The Woo Sword Vies for Supremacy
Woo Geom-san looked around with a curious expression.
The unfamiliar sight of large buildings and high walls standing in neat rows struck him as novel.
Shops lined both sides of a wide avenue, and countless people came and went, haggling over goods.
This was the first sizable city he had entered since joining Baek Ho-yang.
The county of Pingli, as this place was called, possessed a scale that dwarfed every village they had passed through.
The sight of civilization after so long seemed to melt away every ounce of fatigue he had built up getting here.
Baek Ho-yang smiled and asked.
"You look pleased."
"Hm? Yes!"
Woo Geom-san answered with a sheepish expression.
For a Daoist like Baek Ho-yang, the bustle of a city was nothing but an annoyance. But for Woo Geom-san, who had been born and raised in the large estate of Woo Manor and the surrounding town, this kind of scenery was comfortingly familiar.
It felt like coming home after a long absence, and his spirits lifted.
Baek Ho-yang understood how Woo Geom-san felt.
A Daoist like himself and a boy raised in a city were different by their very nature.
A Daoist disliked the commotion of the secular world, but ordinary people drew the strength to go on living from bustling scenes exactly like this.
It was not a question of better or worse—they were simply very different.
Baek Ho-yang said to Woo Geom-san.
"Before we find an inn, let us stop at a cloth shop first."
"A cloth shop?"
"Yes. There is something I need to buy."
"There is a cloth shop right there."
Woo Geom-san pointed to a sizable store across the avenue.
It flew a banner reading "Jang Family Cloth Shop."
A cloth shop was, as the name suggested, a place that bought and sold fabric and garments.
Bolts of fabric—the raw material for clothing—were piled high at the shop's entrance.
Without bothering to browse further, the two walked straight into the Jang Family Cloth Shop.
"Welcome."
A shop clerk greeted them as they entered.
Baek Ho-yang spoke to the clerk.
"Where do you keep your ready-made garments?"
"The garments are in the back. What sort of clothing are you looking for?"
The clerk answered courteously.
Something about the air around Baek Ho-yang told him this was no ordinary man.
Having dealt with countless customers, the clerk instinctively recognized that Baek Ho-yang was not a common person.
"Clothing for myself and my grandson. Something sturdy and easy to move in, if possible."
"We have many garments like that."
"Also, might I obtain some scraps of cloth, a needle, and thread? I will pay for them, of course."
"What do you need those for?"
The clerk looked puzzled.
Weaving and sewing were the domain of women. It was hardly common for men to ask for needle and thread.
Baek Ho-yang answered matter-of-factly.
"I have a use for them."
"Then I will have them ready for you when you leave. No charge needed."
"Thank you."
"Not at all. Please, come inside."
The clerk led Baek Ho-yang and Woo Geom-san to the back of the shop, where the garments were kept.
The two picked out the most generously cut garments available and put them on.
The clothes they had been wearing were torn and frayed from their ordeal, so they discarded them without regret.
After settling the bill and stepping outside, the clerk handed them scraps of cloth, a needle, and thread.
"Thank you."
Baek Ho-yang thanked the clerk and walked out.
Woo Geom-san eyed the items in Baek Ho-yang's hands and asked.
"What do you need the needle and thread for?"
"For your hand."
"Pardon?"
"The bones seem to have knit back together, so it is time to start restoring the sensation, would you not say?"
"What does a needle have to do with that?"
"You will find out tonight. For now, let us find an inn."
"Yes!"
Getting here had meant nearly seven days and nights of sleeping rough.
Thanks to that, dust clung to their hair and every inch of their bodies.
For today at least, Woo Geom-san wanted to wash in clean water and sleep comfortably in a tidy room.
Finding an inn fell to Woo Geom-san as well.
Having spent his whole life in the mountains, Baek Ho-yang was ignorant of the ways of the world. Woo Geom-san, raised at Woo Manor, knew the lay of the marketplace inside and out.
He easily found the most affordable and clean inn on the street.
It even had a well and a stable in its rear courtyard.
The two paid the innkeeper and washed themselves thoroughly at the well.
The cold water on their bodies was bliss.
After their meal, Baek Ho-yang held out the needle, thread, and scraps of cloth to Woo Geom-san.
"From now on, you must practice threading the needle."
"Threading the needle?"
"Yes. Once you thread the needle, you must sew this cloth at regular intervals."
"Hmm."
Woo Geom-san let out a pensive murmur.
At last, he understood Baek Ho-yang's intent.
The bones of his right hand had been shattered into tiny fragments.
Thanks to Baek Ho-yang's wondrous skill, the bones had healed—but they remained as imperfect as a vessel riddled with cracks.
Even if the hand recovered fully, wielding his fists as freely as before would likely be impossible.
The greater problem was the function of his fingers.
During the healing process, the muscles had adhered and contracted, making it difficult to even curl them.
Because of that, he had to use his left hand rather than his right for chopsticks.
Woo Geom-san was originally right-handed, so he had to learn to use chopsticks all over again. But he could not spend the rest of his life relying solely on his left hand.
The ruined function of his right hand had to be restored.
The method Baek Ho-yang had chosen was sewing.
Passing a thin, limp thread through a needle's eye—so small it was nearly invisible to the naked eye—was by no means an easy task.
For women accustomed to needlework, it might be nothing special, but for men who had spent their lives doing hard labor, it was a feat of the highest difficulty.
Baek Ho-yang spoke.
"It will be harder and more painful than you expect. But if you grit your teeth and keep at it, one day the function of your right hand will recover considerably."
"Understood. I will begin at once."
"Good."
Woo Geom-san sat down immediately and attempted to thread the needle.
His right hand trembled violently, as if he had suffered a stroke.
Even the simple act of pinching a thin thread between his fingers was an enormous strain in his current state.
The instant he curled his fingers to grip the thread, excruciating pain shot through him.
The contracted muscles had pressed against the nerves.
"Ngh......"
A groan escaped him before he could stop it.
It felt as though his fingers and the back of his hand would tear apart.
He had guessed it vaguely, but now the reality of how grievously his hand had been ruined truly sank in.
He felt tears coming.
His right hand, which refused to obey his will, felt like someone else's hand entirely.
Not one of his five fingers moved as he wanted it to.
The hand held its shape and nothing more—it might as well have been made of sticks.
Woo Geom-san bit down on his lip.
A surge of defiance rose in him.
'I will never give up.'
Getting this far had been one trial after another.
He had fallen and broken himself more times than he could count.
Thanks to that, there was scarcely an uninjured spot left on his body.
Yet he had not given up.
And because of that, he had been able to grasp the feeling of walking properly.
As long as he did not give up, the reward would come eventually—he knew that now.
First, Woo Geom-san focused his mind to calm his trembling hand. But with the nerves and muscles so damaged, the hand did not settle easily.
Thick beads of sweat streamed endlessly down Woo Geom-san's face.
The simple act of pinching a thread between his fingers consumed an enormous amount of energy.
RIP! RIP!
He felt the contracted muscles of his fingers tearing.
Each time, Woo Geom-san's brow and fingers twitched uncontrollably.
Baek Ho-yang watched Woo Geom-san's struggle in silence.
A woman who could sew without thinking might have found the sight laughable. But in this moment, Woo Geom-san was more earnest than he had ever been.
Even more so than when he first learned the Eight-Step Heavy Mountain Fist as a child.
Whether his agonizing effort bore fruit or not, the spasms in his hand at last began to subside, little by little.
Woo Geom-san paused to catch his breath, then brought the thread to the needle.
TAP.
His first attempt failed miserably.
The thread missed the needle's eye by a wide margin.
Simply pinching the thread was a world apart from threading a needle.
The moment he moved the fingers holding the thread, the spasms he had just managed to suppress flared up again.
TAP. TAP.
The thread kept missing the needle's eye and pricking empty air.
Even so, Woo Geom-san did not stop. He tried again and again without rest.
And so Woo Geom-san's night passed.
***
"Hwaaaam!"
The next morning, Woo Geom-san yawned with bloodshot eyes.
Having stayed up until dawn trying to thread a tiny needle's eye, his eyes were gritty and his body was spent.
He had learned firsthand just how grueling and exhausting the act of threading a needle could be.
After all that effort, he had not managed to succeed even once.
The price of his labor was steep.
His entire right hand throbbed as if being torn apart, and his fingers spasmed intermittently.
Even so, he did not feel bad.
It seemed that moving his fingers had become just a little easier than the day before.
"Haah......"
After wiggling his fingers for a moment, Woo Geom-san began to limber up his body in earnest.
He twisted his upper body and arms this way and that, loosening knotted muscles.
He carefully worked out the stiffness in his legs, which had endured the long road.
Once he had released the tension from his muscles, Woo Geom-san left the inn.
It was still early dawn, so the streets were nearly deserted.
Woo Geom-san began to walk the empty streets.
He did not want to forget the sensation he had acquired on the way here.
As he walked, the familiar feeling returned.
With every nerve in his body focused on his legs, Woo Geom-san walked the avenue.
By the time he had walked for nearly an hour and returned to the inn, his entire body was drenched in sweat.
He stripped off his top and drew water from the well to wash.
The cold water left him feeling refreshed.
It was at that very moment that Baek Ho-yang stepped outside.
"Grandfather."
"You went walking?"
"Yes!"
"A hard morning's work."
"How can it be hard work when it is something I should be doing?"
"The world is full of people who cannot or will not do what they should. You are doing more than well enough."
"Heh heh!"
Woo Geom-san's face lit up with genuine joy at Baek Ho-yang's praise.
No matter how maturely he carried himself, he was still a fifteen-year-old boy.
An age weak to praise.
Baek Ho-yang handed him a towel and said.
"Dry off and let us head out. There is much to prepare."
"Yes!"
Woo Geom-san toweled himself dry and put his top back on. Then he went inside and gathered all their belongings.
With the bundle on his back, Woo Geom-san asked.
"Where are we going now?"
"Let us buy provisions first, then look for a smithy."
"A smithy?"
"Yes. I need to buy a sword."
"Ah."
Woo Geom-san nodded.
He had been wondering why Baek Ho-yang carried no weapon.
At some point, Baek Ho-yang had mentioned that his weapon of choice was the sword. Because of that, Woo Geom-san had vaguely assumed he would someday learn the old man's sword techniques.
'A sword......'
The moment the thought of a sword crossed his mind, his fingers tingled strangely.