The Sword-Untying Pond
"So this is Mount Wudang?"
"That's right."
"And you've never been here before either, have you?"
"That's right as well."
"Then how are you finding the way so easily?"
"Mm."
I had no answer for Brother Chun-baek, the Vagabond hopeless with directions as ever.
Wayfinding belonged to the realm of instinct, beyond anything study could reach.
Explaining the mechanism by which a man finds his path might well prove harder than teaching him a supreme martial art.
In any case, our steps had at last touched Wudang.
Mount Wudang—or, by another name, Hyeonak, the Dark Summit.
To be precise, it would be more correct to say that this mountain bore the name Hyeonak before it was ever called Mount Wudang.
There was a reason the mountain once known as Hyeonak of Junhyeon, in Hubei Province, came to be called Mount Wudang.
Naturally, that was because the Wudang Sect had made its home there—but the word Wudang itself was said to carry a separate origin.
As I understood it, the name sprang from the old maxim Bijinmu Bujok-idang—a fact I had learned from the aged tomes of the Beggars' Gang, so it could hardly be wrong.
Rendered literally, the maxim meant, "Without speaking of Zhenwu, nothing is worthy."
Unpacked, it was said to mean that one could not speak of the Dao without speaking of the Great Emperor Zhenwu.
My study of the Dao was shallow, so I could not claim precision, but the Great Emperor Zhenwu, as I knew him, was the immortal who in high antiquity subdued the demons that plagued the mortal world and returned this land to humankind.
That same emperor was also called the Dark Heaven Sovereign, Hyeoncheon Sangje—which meant the gaze of the North Star, blazing in the northern sky, was his very manifestation.
Anyway...
I hadn't suddenly developed an appetite for studying Wudang's origins and history. I merely wished to speak of their generational order and their Daoist titles.
Hyeoncheon Jinmu—Dark Heaven, True Martial.
Wudang's lineage took its root from that, cycling through those four characters when bestowing Daoist titles.
Saving for the fact that each generation's Sect Leader inherited the title Taecheong, there were said to be no exceptions.
"Well met. This humble Daoist is called Cheoun."
Chatting idly as we went, we arrived at the entrance of Wudang's mountain gate, where a martial artist was already waiting to receive us.
Both by his age, which looked to be past forty, and by his title, I could tell he was a first-generation disciple—one of the pillars of the present-day Wudang.
For I knew that Wudang's current Sect Leader, Taecheong Jinin, was originally a Daoist of the Hyeon generation.
That a first-generation disciple of the Cheon generation had come out to welcome us—guests of no particular standing—told me everything about the sincerity with which Wudang hosted the Sinjin Gyoryuhoe.
Cheoun Jinin took our measure with his eyes.
"The Flying Cloud Sword, Great Hero Dancheon Hak."
"The very same."
By custom, the Dragon and Phoenix epithets held valid for only three years, for the Dragon's title passed on at the next Dragon and Phoenix Assembly.
Having shed the name of Sword Dragon, Dancheon Hak's new epithet was the Flying Cloud Sword.
I'd heard it was granted for the swift, elusive brilliance of his swordplay, built upon the Cloud-Treading Steps.
"The Dancheon Divine Dragon, Great Hero Dancheon Myeong."
"Yes."
In my case, however, having gone beyond mere dragon to seize the title of Dancheon Divine Dragon by my own strength, it remained mine still.
A grand epithet is a source of pride for any man of the Jianghu, so it would be right not to be ashamed of it.
"The Vagabond Swordsman, Great Hero Yi Chun-baek."
"That would be me."
Brother Chun-baek had earned the title of Vagabond Swordsman some time ago. I suspected not many years remained before he claimed the title of King of Vagabonds as well.
"This way."
With that, Cheoun Jinin guided us—to a place better suited to the name of cliff than of road.
"Mm."
The mountains of the Central Plains are treacherous by nature.
And Mount Wudang had undoubtedly been shaped by human hands, so paths there surely were—yet where Cheoun Jinin led us was, without question, difficult to call a path at all.
"Follow me."
Cheoun Jinin began to ascend the cliff with weightless steps.
Wudang's secret lightness art, the Jeunjong Cloud-Ladder, wrapped the rock face in its gentle flow.
Tat!
All three of us followed serenely behind him.
We were martial artists who had each attained the Peak Realm; something like this did not even count as a test.
Cheoun Jinin led us along a rather peculiar route, but of course it was not the wrong way.
A great Daoist sect could never be careless in its hospitality.
After a long climb up those stone steps, the symbol of Wudang's mountain gate came into view.
"This is the Haegeomji."
Pride was plain in Cheoun Jinin's expression as he introduced it.
The Haegeomji—the Sword-Untying Pond.
As the word pond in its name suggested, it was a small pool that appeared, without warning, midway up Mount Wudang.
"Mm. Then are we to untie our weapons here?"
Dancheon Hak asked in a careful voice.
Such was the origin of the name Haegeom—sword-untying.
Out of reverence for the Grand Patriarch Sambong Jinin, those who passed the Haegeomji were once required to unbind their weapons here and hang them upon the sword-hanging tree; only then could they set foot on Wudang's sacred mountain.
"Hahaha. There was indeed a time when such customs held."
Cheoun Jinin answered with a hearty laugh.
Having climbed the cliff at our side, his manner toward us now carried a further measure of respect. Perhaps, having lightly passed the test he had set, we were only now being treated as true guests.
"Beyond the Haegeomji lies the main mountain's Great Training Grounds. Every one of Wudang's disciples hones his sword there, so it would hardly be right to forbid blades to our guests alone."
"What a relief."
Dancheon Hak spoke as he tenderly closed his hand around his sword's hilt.
That sword—memorable for its aged, worn grip—was the Dancheon Sword I had given him some time before. Seeing him cherish it with such affection gladdened me.
Then again, it is only common sense that a true martial artist should sleep with a famed blade like the Dancheon Sword cradled in his arms.
"The old custom has faded, but Wudang's spirit still dwells in this place, so I wished to show it to you at least once."
"My thanks."
How often, after all, does a clan's martial artist get the chance to pass through Wudang's mountain gate?
We had hardly come to Wudang as sightseers, but I could not help being grateful for Cheoun Jinin's consideration.
With an informant's peculiar instinct, I took the Haegeomji wholly into my eyes.
'Hm?'
Seeing the world through an informant's eyes—that is what we call the discerning gaze.
But now, in the gaze I fixed upon the Haegeomji, something beyond even exceptional discernment was stirring awake.
If I had to put it into words, I would have to say that I glimpsed the edge of spiritual sense.
The Haegeomji.
That small pond carried within it a spirituality better described as a barrier—a warding veil.
The years had weathered it without mercy, but its lingering echo remained—and so there was no mistaking it.
'...Ah.'
Then a thought came to me.
Had the Haegeomji truly ever meant, untie your weapons here?
Whether in the Wudang of Sambong Jinin's day or the Wudang of today—for a school of the sword without equal under heaven, where would any reason lie to demand that an opponent come unarmed? That thought was no leap at all, only a reasonable inference.
To fill the gaps in what you know with inference and imagination—that, I had been taught, was the very making of a capable informant.
Sensing the pond's barrier with my spiritual sense and filling the blanks with my own reasoning, I soon arrived at a single hypothesis.
— Only one who has become the sword itself may earn the right to ascend Wudang.
Perhaps the Haegeomji had never been a place concerned with the laying down of arms at all.
Rather, it would be truer to read it as a decree: only one who releases the weapon from his hand and becomes, himself, a perfect sword may cross Wudang's gate.
A martial artist who, by his own power alone, has transformed into full-fledged sword qi.
Step.
I stood before the Haegeomji.
And closed my eyes.
Without drawing on my internal energy in the slightest, I manifested a sword within my mind's image.
That its form resembled the Dancheon Sword I had lately given Dancheon Hak was, perhaps, inevitable.
For the ideal sword I envisioned was the Dancheon Sword itself.
Sshk.
The image-sword slipped free of my hand and stood alone in the empty air.
Only recently had I managed, barely, to manifest a complete Formless Sword.
The subtlety of Yigieo—guiding a blade by qi alone—remained far beyond my reach, and it would be no understatement to call sword arts wielded through the Formless Sword a distant dream.
But was the image-sword ever merely an image-sword?
The image-sword that had risen into the air answered my will and flew through the void.
Swish.
Beyond doubt, my image-sword had cleaved through the Haegeomji's spiritual barrier.
Though the long ages had weathered it until only its echo remained, the fact that I had touched the spirituality of the great Wudang gladdened me.
I had only a moment to savor the feeling.
"I shall now have the honor of escorting you."
At some point, Cheoun Jinin's speech had transformed into the most exalted honorifics.
I couldn't tell whether that was simply his nature, or whether it was because he had witnessed what I had done at the Haegeomji.
"My thanks."
Following Cheoun Jinin's lead, we set off once more.
Having let the Dancheon Sword leave my hand, I had truly become the sword myself—so I had every right to cross the Haegeomji with my head held high.
As we walked, I turned my head once more and committed the Haegeomji to memory.
The Nine Great Sects lived up to their name, as expected—I was astonished that even at a mere mountain gate I could feel the trace of a Grand Patriarch.
I could sense the weight of their ancient history.
But at the same time, I knew this too: that my sword, in its fullness, could reach that ancient sect.
"Wudang's martial artists must be strong, then?"
Behind the back of Cheoun Jinin, who walked ahead, Brother Chun-baek murmured his question. It was just the sort of question you'd expect from him, forever in pursuit of the martial.
Twitch.
I could tell that Cheoun Jinin's ears had angled toward us.
Quite rightly—a great sect's first-generation disciple, even without the Thousand-Li Hearing Art, ought to catch a murmur at this range.
"I've heard that Wudang's disciples are, every last one, the equal of a famed sword."
That said, I hadn't spoken with Cheoun Jinin in mind.
For what I had just said was the truth, down to the last hair.
That's right. Wudang is strong.
A first-generation disciple would be more than enough to command the Jianghu, and the senior elders above them were men on the threshold of monstrous, godlike power.
By my understanding, half of them were said to have already blossomed into spirit.
Among the secluded old masters of a bygone generation, whiling away eternity at their immortal pastimes, crouched true monsters—even such as the Sovereign of Destruction Yeom Gi-ha would rank beneath himself. That place was Wudang.
And how could it be otherwise, when the Daoists of Wudang were the descendants of Sambong—whom even the Medicine Immortal had once revered?
"But we are no less than they."
It was not that I was ignorant of Wudang's majesty, yet my words were no arrogance.
For our own lineup, in truth, lacked nothing either.
Dancheon Hak, the rightful heir of the Dancheon Sword Clan, born with martial talent unseen through all the ages.
Yi Chun-baek, the inheritor of the Mystic Sects.
And I, Dancheon Myeong, sole heir of the Medicine Immortal.
As for me especially, losing to Wudang's martial artists was never an option.
For I was the one and only heir of the Grand Patriarch Medicine Immortal.
It would only be right to make known the greatness of the Grand Patriarch Medicine Immortal—forgotten amid the widely celebrated heirs of the other Grand Patriarchs.
Far ahead, I saw Cheoun Jinin quietly nod.
"This is Wudang's Great Training Grounds."
The Great Training Grounds lay before the Sangcheong Palace, the hall that might be called the heart of the main mountain.
As though mirroring the sect's present splendor, the sight of countless Wudang swords honing themselves upon the grounds was striking.
Those polishing their own martial arts; those contemplating their inner selves through meditation; those leaning upon one another in combined formations, weaving sword formations together—and more besides.
Each was refining a different art, yet all of them shared a certain unity.
And surely, within that unity lay the essence of Wudang itself.
"Would it be all right for a guest to observe the training?"
"Haha. The training upon the Great Training Grounds is open to all. Pay it no mind—observe as you please."
One could only call it the grand spirit of a great house.
"My thanks."
Quietly, and meticulously, declining nothing, I took Wudang's martial arts into my inner eye.