The Realm of No-Self
Scores of people had gathered in this place. The arena where the later-generation disciples of the Nine Great Sects and the Dongjeong Lake factions were holding their sparring tournament. And atop it, the essence of the Huashan Sword was unfolding.
Its protagonist was Byeok Seol-hwa.
At first, it had seemed like nothing more than light, swift movements. But as time passed, her swordsmanship gradually blossomed into something fiercer and more beautiful.
Twenty-Four Plum Blossom Sword Technique.
Explosion within stillness, sharpness within softness. Instead of heaviness and complexity, it cleaved through all things with simplicity. The signature technique of Huashan, proudly displayed in the body of Byeok Seol-hwa, a later-generation disciple not yet in her thirties.
Realizing her skill was no ordinary matter, the other later-generation disciples of the Nine Great Sects shot to their feet. Whether it was Cheongsung's Nam Sogyun, Shaolin's Do Jin, or Jongnam's Yeon Jin who had been mingling with her... all were greatly astonished by her prowess.
'Huashan again...!'
No one could underestimate a Huashan disciple. But because she was a woman—and a particularly beautiful one at that—they had assumed she had certain limitations. Moreover, considering no information about her had ever leaked out, it was hard to imagine Huashan producing yet another such outstanding talent.
But look at the level of swordsmanship she was displaying now. Wasn't it a genius on par with Yeon Hwi, who had shaken the world just a few years ago?
Yet what was even more astonishing was that someone was withstanding—enduring—the feast of plum blossoms she unleashed.
Yi Jingang, the eldest young master of Yi Gajang.
His kind face, his still slender frame, his tense expression and clumsy movements. He seemed on the verge of being crushed by the onslaught of Huashan's sword aimed at him.
Buried in the plum blossoms blooming from all directions, his presence was invisible. But he still stood on the arena stage. Upright, swinging his sword frantically.
At first, the crowd had laughed loudly. Compared to Byeok Seol-hwa's beautiful and masterful swordsmanship, his movements looked like nothing more than flailing about without direction, to anyone watching.
But soon, people realized that his seemingly clumsy actions were blocking or deflecting her sword strikes one by one.
And that was not all. Jingang's eyes gradually steadied, confidence emerged in his hands and feet—and the clumsy movements began to find their proper form.
Piercing through the thick plum blossom scent enveloping everything—a single thread of clear energy began to shoot toward the heavens.
'-Tch!'
Byeok Seol-hwa grew anxious. Her mind raced. She hadn't expected that even unleashing the Plum Blossom Sword Technique—drawing out nearly seventy percent of her inner power—wouldn't subdue her opponent yet.
His skill was unexpectedly high, but still clearly below hers. Yet he kept barely dodging or deflecting her attacks, as if floundering.
Byeok Seol-hwa gradually poured in more power. What had started at thirty percent had now surpassed seventy, reaching eighty percent.
She hadn't anticipated needing to expend so much. But now was not the time to hold back. The fact that this seemingly unremarkable man—not even in the finals, but in her very first public spar upon entering the Central Plains—had blocked her path...
'Just a bit more. Just a bit more!'
Byeok Seol-hwa could not back down.
Jingang had fallen into a trance.
As expected, his opponent's swordsmanship was no trifling matter. It had form in advance and retreat, strength in softness, simplicity in splendor. The saying that one could not discuss the world's greatest sword without Huashan was not born in vain.
Before the pouring attacks, Jingang had no time to dwell on the confusion, distrust, and doubt that had filled him. Perhaps because her assaults left no room for thought.
But the important thing was that he hadn't lost yet.
Each time this dazzling woman's sword traced a plum blossom, each time he barely blocked or evaded her strike—his breathing steadied bit by bit, and his mind cleared.
The instinctive movements he unleashed amid the storm of blades. Piecing them together haphazardly, Jingang realized they formed a single sword art.
The swordsmanship he had immersed himself in since childhood, practicing alone endlessly: Cheongcheon Ilro.
They said it was created by his ancestor, the world's greatest martial artist, Yi Gyeol. But it had been left incomplete, unfinished.
Thus, no one had comprehended it, and no one had dared to master it.
'Cheongcheon Ilro. Cheongcheon Ilro...'
Swinging his sword, Jingang repeated the words endlessly in his mind.
The one road granted by the blue sky. How could there be but one path in the way of the sword? Thus, this sword art was arrogant, contradictory in itself.
But at some point, Jingang felt he was nearing the answer. And in this moment, Yi Jingang realized that what he pursued was indeed the truth.
It was the conclusion only he—fixated solely on Cheongcheon Ilro among the myriad arts of Yi Gajang—could reach.
'If the path holds infinite possibilities, then the path I believe to be right must be the true one!'
Suddenly, in his imagination, a figure he had never seen nodded. Fierce eyes exuding uncontrollable pressure. A middle-aged man resembling a mountain lord overlooking the world from a high cliff.
No. He had seen him before. When he first demonstrated Cheongcheon Ilro before his youngest brother Jinpyeong.
The thought that the man resembled Jinpyeong made Jingang chuckle.
His swinging sword resonated. His opponent had long vanished from view; soon, even the image of the world's greatest, Yi Gyeol, and Jinpyeong faded.
Only the sword and himself remained. This was called the realm of no-self.
Sweat poured like rain, his heart raced wildly, he rolled, and laughed heartily—continuing his sword dance solely for himself.
On the path he walked, fast and slow were one, slash and block undivided. There was no boundary between self and foe.
One path beneath the heavens—that was the world itself.
At some point, his movements halted abruptly. Slowly, a blade of blue energy rose, pointing to the high sky.
Byeok Seol-hwa's sword had stopped long ago. Because she knew his swordsmanship was no longer engaging her.
She simply stood frozen, staring blankly at Yi Jingang, lost in his own world.
No intent to attack emanated from him. He was merely dancing as one with his sword.
But could she pierce that sword to strike? No.
Wasn't that what she had tried and failed at all this time?
In a way, it was absurd. In a tournament meant to decide victor and vanquished, one fighter lost in his solitary world, swinging his sword alone.
Yet even after considerable time passed, no one stopped Jingang or called for him to halt. They merely watched his sword dance, entranced.
The referee overseeing the match, the crowds who had cheered for Byeok Seol-hwa's beauty and skill, the Nine Great Sects' later-generation disciples who had eyed her warily—all of them.
Even, at some point, the elders of the Nine Great Sects who had not appeared before now gathered to observe Jingang's sword dance.
Their expressions were grave.
Byeok Seol-hwa could guess their thoughts. Probably all the same.
She, who had believed Huashan's sword alone the most beautiful and perfect, realized otherwise upon witnessing the man's sword before her.
And so, even when the youth's movements finally ceased and his sword thrust high toward the sky—no one spoke. For a long while...
Yi Jinpyeong returned to the arena at just that moment.
Standing with his brother Jingang on the stage was a female disciple of Huashan, yet not a single soul among the crowd looked her way. All stared at Yi Jingang in stunned silence.
Jingang's body drenched in sweat. His sword thrust high toward the heavens.
From the gazes pouring toward him, Jinpyeong could roughly surmise what had happened.
'Always so flashy.'
Forcing his brothers into the tournament wasn't to suffer humiliation. It was to proclaim to the entire Central Plains that not only himself, but his brothers—and Yi Gajang as a whole—had grown tremendously, awakening from their long winter slumber.
Jinun and Jingang's skills had advanced far beyond what Jinpyeong had imagined, so how shocked must others be!
As Jinpyeong smirked, Jingang snapped out of it and sheathed his sword. He startled once at his sweat-soaked clothes, then again at the dazed crowd staring at him.
"My apologies. I made that mistake again..."
Greatly flustered, he cupped his fists toward all directions. It was hard to believe this awkwardness came from the one who had just displayed that otherworldly sword dance.
As everyone still reeled from the shock, the sparring referee, receiving Jingang's salute, blinked in surprise.
"Is it over?"
"Yes, it's over, but..."
"Has a winner been decided?"
The referee asked dumbly, as if forgetting his role.
Jingang scratched his head and replied.
"I wasted all this time alone and couldn't even dream of attacking my opponent, so I suppose I lost."
The referee glanced at Byeok Seol-hwa. She still stared at Yi Jingang.
Hesitating briefly, the referee raised his voice in declaration.
"Since the opponent concedes defeat, victory goes to Huashan's disciple, Byeok Seol-hwa!"
The arena remained silent.
Yi Jingang cupped his fists politely once more—toward Byeok Seol-hwa, the hundreds in the crowd, the Nine Great Sects' later-generation disciples, and even the elders who had appeared to watch the sword dance.
Only upon returning to his seat did he belatedly spot Jinpyeong. His face lit up with joy, then turned embarrassed as he scratched his head.
"Did you see? It ended up like this again. Haha..."
Jinpyeong replied, his twitching lips unnoticed.
"Well, I didn't expect much anyway."
The brothers laughed together—and heartily.