Foundation Arts
They called it a full moon when the moon in the night sky waxed to fullness over the course of fifteen days.
Once that moon had filled completely and then vanished, two full moons had come and gone, and that span was called a month.
Since Cheonhwa had begun his literacy studies, twelve full moons had passed—nearly six months in all.
Clear spring had given way to summer, and now the cool winds of autumn had arrived. Just as a farmer reaped the harvest of the season, Cheonhwa too gathered the fruits of his labor.
“With this, the foundational literacy studies are complete.”
“Thank you, Uncle-Master Gowol.”
“It is too soon to celebrate. You have only just finished the basics. Remember that you must continue your studies diligently from here on.”
Gowol spoke with firmness. The strength of his tone was quite unlike his usual gentle manner—proof of how sincerely he took the teaching of literacy.
“I will engrave it upon my heart.”
“Good. I will give you the certificate plaque. You may hear the rest of the details from the instructor.”
Gowol handed over a wooden plaque that certified completion of foundational literacy. Presenting it to an instructor would allow Cheonhwa to begin learning martial arts in earnest. After offering his thanks, Cheonhwa left the lecture hall.
The fist clenched tight in secret and the loosened corners of his mouth betrayed the boy’s mood. Finishing foundational literacy in six months meant the effort he had poured in had not been in vain. The price had been isolation among the third-generation disciples, but he counted it as time bought by sacrificing brotherly ties.
Six months left until the promotion exam.
If he had his way, he would have thrown himself into martial training at once. Yet martial training took place in the mornings, and the sun was already sinking low. No matter how eager he was, he would have to wait until the next morning at the earliest. Still, the curiosity for martial arts rising inside him was hard to bear.
I cannot go looking for the martial arts instructor at this hour. Is there another way?
While he pondered, a thought suddenly struck him.
Come to think of it, Uncle-Master Jinhyun said he works at the Jangseogak.
Lately he had been so absorbed in literacy that he had completely forgotten.
If it is Uncle-Master Jinhyun, he might tell me something about martial arts.
Even if he could not teach the arts themselves, related knowledge ought to be fair game. Strike while the iron is hot—Cheonhwa set his feet toward the Jangseogak.
The library stood right beside the lecture hall, a stone’s throw away. When he stepped inside, the distinctive scent of paper brushed his nose. Seated at a table off to one side, Jinhyun smiled gently at the boy’s visit.
“Come in. Do not stand there gaping—sit here.”
“Pardon the intrusion.”
Cheonhwa took the seat across from him as invited.
“I did say to come when you had time, but I never imagined you would not show your face once in six months.”
“I am sorry. I have been busy with one thing and another.”
“Yet the fact that you have come means you finally have some leisure, does it not?”
Instead of answering, Cheonhwa drew the wooden plaque from his robes and held it out.
“Oh-ho, the literacy certificate. So you have come because you wish to know about martial arts.”
“Exactly as you say. I simply could not endure the curiosity until tomorrow.”
“Teaching martial arts is the duty of the second-generation disciples, but there should be no harm in sharing a little foundational knowledge.”
Jinhyun stroked his beard, choosing his words with care.
“First of all, martial training will differ in many ways from the physical conditioning you have done until now.”
“Why is that?”
“Because it goes beyond mere use of the body and deals with an mysterious force called qi.”
The ways of handling qi fell into two broad categories. One was external qi arts, which infused the bones, muscles, and body with qi to force change. The other was internal qi arts, which created a vessel within the body to store and use the energy. Either way, both concerned the handling of qi, and that very operation of qi was the first step onto the path of martial arts.
“To handle qi, one must first learn a foundation art.”
“A foundation art?”
“Yes. Exactly what the name suggests—martial arts specialized for entry into the path.”
Every foundation art shared one common function: they were designed to open qi-sense and form the dantian. From the basic mind methods of great sects down to third-rate street arts, that much never varied.
“To learn martial arts, one must open qi-sense. Why do you suppose that is?”
“Hmm…”
Cheonhwa reasoned from the explanations he had just heard.
“…Because one must be able to feel qi in order to learn martial arts?”
“Correct. You listened well to what I have told you.”
“Opening a new sense is hard to picture. Is it easy?”
“Easy if easy, difficult if difficult. At the very least, if you simply follow the instructions of the second-generation disciples, you will open qi-sense without trouble.”
“How long does it take to open qi-sense?”
“Usually about a month. Even at the latest, it opens within three months.”
Cheonhwa let out a low hum. With only six months remaining until the promotion exam, one to three months felt like a considerable stretch. If merely opening qi-sense consumed that much time, how long would finishing the foundation art itself require? Worry pressed ahead of him.
“Is there no way to learn the foundation art more quickly?”
“There is, but for the most part it involves receiving help from outside.”
The method Jinhyun described was easy if easy, difficult if difficult: having a high-level master stay close and teach with painstaking care. In other words, without innate talent it was a realm that individual effort alone could not reach.
“Could Uncle-Master do it for me?”
“If you were a direct disciple, perhaps. But casually teaching an introductory disciple is forbidden by the rules.”
Even sharing martial knowledge like this was already treading a fine line. Cheonhwa sank into thought.
Must I give up on the first promotion exam?
His original plan had been to master every martial art an introductory disciple learned within the remaining six months. Those arts—mind method, footwork, fist techniques, and sword techniques—were collectively called the Four Introductory Martial Arts. To pass the promotion exam safely, one had to learn them all.
I thought I could at least grasp the foundations of the Four Introductory Martial Arts in six months.
Yet when the lid was lifted, it seemed the bulk of the remaining time would be spent on the foundation art alone.
I know that failing once is not a problem…
Knowing it in his head and accepting it in his heart were two different things. Regardless of how many times, the very prospect of failing became pressure that bred anxiety. The root of that anxiety was the desperate wish never to return to his wretched past.
As Cheonhwa furrowed his brow in deep concern, Jinhyun tossed out a remark as if it were nothing.
“Are you worried you will fail the promotion exam?”
“…”
The words struck the mark so cleanly that the boy’s mouth locked shut. The Taoist smiled faintly and asked another question.
“Do you know why introductory disciples are given as long as five years?”
“…Pardon?”
“It is easy to miss because of the promotion exam, but the essence is that they are giving you time.”
“Time for what?”
“Time to solidify your foundations.”
Foundation. No matter what one undertook, the foundation was vital. It was like preparing the ground and base upon which a building would stand. If the ground and base were not solid, even the grandest structure would collapse with ease. There was a reason people emphasized foundations until one’s ears grew calluses.
“But laying a proper martial foundation in a great sect is harder than one might think.”
“Why is that?”
“Because one is constantly compared with others.”
If a fellow disciple pulls ahead, the natural human impulse is to catch up. Fall into impatience and one clings only to visible results—which can lead to neglecting the foundation.
“It is not only the disciples. The masters who teach them are the same.”
“Because masters also have their own martial brothers?”
“Yes. Masters are people too; they can be swayed by emotion and make mistakes.”
If a master’s martial brother boasted of his own disciple, how would the master feel? Nine times out of ten he would compare that disciple to his own. Comparison naturally breeds haste, and the master presses his student for results. Once the path goes wrong, both master and disciple suffer, for correcting a wrong path demands far more time and effort than before.
“Because of such problems, our sect does not assign personal masters to introductory disciples and teaches them only the Four Introductory Martial Arts.”
It was to provide an environment and the time to focus solely on foundations. It was also why the sect rules explicitly forbade unnecessary interference with introductory disciples.
“So rather than being swept away by impatience and rushing, concentrate on what you can do right now.”
“…”
Cheonhwa quietly turned Jinhyun’s words over in his mind. The reason for such advice was the hope that he would not be captured by a future that had not yet arrived. The future was the accumulation of each present moment; the past was its lingering trace. To walk the thousand-li road of martial learning, one first had to take the first step. Now was the time to focus on that first step called foundation. The promotion exam was, in the end, only a test to confirm those foundations. If one polished the foundations without cease, the exam would naturally follow.
Of course, anxiety about the future still remained, yet Jinhyun dispelled even that.
“If you do as this empty old man says and still fail twice, I will take responsibility then.”
“Responsibility?”
“Yes. Ready to face discipline, I will teach you with all my heart and sincerity until you pass the promotion exam on the third try.”
“…Why would you go that far?”
Simply bringing Cheonhwa to the Zhongnan Sect had already been more than enough for Jinhyun to claim he had fulfilled his duty. Why, then, would he do so much for an introductory disciple who was neither a direct disciple nor a bloodline successor?
To the boy’s question, Jinhyun answered as if it were only natural.
“Because showing the way to a child who has lost his path is the duty of an adult.”
“…”
“Well? Has some of the impatience eased?”
“…Yes. Thank you, Uncle-Master.”
Light returned to the boy’s eyes, which had grown dim. Satisfied, the Taoist smiled.
That day, the boy gained a guiding star to light his way across the wilderness called Martial.
The next morning.
Cheonhwa rose before dawn and ran straight to the training ground. Instructors waited there for the introductory disciples. Cheonhwa presented the wooden plaque he had kept carefully in his robes. After verifying its authenticity, the instructor nodded.
“Confirmed. From today you will receive additional martial training.”
“Understood, Uncle-Master Inwol.”
Cheonhwa bowed to the instructor and returned to his place. Before long, morning training began.
Full-body release.
Mountain running.
Horse stance.
The foundational conditioning he had repeated steadily for six months. Over the turning of two seasons, literacy had not been the only fruit of his labor. Full-body release had given him smoother movement than before. Mountain running had shortened the rest intervals needed to reach the peak. Horse stance, once hard to hold even for a single quarter-hour, now came easily for a full two hours.
He had not clung to physical training in every spare moment the way he had with literacy. He could not have, in any case. Training that hard would have broken his body. It was precisely because he had stacked effort day by day without overreaching that he now reaped these results.
“That is enough!”
At the instructor’s shout the third-generation disciples all released their horse stances. Catching his breath, Cheonhwa looked around. They were tired, yet not a single introductory disciple had collapsed. The instructors’ judgment of load had been perfect.
After a moderate rest the third-generation disciples split into two groups: those who finished training and went to breakfast, and those who stayed for individual instruction. Until today Cheonhwa had belonged to the former; from this day he joined the latter.
“Disciple Cheonhwa, come this way.”
Answering Instructor Inwol’s call, Cheonhwa approached.
“From this moment I will transmit the Gyunchon Chukgi-gong.”
The long-awaited hour of martial training had arrived. The boy’s heart pounded hard with anticipation.
