What Makes a Good Teacher
A long, long yawn escaped Jin Cheong-un's lips.
He smacked his mouth, wiping away the tears that had gathered at the corners of his eyes, and said, "Looks fine. No problems."
"Thank you, Master."
"How do you feel?"
"Great!"
It had already been two days since the eventful Small Heavenly Circulation ended. Jeong So-ryong, who had slept the entire previous day through, had finally opened his eyes.
"You're not lying, are you? You really feel good?"
"Really. It's not just that I feel good—everything feels so vivid."
"Hm? Feel what, exactly?"
Jin Cheong-un rested his chin on his hand with an air of boredom and watched his chattering disciples for a moment.
So he didn't grasp the Small Heavenly Circulation by mere accident after all.
The Small Heavenly Circulation. It was called the first gateway on the road to becoming a true internal arts master, the point at which one was said to have achieved the Small Achievement realm.
But it wasn't as though simply circulating qi and stirring energy through the body counted. Only when one's heightened perception penetrated the four limbs and the Ren and Du meridians, and one succeeded in guiding one's energy through the great vessel a full twelve times, could a person claim to have completed the circulation.
And I never taught him a word of it.
The reason the Small Heavenly Circulation was difficult was simple. Most practitioners simply didn't possess enough internal energy to drive it through their meridians twelve times over, let alone the sense and technique—the fire control—needed to regulate it.
And yet he had done it. Guided himself there entirely on his own.
Intuition, is it.
His years in the Jianghu had shown him many gifted ones. Geniuses who never forgot a thing they'd seen once, who were born carrying vast reservoirs of true qi, who picked up advanced martial arts at ages when others were still fumbling with stances.
But not one of them had ever reached the concept of the Small Heavenly Circulation—a principle refined over countless generations of practitioners' trial and error—through nothing more than basic knowledge and raw feel.
And it isn't only So-ryong.
Jin Cheong-un's gaze slid sideways. Something flickered in his eyes as they came to rest on Jeong So-so.
She flinched.
In that instant, Jeong So-so jumped like a startled cat and whipped her head around, scanning the room. "Huh? What—"
"Sis? What's wrong?"
She blinked with a dumbstruck expression. "N-nothing, it's just... something just touched me."
Jin Cheong-un snorted. "There's nothing there, and you felt something anyway? Must have been a ghost passing by."
"D-don't say things like that!"
Jeong So-so shrieked, turning pale.
Sharp instincts.
It was genuinely endearing. It was admirable enough that she had seen the grueling training through to the end—but to catch a glimpse of the principle itself and have her senses awaken on top of that.
I should start teaching them martial arts in earnest.
Footwork, stances, lightness skill, sword arts, spear arts... there was a mountain of things to teach. And now that Jeong So-ryong was cured of his severed meridians, he'd need to begin external training as well.
My disciples have their work cut out for them—but so do I, come to think of it.
Jin Cheong-un felt the new true qi wriggling in his dantian. It seemed he'd have plenty to do once they returned home.
"Master, are you falling asleep again?"
The voice came the instant his eyelids had drooped shut, and he cracked one eye open. "...I'm not sleeping."
"You were snoring just now."
"That was breathing cultivation."
"Your head was bobbing too."
"Catching the tail end of your master's words, of all things. Where on earth did you learn such wicked habits?"
"..."
Old fogey, Jeong So-so muttered to herself as she sat down in front of him. Then she poured a cup of the tea she'd brewed while he dozed and set it before her master.
"Now that So-ryong's awake, will you please tell us?"
"Tell you what?"
Jin Cheong-un blew on his tea and took a sip.
"Why you fought the Taicheong Pavilion Master and the Vice President of White Horse Academy."
"We didn't fight."
"Oh, come on, the rumors are everywhere."
"We really didn't fight."
Jin Cheong-un said it as though tossing it away. "I beat them up."
"..."
"One-sidedly."
Ah. I see.
So it wasn't a duel—it was just an assault.
"Then why... why did you, um, beat them up?"
"..."
"Is the rumor true that the Taicheong Pavilion Master was scheming something behind our backs?"
"Hm."
Jin Cheong-un studied his two disciples' faces for a moment, then took another sip of tea. "You two can go on not knowing for a while yet."
"Children? I'm nineteen! That's the age most people are already married off!"
"Then get married and ask again."
Realizing she wasn't going to hear a word of it, Jeong So-so heaved a deep sigh.
Jin Cheong-un said offhandedly, "If word comes, I'll stop by to see someone briefly and then we'll head back, so start packing."
"Ah, I knew it! The dirty looks finally made sense!"
"Dirty looks?"
The sharpness in Jin Cheong-un's eyes flared at once. "Who. Who dared to give a disciple of the Cheongun Martial Arts Academy a dirty look? Which bastard was it? Point him out."
"..."
As he glowered, Jeong So-so's expression turned sulky. If a bunch of people whose house your master beat up are squatting in that house, of course they're going to give us dirty looks...
Just then, Jin Cheong-un's gaze swung toward the door. Puzzled, Jeong So-so found her own head turning after it.
A moment later, footsteps sounded from outside.
"Master Jin, I've come from the annex. Would this be a good time?"
"So he's finally here."
Jin Cheong-un rose from his seat as if he'd been waiting for exactly this. He hadn't been sitting around rooted to the spot for nothing.
The master of White Horse Academy. His master's old friend—and quite possibly the one person who knew his master's secret.
He had to hear the rest of the story before they left.
"How has your body been faring?"
"Thanks to your concern, the coughing has settled down and I feel quite well indeed. Heh heh."
It was no polite fib—Baek Un-seo's breathing was far better than before.
"The weather is fine. Shall we take a short walk?"
"The winter air is a touch chilly."
"No matter. The sun is out, isn't it? Heh heh."
Baek Un-seo braced himself on his cane and carefully rose to his feet. Jin Cheong-un followed in silence, waiting for the old man to speak first.
"I heard the news."
Baek Un-seo let out a long sigh. The worry in his clouded, aged eyes had deepened. "Please don't concern yourself. The parties involved settled it amicably."
"Settled it amicably... hmm."
For a moment his expression darkened as the image of his son lying bandaged in his sickbed came to mind. "Is the Vice President all right?"
"He seemed rather relieved, in truth. Somewhat hollowed out as well, I'll admit—but he's a grown man. Perhaps something struck a chord in him."
Only then did Jin Cheong-un belatedly realize he was making small talk with the father of the man he'd beaten to a pulp just the night before. "I may have... gone somewhat too far."
"Heh heh. Not at all. He'd sins of his own to answer for, and this is a matter between Jianghu men—how could I scold you for it? The physician said he was struck so cleanly that once he recovers, there'll be no lingering effects at all."
"I'm quite reliable in that particular area."
"Heh heh. Heh..."
Baek Un-seo broached the subject carefully. "Still, if it weighs on your conscience, there is one favor I'd ask of you later."
"A favor?"
"Nothing unreasonable, so don't fret. Heh heh."
"Understood. However..."
"However?"
"I can't guarantee I'll agree to it."
"..."
Baek Un-seo seemed briefly at a loss for words, then nodded. When his breathing grew a little labored, he settled onto a bench in the pavilion by the pond. After resting a while, he spoke again.
"There was a conversation we never finished that day. Ask whatever you wish."
Jin Cheong-un's expression turned serious. "Have you, by any chance, ever heard my master speak of our school?"
"Why would you ask an outsider about your own school's affairs?"
"There were circumstances. I never had the opportunity to hear the full account from anyone."
At that, Baek Un-seo looked rueful. "Ah, forgive me—I've poked at a sore spot without meaning to."
"..."
He paused for a long moment before continuing. "I don't know if this will help, but I once heard your master mention something called the Heavenly Gate."
The Heavenly Gate.
What the Heaven-Seeking Art symbolized was precisely that—heaven itself.
Could it be a name tied to the origins of the Eight Desolations Martial Arts?
If the Heaven-Seeking Art was the martial learning of a place called the Heavenly Gate, then perhaps there were others as well—an Earth Gate, a Wind Gate, a Lake Gate, a Mountain Gate—each matching one of the eight trigrams. It wasn't beyond imagining.
"That's honestly the extent of what I know. Even that much, I only pried out of him after winning a game of baduk... I'm sorry I can't be of more help."
"Not at all. Thank you."
Jin Cheong-un spoke in an even tone. "And if there's something you wish to ask me, Master, please speak freely."
"Hm."
Baek Un-seo's eyes deepened. As though drawing out a question he had carried for many long years, he spoke in a low, trembling voice, choosing each word with care.
"The reason the Cheongun Martial Arts Academy closed so suddenly... may I ask about it?"
"..."
"Your disciples—and you yourself. Where have you all been all this while, that you've only now returned?"
Baek Un-seo still remembered those days. It had been an uproarious era in every respect. Alliances and leagues were springing up like bamboo shoots after rain across the Central Plains, and grim rumors ran through the market streets day after day.
When his baduk partner stopped coming one day, he had wondered about the silence—but thinking no news was good news, he hadn't gone looking. Then a day became two, and two became months.
When Baek Un-seo finally inquired after him, belatedly, all he found was the bare fact that the Cheongun Martial Arts Academy had shut its doors overnight.
Something grave must have happened. That much was certain.
Baek Un-seo studied Jin Cheong-un quietly. Even if the question bordered on rudeness, he wanted to ask it—because if anyone might know what had become of his dear old friend, it would be that friend's disciple.
And yet.
"There's nothing remarkable to tell."
"...?"
"That's usually how academies die, isn't it? My disciples left one by one chasing their ambitions, and eventually the doors closed."
"...Ambitions? You?"
"I joined the Martial Alliance chasing the dream of azure clouds, in keeping with my name."
Baek Un-seo gazed at Jin Cheong-un for a long while.
It lasted only an instant, but he saw it. The deep shadow that flickered across Jin Cheong-un's eyes—and how swiftly, how impossibly swiftly, he swept that shadow away again.
So. He's already... dead.
It was an old man's instinct. And at once, he understood that pressing further would be useless. Baek Un-seo closed his eyes tight and forced down the question that clawed at his throat.
"I see. So that's how it was."
"Yes."
A long silence settled over them. At some point, the sounds of White Horse Academy's students drilling drifted over from beyond the garden wall.
"While my son recovers, I intend to take the reins of the Association myself."
"Pardon?"
"It's time I returned to my old post. That will likely be the last thing I do before I go. Hah hah hah."
"..."
Baek Un-seo pushed himself up, both hands resting atop his cane. "Master Jin. What kind of teacher do you wish to become?"
Caught off guard by the sudden question, Jin Cheong-un tilted his head. "A good one, I suppose."
"And what, pray tell, is a good teacher?"
"One who teaches well, obviously?"
Baek Un-seo smiled gently. "You answered without thinking just now, didn't you?"
"..."
Like a student caught dozing in class and skewered for it, Jin Cheong-un discreetly averted his gaze.
"Ha hah! And mind you, this isn't just a father speaking—but when it comes to the ability to teach, my Gun-ak is better at it than I am. Tell me, though. Did that boy ever strike your eyes as a good teacher?"
"..."
Jin Cheong-un considered for a moment, then asked, "Then what is a good teacher?"
"I don't know."
"...Excuse me?"
Wait, this guy too?
"I only know this much: the only people who can become good teachers are the ones who never stop asking themselves that question."
"..."
"Become a good teacher, Master Jin."
Jin Cheong-un nodded with a flat expression. "Yes. I'll make the effort."
Baek Un-seo looked down at his son, wrapped tightly in bandages and lying on the sickbed as still as the dead. "That's how it will be—I'll sort out the Association myself. Set aside outside matters for a time and see to your recovery first."
"Yes, Father."
Baek Gun-ak answered with a face utterly devoid of feeling.
Gazing at that son of his, Baek Un-seo hesitated, and then at last forced the words out. "I'm sorry."
"Please don't say such things."
A bitter smile crossed Baek Gun-ak's lips. "It's I who should apologize for being such a disappointing son. Haven't you always looked askance at everything I've done, Father?"
It sounded like defiance on the surface, but there was no strength left in his voice—only a hollow, exhausted emptiness bleeding through. "Short on strength, short on ability, and short on the people's trust. This is simply how it had to end. I'll accept it quietly."
"..."
Baek Un-seo silently turned his head and gazed out the window. A few stray clouds drifted across the crisp, clear winter sky.
"Do you believe you lost to Master Jin because you lacked strength?"
Baek Gun-ak stiffened, then ground out his reply. "What other reason could there possibly be?"
"Have you never tried thinking of it another way?"
"What do you mean?"
"Have you never considered that he didn't become that kind of man because he took up strength—but that he grew that hard because he was already that kind of man?"
"...!"
Baek Gun-ak's words died in his throat. Only then did he turn his head, dazed, to look at his father—at the expression that held both compassion and severity at once.
"Living as long as I have, I've learned the world is full of easy roads."
"..."
"Endure this once, compromise there once, close your eyes just this once... and people call all of that wisdom. They call it being grown-up."
"That's reality. The world doesn't run on what the classics teach, does it?"
"True enough. And yet, the people of the Cheongun Martial Arts Academy I knew long ago were different."
Baek Un-seo turned to meet his son's eyes. They were the clouded eyes peculiar to the old—but the love of a parent longing for his child to understand shone through them with perfect clarity.
"They were men who abandoned the easy road and walked the hard one, even when they didn't have to. And yes—you're quite right. That road may be impractical, slow, and strewn with hardship."
"..."
"But a man who walks such a road without a single compromise—that is precisely why he cannot help but grow hard, and strong."
Baek Un-seo's voice grew grave as he called to his child.
"My son."
"...Yes, Father."
"We are teachers of people."
"..."
"How can those whose work is teaching others how to live in a hard world allow themselves to choose only the paths that are easy and comfortable?"
Baek Un-seo rose, brushing off his robes, and smiled warmly.
For a moment, he thought of Jin Cheong-un.
He hoped—truly hoped—that his son might come to resemble that man, and become a good teacher in his own right.