7. Evaluation (4)
Muk Hwi-yeong's mind raced with a whirlwind of thoughts. The Wudang sentries stood there dumbfounded, wondering what was going on.
"You lot, return to your posts and stand guard properly. I need to have a word with this young friend here."
"Yes, sir!"
The Wudang sentries eyed him curiously, clearly dying to know his identity, but they didn't dare ask. They turned and marched off with crisp, disciplined steps.
A fierce wind howled through, making the torch flames flicker wildly. Cheonghwa's eyes wavered in the unsteady light.
"Seeing that silver tongue of yours frozen stiff, it looks like I wasn't off the mark."
"How did you know?"
He cut straight to the chase. There were people you could bluff and play dumb with—and people you couldn't. Instinct told him Cheonghwa was firmly in the latter camp.
"How? You're treating the eyes of fellow martial artists like a joke. Your face was a map of the five desires and seven emotions. I was fooled at first by how well you hid it consciously, but those unconscious muscle twitches don't lie."
Cheonghwa chuckled as he continued.
"Besides, if you truly wanted to join Wudang, you'd have chosen to take the sparring match head-on rather than throwing sand. That's the kind of spirit we admire."
Cheonghwa's words pierced him like a blade. As a merchant, having his expressions seen through stung his pride.
But if the man could read his unconscious tells, what hope was there of deception? No wonder they said not to lie to a true master.
"...What will you do with me?"
"Before that, I want to hear from you. Why try to leave Wudang? There are ant swarms across the Central Plains begging to join us, even as Lay Disciples."
He hesitated. Should he be honest? But on second thought, it was pointless. Any lie would be seen through anyway. Honesty was his only option.
"Because I can never become a Wudang Lay Disciple."
"Why not?"
"From what I know, to become one, you have to beat the three senior disciples in the final test. Fail that, and it's back to chanting Amitabha. I can't pass it."
"You think you'll lose to mere senior disciples? You really don't know yourself."
Cheonghwa let out a hollow laugh.
"I know myself all too well. I'm a weak root that can never bloom. Better to scatter my seeds elsewhere and start fresh than waste time here."
"Have you ever even trained in martial arts?"
"No. The Three Talents Fist Method and Three Talents Mind Method you taught me here are my first."
"How can you be so sure without trying?"
Because I know the future. He'd slaved away for fifty years under his martial arts master, who bluntly told him he'd top out as a third-rate at best. That was how dull he was at it.
Sure, buying talent would change that, but where was he supposed to earn cash in Wudang? He couldn't say that, so he brushed it off vaguely.
"I'm just no good at it. Cowardly too. Way short of what it takes for a Wudang Lay Disciple."
"You're lying again."
Damn this human lie detector. Couldn't he let even a vague dodge slide?
Of course, he didn't think he was hopeless. If he were, he never would've become a merchant king in his past life. He took pride in his life.
"Be honest. I won't tell a soul what I hear tonight."
"Honest?"
"Yes."
"Wudang isn't big enough to hold someone like me."
Screw it. He just blurted it out.
That was his true feeling. Just as martial artists looked down on merchants, he looked down on them. It grated on him, watching people who couldn't craft a brush or ink strut around swinging swords.
He was destined to dominate the Central Plains as a merchant overlord. He had no time to waste in Wudang.
Cheonghwa bowed his head. His face was shrouded in shadow.
Grind.
A tooth-grinding sound echoed. Muk Hwi-yeong shivered. Had he crossed a line? Yeah, probably not the thing to say in front of a Wudang man.
Grind, crunch...
Something clacked and shifted behind sealed lips. His head wasn't coming off now, was it? As tension locked his body, Cheonghwa threw his head back.
"Hahaha!"
To his shock, Cheonghwa burst into booming laughter. The tooth-clacking had just been him holding it in.
The guffaws were so hearty he worried they'd wake the sleeping camp.
After a long spell, Cheonghwa wiped a tear from his eye.
"I get what you're saying."
...Really? Even a master couldn't read minds. But if he claimed to understand, hope flickered.
"So you'll let me go?"
"No?"
A sly glint lit Cheonghwa's eyes.
"Can't have a would-be Wudang man spout nonsense like that and walk away. I'll show you Wudang's true essence."
"Pardon?"
"Watch closely."
With those words, the torch snuffed out. It had been blazing moments ago—clearly Cheonghwa's doing, some clever trick.
But what was he supposed to see? He wasn't a martial artist; pitch black yielded nothing.
Then it appeared. Amid the darkness, a blue aura unfurled like heat haze. The azure shimmer wove into ribbons, shaping a form. It emanated from Cheonghwa's body—manifesting his inner energy.
In his past life, he'd seen plenty from countless martial artists. But never such a pure, crystalline blue.
Cheonghwa's blue energy refused to be swallowed by the gloom. It expanded boldly, shoving the shadows aside.
The haze took the shape of a sword and began to move. It flowed like water—gentle as a river, fierce as rapids through a gorge, endless as the open sea.
Muk Hwi-yeong stared, entranced, as the blue haze danced sword forms in the dark. His chest tightened, an inexplicable heat surging within. It felt like gazing into the cosmos itself.
More. I want to see more. He leaned in, drawn like a moth. But the haze snapped off. Regret flooded the darkness.
"This is Wudang's sword: the Taiji Wisdom Sword."
A brilliant flame ignited in the gloom—not the torch, but a will-o'-the-wisp dancing on Cheonghwa's palm.
They said masters could summon Samadhi True Fire. First time seeing it for real.
...So what now?
The thought hit him. Why show him a demo of the Taiji Wisdom Sword?
"You questioned if Wudang could hold you, so I showed you its depths. Mark my words: there's no one we can't contain."
Ah. Pride wounded, then. It all clicked.
But he shook his head. Who was he to judge Wudang's arts? On martial prowess, Cheonghwa was right. The man just didn't get it.
"It's not about size. It's about shape."
"Shape?"
"How can a fox eat from a gourd? How can a white crane drink from a shallow dish? It's the same principle."
"Heh, quite the poet. Cheonghyeon said you were some illiterate farmer's kid."
Cheonghwa laughed.
"But I can't agree. Wudang's foundation cradles all things. It flattens to a dish for the fox, digs a deep well for the crane. Our gourd's mouth flows like water—welcoming to all."
Typical Taoist—masters of lofty nonsense. He was cornered.
"I spoke out of turn. My apologies. But I still can't stay in Wudang."
"Why?"
"Just because."
He smirked inwardly. No arguing with "just because." Even Cheonghwa couldn't counter blind dislike. Time to release him.
"I see."
Cheonghwa stroked his chin gravely. Clearly stumped. He hadn't expected such brazenness.
But Cheonghwa's response shattered expectations.
"As the saying goes, even a child falling into a well—how can we stand by? Especially one with great potential. That's an adult's duty."
"Pardon?"
He was pushing fifty himself. Kid. Cheonghwa looked barely thirty, inner energy keeping him youthful. Too green to lecture him on age.
"You can't leave Wudang. Not without my say-so."
Thunderstruck. Lightning might as well have cracked behind him.
"...The law says kidnapping's a crime."
"Heh, kidnapping? With your father's blessing? Forgot already? We didn't send you here—he did."
"Why go this far to keep a worthless farmer's son like me? What does mighty Wudang want with trash like that?"
He spat the words, blood-iron taste rising from sheer fury. It was the most justified question imaginable.
Cheonghwa closed his eyes and smiled—a smile laced with profound mystery.
But his words were anything but.
"Just because."
***
Cheonghwa glanced back with a grin. What an expression—heading to Wudang like it was the slaughterhouse. No kid in the Central Plains wore that face but Muk Hwi-yeong.
Not even hiding his reluctance from shame. He'd bolted a few times already, only for Cheonghwa to snag him by the scruff.
What a ridiculous guy.
Wudang too small a vessel? Blasphemous. The sect leader would've clutched his neck and keeled over.
But Cheonghwa got it—Muk Hwi-yeong knew his own genius.
When teaching the Three Talents Mind Method incantation, the kid shut his eyes without hesitation. Pure arrogance, a silent protest: How dare you waste my talent on this basic crap?
If Wudang nurtures that genius...
A sect's power was its masters. That's why the Nine Great Sects scoured the land for martial prodigies.
How could they let a genius who walked in himself just walk out?
Sect leader's gonna love this.
Cheonghwa chuckled to himself. They dreamed different dreams on the same bed.