Is the Little Taoist Really a Daoist? (5)
"Heh-heh-heh. I’ve got them eating out of my hand."
Chung Myung grinned from ear to ear.
"Seriously, what kind of merchants have zero sense of reality like that? I save their old man once, and they just go and hand over everything?"
Money!
It was money!
Wealth!
Hoo. Hadn’t the sages of old said the more money you had, the better?
Chung Myung had already shaken down the sect leader’s hidden stash and become one of the richest people in Shaanxi, but no matter how much he had, seeing his assets grow always made him happy.
"They’re generous, I’ll give them that."
So this was a great merchant house from Shaanxi, was it? Their hands were so big they might as well have been the Yangtze itself. He’d only said it as a joke, and they were actually going to give him all of this? He would’ve cheered if they’d just let him keep half.
Of course.
There was no way they were giving him all this out of pure gratitude alone. Before Hwang Mun-yak got back on his feet, maybe, but once a man had recovered, things naturally changed.
People’s feelings before and after a trip to the privy were different, and that was only human.
Even so, the fact that they’d handed over so much without complaint meant there had to be some other motive behind it.
But even if they wanted something from Chung Myung in return, it didn’t matter to him at all.
If you don’t want to do it, then don’t.
If Chung Myung had actually been a child the way he looked, he might have felt burdened by receiving such a fortune, but unfortunately, Chung Myung was not a child.
He was, in fact, an old hand worn down far too much by the world.
If they had known that, they would have thought differently…
"Anyway, more or less everything’s been taken care of."
He’d saved Lord Hwang, and in return he’d secured support for Mount Hua. Once preparations were complete, the man would head to Mount Hua with Chung Myung as well. That meant his work here was done.
There was only one thing left.
Chung Myung smirked as he looked at the person approaching him.
"Yo. Feeling a little better now?"
Yi Song-baek.
The second-generation disciple of the Southern Edge Sect came to a stop before the sprawled-out Chung Myung on the wooden veranda and looked down at him quietly.
"What is it?"
Yi Song-baek stared at Chung Myung for a moment before speaking.
"I will be returning to Southern Edge."
"Oh, good. I was wondering if you’d end up lonely, all by yourself. Congrats."
"Thank you."
Even after saying that, Yi Song-baek made no move to turn away. Glancing up at him, Chung Myung spoke.
"You’ve got something you want to say, don’t you?"
At that, Yi Song-baek let out a faint smile.
"Young Daoist."
"Yeah?"
"I understand that you tricked me into that trap in order to resolve this matter."
"Huh?"
"The result turned out well, so I can understand."
Chung Myung sat up and planted himself on the veranda. Then he looked at Yi Song-baek and snorted.
"Trap is a weird way to put it. Weren’t you the one trying to trap me in the first place?"
Yi Song-baek smiled faintly.
"Which is why I said I wouldn’t blame you, wasn’t it?"
Chung Myung laughed in disbelief.
This guy’s personality is really something else.
The youngsters these days were definitely a little different from back then. The Southern Edge bastards he’d met before had all practically been dying to spit their hostility at him.
Well, it hadn’t exactly left him time to learn much about the personalities of Southern Edge disciples.
"So what’s it you wanted to say?"
"Whether I was embarrassed, whether I was put in danger because of it, or whether I was toyed with by the Young Daoist—none of that matters to me. It all happened because I was lacking."
Yi Song-baek said this with a hard face.
"What troubles me is the sparring match I had with the Young Daoist before this incident occurred. I still cannot understand what I experienced then."
Chung Myung narrowed his eyes slightly and looked at him.
"So?"
"If you permit it, I would like to spar with you once more. This time, it will not be with the wicked intent it had before. I am sincerely asking you for a match."
Chung Myung scratched his cheek as he looked at Yi Song-baek.
Well, look at that?
He would’ve bet money this was just another excuse to start trouble. If he’d grasped the whole situation, it would’ve been stranger if he didn’t know he’d been toyed with by Chung Myung.
He’d expected Yi Song-baek to go berserk like a boar hit by a crossbow bolt, yet instead the man was burying it and asking for a spar.
And it doesn’t sound like he wants to spar just to beat me, either.
A pretty interesting reaction.
"Hmm. What should I do?"
Sparring was, in the first place, a way to compare martial arts. From Yi Song-baek’s perspective, maybe it held meaning to spar with Chung Myung, but from Chung Myung’s perspective, he had nothing to gain from Yi Song-baek.
So there was no reason to accept the request…
"Fine, let’s do it."
He didn’t exactly have a reason to refuse, either.
Chung Myung stood up. Then he jerked his chin toward the yard.
"Here?"
"Let’s go somewhere people can’t see."
"Oh, dear. Scary. You aren’t planning to slit my throat or anything, are you?"
As Chung Myung made a slashing motion across his own neck, Yi Song-baek let out a sigh.
"Young Daoist. I am not a fool. It is difficult to believe, but I already know that your martial skill is superior to mine."
"Oh?"
Chung Myung looked at him with interest.
"Didn’t I tell you? I want to know what happened to me."
Chung Myung’s mouth curved into a faint smile.
"You’re going to regret that."
"Even so, I would welcome it."
"Fine, whatever. Let’s go."
As Chung Myung took the first step, Yi Song-baek followed behind him with a stiff expression.
Yi Song-baek let out a low breath.
He was nervous.
He had never felt nervous, not even when sparring with his senior brothers, his master, or his martial uncles. And yet, seeing Chung Myung standing before him, it felt like his heart was pounding three times faster than usual.
He’s small.
Looking at him closely again, Chung Myung was still just a child.
Of course, by now it was a little embarrassing to call him that, but the fact remained that he was at least ten years younger. In Southern Edge terms, was he the youngest junior disciple, perhaps?
At least a whole generation’s worth of difference.
A generation was the divide between master and disciple.
In principle, as a second-generation disciple, Yi Song-baek could take a third-generation disciple like Chung Myung as his student. Of course, since one should be focused on training at that age, it was difficult in practice, and really only first-generation disciples were usually in a position to take students. But in principle, it was possible.
In other words, he was now holding a sword to face someone who could, in a sense, be considered his disciple.
And yet what was this?
This pressure?
Merely by standing before Chung Myung and regarding him as an enemy, he was being crushed by a sense of oppression he had never experienced before.
Why am I so tense?
It felt like he was crossing swords with the elders. And yet there was no way that child could be on that level.
In fact, from Chung Myung right now, he could sense no killing intent at all. Nor could he feel any strong will to bring his opponent down at all costs.
He was simply standing there, wooden sword hanging loosely at his side, looking at Yi Song-baek.
Yi Song-baek bit his lip hard and steeled his fighting spirit.
I need to confirm it with my own eyes.
What it was that he had seen.
He’s got a sharp instinct.
Looking at Yi Song-baek trembling with a sword in hand, Chung Myung wore an intrigued expression.
Right now, Chung Myung was not threatening him at all. And yet Yi Song-baek couldn’t relax, as though he had come face to face with a tiger.
Quite a keen sense.
He might become Southern Edge’s greatest swordsman someday.
Back when Chung Myung had been that age, were there any among Southern Edge’s young disciples with similar instincts?
Well. He didn’t know.
Back then, he hadn’t paid much attention to others. He’d been busy enough refining his own sword and avoiding the sect leader’s nagging.
Martial skill aside, he couldn’t really think of anyone with instincts quite like this. Keen instincts meant one could see more, and that in turn led to greater potential.
A late bloomer, huh.
He might not stand out much right away, but as the years passed and his training continued, he would begin to pull steadily ahead of others. And far in the future, he might even be called Southern Edge’s greatest sword, or Southern Edge Sword Sovereign.
Only the unfortunate part was…
He was born in the era after I came back.
Chung Myung slowly raised his wooden sword.
Maybe he should teach him a lesson as an apology?
"Aren’t you going to come at me?"
Chung Myung tilted his head and leveled his sword, and Yi Song-baek flinched and took a small step back. Then he grit his teeth and pulled himself forward again.
The beads of sweat gathering on his forehead showed just how hard he was trying.
After several deep breaths, Yi Song-baek finally opened his mouth with difficulty.
"Before we exchange swords, may I ask one thing?"
"Sure. Ask away."
"Who exactly are you, Young Daoist?"
"…I’m Mount Hua’s Chung Myung?"
Yi Song-baek gritted his teeth and said, "How can that be? The Young Daoist can’t have been studying the sword for long at all."
I polished my sword for a hundred years until my hair went white, you punk.
And when I was your age, I could’ve kicked your ass with one finger!
Chung Myung clicked his tongue.
It felt a little like cheating, but he didn’t feel much guilt. The Chung Myung of those days had actually been stronger than the Chung Myung of now.
The current Chung Myung hadn’t even been training for a full year yet, and he was moving at an excruciatingly slow pace while laying his foundations.
But the Chung Myung of the past had already spent more than ten years refining his sword by this point, and he had reached a level no younger disciple of the time could hope to face.
So there was nothing uncomfortable about it.
"The world’s always been unfair."
"…"
"But that doesn’t mean you’ve got no chance. What matters is whether you believe in your own path, isn’t that right?"
"You mean if I believe in my sword and keep striving, I can beat you someday?"
"No way."
Chung Myung waved a hand dismissively.
"A sparrow trying to keep up with a stork is just going to tear its legs apart."
"…"
"But that’s fine. It means you won’t be ashamed that you couldn’t beat me. Instead, you’ll come to think of even having exchanged swords with me as an honor."
"How arrogant. Utterly arrogant."
Yi Song-baek’s eyes slowly settled.
As they talked, some of his tension seemed to ease, and his face gradually returned to that of a martial artist.
"Be careful. I know my limits, so I’ll use the strongest move I can from the very start."
"Go ahead."
Yi Song-baek subtly twisted his sword to the side.
Watching that motion, Chung Myung narrowed his eyes.
What’s this?
Even the slightest change in the sword altered its character. Southern Edge, by nature, pursued orthodoxy; it was not a sect that twisted the sword like that. Showing both the blade and the flat of the sword to an opponent was a method usually used in phantom sword techniques.
Yes.
It was a Mount Hua style.
"I will face you with the Snow Flower Twelve Sword."
"The Snow Flower Twelve Sword?"
Chung Myung tilted his head.
Did Southern Edge have such a martial art?
As far as he knew, Southern Edge’s basics were the Southern Edge Thirty-Six Sword Technique and the Great Ultimate Dividing Light Sword, weren’t they?
Apparently, while he’d been gone, they’d invented something new.
"I’m coming!"
"Sure."
"Taaaat!"
Yi Song-baek shouted and charged at Chung Myung.
Chung Myung watched him with a slightly bored look.
Now then, what should I do?
Should he thoroughly trample this promising junior from the start? Or should he give him guidance so that he could grow properly?
Tsk. No matter how bad my personality is, that’s a bit much.
If it were some Southern Edge elder or first-generation disciple, maybe. But crushing a kid like that wasn’t really his style. He’d just teach him a little…
That was when it happened.
Yi Song-baek’s sword underwent a heavy change.
It was by no means fast, but it was staggeringly weighty, and while not flashy, it was rich with variation.
A transformation unlike anything Chung Myung had known from Southern Edge until now spread out before his eyes.
And the moment he saw it, Chung Myung’s face twisted like a demon’s.
"Yo—"
His wooden sword lashed out with overwhelming force, showing no change at all as it swung forward.
Kwaaaang!
With a thunderous blast, Yi Song-baek was sent flying backward, coughing blood after a single exchange.
But Chung Myung was not satisfied with that. He shot forward without delay, seized Yi Song-baek by the collar, and yanked him close to his face.
Seeing Chung Myung’s expression transform into that of a fiend in an instant, Yi Song-baek trembled so hard he could barely breathe.
"Where the hell did you learn that?"
"C-cough. W-what are you talking about…?"
"You—"
Chung Myung bit down hard on his lip.
Snow Flower Twelve Sword?
What bullshit.
Maybe he could fool everyone else with that name, but there was one person he could never fool.
The changes were clumsy and rough, but the basic form of that sword style was one Chung Myung knew all too well.
Plum Blossom in Full Bloom.
The sword of Mount Hua. The sword that represented Mount Hua.
The sword said to contain the essence of everything Mount Hua stood for.
The Twenty-Four Plum Blossom Sword Art.
The Twenty-Four Plum Blossom Sword Art, which had even been lost from Mount Hua itself, was being unleashed in the hands of Yi Song-baek.