Taming the Mad Dog
A gaze flying in from afar left Ma Uiryong unable to hide his flustered expression.
It was only natural. He had never expected to find himself in such a remote mountain hamlet. At first he assumed it was another trap laid by Jang Muhwi. Though Ma Uiryong had once roamed Qinghai without restraint, he was now alone, and no one knew he had come here. Still, he revealed nothing. The moment he recovered his strength, he intended to defeat Jang Muhwi and descend the mountain.
Yet the place Jang Muhwi led him to was an old man’s modest home. What caught Ma Uiryong’s sharpest attention was the old man’s appearance. His clothes looked like nothing more than rags patched together; to anyone’s eyes, he was a beggar.
A beggar?
At that thought Ma Uiryong’s eyes widened. Only then did every lingering question find its answer.
He had long sensed that Jang Muhwi’s martial arts were strange. The forms resembled those of the Jang family, yet their inner substance was entirely different. A wolf wearing sheep’s clothing—that description fit perfectly. How could someone like him have obtained such power? If the Beggars’ Sect stood behind him, every mystery dissolved at once.
The Beggars’ Sect was no ordinary gathering of beggars. How else could so many call it the greatest faction under heaven? How could the insignificant Jang family have any connection to them?
Ma Uiryong’s gaze drifted to the old beggar’s waist. He wanted to confirm the knot that indicated rank within the sect. Knots were awarded according to age and merit; for an elder of that apparent age, there should have been at least five. That would place him at the level of a fifth-rank disciple or higher.
Yet as Ma Uiryong studied the old man’s waist, his eyes trembled faintly. There was no knot at all.
The old man was clearly a member of the Beggars’ Sect. The absence of a knot could mean only one thing: he had retired from the organization. Retirement from the Beggars’ Sect carried two possibilities. Either the man had rendered extraordinary service, or he had once been the sect leader himself.
Ma Uiryong knew little of the sect’s prominent figures, but whether the former or the latter, the person before him was undoubtedly an exceptional master. Of course, there remained one other possibility—that his status was so exalted no mere knot could signify it.
A retired hidden expert of the Beggars’ Sect? In any case, that was the conclusion Ma Uiryong reached. And this was no ordinary master. Not the slightest trace of aura could be felt from the old man. The realm of returning to simplicity—Ma Uiryong judged him to have reached that legendary state, where one could conceal one’s power at will. It was the first time he had encountered such a figure.
Just who was this old man?
At that moment a booming voice rang out.
“Hoho. You expect me to take charge of that beanpole of a fellow?”
“I ask this favor of you, elder,” Jang Muhwi said, bowing his head with sincere respect toward Pajuk Seonsaeng.
Yet Pajuk Seonsaeng merely shook his head from side to side. Jang Muhwi gestured quickly—come here.
Ma Uiryong approached at once. He set his personal grudge against Jang Muhwi aside and focused solely on the high expert before him. At this moment, his relationship with the elder mattered far more than any private enmity. The family came before the individual, after all, and Ma Uiryong judged the Beggars’ Sect well worth the effort.
He smoothed his expression, stepped forward, and offered a swift cupped-fist salute. “This junior greets the elder.”
“Hm. At least you know how to greet properly.”
The old man stroked his beard. In that simple motion Ma Uiryong sensed the natural dignity of a true master. More than that, the way the elder gazed down at him—as though regarding a single grain of rice beneath his feet—carried the overwhelming presence of an absolute expert.
The old man narrowed his eyes, as if reluctant to waste words. Ma Uiryong quickly averted his gaze. Those eyes seemed capable of piercing straight through a man’s innermost thoughts.
Watching Ma Uiryong flounder in his own delusions, Pajuk Seonsaeng clicked his tongue. “Tsk. How am I supposed to teach a great oaf like this? Besides, I do not take disciples.”
“That is not what I am asking,” Jang Muhwi said, waving a hand.
Pajuk Seonsaeng could not accept disciples even if he wished to. He was no retired hidden master of the Beggars’ Sect. In the past he had been a great scholar who produced countless officials and had served as tutor to the crown prince. Now he lived in quiet retirement in Qinghai. It was an unwritten imperial rule that one who had taught the emperor or crown prince must take no further disciples thereafter. To do so might produce unforeseen consequences—an unexpectedly powerful faction, or those who would look lightly upon the throne.
Pajuk Seonsaeng gave a faint smile. “Then what exactly is your request?”
“Simply trim away the rough edges.”
“An interesting proposal. Yet I am rather tired at the moment…”
“There is no such thing as a free meal in this world. In return, I have prepared generous compensation for the lessons. And I will remain here for as long as you desire.”
Jang Muhwi smiled. In truth, he had planned to stay even if told to leave. He genuinely trusted Pajuk Seonsaeng—who had once bent even a grand general to his will—to handle the education. Yet he could not simply abandon the unruly Ma Uiryong here. More importantly, he had not yet properly repaid the elder’s earlier kindness.
Jang Muhwi glanced at Cheolwoo. “Cheolwoo, unpack the baggage.”
“Yes, young master.”
“And place the prepared items before the elder.”
“Understood.”
Cheolwoo drew out a large bundle of snacks from the luggage—sweets, soft rice cakes, all gentle foods chosen with Pajuk Seonsaeng’s comfort in mind. Jang Muhwi casually lifted a bottle of grain wine.
“Wouldn’t this be preferable to the tea you are drinking, elder?”
“Hoho. As expected, you understand the courtesies of the martial world.”
“Here you are.”
“Very well. Since I have received the wine, I accept your proposal.”
Pajuk Seonsaeng laughed as he accepted the cup. Jang Muhwi, cup in hand, glanced sideways at Ma Uiryong and tilted his head in puzzlement. The man looked utterly dazed, as though his soul had fled. Ma Uiryong’s eyes churned like a small boat caught in a storm.
He would never have imagined that Pajuk Seonsaeng would take the request to “trim rough edges” so literally, nor that there would be any compromise. That was simply how the elder taught. Behind his gentle face, Pajuk Seonsaeng concealed the eternal snows of the northern sea. His methods would certainly be harsh. Until the training ended, Ma Uiryong would not be permitted to leave this place—even if the patriarch of the Ma family emerged from closed-door cultivation to fetch him personally.
Yet Ma Uiryong had noticed none of this. He remained lost in his own misunderstanding, convinced the elder was a retired master of the Beggars’ Sect and that the request to smooth rough edges was a plea to refine his martial arts.
Of course, every part of it was a misunderstanding. And misunderstandings only breed more misunderstandings. Once his thoughts reached that point, his assessment of Jang Muhwi shifted as well. Suddenly it was unclear whether the man was enemy or ally. The notion of a trap no longer seemed plausible. Whatever the reason, this was an opportunity.
Just then Pajuk Seonsaeng’s voice boomed again.
“You there, boy. Fetch some water.”
“Ah—understood!”
Ma Uiryong answered reflexively and turned toward the well, but the elder’s shout continued.
“Not that one. Go down to the valley and bring cold water. Understood?”
“Yes. Understood.”
Ma Uiryong picked up the water bucket and vanished down the path.
Even Jang Muhwi had not anticipated this. Though he knew Pajuk Seonsaeng had once bent a grand general of the empire to his will, he had not expected the elder to handle the wild Ma Uiryong so effortlessly.
“Just how did you manage that, elder?”
“He doesn’t seem quite as rough as I expected. Hoho.”
“No, that cannot be right.”
“Let us observe him for a few days. If any rough edges appear, I will shave them down.”
The following morning, Jang Muhwi toyed with a baduk stone while thinking of Ma Uiryong. The man had become as docile as a newly entered disciple of some massive sect, performing every task without complaint. Strangely, although his body should have fully recovered, he had not yet challenged Jang Muhwi to a spar.
Ma Uiryong had gone to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. Jang Muhwi sat facing Pajuk Seonsaeng with the baduk board between them. The elder placed a stone.
Clack.
The placement seemed to ignore every convention of the game.
“Now, how exactly did you counter from this position?”
“I dismantled the Tang family’s hidden weapons in this manner.”
Jang Muhwi set down two stones at once.
Clack. Clack.
What they played was no ordinary game of baduk. It was a theoretical sword debate, recreating their sparring matches upon the board. The stones marked the beginning and end of each exchange; naturally the usual rules of the game fell away.
Pajuk Seonsaeng’s great hobby was the non-combat sword debate. That was why he could not help but favor Jang Muhwi, who displayed dismantling techniques that defied all common sense of the martial world. Here was a warrior who read the flow of combat without being bound by formality—like a veteran of a hundred battles. Conversations with him about martial arts made time itself disappear.
The same was true for Jang Muhwi. Debating the sword with the great scholar Pajuk Seonsaeng brought him genuine pleasure. At present they were reviewing the moment he had confronted Dang Jihwa during the Dragon Gate Assembly.
“Oh-ho. Using the opponent’s own weapon as your shield… Excellent.”
As Pajuk Seonsaeng voiced his admiration, a sudden scream erupted from the kitchen.
“Aack!”
Jang Muhwi rose at once, but Pajuk Seonsaeng caught his sleeve.
“Sit. Nothing will happen.”
“Even so, I should go see—”
“I gave strict orders not to harm him. Do not worry.”
“Then the person inside…”
“Is exactly as you suspect.”
Pajuk Seonsaeng smiled, yet Jang Muhwi continued to stare tensely toward the kitchen. That was where Ma Uiryong had been preparing the meal. The scream had undoubtedly come from him. Someone else was in there with him—most likely one of Pajuk Seonsaeng’s hidden guards.
It was just as Jang Muhwi had thought. The emperor would never have sent Pajuk Seonsaeng to this place alone. And if the guard was skilled enough that even Jang Muhwi had failed to notice… then it was surely a formidable expert. With such protection at the elder’s side, he could set out on his journey with a lighter heart.