Read It, at the Very Least

Nothing in this world sets the blood tingling quite like praise. On reflection, I believe it is simply the nature we are born with. However abstemious a person's temperament, the natural order is such that few indeed can be found whose cheeks — whose very mouths — stay perfectly still beneath an endless rain of flattery.

I confess it: even I, who had lived through a regression rare indeed in this mortal world, who had known life as the direct heir of a great clan and life as a beggar both, and who had drawn my own quiet conclusions about the impermanence of all things — even I found myself swelling under wave upon wave of praise.

All the more so when the ones offering it were the very Nine Sects warriors I had spent a lifetime looking up to. What more need be said?

"As expected of the Dancheon Divine Dragon."

"The Dancheon Divine Dragon is a true hero of chivalry and righteousness, a paragon for the whole of the murim. Indeed, his unassuming heart all but touches upon the Dao itself — the orthodox path would do right to hold him up as its very exemplar."

"Disciples of Wudang — watch the footsteps of the Great Hero Dancheon, and remember them well."

"You have my respect, Great Hero!"

...And so on.

Both then and now I smothered every tell and let nothing show, yet the plain truth was that even a full day later, those praises were still circling inside my skull.

"Tsk. What a fool you are."

Of course, the scene spread out before my eyes was a far cry from that chorus of praise.

"In all my years of living, I have never once seen a fool to match you."

The looks of reverence and the tributes once aimed my way had withered helplessly before the power of time, and all that remained before me was the grumbling of a scowling Mugeok Jinin.

"Er — surely you could lay off me a little now?"

"'Er'? 'Eeeer'? Did you just say 'er' to the venerated elder of your own sect?"

"...My apologies."

As I have noted before, the Sword Emperor was not, strictly speaking, an elder of my sect — but wrangling over the point would avail me nothing. It would do no more than stretch out the sulking of an old man in a young man's skin who had, at long last, set out on his final road.

"Now that I look at you properly, it is plain: you are nothing but a hollow stalk with a glib tongue. A dullard's way of it, letting the real substance slip through your fingers."

Watching him brew up another one-man storm of pique, I felt laughter leak out of me before I knew it.

The reason that grumbling — so unlike those praises — did not displease me was, I suppose, that I knew it, too, flowed from a heart that wished me nothing but good.

Besides, the situation itself was comic. Mugeok Jinin — great elder of Wudang, living byword for the Daoist way of making peace with poverty and finding joy in the Dao — lecturing a worldly creature like me on the value of practical gain. How was that not funny?

"What is it you find so terribly dissatisfying?"

When an old man sulks, it means some knot in his heart has gone crooked — and loosening such knots in good time is what one might call filial devotion. So ask him, I should. Ah, what a gentle soul I am.

"Tsk."

"I ask because I truly do not know. Do tell me."

Chunbaek had been like that. So, it seemed, had Yeom Giha, the Sovereign of Destruction. There are people who, as though some wavelength between you has quietly slipped into tune, leap over years of acquaintance in a heartbeat and settle into your heart all at once. Now that it came to mind, the Sword Emperor Mugeok Jinin deserved a place in that company as well. I kept to formal speech with him only because the gulf of generations between us was so vast; in every way that mattered, he had come to feel like an old friend.

"Why? If you knew the reason, would you set this old Daoist's temper right for me?"

"If it lay within my power, I would certainly have to try."

Even in the thick of his tantrum, I did not miss the way Mugeok Jinin rolled his eyes and stole a sideways glance at me.

Which meant that everything he was doing just now was, at bottom, a performance. If Mugeok Jinin was a sly old Daoist, then I was a sly old beggar — as if I could fail to see it. In truth, this whole exchange of ours was like a paired-form sparring match with the sequence agreed on in advance: each of us staring openly into the other's hand.

In any case, Mugeok Jinin must have judged his little performance had run long enough — for he came straight to the point.

"Learn the Hyeoncheon Jingyeol."

Mugeok Jinin pronounced it like a man laying down the law. In truth I could hardly have failed to expect it, given how the old man had grumbled about nothing else since yesterday. That the discoverer of the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠legacy of Sambong Jinin — founding patriarch and Grandmaster of Wudang — would rest content with a single Taecheong-dan plainly did not sit well with him.

"I am quite content."

Thwack!

"Ow!"

A wooden stick — fetched from ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠where and when, I could not say — cracked against my skull.

I could have blocked it. That I chose not to was perhaps because, for the first time in my life, I felt from Mugeok Jinin something of a grandfather's warmth. Youthful Reversion had left him looking a man of my own years, yet his every manner belonged to an old man beyond mistaking. Besides, it had never crossed my mind that a mere stick of wood could land any shock on a skull that had attained the Golden Body. Truly, the subtleties of the martial path are without end.

"Do you not know what the Hyeoncheon Jingyeol is?"

"How could I not know it?"

Perish the thought — I was no illiterate wretch who could not read a single character. How could the worth of the Hyeoncheon Jingyeol escape me? I had not yet examined its contents, so I could not speak with precision, but it was right to assume that teachings beyond the Taiji and the Liangyi — the very distillation of Wudang — waited within. Sambong Jinin's Hyeoncheon, the Mysterious Heaven, must have reached past the ultimate secrets of the martial arts into truth itself. By my reckoning, the Jingyeol held both the guidepost to the highest state a mortal body could attain, and the first germ of that final metamorphosis — shedding the shell to ascend as an immortal.

And the fact that Sambong Jinin, having written the last line of the Jingyeol, had ascended to immortality from atop the crag of Sangcheongam meant the art had been proven in the flesh to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠its very end — a thing whose worth could not be measured.

"No. It is plain you do not know its worth. What man who knew it would refuse to be taught it for nothing?"

"Why 'for nothing'? I am the one who found it."

"And you claim to be a man who knows its worth?!"

"Hahaha."

Mugeok Jinin thundered again, to no effect whatever. The fondness he bore me was so nakedly plain that, in honest truth, I was not the least bit afraid.

"But I do not know Wudang's martial arts, do I?"

"Tsk, tsk."

Mugeok Jinin clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes at me.

"All martial arts, it is said, return to a single source — ten thousand streams, one sea. And you, rooted in the very same orthodox current, could hardly fail to master ours. Wudang's practice was, from its founding, made to embrace every martial path within itself."

He spoke as if the matter were simple, but none of this was news to me. What I had learned anew was only this: half-baked excuses found no purchase on Mugeok Jinin. Very well — it was time I, too, cast hesitation aside and showed a straight spine.

"Elder Sword Emperor."

"Will you learn it?"

"The Hyeoncheon Jingyeol belongs to Wudang."

"And that is precisely why I am pressing it on you! You are a martial artist of Wudang now yourself."

"That is true, but—"

"Tsk."

Right. In fact, the Taecheong-dan had not been the whole of what I received. By the unanimous will of Wudang's sitting elders and its sequestered ancients alike, I had been made an honorary disciple of the sect. It was a matter they had pressed upon me, protesting that their consciences could not bear to repay my service with a single pill — and so I had accepted, gladly. It meant Wudang, one of the very summits of the Nine Great Sects, now stood at my back; what reason under heaven was there to refuse?

Second son of the Dancheon Sword Clan. Heir to the Sovereign of Destruction. Honorary Five-Knot Hall Master of the Beggars' Gang. And now, honorary disciple of Wudang. That was me.

There had, of course, been a brief dispute along the way — not over whether I merited the honor, but over which generation it should be entered under: the Hyeonjabae, the sect's elder statesmen; the Cheonjabae, its present pillars; or the Mujabae, its youngest students. Recalling the mood of that council, I have the feeling that any Daoist who dared speak against granting me the discipleship would have ended up in wall-facing meditation right beside Cheon-am Jinin. In any case, the generational debate proved fiercer than I had expected — and no wonder, for I knew well that within the Nine Sects, generational rank was a matter of the gravest import.

"The Beggars' Gang has granted the Dancheon Divine Dragon an honorary ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Fifth-Knot Hall Mastership. A knot, I grant, does not denote generational rank — but a Five-Knot beggar is counted among their seniors, and Wudang ought to answer in kind with the Hyeonjabae. Consider, too, that the Sword Emperor Mugeok Jinin has himself imparted teaching to the Divine Dragon; to reckon the two as master and disciple is only proper, and that is another strand of my argument. The direct disciples of the previous Mujabae stand in place of Hyeonjabae — so the Hyeonjabae is the fitting rank."

"Is the Hyeonjabae not the generation that withdrew from the front lines only recently? The Dancheon Divine Dragon is still young. Set an age at which he will range grandly through the years ahead against the achievements he has already wrought, and the Cheonjabae — the very backbone of Wudang — appears the better fit. His standing, his deeds, and the long years he will walk alongside Wudang: weigh them together, and the Cheonjabae is more fitting than the Hyeonjabae."

"The Dancheon Divine Dragon's years are close to those of our third-generation students. If we would keep an enduring bond with the benefactor of our own sect, then granting him the Mujabae deserves consideration as well. Is what matters not that he stands with Wudang, rather than the height of his rank? 'Studying beneath the same gate' is no empty phrase — I think it would please us all to weigh the Mujabae as well."

For the record, every one of those statements had come from the senior members of the Hyeonjabae. When the great affairs of the sect were decided, only an elder of the same Hyeonjabae could fully stand against an opinion laid down by a Hyeonjabae elder. Such was the crushing weight of the Nine Sects' hierarchy.

"You decide it."

"I, too, concur with Martial Uncle's view."

The words of the great elder Mugeok Jinin and of Sect Leader Taecheong Jinin. Read plainly, they meant: whichever generation I desired, I would be granted. My answer was clear.

"I will take the Mujabae."

And so I became an honorary disciple of the Mujabae. Thinking of the sly smile Mugeok Jinin had worn as he granted it without a moment's hesitation, perhaps he was simply pleased that I would now bear the same generational character as himself. But I had spoken for the third-generation Mujabae in perfect earnest. Among the beggars of the Gang, where rank sat loosely on everyone, the title of Five-Knot Hall Master had never weighed on me; but in a house of iron hierarchy like Wudang, I had no wish to spend the coming years perched near its heights.

And so I came to hold the standing of a third-generation disciple of Wudang. Bong — Abundance. I knew the worth folded into that title, which meant my conduct from that day forward would have to be worthy of it.

In any case... Honorary disciple of Wudang though I now was, I still had no intention of learning the Hyeoncheon Jingyeol. The reason was this—

"Elder Sword Emperor. I wish to give myself wholly to the martial arts that carried me to this seat."

For I had mastered the Yakseon Heart Decision — I was the sole heir of the Medicine Immortal. Grandmaster Sambong had left behind heirs beyond counting; Grandmaster Yakseon had left behind none in this world but me.

I grant that a sentimental reason stood plainly in it — but it was not the whole. Strip the feeling away, reason from cold fact, and I still judged the Yakseon Heart Decision a secret art every bit the equal of the Hyeoncheon Jingyeol. For the final attainment Yakseon left behind gazed upon the same summit — the utmost of the martial way. He had not lived to demonstrate his six-stage art in the flesh, but he had staked his certainty upon it, and I held that to be as good as proven. Rather than scatter my strength down a dozen forked roads, I believed that pouring everything into one was the way to the right result.

"As I thought — you are a hollow stalk through and through."

Of course, Mugeok Jinin could not see into any of that reasoning, and I judged there was no way on earth to make him accept it.

"I am sorry."

Mugeok Jinin would not be bending my stubbornness today. This was the cast-iron obstinacy of Myeong-gae — the very man at whom even the peerless Chwipung-gae had, in the end, clicked his tongue and raised both hands in surrender.

Thud.

As though he had not heard a single word, Mugeok Jinin tossed the hand-copied manuscript of the Hyeoncheon Jingyeol down before me.

"I do believe I refused?"

"Then don't learn it, if learning it offends you so. Still — read it. You can manage that much, can you not?"

"...What?"

"What? Even that displeases you?"

"No. That much I can do."

"Then we are settled."

I had to concede it: in sheer cunning, Mugeok Jinin ran a step ahead of even Chwipung-gae.

"...I will read it, with thanks."

"Just so."

At a glance, Mugeok Jinin might have passed for a man who did precisely as he pleased. But I knew the truth of him: a man who kept faith with duty and due form. To grant me the right to read — and to learn — the Hyeoncheon Jingyeol was, in itself, the will of Wudang. Truly, it was the bearing of a magnanimous elder of a great orthodox sect.