Somehow, Nobody's Interested
A heavy silence had settled over the hall.
The murmur of conversation that had drifted in from outside might as well have been a lie. Every mouth had gone still — and no one had even told them to be quiet.
"……"
Sun Wukong stepped into the council chamber, swept a glance around the room, and sat down.
The Daoists assembled there felt it at once — a shift in the very air, as if the currents of the hall had been rewritten by nothing more than his entrance. Every gaze in the room swung toward him.
Still seated, still silent a moment longer, Sun Wukong spoke.
"Let's do introductions. I'm a fellow they call Teacher Sun — the Great Sage, Equal to Heaven."
The words rolled out in an easy, familiar register, as if he were greeting equals. Curiosity lit some faces. Others frowned.
"A pleasure. I am Cheonjeong, Lord of the Ritual Pavilion."
Sun Wukong's eyes narrowed a fraction. Compared to the gray-haired Daoists packed around the chamber, the man was relatively young — a fellow in his prime, all angular jaw and a keen light spilling from beneath thick brows.
That's the face of a born martial artist, not a Daoist.
A sound transmission from the Butterfly Immortal, who had entered with him, followed close behind.
He is the head of the Ritual Pavilion, which oversees Wudang's administration — and the current Sect Leader's successor.
He was trying to fill in the details that Sun Wukong, having only just arrived at Wudang, could not possibly have known.
"Wudang being a Daoist order, the dances and songs of the sacred rites have always been essential. I know the standing of the Ritual Pavilion well. As the Sect Leader's heir, you oversee the administration and get a head start managing the disciples — a fine post to prepare from. I'm grateful the Lord of the Ritual Pavilion would welcome me so."
The Butterfly Immortal started at the easy, natural reply.
It was not some closely guarded secret. Anyone of Wudang would know the origin of the Ritual Pavilion. An outsider, however, would not. Which building in which sect performed which function, and why it had been given that name — there was no way to know such things unless one had gone out of one's way to learn them.
Sun Wukong's answer meant he had done exactly that.
A faint brightness touched Cheonjeong's face.
"That's right. In the old days we handled only the dances and music of the rites. After we became a martial sect, we came to look after all of Wudang's household affairs."
Cheonjeong smiled, lightly, and a thin warmth of goodwill rode in it.
Only then did the Butterfly Immortal's eyes go wide.
Four seats of honor in all. The Lord of the Ritual Pavilion — the Sect Leader's successor — sat with the three members of the Samcheong beside him as equals.
Everyone understood that as the Sect Leader's martial brothers, their generational rank and standing were high. And yet half the hall was already sliding dissatisfied glances toward the three of them.
This was a reception for an outsider. An unprecedented situation, with the Sect Leader absent. The Lord of the Ritual Pavilion, who managed the whole of Wudang's administration, was meant to lead the sect in his place — the Sect Leader's proxy.
And yet the Samcheong are sitting right beside him as if they were his equals.
The meaning was not subtle. They were quietly underscoring that it was not the Ritual Pavilion Lord alone who steered Wudang in the Sect Leader's stead — it was they, the Samcheong.
And that is exactly where Teacher Sun drove the nail in.
Look at the Samcheong's faces. Seasoned as they were, they did not let emotion rise easily to the surface. All except one. Hocheong, the most impatient of them, had his brows twisted as if he had bitten into a bitter herb.
An outsider, strictly speaking — and yet Teacher Sun just elevated the Ritual Pavilion Lord in front of the Samcheong and openly honored him as the Sect Leader's heir.
The Butterfly Immortal looked at Sun Wukong with new eyes.
This goes well beyond being quick on the uptake.
Sun Wukong had not been inside Wudang for even half a day. And he had already cut straight to the internal rivalries and the balance of power, as if he had taken their measure at a glance. You could not call that mere sharpness.
He's bold.
The more the Butterfly Immortal thought about it, the more he could only click his tongue in disbelief.
If the power is already split, is he choosing to set his shoulder against one side and be done with it?
That was decisiveness — a call made in a handful of breaths.
And if that is what Teacher Sun was aiming for…
The Lord of the Ritual Pavilion had already shown him open goodwill. The Samcheong still kept their faces schooled, but to the Butterfly Immortal — who had once cultivated on this very mountain and trained in its martial arts — it was plain as day. A thin, knifelike hostility and wariness were already angled at Sun Wukong.
So he read the board in a single sitting and picked his allies.
From the Butterfly Immortal's own position, that was hardly a bad thing. The Samcheong's current overreach was genuinely worrying. Had the Sect Leader been in good health, they could never have stepped forward like this. The weight of the title One-Circle Wisdom Sword — one of the Ten Great Masters — was not a light thing.
For the Sect Leader to recover, Sun Wukong's help was essential. Unfortunately, that part was not going to be easy. Even the Daoists in the hall had singled out that very point with open concern.
"As for the proposal Immortal Hojieop put forward some time ago — that Teacher Sun assist the current Sect Leader in circulating his energy and help him overcome his qi deviation — I am afraid that course would present considerable difficulties."
The voice pulled the Butterfly Immortal out of his thoughts. Its owner was none other than Cheonjeong, Lord of the Ritual Pavilion.
The Butterfly Immortal's eyes flew wide. He had never imagined the Pavilion Lord would be the one to object.
Ah. Is this about the desecration of the sacred ground?
Helping a man lost in qi deviation to circulate his energy was no simple thing. First, one had to be an internal energy master vastly stronger than the subject.
And then there is the location and flow of every meridian through which that energy moves. In practice, it means looking through the inside of the Wudang Sect Leader down to the last detail. That is the real problem.
The subtle principles of the Taiji Heart Art would be laid bare. It was not something one did lightly — not unless the helper was a master of the same sect, bound by a master-disciple tie, or joined by blood.
Setting aside the question of whether Sun Wukong was a master of that caliber, this was the very point on which even those in the Pavilion Lord's camp had looked reluctant. Entrusting the Sect Leader to an outsider would wound the sect's pride — and worse, the hidden principles of the Taiji Heart Art, practiced by the Sect Leader alone, might leak beyond the mountain.
It was a reasonable fear.
The Butterfly Immortal felt his chest draw tight.
Would a man who has already manifested Taiji, reached Wuji, and awakened a Dao of his own even harbor such greed?
He had seen it with his own eyes. The Taiji unfolding from Sun Wukong's two hands. The Wuji that had reduced even the Butterfly Immortal's innate true qi to nothing.
A man who had established his own Dao. The realm of a divine sage standing at the far end of enlightenment.
If you cannot trust a man like that, who can you trust?
He could not say any of this. They were not the sort who would believe it even if he did.
And before, I might have pushed it through somehow. But he damaged Wudang's sacred ground, of all things…
The quiet hall began, little by little, to take on the heat of a denunciation.
"It is the sacred ground of our founding patriarch. Wudang's holy site. Did they not say the place was turned upside down?"
"This is not a matter that can be overlooked."
"So you are saying we should punish Teacher Sun?"
"Is there any reason we should not?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"If Wudang's sacred ground is desecrated and we sit still, the world will laugh at us."
"Hahahaha. Punish the man who saved Daoist Hyeonjeong — the Sect Leader's own personal disciple? The world would laugh even harder at that."
The room had split cleanly down the middle. It was a perfect portrait of Wudang as it stood.
The Butterfly Immortal hid a flush of shame and stole a glance at Sun Wukong. The man's face was still unreadable. No — if anything, a faint boredom showed through.
Heavens…
Once again the Butterfly Immortal could only click his tongue. This hall was a dragon's pool and a tiger's den. Even a seasoned martial artist would have felt the pressure. The auras pouring off men locked in unspoken opposition were vicious enough to choke on.
Sun Wukong's own treatment might well be decided in this very room — and still he sat there, utterly at ease. He gave the impression of a great tree whose roots ran too deep for any storm to shake.
How much time passed, no one could have said. Voices grew sharper. Faces flushed.
Then an elegant voice spread quietly through the hall.
"Compose yourselves, all of you. What shameful display is this, before a guest?"
The voice was heavy. In an instant the chamber went as still as a grave, as if the uproar of a moment before had never existed.
The Butterfly Immortal swallowed a sound in his throat.
Senior Brother Nokcheong…
An old man in his twilight years, seizing the mood of the entire assembly with a single sentence. Anyone looking at him would have said he had the bearing of an immortal — the wind of a sage, the bones of a transcendent.
The rebuke of Nokcheong, called the foremost of the Samcheong.
Even the Lord of the Ritual Pavilion, who stood opposed to the three of them, did not find Nokcheong unpleasant. He had been the Sect Leader's eldest senior brother, which made him Cheonjeong's martial uncle as well. His character was refined and kindly, and a great many people admired him from the heart.
Once the hall had fallen quiet, Nokcheong spoke with a benevolent face.
"We have shown you an unsightly spectacle, Teacher Sun."
"Good that you know."
"……!"
The blunt reply shot back at once, and the faces around them twisted. Nokcheong, utterly unbothered by the tone, only laughed, easy and deep.
"Allow me to rise first and offer Teacher Sun my thanks."
He stood abruptly from his seat and bowed at the waist. The assembly startled. Even the Ritual Pavilion Lord's brows gave a twitch.
Sun Wukong alone folded his arms, wearing an expression that might have been knowing or might have been nothing at all.
"I offer my belated gratitude to Teacher Sun, benefactor of Wudang."
The voice and the manner were courtesy itself. A murmur of as expected drifted through the hall.
"To have shown such a wretched face to Teacher Sun, to whom we owe so great a debt…"
He murmured it so, and then raised his voice at the Daoists who had been standing on his own side, arguing at the top of their lungs.
"You would lay blame upon a man who has done us a great kindness. Are you truly Daoists of Wudang?!"
They had never imagined he would censure his own camp. Confusion broke across their faces.
"To hold a benefactor to account — how can that be? Of course, as you say, we cannot simply let the desecration of the sacred ground pass in silence. But this is not the proper way."
"……"
With every word that followed, the atmosphere in the hall grew stranger.
"Having received his grace, we cannot hold him responsible for the damage to Wudang's sacred ground either. How would it be if we concluded the matter thus?"
Nokcheong looked around as he spoke.
Only then did the Butterfly Immortal swallow a groan.
Exquisite.
He was making a show of taking Sun Wukong's side — and at the same time declaring that the grace of saving Geumgak would be treated as payment in full for the desecration of the sacred ground.
The situation flowed on as naturally as water, and even the Ritual Pavilion Lord was left with his mouth shut. There was, in that moment, no one who could reasonably object.
Having seized the room in a single stroke, Nokcheong bowed his head deeply to Sun Wukong once more.
The Butterfly Immortal bit his lip.
We're blocked. There is nothing more we can do.
He could hardly step in to help Sun Wukong now. The conclusion itself was reasonable enough. Who would stand up and protest that the grace of saving Geumgak should not be set against the damage to Wudang's holy site?
Faced with a conclusion so hard to fault, even the Ritual Pavilion Lord's faction slowly nodded, their faces sour.
Perhaps this is fortunate, in its way.
He was the one who had all but dragged Sun Wukong here. Had the hall decided to hold the man responsible, the Butterfly Immortal would have been the one left red-faced. This was, if nothing else, a clean enough ending. The problem was that it also meant Sun Wukong could no longer step forward to treat the Sect Leader's illness.
At this rate the Samcheong's overreach will only grow worse by the day.
That worry was just beginning to rise in him when Sun Wukong's voice slipped quietly into the silence.
"Still. Something's off."
"……?"
"I get that the sacred ground matters. And I know perfectly well that the favor of saving Geumgak matters too. I know. I know."
The sudden murmur pulled every eye in the hall.
"But isn't there something even more important?"
"What do you mean, Teacher Sun?"
"The villain who put the Sect Leader in that state."
"……!"
The room went still. Sun Wukong went on, perfectly at ease.
"Who that culprit is. What they were after. You ought to be busy throwing everything you've got into finding that out. And yet somehow, nobody seems interested."
"This is an internal matter of the Wudang Sect. It is not a subject to be discussed in the presence of an outsider such as Teacher Sun. We are dedicating our full strength to finding the culprit, and—"
Sun Wukong gave a short laugh and flicked his hand, lightly, as if brushing something aside.
The words died in Nokcheong's throat. His eyes flew wide, stretched almost to tearing.
A gesture that slipped between exquisite points along the meridians, snipping a breath clean off. Sun Wukong spoke as if it were nothing at all.
"From where I'm standing — as the outsider you keep calling me — it looks an awful lot like you don't actually want the culprit found."
He smiled, as if the whole thing amused him.
Sun Wukong's gaze settled, cold and heavy, upon the Samcheong.