6. Evaluation (3)
“Lay Disciple Muk Hwi-yeong is sentenced to temporary service in the sect's Gokjeon Pavilion. Your time for lay disciple training will still be guaranteed.”
Cheonghyeon spat the words out as if they tasted foul. From that, I knew this wasn't his punishment—it was Cheonghwa's decision.
Sakgonghyeon and his followers didn't look pleased either. They clearly thought my punishment was too lenient.
And honestly, so did I.
They're not kicking me out?
Last time, they expelled someone just for smuggling in spring pictures, but now, after I blatantly threw sand during a sparring match, they're letting me stay? It was a bewildering verdict for someone like me, who had plans waiting outside.
“Lucky you, huh? Not getting kicked out.”
Cheonghyeon sneered openly. I ignored his glare as best I could. I didn't want to get on his bad side any more than I already had.
“Lay Disciple Muk Hwi-yeong accepts the command.”
I knew where Gokjeon Pavilion was. It was right after the Haeggeomji—the Wudang sect's main gate. It was the hall that managed the sect's finances.
They handled "donations" from nearby merchants around Gyunhyeon—which were really protection fees—and "sponsorships" from across the country, which were straight-up bribes.
Being the closest to the secular world, it was positioned on the outermost edge. That made it the most marginalized group within Wudang. Martial artists had always scorned money, after all.
Money's lowly? The problem is earning it like it's lowly.
Of course, I knew why they called it donations and sponsorships. Protection fees and fundraising were illegal under imperial law.
With the court's surveillance as sharp as ever, even a major sect like Wudang couldn't openly collect protection money. That was why even the unorthodox schools avoided the term.
“I'm curious if you'll keep up with Wudang's training, though. Even as a lay disciple, we don't hand out the Wudang name lightly. You'll need personal practice time, but you'll have to spend it all on service at Gokjeon Pavilion.”
“I'll do my best.”
“'Doing your best' isn't enough. You have to excel. As you know, lay disciples face periodic evaluations. Fail to meet our standards, and you're sent down the mountain immediately.”
“Yes, I understand.”
Cheonghyeon clicked his tongue in dissatisfaction. No wonder—throwing sand mid-spar was unprecedented for a lay disciple. With so many rigid orthodox types around, it was easy to earn their disdain.
Still, this was good. I'd learned the criteria for expulsion—a huge win.
I'd leave Wudang Mountain eventually, so botching the first evaluation would do the trick. Simple, right? Of course, leaving sooner would be even better.
“……Today, we'll delve deeper into the incantations of the Samjae Heart Method. Though known as a lowly street martial art, it is in fact a profound technique capable of housing pure inner energy, and……”
Yawn. Sleepiness hit me already. I closed my eyes without hesitation. Since my goal was leaving anyway, no need to pay attention to what didn't interest me.
I snapped my eyes open to find the boring lecture over. I'd only meant to fake sleep, but I'd actually dozed off.
“Sleeping right out in the open?”
Jeon O-su chuckled beside me as I woke. Everyone around was staring at me with pity.
I muttered something I didn't mean.
“Couldn't wake me?”
“Cheonghyeon Daoist said not to. Wudang doesn't drag along the unqualified. But ignoring it just hurts you, right?”
“How so?”
“You paid good money to become a lay disciple. Might as well learn something before you go.”
“We'll see.”
My reason for leaving was clear: I had no intention of earning the lay disciple label from Wudang.
To become a full Wudang lay disciple, you had to beat one of the Three Great Disciples. Even they were only second-rate masters. A normal martial prodigy could reach that level, but I didn't even have that.
In my past life, once I had money, I'd tried learning martial arts. I bought supreme techniques from the black market and hired famous masters, but I had zero talent.
My flexibility, muscle gain speed, agility—every physical aptitude sucked. And I wasn't insightful about martial arts either.
After wasting years and money, I humbly admitted it: I was a business genius, but a martial dunce.
“You seem like you have some talent, though. Shame.”
“Really? That's actually a scam.”
“Scam?”
The Talent Shop was the scam. It wasn't my talent—it was bought from the shop.
My resolve to leave had solidified thanks to the shop's items. It could supplement my lack of talent, but buying them required money.
And as a Wudang lay disciple, there was no way to earn any. At best, selling candy flutes to kids for pocket change.
“Better to leave and sell hot gukbap instead.”
“Why gukbap out of nowhere?”
“Just a thing.”
Jeon O-su tilted his head, but I had no intention of telling him more. He wouldn't believe it anyway.
After class came self-study time. No kids messing with Taiji Fist like the first day. They practiced basic Samjae Heart Method and Samjae Fist.
Of course, I wasn't given that time. Even if I was, I wouldn't have used it.
“Here to pick you up.”
“……I could've gone myself.”
Cheonghwa had come personally to escort me.
“I'm starting to teach lay disciples now, so I'm assigned to the Outer Courtyard. Of course, I'm also in Gungdo Pavilion researching core techniques.”
Wudang martial artists, once assigned, joined one of the sect's groups. The lay disciples fell under the Outer Courtyard, and Cheonghwa had claimed a spot there.
“I thought you'd send me to Gokjeon Pavilion staff.”
“Fine for me, but don't say that to others. Gokjeon Pavilion handles money, so it's looked down on. To some, it's an insult—like calling them money-grubbers.”
“Ah, got it. I'll remember.”
I answered politely while cursing inwardly.
What's wrong with handling money? People who can't survive a day without it act all high and mighty.
“So, what do I do? Cleaning?”
“Cleaners handle that…… You'll be a messenger.”
“Messenger?”
“Yes. Finance liaises with every hall.”
Every hall? A chill ran down my spine.
Wudang Mountain was one of the Nine Great Sects—a massive power. It had tons of halls.
The Samcheong Hall for the sect leader and elders sat at the peak of Tianzhu Peak—the Golden Summit.
From the mid-mountain Outer Courtyard, it would take a full two hours to climb.
“If I'm messenger, the sect'll grind to a halt.”
“Haha, don't worry. You're not the only one.”
“I'll be a huge burden on the others.”
“Doesn't matter. We're just slotting you into the existing roster. If anything, it's helpful.”
Cheonghwa laughed off every objection.
I thought to myself, This could go south fast.
Martial artists might never consider it, but I was a civilian who could trip and fall to his death.
“Not starting today, of course. You need to learn the layout first.”
Cheonghwa chuckled heartily and dragged my dazed self to Gokjeon Pavilion. It had a map of Wudang Mountain and hall locations.
Over ten halls. Some were insane—perched where you'd need to climb sheer cliffs. Sending a messenger there? Absurd.
I pretended to listen intently while resolving to bolt at night.
I wasn't ending my precious second life by plummeting off a cliff.
Honestly, who watches lay disciples sneaking off? Plenty want in, few want out. Lots of guards incoming, lax outgoing.
I folded my light blue lay disciple robe neatly and changed into my usual clothes.
The first lesson had drained their mental energy—no one stirred.
Should I say bye to Jeon O-su? Nah, no need to stir trouble.
We'll meet again someday.
I tied my satchel to my waist and slipped out of the lay disciples' dorm quietly.
The mountain path's darkness was too thick for moonlight. Martial artists see in the dark—no lanterns. Damn them.
Wudang wasn't impossibly steep, but enough to kill you descending at night.
I summoned the Talent Shop. Checking for useful items now.
Jackpot—affordable and perfect for now. I pulled a voucher from my satchel. The 100-tael one from Cheonghwa Daoist.
Vouchers work?
Like buying agility before, I wished inwardly to purchase.
Nothing. Tried again—still nothing.
Cash only, huh? Damn shop.
Some merchants distrust vouchers. Infinite Battlefield ones were reliable, yet this?
I sighed. The darkness felt more oppressive.
Suddenly, remembered the training ground torches near the Outer Courtyard. Close and safe. I hurried there—torches intact.
Not lit, though. I yanked one from its stand. Still oiled.
Struck stones nearby. Failed at first, but sparks caught.
“Whew.”
Torch in hand: frontal assault. Sneaking like an assassin? Ridiculous for me.
Thick-skinned merchant face was my weapon—bold advance.
I stuck to main paths with the torch. "Gentlemen tread great roads"—not fearing slips on narrow ones.
Even with light, descending was brutal. Torch lit maybe five-six steps ahead.
I shuffled half-steps. Big strides meant falling. Stamina and focus drained fast.
“Halt. Who goes?”
Blindly watching my feet, cold steel touched my throat.
Relief over fear—I'd reached the patrols.
“Gasp.”
Faked max panic. Torchlight showed Wudang disciples in blue robes eyeing me suspiciously.
“Who descends the main peak at this hour?”
“I-I'm just a humble herb gatherer. Came for herbs, tripped on a stump, slept till now—heading down.”
Voice mixed servile panic. Basic merchant acting.
They'd see I wasn't trained.
“Herb gatherer? First I've seen sleeping on the job.”
“Haha, didn't know I was that dumb.”
“Not a Demonic Cult spy, are you?”
“Mercy, sirs! I'm an ignorant fool.”
They didn't guard much. Passersby might've seen me, but who memorizes lay disciple faces?
“Suspicious, but let him go?”
“Seems harmless.”
They conferred. I inwardly begged, Please.
“No hidden stuff.”
“Nothing to hide, sirs.”
Opened satchel—showed dirt-covered roots I'd gathered earlier. Not herbs, but no alchemist discerns in dark.
“Fine. Go carefully.”
Yes!
They sheathed swords. I bowed deeply.
“Thank you, elders.”
“Elders?”
Warm farewell as I turned to leave. Then, a voice from darkness.
“Right, what elders? They're your age.”
Someone chuckled out. Disciples snapped straight.
“We greet Senior Brother Cheonghwa!”
Thunderous voices shattered the night's silence. It was Cheonghwa Daoist.
“Good patrol work.”
“Th-thank you!”
They beamed. A senior encouraging at this hour? Unheard of.
Unheard of. Why was he here? I couldn't fathom.
“In such a hurry, Hwi-yeong?”
Cheonghwa approached with a kindly smile, leaned in, whispered:
“Did you think I wouldn't know you want out?”
Ice prickled from spine to scalp.