Don't. Don't Ascend.

"Found him."

Namgung Cheonyeong's eyes lit up.

"There — that man..."

A small cave showed through the trees. The man who came into view wore torn clothes, his hair a wild, uncombed tangle. Grime ran in streaks down a filthy face, and a stench rolled off him so foul it hit them even at a distance. He looked every inch a slash-and-burn mountain farmer.

Muyoung hesitated.

"Is that man truly a Taoist of the Wudang Sect?"

The doubt was only natural. Nothing about the figure before them suggested a distinguished Daoist. Even setting the priesthood aside, there was not a trace of a martial artist's bearing either.

"A true master can conceal his strength completely. Or if he is stronger than I am, I might not be able to sense him at all."

Muyoung had already stepped across the threshold of the Peak Realm. Barely twenty, a prodigy of the rising generation, and he had still broken through that wall — progress worthy of the Namgung Clan's heir, a descendant of dragons. Even so, the idea that a young man who looked about his own age could be so far above him that he could not even feel the man's inner energy was, for someone as humble as Muyoung, a hard thing to swallow.

"Besides, his gait, his posture — none of it has anything to do with a martial artist..."

But when it came to tracking, Namgung Cheonyeong was a step above. No — he was the best in the Namgung Clan, which meant he was the best in Anhui. Even the experts of the Hao Clan or the Beggars' Sect would have been no match for him.

Namgung Cheonyeong spoke with flat certainty.

"There is no mistake."

"Well. If the Hall Master of Myeong-i-dang is that sure..."

"The men in black are no ordinary opponents either. He has the skill to have stayed ahead of them this long. If Teacher Sun hadn't gone charging up the mountain raising every kind of hell and drawing every eye in the region, we never would have found the trail."

Namgung Cheonyeong did not take any of this as a triumph of his own ability. Had things gone the way the black-clad men had planned, he and Muyoung would have been a step too late. If martial artists from every corner of the jianghu had come pouring in, blinded by rumors of a peerless secret manual, this faint trail would have been lost for good.

"Every trace points to the same conclusion. That man is a Wudang Taoist."

"Hah. Let's approach carefully, then. You never know..."

"Amitabha. Have you fellow Daoists come looking for me?"

Both men flinched. They had been watching from cover — and the man was looking straight at them, his gaze fixed on their exact position.

Muyoung swallowed a low sound. That look had cut clean through every scrap of concealed presence they had wrapped around themselves. A clear, luminous light lived in those eyes, bright and alive in a way no mountain farmer's eyes had any right to be.

"Are you a Taoist of the Wudang Sect?"

"Fortunately, you do not appear to be those men in black. Yes. This humble Daoist has been studying at Wudang."

The man recited a Daoist greeting and bowed at the waist. Dignity gathered around him as he did. The mountain-farmer impression fell away, and what stood there now was a Taoist steeped in a refined, almost fragrant grace.

"A pleasure. I am Namgung Muyoung, young master of the Namgung Clan."

A bright look crossed the Taoist's face at once.

"So it was the Namgung Clan after all."

"You expected us?"

"This happened in Anhui. I believed the Namgung Clan would surely come to my aid. Besides, the killers who had been hunting me vanished, and other rumors began to circulate — I had already guessed that someone had stepped forward to help."

A man this long on the run ought to have looked exhausted. The light in the Taoist's eyes had not dimmed at all.

This is no ordinary man.

Muyoung asked carefully.

"If it is not too forward — might I ask who you are?"

"Ah, of course. Forgive me for the late introduction. This humble Daoist's religious name is Hyeonjeong."

Muyoung turned the name over in his mind.

"Hyeonjeong..."

The Wudang Sect assigned generational characters by rank, so an unfamiliar name was easy to mix up — unless the person behind it was already famous throughout the martial world. Hyeonjeong was not a name he had never heard. He was sure it had crossed his ears somewhere before.

Namgung Cheonyeong, standing a step behind, got there first. His voice went hard.

"Daoist Hyeonjeong. Before you received your religious name — did you once go by a name with the surname Geum?"

Hyeonjeong gave a bitter smile and nodded. Something clicked in Muyoung's memory, and he hurried on.

"The heir of the Golden Star Merchant Guild, the greatest trading house in Hubei — the one who abandoned everything of the secular world and entered Wudang as the Sect Leader's own personal disciple..."

Hyeonjeong's smile turned wry.

"It seems the name I used in the secular world is still better known than Hyeonjeong. You are correct, fellow Daoist Namgung. When I lived in the world, I went by the name Geumgak."

Geumgak recited his Daoist title.

"Geumgak, huh..."

Sun Wukong gave a wry smile.

"The Golden Star Merchant Guild is famous as the greatest trading house in Hubei. When its heir suddenly abandoned everything and entered the Wudang Sect, the rumors ran wild for a time."

"Why'd he suddenly join Wudang?"

Wukong's interest was plain. The Butterfly Immortal spoke slowly, like an old man settling into a story.

"A merchant who had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠never studied the Dao in his ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠life sat down one day and began unfolding its meaning as if he had been born to it."

"Huh."

"When word reached the Wudang Sect Leader, he spoke with the young man himself — and then, against all precedent, took him as his personal disciple."

"Personal disciple. So he's the successor?"

"Not to the Sect Leader's seat, no. The heir who has already inherited the true transmission of their martial arts is someone else."

Wukong nodded. He had a rough sense of how Wudang was built. There were the martial disciples, who trained in combat and walked the martial path. And there were the scholarly disciples, who studied the Dao, cultivated it, and piled up spiritual discipline. Geumgak had entered among the latter.

"Daoist Hyeonjeong's name spread far and wide. He had cast aside every precious thing the secular world could offer and walked into a Daoist gate, after all."

The Butterfly Immortal added that he had met Geumgak once before.

"He was remarkable. Truly. The Dao he carried ran deeper than anything I had learned and awakened to in my entire life."

Wonder sat openly on the old immortal's face. Wukong looked profoundly unimpressed.

"The Dao is the study of awakening. There's nothing special about it."

"...The study of awakening."

"Meaning you don't grasp the Dao just because you chant the scriptures, read the classics, and memorize them."

"..."

The Butterfly Immortal stared at him. It was an uncomfortable look. Wukong sighed and grumbled.

"Aigoo, seriously. Don't you Taoists even know this much?"

The old days had been better, anyway. What kind of Taoists went around learning martial arts for beating people to death? No wonder their grasp of the Dao kept vanishing.

"You think the Dao is something you cultivate and polish every single day?"

"Isn't grinding away without missing a single day the very path of diligent practice?"

"That's a joke."

Wukong crossed his legs and snorted.

"The Dao is something you grasp in a single instant, all of a sudden."

"...All of a sudden?"

"You think if everyone just grinds away hard enough, they'll all wake up to it? Who's still selling that con? That's naive. If that were true, the whole world would be full of immortals. A world where anyone who just endures and studies hard enough can grasp the Dao and ascend? What is that, the Peach Blossom Spring?"

"...!"

"The world has always been the height of unfairness. The Dao is no different. Nature itself is already unfair — so how could a study of becoming one with nature possibly be fair?"

The Butterfly Immortal's body trembled, just slightly. The stone Wukong had thrown was a question the old man had never once turned over in his life. He squeezed his eyes shut without even knowing he had done it. The corners of his eyes quivered.

Wukong did not care in the slightest how the old immortal reacted. He kept going, almost snapping the words at him.

"You just wake up to the Dao. In your sleep. On the privy. Mid-meal. For no reason at all. You just suddenly get it. That's all."

"Then — then how does that awakening come?"

"Tsk."

Wukong clicked his tongue lightly. A twisted look shot toward him — the look of a man watching a lifetime of cultivation get dismissed out of hand. A flicker of urgency crept onto the Butterfly Immortal's face.

Wukong sighed.

"Throw everything away. Empty your heart of everything. And wait. The study of the Dao is waiting. That's all it is. Calming your heart and waiting — that, right there, is the Dao."

A strange radiance turned in the Butterfly Immortal's eyes. His mouth worked as if he meant to speak, and then he squeezed his eyes shut. Something inexpressible seemed to rise across his face, a light that had no name.

Wukong's brow twitched.

These days people seemed to think that if a human polished the martial path to its absolute limit, they could ascend to immortality. That was not how it originally worked. You either grasped the Dao and ascended, or you refined an elixir, swallowed the Returned Pill, and ascended that way.

And right now, in front of Sun Wukong, someone was moving to grasp the Dao and ascend.

Wukong let out a hollow laugh.

"Well, well? Trying to pull an ascension all of a sudden, you crazy old man?"

It was exactly as he had said. The Dao was something you grasped in a single instant. After decades of study, the Butterfly Immortal was on the verge of ascending from one moment of awakening, here and now.

Wukong watched with something like satisfaction — and then a thought drove into his skull.

Wait.

If this old man ascended right here...

Rumors were already going around that he had been tormenting the Butterfly Immortal.

They're going to say I beat a Taoist holy enough to ascend to death, aren't they?

If the old man just — poof — ascended on the spot, wouldn't everyone assume Wukong had buried the body somewhere?

True, he was still pretending to be blind, hair hidden, identity tucked away. But Wukong knew better. There was no such thing as an eternal secret in this world. Sooner or later, someone might learn he was the Heavenly Blind Demon-Buddha. Or someone might simply figure it out.

He did not care who knew. With one exception.

Even the great Sun Wukong had no interest in being mistaken for a man who murdered distinguished Taoists and virtuous Buddhist monks.

Sanzang, whom he would find someday.

If that kid finds out, he'll...

Ugh. He would never hear the end of it. Even if Wukong swore it was a false rumor...

I wouldn't believe me either.

He had, after all, quite a colorful ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠history of causing exactly this kind of trouble.

Wukong set his heart, put on an easy face, and slapped the Butterfly Immortal on the shoulder. The old immortal's eyes were still closed, his expression peaceful. The radiance on his face lurched hard.

Wukong's voice was flat and final.

"Don't ascend."

"...!"

Namgung Seowol stared at him, startled. Of all things — to interrupt the very moment of ascension!

Wukong ignored the look of pure disbelief without effort.

So don't ascend.

"So it was true. Awakening comes all of a sudden."

When the Butterfly Immortal opened his eyes, a rare and luminous air hung about his face. Wukong grinned.

"Congratulations. On the awakening."

"I will not forget this kindness. The resonance of a single ordinary sentence struck harder than any Daoist scripture I have ever committed to memory."

"At this rate you'll be ascending any minute."

"Hahaha. Ascend? All this old man can do is take what he has grasped and offer it as teaching. Ascension — I would not dare even think of it."

"Good. That's a relief."

"...?"

Wukong ducked the puzzled look. Seowol was staring at him from the side, thoroughly appalled. He put force into his eyes. Not a word. Seowol's mouth opened and closed. Then she looked at the Butterfly Immortal. Her range of feeling was not wide — but for a moment, a flicker of sympathy crossed her gaze.

Wukong cleared his throat and changed the subject.

"So. Why did Geumgak come as an envoy?"

"He passed the place where I had been cultivating, so we spoke briefly. Wudang meant to use this chance to put their relationship with the Namgung Clan on much firmer ground."

"Well... he is the Sect Leader's personal disciple."

Wukong nodded slowly. Something in his head clicked wide open.

Geumgak. I was going to look for him anyway.

And he was still using the name. Geumgak, of all things.

Geumgak. Attendant of Taeshang Laojun. The one who had once become a demon and stood in Wukong's path. Sharp, clever, and plugged into every scrap ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of news in the celestial realm.

"I met you as an enemy once. Now I have to save you. That's the other kind of fun fate likes to have, isn't it?"

Wukong muttered it, smiling.

"I am not handing Geumgak over to those bastards."

Geumgak had the Golden Cord. There was a fair chance he also had the remaining fragments of the Seven Star Sword.

"Used well, those are some thoroughly annoying treasures."

They could not compare to Wukong's Ruyi Jingu Bang. But if they fell into enemy hands, they would become a serious headache.

"I have to keep him alive before the men in black get to him."

And what did that require?

"I'll just beat them all to death before they even get close."

Now that he was sure it was Geumgak, Wukong had nothing left to hold him back. And as if on cue, good news arrived.

Myodu-eung's voice came tumbling down from overhead as the little owl deity circled above. The corner of Wukong's mouth lifted.

"Seowol."

"Hm?"

"Draw your sword."

"...!"

"No more of these annoying games."

Wukong's gaze snapped around. A faint presence had brushed the edge of his senses.

Wukong's smile deepened.