Nothing But Skin and Bones

Taecheong, Sect Leader of Wudang, was one of the Ten Great Masters — known across the martial world as the Wind-Cloud True Man.

"Good heavens. A contract on Taecheong?"

Muhwa's eyes went wide. This was no ordinary name among the Nine Sects. Were Wudang the same as the rest? Not even close.

In the North, Shaolin is revered; in the South, Wudang is honored.

The standing of those two sects existed on an entirely different plane from every other school in the Nine Sects and One Gang. Countless sects had fallen from those ranks over the centuries, but Shaolin and Wudang had held their prestige without a single crack. Shaolin's Bodhidharma had opened the martial world; Wudang's Jang Sambong had raised it to greatness. Even the brutal Sama Order had tread with extreme caution whenever those two were involved.

"An assassination contract on the Wudang Sect Leader, of all people!"

Muhwa snatched up the ledger and scanned it in a hurry.

"Wait a moment."

She couldn't break the cipher the way Sun Wukong could, but the entry concerning Taecheong had been written differently from everything around it.

"The ink is a different color. And there's a separate mark for 'returned' beside it."

"It's a contract they never carried out."

"How do you know that?"

"Looks like they took the request and talked it over, then decided it was impossible and sent it back. There are a few others marked the same way."

"Ah…"

Muhwa let out a long breath of relief. An assassination attempt on the Wudang Sect Leader — success or failure aside, the mere attempt would have thrown the entire jianghu into an uproar.

"So the Yusal Sect isn't completely stupid."

"The important thing is that someone tried to have the Sect Leader killed."

Sun Wukong had heard plenty about Wudang. He'd already dug into them on his own — he had reasons enough, between the visit he intended to pay to Mt. Wudang and the need to find Geumgak.

The founding patriarch, Jang Sambong.

Sun Wukong narrowed his eyes, fishing a fragment of memory from somewhere far away.

So that kid Taesangnogun used to keep around is their founding patriarch, huh.

He'd actually seen him a few times, in passing. Their stations had been too far apart; Sun Wukong had never so much as exchanged a word with him. All he remembered was that Taesangnogun had found the boy rather remarkable.

Unlike in the Celestial Realm, Jang Sambong's standing in the mortal world was immense. The man who had led the revival of the martial arts. The prestige of the sect he founded was only to be expected.

"We've already met someone crazy enough to pull a stunt like that, haven't we?"

Muhwa's face hardened.

"You mean that Baekgwiwang fellow and his men in black."

"They're the type who'd butcher Wudang Taoists out in the open street. You think they wouldn't consider killing one Sect Leader?"

"So they're the ones behind it?"

"Eh. I don't think so."

Sun Wukong shook his head firmly. Baekgwiwang had no reason to kill the Sect Leader. All he'd needed was the whereabouts of Geumgak and the Seven Star Sword. Murdering Taecheong would have gained him nothing — it would have been like kicking a hornet's nest.

What Sun Wukong wanted to say had nothing to do with the assassin's identity.

"The world's full of lunatics."

Humans were nowhere near as logical as they liked to believe. He ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠studied the client's name.

"It just says 'Sima.'"

"Sima?"

"Anyone come to mind?"

"Hmm. No. There are more than a few people in the martial world who go by Sima. If it were someone from the unorthodox path I could narrow it down to a handful, but… I don't know."

"There's something off about this."

"What is it?"

"The other contracts have the client's personal details written out in full."

"And this Sima?"

"It's not even a proper name — just 'Sima,' sitting there all by itself. No other information at all."

"They may have rejected it simply because they couldn't identify the client."

"A client's information is a weapon for an assassin guild, after all."

Assassin guilds were not stupid. Recording a client's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠identity in exhaustive detail was, by itself, a form of pressure — a warning that leaking the guild's secrets, or trying to pin everything on them, would end very badly. When the time came to collect on a grudge, who was the easier target? An assassin guild that was nearly impossible to track down, or the client who had hired them? The latter, obviously. It was a device that forced client and guild to trust each other, whether they wanted to or not.

"I don't think it was just the missing identity. The fact that they even sat down and discussed it is suspicious."

"Meaning it wasn't something they could simply ignore."

"They took a contract to kill the Sect Leader seriously — so the client wasn't some nobody. At the very least, someone with a reason to want him dead…"

"And a person like that wouldn't give up just because the hit got turned down."

Muhwa started.

"If the Yusal Sect refused them, then surely…"

"They'd have gone looking for someone who'd take the job."

"The Three Great Assassin Guilds!"

"Those guys can assassinate a Sect Leader and it wouldn't be a problem?"

"They aren't easy to deal with. The moment anyone swears revenge, the Three Great Assassin Guilds join forces."

"Join forces?"

"Yes. There was a master known as the Assassin King a hundred and fifty years ago. He left his guild to three disciples, one each. They aren't the same sect, but when one of them is in danger, they band together with a vengeance. They didn't survive as the Three Great Assassin Guilds for nothing."

"What are the odds they'd take this contract?"

Muhwa worked her mouth for a moment, then shook her head.

"I don't know. The Three Great Assassin Guilds aren't the type to take a job just because the gold is good."

"Complicated bastards."

Sun Wukong shut the ledger with a look of pure irritation.

"There's been no news of an assassination lately, right?"

"That's right."

"Then that's that."

He brushed the whole troublesome thought aside and gathered up every last one of the heavy ledgers.

"Hall Master."

"Yes?"

"Go through these and sort out the useful ones when you have time."

"Sort them?"

Muhwa started to ask, then caught his meaning and nodded.

"You mean pick out the influential houses worth forming ties with."

"Like the Chuhyeon Merchant Guild."

Muhwa's eyes narrowed.

"Teacher Sun, are you planning to grow your influence in the Hubei martial world? With Wudang right there?"

"Then I'll make Wudang follow too."

"Pardon?"

She stared at him. He said it as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

"Just passing along the assassination plot should be enough. You think Wudang will hear that and keep their mouths shut?"

"Well…"

"And we saved his personal disciple and sent him home in one piece."

"That's true. We did save Daoist Hyeonjeong."

"Martial artists keep careful ledgers of every debt and grudge. You think they'll pick a fight with us?"

Muhwa studied him.

"What is Teacher Sun's goal? Are you trying to loosely bind the Hubei martial world around yourself?"

"That's right."

"You believe the enemies from before command a far greater force."

She had read his intent without much trouble. Then the next words out of his mouth made her eyes fly open.

"…!"

The Namgung Clan, at the center of the entire orthodox martial world. Why not? And if Sun Wukong could then wield that clan like a blade, so much the better.

I don't know how many of my sworn brothers among the Seven Great Sages are waiting over there.

Go on, then. Give it your best shot.

I'll be getting ready on my end too.

A faint light flickered in Sun Wukong's eyes.

Ledgers in hand, Sun Wukong set out for Mt. Wudang.

The mountain lay a long diagonal stretch from the Anhui–Hubei border, and the distance was considerable. The answer was the waterways. Following the rivers, they arrived at Danjiangkou. From there, a straight path south would bring them to the mountain.

Without horses, covering that kind of ground on two legs in a single stretch was no small feat — and martial artists using qinggong were no exception. Perhaps those who had reached the Absolute Realm, or gone further still into the State of Selflessness, where one could command the energy of nature itself, might have managed it. Muhwa and Namgung Seowol were nowhere near that. And so they decided to rest a day in Danjiangkou.

"If we leave first thing tomorrow morning, that should be fine."

Muhwa spoke carefully, watching the sour look on Sun Wukong's face. He did not look pleased. She worried, for a moment, that it was because of them. It was not.

"If I just had the Somersault Cloud, we'd be there in the blink of an eye."

A long journey for the first time in a while, and he found himself missing that cloud.

"…"

Muhwa chose not to answer.

Here we go again.

She sighed and put food in her mouth.

Ojeong. I finally understand why that man spends every minute with Teacher Sun looking like he wants to put his head in his hands.

The absurd things that came out of Sun Wukong's mouth still left her with no idea how to respond.

"Why won't that damn cloud come? That little brat, I swear…"

The inn they had chosen for the night served decent food. Sun Wukong, lost in thoughts of the Somersault Cloud, had no appetite at all. He shoved his own portion across the table at Muhwa.

"What?"

She blinked, startled, then quietly accepted what he offered and put it in her mouth. Her chopsticks did not stop after that.

Seowol, who had been watching, spoke in her usual flat voice.

"Unnie. You've gotten fat."

"…!"

Muhwa jumped and looked down at herself.

"Th-that's… really?"

"Yeah. You're puffier."

"But I've been training so hard."

She made a miserable face. It was not fat so much as healthy muscle packed more densely than before — but wrapped in layers of clothing, it simply looked like she had swollen. Ever since the dream, her appetite had come roaring back. Food tasted richer, and the amount she ate had jumped, so she had been carving out every spare moment to train. She had always had a sturdier frame than most women, nothing willowy or delicate, and that had always bothered her. She was not carrying extra weight, but the muscle sitting snug against a naturally solid build gave her a faintly puffed look all the same. Hearing Seowol point it out, her face went scarlet.

"Really? You can actually see it?"

"Yeah."

"No…"

"What are you even talking about."

Sun Wukong snorted as if the whole conversation were ridiculous and shoved more food at her, picking out pieces of meat with his chopsticks and dropping them onto her plate. He clicked his tongue.

"Did this kid not eat properly while she was at the Wulin Alliance? Why is she so skinny?"

Muhwa was more than a little thrown. No one had ever called her skinny before.

"Good grief. Compared to the old days, you're nothing but bones. What is this?"

"…"

Her mouth closed. Her eyes rolled, full of nothing but bewilderment. She had heard she looked like a proper heroine because the muscle sat well on her — she had never once been told she was nothing but bones.

Seowol looked from Muhwa to Sun Wukong with a vacant stare. He waved a hand as if to say there was nothing to worry about.

"A person this scrawny — this is starvation, that's what it is. Starvation. She used to eat so well. How did she get this thin?"

There was genuine pity in the click of his tongue. Muhwa hesitated, glancing between them, and finally chewed what was in front of her. He watched her eat with a look of deep satisfaction, and somehow, her heart felt a little lighter. The pleasant taste on her tongue. The easy warmth of the table.

It did not last.

"…"

A group of martial artists came through the inn door, and the chopsticks of the woman who had been eating with such obvious pleasure froze in midair.

Taoist robes. Not ordinary priests — every one of them wore a sword at the hip. In Hubei, martial artists in Taoist dress meant only one thing.

Wudang.

The disciples who entered swept the room once, found Sun Wukong immediately, and came forward with open delight.

"Would you be Teacher Sun, the Great Sage Equal to Heaven?"

The young Wudang disciple who approached was exceedingly formal. Sun Wukong nodded, unhurried.

"We come from the Wudang Sect. It is an honor to receive you."

"We haven't even sent word that we were arriving."

"We have been waiting."

A faint urgency sat on the disciple's face. Sun Wukong's eyes narrowed. Even if he had done Wudang a kindness, coming out to meet him on the road was another matter entirely. Something was going on. He folded his arms.

"Forgive the interruption of your rest, but we must escort you to our sect at once."

"What's going on?"

"…The Butterfly Immortal instructed us that Teacher Sun must be brought back as soon as possible."

"The Butterfly Immortal?"

The Butterfly Immortal, with whom they had crossed paths not long ago, would have reached Wudang ahead of them with Geumgak in tow. Sun Wukong tilted his head. When he showed no sign of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠moving, the disciple bit his lip and dropped his voice.

"There is a problem with the Sect Leader. The Butterfly Immortal said we must bring Teacher Sun immediately…"

"A problem?"

Sun Wukong's head tipped to one side. He turned the thought over once, and his eyes went thin.

The disciple's eyes flew wide. He did not need to answer. The look on his face was answer enough.

So someone really did try to assassinate the Sect Leader.

A bleak light settled in Sun Wukong's eyes.