Chapter 184

The lively mood turned awkward in an instant, and I suddenly felt self-conscious.

As I pretended not to notice and kept knocking back my wine, Jinseong, who had remained seated without moving, asked gently,

“Is the wine to your taste?”

“It’s delicious. The aroma is rich, and it goes down wonderfully. If I’d known ceremonial wine tasted this good, I would’ve visited Taoist monasteries more often.”

“...”

“I’m joking. Don’t look at me like that, Daoist Jinseong.”

I made a show of covering my face at his peculiar look.

Jinseong replied calmly,

“You are welcome to visit often.”

“Oh? You even accept pilgrims with ulterior motives? I thought you said alcohol wasn’t allowed in a Taoist monastery.”

“The precept applies only to practitioners. We do not impose our rules on outsiders.”

A faint smile appeared on Jinseong’s face.

Huh? He smiled.

He’s been smiling a lot more lately.

I found the sight novel enough that I stared at him, only for Songhwa to clear his throat loudly.

“Ahem. Miss Tang.”

“Y-yes?”

I jerked my gaze toward him.

Songhwa smoothly changed the subject.

“How is your sword training progressing?”

“How could it possibly be going well? It’s difficult enough to make me respect every swordsman alive. Somehow, the more I handle a sword, the harder it gets.”

“Ha ha. It’s only been a little over half a year, hasn’t it? Becoming that comfortable with one in such a short time is impressive enough, Miss Tang.”

“You don’t have to dress it up for me, Daoist Songhwa. I know I have no talent for the sword.”

Yang Gyojin had said she had simply kept at it until she became good, which had given me a tiny spark of hope that maybe I could do the same.

But that was only because she was a genius.

The sword simply didn’t suit me.

At my glum reply, Songrim’s eyes widened and he shook his head.

“What are you talking about, Miss Tang? You clearly have no idea what someone who’s trained at a martial school for half a year normally looks like. Even the ones considered quick learners can barely imitate a middle guard stance.”

Well, that sounded exactly like me.

Should I be happy that I was at least average?

I gave a bitter smile and drained my cup.

Songhwa scratched his chin.

“You truly don’t know, do you, Miss Tang? Then how long have you been training with concealed weapons?”

“Uh... let me think. How long has it been?”

I met Grandfather in late winter, so...

Two and a half years? A little more?

“Just under three years. Grandfather taught me for about seven months. I’ve trained on my own since then, so I’m still inexperienced. Does it show?”

I counted it out on my fingers as I answered.

Songrim frowned.

“What? You studied directly under the Poison King for only seven months?”

“Are you drunk already? Surely you meant seven years.”

“I’m perfectly sober. It was seven months.”

Songin rubbed his ear with a dumbfounded expression before asking again,

“So you received the Poison King’s instruction for seven months, and before that you studied under another elder of your sect?”

“No. Grandfather taught me from the very beginning.”

“Th-then when did you form your core...?”

“While Grandfather was teaching me, so that was also a little under three years ago.”

Songhwa froze with his wine cup halfway to his mouth.

Even Jinseong looked somewhat surprised.

“...What?”

“Were you not given some kind of body-cleansing treatment from birth?”

“You’re saying all that inner force was accumulated in three years? Did you bathe in some legendary stone-milk elixir?”

“That makes no sense. I thought you had been cultivating for at least ten years.”

Their barrage of astonishment made me shrink back in confusion as well.

Songhwa slowly lowered his cup and swallowed.

“W-wait a moment, Miss Tang. Then when I first met you, you hadn’t even been training for a full year?”

“Probably not. Didn’t we meet just after the beginning of spring?”

“What in the...”

Songhwa opened and closed his mouth.

Then his face filled with despair.

“I’ve been holding a sword for more than fifteen years... and I had my arm broken by a martial artist who hadn’t even been training for a few months. I know you aren’t exactly ordinary, Miss Tang, but that still hurts.”

Good grief.

When he put it like that...

Now it sounded as though I were deliberately showing off.

I hurriedly waved my hands.

“No, that’s not it. I was lucky enough to eat quite a few good things. My inner cultivation method is unusual too.”

That only poured oil on the fire.

Songhwa’s expression turned grave as he stared at me.

“Eating elixirs does not mean just anyone can accumulate as much inner force as you have. If you insist on being excessively modest, you only make me feel more pathetic, Miss Tang. Just admit that you’re exceptionally talented.”

“Ha ha...”

“Geniuses really never realize they’re geniuses. I didn’t think there could be a monster worse than Elder Jinseong.”

Songhwa grumbled, tossed back his wine in one gulp, and let out a heavy sigh.

His shoulders sagged so miserably that I felt a little guilty and cautiously refilled his cup.

“Thank you, Miss Tang. Haa... Back home, people used to call me gifted too. These days I’m starting to wonder if I should just go home and become a farmer.”

“What? Absolutely not, Second Senior Brother. Don’t say something so terrifying. How are we supposed to deal with Eldest Senior Brother without you? I’ll genuinely die.”

Songin sprang up at once and clung desperately to Songhwa’s sleeve.

“You little brat. Am I our eldest senior brother’s leash?”

“Second Senior Brother. Please.”

Jinseong had been silently watching the two bicker when he spoke.

“What matters is not form. It is intent.”

“What?”

Everyone turned toward Jinseong at the cryptic remark.

He continued without concern.

“Do not compare yourself to others and obsess over perfecting form, Songhwa. The shape itself is irrelevant. Understanding sword intent comes first.”

Songhwa pondered his words, then straightened and asked respectfully,

“Elder Jinseong, this grand-disciple is too dull to understand your meaning. Would you explain?”

“Martial forms are signposts left by those who came before us for those who follow. But not every signpost was placed for you. If the road you wish to walk diverges from the signpost, do not let the form bind you. Abandon it.”

“...I will. Thank you for your guidance.”

Songhwa’s expression grew serious at Jinseong’s advice.

I stared at Jinseong with equal interest.

Telling someone to discard forms handed down by their predecessors was bold enough to border on radical.

It was fascinating that a Daoist who followed the rules more strictly than anyone and lived as a model practitioner could be so open-minded when it came to the sword.

“That’s unexpected. I thought you’d insist on performing every form exactly as it was taught.”

“The form may differ, but the foundation remains the same. Each is merely a way of expressing the principles of Taiji.”

The principles of Taiji? Does he mean the harmony of yin and yang?

I wanted to know exactly what Jinseong understood Taiji to mean, but there were too many people listening for me to probe further.

Besides, prying into another sect’s martial arts was poor manners.

I nodded as though I understood and pointed toward the ground.

“I see. By the way, Daoist Songgwang appears to be asleep on the ground. Is that all right? His face might freeze crooked.”

“He’ll be fine. Sleeping is preferable. At least he cannot cause trouble while unconscious.”

Songhwa answered as though it were perfectly ordinary, rummaged around for a blanket, and promptly covered Songgwang’s face with it.

Apparently, Songhwa was very accustomed to cleaning up after an eldest senior brother younger than himself—and the rest of his fellow disciples as well.

*****

The unexpected drinking session did not end until deep into the night.

Songhwa had looked distracted throughout all the boisterous conversation, and once the wine jar was empty, he abruptly stood and bowed to me.

Thank you for tonight, Miss Tang.

His nose was red as he silently mouthed the words and clasped his hands.

“You’re welcome. Get back safely.”

At my whisper, Songhwa grinned.

Songin and Songrim, who had Songgwang slung between them, were swaying from side to side as though they were rather drunk themselves.

Jinseong gave the obviously intoxicated disciples a thoroughly unimpressed look before turning to me.

“I will escort you back to the guest quarters.”

“All right. I’ll carry the wine jar.”

“Give it to me. I’ll take it.”

Jinseong effortlessly took the empty jar from me and started walking ahead.

The guests in the quarters seemed to have gone to bed already, and the surroundings were quiet.

After we had walked in silence for a while, Jinseong glanced back at me.

“You are not intoxicated at all.”

“It’s just how I’m built. I can hold my liquor.”

I shrugged.

Jinseong looked puzzled.

“If you do not become intoxicated, why drink?”

“Because it tastes good?”

“Are you consuming alcohol in place of poison?”

His question was so earnest that a laugh escaped me.

“No. That’s not it. I just like getting together with people, drinking, and talking.”

“You can converse while sober.”

“Well, yes. But the atmosphere is different. You saw Daoist Songhwa earlier, didn’t you? A little alcohol loosens people up and makes it easier to say things they’ve been keeping bottled inside.”

“I see.”

“Once you finally let it out, you usually feel much better afterward. I’d recommend pretending not to notice and letting things slide every once in a while. Of course, if they go too far, then you should stop them.”

“...If that is the reason, I will consider it.”

Jinseong nodded with complete seriousness.

I snorted softly and looked at him.

“Still, I really didn’t expect you to refuse even a single drop. Join us properly one day.”

“...We have arrived, Miss Tang.”

I burst out laughing when Jinseong neatly avoided answering.

He would rather say nothing than lie even for courtesy’s sake.

“I wasn’t trying to force you, Daoist Jinseong. Anyway, thank you for tonight. Good night.”

“Yes. Rest well.”

After sending Jinseong on his way, I got ready for bed and lay down.

But sleep would not come.

If anything, I grew more awake by the minute.

Martial forms are signposts left by those who came before us for those who follow.

Jinseong’s words kept circling through my mind.

Signposts... signposts, huh...

Then wouldn’t the mnemonic verses of an inner cultivation method be the same?

Grandfather had claimed they were verses he had simply cobbled together, but there was no way that was true.

They were his realization put into words.

He would never have written even a single character carelessly.

I stared blankly at the ceiling for a while, then abruptly sat up and reached for a brush.