A Ladybug Climbing a Cliff
The three of them went around meeting the local magistrates and county officials. Since a magistrate was a fairly high-ranking official, they had expected that meeting one, let alone persuading him, would not be easy.
Contrary to expectations, however, as soon as the magistrates received word of their business, they agreed to meet the three. Some even promised to acknowledge the contributions of the people of Nogun Village without fuss or questioning.
That much, they thought, could be explained by luck. After all, checking the plank road and cloud bridge of Mount Nogun was neither difficult nor dangerous for the magistrates.
What was surprising, however, was how much more proactive the magistrates turned out to be.
They had met only three magistrates, yet two of them said they would not only confirm Nogun Village's contributions but even submit reports about them. The response was the exact opposite of what they had vaguely expected.
After probing a little, the group managed to receive a plain explanation from one magistrate.
"In fact, there have already been rumors about misconduct by that county head. It's only that no suitable opportunity had presented itself."
"So you stepped forward out of a sense of justice?"
The young magistrate smiled wryly.
"This is indeed a matter of justice, but at the same time, it is a matter of profit and loss."
"Profit and loss?"
"If I can make the position of that county head vacant, the chances are high that I'll be able to recommend someone under my influence into that office. That way, I expand my own power."
"...Is it all right for you to say such things to us?"
"It's nothing I shouldn't say. Anyone who matters already knows without needing to be told. And besides, you don't seem like the sort to go around blabbing."
At last, Tang Mujin understood the magistrate's attitude.
Though not a martial artist, the magistrate's mindset was no different from one—always striving upward. Only, instead of personal martial strength, he relied on influence and wealth to climb.
Once everything was concluded and they stepped outside, Tang Mujin asked Pyo Chung:
"Will you be returning now?"
"I should return. But I won't head straight back to Mount Nogun."
Tang Mujin had no intention of pressing him to return to Mount Nogun, nor did he even think it necessary that Pyo Chung do so.
For Pyo Chung had spent thirty long years shut away in the mountains against his nature. Surely he, too, deserved a life of his own.
"Where will you go?"
"I must bring my first journey through the martial world to a close. Though I have grown old, I am still but a novice on the martial path."
Pyo Chung laughed freely. He pictured the faces of the Taoists of Wudang, and the face of his master, who by now must have aged beyond imagination.
The Wudang Taoists surely thought Pyo Chung long dead. If he were to return and show his face, they would all be startled out of their wits. Tang Mujin and Namgung Myeong shared similar imaginings and laughed.
"Then, we part here. I owe you much."
"I will never forget this. I hope we can meet again someday."
Tang Mujin was about to see Pyo Chung off when his eyes fell upon the three swords in the elder's hands.
Though cherished, they were all too worn from use.
The hilts and guards were so battered that they rattled faintly to the touch, and the scabbards were cracked and looked ready to break apart any moment. That they had survived even the duel with the Taeeui Sword Sect Master seemed a miracle.
What's more, from so much polishing, the blades had been ground down thinner and shorter than ordinary swords.
"What will you do with those swords?"
"Well. I have no mind to sell them. I suppose I'll return them to Wudang. Whether anyone can use them is another matter."
They weren't even fit as practice swords. Most likely they would be melted down and repurposed.
Tang Mujin stared at the three swords for a long time before making a suggestion.
"Would you entrust them to me?"
"Hm? And for what purpose?"
"It's a joyous day, the end of your long journey through the martial world. Shouldn't you at least take a gift back to your sect? Don't you think so?"
Even when Tang Mujin sought out a nearby smithy and lifted a hammer, Pyo Chung still hadn't fully grasped his meaning.
***
A few days later, a man wholly out of place among the Wudang sect arrived at Mount Wudang.
He was of considerable age, with a shaggy beard and shabby attire—clearly a bandit of the Green Forest. Yet, incongruously, his eyes shone clear.
The scruffy elder bandit walked toward the Wudang gate.
There was no law forbidding a Green Forest outlaw from entering Wudang.
That was the sect's magnanimity—and its confidence. For what Green Forest or Black Path scum could possibly stir trouble within Wudang's domain?
But that applied only when one laid down one's sword at the Sword-Releasing Pool.
All outsiders were required to lay down their weapons there, with only Wudang disciples as exceptions.
Arrogant as it seemed, Wudang's reputation in its relatively short history was enough to enforce such rules.
Yet the aged bandit attempted to pass the gate without setting aside his sword. The young Taoists called out to him.
"Hey, you!"
At the sharp cry, the elder bandit looked at them.
"...What is it?"
"You dare approach without laying down your weapon at the Sword-Releasing Pool!"
The young Taoists immediately drew their swords.
They were in their prime, brimming with vigor, drunk on their own accomplishments—always itching for a chance to test their martial skills.
Now that an outsider had ignored the Sword-Releasing Pool, the excuse was perfect.
One youth charged at him. He had no intent to kill or grievously wound—only to demonstrate the disparity in skill and flaunt his strength.
His only worry was that the bandit might lose his nerve and back down.
But the old bandit did not retreat. Instead, he drew his sword.
The swordplay he unfolded was Wudang's Five Elements Sword. Not a supreme-level technique, yet the martial essence within it ran far deeper than that of the young Taoist.
"...!"
This time, it was the bandit who struck first. His stroke was soft, clearly devoid of intent to harm.
The young Taoist responded with the Thought-Image Sword Art to block, but the elder's blade slid in with gentle precision—shearing his sword in two.
The young disciples' eyes widened. That white blade was no ordinary sword—it was a divine artifact.
Stunned by his ruined weapon, the Taoist leapt back, eyes full of shock.
"Who are you? How did you learn Wudang swordsmanship?"
The old bandit calmly sheathed his sword before answering.
"I am called Pyo Chung. And where else would I learn Wudang swordsmanship but Mount Wudang?"
"...Pyo Chung? You say you studied at Mount Wudang?"
They had never once heard such a name. Nor had they ever heard that Wudang even had a disciple of the "Pyo-" generation.
Pyo Chung smiled faintly beneath his beard.
"What is your Taoist name?"
"...Hyeonhak."
Pressed by the elder's natural composure, the youth gave his name without thinking.
In Hyeonhak's brash confidence and immaturity, Pyo Chung saw his younger self—a newly initiated Taoist, overexcited, tricked by a simple ruse into committing an irreparable mistake.
"I have a request."
"...What is it?"
"Please summon my master, Elder Yeongheo."
With that, Pyo Chung leaned against a nearby tree.
The young disciples were baffled. Elder Yeongheo had taken no new disciples for decades, and certainly no one had ever heard of him taking in a Green Forest bandit.
Yet there was no denying that this man wielded genuine Wudang swordsmanship. The Taoists hesitated, then hurried inside to bring Elder Yeongheo.
The elder gazed long and hard at Pyo Chung before speaking in a voice of certainty:
"You... Jungseon. Aren't you Jungseon?"
"Please call me Pyo Chung now, Master."
"Whatever you call yourself, to me you are Jungseon. Do you know how long I have waited for you? There was so much I still wished to teach you."
"I am sorry, Master."
"No matter. You have returned, and that is enough. Where have you been all this time? I thought you surely dead."
"I was on the cliff."
"The cliff?"
Elder Yeongheo did not know what cliff his disciple spoke of.
But one look at his face was enough to know the hardships he had endured.
The elder drew him into a light embrace.
"You have suffered much. Now rest here at Mount Wudang. I have much to tell you, and much I wish to hear."
Pyo Chung shook his head.
"No, Master. I must go back."
"Go back? Where to now?"
Pyo Chung only smiled, offering no clear answer.
"Master."
"Yes, Jungseon."
"Did you know, Master, that when a ladybug's foot touches something, it will climb endlessly upward?"
"Yes. I know."
Elder Yeongheo nodded.
He, too, had once been a child, and he remembered playing with ladybugs.
Placing one on a stick and twirling it round and round, watching as it never ceased to climb upward—that was a game every child played.
"My place, it seems, is not here at Mount Wudang, but upon a steep cliff. No matter how I think on it, the thought never leaves me—that I must return to those who live upon the cliff."
"Who is it you must return to?"
"There are those who depend on me. I have resolved to remain with them until the end. I will spend the rest of my days by their side. Which means, Master… after today, I shall never see you again."
"…So your mind is set."
For a teacher who had long waited for his disciple's return, it was a painful thing to hear.
And yet, a master must always be ready to let his disciple go—even one already lost once before.
The conversation fell silent. Elder Yeongheo could not hide his regret.
Pyo Chung looked at the master he had not seen in so long and smiled. At the corners of his own eyes were wrinkles deeper than those that lined his teacher's face.
He thought: If I had returned to Wudang in time, perhaps I, too, might have raised disciples of my own.
He took hold of the middle of his scabbard, lifted his sword horizontally, and offered it to his master.
"Master. Instead, I will give you this."
"What sword is this?"
"A gift from your disciple, to mark the end of his first journey through the martial world. It is for you, and for our sect—the Wudang."
"How commendable."
Elder Yeongheo carefully accepted the sword.
But he did not expect much—only that he cherished his disciple's sincerity.
He slowly drew the blade.
And before it was even halfway out of the scabbard, the elder found himself enthralled by its beauty.
A life spent with the sword, yet never had he seen a blade that carried such spirit.
It was as hard as though it could sever steel, yet supple as a fish swimming through water. Its octagonal edges seemed sharp enough to shear even the air itself.
It was a sword both poignant and solemn, yet stubborn and unyielding.
Near the base of the blade, three Taoist names were engraved: Jungseon, Junggok, Junghyeon.
Beneath those names were three animals: the ladybug, the mantis, and the wild boar.
Elder Yeongheo struggled to still his trembling heart.
This was not a sword that he, nor even the entire Wudang Sect, could easily lay claim to.
Wudang's history was still too short to have birthed such a weapon.
Haltingly, he asked:
"Jungseon… what is the name of this sword?"
Tang Mujin had not named it.
His reasoning was that, since it was forged by melting down the Three Swords of Nogun, its name should be given by the Three Swords themselves.
But of the Three, only Pyo Chung remained.
Pyo Chung gazed at the blade. Across its surface danced a strange, shimmering pattern.
Some would call it waves, others clouds.
But what Pyo Chung saw was a lone pine tree—
a pine that grew upon the cliffs of Mount Nogun,
a pine that silently held the iron stakes of the Cloud Bridge,
a pine beneath which lay the bones of Danglang and Sanjeo.
Pyo Chung whispered:
"The Pine-Patterned Sword…"
No. He shook his head. Something was missing.
This was a sword forged from three blades that should have returned to Wudang long ago.
Though newly forged, it carried the sorrow of three elders whose lives had been delayed, and whose regrets had grown old.
It was the sword of those who had missed their time,
a sword woven from countless lives tossed about by the storms of the world.
And now, at last, it had returned—
to stand guard over Wudang for many years to come.
Thus, Pyo Chung added a single word, heavy with the weight of time:
"No… it is the Pine-Patterned Ancient Sword."
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