A Forced Victory
The place where Yu Baekheon stopped was the outer courtyard of an old smithy, at the far end of a quiet corridor well removed from the bustle of the inner halls.
Only the metallic tang of iron and the smell of spent ash rode the breeze. Not a single human presence could be felt.
"This should do."
Yu Baekheon surveyed the surroundings for a moment, then spoke.
"I give you my word — nothing banishes worry quite like moving the body. You strike me as a rather accomplished martial artist, and this old man has a few modest skills of his own."
Yu Baekheon wore the kindly smile of an elderly grandfather — the very expression his own grandfather had so often worn.
"So what do you say? Set your burdens down a while and exchange a few blows. I'm certain it will help."
Cheongwol's face took on a faintly bewildered look.
She had followed him out of curiosity, wondering what method he might have for making her forget her troubles — only to find this.
"…I'm grateful for the offer, but I'm not in the mood right now. I'm sorry to have put you to the trouble."
She bowed her head as she spoke, and Yu Baekheon's voice descended from above her.
"Even with an enemy before your eyes, would you only draw upon your martial arts when the mood strikes you? It seems I misjudged you. Your skill may be somewhat above the ordinary, but you are not yet ready to call yourself a martial artist."
At that rebuke, Cheongwol slowly raised her head.
Her expression was calm, yet a small spark of defiance lived in her eyes.
"If you mean to hide something, hide it thoroughly. If you mean to reveal it, reveal it without shame. Ambiguity of that sort seeps into one's martial arts as well."
Yu Baekheon let his gaze slide past her as though it were nothing of consequence, then picked up a dry branch and drew a circle at his feet.
"Let us do it this way. If you can push me even a little outside this circle, I shall apologize for everything I have just said."
It was a rather transparent provocation, but Cheongwol bit her lower lip and accepted it willingly.
Thuk.
She unfastened the sword inherited from her grandfather and set it carefully on the ground. Yu Baekheon tilted his head.
"Are you certain you need no sword?"
Cheongwol straightened her spine, drew her inner energy up from her dantian, and slowly rolled her neck.
"I may not be a martial artist by your measure, but I'm not so foolish as to show off in front of a master. Don't worry."
At that pointed remark, a faint smile touched the corner of Yu Baekheon's mouth.
"Had you met my daughter, the two of you would have gotten along rather well."
She lowered her shoulders and drew her chin back half an inch.
Her waist remained straight without stiffening; she twisted her center of gravity slightly to the left, set her left foot half a step forward, and turned the toes inward.
It was the opening form of the Yin-Yang Mill — the second time she had ever assumed it since first learning it from Soga-yul.
"Hoo…"
Once, Soga-yul had said of the opening form:
The opening form itself is a cumbersome act that yields no benefit whatsoever. But should a moment ever come when you must steel your resolve — then do not hesitate. Assume the form.
At the time she had not quite understood the meaning. The moment itself taught her.
The opening form was a rite a martial artist offered to her own body and heart before a match.
The chest that tension had been constricting now moved freely between fear and exhilaration, and her inner energy raced unhindered through her meridians.
Her opponent was a master who had reached a height she could not even begin to gauge.
And so, if a contest was inevitable—
Pat!
Cheongwol omitted even the words that customarily marked the start of a spar and drove straight off the ground.
It was not the sort of conduct one expected of an orthodox martial artist, yet Yu Baekheon nodded with satisfaction.
"That's it. Ambiguous attitudes help no one."
The Exorcising Sword Art taught by her grandfather.
The Yin-Yang Mill taught by Soga-yul.
And the Sunflower Manual she had studied and comprehended on her own.
Even if, in this spar with Yu Baekheon, she could only display the Yin-Yang Mill, Cheongwol had confidence in the martial path she had built for herself.
But there is always a heaven beyond heaven, is there not?
Drawing upon the principle of an all-or-nothing strike, she unleashed the Seventh Star of the Yin-Yang Mill.
Yet her fist cut emptily through the air.
"The power is beyond reproach, but it is far too flashy."
Yu Baekheon's words reached her ear in the same instant that Cheongwol's body went tumbling roughly across the ground.
"Ugh…"
Covered in dust, Cheongwol rose with a faintly stunned expression.
Right up until her fist was about to reach Yu Baekheon's feet, he had stood utterly still, perfectly at ease.
So why was she the one rolling on the ground, and why did a light ache pulse through her wrist?
While she caught her breath, she carefully retraced the single strike she had glimpsed in that instant.
"A martial art that employs the energies of Yin and Yang. Yet the mixture lacks harmony, so it cannot be of the Wudang. The closest thing that comes to mind is the Seven Star Fist of the Kongdong Sect, which detonates energy as though exploding it. Tell me — do you have ties to the Kongdong Sect?"
She had displayed it only once. How had he discerned even that she had trained at the Kongdong Sect?
One astonishing thing after another — yet Cheongwol steadied her heart with effort.
"Does that matter?"
At her refusal to name her school, Yu Baekheon shrugged.
"If you would rather not say, so be it."
Cheongwol rose onto her heels once more and swept in a half-moon arc, aiming for his side.
Unlike the noisy first strike, this one completely smothered its sound.
And so it reached Yu Baekheon — yet the only place he permitted her to touch was the palm of his hand.
"This time, your heart ran ahead of you."
The moment her foot was seized in midair, sky and earth flipped before she could even struggle free.
Kwang!
"Keuhk…!"
As her body slammed into the ground, the crushed weight of it forced the breath from her lungs.
"Of all the martial arts under heaven, none is unbroken that cannot be seen, and none is unbroken that is not swift. Many martial artists revere speed and chase after it just as you do — without ever knowing what path they truly ought to walk."
Yu Baekheon turned from the suffering Cheongwol and looked up at the sky.
Clouds of every kind drifted slowly past, and the sun gazed down upon them through the gaps.
"Curious why nothing lands? Because your attacks are merely fast — and far too monotonous. Against those slower than yourself, they would certainly work."
Managing at last to still her trembling body, Cheongwol slowly raised her head as well.
Yu Baekheon stood precisely with the sun at his back.
"But against those who do not rely on speed, it will be difficult. Against people like me, for instance."
"…"
Why did the world around her feel so dark, even in broad daylight?
Cheongwol seemed to ponder something for a moment, then carefully asked,
"You could already see where my fists and kicks would land, Grandfather. That's why you said no amount of speed would matter. Am I right?"
Yu Baekheon could hold back no longer and broke into a bright smile.
"Clever. Truly clever. In that brief span, you grasped what I meant?"
"To get ahead of speed, there's nothing but the mind. I don't like saying this, but I'm not the sort of person people go around calling slow."
She rose. Her legs wavered, but her gaze remained fixed straight on Yu Baekheon.
"I cannot name my school — but Cheongwol of Qinghai Province. I ask once more for your instruction, Elder."
At the sight of Cheongwol suddenly observing full courtesy as though she had become a different person, the smile vanished from Yu Baekheon's lips.
I was mistaken. She does not resemble Baekyeong.
An emotion he had not felt even once since taking up the great cause stirred deep within him.
Over the image of Cheongwol with her hands joined and her head bowed, the young man he had thought long buried rose into view — the self who had never abandoned hope for the jianghu, nor faith in people.
"You have a gift for dredging up things I had finally managed to forget. If you are ready, come."
She lowered her breath by half a measure and drove a fist forward, leading with speed.
As expected, the fist skimmed past him again — but immediately after, the top of her foot came flying in from a blind angle.
"…!"
A slight turn of the head was enough to evade it, yet surprise settled on Yu Baekheon's face.
Without forcibly contorting the body, it was a movement no single person should have been able to perform.
"How did you manage that?"
Cheongwol grinned and dusted off her right leg against the ground.
"I mixed in a few martial arts I know. You did say not to rely on speed alone."
So absorbed had she been in the constraint that she must use only the Yin-Yang Mill that she had overlooked one crucial thing.
The essence of the Sunflower Manual was concealing one speed within another speed so swift it could not even be perceived.
If she could not unleash the Sunflower Manual itself, she need only generate variation through the Yin-Yang Mill and substitute it for pure speed.
Puk!
She split her stride, twisted her angle, and drove another fist. A shock like the air itself rupturing rang out.
Yu Baekheon hurriedly dropped a sleeve an inch to block — but Cheongwol's body twisted strangely once more, and the fist that had been flying toward his chest veered for his left ear.
Rather than pressing the opponent with the principle of detonating Yin and Yang energies, she triggered the rebound close against her own body — and from that rebound, generated variation.
"Hup!"
No longer able to afford composure, Yu Baekheon raised an arm and struck her fist aside.
But Cheongwol, as if determined not to surrender the initiative even once, never stopped — crossing fists and kicks, feet constantly in motion.
Breath short. Movement swift.
Her kicks kicked up earth; her fists pressed the air.
As she circled the ring without rest, a small wind began to raise dust.
Half a gak like that.
It appeared as though Cheongwol were relentlessly driving Yu Baekheon back — yet his feet remained planted exactly where they had been.
Another half a gak passed.
Cheongwol's body could no longer withstand the rebounds, and her movements slowed visibly.
She was filling the shortfall of power with sheer momentum when Yu Baekheon caught the wrist that came flying in.
"That will do. You gave it your all."
He redirected the force she had applied, hooked her leg to topple her — then set her down carefully so she would not be hurt.
He had been holding back, yes — but to think a young woman could push him this far.
Worried the young martial artist might be too deeply disappointed, he was about to give her a light pat on the back when—
Cheongwol, sprawled flat on her back and gasping for breath, looked up at him.
"I won."
"…?"
Yu Baekheon stared at her for a moment, not understanding — then hurriedly looked around himself.
In the course of the spar, the dust that had been raised had pushed and scuffed the lines of the circle he had first drawn, erasing them in places.
His toes were still where they had been — but the ground he stood on could no longer reasonably be called inside the circle.
"Look anywhere you like. That's not a circle, is it?"
It was the sort of thing a child might say while throwing a tantrum — but looking at Cheongwol's face, a mess of sweat and dust, Yu Baekheon let out a dry laugh.
"So it is. I lost."