The True Meaning of Moving Mountains
Hwang Jong-baek was feeling rather pleased with himself.
He might be dead last among the academy directors, but at least he was seated well ahead of the others, wasn't he? Strength surged into his shoulders, and the back he'd been hunching to hide his belly straightened up, inch by proud inch.
But the moment the doors closed, his waist folded forward like a snapped hinge.
"Oh dear — Director Hwang pays his respects to the Vice President!"
Beaming a hehe smile, Hwang Jong-baek sidled up to the man seated at the head of the hall.
"I owe you a great debt, Director Hwang."
Hwang Jong-baek looked a good ten years older than the man, yet his back bent as limber and pliant as a fresh sapling. And small wonder — this man was the most influential martial artist in the Yichang Jianghu, the next Director of White Horse Academy, and the de facto master of these meetings. The Flawless Sword, Baek Gun-ak.
"I received the gift you sent. My father insisted I pass along his sincere gratitude."
"Oh, come now. After all the President has done for us, what gratitude could I possibly deserve? How is his health faring, if I may ask?"
"Much improved, thanks to your concern. Speaking of which... that fellow came in person today, I hear?"
Hwang Jong-baek nodded with theatrical enthusiasm.
"Ah, you mean Director Jin. As it happens, he's just outside right now."
"So he wasn't entirely deaf to propriety after all."
"Hehe! I do have a way with the young ones, you know. I heard him out, and it seems he simply didn't know any better. One word of gentle guidance, and — wouldn't you know it — he recognized his mistake straight away."
Baek Gun-ak chuckled softly.
"Good. Then I'll rely on you for what comes after."
"What comes after? What do you mean, sir?"
"That Director Jin fellow, of course. He broke our rules — and for the sake of this council's discipline, we can hardly let that slide. The matter must be settled decisively, if only so no precedent is set."
Hwang Jong-baek's eyes went round as coins.
"S-Settled? Settled how, may I ask?"
"The initiation every new academy director must undergo. Surely you remember."
In Hubei, home to Yichang, there existed a time-honored custom: whenever a new sect was founded, its leader had to spar with the region's notables.
The name for it was...
"You mean the Great Duel?"
"Precisely."
For the span of a single incense stick, the incoming director would cross blades with the established directors until his qualifications were recognized — a proud tradition of the association. The word initiation made it sound like some barbaric hazing, but it was nothing of the sort. For the newcomer, it was a stage for introductions and a showcase of skill. For the established directors, it was a gesture of welcome and respect. A tradition unique to the Yichang Jianghu — martial exchange in the spirit of harmony.
However.
"The council's instructors intend to show this newcomer what they're made of in the duel. I'd like you to lend a hand as well, Director Hwang."
"B-But isn't the unspoken agreement that in the Great Duel, we spare our opponent's dignity and merely go through the motions?"
"Discipline must be properly established from the very start, mustn't it?"
"......"
When no fitting answer came, Baek Gun-ak frowned and turned to look at him. Hwang Jong-baek was flapping his mouth open and shut with a distinctly ambiguous expression.
"It seems something is troubling you?"
"T-Troubling me! Ha! Why on earth would anything be troubling me?"
"Good to hear. Then please, take your seat."
"Y-Yes, of course..."
Hwang Jong-baek shuffled back to his place. The sidelong glances from the other officers, the faint clicking of tongues — they made him shrink all the more.
Will he be all right?
Sliding into his seat, he found himself looking toward the entrance where the directors not yet admitted would soon appear.
...Ah, whatever. My nose is only three inches long — what can I do about it? We're hardly close enough for me to care.
Hwang Jong-baek fidgeted, readjusting his posture again and again. The chair that had always felt so plush and comfortable somehow seemed to be pinching him in every direction today.
Probably because he couldn't stop picturing Jin Cheong-un's face — that face that kept smiling so easily, calling him senior all the while.
It really is a crowd.
Jin Cheong-un surveyed the people seated in the meeting hall with genuine admiration. Thirty-odd, all told. He hadn't realized so many people in Yichang made their living in one way or another from martial arts academies.
"We are grateful that, in the midst of your busy affairs, you have gathered once again for the harmony of the Yichang Jianghu. Let us first discuss several items on today's agenda."
Jin Cheong-un stared blankly at the head of the table.
Vice President Baek Gun-ak. He had the air of the stern, loyal retainer of a great clan that Jin Cheong-un had occasionally seen at the Martial Arts Alliance — the very picture of rigid rectitude. With the President bedridden for years by old age, this man was the President in all but name.
That said...
Watching the meeting from the very last seat like a discarded grain sack, Jin Cheong-un's face settled into a flat frown.
Is this really a meeting for people whose job is teaching?
"...As I was saying, the Directors of Geumsanbang and Saheon Academy have succeeded in opening trade with the five wine houses formerly managed by the Black Tiger Gang."
"Oh ho! Five establishments!"
"Magnificent!"
"It's all thanks to your assistance, Vice President. We hardly did anything ourselves. Hehe."
The two officers seated at the very front exchanged hearty laughs.
"From now on, the rest of you may simply instruct your disciples to include those businesses in their patrol routes."
Baek Gun-ak nodded along, radiating satisfaction.
It was less like a meeting of academy directors and more like a gathering of merchants. Why did nearly everything out of their mouths concern business and money?
What was more—
"Given how many enterprises the association now manages, I believe it's time we raised the association dues. An increase of three hundred mun per member seems appropriate. What say you all?"
They're colluding on the dues too?
The officers mostly nodded their agreement, but a few of the directors looked visibly uncomfortable.
"By that amount, aren't we paying nearly half a silver tael a month?"
"Some of the children at my academy would find that a real burden..."
Baek Gun-ak clicked his tongue.
"Think, won't you. What helps the academy's bottom line more — ten children who can barely afford their dues, or one child like that merchant lord's brat over there, or the third son of a branch family who actually intends to sit the imperial martial examination?"
"Even so, we cannot simply disregard the children who come seeking to learn."
"Look at the bigger picture. Where do you suppose all those family donations end up?"
"......"
"When those children succeed, it benefits every other disciple as well. And beyond that, it is the single most effective thing we can do for the development of the Yichang Jianghu."
Under the weight of his rebuke, the directors fell silent one by one. Baek Gun-ak smirked and swept his gaze across the room.
"As you all know, the Yichang Jianghu has no great clan or sect to serve as its center of gravity. That role falls to our association."
"......"
"Bear in mind: for Yichang to grow and flourish, we must all stand together as one. Think big, and look wide. That is all."
"What objection could there be?"
"None at all."
Amid the chorus of agreement, a few of the directors could only swallow bitter smiles. They no longer felt like teachers shaping young minds — they felt like merchants hawking wares. And yet they had nothing to say. Reality was reality, after all.
They had all started out because they loved teaching children. But if they'd truly wanted to devote themselves to that calling, they ought to have founded a sect rather than an academy.
"Now then, let us conclude today's urgent matters here—"
Baek Gun-ak looked straight ahead. Or rather, at the very back of the hall.
"It seems we have a new face joining us at today's meeting."
At those words, the directors' gazes slowly converged on a single spot.
"I trust you've all heard the news by now. It appears the young man has taken his place to pay proper respects, at last. I ask you all to forgive him generously and offer him your welcome."
Every eye in the hall nailed itself to Jin Cheong-un. Hwang Jong-baek was all but throwing him a barrage of pointed looks as he sat there, blank as a stone.
Come on, Director Jin! Get up and greet them already!
Decoding the flapping mouth, that was roughly the gist.
Jin Cheong-un rose unhurriedly to his feet and delivered a formal fist salute.
"A pleasure to meet you all. I am Jin Cheong-un, Director of the Cheongun Martial Arts Academy. I look forward to working with you."
The hall was a wall of silence.
Not a single friendly gaze to be found. If the curious ones could be counted as favorable, then perhaps one or two could be called favorable.
"Cheongun Martial Arts Academy? Feels like I've heard that name somewhere..."
"Isn't that the old academy that used to be in Yinghua Village?"
"Yinghua Village — you mean the one the President told us to leave alone?"
Whispers began rippling through the hall — and then, from somewhere, a voice like a drawn blade cut through them.
"Hah. Director, is it? Young hero Jin, how did you manage to become a director so soon?"
Jin Cheong-un turned toward the voice. The speaker was the man seated right beside the head of the table — a hulking, bearish figure. Seo Cheol-yong, Lord of the Taecheong Sect.
"You seem to be ignorant of how things work in these parts, friend. In Yichang, one may only call oneself a director after earning the recognition of this council's instructors."
Seo Cheol-yong clucked his tongue. It was the kind of atmosphere that would have cowed any ordinary man — but Jin Cheong-un only emitted the most serene exclamation of understanding.
"Oh, is that how it works?"
"......?"
And then he shuffled out into the very center of the hall.
"Good timing, then. No need for a long speech — let's just get started."
Silence fell over the hall once more. Hwang Jong-baek's jaw dropped clean open.
"That... that blockhead. That absolute—"
The stage was ready in the blink of an eye. A sparring platform was set up in the courtyard outside the hall, along with chairs for the assembled directors. They clustered around it, chatting and snickering among themselves as they looked up at the platform.
"Well then. Shall we see Director Seo go out there and teach the boy a lesson?"
"He won't even make it to my turn. Back in our roaming days, did we ever have anything like a Great Duel? Straight to life-and-death matches, that's how it was!"
"Hear, hear. But this 'Cheongun of True Skill,' or whatever he calls himself — you ever heard of him?"
"Not once. Ha. Truly, the Yichang scene has gotten so soft that any nameless lowlife can open an academy now?"
"Isn't that the truth, Vice President?"
Baek Gun-ak chuckled softly.
"High spirits in a young man. What's not to like?"
He was wondering how to steer the mood, and the boy walked straight into a fight of his own accord. A bit foolish, perhaps — but you had to admire the nerve.
If his skills match his swagger, he could become a valuable asset for the association.
In truth, Baek Gun-ak held no particular feelings about Jin Cheong-un either way. If anything, he was pleased. Fresh blood flowing into this stagnant Yichang Jianghu — good. Rumors of considerable wealth behind the man — even better.
Just one thing. That insolent attitude of his needed fixing. Wasn't it simply too arrogant for its own good?
"Then let the Great Duel begin."
Baek Gun-ak placed the incense stick from his hand into the burner.
"Should internal energy be employed, should any part of the body other than the two arms touch the ground, should any concealed weapon be used, or should one step off the platform — that shall be counted as defeat."
"......"
"This incense burns for roughly half a quarter-hour. If Young Hero Jin can hold out on the platform for one full incense stick, his qualifications will be recognized. The incense will be lit the moment the first exchange begins. Begin."
Two men stepped up onto the narrow platform — barely twenty paces across. Seo Cheol-yong, gripping his broad blade, frowned.
"Where are your weapons? You've come bare-handed?"
No answer came. Jin Cheong-un simply stood there with a lazy smile, nodding along.
"My sincere thanks, Lord Seo."
"...Thanks?"
"I've been feeling pent-up all morning, hands itching for something to do, and I'd been worried I'd have to hold it in and let it pass. But hoooooh... isn't this just the most wonderful news?"
What is this lunatic on about?
Has fear scrambled his mind?
Seo Cheol-yong let out a snort. His external strength was, he prided himself, second to none. Jin Cheong-un by contrast was gaunt at a glance — a scrawny frame that looked like it could barely swing a fist. Internal energy was forbidden on top of everything. The outcome was as plain as fire in daylight, wasn't it?
"Custom holds that in a Great Duel, we temper our strikes and show mercy... but the Vice President himself has ordered me to show you what real skill looks like. So don't take it too personally."
"......"
"But don't worry. The moment you come to your senses, I'll stop in good time. Heh heh."
Jin Cheong-un looked at him with something close to pity.
"Say — doesn't that embarrass you at all?"
"...What did you say?"
"Where do people learn to talk like that? I could never bring myself to say anything so childish."
"I'll tear that insolent mouth of yours—!"
Face flushing scarlet, Seo Cheol-yong slammed his foot into the ground.
Whoosh!
In that instant, he doubted his own eyes. Jin Cheong-un — who had been standing right in front of him — had vanished like a wisp of the incense smoke.
And then—
SHRAAAAANG!
A spine-chilling crack of splitting air right beside his ear. The instant he whipped his head toward it was the last moment he would ever remember.
BOOOOOM—!
Everyone in the audience stared blankly into empty space.
Seo Cheol-yong was flying. Like a kite with a severed string, his body soared — and every gaze in the courtyard traced the arc of his flight in unison.
Jin Cheong-un, fist still extended in the posture of his swing, eyes flickered coldly.
Just as the Foolish Old Man found the mountain tiresome and simply removed it from his path—
When a man proves tiresome, one simply removes the man.
That is the true meaning of 'The Foolish Old Man Moves Mountains.'
Or not. Who cares.