Foundation Arts (3)
About two months had passed since Cheonhwa first began learning the foundation arts.
He stood on the verge of completing the first stage of the Balanced Heaven Qi Accumulation Art.
The first-stage formula of the Balanced Heaven Qi Accumulation Art was divided into three broad parts: the opening half that awakened qi-sense; the middle that refined true qi and formed the dantian; and the latter half that circulated internal energy through the body.
Of these, the most difficult was internal circulation—the practice known as energy circulation, or circulating qi through the meridians.
To circulate energy, one first had to know the pathways true qi would travel. The body held countless channels, yet every martial art, without exception, passed through two of them: the Governing Vessel, which rose from the anus up the spine, crossed the crown of the head, and reached the lips; and the Conception Vessel, which descended from the lips through the chest, belly, and lower abdomen before returning to the anus. Together they were called the Conception and Governing Vessels.
The Balanced Heaven Qi Accumulation Art, too, circulated internal energy with those two vessels at its core.
Eyes closed, Cheonhwa drew internal energy from his dantian and guided it according to the latter half of the first-stage formula. Once circulation began, stopping midway was all but impossible. The moment the flow of internal energy was disrupted, the body itself could be ruined. For that reason, energy circulation always required the presence of the martial arts instructors. A single mistake made alone could leave irreversible internal injury.
But even that ends today.
The only reason an instructor had to be present was that a disciple’s command of true qi was still clumsy. Conversely, once the meridians were memorized and the handling of true qi mastered, circulation could be performed alone. As if to prove the point, Cheonhwa completed a full cycle of the lesser heavenly orbit entirely by himself.
A satisfied smile touched the boy’s lips as he finished. Beside him, the martial arts instructor Inwol smiled as well.
“You’ve completed the first stage of the Balanced Heaven Qi Accumulation Art. You’ve worked hard.”
“Thank you, Martial Uncle Inwol.”
“Since you’ve finished the first stage, I’ll teach you other martial arts.”
At Inwol’s words, Cheonhwa’s eyes lit with anticipation. An initiate who had learned the first stage of the Balanced Heaven Qi Accumulation Art was permitted to study new techniques: the Nine Palaces Footwork and the Five Elements Fist—basic martial arts common throughout the Taoist sects.
“Unlike the Balanced Heaven Qi Accumulation Art, the Nine Palaces Footwork and Five Elements Fist are simple enough that they should be easy to learn.”
Inwol’s claim was true. The Nine Palaces Footwork was nothing more than advancing and stopping in the eight directions; the Five Elements Fist was a fist art of five forms with no elaborate variations. So simple were they that Cheonhwa could mimic the motions without difficulty.
“Martial Uncle Inwol, I’ve heard the Zhongnan Sect is famous for its sword arts. Why do we learn footwork and fist arts first?”
“That? Because of this.”
Inwol crossed the training ground and took something from a rack along the wall. It was a wooden practice sword—but its length was strange, well over three chi, nearly as long as Cheonhwa himself. A longsword of the kind commonly called a two-handed sword.
“Zhongnan’s sword is a longsword. Naturally the practice blades are just as long.”
Inwol held it out and told him to give it a swing. The wooden sword was as heavy as it was long—a weight Cheonhwa could scarcely have lifted if he had not already cultivated a mind method. He raised it overhead and brought it down. The blade drove vertically into the air with a dull, crushing sound.
“…….”
“Do you understand now why we don’t teach sword arts yet?”
“Yes. It’s difficult to handle.”
The weight of the wooden sword itself was a problem, but the inertia that built at the moment of a swing was greater still. He had nearly been dragged along its arc and toppled over. Even with a body strengthened by martial training, he had not expected that.
“To wield a two-handed sword properly, the body must be finished first.”
“Meaning I need to cultivate the second stage of the Balanced Heaven Qi Accumulation Art.”
“That’s right. You’ll need at least five-tenths completion before you can even begin the sword.”
Where the first stage of the Balanced Heaven Qi Accumulation Art dealt with internal energy, the second stage dealt with external power. Drawing natural qi through the breath and refining it into true qi was the same as any internal art—but instead of gathering that true qi in the dantian, one let it soak into the flesh itself. A body steeped in true qi grew far more robust. The art divided the second stage’s achievement into ten degrees.
“Reaching five-tenths of the second stage before the promotion exam would be impossible, wouldn’t it?”
“Without a spirit medicine, it would be hard.”
“Then it’s better to focus on the other arts.”
A little over four months remained until the promotion exam. Having formed his dantian on the first attempt had bought him roughly a month.
Before, I would have scrambled desperately to learn the sword in whatever time I had left.
Throwing himself into physical training the way he had once thrown himself into memorizing characters and meditation would have been far too dangerous. There might have been short-term gains, but the body would inevitably have broken down later. Even if he reached five-tenths of the second stage and began the sword, he would not have been in any condition to cultivate properly. That path would have ruined his body and failed the exam—the worst of both outcomes.
Without Martial Granduncle Jinhyun, that is exactly what might have happened.
Jinhyun had promised that if problems arose, he would take responsibility and help. Because of that promise, Cheonhwa could keep his focus on the present instead of drowning in impatience. Training for the second stage of the Balanced Heaven Qi Accumulation Art could wait; the basic physical drills he already practiced would be enough for now. What demanded his attention were the fist arts and footwork.
Since things have turned out this way, I’ll raise the fist arts and footwork to a level I can actually use in the exam.
How could he master the footwork and fist arts in the time remaining? After careful thought, Cheonhwa arrived at a single answer. The method, however, required the cooperation of the martial arts instructors, so he went to Inwol for counsel.
When Inwol heard the explanation, he recoiled in disgust.
“You’re going to pull another one of those eccentric stunts?”
“Is it possible?”
“There’s nothing against sect rules that would forbid it, but……”
“That’s a relief.”
“Haa. You really are something else.”
“Thank you for the compliment.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
Inwol let out a long sigh. He already knew the boy’s drive was formidable—but why did that drive always take the shape of eccentricity? He could not begin to understand it.
Taoist name: Myeonghwa. Secular name: Jang Sang.
He was the second son of one of the five greatest merchant groups in Shaanxi Province, and from childhood he had lived in comfort. Such a life might easily have bred arrogance—yet whether from good parenting or innate temperament, he had learned generosity instead. It also helped that his much older elder brother had long since been named heir to the merchant group. Free of any duty to the business, Jang Sang had been able to live as he pleased.
That freedom ended when he was chosen as the successor to the Zhongnan Sect’s outer disciples and his entry into the main mountain was decided. Someone had to go to the main mountain to preserve the family’s bond with the sect. In his grandfather’s generation there had been only one son, so no one could be sent; this time there were two. One would inherit the merchant group. The other would ascend the mountain. That was all there was to it.
“Fine—I’ll give it a shot!”
Jang Sang decided to accept his fate. Truthfully, it was half out of boredom. Entry into the main mountain was only a means of keeping the connection alive. Even if he failed the promotion exam and remained an outer disciple, he would still come out ahead. Plenty of others entered the main mountain with similar reasons and similar attitudes. So Jang Sang joined the Zhongnan Sect with a light heart and received the Taoist name Myeonghwa.
Then, against all expectation, Myeonghwa discovered he had talent for martial arts. Not enough to be called a genius, but more than enough to be called gifted. Within a month of beginning the foundation arts he had already completed the first stage.
Huh. At this rate, could I actually aim to become a formal disciple?
It was not an idle thought—he truly could aim for it. Unless he deliberately tried to fail the exam, he would pass without trouble. The problem was not talent but temperament.
Do I really need to push myself? I’ll just do as I’m taught and expand my connections.
Learning martial arts was enjoyable, but building friendships was more enjoyable still. Above all, Myeonghwa was a born talker—he spoke a great deal, loved conversation, and loved listening just as much. So he made a point of forming good relationships with as many martial brothers as he could.
While he was thoroughly enjoying initiate life, a rumor reached his ears: among the initiates was a stubborn freak who muttered characters under his breath every single day. Myeonghwa knew exactly who that was.
Junior Brother Cheonhwa?
The peculiar youngest junior he had once guided around the sect. Curiosity stirred, and Myeonghwa sought him out to ask whether the rumor was true.
“Yes, it’s true.”
The youngest junior answered with such calm that Myeonghwa almost doubted the rumor existed at all. He pressed further and asked the reason.
“I want to finish my literacy studies quickly. I want to learn martial arts as soon as I can.”
A purpose that firm was rare. Only afterward did Myeonghwa realize that the method itself was one he had taught.
Wait—was this because of me?
He could not claim he had had no influence, but neither could he call it a mistake. What he had shared was a perfectly ordinary study method; Cheonhwa had simply taken it a step further into eccentricity.
“No thought of stopping?”
“None.”
“The other martial brothers might come to hate you for it.”
“I’m prepared to accept that.”
“Then I won’t try to stop you.”
After some thought, Myeonghwa chose to leave it alone. If the second-generation martial uncles were not intervening, there was no need for him to meddle. Besides, the boy was knowingly accepting a damaged reputation. Having seen that resolve in his eyes, trying to dissuade him would have been graceless.
After that, Junior Brother Cheonhwa finished the basic literacy studies in a mere six months, as if to prove a point.
How long did it take me when I learned to read?
Just the foundations had taken a full year, if he remembered right. Memorizing characters was a thoroughly unamusing task.
Still, that hardship is what lets me learn martial arts so comfortably now.
In that light, a junior who had achieved so much in so little time through sheer effort deserved praise—praise he could not offer openly, but praise he could give in private was reason enough.
Cheonhwa’s eccentricities continued after that. Once he began the foundation arts, he sank into meditation morning and evening. In whatever free time remained, he prowled the Jangseogak, leafing through martial manuals and fretting over them.
Junior Brother Cheonhwa really does live hard.
Most people, after producing results, would have rested for a while. Watching him move straight into the next task without pause drew involuntary admiration. Rain or snow, through changing seasons, Cheonhwa simply kept working, indifferent to everything else. And in two months he had fully mastered the first stage of the foundation arts.
So effort alone can actually do that.
Myeonghwa marveled again. By this point he was almost looking forward to whatever the boy would show next.
As if determined to meet that expectation, Cheonhwa unveiled a new eccentricity. Outside morning training, he moved exclusively with the steps of the Nine Palaces Footwork. Outside duty shifts, he endlessly repeated the forms of the Five Elements Fist.
More astonishing still was the reaction of the second-generation martial uncles.
“Your weight transfer is off.”
“That stance is wrong. Drop your hips lower and put forward momentum into it.”
Whenever Cheonhwa’s form faltered, the martial arts instructors and other second-generation disciples corrected him on the spot. Sensing something like favoritism, Myeonghwa asked why they went so far.
“Junior Nephew Cheonhwa went to every single second-generation disciple and asked each of them personally.”
“Sect rules say that when an initiate properly requests instruction, we can’t refuse.”
“More than that—he looked ready to keep bowing until we agreed. Even if his forehead bled, he wouldn’t have cared.”
Teaching initiates carelessly was strictly forbidden by sect regulations. Conversely, when an initiate requested instruction, one was obligated to answer it in good faith. Higher arts could not be taught, but advice on basic techniques was perfectly allowed. And there was no rule against requesting instruction from many people at once. Cheonhwa had exploited that gap and turned the entire second generation into assistants for his training.
Of course, the martial brothers who cared nothing for such circumstances did not take it well.
“What the hell is that guy doing?”
“Another weird stunt he calls training, I guess.”
His impression had already been poor; now he had sunk from oddity to unpleasant nuisance. Hogging the second generation’s attention was the root of the trouble. Without the second-generation disciples watching, beatings and other harassment might well have followed. Among the third-generation disciples, Cheonhwa’s reputation had hit rock bottom.
“Is he seriously going to do that every day?”
“No way. He won’t last ten days.”
The third generation assumed the eccentricity would not last. This was different from literacy study or meditation. Fitting every movement to the Five Elements Fist and Nine Palaces Footwork was foolishness taken too far. Daily life itself was bound to become inconvenient—and indeed Junior Brother Cheonhwa often stumbled over the unfamiliar motions.
Is that really so?
Myeonghwa thought otherwise. He trusted the will of the youngest junior who never stopped striving. Besides, that version of events was far more elegant and romantic. So in his heart he quietly rooted for Cheonhwa’s success.
And just as Myeonghwa expected, Cheonhwa’s eccentricity stretched past a full month.
“He’s actually still doing it?”
“Stubborn. Truly stubborn.”
By then even the martial brothers could only click their tongues in awe. However foolish the act, taken this far it could not help but command a kind of admiration.
“Honestly, he’s as stubborn as the Foolish Old Man.”
“The Foolish Old Man who moved the mountains?”
“Nah—more like Foolish Step than Foolish Old Man.”
“A foolish footstep. Suits him perfectly.”
From that day on, the third-generation disciples began calling Cheonhwa “Foolish Step”—a nickname half praise and half mockery. Whether the meaning was good or bad, a nickname was still a nickname. And so Cheonhwa became the first among the “Flower” generation of third-generation disciples to earn one.