Wudang Sacred Scriptures

Returning to the guesthouse, Kwak Yeon felt as though he had just glimpsed the rotten underbelly of the martial world—and the feeling sat ill with him.
That young martial elites would form gatherings like the Hwayeong Assembly or Dragon-Phoenix Gathering to foster camaraderie—such things could be accepted. Forming cliques to solidify their standing—he had seen those games even on Mount Wudang.

That those young elites would grow into powerful figures, form their own factions, and secure influence within their sects and the Martial Alliance—it was the ugly yet unavoidable nature of humanity to pursue advantage.
But to think they would go so far as to buy and sell epithets in order to join such circles—it was truly revolting.
He began to understand why Daoist Hyeon-hae had warned that the world was awash in filth.

The world was in disarray.
Human affection could be beautiful, yet when one looked deeper, it was often filthy.
Kwak Yeon wrestled with how far the bounds of chivalric conduct ought to extend.

Were even people like those to be protected, just because they belonged to the righteous path?
Did such a thing as Heaven’s Unseen Net truly exist?
He couldn’t come to a clear answer—but at the very least, he decided it wasn’t something he should involve himself in.

They claimed to be punishing a wicked rogue. The method was disgraceful, even vile—but what of it?
He had followed them with good intentions, only to witness something vile. There was no one else to blame.
At daybreak, Kwak Yeon made his way to Aknyang Pavilion.

He meant to wash away the lingering foulness by gazing out over Dongting Lake, famed as the Lake Without End.
He also had another reason: to confirm the inscription left by the Grand Elder Emeritus.
Aknyang Pavilion stood atop a hill overlooking the vast lake.

In the early winter mist, Dongting Lake was completely cloaked in fog, forming what could only be called a sea of clouds.
Sea of Clouds (Unhae).
As he stood immersed in its majesty, a vast surge of righteous spirit swelled in his chest.

He now understood why so many martial aspirants dreamed of ascending Aknyang Pavilion.
Dongting Lake was so vast, it might as well have been an ocean.
A few faint islands floated in the distance.
“One of those must be Gunsan Island.”

It was an ancient isle, known for hosting grand martial assemblies.
As the sea of clouds began to lift, Kwak Yeon sensed the presence of others approaching.
Not wishing to remain in the growing bustle, he vaulted down beneath the pavilion’s railing. Dozens of foundational stones supported the structure below, leaving him momentarily perplexed.

“Which of these stones holds the Grand Elder’s inscription?”
He swiftly scanned the stones.
Each one bore unique inscriptions—vows from past masters who had once shaped an era.

And at last, he ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) found it:
“With a radiant mind and body, even in darkness the sky is blue.”
(心體光明 暗中靑天 / Simche Gwangmyeong, Amjung Cheongcheon)
So it was true, what Old Master Jang had said.

“I always wanted to come here at least once…”
Finding the inscription left by the Grand Elder Emeritus, Kwak Yeon lingered in reverence.
“Old Master Jang… I came in your stead.”

It was as if Old Master Jang was smiling warmly at him.
Drawn from his reverie, Kwak Yeon examined the stone more closely, wondering if any other writing had been added.
But, as expected, there was nothing more.

Then something startled him.
“This inscription… was carved with Finger Wind (Jipung).”
It was clear the Grand Elder Emeritus had etched it upon his first descent into the martial world.

“How deep must his cultivation have been…”
It was unlike any of the other inscriptions—its depth and calligraphic presence were palpable.
As he remained absorbed in the writing—

“That stone’s inscription truly stands apart, doesn’t it?”
The sudden voice made Kwak Yeon turn his head.
A beggar was seated, leaning against one of the pavilion’s pillars.

“Don’t you think so, Young Lord Kwak?”
The man, in his mid-thirties, grinned—his yellowed front teeth glaringly visible.
“How do you know who I am?”

Kwak Yeon’s voice was sharp, but the beggar merely clapped the dust from his clothes and rose. A small cloud of dirt puffed into the air.
“Tearing up in front of the Wudang Sword Sovereign’s inscription, clearly a disciple of Wudang. Coming straight south from Shinya Prefecture, this is the only place you’d end up—so if you’re not Young Lord Kwak, who else could you be?”
Kwak Yeon let out a soft laugh.

“They say not even heaven can escape the Beggar’s Guild’s eyes. So you’re a branch master of the guild, then.”
“Indeed.”
“I saw a few bedbugs leaping off a mat on the street last night. I suppose that was your bedding? I pretended not to notice, since you kept pretending to sleep. But why chase me all the way here this morning?”

“Heh. So you did see me during all that chaos.”
Kwak Yeon had sensed someone lingering during the pursuit last night. He’d assumed it was one of the rat-faced man’s allies and ignored it.
“Still, isn’t the Beggar’s Guild doing a few too many tricks to be serving as the Jeong Family’s lapdog?”

The man was large, broad-shouldered, and bore eight knotted cords slung diagonally across his chest—from his right shoulder to his left waist.
“Damn it. Those knots were forced on me by my oh-so-noble master. I can’t even throw them away, so don’t hold that against me.”
The eight knots meant he was a Sub-Branch Lord of the Beggar’s Guild, a Rear Beggar (Hu-gai). The ‘noble master’ he mentioned would be the Guild’s Chief Branch Lord.

“As you say, I’ve no business being a lackey to the Jeong Family. Come on, let’s go have a drink. My head doesn’t start working unless I’ve had a bit.”
The Sub-Branch Lord turned on his heel with a flourish.
“Naturally, the drinks are on you.”

“...?”
“Isn’t that the iron law of a beggar? We don’t pay for our meals!”
 

****
“Come now…”
The Beggar’s Guild Sub-Branch Lord, Chwi Dugae, looked across the table with an exasperated expression.

Before him was a lavish spread of food and wine. In front of Kwak Yeon sat only a single teacup.
“I may be a freeloader, but I’m not shameless.”
“If I prefer tea, that’s my business. No need to fuss.”

“Stubborn to the bone—you really are a cave-dwelling Daoist.”
Chwi Dugae poured himself a drink.
“Never tried alcohol before?”

Kwak Yeon said nothing.
“Must be nice, being a cave monk. If you don’t feel like answering, you can just shut your mouth. Hah!”
He downed the wine in one gulp.

“Don’t know why you won’t drink this heavenly stuff. Even bald monks call it ‘grain tea’ and gulp it down. And you’re halfway back in the mundane world already.”
Kwak Yeon remained silent.
“Ugh, forget it. Too annoying to drink like this.”

Chwi Dugae shoved the cup aside and started drinking straight from the bottle.
“You know why they call me Drunken-Head Beggar (Chwi Dugae)?”
He tipped the entire bottle back and drained it.

“My master gave me the name because, when I’m drunk, my head becomes the greatest under heaven.”
Kwak Yeon said nothing.
“Which means, my friend, you’re in trouble now. Because you’re about to get everything wrung out of you by the smartest man in the world.”

Kwak Yeon took a sip of his tea and replied calmly.
“I’m truly curious to see just how thoroughly the Rear Beggar intends to wring me out.”
Chwi Dugae stared into Kwak Yeon’s calm, qi-filled eyes for a long moment, then grinned, his yellowed front teeth jutting out.

“So the rumor was true. That you cut down the Waryong Divine Sword. Heh, it was so outrageous, I figured it had to be nonsense.”
Kwak Yeon did not respond.
“What martial technique did you use to kill him?”

“I didn’t use any special technique.”
“...What?”
“He calmly accepted my judgment with empty hands. So, as promised, I left Waryong Hall.”

Chwi Dugae immediately called for the server.
“Boy, bring the whole wine jar. No—bring two jars.”
‘It’s not that I want to drink—it’s that I have to.’

Even with his so-called world-class mind, Chwi Dugae couldn’t make sense of what he’d just heard. It was a riddle he couldn’t crack.
“Let’s say I believe you. Gulp—!”
After emptying both wine jars, Chwi Dugae spoke again, his eyes bleary but still sharp.

“Whether the Jeong Family tries to capture you or starts a war with Wudang Sect—that’s your business. Guhh…”
Kwak Yeon, seeing a man drink two entire jars in less than half an hour and still speak clearly, thought the name Chwi Dugae (Drunken-Head Beggar) suited him perfectly.
“I came to Aknyang for a specific reason. But you threw it all into chaos last night when you suddenly got involved.”

Rather than wringing out Kwak Yeon, Chwi Dugae was spilling his own frustrations.
“I came here gunning for Suhmyeon Horui—the rat-faced fox. I’ve been tracking him forever. Finally had the evidence lined up, ready to nail him. But then you showed up, sticking so close I couldn’t get near.”
Kwak Yeon recalled the strange energy he had felt tailing him the night before. He had dismissed it as part of the rat-faced man’s surveillance. Turned out it had been this beggar.

“So now I’m asking you—what did you hear them say last night? Tell me everything, and I, the Rear Beggar of the Beggar’s Guild, will forgive it all. Buuurp!”
Kwak Yeon wrinkled his nose at the stench and asked,
“Why are you so intent on catching this Suhmyeon Horui? It seems a bit low for a sub-branch master of the Beggar’s Guild.”

“Low?!”
Chwi Dugae exploded.
“You heard what they were doing, and you call it low?! Are you really a Daoist of Wudang?! The crap those bastards were pulling—! Guuhhh!”

Yes, it was shocking and vile. But to say it was heinous beyond forgiveness might be going too far.
So Kwak Yeon asked,
“Who exactly is this Suhmyeon Horui? Is he a demonic heretic? A member of the Demonic Alliance?”

“That bastard’s worse than any of those cult scum! Grugh!”
Kwak Yeon was momentarily confused.
After all, the man had been slaying a demonic rogue. His methods were shady, but that much was true.

“That man’s human garbage from the orthodox faction. Hrk! Hack!”
At last, Chwi Dugae lurched forward and vomited violently.
A veritable flood of bile spilled out around the table.

Kwak Yeon was astounded that a person could hold so much in their stomach.
And what happened next turned mere surprise into full-blown astonishment.
Splat.

In the middle of the mess, Chwi Dugae collapsed and passed out.
“Hey—Rear Beggar!”
Kwak Yeon could only stare in disbelief.

He’d heard of martial experts getting drunk, but never of one actually passing out. Usually, they could simply circulate their qi to purge the alcohol.
Especially someone like Chwi Dugae, a sub-branch lord of the Beggar’s Guild, part of the world’s largest martial sect.
But that only showed how little Kwak Yeon knew about the ways of the Beggar’s Guild.

Their code forbade purging alcohol with internal energy.
It was a waste of good liquor.
They even licked spilled wine off the floor—that was the creed of Beggar’s Guild disciples.

In any case, Kwak Yeon now found himself in an awkward position.
He couldn’t simply abandon a companion in this state.
After all, he might one day need the help of the Beggar’s Guild.

He had heard from Daoist Hyeon-hae that, when the Grand Elder Emeritus descended the mountain, he went to meet an old friend in the Beggar’s Guild.
That was why he hadn’t refused when Chwi Dugae had asked for a drink.