Chapter 107: Chapter 107
Dan Sang-woon released his cupped fists and slowly took his stance.
Stepping his right foot forward a pace, he bent his knees to lower his center of gravity, drew his two clenched fists from his waist up to his chest, and slowly extended them forward, taking a stance that was neither too aggressive nor defensive.
Jang Geon observed that stance calmly. Stepping forward with his right foot in the same manner, he naturally hung both arms before his waist, rounding his shoulders and back slightly. It was the fundamental stance of Tai Chi Fist, ready to move freely in any direction.
As the two men took their stances, the surrounding air sank quietly. The wind that had been blowing lightly through the farm stopped, and under the Milky Way spilling from the night sky, only the quiet gazes of the two men clashed in midair.
Dan Sang-woon quickly erased the thoughts sprouting abruptly in his mind. Having requested the spar himself, he felt embarrassed to have indulged in strange thoughts upon entering the match. Setting aside the difference in skill between himself and Jang Geon, he resolved to simply do his best.
And contrary to his resolve, at that moment Jang Geon was feeling slightly bewildered.
That was because, aside from their two stances being slightly different, the momentum radiating from them was remarkably similar. What could be felt from Dan Sang-woon’s current stance was not a momentum strong, harsh, and ready to explode like a compressed spring influenced by the tone of Imperial Army martial arts like other arts.
It was a momentum soft like his Tai Chi Fist, yet unlike Tai Chi Fist which was like water, it gave a heavy, deeply settled, and stable feeling like a mass of iron.
Furthermore, from Dan Sang-woon’s tense face looking at him, Jang Geon could also feel that he was waiting for his attack. It was a part where one could guess that what he was aiming for—whether initiating after the opponent moves or simply counterattacking—was distinctly different from other martial arts.
Simply holding a stance without moving will not start a fight. Nor can one know everything about a martial art merely by looking at its stance. In the end, what is called martial arts can only truly be felt when hands and feet mingle in contest.
Having pondered many thoughts in a short moment, Jang Geon decided to initiate the attack as Dan Sang-woon’s stance desired. Originally, the Tai Chi Fist he reproduced was an art based on circular subtle flow and counterattacks, but waiting idle for Dan Sang-woon’s attack seemed like it would take an eternity judging by his rigidly stiffened eyes.
Jang Geon spoke:
“I shall strike first.”
He then stepped forward slowly with large strides, both hands naturally drawing soft curves outward from his body. From point to point, advancing forward, Jang Geon moved in a straight line, but in that process his body drew the Tai Chi circle.
Facing him, Dan Sang-woon received the sensation of a slow whirlwind embodied in human form approaching him. Though bewildered by an attack so vastly different from what he had imagined, he naturally displayed the fist art he had cultivated for over a decade.
Jang Geon’s left palm, approaching swiftly yet seemingly slow, met Dan Sang-woon’s right hand.
Jang Geon’s hand attempted to twist Dan Sang-woon’s force through rotational force continuing from shoulder, elbow, to wrist, while simultaneously breaking his balance.
Yet at that instant, Dan Sang-woon did not get swept away by that rotational force, but retreated backward softly while keeping hand pressed to hand. Jang Geon’s hand followed along to avoid losing contact, and naturally the distance between the two closed tightly, their feet entangling.
Jang Geon did not stop. Stopping right there could cause his overly advanced stance to collapse. Thus, naturally applying weight to Dan Sang-woon’s close body, he withdrew his entangled foot and began drawing spinning curves. Dan Sang-woon also busily worked his hands and feet to follow Jang Geon as he moved.
If someone had been watching the spar of those two at that moment, they might have tilted their head in wonder as to what kind of martial arts contest that was. A rotation where they pushed, got pushed, pulled, got dragged, spread apart, and narrowed each other using hands, feet, forearms, shoulders, knees, and legs—uncertain whether it was a dance or a fight—was far too different from other martial arts where victory was decided in a flash like lightning.
However, as if force was by no means lacking in those hands and feet, a dull thud echoed each time they collided. Continuous noises filled the yard as if fulling cloth.
Jang Geon and Dan Sang-woon thus attacked each other while becoming two poles, drawing a spinning Tai Chi circle. Yet that rotation, which seemed as though it would spin endlessly, soon began to waver. The cause was that the two poles were similar yet clearly different.
Jang Geon was true Tai Chi. Heat and cold, heavy and light, fast and slow—forces divided into two poles were bound around his body, drawing a single circle.
Dan Sang-woon was different. He did not become the center. Unlike his heavy initial momentum, once he began moving, he placed himself on one side of the two poles and rotated along with the other pole. His perspective rotated endlessly, and every moment he stood at the opposite pole looking back at the place he had occupied before.
It was not a movement meant to overpower or conquer the opponent. It was a movement meant to exchange positions with the opponent to understand each other’s place, and by doing so, shatter one’s rigid vision.
One could not say whether Jang Geon’s Tai Chi or Dan Sang-woon’s rotation was superior. That was because neither had the purpose of simply destroying the opponent like other martial arts. Jang Geon drew the truth of Tai Chi through his body, and Dan Sang-woon drew curiosity toward the opponent through movement.
Because those two intents differed, the rotation that seemed eternal soon collapsed.
A moment later, when Jang Geon stood in his initial stance, Dan Sang-woon tumbled onto his back on one side of the yard. His Sitting in Oblivion Fist was less practical in real combat than Jang Geon’s Tai Chi Fist. Calling it a cultivation method rather than a fist technique was more accurate.
Lying collapsed on the ground like that, Dan Sang-woon gasped roughly for breath, gazing up at the night sky. Just like his imagination earlier, cool night air filled with starlight entered his chest and spread through his whole body, rising to his eyes as if turning the world into a twinkling starry paradise. An unknown euphoria heated his entire body, while simultaneously cooling it down to a state where he couldn’t twitch a single hand or foot.
At that moment, Jang Geon’s face peeked into one corner of that starry paradise. Jang Geon extended a hand, and Dan Sang-woon clasped that hand and stood up naturally as if his inability to twitch moments ago was a lie.
He looked down at his body as if finding his state strange, then raised his head to meet Jang Geon’s gaze. He then said somewhat dazedly:
“···It seems I have lost.”
Jang Geon let out a dry laugh.
“The initiating side originally holds much advantage. Isn’t Weiqi the same?”
“···Is that so?”
“If your side had initiated first, the result might have been different.”
Dan Sang-woon gave a subtle smile and tilted his head.
“Even conceding a hundred times, I don’t think that’s the case··· Aren’t you being too humble?”
“That’s also true. Even if your side had initiated first, I would have won.”
Dan Sang-woon laughed out loud at that calm joke. Watching his laughing face, Jang Geon asked:
“Did you call it Sitting in Oblivion Fist?”
“That is correct, Sitting in Oblivion Fist. A fist art whose embedded meaning I have yet to fully understand. I only feel sorry toward Master.”
“It doesn’t seem to be something to feel sorry about. It was a sufficiently splendid fist art, and I learned much as well.”
Dan Sang-woon laughed again. Shaking his head lightly, he said:
“Splendid, my foot. If you saw the Sitting in Oblivion Fist Master displays, you wouldn’t think so. When he displays Sitting in Oblivion Fist, it feels like thunder roaring.”
“···Thunder?”
Jang Geon wore a slightly bewildered expression. Though it was merely a single spar, the Sitting in Oblivion Fist Jang Geon experienced was a fist art that could by no means be associated with thunder.
Judging from what he felt moments ago, Sitting in Oblivion Fist possessed a primitive form of philosophical martial arts—embedding intent and principles into simple movements—which Jang Geon inwardly considered the direction he should achieve ahead. Thus, he was inwardly gladdened to encounter such martial arts in the New Continent of all places, yet words completely out of left field came from the practitioner’s mouth.
Noticing Jang Geon’s expression, Dan Sang-woon realized his blunder and continued:
“Ah, well, my capacity was lacking, so I couldn’t learn all of Master’s martial arts. What I learned was just the easy parts extracted from his martial arts. Yet even that was difficult, so I lost much interest. Haha···”
Jang Geon erased the bewildered look from his face at his excuse-like explanation. However, that was merely adjusting his expression because Dan Sang-woon seemed embarrassed.
It seemed there was some secret between master and disciple that Jang Geon could not know. Regardless of how Dan Sang-woon felt, in Jang Geon’s eyes, his Sitting in Oblivion Fist was an incomparably profound martial art compared to ordinary arts. Aside from the destructive power that art possessed, it was an art truly fitting the meaning of building martial arts.
“Did you call it Tai Chi Fist? That was also a truly mysterious fist art. It felt like being sucked into a vortex created by Brother Jang. I really should have seen Master and Brother Jang spar. Haha!”
Jang Geon grinned at Dan Sang-woon’s words changing the subject. He had no desire to pry into the secrets between master and disciple either. Whatever it was, it was a matter between master and disciple, and likely one for the two of them to resolve. Since their relationship seen during the day didn’t look too bad, Jang Geon put away his worries.
“There will be an opportunity later. Even if not today or tomorrow, can’t you come visit again later?”
“Oh. That is welcome news! Come visit here anytime. I’ll finish that mechanical device soon, so you must come verify it later.”
Jang Geon nodded.
“I shall do so. Let’s head inside now. The night air is cold.”
The two brushed the dust off their clothes and went inside the house. However, Jang Geon could not fall asleep right away. Sitting in the living room with a lamp lit, Dan Sang-woon seated him and brought out liquor. Thanks to that, Jang Geon had to listen to his chatter late into the night just as he had during dinner. Still, occasionally pretending to know about mechanisms and offering various tips while passing the time was enjoyable.
Thus, his encounter with the man who might be recorded as the inventor of the steam engine drew to a close.
* * *
Placing a single cup of liquor on the table and gazing at the lamp flame, Taoist Wang suddenly realized he was imagining a fight with the wanderer he had met during the day.
And the moment he realized it, he let out a dry laugh.
“Hmm··· Getting old and doing what···”
He didn’t know how many years had passed since he stopped counting his age after eighty. It was a time during which even among his Imperial Army comrades, those lacking skill would have all grown old and died. Even if any survived, they would be ailing, and if an ordinary civilian lived to a similar age, it would be a joyous occasion warranting a personal letter from the Emperor beyond a village feast.
“···No. Why shouldn’t it work?”
However, he soon changed his mind. He was still vigorous. The heavy internal energy in his dantian slowed his body’s aging, and daily training he never skipped maintained sturdy muscles. Though his real combat senses might have dropped a bit, with long experience and years behind him, it felt like he could fight somehow.
He recalled Jang Geon, who had settled his internal power so naturally when he withdrew his momentum. Judging by the momentum faced and the brief conversation at his disciple’s house, he was clearly no practitioner of the Imperial Army or ancient noble families. Compared to them, Jang Geon’s attitude was remarkably relaxed yet solid, devoid of arrogance.
“What a fine fellow···”
Was the martial arts unique to this New Continent finally beginning to bloom as over a hundred years passed since it opened? Taoist Wang felt that wherever Jang Geon learned his arts, he was clearly a warrior capable of making martial ambition surge after a long time.
Thinking of Jang Geon and his lacking disciple, he raised the cup before him. Judging by how the two got along, Jang Geon was likely a peculiar fellow himself. If he ran over first thing tomorrow morning and begged for a spar, the fellow might readily agree.
“···”
Taoist Wang’s movement to bring the cup to his lips stopped. From a certain moment, sound vanished from his house and its surrounding area. It was a time when small insects should normally be making faint noises.
The next instant, he kicked off the chair he was sitting on and soared upward. Simultaneously, pitch-black spears pierced through the walls of his house, shattering the table and chair he had been sitting on.
Soaring upward, Taoist Wang broke through the roof as well, spinning his body in midair to land beside the hole he had blasted open.
“What manner of insolent bastards···”
Taoist Wang quickly scanned the surroundings with an enraged face. Men who appeared to have thrown spears moments ago stood encircling his house. Quickly counting them, their number was sixteen. Judging by their neat martial attire and weapons hanging naturally, their momentum was by no means ordinary.
However, what flustered Taoist Wang in the next moment and scattered his anger was that among those sixteen, there was a familiar face.
“You···”
“Long time no see, Master.”
A man carrying a sword on his back was looking up at him. Taoist Wang stared at him with eyes of disbelief.
“Why do you look with such surprised eyes? Did you not know I would be alive?”
“You··· Cho Sang-ryong··· How could you···”
The man, Cho Sang-ryong, smirked.
“How? By holding broken arms and legs at the cliff bottom and crawling like a bug, by barely clinging to internal energy scattering from a pierced dantian, by driving myself with furious anger and hatred burning in my chest.”
He offered a truly deep smirk.
“Waiting solely for today to come, I survived like that. Master.”