8. Cheolwon Pavilion (1)
A flute's shrill tone pierced the air. It was time to rise.
I slipped back to the lay disciples' quarters. Even as I returned, my fellow initiates slumbered on soundly—no one stirred.
And so my brief escape ended in utter failure, leaving not a single trace behind.
"No one snuck out last night while we were sleeping?"
"Beats me. I don't remember."
"Must've been a dream."
"You even dreamed? Guess you weren't as wiped out. I closed my eyes and boom—morning."
From the kids' chatter, it seemed someone had noticed a presence after all. But they hadn't caught on that I was trying to bolt. Not that anyone would suspect a lay disciple of running away.
"Couldn't sleep?"
Jeon O-su asked from beside me. I turned to him.
"Your eyes look sunken. Pupils are a bit red too. Isn't that what happens when you pull an all-nighter?"
"Nah. Slept fine."
Truth be told, just as he said, I hadn't caught a wink. The guy was sharp.
Cheonhwa had told me to wait till tomorrow morning. He'd informed the sentries, too, and warned me not to even think about escaping. Honestly, my resolve had crumbled—I had no urge to try again.
"Hurry up and get out here, you lazy brats!"
Cheonhyeon's voice boomed from outside. The kids, who had been dragging their feet, snapped to attention and moved with a hustle. Me? After my pointless predawn climb up and down Wudang Mountain, I could barely muster the energy.
I was the last one out, sauntering along, and Cheonhyeon clicked his tongue in clear disapproval. When I glanced at him, he pretended not to notice.
Better to be ignored than scolded. Suited me just fine.
"Today we'll cover the Samjae Sword Method. Everyone, step forward and grab a wooden sword."
Cheonhyeon opened a hefty chest. Inside, wooden swords were stacked in neat layers.
The others each took one, and as I reached for mine, Jeon O-su handed me his spare—he'd grabbed two from the start.
"Thanks."
"You look off today."
"Worried?"
"Nah. Worry's only if it screws me over. I can afford to help a bit."
"Same old you."
Cheonhyeon shot a glare at our banter. More precisely, at me. Jeon O-su let out a quiet "whoops" and faced front.
"It's a renowned art, so some of you may know it already. Still, approach it with a beginner's mind. As you know, the Samjae Sword Method consists of three forms: Taesan Apjeong, Palbang Pungu, and Hoengso Cheongun..."
Yawn. I barely stifled it. After that insane predawn hike, my body ached, and drowsiness weighed me down.
I forced my eyes wide, but my eyelids kept dragging them shut.
"Muk Hwi-yeong!"
A shout like tearing eardrums exploded in my ear. I winced and clapped my hands over them.
Ahead, Cheonhyeon's face twisted in fury.
"You've been sleeping openly since yesterday. I tried to let it slide..."
"...Sorry."
This time, my apology was genuine. Before, I'd dozed on purpose a bit, but not now. With Cheonhwa's permission required to leave, there was no point. That dawn climb had just wrecked me too hard.
"I'll pay attention."
"Shut it! A lay disciple like you is a disgrace to Wudang! Pack your things and get out—now!"
"...Pardon?"
"Out! Are you deaf?"
Whoa.
Joy surged through me, making my body tremble. But Cheonhyeon mistook it for fear.
"Regretting it now? Go tell your dirt-farmer father you got kicked out. Serves him right for raising a son like you. Who does he think he is, shoving trash into Wudang? Tsk."
I narrowed my eyes slightly. I'd messed up, sure—but that was too far.
"No need to insult my parents."
"A child is a mirror of his parents. You shamed them, not me."
"Doze off once in class, and that's shaming them? I admit my fault, but..."
"If you know your fault, then scram. Too late for regrets."
"No, I'm grateful for that part."
"...?"
"Just had to say this before I go: Farming is the foundation of the world, a noble act producing food for all. Without farmers, we'd all starve."
I caught my breath and continued.
"But what of us martial artists? Do we help the world? Without us, wouldn't it be more peaceful? Even Lord Laozi said: 'Weapons are inauspicious tools, unfit for a gentleman.'"
Cheonhyeon's mouth snapped shut. Must've thrown him—calling me a peasant, then hearing me quote scripture. From Laozi, no less, in a Daoist sect. Hard to counter.
"Anyway, thanks again for the boot. I hated it here. I'll repay you once I make some money."
"You... you little..."
Cheonhyeon stammered, stunned that a mere lay disciple dared push back.
No reason to wait. No bags to pack—just walk out. Sleeping strategy worked, ultimately. Now I had an excuse to ignore Cheonhwa: Cheonhyeon, the lay disciple overseer, had expelled me.
I whistled and turned to leave when the last person I wanted to see approached slowly.
"Heh heh. Lively words flying about."
"...Senior Brother."
Cheonhwa. He smiled gently at me.
"Didn't I say no leaving without my permission?"
"I was expelled for bad attitude. Even you can't argue that, Cheonhwa Zhenren."
Cheonhyeon chimed in hotly.
"Exactly! Senior Brother, you'd kick him out too if you saw his attitude! Either him or me—one of us goes!"
Perfect. I silently cheered Cheonhyeon on. But Cheonhwa just wore a faint smile.
"Ah, so you fully expelled him from lay disciple status?"
"Yes."
"Good. I was planning to pull him out anyway."
"Pardon?"
Cheonhyeon tilted his head. So did I. Everyone did—as Cheonhwa walked over.
He handed me something from his robe: a wooden plaque engraved with the Taiji symbol.
Cheonhyeon's eyes bulged.
"Th-that's..."
"A token proving core disciple status at Wudang's main sect. Your name's engraved on the back."
Gasp.
Silence fell like a tomb. Only an untimely hiccup broke it.
"What does that mean?"
"Exactly that. Meant to come at dawn, but talks with the sect leader ran late."
Cheonhyeon and the kids gaped. So did I.
"Me? A core disciple?"
"Yes."
"I've never even learned a martial art."
"Think I'm a fool? I heard that twice already."
"And I'm almost thirty. My body's full of impurities, meridians stiff as boards."
"I know. See the tiny script under your engraved name?"
I flipped the plaque. My name was there, and below it, minuscule text.
"Temporary..?"
"Yes. Even after convincing the sect leader, that's the best I got. You'll train under me to become a full core disciple. Your age and lack of training held it up."
"Isn't that normal?"
"They haven't seen your talent. I have."
What talent? Ah—dodging Sagonghyeon in our spar, probably.
"That wasn't mine."
"What nonsense is this? Hate Wudang that much?"
"No, but it wasn't my talent anyway. Just footwork. Nothing else."
How could I earn money or buy talents as a core disciple? Pure time sink.
"Then blame my eyes. Not your fault."
Cheonhwa's will was iron. I was speechless. Nearly expelled, now this? Unfair as hell.
I didn't want to risk my neck on a blade's edge.
"No veto?"
"None."
Glancing around, everyone stared in disbelief—not just at my selection, but my reluctance.
"Impossible!"
A shout from the initiates. Sagonghyeon glared with rage.
"He hasn't learned a single art! Son of a filthy farmer—lowborn scum! How's he core material? I'm far more worthy!"
"Right, Senior Brother. Must be a mistake."
Cheonhyeon backed him. But Cheonhwa's gaze was steady.
"No. I trust my eyes. And lowborn? As Hwi-yeong said, farmers aren't lowly. They toil for others—noble as water. 'Water benefits all things without contending, dwelling in places all disdain.' How is farming not thus? How not the Dao?"
Cheonhyeon and Sagonghyeon flushed crimson. Cheonhyeon especially seemed humiliated before the lay disciples.
"Anyway, that's settled. I'm taking Hwi-yeong."
"I still don't accept it."
As Cheonhwa led me off, Sagonghyeon blocked our path. Even Cheonhyeon gasped.
"Such rudeness to Senior Brother!"
But Cheonhwa met him with that same faint smile.
"If you want him as core, spar with me. Win, and take his spot."
After a pause, Cheonhwa spoke softly.
"I must convince you, then."
A chill ran through me. The air grew colder. Cheonhyeon squeezed his eyes shut, knowing what came next.
"Hear this: In the Central Plains martial world, the strong needn't convince the weak. Kill them, and done. Only the weak must convince."
Cheonhwa was no longer the ethereal Daoist reciting scripture. He was a razor-sharp sword of the jianghu. Fear flickered in Sagonghyeon's eyes.
"So, you must convince me. Prove you're core material."
Sagonghyeon gaped silently. Cheonhwa's aura was ice-cold, lethal.
"Prove it."
Cheonhwa drew his sword. The blade's keen edge chilled my heart from afar—Sagonghyeon, facing it, must've felt unimaginable pressure.
"Swing at me now, and you've proven it."
Sagonghyeon trembled. His feet stuck as if to an invisible wall.
One swing for core status—yet he couldn't. I watched his eyes: bloodshot, nose bleeding.
Cheonhyeon rushed between them.
"Senior Brother! He'll fall to qi deviation!"
"Can't even approach, let alone swing."
Cheonhwa sheathed his sword with a sneer. Sagonghyeon coughed blood and dropped to his knees.
"That's the gap between you and Hwi-yeong. He endured the same pressure."
Then it clicked. When I'd haggled over the flute, Cheonhwa had pressed me with formless finger force—just like this.
Sagonghyeon stared at me in disbelief. How could I withstand what broke him? Honestly, I couldn't believe it either. I hadn't bled like that.
"Let's go."
Cheonhwa turned. Even I lacked the guts to interfere.
As I followed, I glanced back. Everyone stared blankly at my retreating figure.