Chapter 29: The Future of the Wudang Sect
The night before.
Hyeon-un, dressed half in rags, spoke to the young disciples who had come looking for him.
“Truth is, Seong-un is meant to become my disciple. One could say it has already half come to pass.”
“D… disciple?”
The expressions of Baek Sang and Baek Seol went blank, as if they could not even imagine such a thing.
Who was the man standing before them?
The White Cloud Sword, Hyeon-un.
An elder of the Wudang Sect, and one of the Seven Masters of Wudang—one of the great masters who represented his era.
‘If Pointing Lad—no, if Pointing Lad-nim were to become the elder’s disciple…’
The hierarchy would become twisted.
In the Taoist sect, such complications occasionally arose. For instance, if the eldest disciple of the second generation were older than the youngest disciple of the first generation—or at least nearly the same age.
Of course, because the Taoist rules were strict, one would still call the younger first-generation disciple “junior uncle.” But people were people, and such things often led to uncomfortable relationships.
But in this case, it went beyond that.
A disciple of an elder was considered a first-generation disciple.
And the youngest of the first-generation disciples was Oh Jeong-san. He himself had already passed forty.
“Then… that person would become our junior uncle?”
While Baek Sang was still lost in confusion, Baek Seol asked innocently.
Hyeon-un looked at Baek Seol, who was already calling Jin Seong-un “junior uncle,” with the most approving gaze in the world, and nodded.
“Indeed! That’s exactly how it would be!”
Of course, nothing had been finalized yet.
When he had broached the subject with Jin Seong-un, the response had been an extremely firm refusal.
Clicking his tongue bitterly, Hyeon-un said,
“This is not yet decided. You must not speak of it carelessly. Especially not to Seong-un himself.”
“Huh?”
Baek Seol found it strange.
She could understand not speaking of it to others, but why even to the very person concerned?
Hyeon-un looked at the two children for a moment, then a sudden idea struck him.
“So, have you grown close to Seong-un yet?”
“…We haven’t managed to, not really.”
Baek Sang still looked bewildered.
At that sight, Hyeon-un said,
“Then do so. Your role is very important. You must not only gain his approval, but become close—very close.”
Baek Sang and Baek Seol thought of Jin Seong-un.
His usually curt and dry expression, his actions that carried a detached air. He was not unkind, but there was something about him that made him hard to approach.
They thought it might be easier to befriend Seo Sook-su, but getting close to Jin Seong-un was no simple matter.
Seeing the siblings’ hesitant faces, Hyeon-un’s brows began to furrow into a sharp V.
“Nonsense! How can disciples of Wudang give up without even trying?”
Startled by the sudden scolding, the siblings jumped.
Was it really something to get so angry about?
Such a thought flickered in their minds, but how could they dare voice it before this man?
“I’ll tell you this one last thing. Perhaps the future of the Wudang Sect lies in your hands.”
“T-the future of the Wudang Sect?”
“Have you not already experienced it?”
At Hyeon-un’s words, the siblings recalled Jin Seong-un’s violence—no, his duels and training.
Indeed, he was someone worth desiring. Baek Sang had even thought he seemed like an old master rejuvenated into youth.
“Baek Sang. And Seol.”
“Yes, Elder.”
“You two will one day compete for the position of Sect Leader of Wudang. You understand this, do you not?”
“…Yes, I suppose that day will come eventually.”
The thought of competing against each other for such a thing left both Baek Sang and Baek Seol with bitter tastes in their mouths.
Regardless, Hyeon-un continued.
“Of course, you will also have to compete against the other disciples. Have you ever imagined what the Wudang Sect you will inherit might look like?”
Neither could open their mouths.
It was still far too distant a thought.
Then Hyeon-un said,
“To speak plainly, none among the first-generation disciples, including Jeong-san, will become the best under heaven. Think of Mount Hua’s Sword Saint, or Kunlun’s Sword Empress. Those two youths I met recently already stand shoulder to shoulder with me.”
Mount Hua’s Sword Saint and Kunlun’s Sword Empress.
Both in their early forties, they were already evaluated as nearly equal to the Ten Great Masters of the martial world.
Among Wudang’s first-generation disciples, there was no swordsman who could compare.
“But imagine this—if Seong-un were to become my disciple, a first-generation disciple. What then?”
“…!”
Jin Seong-un’s martial prowess was truly astounding.
At barely twenty, he had already overwhelmed the two famed prodigies known as Dragon and Phoenix with a single strike.
If such an incomprehensible genius became a disciple of Wudang, then perhaps even the Plum Blossom Sword Saint or the Kunlun Sword Empress would not be out of reach for him.
In other words, if Jin Seong-un became part of Wudang, then whichever of the siblings inherited the sect might lead Wudang to once again claim the title of the greatest under heaven.
And the fact that he was not of the same generational rank as them was, in truth, an advantage. They would not have to directly compete with such a monstrous genius.
At last, the siblings realized.
That the future of the Wudang Sect truly rested upon their shoulders.
“Do you understand now?”
“…We will do our utmost.”
“M-me too!”
Hyeon-un smiled in satisfaction.
“Good. But remember this well. Until it is official, you must never speak a word of this. Especially not to Mount Hua, Kunlun, the Murim Alliance, or the Beggars’ Union. If they find out, it will be a great headache.”
Mount Hua and Kunlun were closely tied to Quanzhen Sect. The Beggars’ Union gossiped too easily, and the Murim Alliance always thirsted for talent.
Hyeon-un was deeply wary that someone might try to steal Jin Seong-un away.
Baek Sang and Baek Seol, of course, did not know these circumstances. They only nodded solemnly, seeing how earnestly the elder spoke.
And so, because of this—
Jin Seong-un’s misunderstandings of the Wudang Sect continued to grow.
‘Are all Wudang Taoists like this?’
Gift-addicted Hyeon-un.
Worry-addicted Oh Jeong-san.
Work-addicted Baek Sang and Baek Seol.
To Jin Seong-un, these Wudang Taoists seemed like some dangerous cult of addicts.
Baek Sang was scrubbing the floor and wiping the tables with the determination of a man preparing for the final battle of the Orthodox Faction in the Great War against Demons.
His zeal was undeniable—but the problem was that the guests were beginning to feel overwhelmed.
Tatatatatatatak—!
Jin Seong-un turned his head toward the kitchen.
Once again, the sharp sound of chopping rang out. No doubt Baek Seol, young mistress, was cutting ingredients as though she were facing a mortal enemy.
At that moment, Seo Yu-gyeom came outside, dusting off his hands, and said to the absent-minded Jin Seong-un,
“There’s nothing left to teach. Her knife skills are perfect, and her understanding of the ingredients is excellent. Maybe because she’s a Taoist and usually lives on vegetables, her palate is exceptionally sensitive too.”
A sensitive palate was the greatest talent one could possess as a chef.
For more than an hour already, Baek Seol had been handling all of the cooking by herself.
Thanks to her immense concentration, willpower, and stamina supported by her internal energy, she was managing a considerable number of orders all on her own.
“…It’s the same over here.”
Nodding, Jin Seong-un looked at Seomun Ak and Baek Sang. Seomun Ak, though he found Baek Sang’s sudden change in attitude strange, seemed to feel a subtle sense of rivalry, and was burning with energy as he focused on his work.
It was an unusually busy evening.
A merchant friend of No Sang-won had just celebrated the birth of a grandson, and crowds had rushed in to drink celebratory wine.
Even so, Jin Seong-un and Seo Yu-gyeom had little to do.
“…It’s happened faster than I thought.”
Jin Seong-un let out a quiet sigh.
His expression looked almost sentimental, which made Seo Yu-gyeom curious enough to ask,
“What is it?”
“When I was young, the owner of the first inn I worked at once said this: ‘The ultimate goal of a merchant is a business that runs even when you’re not there.’”
“Ohh.”
Seo Yu-gyeom’s eyes lit up.
It was much like the Deathshroud Leader.
Even if he did not personally act, his well-trained assassins and vice leader handled most of the matters.
The Deathshroud Leader was literally earning money while sitting still.
Inside the bustling inn, Seo Yu-gyeom grinned, leaned closer to Jin Seong-un, and asked in a conspiratorial tone,
“But hey, there’s something I’ve been dying to know.”
Jin Seong-un looked at him.
Then Seo Yu-gyeom lowered his voice even further.
“Why does someone like you run an inn? You don’t seem particularly greedy for money. With your skills, you could earn wealth or fame far more easily.”
It was a question many had wondered.
With Jin Seong-un’s level of martial ability, he would be recognized anywhere. He could become an instructor in a sect, join a great clan such as one of the Five Great Clans, or even serve as a martial artist of the Murim Alliance.
If his identity could be proven, he might even become an imperial guard in the palace and pursue great honor.
Seo Yu-gyeom thought Jin Seong-un must have a secret. Some special reason why he insisted on running an inn.
Jin Seong-un glanced around his inn.
The drunken guests laughing and talking, the two waiters rushing about with their feet aflame.
The smell of wine and food filled the air, while from the kitchen came the unceasing sounds of knives against cutting boards.
After taking in the sights, scents, and atmosphere of the Seong-un Inn, Jin Seong-un replied casually,
“Mm. Just because it’s what I’ve always done.”
“That’s all?”
Seo Yu-gyeom looked deflated. He had expected something greater, more profound.
“Then why not accept that old man Hyeon-un’s proposal instead?”
He deliberately avoided saying “disciple.” The atmosphere was noisy, but Seomun Ak was also a martial artist, and if he wanted, he could surely overhear.
Indeed, Baek Sang’s footsteps and Baek Seol’s chopping paused for the briefest moment.
Seo Yu-gyeom chuckled inwardly. Those two had suddenly changed in a single day—clearly, Hyeon-un had spoken to them.
Jin Seong-un thought over Seo Yu-gyeom’s words for a moment before shaking his head.
“I still prefer the inn.”
“Strange fellow.”
Seo Yu-gyeom shrugged.
Still, Jin Seong-un’s decision wasn’t bad. After all, the Seong-un Inn had been the first home Seo Yu-gyeom had chosen for himself.
“But I know there’s another reason.”
Seo Yu-gyeom smirked.
Jin Seong-un coughed lightly and slipped away somewhere.
Watching him, Seo Yu-gyeom laughed again in delight. His first true friend, it seemed, was not very good at lying.
Hubei Province, Enshi.
The name of this city, meaning “bestowing grace,” had long since lost its shine.
Hubei, where the Murim Alliance headquarters, the Wudang Sect, and the Zhuge Clan resided, was dominated by the Orthodox Faction. Enshi was the only region here controlled by the Unorthodox Faction.
Crack!
A wine cup shattered in a man’s hand.
The steward who had brought the wine and cup calmly cleaned up the shards, as if long accustomed to this.
The man glared sharply at the steward.
“Why is the White Cloud Sword there?”
Even for the Southern Black Lotus Lord, ruler of Hubei’s Unorthodox Faction, White Cloud Sword Hyeon-un was not an easy opponent.
And that wasn’t the only problem.
The steward’s face went pale.
Just before he had become steward, three of his predecessors had already died in this very office of the Lotus Lord.
‘Damn it. All because I couldn’t keep watch over his son!’
He cursed inwardly.
Once only a common soldier, he had been thrust into the role of “acting steward” after his superiors had all perished one by one.
The steward spoke cautiously.
“Most likely, Oh Jeong-san called him. He is White Cloud Sword’s only disciple, after all. But the problem isn’t only him. The second-generation disciples of Wudang are there too, as well as the second son of the Seomun Clan, the second son of the House of Seok, and a descendant of the Tang Clan of Sichuan…”
Boom!
The Southern Black Lotus Lord slammed his fist on the desk, unable to contain his fury. The steward’s knees went weak.
“What? The Seomun Clan, the House of Seok, and even the Tang Clan?”
His eyes sank, filled with murderous intent, as though he would kill someone on the spot.
The steward prayed desperately not to become the target.
The Southern Black Lotus Lord spat out his words.
“It’s clear now. Those Orthodox bastards mean to use Yichang as their base to pressure us of the Southern Black Lotus. The Murim Alliance will soon join them.”
The boundary dividing the Orthodox and Unorthodox in Hubei lay in Yichang.
It was originally the region he had sent his son to monitor—yet now Orthodox forces were filling it one after another.
The pressure felt like the blade of Orthodoxy pressing against his throat.
“Recently, beggars believed to be from the Beggars’ Union have been wandering nearby. They say White Cloud Sword has deep ties with one of their elders—perhaps it’s their doing…”
The steward trailed off, because the suffocating killing intent pressing on his body left him unable to continue.
The Southern Black Lotus Lord let out a long sigh. If even the Beggars’ Union was involved, then he could not act rashly.
“For now, one thing is certain. All of this revolves around a single inn. Isn’t that right?”
“…Yes, that is correct.”
In fact, this was what most baffled the steward.
The death of the Prosperity Association Leader, the death of the Black Division Captain, even the involvement of Wudang, the Seomun Clan, the House of Seok, and the Tang Clan’s prodigies.
All of it tied back to one inn.
As a steward who only received reports on paper, the whole situation felt even more bizarre.
The strangeness bred uncertainty, leaving him unable to make any judgment.
“Then here’s what we’ll do.”
After much thought, the Southern Black Lotus Lord spoke.
The steward nodded intently, signaling he would listen with all his heart.
The Lotus Lord continued.
“If there’s something under the floorboard, and you don’t know what it is—then just grab a poker or whatever and jab it until you find out, isn’t that so?”
“B-but the Beggars’ Union…”
“As long as we don’t move directly, it doesn’t matter. And as it happens, when it comes to matters related to that inn, I know a madman who loses himself in bloodlust.”