Plum Blossom Sword Saint? Not Me (1)
It began to glow red.
Red, as though a red sun were rising. Redder still.
The round ingot turned crimson hot…
“Uuugh…”
Hye Yeon, his round head flushed bright red, frowned in profound agony.
This damn thing’s qi…
He had confidence in one thing, at least: when it came to inner power, he was not lacking behind anyone of his age. And that confidence was no empty arrogance. His sect was Shaolin, after all—the Shaolin that had never once relinquished its place as the world’s best in inner power.
And yet the Mount Hua disciples standing on either side of him somehow looked more at ease than he did, even as they poured that enormous surge of energy in.
Are Jo Gul and Yoon Jong really this strong?
Unless they’d been eating some ten-thousand-year snow ginseng, how else was he supposed to explain it?
And on top of that…
“That bald-headed brat! Did he grow up on gruel or what? Why’s he so useless?!”
“...You told me to eat grass.”
“Then monks should eat grass! Want me to feed you meat?”
“...That’s not what I meant.”
At the conversation drifting from behind him, tears welled in Hye Yeon’s eyes. Of course, they evaporated almost at once in the heat of the furnace.
That demon of a man.
If the Buddha truly watched over the mortal world, then why would He leave that demon to roam free like this?
No, this wasn’t even something to take up with the Buddha. That man was a Daoist, wasn’t he?
What on earth was Primordial Lord doing, just standing there and watching this unfold? He ought to strike him with lightning or something! Deal with it! Deal with it already!
“Th-That! Look at him, thinking about something else again!”
Flinch.
Hye Yeon hurriedly focused on pouring in more inner power.
“Back in the old days, the Shaolin bastards were so focused in meditation that a bird could build a nest on their heads and they wouldn’t notice! But these days, those Shaolin bastards—tch!”
“How’s a bird supposed to build a nest on a smooth bald head? Say something that makes sense.”
“Birds had more grit back then!”
“...You lunatic.”
Hye Yeon, listening to the exchange, squeezed his eyes shut.
Wasn’t it strange? He found himself hating Baek Cheon, who kept chiming in and egging Chung Myung on, even more than Chung Myung himself, who openly bullied and tormented people.
Kwaaaaaaaa!
When he opened his eyes again, he was frowning at the furnace. The heat was so fierce it felt as if his skin would roast off, and it was getting hard to breathe.
How much longer do we have to do this?
It had already been two days since they started taking turns stoking the fire without sleeping. By now, everyone had to be completely spent—
“Kruuuhhhh! This liquor’s killer!”
“...”
No. He hated this. He hated it so much.
Chung Myung upended a gourd and shook out the last drop. After forcing that final bit into his mouth, he reached to the side and immediately scowled.
“Gone?”
The table beside him was already empty.
Chung Myung looked around, then grinned at Tang Gun-ak.
“Clan Lord. We’re out of booze.”
“...Young man.”
Tang Gun-ak’s face was twisted into an outright grimace.
“Everyone else is busting their guts right now. Is that really the time for this?”
“Huh? For what?”
“...”
At Chung Myung’s question, Tang Gun-ak said nothing. Instead, his gaze drifted downward.
He was looking at Chung Myung, half-reclined in a huge, comfortably padded chair from goodness knew where, shaking a liquor bottle with lazy ease. It was enough to make his stomach turn.
No, the chair was fine. The chair he could accept.
What he couldn’t accept were the liquor bottles strewn all over the floor.
“Mount Hua Divine Dragon!”
“Yeah?”
At last, Tang Gun-ak stiffened his face and spoke with all the dignity he could muster.
“I have no wish to point out your faults unnecessarily. But surely this has gone too far. Not only the Tang family elders, but the Mount Hua disciples and even Reverend Hye Yeon of Shaolin are all suffering so terribly, and in front of them you must drink like this?”
“Ah…?”
Chung Myung drooped at once, lowering his head. Seeing that, Tang Gun-ak’s heart softened a little, and he continued more gently.
“Drink later, once the work is finished. Drink as much as you like then. But as the head of the Tang family, I can’t permit any more drinking here.”
“I understand what you’re saying.”
Chung Myung nodded as if he really did.
Tang Gun-ak was a little surprised by how obedient he was.
He actually listens, if you speak firmly?
Maybe this brat is weaker than I thought when someone pushes back hard…
But then—
“A-pyeong!”
“Yeeees! Plum Blossom Sword Saint sirrrr!”
“...”
Tang Gun-ak’s eyebrow twitched violently.
At Chung Myung’s call, Dang Jo-pyeong, who had been watching the forging from the front, came charging over with enough speed to suggest he was about to run on all fours.
“You called for me!”
Chung Myung pointed at the bottles and table littering the floor with his chin.
“Clean this up.”
“Pardon? What do you mean?”
“The Clan Lord says holding a drinking party here is rude. I made a mistake.”
In that instant, Dang Jo-pyeong’s head snapped toward Tang Gun-ak.
Flinch.
Meeting that murderous look, Tang Gun-ak instinctively shrank his neck like a turtle.
“G-Granduncle. That is not what I—”
“You little wretch!”
“...”
Dang Jo-pyeong’s eyes bulged, and he practically foamed at the mouth.
“Do you even know who this man is?! And you dare!”
“...”
No, if he couldn’t tell who this was, he should’ve at least been unable to recognize the clan lord too. Why was it that this time he recognized him perfectly and still chose to believe Chung Myung?
Why was his sanity always only half there?
“This man! Huh? This man! He is the Plum Blossom! The Plum Blossom Sword Saint! The Mount Hua First Sword that makes those vile Demonic Sect scum tremble in fear, and on a personal level, a man who’s practically brothers with your grandfather’s grandfather! What? A drinking party? You called this a drinking party?”
“Th-That wasn’t what I said, Granduncle…”
“Shut your mouth!”
Tang Gun-ak’s vision blurred with tears.
It was heartbreaking.
This was too heartbreaking.
“How dare you run your foul, blasphemous mouth about liquor in front of this man! This man has every right to drink in Shaolin’s Great Hero Hall!”
At Dang Jo-pyeong’s rebuke, Hye Yeon, who had been suffering inside, jerked his head around in alarm.
No, old sir. Shouldn’t Shaolin get a say in that too?
The fact that he couldn’t speak because he was busy pouring in inner power would haunt him for the rest of his life.
Dang Jo-pyeong’s praise of the Plum Blossom Sword Saint showed no sign of ending.
“A timeless hero who has cut down those treacherous Demonic Sect fiends countless times!”
“Hehehehehe.”
“The world’s greatest sword! Huh? The world’s best! The very best of the beeeeeest!”
“Hehehehehehehe!”
“And a man who is the greatest guest the Sichuan Tang Family could ever have! And what, now you say this and that? Even your great-grandfather never dared speak to him like that! The family’s manners have gone in reverse! Must I truly take up the rattan cane before you come to your senses?”
“Giggle! Gahahaha!”
Chung Myung burst into helpless laughter. Watching that, Tang Gun-ak felt a thousand fires ignite in his chest.
No, why are you the one who’s happy? Why?!
Then Dang Jo-pyeong shot him a bloodshot glare and barked, “Answer me!”
“S-Sorry.”
“Why aren’t you bringing out a proper wine table at once?”
Chung Myung, who had somehow reclined back in his chair again, casually added, “Shaoxing wine too.”
“Yes, Shaoxing wine too!”
“And some sweet bamboo-leaf green.”
“Yes, bamboo-leaf green too! No, wait! Bring everything you have! Every kind!”
When Tang Gun-ak hesitated, Dang Jo-pyeong’s eyes flashed.
“Why? Shall I go myself?”
“N-no, Granduncle! I’ll have the wine table brought out at once!”
“Run!”
“Yes!”
Just as Tang Gun-ak was about to sprint off, Tang Pae and Tang Jan hurriedly blocked his path, aghast.
“F-Father, we’ll go!”
“Please stay here, stay here!”
The two of them dashed off in a hurry, and Tang Gun-ak cast his gaze toward the distant sky visible outside the workshop.
How did I end up making such a mistake…
He should have stopped that bastard when he first said he wanted to impersonate the Plum Blossom Sword Saint. How had he allowed it, only to end up seeing this hellish spectacle?
Whatever Tang Gun-ak thought, Chung Myung turned to Dang Jo-pyeong and asked, “So? Still not done?”
“We’re nearly there now.”
“Why’s it taking so long?”
“If we were only melting it, this would’ve been over already. But to make proper Ten Thousand Year Cold Iron, it needs more than that. We’re entering the final stage now, so we’ll need your help one more time, elder.”
“Huh? Me?”
“Yes. We need to crank up the heat at the end.”
“Hmmph.”
Chung Myung groaned as he rose to his feet.
“Fine. Better to finish quickly anyway. Let’s go.”
And he strode toward the furnace.
“Sasuk! Sago!”
“Got it!”
Baek Cheon and Yu I-seol hurried after him.
“Everyone, back off!”
At Chung Myung’s shout, Hye Yeon, Jo Gul, and Yoon Jong staggered back, panting for breath.
Chung Myung exhaled sharply and gripped the furnace. Yu I-seol and Baek Cheon each grabbed hold too, beginning to pour in their inner power. Dang Jo-pyeong resumed his place in front of the furnace.
“Push it in as hard as you can! Max it out! Burn that furnace to the ground!”
“Hraaah!”
Chung Myung’s qi surged forward. Baek Cheon and Yu I-seol matched him, supporting and reinforcing the flow as they poured in power like their lives depended on it.
Tang Gun-ak let out a cry of admiration.
Leaving aside Chung Myung, the Mount Hua disciples themselves are terrifyingly strong.
As he panted and stepped out of the workshop, he asked Yoon Jong, “Are all Mount Hua disciples this strong in inner power?”
Yoon Jong glanced back for a moment, then shook his head.
“No. They’re all quite strong, but… ordinarily, they would be around Soso’s level.”
“Around Soso’s level, is it.”
Tang Gun-ak turned his head slightly to look toward where Tang Soso stood. At the workshop entrance, she and Baek Sang kept peeking inside again and again.
The two of them had weaker inner power than the others and couldn’t take part in heating the furnace.
Yes, that’s normal.
No. That wasn’t even normal. Soso had never been especially weak in inner power for her age, and after going to Mount Hua, her power had become incomparable to what it had been before.
And yet the difference was still this dramatic, which meant…
“So the elixir really did its work.”
“You knew?”
“I am the Tang family lord. How could I not know what you children went to Yunnan to do?”
Yoon Jong scratched his head awkwardly.
And that attitude pleased Tang Gun-ak.
He doesn’t even glance toward Soso.
If the clan lord knew what they had tried to hide, he would normally suspect Tang Soso. But even hearing that, he hadn’t doubted her in the slightest.
It’s a good place.
He could see why Soso clung so fiercely to Mount Hua.
“Then…”
At that very moment—
Kwaaa-ruuuuum!
A tremendous crash burst from the workshop. Startled, they looked over to see white flames spewing from the furnace, surging upward like a pillar ascending through the chimney.
“...They really don’t know moderation, do they?”
The heat had already begun to char the eaves.
From inside the workshop came Dang Jo-pyeong’s voice, bursting with manic excitement.
“Bring the mold!”
“Yes!”
The Tang family attendants rushed in carrying the mold. Under Dang Jo-pyeong’s instructions, they carefully set it down in front of the furnace.
“Bring it closer, you fools!”
“Yes!”
There was a fever in Dang Jo-pyeong’s eyes bordering on madness.
“Move aside!”
He sent the attendants all away, then seized a long iron rod and began prodding the lower part of the furnace.
“The molten iron’s coming out!”
Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!
After battering the lower chamber several times, he punched open the hole at the bottom of the furnace, and white-hot molten iron began to flow out.
“Hah!”
“Good heavens!”
The Tang family attendants watching from a distance all cried out in awe.
From the molten iron, sparks burst upward. Following the length of the mold, it was as though a river of fire were running through it. The heat was so fierce that even though they had retreated more than ten paces, their faces still burned.
Grk! Grgrk-grgrrk!
After scraping out the very last of it, Dang Jo-pyeong flung the iron rod aside and shouted, “It’s done!”
Having let go of the furnace, Chung Myung trotted over. Then he stared at the white molten iron pooled in the long mold, steam of heat rising from it.
For some reason, just looking at it felt cleansing.
“Now we only have to cool it?”
“Yes, Lord Sword Saint. It’s been shaped in the mold, so once it cools, the Ten Thousand Year Cold Iron will be complete. After that, we’ll hammer it flat and give it the shape of a sword.”
“Hmm. There isn’t as much of it as I thought. We won’t be able to make many.”
“No. A sword made only of cold iron doesn’t turn out nearly as well as one might think. I have my own methods. We’ll layer in black iron and hundred-times-refined fine steel. And we’ll add the magnetite from Yunnan as well. Besides, Mount Hua swords are thinner and more flexible than ordinary swords, aren’t they? We’ll get quite a lot out of it.”
“Oh? Really?”
Chung Myung smiled with obvious satisfaction, as if reassured.
I was worried, but he’s even better than I expected.
“Oh! It’s already cooling?”
Tang Gun-ak, who had somehow wandered back inside to watch, marveled at the way the end of the mold was already losing its heat. It was his first time ever seeing this much cold iron being made.
“Good heavens, it’s so clear and silvery.”
When molten iron was cooled after pouring from a furnace, it would usually turn black and rough. The usual process was to hammer and grind it until it became clean again, but this Ten Thousand Year Cold Iron looked pure and pristine from the moment it began to cool, as if covered in snow.
“This is what real Ten Thousand Year Cold Iron looks like. Those half-melted knockoffs are nothing more than defective scraps wearing the name of cold iron!”
Dang Jo-pyeong puffed out his chest as he spoke.
“Properly melted and cast cold iron, true to the name hancheol, carries yin energy and gives off a chill. That’s why it cools so quickly.”
“I see… Amazing, Granduncle.”
“It’s nothing.”
Dang Jo-pyeong waved a hand lightly.
But Chung Myung tilted his head, looking unconvinced.
“But…”
“Yes?”
“Why did you make it this long? If what you’re saying is true, then one sword only needs a piece of metal smaller than a fist. Why the hell make it this long?”
“Because we’re going to cut it.”
“...You’re going to cut it? That thing looks thicker than my forearm. How the hell are you supposed to cut it? It’s already cooled too.”
“Hohoho. What a joke. How delightful.”
“Huh?”
Still not understanding, Chung Myung asked again, and Dang Jo-pyeong chuckled as though he’d just heard the funniest thing in the world.
“Cold iron may be the finest metal, but it’s still metal, isn’t it? A piece of iron with no inner power added by you, elder, is no different from mud.”
“...”
“Now, as you said, just cut it one section at a time. I’ll mark the exact lengths for you.”
“...”
A muscle twitched at Chung Myung’s eye.
Cut it?
What?
The cold iron?
He had nearly blown out his waist cutting that paper-thin strip of cold iron before, and now he was supposed to cut this thing thicker than his forearm?
Completely unaware of Chung Myung’s inner turmoil, Dang Jo-pyeong excitedly picked up a brush and began drawing lines across the cold iron.
Swish. Swish. Swish. Swish. Swish. Swish-swish-swish!
“...”
Lines were drawn across the cold iron ingot—long enough for five grown men to lie down on—each segment no longer than a finger’s width.
“There! Lord Sword Saint! Just cut it along these marks.”
“...Me?”
“Of course.”
“I’m not the Plum Blossom Sword Saint, you know?”
“Hahaha. Your joke is too much. Please start quickly. I’ll prepare to make the cold iron swords in the meantime.”
“...I’m serious.”
“Hahaha! You’ve become entertaining. Very entertaining.”
No, you idiot.
I’m not joking—I’m telling you I’m not the Plum Blossom Sword Saint!
...I’m really losing it.
The net of heaven is vast, with wide meshes, yet nothing escapes it.
In the end, karma always came back around.