Chapter 23: Am I the Strange One?
“Did you say Sword Immortal….”
A trace of admiration passed over Hyeon-un’s face.
Originally, the alias “Sword Immortal” belonged to the greatest swordsman among the Taoist sects of the era.
In this era, however, no one had earned that alias.
That was because the sect leaders of the Wudang Sect, Mount Hua Sect, and Kunlun Sect refused to acknowledge one another’s superiority.
And yet here was someone calling himself Sword Immortal.
He briefly thought over several figures but could not find anyone fitting.
Of course, even if Hyeon-un was an elder of the Wudang Sect, that didn’t mean he knew every Taoist and master of the era.
‘Well, aside from the seven Taoist sects that represent the era, the Taoist schools are as numerous as grains of sand.’
As many as there were sects, there were eccentric masters.
In particular, given the nature of Taoists, many masters lived in seclusion, training alone without making their names known to the world.
‘If among them there is someone who has perfectly inherited the lineage of the Quanzhen Sect….’
It would be no exaggeration for such a person to call himself Sword Immortal.
Thinking this, Hyeon-un hurried into the inn, where Jin Seong-un—no, Seong-uni—was in a heated quarrel with a middle-aged man.
“As you can see, the furniture is in disarray, so we won’t be able to do business for a while.”
“Even if I just grab a quick bite and leave!”
“There are no ingredients prepared either. I’m sorry, but please come back another time….”
“What! You little waiter, how dare you tell me to come and go….”
The middle-aged man was about to unleash his anger on the young waiter when his words trailed off.
Over the boy’s shoulder, the face of an old man rose like the sun.
Moreover, the old man’s snow-white beard and brows, and the bright gleam in his eyes, made it clear he was no ordinary person.
“I said no.”
Hyeon-un spoke in a low voice.
Though he made no overt threat, his uniquely mystical aura made the middle-aged man swallow nervously.
“Kh-hehm.”
The man coughed a few times, then left with awkward steps.
Seeing this, Jin Seong-un briefly entertained the irreverent thought that if someone like Hyeon-un worked as his waiter, business would be much easier.
“You there, Seong-uni.”
At some point, the elder had shifted from calling him Jin Seong-un to Seong-uni.
“Yes, Elder.”
“Where is your master now? I really must meet him.”
A martial artist who had perfectly inherited the martial arts of the Quanzhen Sect. As a Wudang Sect elder and a Taoist, how could he let this pass?
At his question, Jin Seong-un’s expression stiffened.
It was the same expression he used back in the powerless days when Black Path thugs tried to pick a fight with him.
Then, with the air of someone facing the greatest tragedy in the world, he slowly shook his head.
This, of course, was the advice of the Merchant King, a master of survival tactics.
– Seong-uni, your acting isn’t bad, but when you outright lie, it shows on your face. Do this instead. Deceive people with the minimum amount of truth.
Just as the Merchant King predicted, Hyeon-un interpreted Jin Seong-un’s expression and actions however he liked. Suddenly, his own expression became one of deep lament.
“Heooh…!”
Truly, what a pity.
Hyeon-un assumed that the one who called himself Sword Immortal was an eccentric about to ascend to immortality.
He must have recognized Jin Seong-un’s talent and, before departing, imparted to him all the enlightenment of his life.
Of course, it was an unrealistic notion—if he had heard it from others, he would have scoffed and called them liars.
But the proof was before his eyes. Jin Seong-un himself, and the martial arts he displayed, were proof enough.
“So now you’re running this inn alone, training your martial arts?”
“Well, yes….”
Hyeon-un nodded approvingly.
Then, like a lightning bolt, a thought struck him.
Jin Seong-un, a talent like none other in the world.
The martial arts he had learned were from the Taoist line, but not from any current sect—rather, from the ancient Quanzhen Sect. In other words, he was prepared to learn any Taoist martial art.
And right now, he had no master.
From what Oh Jeong-san had said, he had no family either.
“Oh-ho.”
Jin Seong-un noticed that Hyeon-un’s gaze had grown a little dangerous and stepped back.
Regardless, Hyeon-un’s sly smile deepened as he pursued the thought.
For a Taoist, accumulating virtue was a lifelong goal.
Helping the unfortunate, making offerings, or tempering the spirit through hardship were all good ways.
But the fastest and most certain method was to take on an excellent disciple.
The reason was simple.
A disciple’s virtue was the master’s virtue.
If that disciple took on disciples of his own, and they in turn took on disciples, the master could sit back and watch his virtue pile up.
That was why sect leaders of great Taoist sects like the Wudang Sect were usually known to succeed in ascension.
Some dismissed this as nothing more than a scheme to expand a sect’s influence, calling it a multi-level system, but Taoists pursued goodness, and having more sages in the world could only be a good thing.
“Seong-un, what do you think of the Wudang Sect?”
“Hmm, a good place?”
In truth, he had never given it much thought.
Before meeting Oh Jeong-san, he had never had any reason to be involved with the Wudang Sect.
Even so, Hyeon-un’s smile deepened at the answer.
“I seeee.”
At first, many would oppose it.
Why take in someone already past the age of twenty as a disciple? It would disrupt the existing structure entirely.
But if Seong-un learned the Wudang sword, demonstrated immense talent, and achieved great results, eventually everyone would applaud.
Jin Seong-un was a genius among geniuses, having mastered the martial arts of the Quanzhen Sect at barely twenty years of age.
Already, Hyeon-un’s mind was filled with visions of decades later—Seong-un inheriting the title of Sword Immortal, becoming the Wudang Sect Leader, and himself enjoying immense virtue as his master.
Truly, he would be at the pinnacle of the multi-level structure.
“Heuheu….”
As Hyeon-un’s smile grew more sinister and dangerous, Jin Seong-un retreated two steps—only for Hyeon-un to advance three.
It was then that Oh Jeong-san entered the inn.
Though his master had told him not to follow, he had been too worried to sit still.
The moment he stepped inside, Oh Jeong-san was confronted with a strange scene. His master, eyes gleaming dangerously, approached Seong-un, who was backing away step by step.
Oh Jeong-san had seen that look long ago.
It was the look the Wudang Sect’s Medicine Hall Leader had when, during a lecture, a particularly curious and bright disciple kept asking endless questions.
After that, the child had been “kidnapped”—no, recruited—into the Medicine Hall. Rumor had it they barely saw daylight afterward, being wholly absorbed in the study of medicine.
‘What is this?’
Why was his master looking at Seong-un like that?
While he was puzzling over this, Hyeon-un spoke.
“Jeong-san.”
“…I apologize, Master. This unworthy disciple disobeyed your order, but I was too worried and came to find you.”
“It doesn’t matter. More importantly, how would you feel if you had a younger martial brother?”
“…Pardon?”
Oh Jeong-san looked puzzled.
Then suddenly, the pieces in his head fell into place.
Like a bolt of lightning, the same thought struck Oh Jeong-san’s mind—like master, like disciple.
‘Blood is thicker than water. If Seong-un and I became senior and junior brothers….’
Strengthening the influence of the Yichang commercial sphere.
The Seong-un Inn, the Jingzhou Merchants’ Association, and the Oh Clan, all tied together by the great thread called the Wudang Sect.
Jin Seong-un, who had annihilated both the Prosperity Association and the Black Division before even reaching the age of twenty. It was hard to even imagine what position he would be in once he reached forty.
The only problem was that if his elder master took Seong-un in, Seong-un’s ranking in the hierarchy would become equal to that of the first disciple.
That meant his share would be one or two levels higher than others his age…
‘Do I care?’
He had already left the secular clan. Watching a fire from across the river was nothing more than another source of amusement.
Oh Jeong-san’s gaze became as dangerous as his master’s.
“Seong-un, come and have a talk with Master for a moment.”
Jin Seong-un looked puzzled.
One thing was certain—something dangerous was about to happen.
Following the advice of the Sword Immortal and the Merchant King seemed to have erased Hyeon-un’s suspicion, but now a different problem seemed to have arisen.
“…What’s with you two?”
Continuing to retreat, Jin Seong-un was eventually backed into a corner.
A man who didn’t even blink when faced with the blades of seasoned masters was now feeling a sense of danger.
That was when Seo Yu-gyeom approached and spoke.
“That old man says he wants to take you as his disciple.”
Seo Yu-gyeom simply looked like he was enjoying the situation—the perfect example of watching a fire from across the river.
“Not a bad offer, is it? For an inn’s waiter to become the disciple of the White Cloud Sword—that’s a huge leap in status.”
Seo Yu-gyeom chuckled as he added.
Then Oh Jeong-san quickly spoke up.
“Seong-un, this is an opportunity. I’m not saying this because he’s my master, but it would certainly be of great help to you.”
Jin Seong-un looked at Hyeon-un.
For some reason, Hyeon-un was standing with his chest puffed out, wearing a triumphant expression.
It was understandable. Knowing the influence of the Wudang Sect and the fame of the White Cloud Sword Hyeon-un in the murim, anyone would see this as a miraculous opportunity.
A brief silence passed with everyone’s eyes fixed on Jin Seong-un.
Hyeon-un and Oh Jeong-san both instinctively sensed that something was going wrong.
The emotions in Jin Seong-un’s expression weren’t excitement, gratitude, or deep emotion—they were awkwardness, discomfort, and embarrassment.
Then Jin Seong-un spoke.
“I appreciate the sentiment, but…”
“It was a joke.”
The easiest way to avoid rejection was to give up before being refused.
Like a seasoned master, Hyeon-un chose the pettiest yet easiest path.
“Oh, it was a joke?”
Jin Seong-un looked relieved.
Hyeon-un’s head creaked slightly as he nodded.
“Hmph, can’t even make a joke anymore. Isn’t that right, Jeong-san?”
“Y-yes, that’s right. Hahaha.”
Then, like their feet were on fire, the two Wudang disciples quickly ran out.
Jin Seong-un gave them a slight bow, and Seo Yu-gyeom suppressed his laughter.
Far from the Seong-un Inn.
Hyeon-un’s face was as red as a ripe apple, and Oh Jeong-san was flustered and apologetic toward his master.
“I’m sorry. I was too hasty and ended up hurting Master’s dignity…”
“It was my mistake. I’ve grown too accustomed to meaningless empty titles like ‘Wudang Seven Masters’ and ‘White Cloud Sword.’ I was arrogant. I never even considered he might refuse.”
Perhaps, unconsciously, he had looked down on the profession of waiter.
To an inn’s waiter, such an offer should have been an extraordinary opportunity—or so he had thought without realizing it.
Hyeon-un’s face flushed with shame.
“Master, what will you do now?”
Oh Jeong-san asked carefully.
Truthfully, Oh Jeong-san hoped his master wouldn’t give up. The reason was simple—Oh Jeong-san himself had been a burden to his master.
His master was a genius, called such since childhood, and even in this era counted among the Wudang Sect’s top masters.
But he himself could not fully understand such a person’s teachings. In the end, that genius’s lessons became poison to him, blocking his progress.
Though his master never expressed it, Oh Jeong-san knew he carried guilt or regret in his heart.
Because of that, his master had never taken another disciple after him.
Becoming someone’s master, like becoming someone’s father, could determine the course of that person’s entire life.
That was why Oh Jeong-san wanted his master to take Seong-un as a disciple—because Seong-un could not only accept but excel under his master’s guidance.
However, knowing his master’s pride and sense of dignity…
“It’s probably impossible, right? I’m sorry, Master. If only this unworthy disciple had been more capable…”
“Like a light drizzle soaking your clothes, it will seep in slowly.”
“…Pardon?”
“How could one head straight to ascension in a single step?”
“Asc… ascension?”
Unable to find the connection between Jin Seong-un and ascension, Oh Jeong-san blinked.
Regardless, Hyeon-un continued in a serious tone.
“But there is one problem. Is there anyone else who knows about Seong-un’s martial prowess?”
“Not that I know of. The only one would be No Ah from Sangwon Cloth Shop, but he’s not well-versed in murim matters, so I doubt he knows how skilled Seong-un truly is.”
“I see.”
Hyeon-un nodded in satisfaction.
“Good. There’s no benefit to others knowing—especially those from the Mount Hua Sect.”
The Wudang Sect had no direct connection to the Quanzhen Sect, but Mount Hua was different.
The founder of Mount Hua, Hak Dae-tong Taoist, was one of the Seven Masters of Quanzhen.
If they discovered the existence of Jin Seong-un—a successor to Quanzhen Sect martial arts—they would stop at nothing to bring him into Mount Hua.
At Hyeon-un’s words, Oh Jeong-san nodded. Though he didn’t quite understand what was being said, the fact that his master’s suspicion toward Seong-un had not only disappeared but turned into determination to take him as a disciple was good news.
“But what about the Southern Black Lotus?”
“What about them?”
“The Southern Black Lotus Lord’s son and subordinates were killed here in Yichang. The Lord won’t just stand by.”
“Is that the problem right now?”
“…?”
Wasn’t it a problem?
When Oh Jeong-san gave a blank look, Hyeon-un clicked his tongue.
“Don’t act like a petty man in the face of a great cause. With such an important matter before us, we have no time to consider the likes of the Southern Black Lotus.”
With that, Hyeon-un started walking again—his steps full of renewed determination.
Oh Jeong-san followed behind, tilting his head repeatedly.
The inn’s waiter who killed the Southern Black Lotus Lord’s son and subordinates without batting an eye.
The cook who seemed to have enjoyed it all.
His master treating the Southern Black Lotus like some corner store.
At this point…
‘Am I the strange one?’