Chapter 53: Wudang Sect (1)
The Wudang Sect.
The large signboard, bearing its name in elegantly bold calligraphy, loomed over the long line of visitors waiting to enter.
There was an odd sense of pressure emanating from the sect's grand entrance. Yet, no matter how much I scrutinized it, I couldn't find anything specific that caused this feeling.
It wasn't particularly large—perhaps due to being built on the mid-slopes of Zhongnan Mountain.
It wasn't extravagantly decorated—likely because Wudang was a Daoist sect.
Even the disciples standing by the gate, serving as both guards and greeters, weren't particularly imposing.
So what was it?
What was creating this overwhelming presence?
As I pondered this, I realized something.
My gaze had been fixed on the signboard this entire time.
More precisely, I couldn't look away from it.
"That signboard…"
"Hm? What about it, Brother Cheon? Do you see something unusual?"
"…It contains a sword technique."
Yes.
The bold, flowing strokes weren't merely written—they had been wielded like a sword.
At first glance, the brushwork appeared soft and unrestricted, as if it could move freely in any direction.
But if one were to reach out and touch it, they would surely be cut.
Soft outside, steel within. A concept often seen in Daoist martial arts, but the depth within this inscription was on another level.
It felt akin to the weight of a legendary martial art—one refined by countless generations of geniuses.
An accumulation of centuries of knowledge and philosophy.
The kind of history that my martial arts—something crafted solely for myself—could never possess.
I found myself standing still, staring blankly at the signboard.
Beside me, Ghost Shadow Thief (귀영신투) chuckled while using a thick tree branch as a makeshift cane.
"Heh. Completely entranced, aren't you?"
"Hmm… I don't really see anything unusual, but do you, Ghost Shadow Thief?" Tang Sowol asked, tilting her head.
"Oh, I see it. Not as well as your fiancé, but I do. Something like this relies more on sword talent than on insight or enlightenment."
"…Sword talent?"
Tang Sowol muttered absently.
Hearing that, I snapped out of my thoughts and shrugged.
"Well, I'd prefer not to look at it too deeply. Otherwise, I might start mistakenly thinking I'm some kind of genius."
"Haha, but weren't you one? Just listening to the stories about your past makes it sound like you were truly remarkable."
Tang Sowol smirked and nodded, recalling the embarrassing tales I had shared before.
After chuckling for a moment, she lowered her voice and asked,
"So? What exactly did you see in that signboard, Brother Cheon?"
"Flow. And an endless cascade of transformations. But more importantly, it's not about what principles it contains."
Continuity.
That was the true essence of what I saw.
The softness, the variations, and the countless paths the strokes could take—those were merely means to an end.
Whether it manifested as a sword, as martial arts, or something entirely different, it was all in service of this continuous flow.
"The sword technique inscribed in the signboard is likely just a fragment of a greater art, so I can't say for certain… but if someone were to wield it properly, I imagine it would feel like an endless chain of movements, seamlessly connecting from one to the next."
Thinking back, all Daoist sword arts had a similar sensation.
In my past life, during the final battles when the righteous and demonic factions clashed, the Nine Great Sects and the Five Supreme Clans had already suffered immense losses.
But not everyone had died.
The survivors had joined forces, and as a result, I had fought alongside them, witnessing their martial arts firsthand.
Even though hatred and killing intent had tainted their swordsmanship, their techniques all shared one key characteristic:
Their movements flowed together in perfect harmony.
The Tai Chi Sword of Wudang.
The Plum Blossom Sword of Mount Hua.
All of them ensured that no matter what techniques were used or in what order, their effectiveness was never diminished.
Hearing my thoughts, Ghost Shadow Thief laughed and nodded.
"You're exactly right. If you notice a commonality in Daoist martial arts, it's because they all pursue the same Dao (道)."
"…The same Dao? That's interesting, but I don't quite understand."
"Neither do I. I'm a thief, not a Daoist. But according to an old friend of mine, most Daoist sects descended from a single origin—the Quanzhen Sect."
The Quanzhen Sect.
It was the first sect that sought to attain the Dao through martial arts.
Long ago, it had fallen apart, splintering into many factions before being wiped out entirely.
However, its teachings had spread, eventually forming the foundation of many modern Daoist sects.
"This mountain—Zhongnan Mountain—has great historical significance. It's where Laozi, the founder of Daoism, once taught his disciples. And it's also where the Quanzhen Sect was first established."
"…That significant?"
"That's right. And that signboard you've been staring at? It's part of that history."
In the past, when Wudang wasn't yet as renowned as it was today, their sect leader had inscribed part of his martial insights into that signboard.
He had done this in order to find a worthy successor—someone who could decipher the sword technique from the inscription.
However, as the sect grew in power and disciples became plentiful, the tradition had faded.
Now, the signboard remained not as a test, but as a declaration of confidence.
"A show of pride. Wudang is this great—they can afford to display something like this openly."
"Well, I've certainly gained something from it. I should be thankful."
In my past life, I had never understood why those from the Nine Great Sects clung so tightly to their lost traditions.
But now…
Now, after witnessing the Tang Clan's pride and Wudang's dignity, I was starting to understand.
As I silently nodded to myself, Tang Sowol suddenly tugged on my sleeve.
"Brother Cheon, stop daydreaming and hurry up. It's almost our turn."
"Alright, I'm coming."
With a chuckle, I followed her and rejoined the line.
Everything went smoothly after that.
We looked disheveled, but proving our Tang Clan (당가) affiliation was easy.
Once we explained our situation, we were escorted inside to meet with the sect leader.
Since Sichuan and Shaanxi were neighboring regions, Wudang and the Tang Clan had long maintained close ties.
Now, all that remained was to explain our circumstances to Wudang's leader and send a letter to the Tang Clan for assistance.
As we passed through the inner quarters of the Wudang Sect, our eyes unexpectedly met with those of an elderly man.
His white beard stretched down to his navel, his daoist robes were immaculate, his posture was upright, and his presence, though gentle, was undeniably formidable.
Perhaps he found it unusual that outsiders like us had made it so deep into the sect. His eyes widened in surprise.
It didn't take long for the face of this dignified old daoist, as if drawn in a painting, to twist into an expression of sheer fury.
"You bastard! No matter how old you've gotten, that shameless face of yours remains the same!"
"Huh? What...?"
Tang Sowol flinched in surprise, momentarily shaken. But the old man's gaze wasn't directed at me, at her, or even at the commander of the Blood Venom Unit.
It was locked onto Ghost Shadow Thief, who was subtly trying to hide behind us.
The old man's face turned red and blue in fury as he bellowed.
"Disciples of Zhongnan, hear me! Seize that thief at once!"
"Ah."
That was when it clicked.
This old man had lived in the same era as Ghost Shadow Thief—and he even remembered his face.
I had considered the possibility that someone might recognize him, but I hadn't expected to run into someone who would recognize him instantly.
For a brief moment, both we and the Wudang disciples hesitated, caught off guard by the sudden order.
Seeing their indecisiveness, the old man clutched his chest in exasperation.
"Agh! This is too frustrating! You fools! Fine! I'll handle it myself—just stand there and watch!"
And with that, he lunged forward.
He barely seemed to take a step, yet in an instant, he closed the distance.
I had already sensed his imposing presence, and sure enough, he was an expert.
He had undoubtedly reached the peak of transcendence long ago but had never managed to break through the final wall of the Flowering Stage.
"Living this long has finally paid off! To think I'd get this opportunity before I die!"
"Hey! Is that any way to treat an old friend after so long?!"
"From that day forward, you were no friend of mine!"
His explosive movements belied his aged body, making it impossible to believe he was so old.
Ghost Shadow Thief tried to evade with his signature elusive footwork, but given his accumulated exhaustion—and the fact that he was missing a leg—it was only a matter of time before he was caught.
As the old man reached for the sword at his waist, I instinctively gripped my own hilt in alarm.
But instead of drawing his blade, he lifted the entire sheathed sword and swung it like a club.
The tension drained from me instantly.
"Since you love sword sheaths so much, why don't you take a good beating with one?!"
"Aaagh! Are you seriously doing this?! Would you really torment a poor old man who's lost a leg?!"
"You dare call yourself my friend?! And where the hell did you leave your other leg?!"
Despite his words, the old man showed no hesitation in continuing his relentless assault.
Ghost Shadow Thief swung his makeshift cane, trying to deflect the attacks, but it was useless.
The sheathed sword traced smooth, flowing arcs before abruptly shifting at sharp angles, evading the cane and striking Ghost Shadow Thief's body again and again.
Fast, unpredictable, and fluid swordplay.
To an outsider, it might have looked like Ghost Shadow Thief was getting utterly overwhelmed.
But I had fought alongside him before—I could tell.
He was letting himself get hit.
Judging from their conversation, Ghost Shadow Thief must have done something to wrong this old man in the past.
It was almost certainly theft-related, so he was getting exactly what he deserved.
Still, I couldn't just stand by and watch.
Not only was Ghost Shadow Thief a member of our party, but he was also the key witness we needed to explain our situation.
So, I stepped forward and clasped my hands respectfully toward the elderly man.
"Sir, may I have a word with you?"
"Hmm? And who might you be…? Ah, children of the Tang Clan, I see."
"I am Cheon Hwi-da, recently engaged to the Tang Clan."
"I am Tang Sowol."
Tang Sowol, slightly behind me, belatedly followed suit in offering a formal greeting.
The old man's eyes gleamed with interest.
"To think that child has grown so much already. Time truly flies."
"You know me?"
"I once visited the Tang Clan as a representative of the Wudang Sect to celebrate the birth of their youngest daughter. I caught a brief glimpse of you then."
"That… I don't remember at all."
"Just consider it the ramblings of an old man and let it pass. Ah, I am Jeon Il-bi, the Third Elder of the Wudang Sect."
"So you're the Third Elder."
"Hoho. I must have made a terrible first impression. I got too excited after encountering an unexpected acquaintance."
The Third Elder, who had been going wild just moments ago, awkwardly smiled as he discreetly hid his sword behind his back and turned to face me again.
"So, you were asking me to let this thief go?"
"Yes. I can tell there's a complicated history between you two, but could you grant us a moment? Ghost Shadow Thief is crucial to explaining our current situation to the Wudang Sect's leader. Once that is settled, we will return him to you properly."
"What?! After all these years together, how can you be so heartless?!"
Ghost Shadow Thief cried out in protest, but no one paid him any mind.
After a brief moment of contemplation, the Third Elder nodded.
"Very well. However, knowing this rascal, he might slip away unnoticed again, so I shall accompany you."
"That would be most welcome."
Finally, the Third Elder returned his sword to his waist, let out a long sigh, and—seeing that Ghost Shadow Thief's makeshift cane had broken—offered his own arm to support him.
"Let's go for now. We can settle the rest of our stories later."
"Hmph. Indeed. I have plenty to say to you as well."
Watching the two men walk side by side, bickering as if nothing had happened, Tang Sowol murmured quietly.
"Good thing he only stole the sheath."
"Mm. Agreed."
Had he stolen the actual sword, he wouldn't have just been beaten with the sheath—he would've been cut down on the spot.