You Might Get Hurt
At the Grand Assembly of Murim — that grandest of gatherings — the topic that ordinary martial artists paid the most attention to was, without a shred of doubt, the martial tournament.
Questions of the Pan-Orthodox Alliance, of which seats the Nine Sects and One Gang and the Five Great Clans would claim, of how rights and interests would be divided — these would decide the very future of the orthodox martial world. Yet they remained far from the concerns of the vast majority.
What manner of creature is a martial artist who walks the jianghu with a blade at his hip? No — what is a human being? Since time immemorial, people have loved watching fires and watching fights so much they will even pay money for the privilege. And the martial artists of the jianghu are worse still.
The martial tournament was the unprecedented spectacle that stole every eye. Who would enter? Who would claim the championship? For the people of the Central Plains, unmatched in their love of gambling and for whom mahjong was a way of life, no event was more thrilling.
But not everyone waited with cheers and anticipation.
Some of the martial artists actually participating in the tournament could not hide their disappointment.
"The true masters aren't even competing, are they?"
"That's not quite right. Unknown experts have always emerged in droves at events like this. That's how it's always been."
"I'm not talking about unknown experts. I mean the ones who already have widespread fame."
The experts who had already established unshakable positions.
Elders and protectors of the Nine Sects and One Gang, for instance — those of high rank, reputation, and standing — did not casually enter the tournament. They had no need to prove their skill. It was already widely known. And if they entered and lost to some unknown expert? What greater humiliation could there be?
"If a Wudang elder lost, it wouldn't just be that elder who lost. People would say Wudang itself had lost."
"They're essentially representing their sects. If they lose to someone from another of the Nine Sects or Five Great Clans, that's one thing. But if they lose to some mid-tier nobody, or someone without even a name? What kind of disgrace is that?"
"The entire orthodox path is gathered here. The gossip would never end."
"Even so — refusing to compete because they're afraid of gossip? These are supposed to be the renowned seniors and elders of the martial world!"
Of course, the great sects each sent their hidden trump cards — the experts they had kept carefully concealed. Even the Nine Sects and One Gang and the Five Great Clans gathered here had brought along absolute masters whose names had never been revealed to the jianghu, yet whose skill was firmly established within their own sects.
In the martial world, even an ordinary expert conceals three-tenths of their true ability. How much more so the great sects?
Hidden strength. Revealing even a fraction of it could send shockwaves through the entire martial world.
But what some martial artists truly lamented was the essence of the duel itself.
"A duel is not merely about defeating an opponent and gaining fame!"
"It is a true path of learning — to observe, to share, and to take one step further in what each has studied, practiced, and built!"
"Those who have accumulated seasoned experience and insight, those who already possess fame, should step forward and duel in person, offering instruction to their juniors. Is that not the very essence of this tournament?"
Every one of them a renowned senior of the jianghu. To formally duel such figures was what martial artists on the fringes of the martial world's center desired most.
People were not unaware of this regrettable reality. And so a measure had been devised to soothe that disappointment.
The Eve Festival.
The celebration held before the Grand Assembly of Murim.
"Jang Mun-yak of the Yeokseol Sect of Hunan!"
A vast open ground at the heart of Hefei. This was the training arena where the martial tournament would be held.
The Grand Assembly had not even begun, yet the arena was already packed with people. There was not a trace of solemnity. A festive, exhilarating heat filled the air. Food and drink circulated everywhere, and cheers poured continuously upon the young martial artist who had boldly leaped into the center of the arena.
"This Jang Mun-yak has reached the First-class realm and trained in the technique known as the Demon Ghost Hand. Though my talent is meager and I have achieved little, I request instruction from Cheonbaek-yeoksa of Shaolin, who has attained mastery in the palm arts!"
A voice that rang out powerfully. Applause erupted from all around at that single cry, laden with vigorous inner energy.
No formality, no regulations, no rules. Simply a young martial artist, flushed with excitement and overflowing with spirit, stepping forward to request instruction.
BANG!
"I am the Arhat Hall Leader who commands Shaolin's Arhat monks, and I carry the empty title of Cheonbaek-yeoksa. I gladly accept this young junior's request!"
A Shaolin monk who looked as though he had been modeled after a bear clenched both fists and stepped forward onto the arena.
A young martial artist's bold request, and a senior who accepted it with open cheer. This was the Insight Duel held at the Eve Festival.
Unlike the martial tournament, even the renowned seniors of the jianghu who had already established unshakable positions gladly attended this gathering. Its nature was entirely different from a tournament meant to determine the greatest expert by pitting martial arts against one another.
The format was strictly that of a junior requesting instruction and a senior accepting. They did not compete to determine who stood above and who below. For the renowned seniors, the burden was light. Indeed, stepping forward boldly to offer instruction brought more gain than loss.
The mere fact that Cheonbaek-yeoksa had accepted proved as much.
"As expected of the master of Shaolin's Arhat monks — how magnificently open-hearted!"
"When a Shaolin elder steps forward in person like that, their generosity needs no further words."
"That fellow has a tremendous opportunity. He's receiving instruction in Shaolin's palm arts — and from Cheonbaek-yeoksa himself, no less!"
"Truly, this is Shaolin!"
"No matter how much the Namgung Clan exerts itself, can they touch Shaolin's reputation?"
The rising talents were relatively unstained by the world's cynicism. The pure romance that young blood yearned for. For young martial artists who had grown up on tales of chivalrous heroes practicing righteousness and justice, and who were only just stepping into the jianghu, Cheonbaek-yeoksa's actions alone were enough to draw forth genuine goodwill.
Cheonbaek-yeoksa, who had reached the very tip of the Peak Realm, personally imparting instruction to a nameless First-class martial artist. In another sense, it was an enormous opportunity — no different from a fateful encounter.
Young martial artists received instruction from renowned seniors, and the seasoned experts gained fame and prestige without having to enter the tournament itself. The Eve Festival's event was clearly mutually beneficial.
Countless rising talents and young martial artists climbed onto the arena and descended again, over and over. There were no set rules. Simply request instruction, accept, compete, and new faces would come up. Even in defeat they were encouraged, and the experts who had offered instruction received fervent cheers.
Whatever each person's purpose, it was unmistakably a scene of the orthodox martial world's will gathering as one.
Then a faint hush settled over the arena that had been burning so hot.
A man with a face covered in bruises climbed onto the arena with a shambling gait. In that instant, only a thin murmur rippled through the atmosphere that had been blazing with heat.
"That fellow..."
"Huh. Is that someone who belongs up there?"
"I thought we'd only see his face at the actual tournament."
A strange mixture of silence and noise. The man who had climbed onto the arena, his eyes cold and distant, introduced himself with complete composure.
"I am Gun Myeong-o. My master is none other than Gun Wi-ryang, One Blade Shaking Heaven, one of the Ten Great Masters. Having inherited his teachings, I carry — however unworthily — the empty title of Flying Dragon Blade."
"Flying Dragon Blade, Gun Myeong-o!"
"Huh, isn't that One Blade Shaking Heaven's chief disciple?"
"You can't just call him a chief disciple. They're blood relatives. Blood!"
"Isn't he the one famous for being a complete bastard, unlike his master?"
"They say his temperament is arrogant..."
The surrounding murmurs grew louder as whispers poured in from every direction. But the murmuring lasted only a moment. When Gun Myeong-o closed his mouth and stood still, the whispers subsided as well.
What followed was a peculiar silence. Through it, Gun Myeong-o's voice rang out quietly.
"Word in the jianghu has it that this Flying Dragon Blade, Gun Myeong-o, is narrow-minded, arrogant, and a fool drunk on his master's reflected glory."
Eyes widened among those who had never expected him to recite his own slander.
Gun Myeong-o nodded.
"It's true! I was truly arrogant, and I believed it without a shred of doubt. However lacking I may be, I have reached the Peak Realm at this age!"
"A Peak Realm martial artist!"
"If he's Peak Realm, how can anyone call him a mere rising talent?"
"A Peak Realm martial artist could found his own school and still have strength to spare."
"Hah. As expected of One Blade Shaking Heaven's disciple."
Gun Myeong-o did not shrug at the sounds directed at him. With a resolute expression, he cried out.
"Only after coming here did I realize. That I was truly arrogant. That I had reached the Peak Realm and looked down on everyone. Only after meeting the countless seniors gathered here did I painfully feel that I was still a frog in a well!"
The atmosphere toward him shifted at this earnest confession.
"He's a better fellow than I thought?"
"If he has the guts to say that in front of everyone gathered here, isn't that actually a good thing?"
"So the rumors weren't the whole story."
Gun Myeong-o was certainly an unusual man. In a single stroke, he had the atmosphere in the palm of his hand. By this point, even those who had been uninterested wondered what purpose had brought Gun Myeong-o onto the arena to deliver this speech.
Judging that he had everyone's attention, Gun Myeong-o got to the point.
"There are countless renowned seniors here, and no shortage of elders from whom I could request instruction. But there is exactly one person from whom I sincerely wish to request a lesson."
"Who could it be?"
"Is the Namgung Clan's patriarch here right now?"
"The Namgung Clan people are over there."
"Or maybe Geom Wi-hyeon of the Mount Hua Sect?"
"The successor to Wudang's sect leader, the Martial Melody Pavilion Master, is here too, isn't he?"
Gun Myeong-o looked in one direction. It was the seating area where the Namgung Clan members had gathered. Those who confirmed his gaze murmured that he was requesting the Namgung Clan after all.
"......!"
Every gaze converged on a single point.
The center of the seating where the Namgung Clan members had gathered. Right beside Namgung Jinbaek, a golden curtain tinged faintly with red. Beyond that light, a brilliant white smile spread.
Not long ago, when Sun Wukong had told Namgung Muyoung he would not participate in the martial tournament, Namgung Muyoung had received a strange request.
"Think you can make that a bigger deal?"
"You mean the Insight Duel at the Eve Festival?"
"Yeah."
"Well, the Eve Festival event doesn't really have much of a 'deal' to it. It's a voluntary gathering where some spirited rising talents step forward to request instruction from their seniors, and the seniors come out to meet them."
"Set up a proper venue. Not some cramped little spot. Use the actual tournament arena."
"......"
Muyoung's eyes narrowed.
"You're planning to attend that instead of the tournament?"
"Yep."
"Do you really need to go that far..."
"They're working this hard to catch me. How hollow would they feel if I not only didn't take the bait, but threw a wrench in the works too?"
A mischievous grin spread across Sun Wukong's face.
"Well, if someone set a trap in the tournament to lure Master Sun in, just avoiding that trap entirely would be pretty devastating from their perspective. Spreading rumors and even shaping public opinion like this — they must have poured a considerable amount of effort into it."
"I really want to see their faces when everything they worked so hard to prepare turns out to be completely useless!"
Sun Wukong cackled as though he might clutch his belly and double over. Someone was targeting him, yet there was not a hint of fear or tension. Instead, his face was full of pure mischief, thinking only of how to mess with them.
Where did that composure come from?
"Understood. I'll expand the Eve Festival event in earnest. But this event is structured as juniors requesting instruction from seniors, so..."
"So it'll be a problem if nobody requests instruction from me, right?"
"Yes. After all, the elders of every sect will all be there."
"It's fine. I just need to let a rumor slip that I'm not participating in the tournament."
"Even so, will there be anyone?"
"There will be."
Muyoung tilted his head. Plenty of people were curious about the name Great Sage, Equal to Heaven. But wouldn't they request instruction from those who had already established fame and a firm place as renowned seniors of the jianghu? It was also an opportunity to observe the core martial arts of the Nine Sects and One Gang and the Five Great Clans. Surely not many would request instruction from the Great Sage, Equal to Heaven, whose reputation was still mostly rumor.
"Don't worry. There's one idiot who'll step up no matter what."
"An idiot?"
"Yeah. Well, if his master had beaten some sense into that temper of his, I'd just go out there myself and wing it. But I don't think that brat's the type."
Muyoung tilted his head at the cryptic words, then slowly nodded.
"Understood. If the Eve Festival event grows larger, it'll just take more work — we'll actually gain more from it. I'll make the preparations."
Step.
The footsteps were light. There was no vibration that shook the ground. A leisurely gait, as though heading out for a stroll, or as though lightly wandering through a flower garden.
Every eye focused as if by some lie. A stranger, deeper silence settled than when Gun Myeong-o had stepped forward. It was not an intentional stillness — an atmosphere that naturally emanated. Everyone stared blankly, as though intoxicated by the rippling golden current and the faint red light mixed within it.
Simply.
Step.
He walked.
"I'm Teacher Sun, the Great Sage, Equal to Heaven."
The moment he stood before Gun Myeong-o, Sun Wukong spoke quietly. He suddenly drew the steel staff from his back and flung it behind him.
THUD!
"......!"
Startled groans burst from the surroundings. The steel staff that had flown through the air punched through the floor and stood perfectly upright — as though it could never be pulled free, as though it were a pillar that had claimed that ground from the very beginning.
Watching Gun Myeong-o's face slowly twist, Sun Wukong grinned. From his robes, a small, ink-dark something shimmered with a blue light...
"A throwing dagger?"
"Isn't the Great Sage's weapon that staff?"
"That's not even a short sword — that's a real dagger!"
A dagger forged by melting down a fragment of the Seven Star Sword.
"A young junior might get seriously hurt..."
A matte black that seemed to absorb all light. Beyond it, Sun Wukong's smile flashed brilliant white.