The Sovereign, Teacher, and Father as One
There's an old saying: Sovereign, Teacher, and Father are one. It’s a heartwarming concept, isn't it? Instructing us to revere our master and our ruler just like our own parents. Of course, how the hell are you supposed to treat some stranger you've never even seen like a parent? But hey, if they say it's good, it's good, right?
That said, some worthless superiors or masters twist the phrase to their own ends. "The master is like a parent, and the king's words are like your parents'—I'm the king, you're the subject, got it, disciple?" That kind of bullshit logic. But Cheong-yong's master wasn't like that.
"Don't stand. Sell your master if you have to—just live." Cheong-yong took that command to heart. The moment he heard, "Don't die, disciple. Even if you roll like a dog, as long as you stay alive, your master will handle the rest," his young heart surged. He kowtowed flat and vowed never to let such a thing happen again, training like hell to repay that bone-deep debt of gratitude. So his master wouldn't have to burn incense at his grave with those wrinkled hands, even if it meant fleeing or kneeling.
Lately, though, Cheong-yong had been thinking: "Wouldn't dying on my feet be the true spirit of Wudang, Master?"
"Slave. Nice weather today, huh."
"...Yes."
"On a day like this, why not train that Tai Chi, Tai Chi Wise Sword together?"
Look at that shameless grab for martial arts. Just days ago, he thought she was some hidden hermit expert of the jianghu, but her antics... 'Atonement for rudeness. Atonement for rudeness.' Even convincing himself like that, suddenly ten years felt way too long. He'd seriously considered bolting midway.
If he knelt, banged his head, and begged this prickly woman, maybe he could shave it down to three years? But what he could always hide behind was this:
"Master."
"What? Master?"
"...Mistress. Wrapping the sword qi three times as you said—it's difficult."
"Heh. Figure it out yourself. Why ask me?"
"..."
"Mood. Buy me a bottle of liquor, and I might tell you... depending on how good it tastes, my tongue might loosen up nice and easy."
"I'll wrap up some dumplings and dongpo pork too."
"Mmm, that's the stuff. Good work."
Those casual words she tossed out so offhandedly—they were precious because they really were. Whether it was her aptitude for teaching or not, her words held a profound subtlety rivaling the sermons unraveled by her sect's elders. Sure, her personal realm and power fell short of a true master, but her guidance was worth acknowledging and following, enough to call her "mistress."
"Saw some chicken skewers on the way—smelled so good, I bought some."
"Ooh, really? But you didn't just bring one bottle of booze, right? Don't be stingy."
"...Packed a few bottles of sohongju too."
Aside from her quirky personality, she seemed plenty worth serving. After a few days tending her, her temper wasn't that rotten... right? At least she didn't walk the demonic path. Good enough, debts paid in full.
"Hya! Have a drink yourself."
"Yes."
Minus the irritating titles, he could almost see it as just serving a slightly eccentric master.
"Hoo, hot out. Shall we...?"
"Yes."
Best part of all? Night watch, probably. Don't misunderstand—the girl who calls a Taoist a monk wouldn't mean the straight-laced version. Cheong-yong was the one who'd misunderstood most when he first heard that sleazy line.
"Raise your blade."
"Here I go."
Sparring was short but intense. Every night, drunk on booze, he received guidance from his "deceased" master—but he still couldn't graze her sleeve.
"Heh heh heh."
Afterward, she'd smirk lewdly, wriggling her body like she was mimicking his Cheong-un Sword Method and Tai Chi Wise Sword... Nah, no way. If clashing blades let you ape a technique's essence, every martial art in the world would be public domain. Secret manuals are secret for a reason.
You might pick up counters or variants from endless clashes, but the soul of Wudang—the intent etched by its ancestors? No chance.
"Hmm. Swing it a bit more fluidly?"
...Right? Watching her drunkenly sway under the moonlight sometimes creeped him out, but no. She'd only demo'd half the Tai Chi Wise Sword, and Cheong-un Sword Method needed special Cheong-un Sword Qi in the dantian.
So he watched her sword dance—master, corpse, mistress? Whatever the hell to call her—filled his belly with her leftovers and booze, and before he knew it, dawn broke.
"Hic. Cough. Slave."
"Yes."
"Carry me."
Under the creeping sunset glow, a sweat-soaked woman writhed. Hoisting her groaning, muscle-sore ass to bed ended the day's routine.
...Yeah. The day's routine. Sun up, and the day was over—shattering Wudang habits and common sense. Plus, snagging scraps of booze and meat from her errands fattened him up. Wudang was lax on abstinence among Taoists, but this? Thirty days facing the wall, minimum.
"Ah. Master."
This disciple picked the wrong master—big time. But fleeing? Debt tugged at his heart, and the training helped insanely. Was this right?
"No. Don't rely on your master, Cheong-yong. It's the path you chose. Not wasting time—it's all training..."
"Hey."
"Yes."
"Gotta shit. Outhouse."
"...Pardon?"
"Carry me. Take me."
I miss my master. . . . . . . . . . . .
"Ahh, refreshing."
How long since I'd felt this weak? This real-time rush of getting stronger? Back then, pure talent took a slum kid to Swordmaster. But post-Swordmaster walls were mountains on mountains—growth stalled hard.
Now? Trash body, endless fixes—paradoxically thrilling growth. Like starting a second playthrough after maxing out.
"Muscles and flexibility take a year minimum..."
Who gives a shit? Beyond basics, aura stimulates muscles and nerves. Recovery? Suck in ambient life force, patch up. Suck Star Great Law heal with life force? Told you—my world's mana absorption tech outclasses murim. Peak of a millennium's research.
"Better than a goblin, at least."
Progress was real: muscle, flex, lung capacity up. But from goblin to hobgoblin? Dragon's standards ain't impressed. And Cheong-yong stonewalled every ploy to leak arts—no real gains. Tai Chi Wise Sword level would've sufficed.
"Need pure, violent qi to toughen up."
Spirit herbs? This world got 'em?
"Yes."
"Knew it. Gotta be."
Asked, got yes. Don't know? Ask. Local guide spilled everything but manuals.
"Right. How to get 'em? Names, origins—spill."
"Plenty famous ones: heavenly spirit herbs like gongcheongseokyu, millennium snow lotus, millennium polygonum; Shaolin's Great Reversion Pill, Huashan's Purple Spirit Pill, and Wudang's Tai Chi Earth Pill—less famed than Great Reversion but unmatched potency."
Bit biased at the end, but natural and artificial elixirs galore.
"Cool. How to snag 'em? Auction house?"
"Can't."
"Huh?"
"Heavenly herbs get swallowed on sight. Sect elixirs are guarded secrets—won't circulate outside."
True. ...Steal 'em?
"..."
"What? Why that look from a slave?"
"Stealing's wrong."
"Think I don't know?"
"Knowing and doing's worse."
Stuffy goody-two-shoes. Fine, this body's too weak anyway.
"Lower the bar. Good manuals or herbs—any way?"
"Even I don't know... If there was, everyone'd be doing it."
"No point dragging you if you're useless."
"Wait. Let me think."
I wasn't expecting much. What secrets from a knight-level scrub?
"Fine. No herbs? Brothel for booze."
"How'd you... Never mind. Have fun."
"? You're coming."
Cheong-yong clutched his neck. Glared like his robes and topknot weren't screaming "Taoist."
"I'm a Taoist, see..."
"So? Have fun."
That's the problem! No arguing, so he got dragged along.
Chil-yang County had no real landmarks. But that towering three-story pavilion? Chil-un Lou, pride of the locals—well, the menfolk.
Why? Great food or hotties? Nah. Pretty, fiery girls generous with love.
Many think courtesans just sell flesh—but types vary. Beauties know it, act haughty: songs, chats, drinks for big bucks. Fine for some, but we know why men pick brothels over inns.
That? Yeah, that—moans, bed creaks. For guys wanting quality without riches, ready to blow a month's pay: Chil-un Lou.
"Absolutely not, elder."
"Third floor... curious."
"Please hold back. Just drinks and food?"
"Nah."
Brothel front: woman vs. man bickering. Casual glance: sister reining brother, maid curbing young master. Eavesdrop? Chaos.
"Why not? Grope tits, request songs, booze... mood heats up, mouth-to-mouth drinks."
Her saying it.
"Born male? Sample women. Got a girl? Tough luck."
"None!"
"Then what's the issue... Like guys?"
"No way... Sigh. Please, senior."
I couldn't get it. Dickboy hugging girls—what's wrong? Paying for flirty service, not forced. They babble but never refuse a clingy girl.
"Problem?"
"I'm Wudang Taoist."
"Know. Marriage free, right? So?"
"Even so, banging courtesans stains the sect..."
"Ah, so brothel girls are world's sluts—too filthy, worthless?"
"Didn't say that!"
Teasing goldmine. Glad he's useful.
"Hey. Without me, when'd you hit a brothel?"
"..."
"Slave mouthing off? Dumb slave 'forced' by mean mistress. Admit you're curious."
"..."
Reason I'm pushing: Stuff self silly there—no cash on me. His pouch it is, but burning his money on "girl time" pricks conscience. Join, rack bill, stick him—perfect.
"Sigh. Can't even enjoy freebies. Just leave."
"..."
"Get smashed, party—prep honey water in my room. Can't do that, what slave?"
Cheong-yong blinked, speechless. Then his eyes twitched at my words.
"Eunuch bastard."
"Let's go."
"Kiyot-ho!"
"Serve booze and girls!"
"Heh heh, to the first floor... Gasp!"
"Ahh, see? That's gold. Gleaming yellow."
Wudang's big sect, lax on greed. Caravans, youth-preservation arts for rich geezers, priceless tonics. Cheong-un Jin-in stuffed his pouch for his first outing disciple.
But on brothel whores by a girl? Primal Lord didn't foresee.
Flashy silver-gold prepay landed us third-floor VIP easy.
Soon, unbidden snacks and bottles covered the table—with cleavage-bearing maid.
"Ooh...!"
"..."
I grinned. Cheong-yong, hiding Wudang robes under overcoat, averted eyes.
Sultry smile, she drew bottle from titty valley, poured.
Process? Peach paradise: bounce, jiggle, trickle... Viewing alone rivaled cloud-rain ecstasy. Firm apricot glow—no Do-yuan envy. Kyaa! This is why spend!
"Welcome to our house, great hero. How about a cup of premium Dugang liquor to wet your throat first?"