The Sword That Would Represent Mount Hua (5)
The power carried within the sword circulated with incomparable gentleness.
From his shoulders all the way to the tips of his fingers, he felt as though he were filled to the brim with vigor.
By his own judgment, he was in peak condition today. It wasn’t easy to fully display one’s true skill in a bout fought under the name of the sect, but right now he was unquestionably swinging a better sword than he did in training or practice.
Yes.
That much was certain.
The line of his sword form was precise to perfection, and the distribution of inner power was as exact as if measured by a ruler. He even had the strange sensation that every part of the platform was completely under his control.
It was a freshness he had only felt a handful of times in his life. He was even starting to think that, if it came to it, he might be able to fight his own shixiong, Mu Jin, as an equal.
And yet…
Mu Yeon’s face was slowly clouded by suspicion.
Why isn’t he falling?
His gaze shifted toward where Yoon Jong stood. Yoon Jong was already so buried beneath the sword qi that he was barely visible, and he looked every bit as precarious as a man standing on the edge of a cliff.
It wasn’t that Mu Yeon was overestimating his own sword qi. Anyone who knew even a little about martial arts would say Yoon Jong was at a disadvantage right now.
But that only made Mu Yeon more confused.
Precarious?
That meant, in other words, that he was still enduring, didn’t it?
Even though Mu Yeon was unleashing his sword fully, and even though that sword was somehow sharper and more complete than usual, Yoon Jong was still holding against it.
Against him—a disciple of Mount Hua who was merely a third-generation disciple.
Is that even possible?
Of course, Yoon Jong, a disciple of Mount Hua, was astonishing enough for Mu Yeon to acknowledge him.
His posture, his effort, his endurance—all of it. There was much even Mu Yeon could have learned from him.
But no matter how impressive Yoon Jong was, he was not so extraordinary as to surpass the more than twenty years Mu Yeon had already lived.
If they were the same age, perhaps Yoon Jong might one day overtake him. But at least now, he was not his equal. He should not have been.
Then why…?
Why would he not fall?
Then Yoon Jong’s upper body swayed again, as though it were about to fold in half.
He twisted like a tree bending beneath a storm. But then, as if resisting the gusts pressing down on him, he forced his trembling body back into place.
He looked as though he would fall. As though he would fall—and yet he did not. He never did.
Something indescribable began to rise in Mu Yeon’s heart.
He was presently unleashing the Taechung Sword Art with all his strength. Among all the first-generation disciples of Wudang, there were not many who could withstand his full-power Taechung Sword Art.
And yet Yoon Jong was enduring it.
His inner power was lacking. The completeness of his sword was incomparable.
No matter how Mu Yeon thought about it, this was impossible.
His fingers twitched.
The flawless flow of his sword path wavered slightly, and the qi that had been moving so smoothly, like circulating water, shivered just a little.
Martial arts were ultimately something humans used.
No matter how perfectly honed they were, the moment impatience crept into the heart, they could not display their full power.
Ripples began to spread through the heart that had been as still as a lake throughout the bout.
This could hardly be called Mu Yeon’s fault. Anyone would be taken aback when confronted with something that exceeded the limits of their common sense.
No!
Mu Yeon, snapping back to himself, hurriedly tried to steady his mind.
But once the heart had been shaken, it wasn’t so easy to restore it. Yoon Jong’s figure, stubbornly enduring the sword qi, had already been burned into his eyes like a brand. How could he possibly recover his composure now?
“Huff.”
Mu Yeon let out a short breath and clenched his sword more tightly.
There’s no need to rush.
The victory was completely his.
Even if the opponent held out a little longer, nothing would change. It would merely delay the moment the outcome was decided.
So…
And yet, at that moment—
Within the ferocious current of sword qi surging like rapids, a sword that had been trembling with effort slowly came into view. It looked almost like a fresh shoot sprouting from an ancient tree.
And then, from the tip of that sword that had seemed on the verge of snapping, a flower tinted with a faint red light quietly bloomed.
Plum blossoms?
He had seen this before.
Hadn’t Jo Gul already shown him brilliantly blooming plum blossoms in their previous bout?
But the plum blossoms before him now felt somehow different from Jo Gul’s.
More modest, more orderly.
Yet by no means fragile.
No one would ever call plum blossoms strong. They were flowers that could be easily crushed by even a child’s careless touch, swayed by the wind, knocked down by rain, and unable even to withstand the passage of time.
The blossoming flowers were crushed without resistance by the waves of sword qi.
But they bloomed again.
Again, and again, even after falling. Even after withering and curling dry, plum blossoms endured winter and waited for spring before blooming once more, did they not? Weak as a flower might be, the life contained within a plum blossom was nothing short of tenacious.
That sword held that life within it.
The plum blossoms that bloomed while embracing life seized Mu Yeon’s gaze and would not let go, as though they were sucking him in.
Mu Yeon’s eyes slowly widened.
Watching the flowers bloom from the tip of the sword, Yoon Jong gritted his teeth.
I’m a little late.
The first among the Five Swords to begin learning the Plum Blossom Sword Art had been Baek Cheon. And among those Five Swords, Yoon Jong had been the last to bring it to bloom.
While Baek Cheon’s flowers swept across the world, and Yu I-seol’s quietly spread, widening her influence in silence, and Jo Gul’s sword soared freely through the sky, he had not been able to coax even half a blossom into bloom.
He had no choice but to feel the gap in talent—a gap that seemed impossible to ever close.
But Yoon Jong was neither disappointed nor despondent.
Does the plum tree live in order to bloom?
Someone might say so.
That plum blossoms live to bloom, to bear fruit, and to pass themselves on to later generations through that fruit. That this was the cycle of life.
But that was merely the law of the world.
Did the plum tree truly live in order to bloom?
As if.
The logic of the world often felt burdensome to him.
Drawing bigger pictures, looking farther ahead, preparing methodically for the future—that suited other people.
Yoon Jong was simply too busy enduring the present. Even thinking about tomorrow was a luxury. He strained himself just to cling to the crushing day in front of him, to keep from being swept away.
Wasn’t the plum tree the same?
Did it possess some grand intention to bloom? Some magnificent ambition to bear fruit and pass itself on to the next generation?
It was simply enduring and staying alive. And through those fierce, grinding days, one after another, did it not eventually achieve even the things it had never dared to hope for?
So this flower was nothing so grand. It was nothing more than a struggle not to be pushed aside by the weight of life.
Slash!
The skin on his forearm burst under the pressure of the sword qi, scattering blood in all directions. Yoon Jong’s body swayed violently, wounded and shaken to its core.
And yet the hand gripping the sword did not waver.
Even if he could no longer feel his hand, he could still swing his sword. Even if it felt as though his shoulder might be torn clean off, he could still swing his sword.
There was only one way for a turtle to catch a rabbit.
While the rabbit rested, while it slept, the turtle kept moving its short legs without pause. For him, those short legs were this single sword.
“Ugh…”
The groan he could not completely swallow slipped from between his clenched teeth.
Even the plum blossoms that others could bring forth so easily were, for Yoon Jong, something terribly arduous to produce. Each blossom had to be poured into with all his spirit and carved out as though he were shaving away his very soul.
Within the rushing torrent, the plum blossoms that held everything he was were swept away without mercy.
Crash, crash, crash, crash, crash!
Then the torrent grew even fiercer, and the pure white force of his sword qi surged like a vast river ridden by a dragon.
Yet even then, Yoon Jong’s plum blossoms revealed themselves one by one, and in the end, the dozens and then hundreds of blossoms that had multiplied gathered together, pressing shoulder to shoulder.
The tightly closed blossoms, as if enduring a freezing wind, stood firm against the rapids.
Twenty-Four Plum Blossom Sword Art, Plum Blossom Enduring Winter.
His plum blossoms were not the kind that bloomed in flamboyant splendor.
They were the blossoms that silently endured the winter of the world and at last welcomed spring.
The clustered blossoms pushed back the incoming sword qi. Even as the blade’s momentum grew fiercer and more powerful, for some reason it no longer felt as vivid as before.
Hold on!
Rooting themselves in the earth, the flower buds pressed against one another and endured the knife-like wind. That was snow plum—plum blossoms blooming in winter.
Endure it!
Then a great shout burst from Yoon Jong’s throat.
“Hraaahhhh!”
The plum blossoms, gathered like steel, received the torrent head-on. They swayed and trembled, but they held their ground with unyielding resolve and refused to be pushed back.
“T-this…!”
Stunned, Mu Yeon clenched his teeth so hard it seemed they might snap.
That wasn’t a wall. It wasn’t Mount Tai, nor was it the open sea. It was nothing more than a plum tree blooming in the middle of a field.
Then why couldn’t this sword qi break even that one withered plum tree?
No!
His eyes distorted further, reddening little by little. Bloodshot and wild, they fixed on Yoon Jong with a look that seemed ready to devour him.
“Crush!”
He poured out more force.
“Crush!”
He drove back the sword qi.
“Crushhhhhh!”
Even as he attacked, Mu Yeon’s sword tip was forced backward, and from it blue light shot up like a beam.
“Ah!”
Then Mu Yeon’s eyes flew wide open. What he was looking at was not Yoon Jong.
Behind the torrent of sword qi rushing toward Yoon Jong, another blade of sword qi had caught up—a sharp, dazzling white one.
Slash!
That sword qi, clearly different from the one before, cut through the waves ahead of it and hurtled toward Yoon Jong.
“N-no—!”
Before the cry had even fully left his mouth, the sword qi plunged swiftly into Yoon Jong’s plum blossoms.
BOOOOOOM!
With an explosion, blue sword qi and red plum-blossom sword qi scattered in all directions. A storm of vast energy swallowed the platform whole.
“Fall back!”
“Kuh!”
The disciples of Wudang and Mount Hua watching from the sides hurriedly retreated. The blast’s aftereffects were so powerful that even they, standing at a distance, were swept up by it.
What about the result?
What happened?
Everyone knew it instinctively. There was nothing after this. The outcome had been decided right here.
When the thick fog of dust cleared, the one still standing would be the victor.
Who is it?
Who’s still standing?
In the silence, everyone fixed their eyes on the platform.
At last, the wind came and pushed away the rising dust.
There was only one person standing upright on the platform.
“……”
Baek Cheon smiled faintly and nodded.
It can’t be helped.
The one still standing was Mu Yeon. His face had gone deathly pale, but he was unquestionably standing on both feet, firm and upright.
By contrast, Yoon Jong had dropped his sword and was kneeling on one knee, breathing hard. To anyone who looked, the outcome was obvious.
Well fought, Yoon Jong.
What did the result of the bout matter, in the end?
Baek Cheon turned to look at the other disciples of Mount Hua. Every one of them was clenching his teeth and fighting back tears as they stared at the kneeling Yoon Jong.
Everything that needed to be conveyed has been conveyed.
No one would ever blame Yoon Jong for his defeat. That was, in fact, a loss more valuable than victory.
Just as Baek Cheon was about to speak, Mu Yeon, looking down at Yoon Jong, calmly opened his mouth first.
“What is a bout?”
“……”
“A bout is a contest of martial skill. And a contest of one’s cultivation.”
A faint smile touched his pale face.
“My sword was in no way inferior to yours, but my cultivation fell short of yours. As a Daoist, I should have devoted myself to cultivation before I devoted myself to the sword.”
He slowly shook his head, then placed both hands together and extended them forward in a respectful gesture.
“I have lost.”
The words were so plain, so matter-of-fact, that they hardly sounded like the declaration of defeat. Everyone’s mouths fell open.
“……Lost?”
Baek Cheon’s eyes also flew wide.
What was he saying?
Anyone could see that Mu Yeon had won this fight. Then why was he the one stepping forward to admit defeat first?
And he was not the only one who felt that bewilderment.
“What nonsense are you spouting!”
A great voice exploded from the Wudang camp. It was Heo Sanja.
“Lost? Defeat? Why are you admitting defeat yourself? Anyone can see that you won this bout!”
“Elder.”
Mu Yeon shook his head slightly and said, calmly,
“Please do not make me any more ashamed than I already am.”
The gaze he turned toward Heo Sanja was achingly still.
“If no one else, then surely you must have seen it. Haven’t you?”
“What are you talking about right now!”
Heo Sanja still refused to accept it and raised his voice. Looking at him, Mu Yeon spoke again.
“I used a killing technique in the previous bout because I could not overcome my impatience.”
“You…!”
Heo Sanja’s eyes widened as though he had been struck dumb.
He was not shocked because Mu Yeon had used a killing technique. He was stunned that Mu Yeon had brought it up in front of so many people.
As expected, murmurs began to spread all around them.
With unwavering resolve, Mu Yeon continued in a steady voice.
“In a bout meant for mutual learning, this is something that should never happen. Once I return, I will go into the chamber of repentance. I seem to have long forgotten that there are things more important than the sword.”
“Y-you…!”
Heo Sanja ground his teeth, but Mu Yeon simply turned away from him without lingering and looked back at Yoon Jong.
“Thank you for teaching me.”
“……I don’t think I really did, though.”
“Not everything is conveyed in words. I learned something truly great from your bearing.”
Mu Yeon smiled faintly.
“When I have shaken off the confusion in my heart and returned, I ask that you spar with me once more.”
Yoon Jong quietly nodded.
Mu Yeon smiled and made a formal salute.
“I learned a great deal.”
“……I learned a great deal as well.”
Watching Mu Yeon turn away without a shred of hesitation, Yoon Jong let out the breath he had been holding, low and quiet.
So that’s what a disciple of an orthodox sect looks like.
After admitting defeat so cleanly, he left not a single trace of regret behind. He was like the very sword he used—like flowing water.
Thud.
At last, unable to endure any longer, Yoon Jong sat down where he was and stared blankly up at the sky.
A sky so clear there wasn’t a single cloud looked down at him.
Still… I endured again.
It would continue. Today’s day would become tomorrow.
And someday, it would lead him to a future where he would shine.
At that moment, Mount Hua’s third-generation disciple Yoon Jong had earned a dignified victory over Wudang’s first-generation disciple Mu Yeon.