A Fated Encounter
“…A ghost?”
The pale smoke’s lips curved into a smile.
“Something like that.”
I pushed myself up and waved a hand through him. Just as he’d said, there was nothing to grab hold of.
Was this an actual ghost?
Then everything that had happened before I blacked out came rushing back, and I hastily scanned my surroundings.
“Where the hell is this…?”
“Looks like you’re still out of it after yesterday’s jump. Don’t worry. You drifted a long way downriver from the mountain you were fleeing on.”
True to the ghost’s word, the landscape was completely unfamiliar—somewhere I’d never seen before…
“How do you know that?”
“Because I’m the benefactor who saved you yesterday?”
“Ah. You’re the one who called me ‘lad’ back then.”
“That’s right. Seems your memory’s coming back. How’s the body holding up?”
At the ghost’s words I checked myself over. Aside from the sting of scrapes and some muscle aches, nothing serious was wrong.
The pouch Cheon Ryeonghwa had given me was still securely tied at my chest, and—most importantly—the Cheonmu Academy documents tucked between the soles of my shoes were intact, just a little damp.
Afraid the ink might run, I hurriedly unfolded the papers and spread them on a nearby rock to dry, then turned to the ghost and bowed my head.
“First of all, thank you for helping me.”
“Think nothing of it. More importantly—do you have a moment?”
“If, like you say, I’m far from where I started, then why not? As long as no pursuers show up, I’m fine.”
“I’ve got an eye on that end of things. Anyway, introductions are overdue. I am Immortal Cheongpung. Heard of me?”
“I’m pretty clueless when it comes to that stuff.”
“Fair enough. Even in your era, I’m ancient history. I do have a more recognizable alias, but for the sake of trust, I’d rather not use it right now.”
Someone with a bad reputation, then?
I was about to ask what he meant when Immortal Cheongpung pressed on.
“I—no. We—are immortals.”
“Im…mortals?”
“More precisely, we were once human, then underwent Uwhadeungseon and became immortals.”
Uwhadeungseon—casting off the mortal body and transforming into an immortal. It was the word for those who had reached the absolute end of what a martial artist could achieve.
I’d heard it tossed around in marketplace banter like a joke. I hadn’t realized it was real.
“How does someone that incredible end up talking to me?”
“This is easier explained with the parties involved speaking for themselves. I’ll call the others.”
The moment Immortal Cheongpung finished, his form swelled—and then several more ghosts appeared beside him.
Their features were as hazy as his, but their dress and bearing were wildly varied. One’s long dragon robes billowed; another’s garments fluttered like a celestial maiden’s; another carried the oppressive presence of a general. On and on.
“At last—someone we can actually talk to.”
“No need to drag this out. We’ve waited long enough, so keep it short. You’ve already heard that everyone here is an immortal who achieved Uwhadeungseon, yes?”
“Yes.”
“And what does that mean? Every last one of us was the greatest under heaven in our day. Martial arts that belong in the history books, you understand.”
“And yet for all that—we left no successors. Our arts vanished into history just like that.”
“As the ages rolled on, more youngsters kept ascending and arriving in the immortal realm, but ask those brats anything and what do they know? Every one of them says the lineages have gone extinct.”
“Making a name for yourself through sheer personal power and rising to the heavens is a joy—but learning that my martial arts have been lost forever is enough to make a man explode.”
“To a martial artist, our arts are the very proof that we existed. So we gathered among ourselves and made a request of the one most skilled in sorcery among us—the Blood Cult Master here.”
“Find us a successor in the lower world who can inherit our martial arts—mine and everyone else’s.”
“But immortals of the lofty celestial realm cannot casually interfere in the world below. Until now, our voices have never reached a single living soul.”
“Until today. Until this very moment—until we met you.”
After the flood of ghostly voices, I sorted through their words and answered.
“So… you’re asking me to become your disciple?”
“Yes.” “That’s it.” “Exactly.”
“Ahh…”
“So first, learn my arts—” “Any interest in axes?” “Do you like swords?” “Learn mine and you’ll come with built-in heat resistance—cool even in summer—” “Place the entire world beneath your feet—”
“Hold on a second.”
I cut off the avalanche of ghostly chatter and turned to the one who had spoken to me first—Immortal Cheongpung.
“You—the first one who talked to me? Can we just have one representative speak?”
“Go ahead, lad.”
“I thought I misheard earlier—are you the Blood Cult Master?”
“Wait. There’s a story there.”
He must have read the suspicion on my face, because the ghost hurried on.
“A disciple I took in my later years… founded the Blood Cult. And that disciple’s respect for me ran so deep that, without any involvement on my part, I ended up being called the first Blood Cult Master.”
“Ahh…”
“…A disciple’s sins are the master’s sins. It is karma I must bear. But I swear to you, lad—I myself never harbored any impure intent.”
“So you’re still the master, then.”
“This body has never dealt in vile sorcery! I am a true Daoist who reached the immortal realm through yin-yang and the five elements alone!”
The ghost was getting worked up now.
“If I hadn’t raised a wind at that cliff, you would have fallen to your death!”
“Ah.”
Suddenly I remembered—mid-fall from the cliff, my body had floated for a beat, the speed of the drop slowing.
So that had been this ghost’s doing.
“Thank you. You really are a Daoist, then.”
I bowed deeply, determined to show proper gratitude for the help. That seemed to please him; the ghost gave a little ahem and stroked his beard.
“Anyway—back to the point. What do you think about learning martial arts?”
Martial arts, huh.
Even during my years as a slave in the unorthodox factions, I’d wanted to learn them. In fact, the only reason I’d fallen for that old man’s free-meal pitch and joined Heuksabang in the first place was the promise that I might get to study martial arts.
Even now, one of the reasons I was headed for Cheonmu Academy was the hope that I might learn something there.
“Me? I’ve got no reason to refuse.”
“A relief. I was worried you might turn us down. There’s someone better with words than I am on this subject—I’ll hand the explanation over to him.”
With that, the Blood Cult Master Daoist vanished, and the ghost of a burly giant appeared in his place.
“Leaving it to that Blood-clot bastard was driving me up the wall. Finally, I get to talk. Good to meet you, lad.”
“Ye Hajun.”
I dipped my head, and the giant’s ghost raised a hand and returned the greeting as naturally as breathing.
I’d thought he looked like a general the moment I saw him—and that brief motion made me half-suspect he really had been one.
“The reason I’ve stepped forward is the matter of your pursuers.”
“Pursuers? That can’t be.”
“Why do you think that?”
“The branch leader is a thug-lender who sells people. Every hour he spends chasing me is an hour he isn’t making money. The losses would be huge—so wouldn’t he just give up?”
“Think the other way around. What happens if word gets out that a man who deals in hired thugs let you slip away? Who’s going to hire a martial artist with no results to show?”
So that was it.
Come to think of it, the Black Market—the unorthodox factions’ most important event—was coming up soon. An underground bazaar where everything from people to the shadiest goods changed hands. For a merchant, missing that prime window would hit hard.
They might actually dig in and hunt me even harder…
The thought dried my mouth out.
As if reading my mind, the general’s ghost continued.
“So the top priority is martial arts that will keep you alive against your pursuers.”
“I’m learning them right now?”
“The sooner the better, no? As for this body’s arts—”
At that moment the smoke twisted and scattered, and several ghosts burst out at once.
“Insolent whelp. Trying to steal the first turn so smoothly? Naturally he should learn my arts first.”
“Just find me a sword and my teaching will be far superior. Shouldn’t this lady go first?”
“When it comes to survival, this girl is ideal—best leave it to me.”
“Has anyone here rolled around on more battlefields than this body?!”
“This lady—” “This seat—” “This body—” “This girl’s—”
Voices piled on top of each other until the racket was unbearable. I clapped my hands over my ears and shouted.
“Stop! Can we at least sort out how we communicate first?!”
Every ghost vanished, and the Blood Cult Master—the first to have appeared—materialized again and nodded.
“Every last one of them was the greatest under heaven, so their egos are… substantial. You’re right—we should establish a method of communication. Picture whatever format is most comfortable for you, in your mind. I’ll apply it as-is.”
“Anything at all?”
“Truly anything.”
This was the real deal—actual Daoist arts.
Curious how far it would go, I pictured the form of community most natural to a modern person.
And before long…
“It actually works.”
“Looks like it applied. Let me see—so from now on, I address you like this?”
The Blood Cult Master floated a window in midair.