All in Sun Wukong's Palm
The Wudang Sect possessed any number of sacred relics. Those handed down from one sect leader to the next were the very emblems of Wudang's authority. The Sect Leader's Command Token, the Purple Bamboo Slips, the Pine-Pattern Ancient Sword—these were among them.
Of course, they were symbols and nothing more. Neither peerless treasure-blades of the realm, nor spirit-jade steeped in divine energy. Their authority came solely from the fact that they had once belonged to Jang Sambong, the man who founded the Wudang Sect.
"They say that whenever Patriarch Jang Sambong swung his beloved Taiji Sword, the very cosmos would unfold."
The Mugok Hall Master's voice trembled, faintly. He stared at Sun Wukong with bloodshot eyes. The heat in that gaze was so fierce that even the Great Sage himself felt a passing urge to look away.
"So you're saying... that Taiji Sword actually exists?"
A sacred relic that lived only in legend. A divine sword said to have been carved by Jang Sambong himself from a fallen meteorite. Legends were legends for a reason. It appeared in written records and nowhere else. In all the long history of the Wudang Sect, not once had anyone actually laid eyes on it, nor had it ever been passed down.
"Wudang's official position has always been that the Taiji Sword isn't a literal weapon at all—that it's a metaphor for Patriarch Jang Sambong's martial arts themselves."
A sword that opened and closed the cosmos with every swing. If a treasure-map to the Taiji Sword ever surfaced, the chaos it would unleash upon the martial world would be anything but ordinary.
"For as long as Wudang's history has endured, the search for Patriarch Jang Sambong's Taiji Sword has never ceased."
Every sect leader had treated it as the cherished ambition of their own generation. But hunting a single sword across the vast expanse of the Central Plains was a grinding, thankless labor. Even Mt. Wudang itself still held tracts of land that no living soul had ever set foot on.
"Above all, it was a matter of money."
Hiring people costs money. That much was obvious. The Wudang Sect had always been financially fragile to begin with, and the endless, fruitless hunt for the Taiji Sword bled them far worse than anyone liked to admit.
"And so, I suppose, they concluded that the Taiji Sword wasn't a real blade at all—that it was merely another way of speaking of Patriarch Jang Sambong's formidable martial arts."
"So they just gave up because they couldn't find it."
Sun Wukong clicked his tongue.
"Honestly, that guy's a real piece of work. His descendants are struggling like this, and he couldn't just hand the damn thing over? All that nonsense about only a successor who passes some trial being allowed to have it..."
"Pardon?"
"Ah, never mind. That's between me and the man himself."
"The man himself?"
Bewilderment was written plainly across the Mugok Hall Master's face. But Sun Wukong was not kind enough to resolve his confusion. He folded his arms and spoke.
"If you found the Taiji Sword, what do you think would happen?"
"Need I even say it? Every generation of sect leaders treated it as the great ambition of their tenure. If it were to return to Wudang now..."
"Would that be enough?"
"...!"
"I'm asking whether having it would be enough to bring every faction of Wudang under one roof."
The Mugok Hall Master's body trembled, faintly. He stared at Sun Wukong for a long time, his eyes filled with a strange and burning heat. He understood what Sun Wukong was saying.
"Do you... do you truly know where the Taiji Sword is?"
The unspoken implication hung in the air: How could you possibly know?
Sun Wukong grinned.
"You already know."
"...That's right. Of course."
The Mugok Hall Master's shoulders sagged as if every last ounce of strength had drained from him. A hollow laugh escaped his lips, thin and empty.
"Yes... Teacher Sun really was... of Wudang's bloodline after all. That was it. Of course. He left the Pine-Pattern Ancient Sword and the Purple Bamboo Slips to our Wudang, and bequeathed the Taiji Sword to the disciple who left the mountain."
Sun Wukong did not answer. He simply held his silence, wearing a faint, inscrutable smile, and let the other man deceive himself and piece the story together on his own. Just as the Samcheong had done before.
Humans were creatures of imagination. Beasts and demons were poor at imagining. Their sole purpose was to survive whatever reality stood immediately before them.
Was that their limit?
Demons were undeniably strong. They were a race born powerful, endowed with the unprecedented force of demonic energy. And yet they had never ruled the world. Each had reigned like a king within their own domain, but none had ever taken the mortal realm entirely into their grasp.
Even in a world where demons held sway, humans built organizations, formed societies, and founded nations. Those frail humans had behaved as if they ruled the mortal realm. In the end, those mighty demons vanished entirely. The weak humans survived and flourished.
The Buddha was human. Sanzang was human. Even that old man Taesangnogun was human.
Sun Wukong smiled, bitterly.
How many beings born as demons had ever ascended to Heaven and become immortals? Among humans, they were countless. That imagination sometimes bound them in their own chains—but was it not because they could imagine that martial arts themselves had come into being?
Sun Wukong shook the brief reverie from his mind and quietly regarded the Mugok Hall Master. Having muttered to himself and assembled his own conclusion, the man now spoke with a resolute gaze.
"What is it that you want?"
"A thing returning to its original place. What more could I want?"
In that instant, an indescribable light rose across the Mugok Hall Master's face.
The Taiji Sword stirred nothing in Sun Wukong.
It's probably in terrible shape anyway.
According to Jang Sambong, it was just an ordinary steel sword. It had been considered a rather fine blade in its day, of course—but there were plenty of swords like that if you went looking.
All that talk about opening the cosmos? That's just later generations puffing it up.
That was how it always went. People swaggering around because they had some great figure among their ancestors.
Still, as a symbol, the Taiji Sword is powerful enough.
Sun Wukong had nothing to regret. The steel staff already in his grip. Half of the Seven Star Sword, forged from a fragment of the Big Dipper itself. And the Golden Cord besides. He already possessed celestial treasures of staggering power.
And once I find the Ruyi Jingu Bang, what use would any treasure in this world be?
There was no meaning in keeping it for himself. If he held onto it, he would be a successor of Wudang's bloodline who also possessed a sacred relic—his authority would only grow more certain. But Sun Wukong had thought of an even better way.
"...!"
The Mugok Hall Master's eyes flew wide, as if the words had caught in his throat. His face slowly flushed crimson—the look of a man wracked with shame.
"I... I was only thinking of gaining authority."
His voice trembled, almost a sob of embarrassment.
"Teacher Sun... you came from outside, and yet you desire Wudang's unification."
Sun Wukong scratched his chin.
Well, he did want unification, of course.
I'm putting a Wudang that nearly fell into those demons' hands right into my own palm.
When facing an enemy, the best method was to steal their strength. Take the enemy's power as your own, and they grow weaker while you grow stronger—twice the gain of simply becoming stronger yourself. A simple calculation, nothing more.
But it seemed to look entirely different through the Mugok Hall Master's eyes. With a gaze burning with fervor, he suddenly seized Sun Wukong's hand.
"Huh?"
"Yes. I shall honor Teacher Sun's will and unify Wudang as one, no matter what. I had forgotten that Hocheong, too, is an elder who loves this sect. Like the great Yangtze that embraces all things in this world—is that not what Wudang must be?"
"Mm."
Sun Wukong nodded.
"Ah, well. Do your best."
Did the Mugok Hall Master know? That Hocheong was not merely in Sun Wukong's grasp, but collared and leashed. That he himself had been profoundly swayed by Sun Wukong.
That both pillars of the Wudang Sect now rested entirely in the palm of Sun Wukong's hand.
"What a terrifying man."
Hocheong let out a sigh.
"So I'm to content myself as a thorough second-in-command."
Ambition had stirred in Hocheong's heart. He had made the entire power of the Samcheong his own. By personally executing the two senior brothers who had instigated the sect leader's assassination—cutting them down with the grim resolve of a commander slaying his own men—he had won considerable support among the younger martial artists. Hocheong had never been a particularly Taoist soul; desire had always clung to him. Of course ambition would goad him on.
But that, too, had scattered and vanished like a midsummer night's dream.
"The Taiji Sword... the Taiji Sword. Heh."
The Mugok Hall Master had found the Taiji Sword. The appearance of a sacred relic that had been regarded as nothing more than legend. The Hall Master's authority had soared in a single stroke. He had risen to a position Hocheong could no longer hope to challenge, no matter how hard he tried.
"A warning, no doubt."
I'll let you live. I won't care what you do or what power you enjoy. But you will follow my word, and thoroughly. A cold warning to live content as second-in-command. There was no mistaking it.
Tsk. Still, it's not so bad.
If he lowered his sights just a little, the situation wasn't so terrible. The Mugok Hall Master, now with room to breathe, had embraced Hocheong. Factions that had been divided for over a decade had come together as one. As the second-in-command of a unified Wudang, Hocheong would enjoy authority and influence that few could envy.
Hocheong let out a hollow laugh.
The Mugok Hall Master, too, seemed to have been swayed by Sun Wukong. In effect, the core power of Wudang was now intimately bound to him.
Decades. The years my senior brothers and I spent trying to seize control of Wudang after we were stripped of the sect leader's seat.
A mere month. In that brief span, a golden-haired foreigner from outside had accomplished it all. No matter how hard he thought, he could not easily comprehend it.
Can that man defeat the Organization?
A worry that rose unbidden.
Baekgwiwang had died by Sun Wukong's hand, and two of Wudang's Samcheong had died as well. It was clear. He stood opposed to the Organization.
Hocheong did not know much about the Organization. Everything about it was so thoroughly concealed that he understood only the barest speck. But one thing he did know: it was a group composed of staggering monsters.
His former direct superior, Honghaea, was explanation enough. He had encountered the boy only two or three times. That alone had been more than sufficient to feel it in his bones.
By the martial world's standards, he's certainly of the Transcendental Realm.
He dared not even try to measure it. The Transcendental Realm meant an absolute master who could contend for a place among the Ten Great Masters.
Perhaps even beyond that.
He might well be a martial artist of the Absolute Realm, represented by the Three Venerables.
How many more like him there are, I have no idea.
A monstrous collective, even as a single organization. The Wudang Sect itself had only its sect leader among the Ten Great Masters.
If that man is a monster capable of facing the Organization, so much the better.
Hocheong smiled, bitterly.
There was no turning back now. He had boarded the same boat as Sun Wukong. Betrayal was impossible. He could not flutter back to the other side like a bat. Before he could even try, that steel staff would pulp his skull.
Now all he could do was hope. Hope that Sun Wukong would bring the Organization down.
He's made it so I have no choice but to follow his word and aid him.
Hocheong let out a groan. If this entire thing had been a meticulously designed board...
He shook his head. Even if he brooded over it, there was nothing he could do now.
He turned his gaze. The Wudang elders had surrounded the sect leader's quarters like guardian attendants, every sense trained on what was unfolding within.
The reason Hocheop Seonja had invited Sun Wukong to Wudang in the first place was to treat the sect leader. They had gone around in circles through one affair after another, but now there was no one left to stand in the way. The Mugok Hall Master, Geumgak, and even Hocheong had all been seen acknowledging Sun Wukong by every member of the sect.
The moment he stepped into the sect leader's quarters, a pungent medicinal stench stabbed at his nose. The sect leader's face, lying pale and ashen. Sun Wukong furrowed his brow and laid a hand upon the man's body. His expression twisted, just slightly.
This is worse than I thought...
Sun Wukong's eyes grew a shade darker.