Venerable Myungryeon
Her secular name was Wi Jong-sun.
Her Dharma name was Hyangbaek.
At present, she was the Sect Leader of the Emei Sect.
Venerable Hyangbaek found herself in the most uncomfortable of situations.
Out of nowhere, her grandmaster—her master's master—had appeared.
And now that elder was even scolding her because one of her juniors had caused a scene.
"…And do you know what this fellow suddenly shouted? 'You arrogant bitch! I'll tear you to shreds!' Can you imagine? I was so flustered I couldn't breathe, and for the first time in fifty years, I found myself chanting the Buddha's name."
"Amitabha."
"Yes, just like that. I recited as I explained: 'Amitabha. I will tell you the circumstances, so please summon Venerable Hyangbaek.' And then, brazenly, she claimed not to know you. How could such words be possible?"
Now, Myungryeon was stiff and stubborn, yes—but she was neither arrogant nor coarse by nature. Surely she had not spoken so harshly, as the elder claimed.
Venerable Hyangbaek cast a sidelong glance at the kneeling Myungryeon. The atmosphere kept her silent, but her face was full of grievance.
It is the role of a superior to shield their juniors. So Hyangbaek gathered courage to defend her.
"Grandmaster, it is only natural that Venerable Myungryeon did not recognize you. She is forty-five this year, and she entered Boghosa thirty-six years ago. When Grandmaster left the Emei Sect, Myungryeon had not even been born, let alone received precepts."
"No, Jong-sun. It is not that I am offended she failed to recognize me. I ask, how can a disciple of the Buddha's path, upon first meeting, spit curses like that?"
Tsk, tsk. Haryeong clicked her tongue, adding the usual mutter of, "Children these days…"
But to Hyangbaek's eyes, Haryeong simply looked sulky.
Having returned after so long, she had expected to be welcomed joyfully. But when the reaction she hoped for did not come, she had pouted.
This was hardly Myungryeon's fault. Few in the world even knew that Hwayeon Shinni still lived, let alone recognized her face.
And if she was wearing a bamboo hat, what chance was there of recognizing her?
"Does attaining Eternal Youth turn the mind youthful as well?"
A strangely plausible thought.
Haryeong narrowed her eyes, sensing something.
"Did you just sigh?"
"Never before Grandmaster. It must have been my ailment—my chest felt tight and my breathing came rough."
"Hm."
Before Haryeong could seize upon another excuse, Hyangbaek quickly pressed on.
"In any case, if Venerable Myungryeon erred, it was not from malice. She is still young, her knowledge limited. If you would forgive her this once for my sake, I will see to her correction."
Haryeong fixed her gaze on Hyangbaek.
In the crow's-feet of Hyangbaek's aged eyes, she saw a child's face.
A child not long past receiving precepts.
A little novice her disciple had once cherished.
A little girl still more familiar with the name Jong-sun than with her Dharma name Hyangbaek.
"Eh."
Haryeong turned her head with an air of reluctant indulgence, and Hyangbaek gave a small smile.
The truth was, this was not the only inconvenience Haryeong had brought Hyangbaek.
Just as Shaolin's abbot inherited the title of Divine Monk, the Sect Leader of the Emei Sect traditionally bore the honorific Shinni (Divine Nun).
But because of Haryeong, that tradition was broken.
Even if she had left Emei and abandoned her Dharma name, the fact remained: Hwayeon Shinni, a far senior generation, was still alive. Later leaders of the sect felt burdened by the title.
Thus the previous head had passed away as "Taepyeong Satae," not "Taepyeong Shinni," and Hyangbaek herself had no choice but to be called "Venerable Hyangbaek," never "Hyangbaek Shinni."
To worldly folk and most Emei disciples, it seemed a matter of humility. But that was because they knew nothing of the hidden reason.
Hyangbaek longed to be called "Hyangbaek Shinni." And Haryeong, faintly remembering her own joy the first time she was called "Hwayeon Shinni," guessed as much.
Breaking the silence, Haryeong came to the point.
"Bring Tang Mujin here."
"Yes."
Myungryeon, sulking, left the hall and soon returned with Tang Mujin.
Spotting Haryeong, Tang Mujin looked bewildered, clearly unsure what was happening.
"Tang Mujin. Come, bare your back and lie down. Myungryeon, extend your hands."
Though she had scolded Myungryeon at length, Haryeong did not intend to act childish to the end.
With the Golden Summit's pavilion master dead and no proper handover done, confining Tang Mujin had been the best response Myungryeon could devise.
When Tang Mujin lay down, Haryeong took Myungryeon's hands and placed them on his back.
Tang Mujin thought little of it, but Myungryeon faltered. In forty-five years, she had never once laid hands upon a man's bare flesh.
It felt embarrassing, even sinful.
Haryeong chuckled softly at the sight.
"Still a child."
She placed her white palm on Myungryeon's hand, pressing gently until her palms rested fully upon Tang Mujin's back. Myungryeon's hands twitched slightly.
Then Haryeong, in place of the deceased pavilion master, began her teaching.
"Now. Close your eyes, focus your mind. Sense Tang Mujin's meridians and the flow of his inner qi."
"Yes…"
"When one seems possessed by demonic qi, which points must be examined first?"
"I do not know."
"There are many, but three are vital: the Fengfu point at the nape, the Yutang point at the chest, and the Qihai point below the navel."
Haryeong's inner qi guided Myungryeon's, touching each of Tang Mujin's three points.
"These three points correspond to the signs of demonic possession. What relation do you think they bear?"
Myungryeon thought deeply but could not answer.
Instead, Tang Mujin, lying prone, ventured,
"If demonic qi invades the Qihai, the dantian becomes unstable. If it settles in the Yutang before the heart, the temper grows violent. If it enters the brain through the Fengfu, one loses control of their actions. Is that correct?"
Haryeong smiled.
"Indeed. You judge well, like a physician. Myungryeon—see if there is any trace of demonic qi in those three points. Do you sense anything?"
She focused quietly, then shook her head.
"…I feel nothing."
"Exactly. His heart-demon has nothing to do with demonic qi."
"Then why has he fallen into heart-demons?"
"When a martial artist behaves violently, people lump it together, saying they have succumbed to heart-demons or to possession of fire deviation. But as I know it, heart-demons fall into three kinds."
Haryeong raised three fingers, lowering them one by one as she explained:
"First—those born with a violent nature. Second—those who practice demonic arts and lose control. Third—those whose nature is twisted by some traumatic shock. In my judgment, Tang Mujin is the third."
Her voice grew gentle as she went on.
"Yet the most common type is the second. In eight or nine cases out of ten, heart-demons arise from training forbidden or demonic arts. Those can be cured by driving out demonic qi over time, and for such people, training in Cheongsang Fist is effective."
Interpreting Haryeong's words in reverse, it meant that if one's nature was violent from birth, or if it had been twisted by some past event, then Cheongsang Fist would be of no help at all.
Venerable Myungryeon stole a glance at Tang Mujin.
In that case, wasn't confining him all for nothing?
Of course, Tang Mujin himself held no complaint. Life underground had been comfortable, the food of the Emei Sect delicious, and his training fruitful. In truth, it was less imprisonment and more like seclusion training.
"Then, in such a case… what should be done?"
"I know no cure myself. But if the symptoms grew severe, confinement was the usual course. One cannot simply let such a person roam free to harm others."
"And how does one judge whether the symptoms are severe or light?"
Haryeong pondered for a moment before replying.
"The most important measure is the frequency of falling into heart-demons. If one reacts to something that cannot be avoided in daily life, then the problem is grave. There were those who, merely hearing the murmur of a crowd or glimpsing iron, would fall into seizures."
But Tang Mujin reacted only to masked men.
In truth, such encounters were so rare that one might live an entire life and never face one even once or twice. By Haryeong's measure, it was far from a grave case.
Yet Venerable Myungryeon still felt uneasy.
"…And yet, simply releasing him feels wrong."
"Indeed. Unlike other third-rate riffraff, Tang Mujin has some measure of martial skill. If he were to relapse, the harm would not end with merely one or two people injured."
Haryeong did not offer any clear solution. Instead, she let her words circle endlessly.
At last, Namgung Myeong, who had been listening in silence, stepped in.
He had boasted to Dan Seol-yeong that he would bring Tang Mujin. To fail now would be a disgrace.
"To confine Tang Mujin merely to avoid masked men is unreasonable. It is an excessive response."
Haryeong smiled at Namgung Myeong.
"Yes. It is a troublesome matter, and an overreaction. But there is one way. You can give aid."
"Aid, you say…?"
"From what I see, your martial ability is above Tang Mujin's. If you shadow him, keeping watch so he causes no incident, then there will be peace of mind. If that burden is too great, then find someone else to take the role."
"I can do it."
Namgung Myeong answered at once.
Nothing would change, after all. Since meeting Tang Mujin while working as a cart-puller, they had been together all this time.
Moreover, having heard Haryeong's explanation of heart-demons, Namgung Myeong faintly glimpsed a possible path to healing. He himself had suffered a similar pain in childhood.
Haryeong's tone sharpened as she asked again.
"Do not answer rashly. If word reaches me that Tang Mujin fell into heart-demons and harmed another, I will come to you and demand the price. Hiding will not save you. If you run, I will come to your clan. Do you still agree?"
Namgung Myeong's eyes widened.
Until now, he had thought no one here, save Tang Mujin, knew he was of the Namgung clan.
Could someone have secretly whispered it to her? Impossible. The only one who could was Tang Mujin, and he had left the underground only half a shichen ago.
Haryeong chuckled.
"What? Surprised?"
"…Yes."
"I knew from the first moment we met. Your steps, your gestures, your very breathing. All of it reveals your origin. You cannot hide it from my eyes."
Namgung Myeong trembled.
He recalled words his uncle Namgung Jinya had spoken before he first stepped into the martial world:
'Myeong-ah, when you go into the jianghu, beware three kinds of people.'
'Who are they?'
'The old, the women, and the children.'
Only now did Namgung Myeong understand. Haryeong was at once an old one, a woman, and a child.
If one had to name the single most dangerous person in all the Central Plains, surely it would be Haryeong.
Her threat to come to the Namgung clan and exact punishment was no idle boast.
If that day truly came, Namgung Jinchun would not shield him. Rather, he would punish Namgung Myeong and drive him from the clan—forever the son unacknowledged by his father.
Yet Namgung Myeong nodded once more.
"It is fine. I will do it."
"So be it."
Venerable Hyangbaek and Venerable Myungryeon looked bewildered, as if they could not grasp how events had taken such a turn.
Haryeong, her expression softening, asked them gently,
"Hyangbaek, Myungryeon. Can you release Tang Mujin? The responsibility will fall upon me and Myeong."
A grandmaster of heaven-like stature was asking their leave, rather than issuing a command.
Without hesitation, both Hyangbaek and Myungryeon nodded.
***
"Thank you for your help."
On the road back to Chengdu from Mount Emei, Tang Mujin expressed his gratitude to Haryeong. Whatever his feelings about life underground, her help was undeniable.
Haryeong waved her hand lightly.
"No need. It was not mere help."
"Pardon?"
"When we met in Chongqing, I told you there would come a time I would need your aid. Do you remember?"
"Yes."
"When you are ready, come find me. There is a task you must do in place of Yi Chung ."
Haryeong did not wait for his reply.
She patted Tang Mujin's back, gave a playful smile, and then vanished with steps as swift as the wind.
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