There are days like that.
Why wouldn’t there be? You’re definitely awake, not especially tired, not about to fall asleep, yet you don’t want to lift even a finger.
Ordinary people encounter them sometimes; lazy ones encounter them very often.
But I can say this for certain.
“Is it time for me to die? No… I already died once, though?”
For Chung Myung, this kind of phenomenon was very rare. Maybe it was the first time in his life he had faced it.
Lying on the bed and blinking, Chung Myung gently scratched his cheek.
“I don’t think it’s time to die.”
The saying that your qi drains when it’s time to die is nonsense.
Huh? How do I know? Because I’ve died before, obviously.
“Then what’s hurting?”
Chung Myung checked his body here and there.
“Nope…”
No matter how he looked, his body seemed fine. Of course, the scars the damned high priest had carved into his body hadn’t fully healed and poked now and then, but that couldn’t be called a wound. And this young body wasn’t going to be sick and feeble already.
‘Then it’s not the body—did I overexert myself mentally?’
Chung Myung snorted without meaning to.
“Pssh. What did I even do…”
At that moment, countless things flashed through Chung Myung’s mind.
The utterly ruined Mount Hua and the Southern Edge Sect who acted like a fool day after day. The high priest of the dying Demonic Cult who crawled out from who-knows-where, and that old baldhead whose face alone made him boil.
“Huff! Huff! Huff! Huff!”
Chung Myung panted harshly, his face flushed.
“…I did do a lot, didn’t I.”
Looking back, it was understandable.
Since being reborn in the body of that damned beggar, had he ever actually rested?
Of course he drank now and then, fled Mount Hua to enjoy idle leisure, and dallied with side jobs to make money. No one could deny he had lived earnestly doing his best.
“Ah, be quiet.”
Even in his previous life, only his final years were miserable; before that he had a relatively peaceful life. In other words, it was the first time across both lives he’d been this swamped by things.
No matter how much a man of steel Chung Myung was, it would be strange if he didn’t break down at this point.
Maybe that’s why.
‘It’s about time to rest.’
After all, when you die you rest forever—someone who used to mutter “rest while you’re awake?” had reached this thought.
If people don’t rest when they should, they break. Didn’t we see enough during the past wars what happens to those who ignored that fact?
“Right.”
Chung Myung carefully laid his struggling body back on the bed.
There’s a saying: to get a cart that’s stood still rolling again requires three times the force.
‘That means if you force a well-stopped cart to move again you’ll just waste energy.’
Chung Myung made a decision.
Today he would truly rest deeply without worrying about anything.
‘Really do nothing and rest….’
Bang!
With a clatter the door opened and two familiar people appeared.
“No, I mean. You should use your internal qi horizontally there!”
“Does it make any sense to use a horizontal technique against a downward vertical sword strike? Might as well tell them to run forward and roll backward!”
“That’s precisely the point! What’s the essence of the Plum Blossom Sword technique? Illusion! To deceive and bewilder! When your opponent thinks ‘Whoa! a downward strike is coming!’ you deftly bend and crack the back of their head! That’s Mount Hua, that’s the Plum Blossom Sword technique!”
“Hmm. Hard to deny that.”
“How well you deceive, how well you con—it’s the essence of Mount Hua swordsmanship!”
A desperate scream echoed from the distant sky.
Of course, from down on the ground it wasn’t much different. The swordsmanship the ancestors of the great Mount had cultivated with blood and sweat was being reduced to a street hustler’s trick!
‘But it doesn’t exactly seem wrong.’
‘Ah, if you’re so upset, then come back to life.’
What’s swordsmanship but that? If you can beat it down properly, it’s the right swordsmanship.
“But then the sword lacks power. Does it make sense to weaken my blade to deceive someone? Bringing a style even the Evil Sect wouldn’t use!”
“A style even the Evil Sect wouldn’t use? Is that why you got a hole in your side?”
Yoon Jong’s face flushed bright red.
“I-I was flustered! In a scheduled match when that absurd technique appears, who wouldn’t be flustered!”
“Oh, is that so? If you were flustered twice you’d probably lose your head, sahyung.”
“You little—?”
Yoon Jong grabbed Jo Gul by the collar and began shaking him violently.
“Kehk! Words don’t work so now use your fists! Who’s the Evil Sect person now! Who!”
“Shut up! Spouting nonsense! If you tell the disciples useless things, you’ll truly be punished then.”
“No, this is right! This is the proper way!”
Moisture welled up at the corners of Chung Myung’s eyes.
Young disciples argued over the interpretation of a single technique. If Chung Mun hadn’t died and had seen this scene, he would have cried tears of joy, saying, “At last Mount Hua has become a proper sword sect.”
Of course Chung Myung was pleased. Naturally. Those shrill little brats were now shrill young brats with swords—why wouldn’t that please him?
The problem was.
“But…”
“I said it’s horizontal!”
“It’s vertical! Can’t you understand words?”
“Um…”
“They just don’t talk sense! Want to spar once more with me?”
“Hit him! Hit him!”
“Ha! I told you exactly what I’d use—how could you fail to block it? If we spar again I’ll just get beaten!”
“That’s why I said let’s spar!”
“Excuse me?”
“Why!”
“Why!”
Yoon Jong and Jo Gul, still grabbing collars, glared at Chung Myung with axe-like eyes.
“Um… I’m truly sorry to have disturbed such a rare constructive conversation recently.”
“What are you saying?”
“Didn’t you take your medicine?”
“…Why are you doing this in my room of all places? You could’ve done it at the practice yard.”
How far is it from the practice yard to here—why drag it all the way to make a racket? Are these bastards using the sword argument as an excuse because they hate seeing me sprawled out?
“What a ridiculous thing to say.”
Yoon Jong looked at Chung Myung with an incredulous expression.
“If it’s just us, no conclusion; but when you’re here, a conclusion is reached.”
“…”
“So what do you think? Is it horizontal or vertical?”
A deep sigh escaped Chung Myung’s mouth.
“…Before asking me, you sahyung should try to come to an answer yourselves.”
“We tried! We even asked sasuk!”
“What did he say?”
“Well…”
Just then, bickering voices came from beyond the open door.
“You need power when you strike downward!”
“You’ll get a hole in your side. Strong but foolish.”
“If you strike properly you don’t give them time to counter.”
“Impossible with that skill.”
Baek Cheon and Yu Yiseol bickered as they entered the room. Chung Myung stared at the ceiling with tired eyes.
‘The distributions differ, so why are people all the same?’
Should he be moved by this bright sect continuing a healthy debate, or lament the recklessness of these immature ones fighting over nothing?
“So, Chung Myung! What do you think?”
“Isn’t five strikes appropriate?”
“Huh? Five strikes?”
When Chung Myung grabbed his sword like lightning and leapt up, Jo Gul and Yoon Jong grabbed him faster than the lightning.
“No! Is this even something to beat a person over?”
“Who decides that? Why do you decide?”
“Hey, there’s such a thing as common sense! Common sense!”
“Common sense? Common-sense people would barge into someone’s room where they’re resting and make a racket? Even the Demonic Cult wouldn’t do this!”
“Well, the Demonic Cult doesn’t know your room.”
“Huh?”
Chung Myung flinched. That sounded awfully true.
“And this isn’t something to be angry about.”
“Why would a sahyung decide that? Shouldn’t I be the one to decide?”
“Tsk tsk.”
Jo Gul looked at Chung Myung with utmost confidence.
“Their paths differ, but Confucius also said it: ‘Learning without thought is labor lost’—‘thinking without learning’… ‘thinking without’…”
“Where is the curse in that!”
“Ack!”
Jo Gul, kicked by Yoon Jong, snapped and turned to him.
“What curse? It’s Confucius’s words!”
“Confu—cius?”
“Yes. ‘Learning without thought is labor lost, thinking without learning is perilous’… what was it? I knew this.”
Jo Gul looked at the other disciples as if exasperated. But Baek Cheon, Yoon Jong, and Yu Yiseol immediately avoided Jo Gul’s gaze at the mention of Confucius.
“Confucius… yes. A good man.”
“Personally, I don’t have any particular acquaintance with him.”
“I lost my father early.”
“No, why is your father topic coming up here?”
Jo Gul thumped his chest.
“Even if this is where Taoists live, still. Not one person in here knows Confucius’s sayings? Really?”
The three whistled awkwardly.
“Set others aside, does it make sense that even sasuk doesn’t know? You’re from a notable family, after all.”
“In the Southern Edge Sect you don’t learn that. We’re busy mastering the sword—why learn Confucius’s sayings you have no ties to…”
“Is acquaintance the issue here!”
Just as Jo Gul shouted at their ignorance,
“‘Learning without thought is labor lost; thinking without learning is perilous.’”
“…Huh?”
“If you learn without contemplation you gain nothing, and if you contemplate without learning you fall into danger.”
“…Ehh?”
“Right?”
Everyone’s eyes shook as if an earthquake had struck.
They weren’t surprised that someone in this ignorant(?) Mount Hua knew Confucius’s words.
What was surprising was that the one who said it was none other than Chung Myung.
“Ah, no. How do you know that?”
“Huh?”
Even if a dragon rose and heaven and earth turned upside down before them, they probably wouldn’t be this shocked.
“Is this really the end of times?”
“Shouldn’t we convert to religious groups?”
“This is a Taoist hall, you lunatic.”
Coming to his senses, Jo Gul asked again.
“Hey. You’re said to be from the beggar class, right? How do you know this saying?”
“How do I know? I picked it up. As if I actually studied it.”
Jo Gul tilted his head.
“Where would you pick this up? You weren’t begging outside a village school or anything.”
The others nodded repeatedly at that.
“Right.”
“…Strange.”
“Those ignorant enough not to know Confucius’s words, shut up.”
“Ahem, ahem.”
Chung Myung snickered.
‘Why wouldn’t I know.’
Because I’d heard it drilled into my ears so many times.
It’s a detail most would miss, but the two closest to him in his past life were from the most prestigious of families. And his only close friend was also from the Tang Family.
Living half his life among ink-stained scholars, he learned things whether he wanted to or not—like the Confucian sayings just mentioned.
“Well, well.”
The four, especially Jo Gul, tilted their heads and stared hard at Chung Myung.
“Isn’t this guy a bit weird? Every now and then he knows truly strange things.”
“The strange things aren’t limited to that, though.”
“…Saying he knows a bit of Confucius doesn’t mean it’s impossible.”
“No. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Huh?”
“Is Chung Myung someone who would teach others to learn?”
“No.”
“Isn’t that so! For him to recall what he heard indicates he lived in an environment where such phrases were uttered routinely—almost as if etched into his being.”
“…Huh?”
Jo Gul narrowed his eyes.
“Come to think of it, before becoming a beggar wasn’t he probably from an incredibly prestigious family? He might not remember, but perhaps he’s actually the descendant of a great house.”
“Why would the descendant of a great house become a beggar, you fool!”
“It could happen. Where—like that Yu family in Shandong?”
“The Yu family of Shandong? Supposedly producing chancellors for generations? I’ve heard of that. A famous clan.”
Baek Cheon, seeing a story he at least knew of, brightened and joined the conversation.
“Yes. That family, now ruined. If he’s a descendant of such a house, living as a beggar is understandable.”
“…Right. It’s understandable. But there’s another problem.”
“Another problem?”
“His character isn’t understandable, though.”
“Ah.”
“No matter how ruined a noble family is, its blood should carry at least some basic dignity.”
“I suppose so.”
“What’s ‘I suppose so’, you man!”
Chung Myung kicked Jo Gul hard in the backside.
“There’s a limit to slander! What? A noble family?”
“…Isn’t that not slander?”
“You said ‘descendant of a ruined noble family’! That’s slander then!”
“Well, that’s true.”
“Agreed.”
Chung Myung twisted his face mercilessly.
“To begin with, whether it’s the Yu family of Shanxi or Shandong—why bring in a family I’ve never heard of and drag in someone else’s ancestors…”
“You’ve never heard of it? The Yu family of Shandong is such a famous clan.”
“You said they were utterly ruined.”
“That may be so, but…”
“Tsk tsk tsk. They should have been careful when they were prosperous. Those noble clans never think they could fall. No doubt when they were doing well they got cocky and boasted.”
“What made you so twisted, kid?”
“That’s just how the world works. Anyway, the Yu family of Shanxi… the Yu family of Shanxi… I feel like I’ve heard that a lot. A Yu family in Shanxi. Completely ruined…”
Chung Myung’s head snapped straight up.
“The Yu family in Shanxi?”
“Not Shanxi, Shandong.”
The Yu family of Shandong? I really feel like I’ve heard that. Shandong Yu… Shandong… in that Shandong is…
“Oh?”
Chung Myung looked at Jo Gul with a stunned expression.
“Uh, there…”
A smiling face suddenly rose vividly in Chung Myung’s mind.
Uh….
Sect leader sahyung?
You said the sahyung’s family went bankrupt?