Chapter 258: The Storm Gathers (1)
The New Justice Festival was a resounding success. Though both Peng Chae-hyang and Namgung Hwi had witnessed numerous festivals and banquets as descendants of prestigious clans, they had never seen a celebration so incredibly successful and with such a high degree of participation.
“I cannot help but feel anxious,” Chae-hyang murmured.
“So I am not the only one,” Namgung Hwi agreed.
Despite the grandeur, they remained deeply uneasy. The festival was simply proceeding far too smoothly.
The New Justice Association had accumulated a vast number of enemies since its inception.
And this New Justice Festival was, to any observer, the perfect opportunity for those enemies to deal a crushing blow to the association.
Yet aside from a few minor, clumsy disruptions, no significant interference had occurred.
“Why are you both overthinking? A good thing is a good thing,” Muk Hui-yeong remarked, smiling cheerfully from his seat in the center.
He looked completely carefree, without a single speck of worry on his face. Chae-hyang and Namgung Hwi found it impossible to comprehend his attitude.
“Reflect on it, Association Leader. Surely either the Martial Alliance or the Imperial Palace must have prepared some underhanded scheme.”
“We had those few troublemakers earlier.”
“Upon closer investigation, those fools turned out to be members of the Private Martial Alliance. We are not referring to such small fry.”
“It is entirely possible that the Martial Alliance and the Imperial Palace have chosen not to act. After all, nothing has occurred thus far. Besides, it isn’t as though we have neglected to prepare.”
Hui-yeong spoke with a relaxed, easy smile.
“We have prepared everything that could possibly be prepared. Beyond that, there is no need to worry. We can address any situation when it actually arises. Thinking about it any further is merely a waste of time.”
“In truth, regarding the Imperial Palace, our preparation…” Namgung Hwi’s voice trailed off.
During their very first advisory staff meeting with Muk Hui-yeong, they had discussed all anticipated disruptions.
When Namgung Hwi and Chae-hyang presented potential scenarios, Hui-yeong had provided countermeasures with absolute certainty, as though he had resolved them long ago.
Yet there was one specific scenario for which even the brilliant Muk Hui-yeong had failed to provide an immediate solution.
It was the prospect of a full-scale invasion by the Imperial Palace. When Chae-hyang warned that the imperial army might march in and forcefully cancel the New Justice Festival, Hui-yeong had fallen silent.
Perhaps to preserve his pride as the Association Leader, he had merely brushed it aside, claiming he would personally devise a countermeasure for that specific threat.
“Ahem. I told you I would handle that matter myself.”
“Gege. If the Imperial Palace truly invades, what exactly do you plan to do?” Chae-hyang pressed, refusing to let the matter drop.
Hui-yeong immediately avoided their gazes.
“I am working on it.”
“Truly? Is it not that you possess no countermeasure whatsoever?”
“It is not that. Rest assured.”
Though Chae-hyang stared at him with deep skepticism, an advisor could not continue to interrogate the Association Leader once he had made such a statement.
“Very well. I understand,” Chae-hyang sighed in resignation.
Seizing the opportunity, Hui-yeong swiftly changed the subject.
“The martial arts tournament begins today, correct? Are all the preparations complete?”
“Yes. Everything is thoroughly prepared,” Namgung Hwi nodded.
Today marked the commencement of the tournament, beginning with the Human Group—the rising talents of twenty years of age and under.
“I believe the very first match features Priest Myeong-gyeong.”
“Hm? Truly?”
Hui-yeong looked genuinely startled. Seeing the sudden widening of his eyes, Namgung Hwi grew tense as well.
“Yes. Is there a problem…?”
“Why on earth are you only telling me this now?”
“Was it necessary for me to report this to you beforehand?”
“Senior Brother insisted that I must come and watch. He warned me that he would be incredibly angry if I failed to show up.”
“Surely he would not truly punish the Association Leader, though.”
“Of course he wouldn’t. But the problem is that he will sulk. When children sulk, it lasts for a highly long time.”
Hui-yeong swiftly prepared to depart. His movements were so blindingly fast that Chae-hyang and Namgung Hwi could barely track them.
“I am off!”
Declaring his departure, Hui-yeong leapt straight out of the window.
“We are on the third floor, though,” Chae-hyang murmured blankly.
Of course, for a martial artist of Hui-yeong’s caliber, jumping from the third floor posed absolutely no danger.
“My word, it seems Brother possesses a highly close relationship with his senior brothers.”
“Indeed.”
Chae-hyang and Namgung Hwi stared blankly out the window through which Hui-yeong had vanished. The warm breeze and bright yellow sunlight filtered in. Spring had officially arrived in full force.
* * *
Myeong-gyeong looked around anxiously. The tournament was about to begin, yet Muk Hui-yeong was nowhere to be seen.
Could he be wearing a human-skin mask or utilizing disguise techniques? Myeong-gyeong had specifically requested that Hui-yeong send a telepathic message if that were the case.
In truth, Myeong-gyeong had been harboring a bit of resentment toward Hui-yeong lately. In the past, he could see his junior brother whenever he wished, but now, so many people sought the Association Leader that Myeong-gyeong could barely catch a glimpse of him.
“I wonder what has become of the hierarchy within the Wudang Sect,” Myeong-gyeong sighed, shaking his head.
It seemed Hui-yeong was not going to show up this time either. Although he felt deeply disappointed, he knew his junior brother was incredibly busy, so what could he do? As the older brother, he would simply have to be understanding.
“Myeong-gyeong of Wudang, Wu Xian of Qingcheng.”
Cheongyu’s voice resounded, calling the names.
Myeong-gyeong scanned the crowd one last time before stepping onto the training ground.
There, the disciple of the Qingcheng Sect already stood waiting. He appeared to be four or five years older than Myeong-gyeong.
Since Myeong-gyeong was fourteen and the age limit for the Human Group was twenty, the Qingcheng disciple was right at the peak of the age bracket.
“I am Wu Xian of the Qingcheng Sect,” the youth bowed, offering a formal clasp-fist salute.
Perhaps because they both belonged to Daoist sects, Myeong-gyeong found the pure and elegant aura of the youth’s internal energy highly pleasant.
“I am Myeong-gyeong.”
Myeong-gyeong returned the clasp-fist salute. Though he had once been a wild and untamed child, Myeong-gyeong had indeed grown far more mature with age. It was only in front of Muk Hui-yeong that his childish self still emerged.
His disappointment regarding his junior brother’s absence could wait. For now, he had to focus entirely on the spar. He stood here representing the honor of the Wudang Sect.
Though a five-year age gap might mean nothing to adults, to a fourteen-year-old, a difference of five years was a massive chasm.
“If you are prepared, let me know.”
Cheongyu spoke in a cold, indifferent voice.
In truth, Uncle Master Cheongyu was thoroughly displeased with the noisy clamor of the festival. Having been dragged out of his self-imposed seclusion due to a shortage of hands, it was only natural that he was in a foul mood.
“I am ready.”
“I am ready as well.”
Wu Xian and Myeong-gyeong took their starting stances. Cheongyu glanced between the two and nodded.
“Begin.”
A cloud-like mist of qi began to billow from Myeong-gyeong’s sword. It was the Flowing Cloud Sword Art.
“To possess such exquisite mastery at such a young age is truly remarkable,” Wu Xian praised. It was a sincere compliment, entirely free of mockery. Since the Qingcheng Sect was also a member of the New Justice Association, he seemed determined to maintain the utmost courtesy.
“You flatter me.”
“Haha. Humility combined with such gravity. I can clearly see the noble character of the Wudang Sect.”
‘But I know nothing of gravity…’ Myeong-gyeong felt thoroughly bewildered, having never been described as grave in his entire life. Still, he supposed he might appear that way to someone who didn’t know his true nature.
Myeong-gyeong quieted his bewilderment, cultivating a tranquil mind. All martial arts of Wudang were predicated upon the concept of a mind clear as a mirror and still as water.
Like a peaceful lake upon which not a single leaf fell to disturb the surface, Myeong-gyeong focused entirely on his blade.
“Here I come.”
“Come.”
Since Myeong-gyeong was the younger of the two, it was silently agreed that he would strike first.
Myeong-gyeong immediately executed the Flowing Cloud Twin Peaks, launching two entwined gusts of sword qi.
“Exquisite!”
Just as Wu Xian admired, Myeong-gyeong’s swordsmanship was incredibly clean and precise. Not a single trace of the childish brat who whined to Muk Hui-yeong remained. His expression was one of absolute focus.
“This is the first match. I cannot afford to bring shame upon Wudang.”
Myeong-gyeong’s mindset was indeed incredibly serious, completely casting aside his disappointment over Hui-yeong’s absence.
“Whoa!”
“To think such a young priest is so formidable!”
Not only the commoners but even the martial artists in the crowd gasped in surprise.
Within the youngest generation of Wudang, Myeong-il was the most prominent talent, followed closely by Myeong-gyeong.
However, while Myeong-il was widely known as the Sect Leader’s disciple, Myeong-gyeong had remained relatively obscure. It was only natural that the crowd was astonished.
“Indeed, Wudang is Wudang.”
Billowing clouds and rising mist. Myeong-gyeong was displaying the absolute essence of the Flowing Cloud Sword Art.
Faced with the relentless, flowing strikes of the sword, Wu Xian was forced to retreat continuously. Seizing the momentum, Myeong-gyeong pressed his attack.
“Whoooa!”
As Wu Xian was driven toward the edge of the training ground, the cheers of the crowd grew even louder.
Yet Myeong-gyeong’s mind only grew calmer and colder. In moments like this, one could not afford to lose composure.
“Priest. Forgive my impudence, but may I offer a word of advice?”
Just then, Wu Xian spoke. Myeong-gyeong felt a sudden chill run down his spine.
Despite being driven to the edge, Wu Xian’s voice carried no panic, and his breathing was entirely steady. The belief that he had been dominating the match was merely a delusion.
However, he could not afford to reveal his shock during a spar. Suppressing his emotions, Myeong-gyeong replied, “What is it?”
“Your swordsmanship is far too clean, Priest. Because it is so precise, once I have parried a few exchanges, your entire flow becomes entirely predictable.”
“…Ugh.”
Myeong-gyeong grit his teeth. To receive advice while representing Wudang in a tournament was a bitter pill to swallow.
Of course, as a martial artist, it was highly valuable advice. Yet he stood here bearing the name Myeong-gyeong, which the Wudang Sect had bestowed upon him.
“I appreciate the advice, but I believe now is not the time.”
“If I have offended you, I apologize. You simply reminded me so much of my own junior brother.”
Wu Xian smiled warmly. Myeong-gyeong could perceive that his words carried absolutely no malice.
Having been exposed to so much malice during his childhood, Myeong-gyeong possessed an incredibly sharp sense for detecting it in others. And that was precisely why he followed Muk Hui-yeong so devotedly; Hui-yeong treated others with absolute sincerity, devoid of any malice.
“From this moment on, you had best prepare yourself,” Wu Xian warned.
Myeong-gyeong immediately withdrew his blade. An overwhelming aura flared from Wu Xian, proving that a five-year age chasm was indeed formidable.
With a sharp shout, Wu Xian went on the offensive. Myeong-gyeong’s eyes widened. The swordsmanship of Qingcheng was exceptionally clear and elegant.
Though it shared a similar Daoist foundation with Wudang, Qingcheng possessed its own unique sword path.
“Hup!”
Faced with the unfamiliar sword trajectory, Myeong-gyeong was momentarily flustered, but swiftly regained his composure.
“This is highly difficult.”
Myeong-gyeong made a cold, rational assessment. Although he never displayed such calculative behavior in front of Muk Hui-yeong, Myeong-gyeong was actually highly quick-witted in these matters.
Wu Xian’s Qingfeng Sword began to whip up a brisk wind. Scratches began to carve into the diamond-coated stone floor around Myeong-gyeong as a fierce storm of sword qi raged.
“Should I simply surrender?”
It seemed victory was out of reach. Given the age difference, he had already shown everything he was capable of. In fact, it felt as though Wu Xian had deliberately permitted him to display his skills out of courtesy.
Surrendering now would still preserve Wudang’s dignity to some extent. Such thoughts crossed his mind.
—Senior Brother. Your martial arts do not look like you at all. Try executing your sword the way you do in front of me.
Just then, a highly familiar voice echoed in his ear. Although he could not turn to look, he knew instantly who it was. The chill that had gripped his spine instantly melted away, replaced by a warm comfort.
Putting that aside, Hui-yeong’s words carried a deeper meaning.
Myeong-gyeong had always assumed he executed the exact same sword strikes, yet Hui-yeong had apparently perceived something different.
How did he swing his sword when boasting of his Flowing Cloud Sword Art in front of Muk Hui-yeong? It had been an entirely unconscious act, making it difficult to recall.
—Execute your sword in a more free-spirited, unrestricted manner.
Hui-yeong spoke once more. Only then did Myeong-gyeong remember.
It was the way he swung his sword when he was enjoying himself the most. However, those trajectories did not align with the traditional principles of the Flowing Cloud Sword Art his master had taught him.
—Hurry. If you hesitate, you will lose.
Hui-yeong urged.
With a mental shrug of ‘what does it matter,’ Myeong-gyeong drew upon those memories and began to swing his blade.
Instantly, Wu Xian’s expression turned to one of utter bewilderment. His elegant Qingfeng Sword, which had been drawing clean lines, began to falter.
Had Myeong-gyeong displayed such an erratic sword path from the beginning, Wu Xian might have adapted, but having adjusted to a clean, precise style, this messy, unpredictable trajectory was entirely alien to him.
Myeong-gyeong perceived the shift instantly. If Wu Xian managed to adapt to this style as well, all hope of victory would vanish.
Myeong-gyeong pressed his attack relentlessly. The telepathic messages had ceased. His junior brother was likely satisfied.
“Ah.”
When Myeong-gyeong finally snapped back to reality, Wu Xian had dropped his sword and was coughing up blood. It wasn’t a lethal internal injury, but rather a slight disruption of his vital energy due to his faltering sword path, which had mildly strained his dantian.
“Stop.”
Cheongyu swiftly intervened, calling an end to the match.
“The winner of this spar is Myeong-gyeong of Wudang,” Cheongyu declared.
“Whoooa!”
The crowd erupted in cheers. Though Myeong-gyeong felt utterly dazed, he immediately scanned the surroundings, searching for Muk Hui-yeong.
In that moment, another telepathic transmission echoed in his ear.
—Your Highness. Have you been well?
Myeong-gyeong froze instantly. Instead of Muk Hui-yeong whom he had been searching for, only a eunuch with a devious face sending him a telepathic transmission caught his frozen gaze.