A thin smile appeared on the boy's lips,
ㅤgradually transforming into a deep laughter.
ㅤAfter enduring long hardships and a period of refining,
ㅤovercoming unspeakable oppression and persecution,
ㅤthe boy had finally achieved his goal.
ㅤThis was the beginning of his reminiscence.
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"Shake, shake! Wooo, wooo!"
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A pendulum was swaying left and right. The movement, which seemed to have no beginning… continued rhythmically despite no visible thread connecting it. However, upon closer inspection, one could discover a single strand of silver, thin, and transparent thread, connecting the pendulum to the shadowy figure of a person. This was a silver thread so fine and transparent that it was impossible to detect with ordinary eyes. The object at the end of the thread, seemingly a pendulum, was in fact a rectangular object resembling the handle of a dagger, intricately and beautifully patterned. The being playfully holding this thread was a strikingly handsome young man, too tall to be a boy, yet too youthful to be an adult, possibly around 17 or 18 years old. Uniquely, he wore a pair of heavy, dull metallic bracelets on his wrists and similar ornaments on his ankles. His eyes were fixed on a lone old pine tree standing in the distance, with a pine cone precariously hanging at the end of one of its mournfully stretched branches.
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Suddenly, the boy's shoulders twitched, and he thrust his hand forward. Simultaneously, the swaying pendulum shot toward the pine tree in his sight at an unbelievably fast speed, aiming for the pine cone. However, the pendulum missed the pine cone, veering off to the side. Honestly, given the distance, missing seemed more likely. But in that brief moment, a wave-like, gentle movement transmitted from the boy's fingers, and the misdirected pendulum circled around the pine cone. The pine cone's only lifeline to the branch was severed, causing it to fall to the ground. The mere circling of the pendulum around the pine cone had done the deed. The initial miss was not a miss at all; the end of the pendulum, trailing like a comet's tail, had sliced off the tip of the pine cone with its sharpness, like a magical moment.
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Once again, the boy's index finger moved slightly, and in that instant, a bright silver blade emerged from within the thin rectangular pendulum, tracing a semi-circle. A sharp aura flowed along the edge of the blade. As the boy's finger curled inward, the silver blade, as if guided by an unseen force, pierced through the pine cone and then embedded itself in the ground.
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"Phew, a success!"
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A thin smile once again appeared on the boy's lips, gradually transforming into a deep laughter. After enduring long hardships and a period of refining, overcoming unspeakable oppression and persecution, the boy had finally achieved his goal. Although it wasn't a perfect or complete success, compared to his past accomplishments, this success was an incomparable leap forward. How could he not be joyful? However, his celebration of his own success was brief, as a scornful, mocking laughter emerged from somewhere. It came from behind the boy.
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"You're still far off, far off! Getting so overjoyed over merely mastering one Flying Lightning Knife. At this rate, when will you be able to control all nine? Do you plan to live a thousand, ten thousand years, training day and night?"
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The voice that had just spoken was rough yet sharp.
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This time, his wrist and fingers moved together. Instantly, the blade flew out of the pine cone and smoothly returned to the boy's hand. As the boy turned to look behind him, there stood an old man, holding a liquor bottle in one hand and squinting at the boy. He was the owner of the coarse but sharp voice.
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"Master, that's too harsh! Can't you at least celebrate your disciple's first success? For someone as old as you, it's petty not to!"
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The boy replied with a sullen expression. However, the old man referred to as Master raised his eyes to the sky and yelled furiously.
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"You impudent Ryu Yeon! There's nothing you won't say to your aged master. What have you done to add to my years? And shouldn't you hurry to work now that the morning training is over? Time is gold, gold!"
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The emphasis on 'gold' was repeated twice.
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"Tch! Just exploiting his disciple… Is he really a master?"
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The boy grumbled to himself but dared not speak these words out loud.
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"Alright, alright, I'll go, I'll go!" Exasperated, Bi Ryu-yeon grudgingly left, swiftly running down the mountain with such speed that it drew admiration from any observer. As he became a mere dot on the ridge, the old man murmured softly, "Heh, that kid. Already mastering the Flying Lightning Knife so precisely… With his current level of internal strength, it should be impossible, how strange? Anyway, it's been 7 years already. Time flies, heh, really."
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The old man took a satisfying swig from his bottle, a knowing yet elusive smile spreading across his face.
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***
The first thing my master taught me was how to cook rice.
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Master's First Lesson in Household Chores
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"Clang! Clang! Clang!"
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It was a beautiful flame.
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As the hammer struck the heated iron, fantastic and extraordinary sparks erupted like fireworks.
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The fleeting beauty of these flames seemed to possess a mystical power capable of captivating the soul.
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On the boy's wrist, swinging the iron hammer, was a dark, murky bracelet.
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It was Bi Ryu-yeon.
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The boy's hammering skills on the red-hot iron were highly refined and natural. It was evident he had been doing this for a long time. Yet, for some reason, his hammering gradually became rougher and more violent, reflecting the turmoil in his heart.
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'Damn it, why is Master always like that, huh!'
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The more he thought about the morning's events, the more his frustration boiled.
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'Who does he think is feeding him?!'
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As these thoughts intensified, the speed of his hammering increased. He was taking out his anger on the innocent piece of iron. Each strike of the hammer felt like an attack directed at his master. The boy felt a strange sensation as if his soul was being drawn into the blossoming flames.
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The task I'm sweating over now is making a sword. Forging steel to make a sword required highly skilled and precise craftsmanship, so only a few trusted artisans in the blacksmith's workshop were allowed to make swords. Those artisans were given the title of 'Swordsmith,' a highly honorable position for a blacksmith. I am the youngest swordsmith here, but nobody dares to underestimate me. Not only do they recognize my ability, but they also fear me. I'll leave the reason for their fear to your imagination. Anyway, I've been blacksmithing for six years now.
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The problem is that this has become my full-time job. The money I earn here is what feeds both Master and me. Oh, of course, Master is a good-for-nothing layabout. Naturally, earning money has become my primary task and responsibility, while practicing martial arts has turned into a pastime, or perhaps more like a hobby, a classic case of priorities being reversed.
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Yet, my pathetic master says,
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—"We are humans, after all. Don't we need to eat first before practicing martial arts?"
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It's laughable to the point of tears.
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I met my master seven years ago when I was 10 years old. Back then, I was the ordinary son of a sculptor who carved small ornaments and little statues for sale. My mother passed away when I was five. I remember her as a very beautiful woman. But I rarely think about her, as I have almost no memories of her. My father was a kind man and taught me how to carve whenever he had time. By the age of 10, I was already quite skilled. Unfortunately, tragedy struck. A terrible and impartial calamity befell our village – a devastating epidemic, claiming the lives of most villagers, including my father. I became an orphan, having no other family.
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I was the only one in our village who escaped the equal grasp of death, so I dug my father's grave myself. Despite bleeding and calloused hands, I didn't care. Instead of a tombstone, I carved a large log with my father's likeness and placed it in front of his grave. My artistic talent was exceptional, allowing me to create a masterpiece, the best work of my 10-year life.
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However, after placing it, I felt something was missing. I soon started carving my mother's likeness on another log of the same size. I did it because I thought my father would be lonely otherwise. Fortunately, next to my father's grave was my mother's. After finishing her statue and placing it next to my father's, I turned around and saw an old man standing there.
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The old man pointed at my father's grave and asked, "Did you make this grave?" I replied honestly and politely, "Yes." At that time, I was a good child who practiced respect for the elderly well.
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He then asked, "Did you also carve these wooden figures?" Since those two carvings were the best I had ever made, I confidently and respectfully answered, "Yes, I did."
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After pondering with a furrowed brow, the old man extended his hand towards me and asked, "Would you like to come with me?" I politely inquired, "What will happen if I follow you?"
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The old man, hearing my polite question, laughed heartily and said he would teach me the greatest martial arts in the world. However, I couldn't believe his words immediately. How could I, not a naive child, believe the words of a stranger I had just met? So, I had to ask,
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"How can I believe what you say?"
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I demanded concrete proof. The old man then turned his head towards the forest on the left and asked, "Do you see anything there?" I honestly replied, "It's a forest." Then, the old man waved his hand once, and though it wasn't clear, a flash of white light flickered. He asked again, "Do you still see the forest?" I shook my head, "No, I don't see it anymore." The pine forest that had been spread out ten feet away was now gone, leaving only stumps.
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"How about it, do you want to learn?"
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I honestly didn't believe his claim of teaching the world's greatest martial arts based on his appearance, but I thought he might teach me some level of martial arts. Being an orphan with nowhere to go and harboring a vague longing for the martial world, I stupidly concluded there was no loss in following him. After making a quick cost-benefit analysis, I cunningly said, "Alright!" and took the old man's hand. That was my first encounter with my master and the beginning of this damned fate.
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It didn't take long for me to realize the grave mistake in my quick decision. Master was the person who gave me my first and most fatal mistake in my cost-benefit calculations. I still regret that decision to this day.
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Master took me to a forest near a village. The village was fairly large, connected to a vast and tall mountain range. In stories and tales, extraordinary people often teach their disciples in such deep mountains, far from worldly distractions. My master began to seem more credible.
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The place he took me to was a shabby shack with two rooms and a small kitchen. Oddly enough, there was no iron axe where the firewood was stacked, which should have been obvious. Master said this was his home and where I would live from now on…
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I was inwardly disappointed that it wasn't an extraordinary place like The Peach Blossom Spring which is equipped with of living plants, but I didn't show it, not wanting to disappoint Master. Indeed, I was still a kind-hearted child. From the living conditions, it seemed Master wasn't a high-ranking extraordinary person. But I accepted it with a broad mind, like the ocean. What a beautiful and noble anecdote!
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[TL/N: Peach Blossom Spring is famously known from the tale "The Peach Blossom Spring" by the poet Tao Yuanming from the Eastern Jin Dynasty. The story describes a fisherman from Wuling who accidentally discovers a utopian-like valley filled with fragrant peach blossoms, where the people live in harmony, unaffected by the outside world. After leaving, he could never find the place again.]
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However, Master brutally betrayed me. He cruelly trampled on my broad-mindedness and good, beautiful heart. He shattered and tore apart the bright blueprint of my future and dumped it all in the trash. That's when my hardships truly began.
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The first thing Master taught me was how to cook rice.
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He instructed me never to wash the rice more than three times, claiming that washing it more would reduce its nutritional value… When cooking rice, he said it's best to fill the pot with water up to the back of your hand. He emphasized keeping the pot lid tightly closed, as the sealing of the pot and the quality of the rice are closely related. He proudly passed on what everyone knows as a secret technique: placing a stone on top of the pot when cooking rice at high altitudes. He really is a great master.
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But cooking rice was just the beginning. Next, he taught me how to make side dishes. Since Master wasn't a high-ranking hermit who could survive on raw food, he needed to consume meat for sufficient nutrition and frequently, or rather incessantly, drink alcohol. Not wanting to survive on raw rice and pine needles, I reluctantly learned how to cook.
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I learned how to make simple side dishes like stir-fried vegetables and meat, braised tofu, and how to make soup. When stir-frying vegetables, he said to quickly fry them after oiling once to preserve the aroma and flavor of the vegetables. In particular, Master repeatedly emphasized the importance of the cook's mindset. He said the cook's mindset manifests in the taste and maintaining mental equilibrium is vital, much like the harmony of the Five Elements, creating an explosion of flavor in the mouth, like the flapping of a phoenix in the universe. I began to suspect Master's former profession. Maybe he was still an active chef.
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According to Master, the 'Flying Lightning Knife' martial art I was to learn later required considerable dexterity and sensitivity. In that regard, cooking, as an amalgamation of skill and sensitivity, was the pinnacle of art combining these elements. Hearing Master's praise of cooking, I couldn't help but snicker, eventually ending up with a runny nose.
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"Hmph! Pfft, nonsense!"
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Everything sounded like an excuse. The only somewhat convincing part was the plausible-sounding name of the martial art I would learn. Despite various mishaps and accidents (like melting a couple of pots or burning a pot or blowing a month's worth of food in the name of practice), I had acquired the skill to prepare a basic meal. It was an astonishingly significant progress.
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In fact, it didn't take long for me to learn how to cook rice and make side dishes. The heartbreaking part was that after I managed to cook, setting the table also became my responsibility. I even suggested dividing the work equally, like assigning meal duties by day, only to be soundly beaten for it.
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That's when I painfully learned that fists spoke louder than words. And I mean it literally hurt. Master's fists knew no moderation. That day, I learned that fists could control both reason and emotion, a lesson that profoundly impacted my character. I engraved this lesson deep into my instincts.
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The next task Master assigned to me was chopping firewood. Since we needed firewood to cook rice, he took me to the pile of wood. To the right were split logs, and to the left were freshly cut logs from the forest. But no matter how much I looked around, I couldn't find the iron axe needed for chopping.
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"Master, where is the iron axe? Don't we need an axe to chop wood?" I politely asked Master to explain the absence of the axe.
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"We don't need that kind of thing!" was his response.
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"Then how do we chop the wood? Just beat it like a dog?" I asked.
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Since 'chop' could mean both 'to split with an axe' and 'to beat mercilessly,' my question was a logical result of my thinking process. Master, annoyed, said he would demonstrate. It was clearly 'annoyance.'
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'Hmm, I'm still lacking in spiritual cultivation. Severely lacking!'
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I evaluated Master to myself. It seemed clear that Master was an immature person. He picked up a log as thick as an adult's arm from the left pile and placed it on the stump of a cut tree. Then, he pulled out a small dagger from his sleeve. It was a common, everyday dagger, the length of a child's palm, the kind you could find in any hardware store or small weapons shop. The kind you get when you ask, "Hey, mister! Can I have a dagger?" and the shopkeeper responds, "Here you go!"
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Holding the dagger, Master squatted in front of the log and lightly grasped the dagger's tip, then struck the center of the log with a tap! Well, 'tap!' is my expression; Master just flicked his wrist, and the dagger, like slicing through clouds, fantastically arced around the log.
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The astonishing moment came next. The standing log split precisely into two pieces. I was so shocked my mouth fell open like the log. I had never seen such a feat. Master, seeing my astonished face, smirked and said, "This level should be achievable with technique alone, even without internal power. The secret is speed, and the trick is the flexible use of the wrist."
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He threw this irritating comment and told me to try it. I set up the log, imitated his posture, and struck the log with the dagger.
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"Thud!"
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My strike left only a nail-sized scratch on the log. I felt inwardly embarrassed, my face burning.
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"Use not just your wrist but also your elbow to make a larger semicircle when striking!" Master said in a stern voice. My second attempt failed too. Although I made a larger mark using my elbow, it was still far from successful.
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"Use your shoulder this time and swing it grandly!" commanded Master.
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My third attempt was also a failure. Moreover, the log set on the stump was nowhere to be seen. Did it turn to dust? Not at all! With a thud, it had flown far away.
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"The lack of speed is the problem. You can do it with technique even without strength," Master analyzed the cause of the wood flying off and my failure. But I was only ten years old, no matter how talented or promising, success was impossible. Even with a high-quality iron axe, if you lack strength or technique, you can't split wood, let alone with a small dagger. Unless that dagger was a divine artifact… But Master had demonstrated the impossible right before my eyes, leaving me unable to refute its impossibility. But! Wasn't Master a high-level extraordinary person?
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So, I concluded, 'I failed because I'm just a beginner.' I logically and respectfully communicated this to Master.
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"Master! I'm just a ten-year-old, frail young boy and a beginner, so I can't chop wood with this small dagger yet. Please find another way to chop wood until I gain the strength and technique. Otherwise, we might starve without firewood for cooking."
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I tried to persuade Master with logical and rational reasoning. He pondered for a while, then entered a storeroom at the corner of the cabin. Soon, a series of noises followed from inside – rustling, clanging, banging, and crashing. A strange feeling overtook me, accompanied by a foreboding sense.
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TL/N:
– As for the terms mentioned in this chapter and hereon, I will try my best to adhere to the terms already used in the official manhwa translation by T@pas up until its latest release.
– Bi Ryu-yeon's name is derived from Chinese characters:
飛 (fēi): This means "to fly" or "flying."
流 (liú): This refers to "flow" or "stream."
沇 (yǎn): This is a less common character and can be interpreted as a variant of "沿," which means "along" or "to follow."