. Mingseong watched his retreating back, then raised his sword again.
"Haat."
With a small kiai, Mingseong unleashed the Five Elements Sword.
I knew it. When the mind breaks, nothing works. Even desperate wingbeats need the will to fly. Mingseong's spirit was shattered, to my eyes.
"Hoo."
As predicted, he lowered his sword tip, sheathed it, and slipped into the tree's shadow, covering his face with both hands.
A small figure trembled in the deep gloom, invisible without focus. Among Cheonghwa's disciples, even the eldest had no proper place to cry.
The darkness swallowed even sobs—no sound escaped.
I knew that gut-wrenching grief. Everyone hits the wall of others being different. I'd felt pathetic as a kid seeing peers out-earn me.
Soon, Mingseong emerged, steps resolute with decision. Strangely, he headed not to Gungdo Pavilion, but Wudang's outskirts.
As the one handling messengers at Gokjeon Pavilion, I knew nothing was out there. Silently, I tailed him. Cheongun Step was leisurely, perfect for shadowing—though not what the ancestor intended.
Mingseong stopped in a moonlit clearing and rummaged in his robes, pulling something out. Others might not know, but I did.
Tae Cheong Dan?
The sect leader had said to take it after perfecting the body.
Before I could stop him, Mingseong popped the Tae Cheong Dan into his mouth. Instantly, blue flames erupted around him.
The azure blaze was fierce and somber, as if fueled by his rage. The majestic sight froze my thoughts momentarily.
"...Huh?"
But the blue aura enveloping Mingseong darkened. Something was wrong.
I dashed toward him without thinking.