Heavenly Dipper Sword Formula (3)
Once his private audience with Okwon Jinin ended, Cheonhwa borrowed a training cave at once and entered closed-door cultivation.
His first priority was consolidating the mid-stage extreme mastery of the Thirty-Six Swords Under Heaven. He reconfirmed the mental images and functions of Layer Upon Layer and Boundless Sea, then drilled until he could call upon mid-stage extreme mastery at will.
The formula for Boundless Sea… Maybe because I drew inspiration from Cheong-ha’s Jade Plum Sword Formula, it feels oddly similar?
Where Layer Upon Layer was the convergence of a sword art’s subtle principles, Boundless Sea was the binding of sword stances to true qi techniques. It let him shatter the boundary between stance and qi skill and freely fuse them into one. Through that, he could spontaneously create forms like Clear Wind Fine Rain or Elegant Cloud Mountain. Even the Thunderbolt Flash Charge he unleashed in the Dragon-Phoenix Gathering finals had been the fusion of Heavenly Flash, Heavenly Thunderclap, and Heavenly Lightning Bolt into a single whole.
Since I can bind them freely, the reverse is just as free—I can undo the binding whenever I wish.
Cheonhwa recalled the moment in his bout with Cheong-ha when their ultimate techniques had collided. At the time, Thunderbolt Flash Charge had absorbed Cheong-ha’s ultimate technique and been about to crash down on him. Had he left it alone, the technique would have struck him dead-on and inflicted a fatal wound. So Cheonhwa had unraveled the Boundless Sea mental image that held Thunderbolt Flash Charge together. Unable to maintain its form, the technique had simply dissolved into nothing.
Normally, forcibly halting a technique mid-execution would reverse one’s internal energy or send backlash ripping through the body. Yet for some reason this method produced neither reverse flow nor recoil. From that, Cheonhwa glimpsed a new possibility.
Last time I only nullified the technique. But depending on how I apply it, I might be able to reclaim the internal energy or force release I poured into a form and reuse it.
While circulating the mid-stage extreme mastery formula, he rested by regulating his breath and sinking into meditation. His consciousness slipped naturally into the realm of mental imagery. What awaited him there was a great door—a new vantage point born from completing mid-stage extreme mastery.
He gave the door a light push. It did not budge. A massive lock hung across the entrance, making it plain that a key was required to open it.
Where do I find the key?
As if answering his doubt, ripples spread across the floor. With those ripples an entrance to the depths below revealed itself. Cheonhwa started down the stairs.
Step. Step. Step.
In darkness so thick he could not see an inch ahead, only the echo of his footsteps answered. Even though this was only a mental image, every trivial detail had been rendered with such care. Or perhaps it was possible precisely because a mental image shifted according to one’s perspective.
Turning such thoughts over, he descended the stairs carefully yet steadily. How deep had he gone? By the time his sense of duration had gone numb, he finally reached the bottom.
There stood a gloomy prison—a dungeon of considerable scale. What could be locked away that needed a cell so vast? Cheonhwa approached the single dungeon cage with caution.
Beyond the iron bars a prisoner’s outline became faintly visible. The frame was not large—perhaps only a child of about ten. He could not make out the face. More accurately, black mist had merely taken on a human shape. Yet the ghastly red light flashing in those eyes from the dark was nothing human. Cheonhwa realized that what stood before him was a beast, a predator, wearing the form of a person.
[Grrrrrrrrr……!]
The moment the shadow sensed him it snarled and threatened. Crouched low, it looked ready to spring at any instant—yet the attempt ended in futility. Chains coiled around its entire body held it fast. The creature strained to free itself; only a dry rattle of metal answered. The chains never loosened. Its strength seemed to leave it. Losing interest in Cheonhwa, the beast slumped to the floor.
Cheonhwa’s gaze settled on the multicolored chains binding the shadow. The chains divided into three colors: yellow, white, and black. Familiar energy flowed through them as well.
This is internal energy?
From the yellow chains he felt the qi of the Balanced Heaven Qi Accumulation Art. From the white, the Vast Heaven Qi Art. From the black, the Dark Heaven True Qi. Only then did he understand what the chains represented.
Every internal art I’ve cultivated until now has taken form as these chains.
Then what, exactly, had been given shape as the shadow suppressed by those arts? He pressed his face close to the bars and stared. The shadow lifted its head and stared back. In those blood-red eyes gleamed a murderous aura as sharp as a naked blade. At last Cheonhwa knew the shadow’s true identity.
You are my killing heart.
[Hmph.]
At his certain realization the shadow snorted, as though mocking him for only now understanding. The killing heart had been born in the days when Cheonhwa was still an orphan of the world, long before he entered the Zhongnan Sect. It was the razor-honed murderous intent and survival instinct he had forged simply to stay alive in a merciless environment. In the early days after he first began martial arts, that killing heart had risen at every opportunity and tormented him endlessly.
But as my mastery of the Balanced Heaven Qi Accumulation Art deepened, it gradually settled.
The heart methods of orthodox martial arts were, true to their name, studies in governing the mind. The deeper one cultivated them, the more one could restrain runaway emotions. By the time he had perfected the Balanced Heaven Qi Accumulation Art, the killing heart no longer flared of its own accord. Learning the Vast Heaven Qi Art and Dark Heaven True Qi had only strengthened that control. Back then he had assumed it was simply because he had adapted to life in the Zhongnan Sect. Looking through the lens of mental imagery now, he saw he had merely been suppressing it with the heart methods all along.
I thought the desperation had left me purely because of my environment. That wasn’t the whole of it.
The killing heart was the sum of Cheonhwa’s past. How could his mindset remain the same when that heart was held down? The unyielding resolve never to retreat from battle, the desperate wish to find a living path through the jaws of death—both had sprung from the killing heart itself.
What am I to do with you?
He seated himself before the iron bars of the dungeon and regarded the killing heart. He could not be certain that freeing it from this prison was the right choice. The killing heart was a blade without a hilt, keen beyond measure. For every wound it dealt an enemy, it risked wounding its wielder just as deeply. For now the internal arts kept it quiet and bound. If it ran wild once released, he could fall into qi deviation.
But I can’t simply leave it like this either.
To cross the wall into Peak Expert, he needed every formula of extreme mastery from both the early and middle stages of the Thirty-Six Swords Under Heaven. The killing heart before him was the core that completed the early-stage extreme mastery. Early-stage extreme mastery without the killing heart would be nothing but an empty shell.
There’s nothing left to debate. I settled this long ago.
Affirm the past, endure the present, advance into the future. That was the mental image he had drawn when he first created the formula of Layer Upon Layer. The killing heart was his past itself; how could he move forward without accepting it?
As if answering his resolve, a key appeared in the empty air and settled into his hand. The multicolored key was the formula of Layer Upon Layer given shape. He fitted it into the lock at the corner of the dungeon bars and turned it. With a heavy clank the door swung open. The moment Cheonhwa stepped inside, the door shut of its own accord. Until he settled matters with the killing heart, leaving would be impossible.
He steadied his breath once, then stretched out his hand toward the killing heart. At once the chains binding the shadow all came free and flew toward him, transforming into the pure energy of the internal arts and sinking into his body. At the same time his appearance changed. In his hand he held his favored jade wooden sword, Okgyeong. Around his body he wore a white long robe embroidered with splendid cloud patterns. That was the present he himself had built.
“Come!”
[KRAAAAAAAAH!]
At his shout the shadow freed from its chains roared without the slightest hesitation and charged. Thus past and present collided inside the mental image, one as shadow, the other as martial artist.
The killing heart’s combat style was fiercely instinctive and rough. Though its body was small, it armored itself in venomous ferocity to close the gap. It dodged or blocked only the truly lethal blows; any lesser strike it deliberately accepted so it could launch a reckless counter. It was the pure fighting method of trading flesh to break bone.
Its weapon was a sharp shard of stone—something Cheonhwa knew well, a tool he had used constantly in childhood. How much force could a tiny hand drive through a stone chip? The problem was that this was not reality but a mental image. Here, the strength of will was power itself. Every attack of the killing heart, saturated with the will to live, struck like the ultimate technique of a Peak Expert.
Thud!
The stone shard punched clean through the Heavenly Silk Treasure Robe as if the fabric were paper. To push the killing heart back, Cheonhwa swung a fist into its side. Instantly a dull pain flared in his own side.
Exactly the same place I struck?
Only then did he understand: any damage he dealt the killing heart returned to him. In a way it was only natural. The killing heart was no one else’s—it was a part of Cheonhwa himself. Wounding it was no different from self-harm. Yet the killing heart, struck, moved on as if it had felt nothing at all. The longer the fight dragged on, the more one-sided Cheonhwa’s injuries became. Before long the white Heavenly Silk Treasure Robe was riddled with holes and dyed crimson. The pain that rebounded every time he attacked the killing heart blurred his vision.
Simply winning the fight won’t be enough.
Even while receiving the killing heart’s assault he thought without cease. This was not a problem that could be solved by beating the killing heart into submission. Just as the scenery and elements within the mental image had continually transformed, he needed a new perspective that would transform the killing heart itself.
He looked at it. Its every movement was a thrashing struggle to stay alive, filled with the murderous intent to kill its opponent before it itself died. Cheonhwa too was moving in order to live—yet the difference was that he focused on defending his own body. Those two opposing images closely resembled a classic koan that always arose when debating the essence of martial arts.
Some said: the essence of martial arts is ultimately nothing more than the art of killing. No matter how many lofty phrases one attaches, everything comes down to how well one kills. Others said: the essence of martial arts lies in self-cultivation—the mastery of preserving oneself intact through every crisis. Was only one side the correct answer to that question? Either side could be right, and either side could be wrong. Then what decided the answer?
It was this:
The purpose for which one uses martial arts.
A sharp kitchen knife becomes a murder weapon when it stabs a person, yet becomes an excellent cooking tool when it slices ingredients. In the same way a sword art becomes a Killing Sword when it takes life, yet becomes a Life-Saving Sword when it protects others.
Would a killing heart be any different?
This might be nothing more than an excuse. He might simply be searching for a justification to bare murderous intent and kill someone. Yet he was not so gentle a person that he never harbored killing intent toward others, nor was he a madman who found ecstasy in taking life.
I am merely a human who learned how to carry murderous qi simply in order to survive.
At that thought his mind cleared as if a light had been switched on. Instinctively he knew. This was the only way to break the situation. He released Okgyeong from his hand and simply accepted the killing heart’s attacks. The shadow stabbed with the stone, raked with its nails, tore with its teeth—every means at its disposal. Cheonhwa endured it all without moving.
Blood poured from his body and pooled on the floor. The killing heart prepared its final blow to end him. It struck the joints of his legs, toppled him, and mounted his chest. Then it raised the stone shard high, ready to punch a hole through his throat.
Yet time passed and the shard never descended. The killing heart held the stone above its head, trembling violently. The red eyes that had blazed with savage aura now wavered with agitation. It could not understand why the hostility had stopped.
The killing heart, after all, was still a part of Cheonhwa. Everything it had shown until now had been solely for survival. The instant hostility ceased, it too lost any reason to kill its opponent. Purpose gone, the killing heart drew away from Cheonhwa and curled into a corner of the prison.
The martial artist rose, approached the shadow, and laid a hand upon its head.
“I’m sorry. I’ve been turning my back on you all this time.”
At that apology the shadow gradually took on a clear form—becoming identical to Cheonhwa as he had been around the age of ten. Tears rolled down the boy’s cheeks. The reason the killing heart had worn the shape of a child was because that was the period when he had held it most fiercely. It had been the sole weapon an orphan of the world had gripped to face life’s storms. Yet no one could remain a child forever. The time had come to change.
“I will give you a new name.”
The name “killing heart” revealed the shadow’s essence, yet not its entirety. To shift perspective, the title itself had to change first. He took the character for Heaven—Cheon—that expressed will in his own Taoist name, and added the character Gang, which meant the Northern Dipper that governs human death. Together they declared a will that divides life from death, and that the power of decision rested with him alone.
“Cheon-gang. From this day forward your name is the Heavenly Dipper Sword Formula.”