No, But Those Bastards? (1)
News carried on the early autumn wind set the whole of Jianghu ablaze.
- The World Martial Arts Tournament will be held!
And not just anywhere, either—the tournament would be hosted by Shaolin.
What kind of place was Shaolin?
Was it not the place long ago called the North Star of Jianghu?
Countless sects existed beneath the heavens, but none dared claim influence comparable to Shaolin’s.
After a century of lying low following the rise of the Demonic Sect, Shaolin had finally broken its silence and begun to move like a giant taking its first steps.
It was only natural that the eyes of Jianghu, which had been living without any great upheaval lately, all turned toward Songshan.
Wherever more than two people from Jianghu gathered, that was the only topic they talked about. If there were three, they would keep going until they’d burned through the whole night.
Even at the Joyful Moon Inn in Luoyang, the talk was no different.
"Of course the meeting is important!"
A man with a rat-like face sprayed spit as he spoke with enthusiasm.
"But what really matters isn’t that. I’m telling you, this tournament will also have a martial arts contest. That’s the truly important part."
The man with a horse-like face listening to him frowned.
"A martial arts contest is just a place for the younger generation to fight, isn’t it? What’s so important about that?"
"Tsk, tsk, tsk. You really don’t know anything. Have you ever heard of a martial arts contest where the elders of each sect come out to fight?"
"...Hm. Now that you mention it."
The horse-faced man furrowed his brow. Come to think of it, he had never once heard of a tournament where the senior figures of each sect tested their skills against one another.
The rat-faced man leaned back in his chair with the smug air of someone delivering wisdom.
"That’s what a martial arts contest is, after all. When people risk their very lives for face, do you think they can stand around in front of everyone and prove who’s stronger? No. They compete by seeing which side has raised the better disciples instead."
"Is there really meaning in that?"
"Of course there is!"
At the doubtful voice, he raised his own sharply.
"What you judge from that tournament isn’t which sect is strongest right now. It’s who’ll hold the reins ten years from now."
"Ten years?"
"The ones taking part in this tournament are all younger disciples under forty. At forty, you’re already thirty. Ten years from now, won’t they be almost forty?"
"Well, yes, that would be obvious."
"By forty, they’ll be just about the core of their sects. In other words, the ones fighting in that tournament now will be the center of Jianghu ten years from now. That’s why this tournament is an incredibly important event—it lets us predict the future balance of Jianghu in advance!"
"Oh, I see!"
The horse-faced man nodded again and again, as if genuinely impressed.
He might not know which sect was the greatest in the world right now, but by the results of the martial contest, one could at least judge which sect would become the greatest in the future.
And even if a sect didn’t win outright, if it performed well, its reputation would naturally soar.
"So who do you think will win this time?"
"Hmm. That’s a difficult question."
The rat-faced man casually reached for the wine jug. He frowned, shook the now-lighter jug from side to side, and clicked his tongue.
"Grr. I’d love to talk, but my throat’s too dry for this..."
"Hey! Waiter! Bring us a bottle of hwaju right now!"
"Hwaju, huh. Good stuff. But... if I drink that harsh liquor, my throat’s going to sting so much I won’t be able to speak properly."
"Waiter! Not hwaju—bring us bamboo-leaf green instead!"
"Heh heh heh."
Only after a bottle of bamboo-leaf green, which cost three times as much as hwaju, was ordered did the rat-faced man finally smile in satisfaction.
"Who do I think will win? You mean the result of the martial contest, right?"
"Don’t act so dense."
"That’s what makes it difficult. There are so many exceptional younger experts in the world, and so many great prestigious clans."
At the vague answer, the horse-faced man clicked his tongue in annoyance.
"Here I am buying you drinks, and you’re completely useless! I can find the answer easily enough myself."
"Oh? Then go on."
"The ones worth watching are obviously the Five Dragons, aren’t they?"
"Heh heh heh heh."
The rat-faced man let out a dark laugh.
"That’s how I know you still haven’t got a clue."
"What? Why not?"
"What are the Five Dragons? They’re the five younger disciples who’ve achieved the greatest results, are they not?"
"Exactly! So of course they’re the top candidates to win."
"You don’t understand. What’s the standard for judging such outstanding younger disciples?"
"Well..."
The horse-faced man couldn’t answer right away and fumbled for words. The rat-faced man snickered.
"That’s how judgments in Jianghu work. In the end, you can only judge them by what they’ve done in Jianghu. In other words, the Five Dragons are just the ones who stood out among the people who’ve already gone out and walked Jianghu."
He stopped for a moment, then snatched up the bamboo-leaf green the waiter had just brought and chugged it straight from the bottle.
Only after draining more than half the bottle in one go did he continue.
"Among the ones now swarming toward Songshan, there are bound to be glittering gems who haven’t even gone out into Jianghu yet. So how can you say only the Five Dragons will shine?"
"But haven’t they always said that a pearl will eventually stand out from the mud? If someone is really that outstanding, word will spread no matter how hard they try to hide it."
"Exactly, exactly. For example, there’s Namgung Do-hwi of the Namgung Family, the Split Peak Sword, praised as a once-in-a-century prodigy, and Cheongun BijgeomNeung Ha-un, cherished by the leader of Qingcheng."
"That’s exactly what I’m saying. Only after considering all of that can you predict the winner. That’s what makes a true wise man, isn’t it?"
"Hah. You little bastard, now you’re really rubbing my pride the wrong way. Fine, then. If you’re going that far, I can’t hold back either."
The rat-faced man slapped the table hard with his hand.
"If you’re asking me where to place my money, I’d bet on Wudang!"
"Wudang?"
"That’s right. Wudang may have lost some of its momentum lately, but it didn’t earn its name as a great sect for nothing. This tournament will probably make the whole world look at Wudang anew."
"Hmm. Wudang, huh... Still, does Wudang have that kind of strength? Didn’t they get thoroughly humiliated by Mount Hua just recently?"
"What? Are you telling me you believed that nonsense—that Wudang’s Mu Jin lost to the Mount Hua Divine Dragon?"
"Well, calling it nonsense is a bit..."
"Have you ever seen such a stupid friend?"
The rat-faced man twisted his tiny eyes into a scowl.
"And you call yourself someone who’s been around Jianghu? You actually believe that kind of absurdity? What, do true masters fall from the sky? Prodigies who sweep through Jianghu at a young age only exist in old stories!"
He drained more wine, as if his throat were still parched, then went on.
"Martial learning is like good wine: the longer it ages, the richer its fragrance becomes. How good can freshly made wine possibly be? And for wine to mature properly, it needs the right environment. A master coming out of a ruined place like Mount Hua? Impossible!"
But the horse-faced man still looked unconvinced.
"But didn’t Mount Hua beat Zhongnan?"
"So I heard. But it was only the third-generation disciples who lost to Zhongnan, wasn’t it? You know very well that disciples of great sects spend their entire youth grinding away at the basics, don’t you?"
"Hmm..."
"Isn’t the fact that all the third-generation disciples lost and all the second-generation disciples won proof enough? If those third-generation disciples fought again now, could Mount Hua win? Hmph! Don’t make me laugh!"
"Still... the Mount Hua Divine Dragon..."
"Same thing! Those without foundations have limits, that’s what I’m saying! I’m telling you—whether Mount Hua joins this tournament or not, if they do enter, they’ll be utterly humiliated! How can a sect with no roots go around strutting like that?"
"That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?"
"Heh! Harsh, my ass! Just you wait. If there’s anyone who’ll be humiliated most in this World Martial Arts Tournament, it’ll be Mount Hua, no doubt about it. Well, a sect with no roots and barely hanging on would never dare show its face at a grand tournament like this anyway. Hahahah!"
Even as the rat-faced man burst out laughing as if he’d said something amusing, the horse-faced man still wore a somewhat sour expression.
That was when it happened.
Bang!
The inn door flew open hard enough to look like it might break off its hinges, and a man strode in.
The two men, startled, turned their heads and fell silent at once.
Black martial robes.
And a vivid plum blossom pattern on the chest.
“……”
“……”
Lately, they had heard of that outfit far too often.
So that was...
Mount Hua?
N-no way.
Clomp. Clomp. Clomp. Clomp.
The Mount Hua martial artist who had come in as if he’d meant to break the door itself approached them with heavy, exhausted steps.
He looked a little lean, but his body was clearly firm and well-built. And his face was handsome enough that even another man could nod in acknowledgment.
But more striking than that was the unmistakable irritation written all over his face.
"Waiter!"
"Yes, honored guest!"
The waiter who’d been standing by hurried over to the martial artist.
"Food!"
"...Pardon?"
"Food!"
"Ah, yes! What would you like?"
"One hundred and twenty servings, loaded with meat!"
"O-one hundred and twenty?"
"Forty people! Hurry up!"
Forty people, but one hundred and twenty servings? What kind of counting was that?
"Hurry!"
"Yes? Ah... yes! Understood!"
"And!"
The Mount Hua martial artist grabbed the waiter’s shoulder as the man turned to leave.
"Wine! Whatever you’ve got, just bring me the coldest bottle in this place right now!"
"Y-yes! I’ll bring it at once!"
"Move!"
"Yes!"
As the waiter ran toward the kitchen, the man cracked his neck to one side and the other, then trudged forward. He dropped heavily into the seat next to the two men who had been speaking.
"Here you are, sir!"
"Good!"
Snatching up the wine that was brought to him, the Mount Hua martial artist tipped back the bottle and drank deeply.
"Khaaaah!"
He set the bottle down with a face so refreshed it seemed like nothing in the world could be cooler, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and shouted, "Now that’s living!"
Only then did the tension in his face loosen. He seemed to think of something, then abruptly turned his head.
Flinch.
Flinch.
The two men, who had been watching the sudden Mount Hua martial artist cautiously, jumped and shrank back as soon as their eyes met his.
When he still didn’t look away, the rat-faced man finally spoke carefully.
"By the way..."
"Yes?"
"...What is it?"
"Nothing much."
Crack. Crack.
The Mount Hua martial artist rolled his neck, then smiled faintly.
"I heard you were having a very interesting conversation. So, what was it you were saying about Mount Hua?"
“……”
The rat-faced man let out a dry cough.
"Ahem. Might you perhaps be a disciple of Mount Hua?"
"Yes. As it happens, I’m a disciple of that very Mount Hua."
“……”
The rat-faced man’s tiny eyes darted around frantically, his face showing clear panic.
Still, perhaps because he had enough experience rolling around in Jianghu, he quickly mastered his expression and replied in an even tone.
"Hmm, it seems there’s been a misunderstanding. I never meant to belittle your sect. I was only saying that the person known as your Mount Hua Divine Dragon may have been somewhat overrated..."
"Oh, really?"
"Yes. A misunderstanding..."
Suddenly, the Mount Hua martial artist stood up with the wine bottle in hand.
The rat-faced man, startled, asked, "Why are you getting up?"
"Ah. I thought there might be a misunderstanding on my side too, so I figured I’d clear things up for you properly."
"About what?"
The Mount Hua martial artist smiled brightly.
"Do you happen to know my name?"
"How would I know that?"
"Then make sure you remember it well. My name is Chung Myung."
"Ah, Chung Myung. A good name..."
Wait...
Chung Myung?
Chung Myung?
The rat-faced man’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.
"Y-you’re..."
"Yep. I’m that overrated person."
“……”
His cheek began to twitch.
Cold sweat broke out down his back, and even though he was sitting down, his legs started to tremble.
But instead of collapsing into despair, the rat-faced man desperately scrambled for a way out.
Getting caught badmouthing someone in Jianghu was the kind of thing that could only end with swords being drawn and life-or-death combat. Anyone in Jianghu who cared about face would never simply swallow it.
"Hah... ha ha. To meet the famed Mount Hua Divine Dragon of the world..."
"Why are you shaking like that? Honestly, what you said isn’t wrong. I haven’t really done much, so I have been a bit overrated. I haven’t even shown my real stuff yet. Hehehe."
“……”
At the unexpected response, the rat-faced man narrowed his eyes.
Was he being sarcastic?
No, that didn’t seem likely.
Then...
Was he really some kind of noble Daoist?
He looked Chung Myung over again.
How many people could hear themselves being mocked and still admit it, humble themselves, and brush it off like that?
The rat-faced man’s face reddened slightly as he said awkwardly, "Hearing the words of the Mount Hua Divine Dragon, I am filled with shame. As an elder of Jianghu, I’ve shown you an unseemly side of myself. I am Jomalsae, known in Jianghu as the Swift Mouse. As an apology, I would like to offer the Mount Hua Divine Dragon a drink, so please accept this unworthy apology."
"Ah, no, it’s fine. If that’s the truth, what’s the problem? There’s no need to apologize or anything. Don’t worry about it."
Chung Myung smiled faintly, and Swift Mouse Jomalsae was truly impressed.
So Mount Hua really has risen again?
These were the words and conduct of a proud disciple of a prestigious sect, with not even a trace of shame.
Jomalsae, deeply impressed, was just about to continue when—
"Though."
"...Hm?"
"Leaving me aside."
“……”
Chung Myung tilted his head and looked at Jomalsae.
"Where exactly did you say Mount Hua has no roots?"
“……”
In that instant, Jomalsae saw it.
Chung Myung’s eyes, which until a moment ago had held nothing but the soft smile of a harmless Daoist, suddenly glinted with murderous intent.
"M-Mount Hua Divi—"
Crack!
Jomalsae’s words went no further.
Chung Myung had swung the wine bottle he was holding and smashed it straight into his forehead.
"Ghk!"
Jomalsae clutched his head and toppled sideways.
The strange thing was that even though the blow had been savage enough to send a martial artist into a blackout, the wine bottle itself didn’t shatter—not even a crack appeared in it.
The horse-faced man watching from the side gaped.
No, I get that, but do you usually just bash people without warning like that?
And he’s a disciple of a Daoist sect?
Glug, glug, glug, glug!
Chung Myung took a long swig of wine, then let out a satisfied kheu and held the bottle upside down.
"That old bastard dares insult Mount Hua in front of me?"
Jomalsae, sprawled on the floor, had legs shaking like leaves.
"You seem to have no idea what ‘having roots’ means. Fine! I’ll show you today just how far a rootless bastard can go. Watch carefully and remember this well."
"H-HIIIIIK!"
"Roots? Roots? This is Mount Hua’s roots, you bastard!"
"P-please, spare meee!"
Meeting the most un-Daoist Daoist in the world was the greatest misfortune of Jomalsae’s life.