Chapter 160
Chapter 160
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 160
Chapter Title: Mount Wudang
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Upon arriving near Mount Wudang, Hong Geolgae shared his impressions.
"It's quaint."
"Isn't it."
Mount Wudang itself wasn't quaint. It was a proper sacred mountain of Taoism, and like all such peaks, it was vast enough to take months to explore fully.
What was quaint was the size of the village nestled at its base. The size of a sect's attached village tended to scale with the sect's own size and history.
Hyun-gong shrugged.
"It's a small village, but it has everything you need. Regardless of scale, it's substantial in its own way—much like the Wudang Sect itself."
"Sounds fancy."
"Haha."
Perhaps because they had returned to his familiar home ground, Hyun-gong's expression was brighter than usual.
The four did not linger in the village but headed straight up Mount Wudang.
The weather was fine, the scenery magnificent, and the mountain path not treacherous. With a guide no less, it was quite the luxurious hike.
As they strolled leisurely to the sound of birdsong, Namgoong Myeong asked Hyun-gong,
"Come to think of it, Hyun-gong. How did you end up becoming a Taoist?"
Dang Mujin had been born into a physician's family and become one himself; Namgoong Myeong had been born into the Namgoong family and become a martial artist.
Similarly, Hong Geolgae was the son of a Beggars' Sect disciple, raised in their hands, and thus became one himself.
Hyun-gong, however, was a bit different.
There were occasional Taoists who married, but most lived celibate lives.
The chances were low that Hyun-gong had simply followed family tradition into the Wudang Sect.
Hyun-gong began his tale readily.
"When I was about four or five, my mother brought me to Mount Wudang."
"Did your mother leave you here at the sect?"
"Something like that."
"Something like that?"
"Yeah. My mother brought me as far as that elm tree over there."
Hyun-gong pointed precisely at one tree.
It was neither particularly large nor unusually shaped.
"My mother told me that if I followed this path all the way up, I'd find her close 'uncles' there, and after staying twenty nights, she'd come back for me."
But the "uncles" his mother claimed to be close to had no idea who she was.
To keep the little boy from being startled, the Wudang Taoists bantered gently with him, then walked down the mountain path together.
Yet there was no way the unnamed woman would have lingered in that spot while the little boy toddled down the mountain hand-in-hand with the Taoists.
The Wudang Taoists had only two choices: coldly turn the child away, or reluctantly accept him into the sect and raise him as a Taoist.
They chose the latter. They were planning to take in new disciples soon anyway, so there was no need to belabor it.
Soon after, the Wudang Taoists faced a new dilemma.
At the time, the youngest generation of Wudang Taoists used "Jung" as their generational name marker: Jung-seon, Jung-gok, Jung-hyeon, and so on.
The new disciples to be accepted soon were next in line for "Jin" as their marker. Hyun-gong should have received the dharma name Jin-gong.
The problem was that no one could explain to Hyun-gong why he needed a new name.
Who could tell a little kid, "Your mother abandoned you, so you're not Hyun-gong anymore—you have to live as Jin-gong"?
The Wudang Taoists were too softhearted.
After hemming and hawing, they came up with a clever solution.
No child had received the "Jin" marker yet, so why not skip ahead and make the next one "Hyeon" instead? No one objected.
And so, the youngest disciples of the Wudang Sect skipped several turns to receive "Hyeon" as their generational marker.
Thus, Hyun-gong became both his birth name and his dharma name.
"As a kid, I used to think it was strange how all these boys with 'hyeon' in their names kept joining the sect. Took me a while to learn those were dharma names."
Hyun-gong laughed as he told the story.
Twenty years had passed. The snot-nosed little kid had become Hyun-gong, the eldest of the Hyeon generation sages and a proper Taoist. He was a martial artist of the world, the Victorious Dragon Sword, whom no one could be ashamed to present anywhere.
But that four-year-old's twenty nights had yet to end.
He had once thought that if he made his name known across the land, his mother might come looking. But as time wore on, that hope faded.
It was hard for parents to abandon a child, but even harder for them to seek out one they'd abandoned.
As the maudlin tale drew to a close, an ornate mountain gate appeared before the group.
A small building stood before the gate. Or rather, it looked more like a modest structure attached to the gate itself.
Only Hyun-gong had been to the Wudang Sect before, but no one was ignorant of what that small building was.
"That's the Sword-Depositing Pool, right?"
"Yep."
The Sword-Depositing Pool, where one left one's sword.
Unless one was a Wudang martial artist, depositing one's sword at the pool was required to enter the sect.
But there was one big problem: martial artists treated their swords like their own lives.
Moreover, for a swordmaster to deposit their sword meant entrusting their very life to the host as a show of trust. Even without ill intent, few would eagerly hand over their blade.
Even with Hyun-gong right there, Namgoong Myeong was bluntly critical.
"The Sword-Depositing Pool? Nothing weaker than that."
"Weak?"
"Yeah. Of course people push back when you tell them to leave their sword."
"And why is that weak?"
"Because the Wudang Sect gets a pretext to lord their rules over everyone."
When rules could be imposed on those who resisted, authority grew all the firmer.
Namgoong Myeong's claim was that the Wudang Sect had built this bizarre structure to intimidate visitors, flaunt their prowess, and spread their name.
"No, there's no need to see it that darkly. It's just tradition."
As Hyun-gong reacted awkwardly, Namgoong Myeong grumbled again.
"Tradition? Nah. My grandfather said there was no Sword-Depositing Pool back in his day. My father met the sect leader while still wearing his sword."
Hong Geolgae jumped in again.
"So family heads of great clans can enter without depositing their swords?"
"Not exactly. The sect leader came out beyond the gate to meet my father. Probably didn't want to set a precedent of letting a sword-bearing guest pass the pool."
Authority was relative, and the Wudang Sect's did not surpass that of the Namgoong family head.
Dang Mujin perked up his ears, listening intently. He always found these behind-the-scenes stories entertaining.
Worried Namgoong Myeong might continue, Hyun-gong swung his arm emphatically.
"Alright, enough stories. Let's head in."
Two Wudang Taoists stood inside the Sword-Depositing Pool. Their skills weren't superior to Dang Mujin's, but he obediently deposited his sword on the rack.
Namgoong Myeong, meanwhile, had a brief staring contest with the guarding Taoists before relinquishing his blade.
If he were the Namgoong family head, perhaps—but as merely the head's son, with his ambiguous status and half-exiled from home to boot, he couldn't override Wudang authority.
Only now did Hyun-gong notice that Dang Mujin and Namgoong Myeong's swords looked identical, asking in a voice full of curiosity,
"I thought they were famous masterwork blades, but up close, they're identical. Did the same smith make them?"
Dang Mujin answered lightly.
"Yeah. I made both."
Hyun-gong chuckled and let it slide. A physician making swords? It sounded like a joke to anyone.
The real issue was Hong Geolgae.
As Hong Geolgae tried to pass without setting down his blue-green bamboo staff, the two guarding Taoists stopped him.
"You there, young Beggars' Sect disciple. Leave your weapon."
"Pardon? Why me?"
"Why? This is the Sword-Depositing Pool."
"It is the Sword-Depositing Pool. But this isn't a sword. It's just a staff."
Hong Geolgae leaned on his blue-green bamboo staff—that is, his strike rod—like a walking stick.
His attitude was cheeky, but his argument held water. If it had a blade, maybe—but a strike rod was just a bamboo pole without edge or point.
Hyun-gong gave the two Taoists a meaningful glance. Couldn't they just let it go?
The two pondered.
Not long ago, the Shaolin abbot, Divine Monk, had visited Wudang. He too had entered without depositing his staff at the pool, for the same reason Hong Geolgae gave.
'But that was the Divine Monk. How dare a mere Beggars' Sect disciple.'
Just as the Taoists decided to enforce the rules strictly, Hyun-gong glanced again. Their eyes followed his to Hong Geolgae, spotting the five knots.
The two didn't deduce Hong Geolgae's exact status as quickly as Hyun-gong had. But they grasped he was no ordinary fellow.
After a brief hesitation, they said,
"You're clear!"
After the short scuffle, the group entered the Wudang Sect grounds.
A finely maintained Taoist temple came into view, just as expected.
But it wasn't all shiny new buildings. There were simply no structures decrepit beyond a certain point.
As they walked following Hyun-gong, Dang Mujin asked,
"When can we see the Songmun Ancient Sword?"
"The sect leader has it, so I can't say for sure."
Dang Mujin made a disappointed face, and Hyun-gong quickly waved it off.
"Don't worry. I'll arrange a meeting with the sect leader as soon as possible."
Hyun-gong planned to introduce Namgoong Myeong and Hong Geolgae to as many people as he could. He hadn't brought Dang Mujin's group here just to show off his connections, after all—the sect leader included, of course.
Halting before the reception hall, Hyun-gong said,
"Since we're here, want me to show you around the sect?"
Namgoong Myeong and Hong Geolgae showed interest, but Dang Mujin waved it off.
"I'm tired, so I'll rest a bit. Doesn't seem like there'll be anything fun anyway."
"Sure thing."
Hyun-gong agreed readily and vanished somewhere with Namgoong Myeong and Hong Geolgae in tow.
Dang Mujin sprawled out in the reception hall, lost in thought.
'What kind of sword is the Songmun Ancient Sword, exactly?'
When he first heard the Wudang Sect had the world's greatest famed sword, Dang Mujin had thought it might be the one he'd made for Pyochung. He'd crafted it at the end of his long journey into the martial world, as a gift to bring back to his sect.
Besides, among the current smiths in the Central Plains, he doubted anyone made better swords than he did.
The problem was the name. There was no way the sword he'd made would be called the Songmun Ancient Sword. It wasn't old enough to be an "ancient" sword.
'Come to think of it, the Namgoong family's top sword is the Hwanwon Sword, right? If it's one made by a legendary smith from ancient times, it could surpass mine.'
Dang Mujin closed his eyes, deep in thought.
What kind of sword was the Songmun Ancient Sword? Just one forged from ordinary iron? If it was merely special materials, he'd be a little disappointed.
With such thoughts, Dang Mujin drifted off to sleep.
*
Dang Mujin awoke to footsteps outside the door. More than five sets, so not Hyun-gong returning.
The approaching group, not bothering to hide their presence, called from outside the reception hall.
"Is the Divine Dragon Physician Dang Mujin inside?"
Dang Mujin opened the door to see youthful Taoist faces.
Some around his age, others a bit younger. Most likely the same generation as Hyun-gong.
'Hyun-gong must have been spreading word that I came.'
Dang Mujin guessed their purpose just from their faces.
Out-of-towners piqued their curiosity—especially one called one of the world's three great physicians.
His guess proved right as a slightly younger Taoist hesitantly spoke.
"Um, sorry to bother you with this on first meeting, but I've got a boil on my back. Could you take a look?"
"Show me."
The Taoist hiked up his robe to bare his back.
The boil was about the size of a thumb joint. Reddish hue, pointed tip.
Even to them, it wasn't serious. They just needed an excuse to talk.
Dang Mujin smirked.
It reminded him of neighborhood kids trailing after an out-of-towner, hoping for stories.
As he drew needles from his pouch, Dang Mujin said,
"No physician in the Wudang Sect, I take it?"
"No. We go down to the village clinic if something's wrong."
"I see. All done."
"Pardon?"
In the time it took to exchange those words, Dang Mujin had pierced the boil's tip with a needle, drained the pus, and sealed it with acupressure.
"Pus is fully drained, and I saw the blood bead, so no infection risk. But wear clean clothes for a day or two, and if you can, boil some job's tears and arrowroot root to drink. No need for old, thick arrowroot."
Dang Mujin spoke casually, but the young Wudang Taoists lingered awkwardly. They'd come to chat, and the treatment ended too quickly.
Guessing as much, Dang Mujin turned to the next.
"You've got a rash on your arm."
"Huh? Oh."
Of course, that Taoist hadn't come for the rash. Who visits a doctor for something so minor?
Yet Dang Mujin coolly ignored that, placing several clean needles in the forearm and saying matter-of-factly,
"Get some angelica dahurica, acanthopanax bark, and white peony root. Stir-fry lightly, grind to powder, and take it. Angelica dahurica grows wild everywhere—no need to buy it. White peony's a single coin-nyang handful. Acanthopanax... well, skip it if it's hard to find."
The young Taoists' jaws dropped.
They knew non-life-threatening ailments weren't always easy to treat—especially minor ones local clinics ignored.
Finally, having checked all five minor complaints, Dang Mujin clapped his palms together.
"I'll be here tomorrow or the next day, so come back if anything ails you."
Dang Mujin treated the young Taoists and lay back down.
Moments later, more footsteps approached.
This time, he opened the door before they called. Seven new faces stared at him.
Dang Mujin scratched his chin slowly, thinking,
'Guess my sleep's done for today.'
But such was a physician's life.
"Come on in, one by one."
Dang Mujin flung the door wide, welcoming the Wudang Taoists.