Namgung Myeong
Rumors spread quickly.
If even trivial tales—like a bachelor from the upper village falling for a married woman from the lower village—spread fast, how much faster would news travel that the bandits plaguing the merchants passing through Chongqing had disappeared?
Merchants traveling through Chongqing into Sichuan gathered in groups, exchanging words.
"Hey, did you see Jang Sang-chae's men when you came upriver?"
"No, didn't see them. Why?"
"Normally, they'd be lurking as soon as the boat reached the Chongqing bend. But for the past few days, they haven't shown up."
"Really? Good riddance. That bastard Jang Sang-chaeju—always killing innocent people. Must've finally been struck by lightning."
"No, it wasn't lightning. I heard rumors that a pair of young men killed him."
"Young men? Must've been disciples of some great sect, right?"
"Doesn't seem so. I overheard Song the blacksmith saying that one of them was a smith surnamed Tang."
"A blacksmith? How could a blacksmith possibly…?"
"That I don't know either…"
By the time such stories of Tang Mujin and Hong Geolgae had spread among the peddlers who carried packs in and out of Chongqing, Hong Geolgae's condition had recovered enough for him to stand.
The worst injury had been the finger where the bone showed, but luckily, it seemed it would heal without permanent damage.
"Time to get going?"
"Yes."
Goiyi, Tang Mujin, and Hong Geolgae left Chongqing, heading for the Yangtze to catch a boat to Luoyang.
Naturally, Goiyi walked straight toward the largest and widest ship—the one with the highest fare.
Tang Mujin didn't worry much about the fare. After all, most of the money he'd collected from the smiths had disappeared into Goiyi's hands.
"Old man, how much money do you have left?"
"Money? None."
"What do you mean?"
"Desire makes everything bloom, but possession makes everything wither. I'm too young to wither."
"Stop spouting nonsense and tell me properly. You took over a hundred silver taels! Where did it all go?"
"The same reason you stayed free at the Shinyue Inn."
He must've blown the fortune in a matter of days gambling.
Tang Mujin clenched his fists without realizing it.
"Then what do we do? How are we supposed to board the ship?"
"What else? I saw the silver in your pouch last night. A little over seventy taels. The fare for three of us to Luoyang is sixty taels."
Once again, Tang Mujin realized what a frightening man Goiyi was.
There weren't many who would secretly rummage through the pockets of someone thirty years younger. Fewer still who would admit it without shame. And fewer still who would then brazenly demand the money.
The sailor collecting fares looked at Tang Mujin with a sullen expression. The meaning was clear: pay up, or get lost.
As the only one with money, Tang Mujin's hands shook as he handed over the silver. Never in his life had he given away so much at once.
But then, someone behind him gently pushed his hand away and offered the sixty taels to the sailor instead.
When Tang Mujin turned, he saw the face of a merchant.
"You're Tang the smith, aren't you? The blacksmiths were grateful. They said if you ever come back to Chongqing, you'll be welcome. This is their token of thanks."
"Ah, thank you."
The merchant took out ten more taels and slipped them into Tang Mujin's pouch.
"That's from Feng the smith. He said he owed you much, and if you need a forge in Chongqing again, come to the Feng workshop."
"Please give him my thanks."
"It's not over yet."
In his hand were three large gold ingots—worth sixty silver taels each.
Without hesitation, the merchant shoved them into Tang Mujin's pouch.
"What is this…?"
"A token from the merchants who were bled dry day after day by Jang Sang-chaeju."
"Such a huge sum…"
"Compared to what he took from us, this is nothing. Don't worry—we're still coming out ahead."
Indeed, wealthy merchants' gratitude dwarfed that of the smiths.
Feeling proud, Tang Mujin boarded the ship. Goiyi nudged his side.
"What?"
"As your partner, I demand my share. Half."
"Have some shame. If I were to share, it'd go to Hong Geolgae, not you."
When Tang Mujin flatly refused, Goiyi dropped the matter. Apparently even he had some shred of conscience left.
Soon after, the ship began to drift downriver.
Tang Mujin and Hong Geolgae clung to the railing, gazing out.
"Wow…"
It was their first time on a boat, and the shifting view from the rocking deck was an unforgettable experience—especially in the famed beauty of the Three Gorges.
But scenery, however beautiful, lacked dynamism. Inevitably, their excitement faded before long.
Tang Mujin grew bored in less than a day.
"How much longer do we have?"
"It varies, but even at the shortest, about a month."
Goiyi answered calmly.
A month! Tang Mujin and Hong Geolgae's faces fell with despair.
"Then train. Deck training is more effective than on land."
"Really?"
"If you get used to fighting on a rocking boat, you'll learn to unleash powerful moves even from unstable stances. Hand me your sword."
Tang Mujin gave him the blade at his waist, but Goiyi waved it away.
"I meant a wooden sword. That's yours."
"Why? You asked me to make it, so I did."
"A sword belongs to the one who first wielded it. You drew it before I did. That means it chose you."
"Oh, really?"
"Yes. Since it's yours, give it a name."
"What should I call it? How about Soul-Severing Sword ?"
"Look at you, blurting out a name as if you were waiting for the chance. And Soul-Severing Sword? Doesn't it embarrass you to slap such a grand name on your own work?"
Annoyed by Goiyi's constant teasing, Tang Mujin swung at him.
He didn't expect to hit, and of course, Goiyi dodged easily.
Before Tang Mujin realized it, Goiyi was holding his wooden practice sword. His movements were shockingly swift and silent.
Goiyi twirled the sword.
"Come, boy. Attack me."
There was no one watching nearby.
Tang Mujin swung at him again and again, but naturally, didn't so much as graze his robe.
Finally, Goiyi tapped Tang Mujin's side with the wooden sword, ending the lesson.
"Feels different swinging on deck than on land, doesn't it?"
"Yes. Not easy."
"Get used to it. Someday, this training will save your life. You too, Hong Geolgae."
"Yes, sir."
And so, Tang Mujin and Hong Geolgae resumed the training they had set aside for some time.
About half a month later, one night aboard the ship, Tang Mujin practiced swinging his Soul-Severing Sword alone on deck.
"This feels good."
He might not have taken a full step forward, but at least half a step—such was the feeling Tang Mujin had.
Both in skill and in spirit.
"The moment strength is needed comes without warning."
If he hadn't trained so hard on the way to Chongqing, what would have happened?
He probably would've died the instant he faced Jang Sang-chaeju. No—more likely, he wouldn't even have reached him, cut down by the bandits beforehand.
And So-seon, along with the other two children, would still be trapped in that cave, waiting for death.
From his life-or-death duel with Jang Sang-chaeju, Tang Mujin had gained a small but vital realization. Combined with his burning desperation to master martial arts, the two elements had worked together, spurring him into relentless training.
As a result, his progress was remarkable—so swift it could be called leaps and bounds. He had already absorbed a fair portion of the Black Peony's inner strength, and his forms were far smoother than just half a month before.
Hong Geolgae had improved greatly as well, yet Tang Mujin could now defeat him five times out of ten. In fact, earlier that very day, Tang Mujin had knocked him out cold.
"Winning or losing doesn't matter. These days, training itself is fun."
Under the moonlight, swinging his sword alone, Tang Mujin felt as if he were becoming one with the blade.
Not the lofty realm of "unity of man and sword" that great masters spoke of—but simply the familiarity, the comfort of movement. The feel of the sword in his hand, the act of cutting through the air, had become second nature.
Now, Tang Mujin was a martial artist in his own right.
Naming his Soul-Severing Sword had been a good choice. It gave him affection for the blade, and that affection made every strike all the more earnest.
How long had he been training like that when he sensed someone's gaze?
A cleanly handsome man, and beside him, a strikingly beautiful woman, were leaning against the ship's railing, watching him.
The man glanced repeatedly at Tang Mujin's swordplay, then, when their eyes met, cupped his fists politely.
"Forgive me. I came to admire the moonlight and happened upon your training. My name is Namgung Myeong."
Martial artists disliked having their practice observed. In severe cases, it even led to duels to the death.
But Tang Mujin was different. He had not been practicing long enough to hide any profound insights, nor did he have much experience training alone. In fact, without someone nearby, he felt almost empty.
And even if he had been displeased, what could he do? The Namgung clan was famous enough that even he had heard of them. Namgung Myeong introducing himself so directly carried that kind of weight.
Tang Mujin waved his hand lightly.
"It's fine. I know others might see when I practice. If my training causes discomfort to others, then I'd be in the wrong. Ah—my name is Tang Mujin."
"Thank you for your generosity, Tang hero. Since fate has brought us together, would you cross blades with me?"
Namgung Myeong's face brimmed with expectation.
Tang Mujin understood well what that expression meant—vanity. He wanted to show his skill, to prove himself superior.
And who he wanted to show off for was obvious. Almost certainly the woman standing behind him.
Truthfully, Tang Mujin himself wanted to spar. His fight with Jang Sang-chaeju and his bouts with Hong Geolgae had taught him much. Crossing swords with Namgung Myeong would surely yield more lessons.
But that was only if it were a pure spar. He had no intention of becoming a clown to satisfy another man's ego.
So Tang Mujin declined politely.
"I appreciate your offer, but I am still shallow in understanding. I began training late and don't have much inner strength."
"That's no matter. We can exchange only pure forms without inner energy."
"Besides, I'm not skilled enough to use a live blade in sparring. I only have one wooden sword."
"That's not a problem. You may use your real sword—I'll use the wooden one."
Tang Mujin frowned.
He could understand the desire to impress a woman. But there were limits. Proposing to face a live blade with a wooden sword was arrogant beyond reason, regardless of skill.
And Namgung Myeong's persistence was almost pitifully stubborn. After this much refusal, most would back down.
But what choice did Tang Mujin have? He was just the son of a backwoods physician, while Namgung Myeong came from one of the great clans.
Tang Mujin knew that in unavoidable situations, sometimes it was best to yield a little, soothe the other, and move on. It was a lesson learned from tending countless patients.
Reluctantly, Tang Mujin raised his Soul-Severing Sword.
"Then, I will learn from you."
Namgung Myeong waited, making no move to attack first.
Tang Mujin had faced similar odds before—fighting with a live blade against someone armed with only a stick or a wooden sword. The opponent was always Goiyi.
And each time, Goiyi had subdued him effortlessly, like breaking a child's wrist, teaching him what inner strength was, how to view someone with greater energy, and how to deflect attacks.
So Tang Mujin expected the same now—that Namgung Myeong would defeat him easily.
"Still, I should give it my best. If I go half-heartedly, he might get angry."
He raised his blade high, then brought it down in a clean strike. Not a clumsy blow—he twisted his wrist slightly at the end, turning the slash from head to shoulder.
Seeing the strike, Namgung Myeong smiled with satisfaction. A perfect opponent to flaunt against.
"He's about second-rate. If I use the wooden sword to divert the live blade, I can demonstrate the subtlety of softness overcoming hardness, then overwhelm him with the Boundless Sky Sword Art. That'll be impressive."
First, deflect the live blade smoothly with the wooden sword. Then, show dominance by subduing him with wood over steel.
A flawless plan.
Namgung Myeong raised his wooden sword diagonally to intercept Tang Mujin's strike.
But the plan fell apart immediately.
The Soul-Severing Sword sliced clean through the wooden blade, as easily as cutting reeds.
And it didn't slow down.
The sword pressed relentlessly onward, driving toward Namgung Myeong's shoulder.
"What—?"
Barely a breath into the duel, Namgung Myeong, the promising young talent of the Namgung clan, stood on the brink of becoming a one-armed swordsman.