The Line Geom Wi-hyeon Drew

Geom Wi-hyeon was no fool.

He knew perfectly well that the martial world pointed at him as the most hot-tempered of Mount Hua's Five Elders. He welcomed the reputation.

There is no need to be fair in all things. Sometimes what you need is a piece of trash — a man willing to eat every curse and every pointed finger. That role is mine. Nothing more.

In depth of martial study, in history, in every measurable respect, the Orthodox Murim towered over the martial world. And yet there were times when the Unorthodox — inferior in every one of those respects — projected a far more fearsome presence. Nor was that the end of it. Barely a dozen years ago, the Sama Order had driven the entire jianghu to the brink of collapse with demonic arts no one could even name the origin of.

Was it because their martial study ran deeper? Because their learning was more profound? Because they were armed with peerless divine arts?

No. It was because they never once glanced at anyone's face. Because they never once bothered with justification. Because they pursued nothing but practical gain.

The Unorthodox and the Demonic Path stood outside the bounds of righteous pretext. They had their own codes, of course — their own justifications, their own sense of honor. But from the Orthodox point of view they were thugs who had never heard of chivalry.

And even so — even with every finger in the world pointed at them — they built power.

The Demonic Path had forged itself into the Sama Order, a colossal force that shook the martial world to its foundations. The Unorthodox had never bound themselves as tightly as the Sama Order, but they had still produced the Black League, a loose confederacy that gathered every dark path under one banner. Measured against the Orthodox Murim they were endlessly lacking. And still they stood, unashamed, as one of the great pillars of the martial world.

We need to learn from them.

He would not be chained by justification or empty ceremony. The wound of failing to cut down a villain in time — of losing a junior brother he cherished because he had stopped to weigh the righteousness of the act — was what had steeled him to accept infamy as his own.

And so Geom Wi-hyeon took up the villain's part.

He swung his blade without hesitation when the goal demanded it. He pressed his opponents with a menace that belonged more to the Unorthodox than to any Daoist of Mount Hua. At first the condemnation poured toward the sect itself. That did not last. Before long, every curse and every accusation had found a single target: Geom Wi-hyeon.

That was enough.

He would take the abuse. Mount Hua would take the profit. Justification, honor, chivalry, righteousness — let his brothers of the sect gather up all of those. He had no need of them.

That did not mean Geom Wi-hyeon was a man ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠without brakes.

However readily he cast himself as the villain, however little he hesitated to behave like a creature of the Unorthodox, if he truly acted as though no one in the world could touch him, even Mount Hua would not be able to shield him forever.

A line.

Geom Wi-hyeon had a line. The moment he crossed it in earnest, the curses and the condemnation would no longer fall on Geom Wi-hyeon the man. They would fall on Mount Hua.

He moved with that line held rigidly in place. He moved only when he judged that the gain before him was the most practical of practical gains. That was the precise reason a man so steeped in infamy remained one of the Five Elders of the Mount Hua Sect — and why the disciples of Mount Hua still respected him.

But now.

Geom Wi-hyeon watched a variable rise before the very line he had drawn for himself.

A sword, aimed with lofty precision. And a man who shoved his own nose straight onto that unwavering tip.

What in the hell…

A killing edge so sharp that merely looking at it felt like a blade drawn across the chest. A sword-tip that carried the sensation of a heart about to be pierced. And this man had put his face against it.

The surroundings went still, as if someone had dashed a basin of water over the crowd. Sun Wukong's act had gone well past nerve. It was sheer, naked audacity.

To a master of Geom Wi-hyeon's caliber, distance was meaningless. Even a span of dozens of feet could be threaded by his sword in a single breath. He was an absolute expert so seasoned in the Peak Realm that he had long since begun to glimpse the Transcendental Realm beyond it. The tip that had only just brushed the man's nose ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠could take his head before the man even knew the blade had moved.

Geom Wi-hyeon had that much skill. What kind of madman put his face on the sword-tip of an absolute master?

The eyes with which Geom Wi-hyeon regarded that madman grew strange.

"Who are you?"

"Ah, if you're that curious about who I am, well — how could I possibly refuse?"

"…?"

Sun Wukong kept his face right where it was and flung both arms wide. It was bizarre. For a moment it almost seemed as though the sunlight had chosen to fall on him alone.

"Ah, as for who this Great Sage is — far across a sea of thousands upon thousands of li, upon Flower-Fruit Mountain…"

"This is the Great Sage, Equal to Heaven — Sun Wukong himself!"

Sun Wukong's voice had only just begun to unspool, finding a faint rhythm — and Ojeong, who had been watching from the side, blurted the rest out before he could stop himself.

Sun Wukong's eyes slid toward Ojeong, distinctly sulky.

"You've been stealing my introductions lately, you know that?"

There was a thin note of disappointment in it. Ojeong was unmoved.

"There are a lot of people watching. I was saving your dignity."

"I was gonna do it properly because ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠there were so many people watching…"

Sun Wukong could not quite swallow the regret. Even if he tried to start the introduction over, the crowd had already heard the words Great Sage, Equal to Heaven, and the murmuring had begun.

"The Great Sage, Equal to Heaven…!"

"Isn't he the benefactor from the Wudang Blood Incident?"

"He's a guest retainer of the Namgung Clan — and I heard he's the Young Clan Head's master, too."

"This is just a rumor, but they say the Namgung Clan Head honors him as a sworn older brother!"

"That has to be nonsense, right? I've heard the same thing, but look at him. The Namgung Clan Head has to be past fifty. A sworn older brother? Not a younger one?"

"Surely not…"

His name had not yet shaken every corner of the martial world. But this was Anhui Province. Every martial artist who had gathered here for the Grand Assembly of Murim had heard of the Great Sage, Equal to Heaven.

The moment Sun Wukong's identity came to light, the gazes of the murmuring crowd kindled. Their eyes were a tangle of different feelings, but every last one of them was sharp — the look of people who meant to take him apart and see what he was made of. Curiosity and a fierce will to compete ran through the martial artists like a current.

And among them…

They called it the Grand Assembly of the Orthodox, but there are a surprising number of people here who are anything but ordinary.

Every sensation in Sun Wukong's mind arrived at once. Gazes freighted with no common presence. Each of them had buried their existence in the crowd, but a sharp awl will pierce its own bag.

Sun Wukong, who shared even the senses of all creation, felt every last one of those eyes.

"The Great Sage, Equal to Heaven. I have heard the name."

Geom Wi-hyeon's eyes narrowed. The Great Sage, Equal to Heaven. The instant the name reached him, a dozen thoughts tangled together in his mind.

Get involved with this one, and there is no telling which way the matter will break.

But Sun Wukong was not a man who moved according to Geom Wi-hyeon's thoughts. He was, in the most literal sense, a variable.

"Aiming a sword means hostility. Those were your words, weren't they?"

"…!"

A stir ran through the crowd. Sun Wukong still had his head craned forward, the bridge of his nose pressed to the tip of the blade. What those words meant was not lost on anyone, and unrest rippled through the onlookers.

"Is he actually…"

"Well, damn. He said it himself — not much room to take it back."

"Hold on. That Mount Hua elder didn't point his sword at the Great Sage. The Great Sage shoved his face onto a sword that was already aimed."

"Which means the Great Sage is announcing he intends to put that Mount Hua elder in his place."

Every gaze in the murmuring crowd locked onto the same point. Sun Wukong grinned.

The moment Geom Wi-hyeon saw that grin, something heavy settled on his chest.

It was an arrogant thing to say. And still Geom Wi-hyeon could not easily open his mouth.

I cannot feel even a shred of presence from him.

Anything that lived carried presence. Even a tiger in the mountains possessed an aura by the mere fact of existing. Even an internal master who could gather his energy down to the last thread could not stop every faint leakage of what he was.

Right now, Geom Wi-hyeon felt nothing unusual at all.

Who would look at this man and call him a master?

There was only a foreign-looking eccentric who had barged in as though the world belonged to him. There was a single reason variables were frightening: you did not know them. You could not predict them. You could not even guess how they would move. Every point of them landed outside expectation.

Geom Wi-hyeon let out a long breath.

Has he reached Returning to Simplicity?

Returning to Simplicity. The realm in which one climbs so high that one comes back around to the most complete ordinariness. The instant that realm stamped itself into his mind, Geom Wi-hyeon wanted, with a fierce and immediate heat, to deny it.

The realm he himself had carved out through unceasing discipline. He had spent long years standing before the wall of the Transcendental Realm, peering through the faintest of cracks at what lay beyond. And this youth — this youth — had surpassed the Transcendental, touched the Peerless Realm above it, and arrived at Returning to Simplicity?

Denial. He denied it without pause, over and over, inside his own skull.

And yet the reason this man had reigned as an elder of Mount Hua through every infamy he had gathered was perfectly clear.

A soft rasp of steel.

"…!"

"Huh?"

A stunned half-laugh slipped from the people around them. Geom Wi-hyeon, his face set like stone, had drawn his sword back.

Even Sun Wukong's mouth rounded into a small, impressed oh.

Geom Wi-hyeon clenched his teeth.

If a possibility exists, one must never hold that possibility in contempt.

The man who had resolved the Wudang Blood Incident. The sworn older brother of the Namgung Clan Head. Those two facts alone marked Sun Wukong as a martial artist who had achieved a true realm. If Geom Wi-hyeon could feel nothing from him, the explanation was not that the man's internal energy was pitiful. It was that the man might be a sky Geom Wi-hyeon could not even look upon.

He wanted to deny it. But for the sake of that if — that single possibility — Geom Wi-hyeon had sheathed his sword.

In this moment, Geom Wi-hyeon did not cross the line.

He turned the withdrawn blade aside and offered a cupped-fist salute before the Tangma Society. An elder of Mount Hua bowed his head to a pack of First-class wandering swordsmen.

The martial artists of the Tangma Society were certainly insulted. They were not stupid. Wanderers who had survived the brutal martial world were quick on the uptake.

"Not at all. Our learning is still shallow and our cultivation lacking — we were the ones who drew our swords first, without leave. The fault lies with the Tangma Society."

They accepted the apology and lowered themselves in the same breath. It was enough to preserve Mount Hua's dignity and to display magnanimity besides. They had even received a concession from Mount Hua first. For the Tangma Society, they had gained as much as they were going to gain.

The situation, which had been whipping back and forth without warning, resolved itself in an instant. Geom Wi-hyeon had bowed his head in person. That was the end of it.

The Tangma Society sidled over to Sun Wukong as well.

"We will not forget this kindness."

"Thank you for pulling us out of that predicament."

"Ah. Well. Sure."

Sun Wukong nodded, looking faintly put out. He had not exactly stepped in because he wanted to help the Tangma Society.

He slid a glance toward Geom Wi-hyeon. The elder's expression was still sour — but the man was the owner of a dangerously keen sense.

Interesting human, that one.

Geom Wi-hyeon flicked a look at Sun Wukong, then offered an apology to Namgung Jeok as well.

"Swords were pointed at disciples of Mount Hua, and I allowed myself to become somewhat overheated. For violating the Namgung Clan's regulations, I apologize."

"…Not at all. I understand."

Namgung Jeok accepted the apology. Whatever else had happened, even the infamous Geom Wi-hyeon of the Mount Hua Sect had bowed his head before the Namgung Clan's rules. Namgung Jeok was only barely keeping the corner of his mouth from twitching. He cut a sidelong look at Sun Wukong, his eyes full of something close to awe.

What on earth did he do? He settled this entire situation in a single stroke?

Of course, Sun Wukong had not actually done a single thing. Tucked inside his robes was a dagger forged from the Seven Star Sword.

I was going to put it to decent use, too.

And the man had slipped out of it with senses that sharp.

Looks like a blunt instrument. Inside, he's a raccoon.

Sun Wukong watched Geom Wi-hyeon withdraw and grinned.

"The Namgung Clan and Mount Hua don't get along, huh?"

"Ah — yes. Not particularly well. There is bad blood from the past, so…"

"This is going to be a problem."

"Pardon?"

"That one doesn't look easy to handle. Tell the Clan Head and the Hall Master of Law Enforcement to keep a close eye on him. Force is force — you can always work something out with force. But a man whose instincts are sharper than his martial arts is a lot harder to deal with than you'd think. And in peacetime, martial arts matter less than… you know?"

Namgung Jeok nodded, his face gone serious. He had felt it himself, looking at Geom Wi-hyeon — the man was anything but ordinary.

That was when Ojeong eased himself into the conversation.

"Still, it's a relief. When that great hero suddenly shoved his face onto a sword-tip, I thought the man had lost his mind."

"What's a relief?"

"I was worried someone was going to die."

"Me?"

"No. That old man from Mount Hua."

Sun Wukong snorted a laugh at that.

"From the look of it, you came out here meaning to do something. Ending this blandly must feel a little hollow."

"Not exactly. I picked up an unexpected harvest."

"Sir?"

Sun Wukong tipped his head back. High above, Myodu-eung had spread its wings wide and was cutting across the open sky.

Hunt him down, Myodu-eung.

Sun Wukong grinned. All those gazes hidden in the crowd. In the instant he appeared, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a countless number of eyes had locked onto him — and from among them, Sun Wukong had picked out the single one he had been looking for.

"Ow, ow, ow…"

"Why are you suddenly pulling out your hair?"

Ojeong's eyes went round. Sun Wukong frowned, then pursed his lips and blew on the three lustrous strands of gold he had plucked from his own head.

"Huh?"

Ojeong's head tilted. The hairs had been right there — and then they vanished in front of his eyes, clean as a conjurer's trick. Blown away on the wind? But there was nothing drifting in the air, either.

Squeak-squeak. Bzzzzzz.

"Why is there a rat and a fly all of a sudden…"

Sun Wukong left the flustered Ojeong behind him and smiled.

Found you.

Bold enough to watch from that close. Sun Wukong rather liked the nerve.