“To Hubei.
Hubei Province. Centered on Wuhan, with the Yangtze River flowing through its heart, this land is known among martial artists as the territory of the Wudang Sect.
Wudang Sect!
A school founded by the era’s greatest martial artist and Daoist, Jang Sambong, it has grown into one of the preeminent forces in the Nine Hidden Sects.
“Senior Disciple Mubung, if the Wudang Sect were ever to fall, what do you think would spark that downfall?”
The Wudang Sect’s secular disciple, Jang Mubung, stared at the youth before him in disbelief. The question was so absurd that he was rendered speechless—astonished rather than angry.
“Are you mocking me?”
“Not at all. Just look at you—your bearing alone stirs the heart with grandeur. How magnificent you are to behold.”
“Th--that’s… right?”
“If such a place were to collapse, would it not mean the ruin of all Central Plains? I only wondered aloud. My apologies if it offends you.”
The youth bowed politely. Though Jang Mubung bristled at the twisted compliment, he kept his disapproval from his tone as he turned back to his five-spice roast pork.
“Ahem. So tell me, what else do you wish to ask? Do you seek to join the Wudang Sect?”
“No. I already belong to a school. I travel the Central Plains to take in its vast natural beauty for myself—to cultivate my spirit. My hobby is to seek out a single exquisite flower in the wilderness.”
Jang Mubung restrained his urge to lecture the insolent youth. It rankled to have someone younger feed off him under the guise of information fees, but chastising him here, calling him ‘young man before elders,’ felt vaguely wrong.
“A flower… a fine pastime. You said you came from Anhui? That land has its share of breathtaking sights.”
“Breathtaking indeed. Between the rolling hills, waterfalls tumble in graceful arcs that draw spontaneous exclamations. Each time the spray drenched me, my body trembled with delight. Heh heh.”
For some reason, Jang Mubung thought, There’s madness behind those eyes. He refocused and lifted his chopsticks. The costly dishes the youth had purchased needed to be eaten before cooling.
“So you wish to view Mount Wudang?”
“That’s right. I long to climb to its summit and gaze from the highest peak—”
The youth pointed toward the path up Mount Wudang, his expression faltering. At every chokepoint, Wudang sent guards to bar travelers.
“They’ve sealed off Mount Wudang? What do you mean?”
“Can’t you see? The mountain is under lockdown. All the Daoists and disciples there refuse to descend, and the passes are shut tight to anyone climbing.”
“And why is that?”
“Hmm, there’s no point hiding it: an epidemic has broken out.”
“An epidemic?”
The youth’s eyes went wide. Jang Mubung shook his head bitterly.
“A pity you came for flowers. Mount Wudang is stricken with tianhua (smallpox).”
Raised pustules erupt, body fevered by high heat, and in severe cases, death follows. The youth set down his teacup and gaped.
“Smallpox?”
“Exactly.”
The mountain’s blooms spread festering boils across human flesh.
“In this day and age, smallpox? What horror is this?”
I rented a room in the inn overlooking Mount Wudang and flopped onto the bed. I had come all the way to Hubei just to climb Wudang, but with the passes sealed, there was no way up or down.
‘Even a top-tier master could fall prey to smallpox if they slip up.’
The plague once halted even the fiercest duel between orthodox and demonic forces. While first-rate martial artists could expel the pestilential qi with meditation or internal art, second-rate warriors and below fell ill without exception.
‘The Martial Alliance leader and the Heavenly Demon caught it together and lay incapacitated.’
Two champions, destined to duel for supremacy, were felled by the same contagion. The plague, not sect or heresy, brought the Great Righteous-Evil War to its close.
Sown by the Blood Cult.
‘Their mark was the signal for the Blood Cult’s ascent.’
The Blood Cult Master intentionally spread the plague, twisting the bodies of the Alliance leader and the Heavenly Demon. Reduced to seventy percent of their strength, they realized too late that righteous and demonic forces must unite against the Blood Cult. But by then, the Blood Cult’s prodigy, Hyeolgwangsi, had grown powerful enough to defeat both.
At the moment they understood, it was already too late. The Alliance leader and the Heavenly Demon fell to Hyeolgwangsi.
“If only the Ninth-Heaven Maiden hadn’t appeared, Hyeolgwangsi would be unrivaled!”
Hyeolgwangsi died too. In true jianghu fashion, a black-haired woman suddenly appeared—she surpassed the Alliance leader, the Heavenly Demon, and Hyeolgwangsi, attaining a demigod-like mastery of martial art.
— This is impossible! To have someone like you show up at the last moment! Who are you?!
— Ninth-Heaven Maiden.
Every art Hyeolgwangsi had stolen shattered before her. The Blood Cult Master was beheaded first, freeing Hyeolgwangsi from control—but even then, Hyeolgwangsi charged the Ninth-Heaven Maiden in madness and was ultimately slain.
Unless one is a peerless paragon, one might suspect the world itself cheats. Even so, dying young of disease is a fate none can escape.
‘Still, I will not be deterred.’
I infused my eyes with qi. My reflection in the window showed pupils slit vertically, as if I viewed the world from a step beyond.
‘This place isn’t safe either.’
I perceived the deathly qi drifting through the air. Breathing deeply would not infect me, but proximity to the sick made contagion almost certain.
“Ffff—ha.”
I bolstered my yang qi through my nasal passages. My body glowed with fever, but the air scorching through my nostrils felt oddly refreshing.
“All contagions have pathogens. Most can be neutralized by heat.”
‘Does that help me? But no harm in mimicking it.’
I donned a mask as the Blood Cult Master once did. The black covering hid my face and filtered out the lethal qi with each inhalation.
“Heh heh, here I go.”
The flower I now seek is the woman later known as the Taiji Sword Empress.
Not a Wudang disciple, but famed for discovering a secret manual attributed to Jang Sambong and claiming her place among the Central Plains’ top five swordsmen.
Master of the Four-Blade Sword Art, founded on the Taiji Hui-Sword form.
Sa Gong-hee.
‘I wonder how she looked as a child.’
Scars marred her face horribly, as if she were born a woman by cruel accident. Yet beneath her gray robe, her figure rivaled even Peng Yuwol’s beauty….
“…Huh?”
Smallpox. Sa Gong-hee. The plague. Skin.
“Impossible…?”
“Aiya, elder! We have nothing to do with this disease!”
A gaunt middle-aged man clung to a Wudang guard, tearfully pleading. Behind him, two women trembled and embraced, praying for deliverance.
“Even if you’re innocent, that matters not. You’ll stay here until this passes!”
“Why? We merely came to sightsee!”
“Grr…! With an epidemic on the mountain, how can anyone who’s stayed up here descend?”
The guard’s demand was reasonable. The family traveled to receive Mount Wudang’s spiritual aura; they bore no blame for the outbreak. They simply visited as the plague began.
“This area is quarantined! We cannot leave either!”
“Then why imprison us like criminals?”
“That’s…!”
The guards had no answer. They too only guessed at the full reason, not having been told.
“Do you think we’re the ones who spread the disease?!”
But the man was no fool. Though slight in build, he was a local official, renowned for his intellect.
“I am the magistrate of Ichang Prefecture! If you refuse to let us leave, you’ll answer for it!”
“Never heard of you! Silence! If you carry the plague out, you’ll lose more than your office—you’ll lose your life!”
“Just tell us what’s happening!”
“We already sent a dispatch!”
The family’s urgency mounted. Doubt gnawed: was their report truly received?
“Then let at least my daughter go free!”
“My daughter and family too! Damn it, why do you insist on taking only my daughter?!”
Clang, clang.
The iron grate shook violently under the man’s grip.
As if criminals, the family found themselves locked in Wudang’s prison. They didn’t know why the sect had a jail, only that escape was impossible. The iron padlock at the gate was too hefty to pick.
To leave, only a first-rate master could cut the bars with a sword, or a sect elder could intervene.
“Please, at least my daughter! Let her go!”
“No! There’s nothing wrong with her?!”
Frustrated by repeated denial, the man blurted out:
“My daughter... There is no place for someone of her station!”
“Husband!”
His wife cried out as he faltered. Then a hooked-nose elder in fine robes entered the cell.
“What’s this about?” he asked.
“Elder Hyeonta,” the guard saluted.
Hyeonta swept his gaze over the family, then swept his finger in the air, unleashing a whisper of wind.
Ssshh!
Frosted air swirled in the cell. The daughter’s veil slipped, revealing her face.
“Why hide her face so completely?” Hyeonta asked.
“She… she’s terribly shy,” her mother stammered.
“Even the slightest touch brings tears,” her father added.
Hyeonta struck the air again; the mother hurried to cover her daughter, but the wind tore away the veil.
“Ah!”
All froze at the sight of pustules blooming on her cheeks. Unlike common pox marks, these were unmistakably tianhua.
“Ugh!”
The guards stepped back, covering their mouths. One grabbed a torch and waved it frantically.
“No excuse, then,” Hyeonta said, shaking his head. “Do you think it safe to let her mingle outside?”
“She isn’t infected! It’s just a skin condition that’s looked like smallpox!”
“Spare me your lies! In these times, deceit won’t pass. No infected may descend. It’s the least we owe the people of Hubei!”
“But we’re different! Please, let us go—my daughter will catch this disease just by staying here!”
The man’s desperate plea made Hyeonta’s temples throb. How to deal with someone denying contagion yet asking to mingle?
Better safe than sorry.
“Guards! Reinforce the bars so none can slip through!”
Creak.
Sa Gong-hee’s family was locked away.
And outside the cell…
“Sss, why’s it so light?”
“Damn, I hope we’re not catching it too.”
The guards watching the cell began scratching their arms one by one.