Do Whatever You Want

Given the state of his body, Hocheong had no choice but to watch the fight from the first blow to the last.

The swords of his two senior brothers, Nokcheong and Yangcheong, were formidable in their own right. Sword qi shimmering with ink-dark and crimson light was the manifestation of considerable inner power — a realm that, though they were bound together as the Samcheong, Hocheong could scarcely hope to approach.

Even more astonishing was Sun Wukong.

He had already felt that martial might viscerally when he clashed with the man before. In a memory that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠seemed to run directly counter to every principle of Wudang martial arts, Sun Wukong had been an overwhelming strength that denied everything.

A constantly flowing waterway looks calm and majestic on the surface. But no one can go against the current. Even hard rock is carved and broken by the water's path as the years pass. Wudang martial arts are like this water — the power that had allowed the Wudang Sect to stand unshaken in the martial world. It was a river of a martial art, and they had believed without a shadow of doubt that it could wrap even the most devastating technique in softness.

When they fought before, Sun Wukong had walked up to the truth Hocheong had trusted his entire life and denied it to its face. Wudang martial arts were thoroughly shattered by an overwhelming hegemony. He tore that once-majestic current to shreds, flipped the riverbed, and buried the water. Witnessing such a thing — and exchanging blows with it firsthand — was a first in Hocheong's life.

But today's spectacle was even harder to understand.

The man had clearly been one who walked the deviant path. What Hocheong saw now was so completely different he could have sworn he was looking at another person entirely.

The heavy steel staff looked vicious just to glance at — a savage iron club that seemed ready to pulp everything it touched. And yet the movement of that staff, dripping with blood and all manner of pale, nameless matter, was incomparably fluid. As majestic as an inexhaustible river's current. As soft as a passing breeze.

Wudang...

It was Wudang. There was no doubt. The very pinnacle of Wudang martial arts was pouring from Sun Wukong's staff today.

Hocheong etched every instant into his memory with his eyes wide open. From the principle of using softness to overcome hardness to the subtlety of grafting and redirecting force — every profundity Wudang martial arts could display flowed forth without pause. It was so remarkable that the swords of Nokcheong and Yangcheong, who had studied at Wudang their entire lives, were swept aside ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠as if they weighed nothing.

That's right. That one inherited a lineage of Wudang martial arts.

He had shown it openly at their first meeting in the conference hall — the formulas of the Taiji Sword of Wisdom, rendered with perfect precision. It was unmistakably genuine Wudang martial arts, beyond any possible doubt.

But Hocheong still could not understand it.

It's completely different. Not a single thing is the same as yesterday.

Except for the steel staff in his hand, everything had changed. If there had been similar formulas, or even a familiar form, perhaps it would have been comprehensible. The very foundation of the martial arts was different. Where had yesterday's figure gone — the one who fought with overwhelming hegemony and a heaviness that crushed everything in every direction?

Can martial arts change like that in a single day, as ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠if swapping them out?

Even if a man spent a lifetime digging a single well, it was common to fail to master even one martial art before he died. In this world, mastering a single art was enough to be said to have founded a school. And this one had not one such art, but two.

Just what... just what in the world...

And that was not all. The mutual-destruction technique that Senior Brother Yangcheong had unleashed, even awakening his Latent Power — in that instant, Hocheong's eyes had lit up. The distance was too close. The steel staff could not bat it away. It was far too late to dodge, and the inner power behind it was far too mighty to block.

His faith shattered in almost the same breath.

What in the world is that? What is it?!

Sun Wukong suddenly let the steel staff fall from his hand.

Most martial artists never drop their weapon. Not unless they are masters deeply versed in unarmed combat from the start. It is not merely attachment to the blade. Having trained with that weapon their entire life, relying on their beloved armament in a moment of crisis is the most natural instinct in the world.

Sun Wukong abandoned the staff without the slightest hesitation.

"Ahhh..."

Hocheong let out a sigh before he knew it.

A vacuum that defied all explanation. This Latent Power was a force more mighty than any inner energy cultivated through any mind method, and Hocheong and the Samcheong had become thoroughly intoxicated by it. More than the aesthetics of the Wudang martial arts they had trained their entire lives, they had fallen deeply for this unidentified power. Even if it meant becoming someone else's limbs, they had been swept up in the fierce desire that with this force they could, in time, take Wudang for themselves. The Latent Power even awakened a person's hidden nature.

So their faith in it had been nearly religious.

And faith, as they say...

"BEGONE!"

Sun Wukong's rough shout shook their eardrums. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Everything grew hazy, like a midsummer night's dream. The power that had given a sense of fulfillment as if it would fill every hollow place — the mighty inner force called Latent Power, which had burrowed deeper in a short span than even Wudang martial arts — was sucked away and vanished like a dream at midday.

A vacuum that swallowed the Latent Power. Yoryeok that ate Yoryeok to destroy demons. Before the might of Myeol-yo-gong, the Latent Power they had treated like a faith lost its strength with pathetic ease.

Yangcheong's form, wrapped in a golden current tinged with red light, slammed into the floor.

Having disposed of his two senior brothers — Wudang's own elders — in a single stroke, Sun Wukong quietly looked down at him. Hocheong's body twitched as if it might go into convulsions.

"What's a tiger doing looking so squeamish?"

Sun Wukong laughed.

Sun Wukong sat in the lotus position, forming the Demon-Subduing Earth-Touching Mudra like a statue of Shakyamuni Buddha, and met Hocheong's eyes.

This was the man who, only yesterday, had resisted him more fiercely than anyone. Frustration hung heavy across his face.

"Starting to figure out the situation, my tiger friend?"

Hocheong glared at him for a moment, as if to ask what kind of garbage he was spouting.

"Oho. Fear's eaten into you, but you still haven't lost your spine. That's a tiger for you. Better a tiger than Nokcheong the deer, or that goat-headed Yangcheong."

"What are you... talking about."

"I'm talking about what's inside you."

Sun Wukong grinned.

"Deer Strength Great Immortal, Sheep Strength Great Immortal, Tiger Strength Great Immortal... a long time ago there were these deer, sheep, and tiger demons who dressed up as Daoists and beat monks to death. Fancy themselves, they even used real Daoist arts to play at being immortals."

"Old habits die hard. Still pretending to be Daoists, I see."

Every last one of them had died at Sun Wukong's hands.

"Now there's just you left."

"If you're going to kill me... stop mocking me and get it over with."

Sun Wukong gave a short laugh.

The hierarchy among the Samcheong was clear. Compared to Nokcheong and Yangcheong, Hocheong had always come up short. The shortfall in temperament was obvious too — unlike his two senior brothers, he still had a young man's blood in him, and he flared up easily. But his skill itself was nothing to dismiss.

Yesterday he took a direct beating from my staff and still clung on like a tick.

The ferocity of his sword might have fallen somewhat short of Nokcheong and Yangcheong, but his will was another matter. Of course, the fact that Sun Wukong had deliberately left him alive yesterday played a part as well.

"Hocheong. Don't you feel like living?"

Hocheong's face wavered, just for an instant. Then he spoke with a heavy, measured gaze.

"From the look of things, that talk about being an inspector was all nonsense, and though I don't know the details, you seem to regard our organization as an enemy the same way you killed Baekgwiwang. You're going to kill me anyway, aren't you?"

"Deciding I'll kill you anyway — did you think the Buddha was that short on mercy?"

"Surely you're not claiming that what's sitting in front of me is the Buddha."

Sun Wukong grinned wider.

"Look at this smile. Is this not the compassionate smile of a Buddha? You look at a Buddha statue, the Buddhas are all smiling just like this. Huh? Look at this mudra. This is a Buddha's mudra."

Hocheong's brow furrowed.

"Stop mocking a man before you kill him."

"What, do I really look that short on mercy?"

Sun Wukong clicked his tongue. Stars exploded across Hocheong's vision.

A searing pain bloomed across his cheek as his neck snapped sideways as if it would break. Teeth sprayed from his mouth. Hocheong's eyes flew wide.

"I could've burst your head open, but I slapped your cheek instead. How is that not merciful?"

And with that, he showed that distinctive smile of his — a benevolent expression in a situation that was anything but. For an instant, Hocheong felt genuine fear.

"Still haven't felt it?"

The question had barely left his mouth before Sun Wukong pressed down gently on Hocheong's knee.

His kneecap twisted at a grotesque angle with a sickening crack. Hocheong's eyes bulged as if they would tear.

"I could've made your upper and lower halves play separately, but I just gave your knee a little massage. How is that not merciful?"

Sun Wukong smiled benevolently once more.

Only then did Hocheong understand the situation.

"W-what... what do you want from me? You're saying it isn't my life?"

"Hocheong. That letter — you sent it to Honghaea?"

"...That's right."

"Did you summon Honghaea in person? You think he'll actually come?"

"He might. But that one does not set foot on Mt. Wudang lightly."

Hocheong chose his next words with care. Sun Wukong nodded. Show a man a little mercy, and he really does become cooperative.

The reason he won't come to Mt. Wudang is probably Dangrang.

The message had clearly gotten through.

The moment I leave Mt. Wudang, he'll make contact one way or another.

He would be meeting Honghaea soon enough.

"So you people only take orders from Honghaea?"

"That's right."

"And Honghaea gave you that medicine?"

Hocheong's eyes went round.

"Curious how I know, huh. I know all about him giving you that medicine and letting you use Latent Power."

"...Just who are you."

Sun Wukong said it without a shred of shame.

"Meaning I'm the judge who came down from the Heavenly Realm to beat every last one of your heads in."

Hocheong shut his mouth. Having seen that overwhelming martial power, a sliver of doubt had crept in — even Honghaea, whom they as Wudang's elders did not dare meet eye to eye, might not be a match for this man.

"So you intend to torture me for information?"

"Eh, torture? Let's not use such grisly words. I don't like the sight of blood."

Hocheong looked at the blood dripping steadily onto the floor. Sun Wukong said it with a perfectly straight face.

"Anyway. Stop being Honghaea's errand boy and be mine."

"Then the organization will kill me soon enough. A traitor cannot possibly—"

Sun Wukong cut him off at once.

"If you don't, you die right now."

Sun Wukong's face went expressionless. The grin that had been playing across it vanished without a trace, and the atmosphere changed in an instant. At a shift that extreme, Hocheong's cheek began to tremble.

"Didn't you say you were overflowing with mercy?"

"Don't push your luck. I mean it. Do I need to remind you that I already wiped the restriction from your mind? Honghaea cannot crawl onto Mt. Wudang. I can guarantee you that. Park yourself on Mt. Wudang, listen to me, and move only as I say. Then you live. You can live your whole life. You can live so damn long you'll be smearing shit on the walls."

"And what do you intend to do by keeping me alive?"

"Don't worry. I'm not just going to use you. I'll fill that greed of yours too."

"My greed?"

"You want to seize the Wudang Sect and enjoy the power, don't you?"

"...!"

"Becoming number one — Sect Leader — that's impossible. The Mugok Pavilion Master is going to take that seat, so the best you can do is number two. But think about it."

Sun Wukong's voice turned sly.

"Even if you'd followed Honghaea's orders perfectly and your plan had succeeded, there were three of you in the Samcheong. And only one seat at the top."

"...!"

"Oh? But now two of them are dead, and there's just one left. Just our Hocheong. All that power the three of you would have had to split, one elder can take for himself."

Hocheong looked at Sun Wukong in silence.

Sun Wukong grinned.

Heaven and earth splitting open.

It was exactly that. As if the sky and the ground themselves had been torn apart, the Wudang Sect was thrown into upheaval overnight.

The deaths of Nokcheong and Yangcheong of the Samcheong. The staggering news spread through the entire sect in no time at all — which was only natural, given that the one who announced it was Hocheong himself, appearing with grave wounds.

The Mugok Pavilion Master cried out, his face stunned.

"S-so you're saying the two elders of the Samcheong were the ones who commissioned the assassination of the Sect Leader, and when Immortal Hocheong uncovered the truth, the two of them tried to bring him over to their side, failed, and attacked him?"

"That is so, Pavilion Master."

"Such a thing..."

And yet he had no choice but to believe it. The mountain of evidence Hocheong presented — everything the Samcheong had done to seize control of the Wudang Sect, and, most decisively, proof that they had commissioned a killing through an outside intermediary with the Killing Gate — all of it came spilling out.

"I was fortunate enough to be saved by Teacher Sun, and only thus have I been able to bring the truth to light."

The Mugok Pavilion Master could not easily adjust to this world-overturning upheaval. Hocheong's sudden change in attitude — this man who had been his enemy — was baffling in itself.

Because he too is an elder of Wudang, because he had a heart that loved Wudang, he could not stand by and watch his senior brothers' crimes?

Had he been that kind of man? Had he so badly misread him? His thoughts were a tangle.

I need to see Teacher Sun.

The Mugok Pavilion Master realized that Sun Wukong was deeply entangled in this affair.

"Where is Teacher Sun?"

"He has gone to the Ritual Hall with Daoist Hyeonjeong."

"The Ritual Hall?"

The Ritual Hall was the place where rites were offered to the many gods venerated in the Daoist tradition.

"He said he would offer a rite to Taishang Laojun."

A rite to Taishang Laojun, the highest deity in the Daoist pantheon, was a profoundly solemn affair. Even the Mugok Pavilion Master, for all his authority, could not interrupt or halt a ceremony already underway.

Of all times to suddenly hold a rite... just what is going on here...

That was when it happened.

"Pavilion Master! You must come outside!"

A martial artist beyond the door was shouting in agitation. The Mugok Pavilion Master's brow furrowed.

"I am speaking with Immortal Hocheong. What kind of manners are these, raising such a racket!"

"Y-you have to come and see!"

The martial artist shouted on, heedless of the Pavilion Master's rebuke.

"Something strange is happening at Seven Sages Peak, where the Ritual Hall stands...!"

"The Ritual Hall?"

The Mugok Pavilion Master hurried outside.

Among the many peaks of Mt. Wudang, the high summit where the Ritual Hall was located.

"What in the world... is that?"

The Mugok Pavilion Master's face went rigid.