The Contrarian Teacher Sun
With the official opening of the Grand Assembly of Murim just three days away, the country around Hefei burned with a feverish heat.
Beneath the surface, the Nine Sects and One Gang, the Five Great Clans, and the Heroic Society that Sip-pal-gong had assembled were locked in a savage tangle of interests, splitting apart and knitting back together by the hour. But the assembly the world could see was a festival.
If the world were filled only with those worn smooth by cynicism, how bleak a place it would be. There were still those who yearned to forge chivalry from martial arts. There were still martial artists of Jianghu who dreamed of a pure and unstained righteousness. Wandering swordsmen chasing the romance of the martial world had existed without number in every age, and to people like that, the Grand Assembly meant something rare.
After the Great Orthodox-Unorthodox War had ended, the Orthodox martial world had splintered in every direction. Sects that had taken the worst of the damage sealed their gates. Even the great sects were consumed with rebuilding. It was a season when a man could set the greater good aside and grow as selfish as he pleased for the sake of his own sect and his own blood. The moment their common enemy vanished, the Orthodox factions became unorthodox to one another. Conflict and quarrel spread without end.
Just as those who still carried a purpose in their hearts were despairing of the world as it was, a gathering was arranged where the feuding Orthodox would finally sit in one place and speak of a shared intent. It was, in the truest sense, a festival. And a festival of that scale demanded an eve celebration.
"I hear the Namgung Clan is hosting this. A sect everyone said was on its last legs — where did they find the means?"
"They've always had the strength. Since when were Namgung's martial artists weak?"
"Who doesn't know Namgung is built of experts, you fool. I'm talking about an affair this lavish — the food, the wine, the courtesans. You think money like that comes off the tip of a sword?"
Wanderers turned in every direction, clicking their tongues. Whispers and wonder tangled together wherever a man stood. If there was a place on earth that deserved the words city that never sleeps, it was this one.
"So this is Namgung's true depth..."
"Even granting that Namgung is the hegemon of Anhui, this is grander than I expected."
"I don't think they'll be the hegemon of Anhui alone much longer. If the rumors are true and the Pan-Orthodox Alliance actually launches, how far do you suppose Namgung's reach will run?"
"All the way across the Central Plains? Plenty of people carry a grudge against Namgung. It won't be that easy."
"There are plenty who hate them, sure — but there are just as many who admire them."
"Hmm?"
"More than that, this whole affair is being held in Anhui, on Namgung's own ground. The gates that have been shut all this time are open. How many people do you think have been waiting for a chance to tie themselves to Namgung?"
"You mean people are coming from every corner of the Central Plains just to form a connection with them?"
"They'll become Namgung's supporting faction, and Namgung will have a chance to plant its prestige in Jianghu for everyone to see. It's a warning, too — to anyone nursing a grudge, don't you dare step out of line. Proof that Namgung's name still carries weight."
"And if this affair wraps up the way they intend..."
"It'll be the first time since the Great War that the dragon called the Namgung Clan truly takes wing over the Central Plains."
It was a place that shone like a sun risen at night. A city of unsleeping lights, standing tall as it cleaved the darkness. Lanterns burned through their oil without rest, flooding the world with light. Lively music spilled through the streets, and the sweet perfume of wine seeped into every alley.
The truly astonishing part was this: for all the powerful martial artists drinking and carousing without restraint, no serious incident had broken out. There were petty quarrels and bruised pride, nothing more. Nothing that would draw blood and stain the gathering's name was permitted to happen. Everyone was watching themselves too carefully for that.
"Well, of course they are."
"I heard even that high-nosed Geom Wi-hyeon of Mount Hua bowed his head."
"Geom Wi-hyeon? You mean the Scattered Plum Blossom Swordsman of the Mount Hua Sect?"
"Heh. That arrogant bastard?"
More than a few people had witnessed what happened in broad daylight. The news that Geom Wi-hyeon and the Mount Hua disciples had lowered their heads and withdrawn spread like wildfire.
"Even Mount Hua can't throw its weight around on Namgung's ground, eh?"
"They apologized to Namgung for breaking the rules, but Namgung isn't the one who made them do it."
"Huh?"
"I'm talking about the golden-haired, golden-eyed man who goes by the title Great Sage, Equal to Heaven."
"Ah — the Young Master's master?"
"Did he fight Geom Wi-hyeon?"
"No, they didn't fight. Geom Wi-hyeon tucked his tail and ran!"
"From nothing but a clash of presence?"
"Anyone who can make a savage like Geom Wi-hyeon turn tail is no ordinary man. This Great Sage, Equal to Heaven..."
"It's only a rumor, but they say the one who actually settled the Wudang Blood Tragedy wasn't the Heavenly Sword Star at all. It was him. The Great Sage."
"Wait — then just how strong is this man? Are you saying he's surpassed the Peak Realm?"
"Who knows. Geom Wi-hyeon himself is at the far edge of Peak. So maybe..."
The speaker let the thought trail off. On the faces around him, curiosity gave way to something closer to shock.
"If he's Transcendental Realm, that's enough to challenge the citadel of the Ten Great Masters!"
"Come on. Not every Transcendental Realm expert is one of the Ten Great Masters."
"Still — you don't even get the unspoken right to challenge them unless you've reached Transcendental, do you?"
"Heh. What a figure to have turn up."
"Please. It's all rumor. Transcendental Realm is going too far. You think that's an easy height? A man that young would have been famous as a rising talent years ago. Experts like that don't just drop out of the sky."
The affair of the Scattered Plum Blossom Swordsman — a man whose savage reputation had once shaken Jianghu — backing down made every soul present understand, with painful clarity, whose ground they were standing on. Of course, the one who had driven Geom Wi-hyeon off was none other than Sun Wukong. He became the talk of the town overnight. But the sharper eyes in the crowd saw through him to the depth of the Namgung Clan itself.
"There used to be talk that Namgung's guest retainers were a clan unto themselves — that there were really Six Great Clans, not Five..."
"And this Great Sage is one of Namgung's guest retainers too, isn't he?"
"A guest retainer isn't a member of the clan, true enough. But you can hardly say there's no connection at all."
"The martial force Namgung showed in the Great War, and now another power sitting beside them in the form of their retainers..."
"And these aren't ordinary retainers. Not if one of them is the Great Sage."
"Will the retainers actually amount to anything, though?"
"One of them is a man rumored to be Transcendental Realm. Think about it. The only Transcendental Realm expert Namgung has is the Heavenly Sword Star, and he's already one of the Ten Great Masters."
"But the idea that the Great Sage is Transcendental is still just a guess. A rumor."
"That's true. This business has a habit of inflating stories."
"If you want the truth, you'll have to see it for yourself at the martial arts tournament."
"There's going to be a tournament?"
"Of course there will. When the Wulin Alliance was founded they held a tournament for the same reason — to recruit and invite experts. The ones who distinguished themselves walked away with a seat each."
"Hnh. I wonder if the Great Sage will show."
"He will."
"What makes you so sure?"
"The eyes of the entire Central Plains are on this Grand Assembly. Distinguish yourself here and your name rings across the world overnight."
"Fair enough. If I had the skill, I'd enter too."
And so the rumor took wing — that Sun Wukong, the Great Sage, Equal to Heaven, the man who had become the talk of every street, would show himself at the martial arts tournament.
"Huh? I'm not entering."
Namgung Muyoung's eyes went round at Sun Wukong's answer.
"Pardon? The rumors have been everywhere."
"Rumors are just rumors."
"Rumors don't usually spring up out of nowhere, do they?"
"That's true enough as a rule. This one, though, really did come out of nowhere. And that's exactly why I feel even less like going."
Muyoung tipped his head, his face drawn with fatigue. It was a mass of bruises, yet not a flicker of pain showed through. Sun Wukong clicked his tongue at the sight of him.
"You're already run off your feet, and you still come get yourself beaten black and blue every single day, begging me to spar. Is that because you want to enter the tournament?"
"That's right."
"Why?"
"I need to step out from under the name of a rising talent."
"You want to be recognized as a martial artist in your own right. Not just the next generation."
"A great many people say the Namgung Clan has only the Heavenly Sword Star. They say that for now the clan is thick with experts, but because we are a house of blood, we have no future."
"And you want to show them otherwise, with every eye in the world watching."
Muyoung nodded, his expression set like stone. The blade of his sword, shot through with a pale blue light, caught the sun and flashed.
"I have to show them that Namgung will still be Namgung in the years to come."
Sun Wukong smacked his lips. No wonder. He's been driving himself like a madman lately.
Namgung Muyoung had been swinging his sword as if he had forgotten he owned a body. It had gotten so bad that Sun Wukong had started to wonder whether the brat was simply the type who enjoyed getting hit. And given the almost blissful little smile that crossed Muyoung's face every time a blow landed... Could be that kind of taste...
Still, Sun Wukong was not so small a man as to meddle in the private preferences of one of his only two disciples. If anything, though he pretended otherwise, he was a rather fine master who cared for his disciples in his own way.
"Then I really can't enter."
"What? Master's ability goes without saying. This is the perfect moment to put it on display."
"If I enter, how is the Young Master supposed to stand out? Forget winning — everyone would just flap their gums about me. Right?"
"...!"
Muyoung let out a hollow laugh before he could stop himself. Sun Wukong's face, utterly unbothered, settled on his vision. The man carried himself as if victory were a foregone conclusion, and somehow it wasn't even irritating. There was no swagger in it at all. He simply said it, calm as weather, and it landed with the weight of something that could not possibly be otherwise.
Winning the martial arts tournament...
The truth was that Muyoung himself had never once dreamed of taking first place. He was still only a rising talent. The tournament would draw experts who had been battered and tempered for years — men who plainly represented their sects. This was no Dragon-Phoenix Gathering of the younger generation. There was no limit of age or seniority.
It would not be easy. And yet Sun Wukong stood there as if his own victory, should he bother to enter, were already money in the bank.
Well. If Master Sun entered, imagining anyone else taking the championship is... difficult.
Unless the rumored Three Venerables themselves appeared, it was simply not possible.
"Besides..."
Sun Wukong said it like a joke, but that was not the only reason.
"Those rumors have a stink on them. I don't like it."
"A stink..."
"There's no such thing as a rumor without a source. This one spread as naturally as if somebody planted it on purpose. All of a sudden — and far too fast."
"You mean someone put their breath behind it?"
"Most likely."
A faint smile touched the corner of Sun Wukong's mouth. The rumors had pointed at him with perfect accuracy. No wonder that Gun Myeong-on — or Gun Sweet Potato, or whatever the hell his name was — kept going on about the martial arts tournament.
Out of nowhere the man had sworn he would smash Sun Wukong to pieces in the ring. It had made no sense at the time. Now it did. A rumor like this had already been circulating under the surface, and Sun Wukong had not missed the sharp wrongness of it.
Looks like Dongbang Sak is cooking something up at the tournament.
The first name that came to mind was, of course, Dongbang Sak. Public opinion had already hardened around the idea that Sun Wukong's appearance at the tournament was a settled fact. If he failed to enter, there would be talk that he had tucked tail and run... and if he "ran," every kind of idle slander would come trailing after.
Sun Wukong was not, by nature, a man who enjoyed watching his own name take a scratch. He had a streak of vanity in him, if anything. And the people who knew that temperament well were, more or less, the old acquaintances of his past — Dongbang Sak among them.
Not that I'm scared.
Whatever Dongbang Sak had prepared at the tournament, whatever kind of trap it was, Sun Wukong was not remotely afraid of it. If he went, he would go, and he had more than enough confidence to smash the whole thing to pieces.
But still...
His head tipped to one side. A sly smile crept across his mouth. Playing along exactly the way they want? Yeah, that's not really my style.
Sun Wukong was, as they say, a contrarian to the bone. He despised anyone who tried to steer him, lecture him, or handle him as they pleased. All of it.
Dongbang Sak, of all people.
Or perhaps the one behind him. Honghaea. This little brat. I take my eyes off him for a while and he thinks he's grown a brain?
As if scraps like that had any business trying to turn him this way and that. The old contrary streak that was Sun Wukong's alone gave a long, slow stir. The Heroic Society that Sip-pal-gong had organized, the one they had meant to use for their own designs, had been sitting in the palm of Sun Wukong's hand for some time now. And there was nothing he enjoyed quite so much as taking whatever his opponent had so carefully prepared and smashing it to kindling.
"But if Master does not enter, the martial artists of Jianghu will say..."
Muyoung let the rest trail away. Even if someone had manufactured the rumor on purpose, the expectation itself was real. Jianghu was a world so sensitive to the appearance of a new expert that even village farmers would start whispering the moment one surfaced. Right now the eyes of Anhui — which was to say, the eyes of the entire Orthodox martial world — were fixed on Sun Wukong. To skip the tournament and vanish from sight in front of all those people might well look like tucking tail and withdrawing. A trap aimed squarely at his vanity, at the part of him that could not stand a blemish on his name.
Sun Wukong grinned.
"So in the end, I just have to put on a show. That's what you're saying."
He rolled his shoulders in a shrug.
"Pardon?"
Namgung Muyoung tipped his head — and then his eyes flew wide, as if something had just struck him.
"Surely you don't mean...?"
"Muyoung."
"Yes, Master."
"You're my disciple, right?"
"...I am?"
"And a disciple's duty is to do as his master says, right?"
"I-I suppose so?"
"So if I ask you to do one little thing for me, you'll do it, yeah?"
A mischievous smile. A voice full of quiet suggestion. A shadow of unease crossed Muyoung's face.