Chapter 436: Journey to Taewon (7)

Shanxi Province’s capital, Taewon!

For Qing, Taewon might be a land of profound meaning—or perhaps none at all.

Because, according to certain half-wits, this was the birthplace of her own people’s spiritual roots: the homeland of the Korean people, where Grandfather Dangun first set the foundations of Shinsi!

Yes, these half-wits claimed that the very cradle of the Korean race was none other than Taewon itself. What’s more, they insisted that the ancient Goguryeo capital of Jolbon Fortress was shockingly located here. The square, rigid walls encasing Taewon? They were said to be the grand technical marvels of the Goguryeo people.

One only had to listen for a moment to realize just how much “scientific basis” or “historical evidence” such claims truly had.

It was said that Dangun established Shinsi between Baeksan (the White Mountain) and Heuksu (the Black River).

And—lo and behold!—here in Shanxi Province where Taewon sat, there was indeed a mountain and a river.

Even more astonishing: the river’s name really was Heuksu!

Even more astonishing still: the mountain’s name... was not Baeksan.

So how did Shinsi become Taewon, then? According to these folk, there had once been a Baeksan here, but the cunning Chinese had erased the name to bury the dazzling history of the mighty Hwan Empire people. Proof? None whatsoever. But once upon a time, it had been Baeksan—trust them on that.

The truth, of course, was that if you traveled just half a month south, you would find fertile, warm lands—an oasis of abundance in those colder, harsher times for mankind. Yet for some reason, these ancestors supposedly clawed their way northward, into a land boxed in on all sides by mountains, trapped in chill and hardship. Why? No explanation. Perhaps it wasn’t drawn on their old watermelon-map diagrams, who could say.

At any rate, Qing had—without realizing it—arrived at what some claimed to be the birthplace of her people’s spirit.

And yet... her heart did not throb with some profound, surging resonance. Perhaps it was because her body had very little to do with the Korean race at all.

At any rate.

Taewon was home to the Confucians.

Of course, not in Qing’s native history. By rights, they should have been entrenched within the Imperial Palace itself, basking in their golden age.

But such details hardly mattered to Qing, who had neither interest nor need to tally up where the scholars had planted themselves. In a world where men could seize the flow of nature’s qi and soar through the skies, what did it matter if the Confucians lived in Taewon or Hangzhou?

Still, the accepted story was that as the current imperial dynasty distanced itself from them, the Confucian faction, stung and longing, settled “near yet far.” Taewon lay close to Beijing in distance, but in truth was cut off by Henan and roundabout roads; close on a map, distant in reality.

Thus: “Since you keep us far, we’ll go far. Yet we’ll stay just close enough that you might glance our way and remember us”—that was the hope the scholars built into their choice of Taewon.

And there, at the very heart of their power, lay the Hanlin Academy.

At the gates of the Hanlin Academy, the guard’s eyes fell upon a rather unusual pair of visitors.

A tall woman in a veiled hat, and a small child clutching her hand. The child, wide-eyed with wonder, gazed about at everything, then looked up at the woman, lips parting in a constant murmur.

At first glance, they might have been mistaken for a mother and daughter on a simple outing.

But the strange thing was—both wore swords at their sides.

The child’s sword was oversized for her small body, dragging nearly to her ankles. The tall woman’s sword was enormous as well, a greatsword that likewise brushed her ankles.

What was this? A martial mother and daughter?

The guard turned the phrase over in his mind, a strange term that felt clumsy on his tongue.

Of course, every woman in the martial world had a mother, and mothers and daughters walked together hand in hand—hardly unusual. And yet, for some reason, the sight of it struck him as rare.

Perhaps it was because, as a guard of the Hanlin Academy, he was steeped in so much secondhand lore. Why, then, did the simple sight of a mother and daughter, merely wearing swords on a stroll, seem so strange? Why did it feel uncommon? And why, after ten long shifts of duty, had the sun still not moved an inch in the sky?

These were not true reflections, of course, but the idle musings of a man trying to pass the time—drifting toward that dazed, half-philosophical state of “where am I, who am I” when—

“Excuse me?”

The pair stood right before him.

Startled, the guard straightened, dropping his voice into grave formality.

“Ahem. This is the Grand Academy of the Hanlin. The great cradle where the scholars of the realm gather, honing jade into needles. Madam, what business brings you here?”

“Madam? Well, anyway. I came to see the Senior Instructor. Is he inside?”

“The Senior Instructor is currently engaged in the morning lecture. What is your business with him?”

“Oh, I’m the disciple of Elder Cheon Yuhak—my name is Seo Mun Cheong. I’ve come to see my Master.”

The guard squinted at Qing’s veil, staring hard, but the fabric refused to yield even the faintest glimpse of her features. She tilted her head, puzzled at his stubborn gawking, until at last he spoke with difficulty.

“Madam? The Senior Instructor has never mentioned taking a female disciple. Surely there must be some mistake...”

And this was precisely why Seo Mun Surin always referred to these Hanlin scholars with a certain disdain: “those Confucian bastards.”

“Oh, right. Just a moment.”

With practiced ease, Qing swung her pack around, rummaged inside, and pulled out a crumpled, folded, half-crushed bundle of letters. She smoothed one open and thrust it toward him.

The guard unfolded it and read: “Beloved disciple Seo Mun Cheong of Elder Cheon Yuhak, summoned by her Master.” Below it, stamped square in red: Grand Academy.

Only then did the guard bow low.

“My apologies. Please, allow me to escort you inside.”

****

Even if the Son of Heaven himself arrived during a lecture, he would be required to wait.

Qing hadn’t even asked, yet the guard explained it anyway—pride spilling from every word, the Hanlin Academy’s boast as former tutors to Crown Prince and Emperor alike.

So Qing sat sipping tea, admiring the neatly constructed waterways, until suddenly a swell of loud voices erupted.

“Ah. Must be finished.”

Sure enough, from the central grand hall, the largest building of the complex, a flood of scholars poured out. Each face bore the radiant relief of men released from ordeal, smiling the smiles of survivors who had endured. How so many had kept so silent inside remained a mystery.

Qing stood by the stairs, watching carefully for her Master among them.

The scholars, whispering about lunch plans and whatnot, froze in their chatter as they spotted Qing.

A woman in the middle of Hanlin Academy? Not forbidden, but standing brazenly at the front steps of the Grand Academy itself?

And so tall, too. With a child? Her daughter?

Yet the gentleman’s code forbade fussing over women. Curious as they were, none dared approach. They split around her, flowing past.

Then Qing raised her voice.

“Master!”

Cheon Yuhak, descending the steps with ease, catching eyes and nods, turned sharply at her call. A broad smile bloomed across his face.

“Ah, my disciple! You’ve finally come? You should have stepped inside the lecture hall, greeted me with a nod, and sat to listen. Why linger like a lazy beast at the bottom of the steps?”

“Hehe. I heard not even the Emperor may intrude on a lecture.”

“Well, that is only because he is the Emperor. If you seek learning, anyone may step inside. That is the very nature of a lecture.”

“Hehe. Truth is, I’m not much for lectures... Ah, and this is my little sister, Jin Jangmyeong. Jangmyeong, greet him. This is my Master, Elder Cheon Yuhak.”

“Hello.”

“Well then. Greetings, little miss. I was wondering at your long silence. You had no trouble on the way? Have you eaten?”

“Hehe. I wanted to eat with Master. Do you know the best place in Taewon? Today your disciple will treat you properly.”

“Nonsense. A Master must feed his disciple after a long journey, not take from her. Come, let’s head home first.”

The surrounding scholars exchanged startled glances.

A scandalous revelation!

The Senior Instructor had taken a female disciple!

And not just any disciple—his cherished pupil, the one who brought such a radiant smile to that stern face.

But what was with the sword?

Had he truly taken in a martial woman?

Perhaps it was for disguise, a lone woman traveling, but no—the weapon was far too fine, a greatsword in truth.

Still, those with answers were already chuckling and drifting away. At today’s lunch, imaginations would feast.

****

Cheon Yuhak’s residence was a grand siheyuan courtyard mansion, stretched as if its corners had been pulled taut.

Qing frowned.

“Eh. Master, you live awfully well, don’t you?”

“Fool. How can a starving man study? One must be free of hunger and want before reading scriptures with peace of mind. The reason I could become one of the realm’s great teachers was simply because my family was wealthy. With money enough, all I had to do in youth was study.”

Jangmyeong’s eyes grew round, looking up at him. His speech had turned casual the moment they stepped inside.

“Wasn’t there some phrase about hardship and study? Something like... ‘fireflies and snowlight’?”

Indeed—Cha Yun of Eastern Jin had gathered fireflies to read by their glow, rising to the high office of Shangshuling. Another man, Sun Kang, studied by the moonlight reflected on snow, and rose to the rank of Censor-in-Chief. One might scoff: why not just light a lamp? But they had no money for oil. Thus they sought free ways to read by night. It became a saying, honoring perseverance in study despite poverty.

Cheon Yuhak snorted through his teeth.

“And after all that grinding? What did Cha Yun and Sun Kang become? Corrupt officials who devoured the people. They didn’t study for the sake of learning. They studied for office—to fleece others. They didn’t become great men, they became great bastards.”

He clicked his tongue.

“To them, study was never about self-cultivation. It was just a tool—to gain wealth, to take revenge on poverty. That’s why study must be done by the rich. Otherwise its purpose warps into the pursuit of riches instead of the completion of oneself.”

“Oooh.”

Qing’s exclamation drew a wheezing laugh from him.

“What, does that not sound like something a Confucian ought to say?”

“No. I don’t know about that, but hearing you say it makes you sound like a truly learned man.”

“You little rascal.”

“But my Master isn’t the solemn Senior Instructor. My Master is Elder Cheon Yuhak. So it doesn’t matter, does it?”

She hadn’t come to study under the grand lecturer, but under the seasoned fighter. At her words, Cheon Yuhak’s expression turned sly.

“Do you truly think so?”

“Of course?”

“Your Great Master Seo Mun Surin sent word that your head is no different from a roadside stone. Yet, she pleaded earnestly—since at least you can recite the basic Confucian scriptures—to hold you here all year and force some learning into you. But disciple, Confucian learning is vast. Have you heard of the Hundred Schools of Thought?”

“Eh.”

“You thought you came to play? Fool. You came to study. I, counted among the top three teachers in the realm—what would it mean if my disciple remained an ignorant dullard?”

“Eh, I didn’t hear about this...”

Qing’s face twisted.

Study? Study!?

“Don’t be so disgusted. In time, you’ll find it unexpectedly fun.”

“Such fun does not exist.”

“No, really! Look at me.”

“That’s only because Master is the rare one who found such fun. That’s why you became a great teacher. If everyone felt it, every rich young lord would be a great sage, studying for fun and attaining enlightenment.”

“Hmm. Sometimes I wonder—you’re not stupid. You’ve got a good head, but you don’t use it, do you? Well, in any case, your Great Master asked this of me. You may wriggle, but you can’t escape. Ah, and look—the little miss here was sent to keep you company in study, so you won’t be bored.”

At that, Jangmyeong blinked. Then blinked again.

And quietly, she slipped her hand out of Qing’s grip, turning her gaze off into the far distance.