Chapter 421: Mount Wudang

Mount Wudang

“Who would have thought this was possible…”

After relentless effort, the two disciples of Mount Wudang had perfected one of the most bizarre martial arts techniques in the history of the martial world.

Whenever Youngbo Jin-in decided to move ten times, Hyun Gong could flawlessly execute the footwork as if it were Youngbo Jin-in’s own intention. Finally, Youngbo Jin-in had gained legs that moved at his will.

Thanks to this, Youngbo Jin-in found joy in each passing day.

“What should we name this technique?”

“Master, does it really need a name? It’s not like anyone else can replicate it…”

“You never know what the future holds. Someday, a desperate soul might seek this martial art.”

“Ah, yes…”

“How about ‘The Art of Carrying and Vanquishing Demons’?”

A martial art that carries a person and vanquishes demons. It sounded impressive, but there was a hint of mockery in it. The name seemed to focus more on the one carrying rather than the one being carried, which felt a bit off.

Hyun Gong grumbled in response.

“Do as you please.”

Despite his grumbling, Hyun Gong didn’t entirely dislike this new way of life. He enjoyed the daily banter with Youngbo Jin-in, but what he found most satisfying was his own rapid progress in martial arts. Recently, Hyun Gong’s achievements had been nothing short of remarkable.

Youngbo Jin-in didn’t just stop at directing Hyun Gong to move as he intended. He emphasized even more that Hyun Gong should match his gaze and predict his sword path.

Every time Hyun Gong carried him, Youngbo Jin-in would reiterate that the purpose of practicing this technique was not just its power, but to teach Hyun Gong.

Of course, just because a master is carried doesn’t mean the disciple automatically learns the master’s sword path. But with Youngbo Jin-in and Hyun Gong, it was possible. They had learned the same martial arts, and Hyun Gong was exceptionally talented, already capable of grasping the essence of Youngbo Jin-in’s swordsmanship.

Just as Youngbo Jin-in imagined moving legs despite his paralysis, Hyun Gong imagined wielding a sword freely without moving his arms.

And as Hyun Gong sparred with top martial artists daily, he constantly predicted Youngbo Jin-in’s sword path.

Whenever Hyun Gong anticipated the path, Youngbo Jin-in’s sword would unfailingly follow it, leading Hyun Gong to realize the magnitude of his own achievements.

“The process might be a bit unorthodox… but the results are undeniably satisfying. If I keep training with a sword, I might reach the same level as Master. No, I’m sure I can.”

However, Hyun Gong’s success left one person in a difficult position.

That person was Namgung Myung.

Namgung Jincheon, with a wistful look, watched Youngbo Jin-in and Hyun Gong for a long time before speaking to Namgung Myung.

“Myung, I want to pass on all my insights to you.”

“Please, Father, calm down.”

“I’ve already lost my left arm, so sacrificing the right for a mounted battle between Wudang and Namgung sounds thrilling, doesn’t it?”

“Please, calm down. I’m the head of the family now.”

Namgung Jincheon’s words were half in jest, but the other half was serious. Not long ago, Namgung Myung had caught Namgung Jincheon sneaking onto Youngbo Jin-in’s back in the dead of night. The memory still sent shivers down his spine.

The bigger problem was that every time Namgung Myung saw Hyun Gong’s rapid growth, he felt a small temptation himself.

“No, I can’t. I can’t stoop to such antics.”

To shake off these thoughts, Namgung Myung trained even harder. With his natural talent, he quickly absorbed Namgung Jincheon’s insights and achievements, so Namgung Jincheon eventually stopped mentioning the idea of being carried.

Just as the disciples of Mount Wudang and the Namgung family focused on their training, two monks were also deeply immersed in their practice.

However, their training took place outside the Wudang sect’s grounds, in a secluded bamboo forest where no one could spy on them.

“You’re losing strength in your lower body!”

“I know!”

“Who told you to focus only on your calves? Channel your inner energy through your feet! Imagine rooting yourself to the ground with your soles! Even when throwing a punch with all your might, always distribute thirty percent of your energy to your waist, knees, and feet!”

Sam Anbul and Manryeokseung were not master and disciple. Sam Anbul, who had fled the Shaolin Temple, was seen as a criminal by Manryeokseung, the abbot of Shaolin.

However, due to their long-standing connection through Tang Mujin, it was awkward to hold him accountable now, and with a common enemy in the cult leader, they couldn’t challenge each other to a life-and-death duel.

Despite knowing the precariousness of the situation, Sam Anbul often provoked Manryeokseung.

“Do you know I was a mere temple worker, not a monk? And yet, the abbot of Shaolin can’t handle me?”

“Control your breathing! Don’t lose strength in your knees! Do I have to teach you even the basics? What kind of training have you been doing?”

“Is the current Shaolin focusing on tricks rather than fundamentals? Did your master teach you that way?”

“Don’t speak of my master!”

Manryeokseung continued sparring with Sam Anbul, his fists filled with a deadly aura.

Though Manryeokseung had mastered far more of Shaolin’s advanced martial arts, Sam Anbul had honed the basics he had stolen to become one of the world’s top martial artists.

Both based their skills on Shaolin martial arts, but their paths had been polar opposites, allowing Sam Anbul to teach Manryeokseung a great deal.

Manryeokseung found the situation somewhat frustrating, but he understood Sam Anbul’s intentions.

Hyun Gong, Namgung Myung, and even Manryeokseung found themselves in an unspoken competition. Each had a mentor, a sparring partner, and a pressing urgency. The effectiveness of their training was undeniable.

One night, as training continued, two figures approached the darkened Hyuncheon Hall on Mount Wudang.

“May we come in?”

“Please, enter.”

Creak—

Inside, as always, was Youngbo Jin-in. The visitors were Namgung Jincheon and Sam Anbul.

“Have you heard the news? The cult is on the move again.”

As Youngbo Jin-in, who had been waiting, asked, Namgung Jincheon took a seat and replied.

“Yes. I wondered why they hesitated to attack Mount Wudang, and it turns out they were waiting for reinforcements.”

Unlike Youngbo Jin-in and Namgung Jincheon, who were already informed, Sam Anbul was slower to receive news.

Having turned his back on the cult, yet being from it, the orthodox martial artists were hesitant to approach Sam Anbul, let alone share information.

“Reinforcements? From where?”

“It seems to be those who went to Sichuan.”

“Sichuan, huh.”

The cult’s martial artists wouldn’t have returned empty-handed, so they must have caused significant damage in Sichuan. Thinking of Tang Mujin left a bitter taste.

“What are the chances that Qingcheng, Emei, and the Tang family managed to fend off the cult?”

“Realistically, not high.”

“I remember the young leader of the Dragon Head Gang also headed to Sichuan. Could he have been caught up in it?”

“Most likely.”

Sam Anbul sighed. While skilled fighters could be found, no one could replace Tang Mujin’s poison techniques.

“If we had known so much of our strength would move to Sichuan, we should have stayed there.”

As Sam Anbul lamented, Namgung Jincheon replied curtly.

“If we had, both Wudang and Shaolin would have been in ruins by now. Knowing the strength gathered at Mount Wudang, the cult hesitated to attack.”

“I know, but… sigh. What’s the use of lamenting the past?”

As Namgung Jincheon said, the forces gathered at Mount Wudang were formidable.

Youngbo Jin-in had instructed the orthodox martial artists gathered at Mount Wudang to retreat, leaving only the core members.

However, they didn’t follow his orders and remained. It was clear that the most crucial battle would take place at Mount Wudang, so they saw no reason to retreat.

Even Hyun Gong, the head of the Wudang sect and the de facto leader of the martial alliance, believed Youngbo Jin-in’s judgment was wrong this time.

If they could take the cult leader’s head at Mount Wudang, the war between the orthodox and the cult would effectively end.

But if they failed to eliminate the leader and lost key martial artists, the war could end in a different way.

To prepare for such a scenario, the orthodox martial artists stayed at Mount Wudang, ready to protect their key figures and retreat if necessary.

Sam Anbul crossed his arms and leaned his upper body against the wall.

“Namgung Jincheon, do you think we can stop the cult leader here?”

“It’s not impossible.”

Though it sounded positive, the underlying meaning was negative.

Sam Anbul clicked his tongue lightly. Tsk.

Listening to Namgung Jincheon and Sam Anbul, Youngbo Jin-in spoke up.

“You know why I called you here.”

“Not really.”

“While it would be great to win, it’s foolish to only hope for victory without preparing for the worst. We need to discuss how to respond if the tide turns against us.”

“Do you have a good plan?”

Sam Anbul asked Youngbo Jin-in. But Youngbo Jin-in knew that Sam Anbul and Namgung Jincheon had likely reached a similar conclusion to his own.

“Fight as if your life depends on it. If victory is within reach, seize it. If defeat is inevitable, retreat together if you can. But if retreat is impossible, the three of us must hold the enemy at bay, no matter the cost, to ensure the future survives. Manryeokseung, Hyeongong, Namgungmyeong—these three must not die.”

“Even if we manage to escape this crisis, can they truly overcome the challenges ahead?”

Namgung Jincheon spoke up in place of Yeongbo Jin-in.

“On days when my heart feels heavy, I sometimes leave the Namgung family estate to gaze at the sea in Hangzhou.”

To the uninitiated, it might sound like a whimsical tale.

“The sea is beautiful on clear days, but it’s truly magnificent when it rains. Have you ever seen the sea as a storm approaches? It’s a sight to behold.”

Sam Anbul and Yeongbo Jin-in shook their heads.

Sam Anbul wasn’t one to leisurely watch the sea, and Yeongbo Jin-in had rarely left the confines of the Wudang sect.

“As a storm approaches, the waves grow fiercer. The later waves swallow the ones before them. And now, I believe a storm is approaching the martial world.”

“What do you mean?”

When Sam Anbul asked, Namgung Jincheon posed a question in return.

“Sam Anbul, between the masters of the past, our generation, and the next, who do you think has achieved more?”

“The masters of the past, of course. Just a few generations back, there was Zhang Sanfeng. Martial arts are never fully passed down; they deteriorate over time.”

“Is that so? I don’t see it that way.”

Sam Anbul’s eyebrows twitched.

The old is revered, and the new is often seen as inferior. The younger generation is always chasing the shadows of their predecessors, trying to reclaim past glories. It’s a truth universally acknowledged.

“Are you suggesting that our leader has surpassed Zhang Sanfeng or Bodhidharma?”

“Not at all. But the flow of the world isn’t about extraordinary individuals; it’s about the masses beneath them. If you want to gauge the height of a wave, you look at the crest, not the highest droplet.”

Unlike Sam Anbul, Yeongbo Jin-in was smiling, likely because he shared Namgung Jincheon’s perspective.

Namgung Jincheon continued.

“Sam Anbul, in our generation, the six great orthodox masters were me, Shinsung, Geolseon, Yeongheoja, Yeongbo, and Muryangja. Muryangja was a bit lacking, but all reached the pinnacle. Yeongbo Jin-in even surpassed it, reaching the realm of harmony.”

“I know.”

“Among the previous generation’s six, four were pinnacle masters. The generation before that had three. During Zhang Sanfeng’s time, there wasn’t even a term like ‘six great masters.’”

Sam Anbul understood what Yeongbo Jin-in and Namgung Jincheon were getting at.

Namgung Jincheon was challenging the conventional wisdom that the old is superior and the new cannot compare. Just as the waves grow stronger as a storm approaches, the later waves will surpass the earlier ones. The next generation will outshine the current one.

“Look at the next generation: Namgungmyeong, Hyeongong, Hong Jusan, Yoo Jingwang. They’ve all reached the pinnacle at a remarkably young age. Manryeokseung Cheonguk was a bit slower, but that’s just the nature of Shaolin martial arts. I believe Dang Moojin has also reached the pinnacle, perhaps even half a step ahead of the others. What will they achieve when they’re our age?”

Sam Anbul imagined it.

Twenty years from now. Thirty years from now. A world where the new generation has taken the helm of the martial world.

Those who reached the pinnacle around thirty—what heights will they reach?

Sam Anbul chuckled wryly.

“Old knowledge fades, and past glories are forgotten, but the world moves forward faster than that.”

Yeongbo Jin-in nodded.

“Indeed. We are the earlier waves. Behind us, stronger waves are coming. I believe the next generation won’t just be waves; they’ll be like the occasional towering wave. Given this, what should we, the earlier waves, do?”

“Clear the path so the waves can travel further, help them overcome obstacles. That’s our role, isn’t it?”

Sam Anbul paused, then burst into hearty laughter.

“Ha! Here we are, talking like old men when we’re not that old. I was the wave before you. Even Shinsung, whom you consider your peer, is a good ten or so years older than you.”

Yeongbo Jin-in and Namgung Jincheon chuckled without a word.

They knew Sam Anbul wasn’t disagreeing with them.

Sam Anbul thought of Manryeokseung.

Manryeokseung wasn’t young. He was closer in age to Yeongbo Jin-in and Namgung Jincheon than to Dang Moojin or Hyeongong.

But Sam Anbul believed Manryeokseung was part of the next wave. Shaolin monks often achieved mastery later but went further than anyone else.

‘Age doesn’t matter. Just live long enough…’

As the laughter subsided, Yeongbo Jin-in spoke.

“So, when the critical moment comes, can you cast aside all hesitation and unleash your true energy?”

Namgung Jincheon was the first to answer.

“My child, whom I raised harshly, has grown up well. I should at least play the role of a father one last time. There’s nothing to regret, even if I face the greatest under heaven.”

Yeongbo Jin-in’s gaze turned to Sam Anbul.

“If I can land a punch on that leader’s face, I could unleash my true energy a thousand times. And if I save Manryeokseung in the process, it might even atone for my past sins.”

Though he spoke boldly, Sam Anbul wasn’t confident.

He thought of Hwayeon Shinni, who had been furious when he decided to join the great martial war, locking herself away in Chungkyung.

She was so angry that she refused to see him even when he went to Chungkyung to find her.

Hiding his true feelings, Sam Anbul asked Yeongbo Jin-in.

“Can you unleash your true energy?”

Yeongbo Jin-in, as if amused, stretched out his injured legs.

“What a question. I can’t run anyway. Unleashing my true energy might be the only way to live a bit longer.”

Laughter erupted once more.

“Haha! Indeed. Now I understand why you left a scar on Hyeongong’s arm. It was to keep him from fighting the leader, wasn’t it?”

“So he could flee without hesitation.”

“Your love for your disciple is profound.”

Yeongbo Jin-in smiled, then used a long stick to partially open the door.

He also slightly opened the window behind him. The wind rushed through the half-open door, sweeping through the room and exiting through the small window. The air was refreshingly cool, unlike during the day.

The three of them sat quietly, savoring the breeze.

A storm was approaching.

… (to be continued)