May I Find Them and Kill Them?

The Mugok Pavilion Master's eyes flew so wide they looked ready to tear at the corners.

"The Taiji Sword of Wisdom!"

There was no mistaking it. It was the Taiji Sword of Wisdom, beyond any doubt. He held no blade in his hand — that was the only difference. Those beautiful, dance-like movements were the forms of the Taiji Sword of Wisdom itself.

"H-how…"

Shock rippled through everyone present. Some found their tongues locked in their throats. Others stammered nonsense. Still others rubbed their eyes as if they could not trust what they had seen.

Even the Samcheong sat with their mouths hanging open. Hocheong glared as though the sight were an affront to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠reason. Nokcheong's face hardened and his lips pressed shut. Even Yangcheong, whose expression never shifted, showed a faint crack across that mask of stillness.

Sun Wukong stopped his dance and gave a lazy shrug.

"Still think I'm an outsider?"

That shameless drawl ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠shut every mouth in the hall. The sudden flood of information seemed to overload every mind in the room; no one could quite get their thoughts in order.

The first to find his voice was the Butterfly Immortal.

"Ah—ah! Master Sun, you—you inherited Wudang's Daoist lineage after all… That's why, that's why the Taiji and the Wuji blossomed! That's why—!"

The answer to his own long-held question had finally dawned on him, and he muttered it half to himself, half to the room.

"Wudang's Daoist lineage?"

"Are you saying he has trained in Wudang's martial arts, Butterfly Immortal?"

"And what is this about the Taiji and the Wuji?"

Sun Wukong made no effort to correct the misunderstanding. Tell them he had learned it from Dangrang? Who among them would believe that?

Of course, not everyone shared the Butterfly Immortal's rapturous reaction.

A thunderous crash shook the hall. Sun Wukong's head snapped around.

Hocheong was staring at him with a face gone scarlet, hostility rolling off him so thick it looked as though he might lunge at any second. His eyes burned with a vicious light, like the gleam in a tiger's gaze, and the force of his presence pressed down on everyone who felt it.

"Hey, keep it down. You don't have to split the table. If you've got something to say, just say it."

"How—how do you know the Taiji Sword of Wisdom?"

"How do I know it? I learned it."

"That is absurd!"

Hocheong stamped down with inner energy packed into the blow. A jagged crack split the smooth stone floor.

"Only the Sect Leader and his successors may learn it! How could some Western mongrel of unknown origin — some half-breed whose roots no one can even trace — possibly have learned it?!"

The abuse came without the slightest restraint. Sun Wukong nearly whistled under his breath.

Emotions churning that violently… His Fiery Golden Eyes looked past the surface of the man's mind. Hocheong's soul writhed like a thing gone mad. Once the passions ran this high, even the sturdiest walls of the spirit were bound to tremble.

Even so, it was not enough to reveal the soul's true form in full.

If I poke him a little more, that soul of his might just come bursting into view.

Sun Wukong studied the crimson thread of fate that bound them and decided against it.

No need to rush.

This was a grudge from a previous life, after all. He had already marked the Samcheong as enemies in all but name.

I don't even need to know who they were before. They're the ones I have to take down first either way.

He had no intention of leaving the three of them alone. They were the ones who had made contact with Honghaea.

Perhaps Hocheong felt that sudden chill in Sun Wukong's gaze. His face grew grave, and he raised his voice.

"The Taiji Sword of Wisdom can never leave this sect. If it has, there is only one explanation."

"One?"

"You stole it."

Astonishment broke across every Daoist's face. Steal the Taiji Sword of Wisdom from Wudang? There was only one way that could possibly happen.

"Surely you don't mean…"

"You are the assassin who attacked the Sect Leader! Or if not the assassin himself, then the one backing him!"

It was a plausible enough accusation. Even the Mugok Pavilion Master, who had already resolved to bring Sun Wukong onto their side, felt a flicker of doubt.

Sun Wukong gave a short, dry laugh.

"So I'm an idiot, then? I just stroll in here bold as you please and put the Taiji Sword of Wisdom on display?"

That was not wrong either. And yet the reason so many of the Daoists found themselves quietly siding with Hocheong was obvious. The Taiji Sword of Wisdom was transmitted to the Sect Leader's successor and to no one else. Every martial artist in Wudang longed for it, burned for it, and could never learn it. And now some insolent outsider who did not even look like a Daoist had just performed it in front of them.

Greed and jealousy mixed faintly across their faces as they made it known they could not accept what they had seen. Hocheong's face was no different. What sat there was ugly envy, naked jealousy, and raw desire.

Sun Wukong read those honest feelings without any trouble.

Ah. They were the Sect Leader's martial brothers, so they had a shot at the position themselves, didn't they?

But they had not become Sect Leader, and they had lost their chance to learn Wudang's strongest technique. And now it had unfolded from Sun Wukong's fingertips. How that must have twisted their guts.

He clicked his tongue.

"You think Jang Sambong's techniques were passed down through Wudang alone?"

"He is the founding patriarch of this sect! Every martial artist in the jianghu knows that every art he created was transmitted ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠through Wudang and Wudang alone. What sophistry are you trying to spin?!"

"Jang Sambong had more than one or two disciples."

Sun Wukong murmured it as if the thought had only just occurred to him. Hocheong, who had been mid-tirade, faltered.

"Surely you don't…"

That Jang Sambong had taken many disciples was a historical fact, recorded in the texts. Of course, it was the Wudang Sect that had inherited his teachings in their entirety — but there had also been disciples who never took a place in Wudang, who wandered the world as they pleased.

The Butterfly Immortal rushed to interject.

"Could it be that you inherited Yang Yong's true teachings?"

Yang Yong. The name sent a murmur through the gathering. One of Jang Sambong's many disciples, and a rather famous one at that. He had once been Jang Sambong's most cherished student, until he vanished, declaring that he would not remain in one place but would spread the Dao throughout the world.

Sun Wukong did not bother to answer. The Butterfly Immortal, however, took that silence for confirmation, and his face lit with delight.

"Heh… heh heh… So that's it. You inherited Yang Yong's true teachings. He left Wudang to spread the Dao through the world, but was he not the disciple Jang Sambong cherished above all others?"

"And how are we supposed to believe that?!"

Hocheong roared as he cut in. His expression was still ugly, but some of the force had gone out of his voice.

Sun Wukong shrugged.

"Well, it makes more sense than me beating the Wudang Sect Leader into that state and then stealing the Taiji Sword of Wisdom, doesn't it?"

The corner of Hocheong's mouth twitched as Sun Wukong drawled the words.

"How long has the Wudang Sect Leader been down?"

"Not even a full month."

The Butterfly Immortal answered at once, gazing at Sun Wukong with such trusting eyes that he looked prepared to believe anything the man said. Sun Wukong felt a faint prick of guilt.

Man. From the way he took me blocking his ascension right on down… this guy is just too pure-hearted.

The flicker of conscience lasted only a moment. He shrugged it off.

Not like I actually did anything wrong.

Let him believe whatever he wanted to believe.

Sun Wukong swept the thought aside and looked around the hall, musing aloud.

"A month. Just one month."

"What are you getting at?"

Hocheong asked through clenched teeth. Sun Wukong gave a short laugh.

"I'm flattered you think so highly of me, really. But tell me — is it possible to steal the Taiji Sword of Wisdom and get this good at it in a single month?"

Hocheong's mouth snapped shut.

"A peerless divine art you can master in a month. That's not even the third-class trash a snake-oil peddler hawks."

Even a genius who had reached the heights of martial study could not master the Taiji Sword of Wisdom in a month. It was simply impossible. The limit of time was too clear. The accusation Hocheong had tried to pin on him was bound to fall apart.

Of course, if they had known that Sun Wukong had learned the entire art from Dangrang in a mere seven days and nights, they would have gone well past surprise and straight into horror.

But that's by ordinary people's standards.

He was Sun Wukong, after all.

One by one, heads began to nod. The Taiji Sword of Wisdom he had performed was genuine. There was no room for doubt. Which meant the claim that he had inherited Yang Yong's true teachings was likely no lie either.

"I see…"

A bright light kindled in the Mugok Pavilion Master's eyes.

Sun Wukong looked around at them all.

"Well? Still an outsider?"

"That is…"

"Doesn't matter to me either way. It's not like I'm particularly fond of Wudang."

A strange atmosphere settled over the hall. If he truly had inherited Yang Yong's teachings, then his roots ran back to Jang Sambong, the same as Wudang's. And if one started counting generations of discipleship… they were in no position to speak carelessly to him. Here was another living transmission of Jang Sambong's art, one that had not passed through Wudang at all. Even if they could not take it into their bosom, how could they cast it out?

The thought spread through the room unspoken. Sun Wukong spoke as though he had already guessed it.

"So let me ask. How far have you tracked the assassin who did that to the Sect Leader, honored elders of the Samcheong?"

That slick, easy voice made Hocheong grind his teeth. He swallowed the urge to strike then and there — because a sound transmission from Nokcheong, who sat behind him with an unreadable face, had just reached his ear.

A short voice. A single phrase, nothing more. But Hocheong felt as though a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head. He clenched his jaw and sat back down.

With Hocheong yielding the floor, Yangcheong stepped forward, his face set like stone.

"I will not deny that Master Sun has inherited a Daoist lineage. However, this is Wudang's affair. Unless you formally join our sect, it is not possible."

"That so?"

Sun Wukong scratched his chin. It looked, for a moment, as though he might concede. He did not. He grinned instead.

"Then I suppose I can track them down on my own?"

"What do you—!"

"The Mugok Pavilion Master is running his own investigation. The Samcheong are running theirs. What's stopping me from doing the same?"

"Why would you even—"

"C'mon. We learned the same martial art. That makes us family, doesn't it?"

He drawled it with that same shameless ease. Then the easy smile vanished. He looked straight at the Samcheong, and his face went cold.

For a moment, Nokcheong could not speak. Those eyes were looking directly at him — red irises, pale golden pupils, and not a shred of feeling in them. The instant he met that gaze, his entire body went cold.

Sun Wukong smiled, white and bright.

It was as though a storm had torn through the hall. The Wudang Daoists, already split into factions, erupted into a clamor of competing voices.

If Sun Wukong had inherited Yang Yong's true teachings — if he was a branch of Wudang's own Daoist learning — then as the Butterfly Immortal had said, there was no reason he should not be allowed to examine the Sect Leader's condition. The same argument circulated again and again, and of course it originated with the Butterfly Immortal and spread from the Mugok Pavilion Master's camp.

For the Pavilion Master, the Sect Leader's recovery was the best possible outcome. If the Sect Leader pulled through, the standing of Cheonjeong, the designated successor, would not be shaken. And more than that — they had seen the Taiji Sword of Wisdom.

He already knows a branch of Wudang's martial arts. What harm could there be in letting him circulate the Sect Leader's qi?

The Mugok Pavilion Master moved boldly, shaping the mood of the sect. And as soon as he did, the opposing side responded just as swiftly.

Hocheong's eyes narrowed to sharp slits.

"Senior Brothers, we need to get that one out of Wudang."

"Why?"

"He is no ordinary man. Not once did he look away from my eyes. And he spoke with that kind of confidence. He may actually succeed in tracking down the assassin."

Yangcheong and Nokcheong needed no explanation of what that would mean.

"If it comes to that, the entire scheme could collapse, Senior Brother."

"Mm."

"We need time. Push him outside the sect, and in the meantime, we find the assassin ourselves."

"Find him?"

"No. We make one."

Yangcheong grasped his meaning and gave a slow nod.

"And how do we drive him out?"

"We invent a proper reason."

"If we step forward ourselves, we will look ridiculous."

"I know that. We simply don't step forward ourselves."

Hocheong muttered this and immediately summoned Gwangso. The man arrived at the call and bowed his head.

"Gwangso."

"Yes, Martial Uncle."

"Have a word with that pup from the Unhyeon Sword Gate. He'll need a little something to puff him up, so give him this. Tell him it is a gift, and that I told you to deliver ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it."

Hocheong handed over a small case.

"Understood. I will proceed as you instructed previously."

A thin, unpleasant smile touched Hocheong's lips.

"Put someone else out in front to make all the noise, and just fan the flames while pretending you know nothing. That's all it takes, isn't it?"

That was how the Samcheong had seized power in the Wudang Sect.