Master emerged with a pitch-black iron axe and handed it to me, instructing me to chop the wood. Absentmindedly receiving the axe, I nearly dislocated my shoulder under its weight. The black axe was absurdly heavy. I asked Master how much it weighed.
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"It's just about 100 geun (approximately 60 kg)," he replied nonchalantly, but to me, it was a bolt from the blue. "100 geun? What kind of axe is this! 100 geun equals 1,600 nyang, 16,000 don, 160,000 pun, and 1,600,000 ri (1.6 million ri). To elaborate, 1 geun is 16 liang, 1 liang is 10 don, 1 don is 10 pun, and 1 pun is 10 ri. How can I lift 1.6 million ri with this frail body?"
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I tried to evoke sympathy from Master, filling my eyes with as much moisture as possible. However, my efforts were in vain. "Don't just spout numbers. With effort and perseverance, humans can do anything. Do you understand? It's all about effort and perseverance. And this axe isn't ordinary – it's a living legend!" Master passionately lectured, his eyes too earnest to be ignored. His passion was palpable, though unfortunately, it came with a lot of spit. I urged him to tell me the legend immediately. His story went as follows:
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According to the tale passed down in our sect, this axe bears a sad and poignant legend. The unnamed founding master of our sect once accidentally dropped the axe into a pond called Gold Furnace while chopping wood. As the founding master pondered how to retrieve the axe, the water began to bubble, and a venerable old man with a celestial aura and dazzling light appeared in the middle of the pond. He was a hermit of divine stature, effortlessly standing on the water's surface. In his hands, he held a golden axe, a silver axe, and an iron axe.
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Introducing himself as the guardian spirit of the mountain, he presented the glittering gold axe first, asking abruptly, "Is this your axe?" The founding master firmly replied, "No." The hermit then offered the silver axe, asking the same question. The founding master, ever honest, again said, "No." Finally, the spirit presented the rusted iron axe, asking, "Surely, this rusted iron axe is yours?" Just as Master began to affirm, an incident occurred. The spirit, who had been floating effortlessly, suddenly lost his balance, flailed his arms, and toppled backward into the water, disappearing in an instant with a gurgling sound. It was a terribly embarrassing moment for the spirit, a major incident that crushed his dignity.
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As the founding master took a deep breath to calm his bewildered mind, a red aura began to rise from the pond. Sensing something was amiss, he immediately dove into the pond. The axe was essential for his livelihood. Gold Furnace was much deeper and wider than expected. Deep underwater, he saw a small hut resembling a cottage at the bottom, likely the foolish spirit's home. Circling the house, he found the spirit lying in a sprawled '大' shape next to it.
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The intense red aura was erupting from the mountaintop spirit's head, and at that spot, the founding master's iron axe was terribly embedded, causing the bright red aura to spew out. He then concluded that the spirit was no longer of this world.
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'Was the spirit originally a human being then?'
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I wondered briefly, but Master paid no heed to my simple curiosity and continued his story. The spirit's death was probably due to overload. The founding master's iron axe was at least ten times heavier than a regular axe, exceeding the weight that the spirit's mystical power could withstand. The spirit, holding the heavy iron axe along with the gold and silver axes, eventually sank into the water under its weight.
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Worse was what happened next. While sinking, the iron axe, without any awareness, lodged itself into the spirit's head, leading to his death. The founding master referred to this as a 'safety accident.' Feeling pity, he buried the spirit in the clear, scenic bottom of the lake.
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After chanting a prayer for the spirit's peaceful afterlife, the founding master explored the spirit's house, which, intriguingly, was dry and air-filled inside, seemingly protected by some magical barrier. Inside, he found several golden and silver axes besides the usual furniture.
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Originally, the founding master wasn't interested in wealth. However, having played the role of a geomancer and a mortician in burying the spirit, he thought it was fair to take a fee. Since the deceased no longer needed wealth, he believed it was better to use these axes for the world's benefit, as the spirit would have wanted. After these deep and detailed thoughts, he took several golden and silver axes along with the iron axe out of the pond.
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I asked how he managed to bring all those axes from the depths of Gold Furnace Pond. Master replied that I would naturally understand once I advanced in the Flying Lightning Knife techniques. Annoyed by his evasive answer, I realized I had no choice but to learn these advanced techniques to solve the mystery.
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There's a compelling side story that the founding master under-reported the number of golden and silver axes he found to evade taxes. It's also rumored that he used the money from selling these axes to establish the current Flying Lightning School (Biroe-Moon).
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Later, Master referred to this incident as the 'Gold Furnace Axe Rampage Incident.' After the event, no fish or aquatic plants grew in Gold Furnace Pond. People started calling it Ghost Pond, as a spirit hauntingly wandered around the pond at night, crying, "Thief, return my belongings!"
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After hearing the story, I didn't scoff or smirk. The Gold Furnace legend was intricately woven and impressively constructed, not typical of the solemn yet slightly exaggerated lore of a martial sect. It was entertaining and witty. However, I remained silent, not daring to speak carelessly under Master's sharp gaze.
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Eventually, I had to chop wood with this legendary axe. It took over a month of special training to lift the axe and four months to chop wood decently. It was a year before I could chop wood smoothly, and another six months to do it at the right speed and with proper technique. I had to use this legendary axe for nearly 1.5 years before I could chop wood with the dagger.
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The Terror of the Steel Laundry Beater
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Along with chopping wood, Master also taught me how to do laundry. About a thirty-minute walk from our thatched hut was a clear stream. Master took me there and handed me a smelly pile of laundry, instructing me to wash it all. I held back my complaints. After all, I was a disciple. "Fine, I'll do the laundry for my poor master."
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"Fine, I'll do it," I responded obediently.
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"Why such a long face? Got a problem? If not, take this!" He then handed me a pitch-black stick. It was as thick as an adult's forearm and slightly curved like a crescent moon.
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"What is this, master?" I asked, seeking to understand the incomprehensible, a practice good for intellectual development.
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"Can't you see? It's a laundry beater. You'll see its necessity when you use it. Hurry up and take it, or your arms will get sore!" He said.
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Reluctantly, I took the laundry beater. "Ugh!" Like the axe, the laundry beater was ridiculously heavy. It was made of steel. I nearly dislocated my shoulder holding it.
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"Master! Why is this laundry beater so absurdly heavy? How much does it weigh?" I yelled, my face turning red. Master's distant voice barely reached my ears.
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"What's heavy about it? It's only 50 geun (about 30 kg). Just half the weight of the iron axe."
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"50 geun? That's 800,000 ri! My fragile body is already overwhelmed by the heavy iron axe. How can I do laundry with this monstrous beater? I'll end up with rags, not clean clothes!" I shouted, almost out of breath.
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"Stop whining about numbers! Ordinary methods won't suffice for laundry, or you'll end up with rags. You need to learn 'gentleness' within strength to properly do laundry with such a heavy tool. Only then can you properly wash clothes. Besides, this method strengthens your shoulders and wrists. It's a triple effect. This practice, called 'Secret Method Laundry,' is an official training method passed down in our Biroe-Moon*. Stop complaining and start washing!"
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Master tried to persuade me with all kinds of flowery language. It seemed excessively dramatic for convincing someone to do laundry, utterly mismatched with the situation. What could I say against it being part of my training? I had no choice but to accept my fate. I felt pathetic and resentful toward Master. Once resigned to my fate, I asked Master about the laundry beater.
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"Master! Does this steel laundry beater have a legend like the Gold Furnace axe? Like, did Master use it to kill a fairy who came to bathe in the stream and then rob her?" I asked innocently with bright eyes.
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Master replied curtly, "No such story has been passed down in our school. If you really want such a legend, create it yourself. Anyway, stop such foolish thoughts and focus on the laundry."
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With those words, Master left the washing area.
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At first, the steel laundry beater was so heavy that I had to use both hands to hold it, despite needing one hand to hold the clothes and the other to wield the beater. Moreover, my foolish master only rambled on without actually teaching me the crucial technique of 'gentleness', and then he just left. Consequently, I couldn't do the laundry properly. Eventually, it was hard to tell if the clothes had turned into rags in a dream or if rags had become clothes.
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That day, I returned home and was severely beaten by Master, witnessing a lot of bloodshed. It's a painful memory I don't want to recall; even thinking about it now makes my thumb and index finger throb. All night, I had to sew the ragged clothes back together. I suggested it would be faster and more beneficial to buy new ones, but my master, a dictator and tyrant, didn't have the generosity to heed the advice of a loyal subject. He only spouted the nonsense that sewing helps develop fine motor skills. Nonetheless, I had to sew, and those rags truly became a testament to my blood, sweat, and tears. I named them 'Mangyeolbok', meaning 'Clothes Sewn a Thousand Times.'
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Wearing the Mangyeolbok, I continued to do laundry by the stream every day. A month later, I finally managed to hold the clothes with my left hand while washing. It took about thirty nights to be able to hold the steel laundry beater with one hand. I alternated weekly between using my right and left hands to hold the beater.
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The Mangyeolbok served as my practice partner. A thousand knots became a hundred, a hundred became ten, ten became one, and one knot eventually became none. It took about a year and a half for this transformation.
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From then on, I could wash clothes comfortably and naturally, incorporating softness within strength. By that time, my sewing skills had already reached a miraculous level.