Chapter 59: The Fist King Has an Appointment with Immortal Medicine
The Fist King Has an Appointment with Immortal Medicine
Chapter 59: The Fist King Has an Appointment with Immortal Medicine
Before dawn had even broken, Baek Yak opened her eyes.
"Hmm."
Stretching as she rose, she cracked open the window and peered outside before noticing Baek Ran slumped over the table, fast asleep. Baek Yak lifted her effortlessly with both hands and said,
"Ran-ah, you should lie down to sleep properly."
"Yes."
After settling Baek Ran into bed, Baek Yak stretched her limbs within the room.
The remnants of sleep evaporated as she moved. She changed into the neatly folded martial robes on the table and stepped outside to greet the dawn.
When her subordinates, sipping tea downstairs, rose to attention, she waved them off dismissively. They took turns guarding her while sleeping, so it was natural for them to be alert at this hour.
But since Baek Yak's martial prowess far surpassed theirs, their presence was more about learning than protection.
Dressed in pristine white robes, she strolled around the lodging with her hands clasped behind her back like a man, inhaling the crisp morning air.
The chill of dawn was nothing compared to where she usually resided. After confirming no one was around, she activated her Lightfoot Technique and took off.
Her speed steadily increased. She intended to run until sunrise—an unusually boisterous morning stroll.
The distance between her and the lodging rapidly widened.
This had been her routine since childhood.
As the darkness gradually lifted, she spotted a figure on the opposite side of the road and immediately steadied her breathing before stopping.
'What the hell is that?'
Across the road, where the rising sun painted the sky, a man was approaching with an odd gait—walking, then pausing, then walking again. Between pauses, something resembling a thick staff sliced through the air.
Thwack! Swish! Thrust!
The man wielded a pitch-black rod, swinging it downward, sideways, and thrusting forward as he advanced.
Frankly, he looked like a ghost.
Instinctively, Baek Yak took a step back. Despite her formidable martial skills, ghosts were still frightening.
Pale-faced, she descended to the roadside and moved aside.
Upon closer inspection, this ghost wasn't particularly impressive in martial arts. Still, it was only right to yield the road to spirits.
Cheol Myung-ho, who had been practicing the Three Calamities Sword Technique on his dawn walk, nearly jumped out of his skin when he spotted Baek Yak standing by the roadside in her white robes.
"Gah! You scared me!"
A young lady in white martial robes at this hour—and with blue-tinted eyes, no less!
Cheol Myung-ho pointed his Black Iron Umbrella at her and asked,
"Ghost?"
The dim light made it hard to see her face clearly. Baek Yak, however, could make out his features perfectly.
'Ah, just a man.'
She exhaled in relief and eyed the umbrella.
"Hardly."
"Then what are you doing here?"
"Training. And you?"
Cheol Myung-ho nodded.
"Same here."
Baek Yak gestured down the road.
"Go ahead."
As he passed, Cheol Myung-ho glared at her, his expression and eyes brimming with wariness—as if refusing to let some lunatic woman get the drop on him.
Baek Yak felt the same.
She had heard the Central Plains were full of oddballs, but she never imagined encountering a man practicing sword techniques at dawn.
Even as they backed away, neither stopped glaring at the other.
'Hah, crazy bitch...'
'Pathetic lunatic...'
Returning to his empty underground gambling den, Cheol Myung-ho didn't care whether it was night or dawn.
On his way back, he ate when hungry, slept wherever he collapsed when tired, rubbed his aching arms when they throbbed, and sat down when his legs gave out.
This was how he had traveled from the Murim Alliance to his home.
The important thing was that he never once neglected his swings. If there were rankings among martial world eccentrics, Cheol Myung-ho's name was steadily climbing.
The underground gambling den was his home.
"Fox" typically referred to cunning creatures, but this moldy, dimly lit den wasn't much different from a fox's burrow.
Kicking aside toppled chairs and tables, he made his way to the kitchen and boiled some noodles.
If the Double Report Brothers had been around, even a full pot wouldn't have been enough—but since he was alone, he cooked just enough for himself.
Half-asleep, he slurped his noodles when suddenly, the words and thick forearms of the Murim Alliance Leader Yoo Jung-hong flashed through his mind. The scars on his own cheeks weren't much different.
Cheol Myung-ho smirked and swallowed another mouthful.
Slurp.
"What a magnificent old man."
Memories surfaced of his friend beating up young masters from prestigious families at the Dragon-Phoenix Tournament.
"Envious."
By the time he drank the broth, countless beauties he'd met at the tournament came to mind. Most women in the martial world were stunning. Even those less conventionally attractive seemed beautiful to him—because he saw the elegance in their perfected physiques.
Their posture was impeccable, their skin flawless—like celestial maidens descended from another realm.
And they were strong enough to knock most men flat with a single strike, which only endeared them more. If he ever took a lover, he'd want a martial world woman. Cheol Myung-ho, who had never been particularly ambitious or driven, now found his next goal after strength: a martial world beauty.
After licking the bowl clean, he stared blankly at the empty gambling hall before shutting the iron door and collapsing onto the messy bedding behind his desk.
Clang.
His body, which hadn't slept for at least two or three days, surrendered instantly to sleep.
Dan Woo-sung opened his eyes.
It was early morning. Waking up in a foreign land versus waking up at home carried entirely different feelings. For Dan Woo-sung, it was an oddly comforting sense of unfamiliar stability.
Still seated cross-legged on his bedding, he began his Breathing Technique.
A thought crossed his mind:
How much stronger can I get today?
It was an exhilarating, anticipatory feeling—like the start of a thrilling new day. Grateful for another ordinary morning, he bundled up all stray thoughts and hurled them into the abyss of his mind.
Then, he refocused.
Once dawn fully broke, Dan Woo-sung finished his breathing exercises, flipped onto his hands for push-ups, and began pumping them out. Only after forty or fifty did his movements slow slightly. He shifted stances intermittently, continuously stimulating his muscles.
Later, he stretched with bizarre contortions, substituting for a normal cooldown, then draped on his outer robe and left his quarters.
Acknowledging the bustling servants' greetings, he stepped outside and began his run.
Entering the main road where the "ghostly woman in martial robes" and the "umbrella-wielding ghost" had passed earlier, he unleashed his Lightfoot Technique at blistering speed. It wasn't long before he inevitably encountered Baek Yak—she was returning from the opposite direction.
Knowing they were both training, Dan Woo-sung cut straight to the point.
"Lady Baek, how far did you go?"
She replied,
"Not sure. There's a lake in that direction—I walked around it."
At the time, Dan Woo-sung didn't grasp the meaning behind "walked." He studied her face anew and answered,
"Must've been Yangpyeong Lake."
Suddenly, he smiled. Baek Yak didn't seem to have washed her face yet. The thought that she had risen even earlier to run here was somewhat impressive.
Noticing his smile, she casually wiped the sleep from her eyes and asked,
"By the way, is there someone around here who swings a black umbrella while practicing the Three Calamities Sword Technique?"
Dan Woo-sung answered succinctly.
"There is."
"He's insane, isn't he?"
"Extremely."
"I see. Also, there was a fisherman at the lake at dawn—another martial artist. Do you know him?"
Dan Woo-sung shook his head.
"The umbrella guy's a friend, but I don't know any martial artists who fish."
"I see. Ah, later—can we settle our hand-to-hand bout?"
"Sure."
Both were highly skilled, having learned much from their exchanges. For Baek Yak, who had lacked worthy opponents, these spars were invaluable combat experience. For Dan Woo-sung, who had no peers in pure martial arts, it was fascinating. Moreover, knowing this style originated from Baek Mujin filled him with reverence.
They exchanged glances and nodded slightly—see you later. Dan Woo-sung sprinted toward Yangpyeong Lake, leaving Baek Yak behind.
Just how strong is she?
She was the sole inheritor of the Frozen Qi Art, a technique so formidable it was once dubbed demonic arts after the fall of the Demonic Path sect Baekcheon Divine Cult. Its uniqueness intrigued even Dan Woo-sung.
But his curiosity was answered absurdly quickly.
Staring wide-eyed at the vast Yangpyeong Lake as he approached, Dan Woo-sung muttered,
"This isn't normal."
Despite it not being winter, patches of white floral patterns lingered on the lake's surface—traces of the Frozen Qi Art freezing the water. Even the Fist King couldn't help but marvel.
Baek Yak's Lightfoot Technique had reached the realm of Treading on Blossoms, Crossing Water. And to think she had done this as a morning stroll—it was a firsthand testament to why Baek Mujin was so revered. Of course, the Frozen Qi Art inherently lent itself more easily to such feats than other martial arts.
As Dan Woo-sung stood arms crossed, gazing at the lake, the fisherman Baek Yak mentioned approached him.
"When did you get back?"
Dan Woo-sung studied the man—a stranger in his thirties. A strange feeling crept over him, and when he glanced around, the fisherman said,
"It's just me."
Dan Woo-sung asked,
"Who are you?"
"Since when do brats speak so rudely?"
Only then did Dan Woo-sung remember his current age. He had forgotten he was now a young man.
The fisherman continued,
"Heard you went to the Murim Alliance. The Silver River Merchant Group has martial artists stationed there too."
This fisherman had avoided entering the merchant group's grounds precisely because he disliked the Murim Alliance.
"But."
"Seems you're destined to be summoned left and right. The Eight Dragons Sect Leader wants to see you. Now that you've stepped into the martial world, you must've heard of them. If you go alone, the merchant group won't suffer."
"Why would the Eight Dragons Sect want me?"
The fisherman chuckled.
"Why else? Cause and effect. Jeokye trained in martial arts under them. You killed Jeokye. Understand?"
Dan Woo-sung asked,
"Who's Jeokye? I've killed too many to remember."
"You don't know Jeokye of Yukwan's red-light district?"
"Ah, that bastard."
"Jeokye's master especially wants to see you. He's furious about how messily you beat him to death. If you don't go, the Silver River Merchant Group will suffer—one way or another."
"His master was from the Eight Dragons Sect? He had some backbone for a Black Path thug. Tell him I have an appointment with immortal medicine today, so wait. Pass that along to the Eight Dragons too."
The fisherman's eyes bulged.
Dan Woo-sung said,
"You're the messenger, right? If you die here, there'll be no one to deliver my words. Or go catch some fish first before heading back. Come here."
When Dan Woo-sung beckoned, the fisherman retreated without another word.