Initiation (3)
The mornings of the Zhongnan Sect’s third-generation disciples began early.
They rose at first light, gathered on the training grounds, and began the day with morning practice. That practice fell into four parts.
First came Full-Body Loosening to open the body and cultivate flexibility. Second was mountain hiking to build stamina. Third was the Horse Stance for lower-body tempering. Last came individual training.
Most of the new initiates received only the three forms of physical conditioning; individual training had not yet been granted them. For that reason the morning session was also called foundational tempering.
“We begin Full-Body Loosening now. Follow this instructor’s lead!”
Full-Body Loosening was the warm-up that prepared the body for true cultivation. The initiates mirrored the instructor’s demonstration, working through each joint in turn. They started with the neck—up, down, left, right—then moved through shoulders, back, arms, and elbows of the upper body, continuing down through waist, knees, thighs, and feet. Every motion was slow, yet that very slowness allowed them to loosen every corner of the frame with care.
Second-generation disciples other than the demonstrating instructor walked the grounds, correcting any child who slacked or held a wrong posture.
It was then that the martial instructor Inwol caught an odd sound amid the quiet rustle of movement.
“Cheon… hyeon… u… hong…”
Inwol followed the voice. Its owner was an initiate in the middle of Full-Body Loosening. The boy moved exactly as the demonstration required, yet his lips never stopped murmuring.
“Il-wol-yeong-cheuk. Jin-su-yeol-jang.”
Up close, the content became clear. It was the Thousand Character Classic, the primer every child used when first learning to write.
Reciting the Thousand Character Classic during tempering—what is he thinking?
Inwol addressed the boy who kept murmuring the classic.
“Why are you reciting the Thousand Character Classic while performing Full-Body Loosening?”
“I want to learn the characters quickly, sir.”
“…”
The reason was solid enough, yet it could not be left alone.
“Your name?”
“Cheonhwa, sir.”
“Junior Brother Cheonhwa. Your intent is good, but it may disturb the others. During morning practice, focus only on the practice.”
“Understood, sir.”
Once warned, Cheonhwa did not recite another line of the classic until the session ended.
He listens well—that’s a relief—yet he is a peculiar child.
The boy’s eagerness had spun a little wild, but the will to work hard was plain.
So long as he causes no real trouble, there is no harm in letting him keep that drive for literacy.
Inwol watched Cheonhwa’s back as the boy left the training grounds and thought as much.
After morning practice and breakfast, the initiates moved off to their duty shifts. The second-generation disciples likewise spread out to watch over them. Today Inwol’s charge was water-fetching duty.
In the Zhongnan Sect laundry, cooking, and bathing all demanded water, so every day without fail water had to be carried up from the spring. The initiates shouldered poles with buckets at either end and set out for the source. Inwol and the other instructors kept watch from various points along the path, ready to catch anyone who fell behind from exhaustion or sudden mishap.
When Inwol sharpened his senses to monitor the third-generation disciples, a familiar murmur reached his ears once more.
“Cheon-ji-hyeon-hwang. U-ju-hong-hwang. Il-wol-yeong-cheuk. Jin-su-yeol-jang. Han-rae-seo-wang. Chu-su-dong-jang.”
A voice he had heard before. Content that stirred the same sense of déjà vu. Inwol’s gaze found its owner at once: Cheonhwa again. The boy carried water without pause while his mouth endlessly repeated the six opening phrases of the Thousand Character Classic.
Should I stop him?
Inwol hesitated. This was different from morning practice. On the crowded training grounds a muttered recitation could distract others; on duty the assigned groups worked at set stations, well spaced from one another. A soft monologue neither hindered work nor grated on the ear. If humming or singing on duty was allowed, a quieter self-recitation could hardly be forbidden.
Unable to decide alone, Inwol traded glances with the other martial instructors.
What do we do?
Leave him for now.
In the end Inwol and the rest of the instructors had to listen to the Thousand Character Classic all the way through until the duty shift finished.
After lunch came a brief free period. Third- and second-generation disciples alike used the time as they pleased. Inwol headed for the training grounds to continue his own martial practice—only to spot someone scribbling in a quiet corner along the way. Curiosity drew him closer, and the familiar face made him grimace.
Cheonhwa—you again?!
The boy was writing characters in the dirt with a stick.
“Heaven and Earth, dark and yellow. The universe, vast and desolate. Sun and moon, waxing and waning. Stars and constellations, arrayed. Cold comes and heat goes. Autumn harvests and winter stores.”
He wrote each phrase of the classic while reading it aloud. After six lines he drew the booklet from under his arm, checked his work against the page, then wiped the dirt clean and began again.
To spend even free time on literacy…
Inwol clicked his tongue. Most third-generation disciples were not yet ten. Free time was for play. A few might choose otherwise, yet—
Usually they quit within three days.
Studying or training alone while everyone else played was never easy. It demanded will and endurance.
Can this boy last past three days?
And if the eccentricity continued far beyond that?
Then I will have to revise my evaluation—from problem child who does strange things to a prospect worth watching.
Inwol decided to observe him quietly.
Seven days passed. The boy’s peculiar habit never stopped.
Members of the Zhongnan Sect took their generational characters in rotation from the sequence Hwa-Yang-Won-Hyeon-Wol. After the Wol generation the cycle returned to Hwa. The Yang generation comprised the grand elders—the previous sect leader and former elders—who no longer involved themselves in the affairs of the murim, living in seclusion and offering only occasional counsel. Leadership of the sect therefore rested with the Won generation of the current sect leader and elders. If the Won generation was the head of the sect, the first-generation Hyeon disciples and second-generation Wol disciples were its hands and feet. Teaching the brand-new third-generation chicks was likewise the duty of the second generation.
For that purpose the second-generation disciples gathered at regular intervals. Once all were present, Muwol, senior brother of the Wol generation, spoke.
“How is the progress of the third-generation disciples?”
“Some of the initiates have begun to slack on their duty shifts.”
“Seven days since they started proper duties—about the time one would expect.”
Duty work for the initiates was never merely about assigning chores. Before martial arts were taught, the elders watched for work ethic, bodily aptitude, and other qualities. Unlike bone structure or constitution, traits such as comprehension required long observation unless they were extraordinarily obvious. Character, especially, revealed itself most clearly in unpleasant labor.
Do not transmit to one who is not human; do not transmit to one who is not a vessel.
In the murim the saying also meant that one must never teach martial arts to a person of talent alone if that person lacked character and breadth of mind. Teaching martial arts therefore demanded the utmost care.
“Has any initiate realized the true purpose of the chores?”
“Apart from the secular disciples who arrived with prior knowledge, none seem to have, as yet.”
The second-generation disciples watched and judged the initiates’ daily lives without ever announcing it. Children who had not been told in advance found it hard to notice. Anyone who did notice would earn high marks for sharp eyes, and those marks would later become extra points on the promotion examinations.
“Among the third-generation disciples already practicing martial arts, a few promising sprouts have appeared.”
“Faster than expected. Take care that none grow arrogant from talent. Any other matters of note?”
“There is something unusual among those receiving literacy instruction.”
“Someone lagging far behind?”
“No. Rather, one relentless oddity.”
Gowol, who oversaw literacy, continued at Muwol’s nod.
“He mutters characters while working and writes them in the dirt whenever he has a free moment.”
The second-generation disciples knew at once whom Gowol meant.
“Ah, that junior brother.”
“He does it constantly—except when training, eating, or sleeping.”
“Because of it he has begun to stand a little apart from the other initiates. He himself seems not to notice or care.”
“He is already the youngest, having entered late, and now he makes himself disliked. His future looks troublesome.”
A boy who ignored every glance and kept murmuring characters and writing them on the ground for the sake of literacy—exactly the sort of stubborn case Gowol had described.
Muwol already knew the problem child’s name.
Cheonhwa.
The boy Jinhyun had brought as a potential disciple.
An orphan of the streets, he said. An orphan would normally be sensitive to others’ eyes. That he is not suggests desperation.
Orphan disciples often clung desperately to the promotion examinations so they could remain on the mountain. It was a kind of poison distilled by circumstance. That poison could become a springboard for rapid growth when talent was present. Sadly, Cheonhwa had already been judged to possess no innate talent.
Senior Uncle Jinhyun said he is merely a slightly precocious ordinary child.
Ordinary bone structure, no special talent or constitution, no outstanding comprehension. The only virtue Cheonhwa had shown so far was that stubborn poison. Perhaps the boy himself knew it, and that knowledge had driven him to these eccentricities.
“Senior Brother, what should we do? Should we stop him after all?”
“No. Give him a warning, but do not interfere further.”
After long thought Muwol decided not to restrain Cheonhwa. The choice followed sect regulations that left initiates free for the five years between entry and the promotion examinations. Violence or deliberate ostracism would be different, but soft muttering was not grounds for punishment. If the monologues caused him to drift from his peers, that would simply be the fruit of his own actions.
Not everyone agreed.
“But Senior Brother, overlooking such eccentricity may look like favoritism to the other third-generation disciples.”
“I know. I intend to overlook it only until the first promotion examination. Once basic literacy is finished he will stop on his own anyway.”
If the boy produced results within that span, effort would have been rewarded. If he exceeded the span, it would be right to end the fruitless eccentricity. Either way, only Heaven knew the outcome of the choice.