When Jang Geon dropped Mountain-Climbing Bear, the warriors watching him began to drip approval from their eyes—thick and obvious. From his side, it was a little much. Sad Wolf’s bright, shining stare was the hardest to meet.
Red Wind, who had carried Mountain-Climbing Bear into the shade and laid him down, was a little different. His face had gone grave when he asked:
“Your main weapon is the sword, right? If you’d fought with it, Mountain-Climbing Bear would be dead…”
Jang Geon, who was no slouch with his fists, didn’t bother to deny it. If he’d drawn a blade, they wouldn’t have traded two or three passes. And at Red Wind’s next words, the other warriors’ faces hardened.
“The riffraff I saw down in the village weren’t martial artists. Are real martial artists all like you?”
Jang Geon looked at their stiffening faces and smiled.
“I don’t know what degree of ‘real’ you mean, but I’m not a common hand.”
“Then the martial artists that Central Plains man brings will be easier than you?”
“…No one man can be an absolute yardstick for the martial world. And you can’t slice life-and-death sword work into neat ranks to begin with. Still—sure. Roughly speaking.”
Red Wind folded his arms and rubbed his chin.
“Either way, borrowing a spirit’s strength to fight head-on should be the last resort.”
“That earlier—was that a spirit’s strength?”
At Jang Geon’s question, Red Wind grinned.
“Central Plains men aren’t the only ones who use mysterious power.”
Jang Geon tipped his head.
“Didn’t see anything like that from people in Celestial Port.”
“Not every tribe can borrow from the spirits. It’s not a power that’s granted lightly.”
He clearly didn’t want to get specific. Jang Geon recalled the rebound he’d felt when he hammered inner energy into the Bear, the tug underfoot, and the brief read he’d skimmed through the man’s channels. He didn’t know the finer collateral points, but whatever flowed cleanly along the Twelve Meridians had felt like inner energy. And yet he hadn’t sensed a dantian. Odd.
If they wanted to keep it close, he had no need to pry. He already had a martial path he’d carved with effort and ability—and would keep carving. Knowing more would be nice, but he had plenty to realize without it.
Maybe because he seemed to let it go, Red Wind asked, almost regretful:
“Curious? Want me to tell you?”
Before Jang Geon could answer that look, Sad Wolf slipped in from the side.
“To use a spirit’s power, first you have to meet a spirit. And when your chest is opened with their help, you can take in the power of the spirits and the ancestors that fill the world—”
“You! Quiet!”
She pushed her lip out when Red Wind barked.
“What? You can’t meet them unless they themselves allow it anyway.”
“And you just blab that out?”
“Weren’t you about to tell him?”
“I—well… it’s not like you can meet them just because you want to, like you said…”
Jang Geon watched them check his face while they went back and forth. So the tribe had a secret. But to his eye, it wasn’t the thing to worry about right now.
He spoke.
“Let’s do what we came to do.”
“…What we came to do?”
He picked up the sword he’d set aside.
“You asked me to teach you how to handle martial artists. Let’s do that.”
Red Wind and Sad Wolf sobered. So did the rest, who’d been smirking at the squabble.
Jang Geon belted the sword and took distance from the clustered warriors. About one jang.
“The most dangerous moment with a martial artist is the very first pass. Inner energy, muscle, and sharp sense all gather into one burst. So when two trained fighters face off one on one, a lot of matches end in a single exchange. Life and death split by a sheet of paper.”
He stood off at that distance and looked across the gathered warriors.
“For most schools, that first-pass distance is this—give or take three or four steps forward and back. There are arts that start farther or closer, but those aren’t the usual cases, so we’ll leave them.”
Every warrior tightened arms across chests or hardened their gaze.
“The speed Mountain-Climbing Bear came at me—that’s a ‘can-cut’ swordsman’s first-pass speed. After that, things slow, but that first strike is that fast. I’ll show you once.”
He turned toward a tree at the edge of the clearing. Drew one breath—and flashed a white arc.
“Oh…”
“That fast?”
The arc snipped clean through a trunk a shade thinner than a man’s waist. With the tree listing behind him, Jang Geon slid the blade home and faced them again.
“The speed is about like that. Power will vary by sword.”
Now their faces weren’t just serious—they were grim. None of them felt sure they could evade that opening cut.
“How do you deal with it? Somewhere else, you might be in trouble. In this valley, it’s not hard. Draw them into the forest.”
Their grim looks turned puzzled. Red Wind asked for them:
“What do you mean?”
“A martial artist’s first exchange is strong—but very straight and simple. When blades are already in contact, a thousand martial logics bloom from tiny angles and minute motions. At separation, the truth is it’s a line. So draw them into trees and block the line.”
Red Wind seemed to catch on at once.
“Seal the strongest blow—use trunks as shields. And then?”
Jang Geon rolled a shoulder.
“Well. For the riffraff, the spirit strength I saw will be plenty.”
“…And if they aren’t riffraff?”
His eyes cooled. He looked from Red Wind to Sad Wolf to the other warriors—and to Mountain-Climbing Bear, who was over there, shaking his head and pushing himself up.
“Then you stake your life and hope the scale tips a hair your way.”
****
With Jang Geon’s advice, the valley tribe laid an ambush in pairs along the path up to the village, falling back from curve to curve. When the Central Plains men came, they’d be hit while threading the woods. Others worked the trees laying traps. The tribe’s warriors were shockingly light-footed and quick—like they were flying through the forest.
Jang Geon, meanwhile, went back to the stump by the tents and sat again. He watched Sad Wolf gather a bow and arrows.
She cocked her head at the gaze.
“What?”
“You looked the youngest of the warriors.”
Hands on her hips, she flashed a grin.
“Looking down on me because I’m young? I’m the fastest in the tribe after my uncle. Those martial artists will chase my tail through the woods and catch an arrow for it.”
It was plausible. Because of his past life Jang Geon had studied lightness work over distance, but most martial artists trained to squeeze a few more steps of speed from their footwork rather than to run long.
Paradoxically, by studying long-distance lightness, Jang Geon had reached a higher stride. The strain of running far lifted the short, sharp step-work instead. That was why he’d first found some confidence in his own method.
“More than that—aren’t you really curious?”
“About what?”
“The spirits. Other tribes wonder how we do it. At least our tribe has never told a Central Plains person.”
Jang Geon smiled at her odd expression.
“Then are you going to?”
“Mm… I think… even if I don’t explain, the spirit will probably come to you first. And open your chest. Then you could be called a warrior, too.”
“Open the chest… what does that mean?”
Sad Wolf started to explain, then closed her mouth like she’d bumped a wall. She scratched her head for a long moment, then gave an awkward smile.
“Opening your chest is… opening your chest, I guess…? Honestly, I don’t know. You can only say it’s open.”
Jang Geon shook his head lightly and held out a hand.
“Mind if I look?”
“Look? How?”
“Give me your hand.”
She hesitated, then offered it. He took her wrist and felt the pulse. A remarkably fine, thin current let him follow the flow through her channels.
“Hm.”
With that read, he could grasp what she meant by an opened chest. Her Shanzhong point—dead center of the chest—was bright and open. Not just a passage for qi, but blown through like a hole, drawing in and breathing out nature’s energy with her breath.
What rose in his mind as he traced it was “middle dantian.” A word that barely survived even among Taoist-rooted sects here. A state that pulls the vast energy of nature at will and uses it as your own.
At the same time he grasped that this flung-open Shanzhong was impossible for him. He already had a dantian and stored inner energy in it. If he opened a hole like hers—however that form was achieved—his inner energy would slowly bleed away through that gaping channel.
If it bled off, everything he’d built would be for nothing. That wouldn’t do. He dropped the thought cleanly. He hadn’t helped them with any of this in mind to begin with.
“…Well? See anything?”
He could see her watching, cautious, reading his face. He let go of her wrist and answered offhand:
“Not much. And from now on, if a martial artist reaches for your wrist, don’t let them take it.”
“Why?”
“A very small number of masters can seize the wrist pulse and shut you down.”
“Then you’re one of those masters?”
“I’m a little different. Unlike them, I taught myself.”
Sad Wolf tilted her head and laughed.
“Isn’t that even more impressive? Anyway, don’t let anyone grab my wrist. Except you.”
“…Why am I the exception?”
She gave him a teasing grin, snatched up the quiver, and darted into the trees. Watching her go, Jang Geon ordered his thoughts.
That hole in the Shanzhong wasn’t without profit. From the way Mountain-Climbing Bear had moved in the attack, and from Sad Wolf’s channels just now, he’d found a thread. Even thinking only of an opened channel that yanked qi hard in a moment, a lot of ideas came at once.
What lay at the end of it would take more work. But his martial path had always started from small clues and imagination. He could allow himself a satisfied smile.
He stayed several more days in the tribe’s village.
Red Wind and One-Eye Cloud, realizing he meant not only to advise but to fight alongside them, thanked him openly. Red Wind immediately pushed on him all the coins he’d saved, on top of the silver he’d been given.
One-Eye Cloud said he’d make it so Jang Geon could meet a spirit and held rites day and night in his tent. When the spirit gave no answer, he held rites for good fortune in the days ahead.
Mountain-Climbing Bear, who had taken the big shot from him, later came to thank him. He was far more easygoing than his first impression. He told Jang to call him by a Central Plains-style name—Mountain Bear—and gifted him a fine deerskin. Jang Geon didn’t refuse. Tribal hides fetched a decent price among Central Plains folk.
On the fourth day—by then the path up from the lowlands was webbed with traps—Sad Wolf came sprinting out of the forest alone from the stakeout with Red Wind.
“They’re here! That Central Plains man is coming up with a pack of men with swords!”
“Why are you alone?”
“Uncle stayed to keep eyes on them. Come on!”
At her shout the village snapped to. The tribe’s warriors, already prepared, slipped out fast. One-Eye Cloud would lead the old, the children, the sick, and the rest deep into the valley.
Now the warriors’ task was to use forest, traps, and their own hands to drive out the Central Plains men waving their crooked contract. At the very least, they’d make sure no one ever thought of crossing the valley with steel again.
Jang Geon poured on his step-work and ran to the front. He meant to meet the Central Plains men before the tribe and confirm something for himself.