Mount Hua Walks Its Own Path (1)
The atmosphere in the arena began to turn cold.
What had everyone who came here been hoping to see?
They wanted to witness the rising talents who would carry the future of the martial world, fighting with everything they had on the line.
There was always something pure about the sight of bright youth colliding head-on—a purity you could never find in the duels of seasoned experts who ruled the jianghu.
But the scene laid out before those who had gathered to watch the bouts was nothing like what they had expected.
What on earth is going on here?
Everyone was too stunned to hide it.
That Chung Myung was pressing Hye Yeon of Shaolin one-sidedly without even using a sword?
That he had shattered Shaolin’s Hundred-Step Divine Fist, one of the Seventy-Two Supreme Arts and one of the temple’s signature techniques, with nothing but his bare hands?
Of course those things were shocking too.
But what had unsettled everyone gathered here the most was the heavy atmosphere settled over the dueling platform.
That oppressive, gloomy feeling weighed on the spectators in a strange, almost physical way.
Yet compared with what the sect leaders on the dais were feeling, that was nothing at all.
“Hmm.”
In the end, Heo Do-jin-in could not hold back and let out a low groan.
Compared to what Mount Hua went through, this is nothing.
Those words drove straight into Heo Do’s chest like a blade.
He found himself glancing around without thinking.
Some faces watched the platform in total confusion, clearly not understanding what they were seeing. Others wore the same pained, uncomfortable look he did, as though something had been painfully prodded open inside them.
The mixture of those two kinds of people created an atmosphere so delicate it felt almost brittle.
What truly surprised Heo Do-jin-in, however, was that most of the sect leaders seemed to have no idea what was going on.
Have they forgotten?
Had so many of them already forgotten after all this time?
“Hah.”
He let out a dry laugh.
It had only been a hundred years.
To Heo Do, Mount Hua was a thorn lodged in the heart of the martial world. It did not show on the surface, but every time he looked at it, some corner of him still stung.
And yet…
There are even places that didn’t merely hide it, but forgot it altogether?
Well. That could happen.
They would not have heard about it. Or they had chosen not to tell.
It could not have been easy to pass on one’s own shame in full to the next generation. Especially when Mount Hua was collapsing. They must have thought that if they simply shut their mouths and turned away, the sect’s humiliation would be buried with them.
But Mount Hua had crawled up out of that despair anyway.
And now it was asking them.
Were they really so righteous?
Really?
Heo Do-jin-in slowly shook his head. His gaze remained fixed on Chung Myung, who was barely restraining his rage.
That fury.
That resentment.
Who could fail to understand it?
If Heo Do-jin-in had been in Chung Myung’s place, what would he have done?
If Wudang had sacrificed everything to save the world, and the world it saved had turned its back on it and looked down on it? If it had then fallen all the way to the brink of destruction?
There was no need to think any further.
I would have become a shura.
He would have sold his soul to a demon if it meant judging the righteous sects and bringing them down.
Only now did he truly understand how firmly Mount Hua had walked its own road all this time. For someone who had been marginalized and ignored to walk the righteous path without cursing the world was no simple thing.
And…
That resentment he’s been holding down is probably exploding through that boy right now.
“Amitabha… Amitabha.”
As he muttered the Buddha’s name under his breath, a cold voice cut into Heo Do-jin-in’s ears.
“He didn’t mean that only for Shaolin.”
He turned his head slightly.
Tang Gun-ak, the head of the Tang Family, was staring at the dueling platform with an expression cold enough to freeze blood. He opened his mouth again.
“Of course, when you’re the one leading a sect, there are times when you know what’s right and still have to turn your head away. But if your heart doesn’t ache when you do, then you have no right to call yourself righteous.”
Those sharp words pressed the atmosphere on the dais down even further.
Those who understood the circumstances fell silent. Those who didn’t could not bring themselves to speak.
All they could do was stare at Chung Myung, each of them feeling as though something heavy were bearing down on their chests.
“Get up.”
At the flat, toneless voice, Hye Yeon flinched reflexively and rose to his feet.
Sweat had already beaded across his forehead.
The Hundred-Step Divine Fist didn’t work.
It was something he had never once imagined.
Divine Fist.
As the name implied, a fist blessed by the gods.
It could crush mountains and split the sea.
And yet that power, enough to smash mountains and split oceans, had been torn apart helplessly before that mysterious blood-red hand aura.
His eyes began to shake, unable to settle anywhere.
“Take your stance.”
“……”
That voice, drilling into his ears, felt like it was freezing his heart solid.
The cold in it dragged out an emotion Hye Yeon had never felt before.
This is…
Fear.
A feeling a monk raised in Shaolin’s embrace should never have had to know. That chilling fear stiffened his entire body.
“Your shoulders are tight.”
“……”
“Hey.”
Chung Myung bared his teeth.
“Can’t you hear me? Your shoulders are locked up.”
“Ah…”
Only then did Hye Yeon jolt and gather himself, checking his own condition.
No, this is…
Sure enough, his entire body was tense to the limit. His muscles were not merely tightened—they had become rigid as stone.
Tick.
Sweat slid down his chin and dropped onto the dueling platform.
“I don’t want to hear any excuse about being too nervous to show your true skill.”
Hye Yeon stared at Chung Myung in a daze.
“Show me everything you can do. Maybe then I’ll feel even a little better.”
Hye Yeon’s mind had become a complete mess.
What in the world has he been talking about all this time?
He didn’t understand.
Why was Chung Myung releasing so much rage?
And how could a person possibly possess such an icy, bone-deep killing intent?
No, more than anything…
Thud!
At that moment, Chung Myung stamped down lightly with one foot. Before Hye Yeon could sort out his thoughts, he charged forward on reflex.
“Haaah!”
His face, which had already been stiff, now twisted slightly.
He stood here on the honor of Shaolin. No one in Shaolin doubted that he would bring that man down and win.
The hopes of Shaolin rested on his shoulders.
No matter what anyone said, the one who led the world was Shaolin. The one who bore the world on his back could not be the same as everyone else.
So he couldn’t lose.
He mustn’t lose!
Fwoosh!
The fist that cut through empty air burst the wind apart, letting out a sharp whistle.
A speed beyond belief.
His fist, packed with the overwhelming force to shatter anything it touched, shot straight for Chung Myung’s face.
But Chung Myung merely stared at him with cold eyes, waiting until that fist was almost touching his face.
Tap.
Chung Myung’s palm met the fist aimed at his face.
It was only a light push, with no great force behind it, yet Hye Yeon’s fist immediately lost its path and sliced into empty air.
But this time, Hye Yeon did not panic.
He had already confirmed that his opponent’s skill was not to be taken lightly.
Using the fist that had cut through the air as his pivot, Hye Yeon spun and lashed out with a side kick aimed at Chung Myung’s ribs. It was the Fuhutui, the Tiger-Taming Leg, from the Arhat Fist.
Thud!
But before the kick could complete its turn, Chung Myung’s fist struck precisely at the back of Hye Yeon’s knee. The leg, unable to extend properly, folded uselessly and bounced back without power.
Then came the Three-Linked Kicks.
Chung Myung’s foot struck at Hye Yeon’s thigh, ribs, and shoulder in rapid succession while the monk still hadn’t settled into his stance.
Even in the confusion, he managed to block the kicks aimed at his thigh and ribs, but he had no choice but to take the blow aimed at his shoulder.
Crack!
The pain was like being clubbed by a huge iron rod, numbing his shoulder and then his whole body.
“Kh!”
Hye Yeon clenched his lips hard enough to bleed. Then he tried to counterattack.
But Chung Myung’s foot shot toward his face once more, even faster than before.
Whoosh!
Hye Yeon ducked desperately, and Chung Myung’s foot skimmed over his head by a hair’s breadth.
His whole scalp prickled.
But Hye Yeon was still Hye Yeon. He would not simply sit there and take it.
Planting a hand on the ground, he launched into the Arhat Fist’s Standing-Lying Buddha technique and, in one spinning motion, drove his fist up toward Chung Myung’s chin.
Fwoosh!
Hye Yeon’s fist swept past Chung Myung’s chin by the narrowest margin.
He thought I’d dodge.
Hye Yeon bit down hard on his lip.
He would dodge. This man would absolutely dodge. But with his waist already bent that far back, he wouldn’t be able to withstand the follow-up barrage that was coming.
He hurled himself forward and slammed brutally into Chung Myung’s open chest.
Boom!
Chung Myung crossed both arms to block Hye Yeon’s shoulder, but he still seemed unable to fully disperse the force inside it and was pushed backward several steps.
“Haaah!”
BOOM!
From Hye Yeon’s feet, which had stamped the ground hard enough to crack it, a powerful Buddhist light began to surge outward.
Then his body seemed to rise smoothly from the floor, and without any running start at all, he shot toward Chung Myung at a terrifying speed.
“The Supreme Kick!”
Heo Do-jin-in shouted, his eyes widening.
That kick, which looked so ordinary at first glance, was one of Shaolin’s Seventy-Two Supreme Arts: the Supreme Kick.
Shaolin’s supreme techniques, which sought the Buddhist truth through simplicity, often looked plain on the surface while concealing profound martial principles within.
Like a hawk diving for prey, Hye Yeon flew in and kicked at Chung Myung’s head with a foot wrapped in Buddhist light.
KA-BOOM!
The explosive force that poured out let out a sound like a waterfall crashing down, sweeping across Chung Myung’s upper body.
But it was not over yet. Using that recoil, Hye Yeon hurled himself higher into the air.
Wooooooom.
His body, taking the half-palm stance, was dyed in an even brighter golden light.
“Amitabha!”
Hye Yeon chanted the Buddha’s name so loudly it seemed to shake all of Shaolin, and his right palm shot forward like an illusion.
“No way!”
Everyone who recognized the art sprang to their feet.
“This can’t be…”
“My God…”
Heo Do-jin-in glared at Hye Yeon, his eyes bloodshot.
A groan escaped his mouth.
“The Tathagata Divine Palm?”
The top-ranked palm technique among the Seventy-Two Supreme Arts—the one said to have been mastered by no one in Shaolin for a hundred years.
He had mastered that too?
From Hye Yeon’s right palm, the shape of a golden hand burst forth and expanded in an instant until it was larger than a person.
It was as if the Tathagata himself had descended into the world and was delivering his teachings with that hand. The immense hand shape swept over Chung Myung’s retreating body and swallowed him whole.
KWA-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!
The dueling platform exploded all at once.
The hard blue stone shattered into pieces and flew in every direction.
The audience watching from below had been struck by a bolt out of a clear sky. Broken fragments of stone rained down on them.
“Aaagh!”
“Watch out!”
Among the spectators, experts who had come to watch the bout leapt into the air, deflecting and batting away the fragments that shot toward the crowd.
Some shards still broke through and struck innocent bystanders, but fortunately no one was seriously injured.
Despite the chaos, the surrounding area did not grow noisy.
Rather than making a fuss, the people only fell more silent, unable to tear their eyes from the platform.
They had no choice.
Who could dare look away from the enormous palm print carved into the dueling platform?
“……My heavens.”
The massive platform, large enough to hold hundreds, had been made from stone so hard it was almost unimaginable. And on that enormous expanse, a gigantic handprint had been stamped as though a celestial being had slammed it down from the sky.
Is that human martial arts?
…This is Shaolin’s power.
In the face of the power of the Tathagata Divine Palm, recreated through Hye Yeon’s body, everyone watching was left speechless.
They could finally understand why Shaolin had stood for centuries as the Mount Tai and Northern Star of the martial world.
Even Mount Hua’s disciples were aghast, struck dumb. They stared in a daze at the shattered platform and then at Hye Yeon in turn.
Just then, someone muttered quietly, “...What about Chung Myung?”
At that, all of Mount Hua’s disciples flinched and turned around.
Yoon Jong was shouting at the platform, eyes trembling.
“Ch-chung Myung…!”
“Be quiet.”
But a cold voice stopped him.
It was Baek Cheon.
He was seated there, his face fully hardened, staring at the platform.
“Sasuk!”
“Be quiet.”
Baek Cheon spat the words out.
“Look at Hye Yeon’s face.”
Everyone had been watching only the handprint carved into the platform and the cloud of dust. Only then did they turn their eyes to Hye Yeon.
And they realized it.
He looks scared?
Paley blue?
Anyone who had unleashed power that overwhelming should have been standing there with a triumphant face. No one could possibly accuse him of arrogance.
And yet Hye Yeon’s face was pale as death, like a man being chased by something.
Which meant—
Rustle.
The broken stone rubble stirred, and beneath it Chung Myung slowly pushed himself up.
“Tch.”
He spat out a mouthful of blood and brushed back his disheveled hair. As the tangled locks fell away, his eyes—ferocious and shining with a murderous light—were revealed.
Flinch.
Meeting that gaze, Hye Yeon shrank back and took one step away without thinking.
“Huff…”
His whole body was soaked with sweat now, and he no longer even had the luxury of trying to hide his fear.
The Tathagata Divine Palm.
Once it was fully unleashed, no human being should have been able to endure its power. No—he should not have been able to endure it.
And yet…
And yet how could that man still stand so straight?
Crack. Crack-crack.
Chung Myung walked slowly out of the rubble. Crushed stones were ground beneath his feet, making a chilling sound like bones breaking.
“That was good,”
Chung Myung said, showing his teeth in a grin.
Blood trickled down from his hair and ran over his face. There was no other word for the sight of that blood-streaked face and the white teeth beneath it except horrifying.
“So…”
Chung Myung stretched out his right hand to the side.
The shattered stones shuddered and trembled, and then the Plum Blossom Sword buried within them flew obediently into Chung Myung’s hand.
“Let’s finish this.”
Snikt.
The Plum Blossom Sword was drawn slowly, agonizingly slowly.
Thunk.
Chung Myung tossed the scabbard aside and let the Plum Blossom Sword hang low in his hand as he quietly looked up at the sky.
Senior brother.
Don’t call me childish.
I don’t think what I’m doing right now is all that mature either.
Still.
Still…
Chung Myung closed his eyes for a moment.
A brief silence.
Then, when he opened them again, the sword in his hand began to trace a soft, flowing curve, as if it were an illusion.
A curve so beautiful it drew in everyone’s gaze.