Wudang Sacred Scriptures

Taoist Hyeongong stared at Kwak Yeon, and fury surged all the way to the top of his head.

At the training ground, he had been a man whose status was like the sky itself—the Divine Martial Unit Lord. And this Dark Cavern Taoist bastard had been nothing more than a trainee at that same training ground.

And now, it wasn’t enough that he had called him “senior brother”—he was even daring to demand a return courtesy.

I heard from Senior Instructor Kang that this bastard was running wild at an A-rank training ground. I should have driven him out, no matter what.

Back then, he’d been so consumed with forcing out that old man, Steward Jang Gusam, from the steward hall that he’d neglected the matter of this Dark Cavern Taoist bastard—never imagining that negligence would come back to him like this, as regret.

After the trainees were struck in a wave by group diarrhea and he’d been forced to leave the training ground, he’d heard that this Dark Cavern Taoist bastard had clawed his way up and become a disciple of the True Martial Hall.

When he later heard the news that his master had sent him up as a temple servant to Samryeong Palace, he’d felt as if his insides had finally been cleared out.

After that, he’d all but forgotten him—until, years later, he heard that this Dark Cavern Taoist bastard had returned to lay life... and then killed Jegal Waryong.

At the time, Taoist Hyeongong had been more shocked than anyone on Mount Wudang.

Because they were saying that a lowborn wretch from the training ground—one who’d been chased off as a temple servant to Samryeong Palace, no less—was presumed to have reached the Transformation Realm.

Taoist Hyeongong didn’t want to acknowledge it. Not ever.

He concluded that this Dark Cavern Taoist bastard had to be using some wicked trick—if not that, then he must have learned some demonic arts.

He’d comforted himself with the thought that someday, the truth of what he was would be exposed to the whole world, and he would meet a miserable end.

And yet—of all things—they had run into each other in a place this perfectly, cruelly timed.

Even so, Samryeong Palace might be the lowest seat, but it was still undeniably one of the Eight Palaces. Which meant that this Dark Cavern Taoist bastard really was his junior.

A junior had performed the first-meeting courtesy upon first meeting a senior brother—there was no way he could refuse to return the courtesy.

Taoist Hyeongong found it deeply unpleasant, but as the senior brother, he returned the courtesy to his junior’s first-meeting greeting.

“Fine, Junior Brother Kwak. Good to see you.”

Kwak Yeon watched Taoist Hyeongong offer the bow toward him with that twisted expression, and yet he felt no satisfaction at all.

It wasn’t because he didn’t realize the man was returning the courtesy only in the most perfunctory way.

It was because the moment he saw Taoist Hyeongong’s arrogant posture and expression, what surfaced in his mind was the sight of him driving Jang Noya out of the steward hall dining room—right in front of everyone.

“Jang Noya! What right does a mere steward like you have to demand that I, the Divine Martial Unit Lord, call you aside and notify you separately!”

How many days had his stomach burned after he saw the shattered, miserable expression on Jang Noya’s face as he stood there, stunned, under that merciless rebuke?

If Taoist Hyeongong—if the Divine Martial Unit Lord—had shown even the slightest consideration for that head steward, then the last few days of Jang Noya’s life would not have been quite so wretched.

It was rage enough, even without that—driving a man who had spent his entire life in the steward hall out beyond Mount Wudang just to satisfy his own greed, all the way to his death.

WOOOONG!

Kwak Yeon forced down the anger that surged up inside him.

No matter how much he had returned to lay life, he still had not completely stepped out from under Wudang’s shadow. Taoist Hyeongong was, one way or another, still his senior brother.

To ignore the seniority and order of senior brothers and junior brothers on impulse was a crime worthy of destroying one’s own sect and lineage.

He might be able to endure whatever came to him—but they would demand accountability from Samryeong Palace as well, and so he could not act recklessly.

Thinking of Samryeong Palace, Kwak Yeon barely managed to calm the fury, then spoke.

“Then how about Senior Brother Hyeongong introduce the disciples of Wudang you brought with you to this junior?”

“...”

When Taoist Hyeongong stared at him with an unpleasant expression, Kwak Yeon continued calmly.

“If we take note of their faces when an opportunity like this presents itself, there will be no risk of mistakes later—between martial uncle and martial nephew.”

For Taoist Hyeongong, it was an irritating demand. But since, in terms of rank, Kwak Yeon was a first-generation disciple of Wudang, he couldn’t turn petty and refuse to make introductions.

Worse, there were quite a few people in the dining hall watching—people from outside the sect.

“All disciples, stand and offer your greetings to Martial Uncle Kwak of Samryeong Palace.”

At Taoist Hyeongong’s words, the Taoists of Mount Wudang rose one after another, then stepped out before Kwak Yeon in order of generation.

A Taoist in his mid-thirties clasped his fists toward Kwak Yeon and bent at the waist.

“I am Cheongseok, second-generation disciple of Okheo Palace. I pay my respects to Martial Uncle Kwak.”

Kwak Yeon returned it as a martial uncle with a light, restrained bow.

“Good to see you, Martial Nephew Cheongseok.”

A bitter smile stood out clearly at the corner of Cheongseok’s mouth as he performed the clasped-fists salute and stepped back.

It was because Kwak Yeon was far younger than he was—and because Kwak Yeon belonged to Samryeong Palace, which the Wudang Sect barely even treated as a palace.

“I am Cheongjuk, second-generation disciple of Geomam Palace. I meet Martial Uncle Kwak.”

“Martial Nephew Cheongjuk. Good to see you.”

Cheongjuk, the second-generation disciple of Geomam Palace, made no effort to hide his displeasure either.

Even after that, the expressions of the second-generation disciples as they greeted him and stepped away were identical—like they’d been stamped from the same mold.

Kwak Yeon understood. Their hearts were filled with the arrogance that they were the legitimate line of the Wudang Sect. And beneath that lay an extreme contempt for Samryeong Palace—and a deep-seated scorn for anyone who came from the training ground.

SSSSS...

Kwak Yeon felt a dark shadow deepen inside him, and a gray film spread across every blood pathway in his body.

The Honwonmusang Technique was reacting to their jealousy.

The fact that the ones who had provoked that reaction were his own fellow disciples of Wudang filled him with grief.

He had never harmed them. Even now, he was only exchanging greetings as a fellow disciple, in accordance with the sect’s rules.

Looking at their undisguised faces, a sudden regret rose in him.

If he had demanded accountability for their wrongdoing the moment he walked into the dining hall, would his heart have been torn up like this?

Kill the Buddha, kill the patriarch.

Even if they were fellow disciples, if they were in the wrong, then one should demand the price of that wrongdoing—there was no need to hesitate, following the famed saying of the Zen master.

Perhaps his heart still wasn’t that hard. Or perhaps some trace of affection for fellow disciples remained in him. Either way, he had not been able to do it.

“I am Cheongbyeok, second-generation disciple of Taehwa Palace. I pay my respects to Martial Uncle Kwak.”

Cheongbyeok, a very tall Taoist, frowned as he stepped back. Now, only one Taoist in his early twenties remained before Kwak Yeon.

It was that fresh-faced young Taoist—the one who had dealt with Hall Master Jang Cheolho as if mocking him, on behalf of this Wudang group.

In the young Taoist’s eyes as he glared at Kwak Yeon, there was a fury whose cause could not be read.

Kwak Yeon had been sensing it all along—that this young Taoist had been watching him, forcing himself to swallow down anger.

And from that, Kwak Yeon knew that this young Taoist had some past connection to him.

Of course, there was no chance it was a good one.

That was why, in truth, he had been looking forward to exchanging greetings with this young Taoist.

When the young Taoist finally stood before him and they faced each other head-on, Kwak Yeon was able to recognize who he was.

So it was you.

The young Taoist’s thick brows, the bold lines of his eyes, the broad, squared shoulders, the solid bone and sinew—he resembled Seokjangsan, his half-brother, to an uncanny degree.

“I am Cheongsu, second-generation disciple of Jaso Palace. I offer my greetings.”

Kwak Yeon smiled faintly.

“Martial Nephew Cheongsu, it truly has been a long time. Your secular name was Seokgeon, wasn’t it?”

Cheongsu—Seokgeon—furrowed his brow and answered.

“Yes.”

It was the moment he gave that brief reply and started to step away.

“Martial Nephew Cheongsu. You left out something important while offering the first-meeting courtesy to your martial uncle.”

“...?”

“I mean calling me ‘martial uncle.’ Of course, you didn’t do it on purpose.”

As he watched Cheongsu—Seokgeon—crumple his face, Kwak Yeon continued in a tone that sounded almost like gentle instruction.

“Did your master not teach you? That neglecting your martial uncle is the same as neglecting your master.”

“...”

When Cheongsu bit his lip hard, Kwak Yeon turned his head slightly and asked Taoist Hyeongong.

“Is that not so, Senior Brother Hyeongong?”

Taoist Hyeongong, his face twisted, spoke toward Cheongsu.

“Cheongsu. Offer your greetings again.”

At his master’s words, Seokgeon—no, Cheongsu—performed the clasped-fists salute toward Kwak Yeon with a rigid face.

“I am Cheongsu, second-generation disciple of Jaso Palace... I pay my respects to Martial Uncle Kwak.”

“Good to see you, Martial Nephew Cheongsu. I’ve received your greeting twice now, so from here on, I will cherish you all the more.”

Cheongsu turned away without a word—but a quiet, grinding sound of teeth rasped from inside his mouth.

Taoist Hyeongong watched Kwak Yeon publicly humiliate his disciple, and his anger flared like a blaze, but he forced it down.

Because that Beggar Clan beggar was still in the corner of the dining hall, still snorting and bristling—and because that beggar and Kwak Yeon were on “older brother and younger brother” terms.

If that Beggar Clan beggar decided to seize on this and make an issue of it, it would be a nightmare.

If you got caught by Beggar Clan beggars, they stripped you so thoroughly you couldn’t even gather your bones afterward.

But now that the Beggar Clan beggar knew Kwak Yeon was his junior, he wouldn’t recklessly blow this up—even if only for the sake of his younger brother, Kwak Yeon.

Taoist Hyeongong planned to roughly apologize to the guesthouse patrons, toss them a few coins each, and finish this matter by driving them out of the guesthouse.

It’ll scuff my face a bit, sure—but for it to end at that is a blessing beyond measure.

The main force would arrive before long, and if trouble broke out here now, it could easily become a serious problem.

Besides, before leaving the main mountain, Taoist Hyeongong had already received a stern warning from his own master, the Grand Elder.

“Do not, under any circumstances, fall into the unit lord’s bad graces. For this expedition, all authority has been entrusted solely to the unit lord.”

Taoist Hyeongong soothed his bitterness with the thought that the saying Even dog shit has its use in medicine fit the current Kwak Yeon perfectly.

He was just about to exchange names with the Beggar Clan beggar and tell him it seemed there had been some kind of misunderstanding and that he should calm down—

But the “dog shit,” that Dark Cavern Taoist bastard, the one who should have been introducing the Beggar Clan beggar to him, turned around the instant the greetings with the Wudang disciples ended and simply walked off.

Huh?

Taoist Hyeongong hurriedly called after him.

“Junior Brother Kwak.”

Kwak Yeon stopped mid-step and turned around.

“Senior Brother Hyeongong. What is it?”

“Why are you just leaving like that?”

“I met fellow disciples—senior brother and martial nephews—and exchanged greetings. Isn’t it only natural that I leave now?”

“...!”

“And frankly, Senior Brother Hyeongong and I are not on terms where we would warmly ask after each other and share friendly conversation.”

Taoist Hyeongong’s face flushed hot red.

“That may be true, but... what I mean is, do you not have companions traveling with you?”

“In other words, Senior Brother Hyeongong wishes to exchange greetings with my party.”

“That’s right. I heard what you said earlier, and he seemed like a hero of the Beggar Clan. As fellow righteous-path sects, isn’t it only proper that we exchange greetings?”

“Senior Brother Hyeongong. Do you truly want nothing more than to exchange greetings?”

“...!”

The question stabbed straight through him. Taoist Hyeongong flinched—and Kwak Yeon’s gaze turned icy.

“If that is the case, then I have no desire to introduce them. Not in the current circumstances, at least.”

At those words—sharp, bristling with thorns—Taoist Hyeongong’s heart tightened with urgency.

“Of course, it isn’t only that I want to exchange greetings. That hero of the Beggar Clan seems to be misunderstanding the situation somewhat, and I also wish to resolve it amicably.”

“Senior Brother Hyeongong. Are you saying what happened here was caused by a minor misunderstanding?”

“That is exactly what I am saying.”

Hoooo...

Kwak Yeon let out a breath, then continued.

“Senior Brother Hyeongong, you truly have not changed at all from the days of the training ground. After you went through that matter, I thought perhaps you would have changed, even a little.”

“That matter...?”

Taoist Hyeongong’s eyes went wide.

“What ‘matter’ are you talking about?”