The Broken Sword of Hyeoncheonokheogung
Carried out of the hall on Hyeonsong's back, Yeong-hwa took in the full sweep of the Wudang Sect at a glance.
"Waaaaah!"
He cried out in pure awe at its grandeur.
Hyeonsong spoke to the boy on his back.
"The place where you have been staying is called the Hall of the Eight Immortals."
Hagun added his own explanation to his master's words.
"The Hall of the Eight Immortals is where the elders of the Wudang Sect reside."
Hyeonsong shifted Yeong-hwa higher on his back as he spoke.
That was when it began.
Jingle— jingle— jingle— jingle— jingle—
The silver bells in Yeong-hwa's hand began to shake as if gone mad.
Yeong-hwa closed his eyes, raised the bells, and started pointing them, one by one, toward each of the Wudang Sect's eight great halls.
Hyeonsong and Hagun fell silent and waited, sensing the change that had come over the boy.
The place where the frantically ringing bells at last fell still was an elegant, solemn hall.
With his eyes half open, Yeong-hwa spoke.
"What is that place?"
Hyeonsong answered with a puzzled look. He had expected the boy to point toward the quarters of the sect leader or the elders seized by the madness.
"Hyeoncheonokheogung."
"And what is done there?"
"It is where we enshrine Hyeoncheon Sangje, and it also serves as the ancestral hall of the Wudang Sect."
Yeong-hwa's half-lidded eyes flashed wide.
"How can a place so sacred be so thick with lingering obsession?"
He wrinkled his nose as if he could no longer bear it.
"It is not ordinary resentment. It reeks of spoiled blood as well."
At those words, Hagun raised his voice.
"That cannot be! Hyeoncheonokheogung is where the former Taoist masters of Wudang are—"
"Hagun."
Hyeonsong's quiet word settled him at once.
"Let us go and see. What this child perceives may simply be different from ours."
"Yes, Elder."
"Please climb on as well, Elder Myeong-yeon."
"My thanks—but wait a moment."
Yeong-hwa's grandfather, Myeong-yeon, went back into Elder Hyeonsong's chambers. When he returned, he carried a drum and drumsticks, along with the five-color flags Yeong-hwa always used.
Yeong-hwa took the five-color flags from Myeong-yeon and tucked them into his sash.
Leaving Hagun's sour expression behind them, Hyeonsong spoke to Yeong-hwa.
"Are you ready?"
"Yes, Elder."
"Then let us go."
Hyeonsong and Hagun unfurled the Cloud Ladder Step. In moments they had arrived at Hyeoncheonokheogung, which stood at the very heart of the Wudang grounds.
The moment they reached it, the first-generation disciples who tended the hall came forward and paid their respects to Hyeonsong and Hagun.
Hyeonsong asked them,
"Have you already offered today's rites to Hyeoncheon Sangje and the masters of old?"
"We finished them at dawn, Elder."
"Open every door of Hyeoncheonokheogung."
"At once!"
Yeong-hwa slid down from Hyeonsong's back and gripped the silver bells in his hand.
At the sight, the first-generation disciples began to mutter among themselves.
"Even so, to let some fortune-teller into the very symbol of the Wudang Sect…"
"To think someone who is not even a formal disciple would set foot in Hyeoncheonokheogung…"
"What are you all standing around for? Did you not hear Elder Hyeonsong's command?"
At the roar of their eldest senior brother, Hagun, the disciples scrambled to throw open the doors of Hyeoncheonokheogung.
By then, however, the uproar in the courtyard had already drawn every disciple out to watch.
Hyeonsong spoke low to Yeong-hwa.
"I do not doubt you, but…"
He forced the rest of the words out with difficulty.
"What we are doing now is something that has never been permitted in the history of the Wudang Sect."
"You mean that no one who is not a disciple of Wudang may enter the ancestral hall."
"Just so."
"And that it is all the worse because I am a mudang whom they regard as little better than a street sorcerer."
Yet Yeong-hwa's face was full of quiet confidence.
"Do not worry, Elder Hyeonsong."
Jingle— jingle— jingle— jingle—
The bells at his waist began to shake of their own accord.
"My instincts have never been wrong."
Yeong-hwa looked to Myeong-yeon.
His grandfather had already taken his place before Hyeoncheonokheogung. He raised the drumsticks and stood ready to strike.
"Grandfather—please, with the True Chant of the Spirit Song."
Boom— boom— boom— boom— boom— boom—
Instead of an answer, the drum began to cry out in a mournful rhythm.
Yeong-hwa shook the bells and stepped slowly into Hyeoncheonokheogung.
It was every inch the ancestral hall of the Wudang Sect. Hundreds of memorial tablets stood in orderly ranks. At their center rose a wooden statue of Hyeoncheon Sangje.
Directly before the incense burner that smoked beneath the wooden image of Hyeoncheon Sangje, a broken sword lay upon a pedestal.
There Yeong-hwa clamped a hand over his nose and stopped singing.
He thrust the still-trembling silver bells back into his sash and this time took up the five-color flags.
Whoosh— whoosh— whoosh— whoosh—
The flags that had been whirling smoothly came to a sudden halt—on the black one.
Yeong-hwa's expression said he understood well enough.
Then his voice rolled out across Wudang Mountain.
Woven into the drumbeat, Yeong-hwa's chant set the broken sword vibrating as if seized by frenzy.
The disciples of Wudang who saw it reeled in shock.
"The former sect leader's sword!"
"What in heaven's name—!"
Yeong-hwa's dance and song showed no sign of stopping. Myeong-yeon's drumsticks hammered as if they meant to tear the drumhead itself.
Thud—
After a long, furious whirl of movement, Yeong-hwa's body went slack.
"Heh— heh— heh— heh— heh— heh—"
The voice that came from him was no longer a boy's. A coarse, gravelly old man's voice, thick with obsession, rang through Hyeoncheonokheogung.
Yeong-hwa threw his head back and laughed like a madman.
"Leave this place, you say?"
The muttered words continued without pause.
"Wudang is the place to which I devoted my entire life!"
The moment the words ended, the broken sword rose slowly into the air.
"How could a child like you understand a heart such as mine!"
Sweat beaded on Yeong-hwa's brow. He forced his eyes wide and glared at the sword.
"In the East, the Blue Emperor Spirit— In the South, the Red Emperor Spirit—"
Yeong-hwa poured every scrap of strength he had into the true words of the chant.
Hwaaaaaaaaaaaaaah—
Black energy and pure white energy burst from the broken sword. The blade shuddered violently and leveled itself at Yeong-hwa.
Chaaaaaaaaaang—
Seeing it, Hyeonsong ripped his own sword free at once to protect the boy.
But Myeong-yeon, still beating the drum, cried out in desperation.
"You must not, Elder Hyeonsong!"
"What do you mean by that!"
"If you interfere now while he is channeling the spirit, Yeong-hwa will be left an idiot!"
Sweat ran down Myeong-yeon's forehead. He kept striking the drum as he spoke on.
"Yeong-hwa is the one who opened this rite. This board must be closed by his own hand."
Everyone else stood frozen, unable to move before the unbelievable scene unfolding before their eyes.
By now the black and white energies pouring from the broken sword had formed a taiji. Strangely, both of the taiji's dots were stained a deep red.
"In the West, the White Emperor Spirit…"
Yeong-hwa's chant continued as if wrenched from his throat.
"In the North, the Black Emperor Spirit."
Paaaaaaaaaaak—
Yeong-hwa's hair burst into wild disarray as black serpents of energy rose and coiled around him.
Piiiiiiiiiiiik—
In the same instant, the broken sword shot toward Yeong-hwa's throat like a bolt of light.
Kaaaaaaaaaang—
It rebounded just short of his face as if it had struck an invisible wall.
"You arrived just in time, Lord Hyeoncheon Sangje."
Before Yeong-hwa, a hexagonal phantom shimmered into being, like the shell of a tortoise.
"I truly thought I was done for. What is it, then?"
Yeong-hwa began to hold a conversation in two voices at once. It looked as though two souls now shared a single body.
"I pay my respects to the former sect leader of the Wudang Sect."
"Who are you?"
"Mudang… Yeong-hwa."
"This is no place for some worthless street sorcerer to meddle."
"And yet that lowly thing is the only one who can hear the spirit of the former sect leader…"
Yeong-hwa's lips curved in a faint smile.
"So what will you do?"
"I laid a curse upon my own sect only to vent my grievance—nothing more!"
This time Yeong-hwa's face filled with anger.
"I meant nothing beyond that!"
One of Yeong-hwa's eyebrows lifted.
"I see. But is this something you truly wish to say before every disciple of the sect?"
"That is…"
"And how is it that you opened the Ghost Gate?"
Yeong-hwa glared at the sword and began to scold it, his expression dark with fury.
"This is the sort of act that will get every last one of us killed."
"The Ghost Gate… was not opened by me."
"So there is another hand behind it?"
"I… cannot remember…"
Hesitation colored the voice of the former sect leader that now lived in Yeong-hwa's body.
"I remain here because of my own obsession. Do not interfere."
"And yet, to resolve this matter, the former sect leader's part seems rather essential."
"You ask me to lend you my power?"
"I do."
Yeong-hwa threw his head back and laughed boldly.
"A sorcerer ought to know that every bargain between the living and the dead comes with a price."
Yeong-hwa drew a long breath, tucked the bells into his sash, and drew out his fan.
Shaaaaaaaaak—
He snapped the fan open and spoke.
"I have already crossed the line between life and death more times than I can count."
"Very well. If you fail to resolve this…"
The broken sword that had stopped before Yeong-hwa's nose gradually lost its force and wilted.
"I will remain here as I please—and I will take your life as well."
"And if I resolve the former sect leader's obsession…"
Yeong-hwa leveled the fan at the broken blade.
"Will you teach me the lost formula of the Taegeukhyekeom?"
"Ha… hahahahahahahaha!"
After a long, wild peal of laughter, the voice spoke again through Yeong-hwa.
"Very well. The bargain is struck."
Clang—
The broken sword fell to the floor.
"Remember this—there is a price to all things."
The fading voice seemed to mock Yeong-hwa with every word.
"Do not place your faith in gods who only pretend to be merciful."
The former sect leader's voice dwindled away.
"In the end, they will take from you the things you hold most dear… one by one."
Snap—
Yeong-hwa folded the fan and wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve.
He picked up the sword from the floor and carried it back to the pedestal before Hyeoncheon Sangje. Beneath it lay a scabbard stained with blood. Yeong-hwa sheathed the blade and belted it at his waist.
"It is finished."
With those words, the drum fell silent.
The disciples of Wudang gathered before Hyeoncheonokheogung stood stunned into silence.
Yeong-hwa staggered out of the hall. Hagun, who had been standing beside Myeong-yeon, rushed forward with a shocked face to catch him. His manner of address had become respectful.
"Young Master Yeong-hwa—are you all right?"
"I will be fine once I have slept a little."
Yeong-hwa wiped the blood running from his nose.
"Taoist Hagun, I have a request."
"Speak. I will do whatever I can."
"Please find me two ritual blades."
"Ritual blades?"
"The larger and sharper, the better."
"Understood. I will go down the mountain at once and—"
Then Elder Hyeonsong approached Yeong-hwa, his face still blank with shock.
"Are you saying… all of this was the work of the former sect leader?"
"No."
"What do you mean? Did you not just say as much with your own mouth?"
"I cannot speak of it fully yet—but the one who opened the Ghost Gate is someone else."
Yeong-hwa took Hyeonsong's hand.
"I will need nine freshly slaughtered pig carcasses and an ox head, along with the foods and wine the former sect leader favored most…"
He never finished the sentence. Yeong-hwa collapsed where he stood.
"Yeong-hwa!"
Hyeonsong caught the falling boy in his arms.
Myeong-yeon came running with the drum slung over his shoulder. He took one look at Yeong-hwa's condition and spoke.
"He suddenly forced his divine power to erupt. That is what did it."
He bit his lip and went on.
"The ox head would be for a rite of heavenly deliverance… but pig carcasses…"
Hyeonsong asked at the old man's words,
"What meaning do the pigs hold?"
"They are offerings used only in a Jingwigyeoljin rite."
"And what is that?"
"A shamanic ritual performed to seal the obsession of the living."
"How can a Taoist involve himself in such a thing!"
Hagun cried out, stricken. Myeong-yeon soothed him.
"I suspect Yeong-hwa has some other plan in mind."
Stroking the cheek of the boy who lay pale as paper in Hyeonsong's arms, Myeong-yeon murmured,
"I thought it would end once we had soothed the spirit of a single wronged soul."
Bitterness settled over the old man's face.
"It seems this will not be so easily finished."