Oh My, Goodness. What on Earth Is Going On? (1)
The carriage rolled on without pause—well, not without pause exactly, but with plenty of rest in between.
By the original plan, they should have changed horses and pushed straight through to Sichuan without a single break. But once Chung Myung’s training regimen got thrown into the mix, things had changed a little.
Thanks to that, Ibo now had to stop the carriage whenever the time came, wait while Chung Myung’s martial nephews got thoroughly beaten to a pulp, then load the limp bodies back on and continue on his way.
What in the world is this even supposed to be?
From Ibo’s point of view, neither side made a lick of sense.
There was Chung Myung, mercilessly pounding his martial siblings into the ground, and then there were those same siblings, staggering from the beating, collapsing unconscious, and still coming back at training time with murder in their eyes.
Since when has Mount Hua been such a terrifying sect?
One thing was certain.
Everyone kept going on and on about Mount Hua’s fall, but if every disciple of Mount Hua trained like these people did, it wouldn’t take long at all to reclaim the glory they had enjoyed a hundred years ago.
"As long as they don’t work themselves to death before then."
Ibo stared blankly at the disciples of Mount Hua, who were being utterly destroyed.
It really is strange.
By any common sense he knew, none of this should have been happening.
For the five days it took to get here, those Mount Hua disciples had been beaten like dogs by Chung Myung. No matter how healthy a person was, getting hit that much should have left them barely able to stand. And this was after five straight days of being pummeled by a martial expert like Chung Myung, no less.
And yet they were somehow more energetic now than they had been on the very first day of that bizarre training.
Getting hit made them stronger?
What kind of nonsense was that?
Whether he believed it or not, that was exactly what was happening before Ibo’s eyes.
At this point, I can’t even tell which side is more amazing.
Of course, that didn’t change the result in the slightest.
"Krrk."
Yoon Jong coughed up froth and toppled sideways.
Thud.
Then he hit the ground and trembled all over in spasms.
Chung Myung clicked his tongue.
"Lower body! Lower body! How many times do I have to tell you? Your damn lower body never changes! Get your center down lower—lower!"
He barked the words and then looked over the collapsed martial nephews.
They were all sprawled on the ground, panting for breath. Chung Myung saw the sight and clicked his tongue again.
"All of you are getting soft!"
"Soft, he says!"
There was no denying it: after sparring with Chung Myung, their internal energy increased markedly, and their bodies became much stronger. That was an undeniable fact.
But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Every time the sparring ended, a pain so intense it was hard just to keep their bodies together came crashing down on them. Merely enduring that was no small feat.
"Circulate your energy and fix yourselves up!"
Chung Myung whipped around and strode off toward the overgrown brush.
"Where are you going?"
"Going to take a piss, what else!"
Jo Gul shot a one-finger salute at Chung Myung’s back.
"Hope you trip and smash your nose in."
Yoon Jong, lying beside him, said weakly, "…Say something that makes sense. The ground would break first."
"Ugh."
Jo Gul rolled over and flopped on his back, gasping up at the sky.
"Martial brother."
"What is it?"
"This really does make us stronger, right?"
"…Of course it does."
Yoon Jong could already feel it.
Even though they hadn’t trained for many days, his internal energy had clearly increased. Even his sword had become sharper.
Just by crossing blades with Chung Myung, they were racing ahead in realm.
Of course, Chung Myung was fighting them bare-handed, so "crossing blades" might have been a little odd—but still.
"Ugh. It better."
Jo Gul let out a long sigh.
They couldn’t deny that it was effective, but the training was also brutally harsh.
We’re getting this beaten up, so if we don’t get stronger, that’d be way too unfair!
As Jo Gul burned with a strange sort of motivation, Baek Cheon was staring at Chung Myung’s back for an entirely different reason.
"Sasuk?"
"Hm?"
"What are you looking at like that?"
"Ah…."
Baek Cheon fumbled over his words, unlike himself. After thinking for a moment, he gave a peculiar look and asked, "You lot."
"Yes, Sasuk."
"Have you ever seen that brat Chung Myung sweat?"
"Huh?"
What was that sudden question about?
"What do you mean?"
"Exactly what I said. Have you ever seen him sweat?"
"Haha. That’s a strange question. Of course I have…."
Yoon Jong’s head tilted to the side.
"Actually, no?"
"I don’t think I’ve ever seen it either, martial brother."
"Now that I think about it, I don’t think I ever saw Chung Myung sweat even in that Sword Tomb."
"Right?"
Hearing that, Baek Cheon’s expression grew even stranger.
"Why are you asking that all of a sudden?"
"No reason."
Baek Cheon shook his head. But soon after, his gaze began following the direction Chung Myung had gone.
His hair was completely soaked.
That monster.
The same man who had once fought the Wudang elder on equal footing was now getting tired from sparring with them.
If it had been anyone else, they would have felt proud of their own growth. But Baek Cheon was a cold-eyed man. He knew better than anyone how far his own strength still fell short of Heo Sanja’s.
That meant….
Baek Cheon bit down hard on his lip.
His eyes filled with a frightening light as he glared toward the place where Chung Myung had disappeared.
After staring for a long time, Baek Cheon spoke as if chewing the words to pieces.
"All of you, listen up!"
"…Yes?"
Then, in a heavy voice, he opened his mouth with resolve.
"Ugh…."
Chung Myung, who had walked far enough that his martial nephews could no longer see him, flopped onto the ground.
"Aigoo… gods… I’m dying here."
The stars filled the sky above him.
"Martial brother, this junior is going to die. I really am."
Cold sweat poured down Chung Myung’s body as he lay there, panting.
"Ugh. If this keeps up, I might drop before they do."
Pressing and striking the meridians and vessels.
The words made it sound easy.
But real pressure-point striking was not some sloppy kneading done by amateurs; it was a secret art so difficult that even a master who had reached the Supreme Realm would struggle to perform it properly.
How easy could it be to push one’s own energy into another person’s body and strike just the right spot with just the right force?
Too much, and it would cause serious damage to the blood and energy channels. Too little, and there would be no point at all. It required exactly the right amount of force, and even that had to be adjusted according to each person’s unique flow of energy. Only then did the technique have meaning.
It was only because Chung Myung had consumed the Honwon Dan and stepped one level further that he could even think of attempting it. Even so, every time he used it, the level of concentration it drained made his head feel like it might go completely hollow.
"What am I doing all this for, damn it."
If this had been the old Chung Myung, he never would have wasted such excessive effort on other people. He would have calculated that if he spent that time training himself instead, the total strength of the group would rise faster overall.
But the current Chung Myung was not the Chung Myung of the past.
No matter how strong you are, what does it change? In the end, there are things you can’t achieve alone and places you can’t reach.
"Yeah, yeah! I know! I know already! Quit nagging… tsk."
Chung Myung groaned.
Truthfully, even if he didn’t help them, they would eventually absorb every last trace of the Honwon Dan’s energy. That energy was not especially difficult to absorb to begin with, and their realms were high enough now to handle it.
But that isn’t enough.
Sometime wasn’t good enough.
Anyone climbing a modest mountain could reach the summit with effort alone, but there would always be a difference between the person who reached the top early and the person who got there late.
Becoming strong a few years earlier than everyone else meant you could go farther in the long run.
That was why Chung Myung wanted to make them strong as quickly as possible.
Even if the method was several times harder than anything he’d done so far.
There was only one consolation….
"At least they’ve got some damn backbone."
Thinking of the martial nephews who had taken a savage beating for five straight days and still charged at him with fire in their eyes, he couldn’t stop a snort of laughter from escaping.
In the old days, whenever Chung Myung suggested sparring, everyone would shove their hips back and run for dear life. Of course, part of that was because Chung Myung didn’t show them any mercy the way he did now….
Still, their guts definitely beat the old third-generation disciples by a mile.
It was exciting.
Watching them grow stronger day by day made him want to teach them a little more, push them a little further, shape them into something better.
That was probably why he was going to such trouble.
"So…."
Chung Myung muttered, staring up at the night sky.
"If I teach these brats, and they teach the others or raise disciples of their own, and that keeps repeating, then the whole of Mount Hua gets stronger, right, Senior Brother Sect Leader?"
It felt like Chung Mun was smiling softly, saying that it was so.
"Ugh. I know that."
It really was funny.
When he had been making his name across the world as the Plum Blossom Sword Saint, he hadn’t worried about such things at all, and yet now they weighed on him so heavily.
"Tsk!"
Chung Myung drew in his inner energy, swept away the sweat that had soaked through his body, and tidied his clothes. No sign of his fatigue would remain visible now.
"You lot are far too comfortable!"
Do you have any idea how much I’m suffering here? Huh? Do you? You little punks!
Damn it!
He stuck out his lips in irritation and started trudging back toward his martial nephews.
Still…
Maybe that day would come sooner than he thought.
The day when they would no longer be burdens dragging at his heels, but dependable comrades who could support his back.
"Hah. I should ask for what’s realistic."
When would those punks ever be usable? If he wanted to move that day forward, they’d need training at least twice as brutal as this.
But people break when pushed too far. Training forced by sheer strength had its limits. Too much greed only invited disaster.
Chung Myung forced himself not to rush and tried to look farther ahead. Until then, he would just have to manage on his own….
"Huh?"
Chung Myung tilted his head.
Instead of lying scattered on the ground or being hauled back to the carriage, all of his martial nephews were standing up and waiting for him.
"What are you doing? Aren’t you resting?"
"Resting?"
Baek Cheon cocked his head.
"We can’t rest after just this much training. Come on—let’s go another round!"
"…Hah."
Chung Myung let out a hollow laugh.
Hey, you guys?
Your legs are shaking like crazy right now.
Can you even stand?
Jo Gul also forced up the corners of his mouth and provoked Chung Myung.
"Well, if you’re tired, Chung Myung, we can let you rest."
"Huh?"
Yoon Jong refused to be outdone.
"You’re not already worn out, are you?"
"Ha?"
Had these people all taken something at once or what?
Yu I-seol drew her sword and pointed it at Chung Myung.
"A hole in you would make it cooler. Your body, I mean."
"…."
A vein bulged on Chung Myung’s forehead.
"Looks like…."
Crack.
The vein on his forehead shifted to the back of his hand. His clenched fist trembled violently.
"You all need a little more education!"
Chung Myung shouted at them.
"No point dragging this out. Come at me all at once!"
"Let’s go!"
"I’ll crack your skull!"
"I’ll take one hit and die! Just one hit!"
All the martial nephews charged at Chung Myung with bloodshot eyes.
At the sight, Chung Myung couldn’t help but let out a low laugh.
They really are disgustingly likable.
Martial brother.
Senior Brother Sect Leader.
This Mount Hua thing really isn’t so bad after all.
Hehehe.