WeTried Translations
Translator/Editor: Asakusa
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◈ A Wandering Warrior's Survival Guide ◈
Chapter 42: Every Connection Is a Fortuitous Encounter (3)
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“He entered already? The Martial Classics Pavilion?”
“Yes. Perhaps he was hungry, as he requested some fasting pills, so we gave him some.”
The elders of the Murong Clan paused among themselves as they sipped their tea. They looked at one another as though asking if that was all, and an awkward silence followed.
They had expected more to follow, but the Inner Hall Chief Steward shook their head, as if to say that was all.
“That is... yes. He showed no particular reaction.”
“Ahem.”
“Hm.”
“Cough.”
The elders stroked their beards, thinking that he was not so easily won over after all.
They were shameless to the extreme. After acting as though they would kill him for refusing the offer to become an external-surname disciple, they now bestowed rewards and pretended to be friendly. It was the indescribable shamelessness of the privileged class.
“He must know why he was placed at the very front of the Vanguard Unit, having heard the reason here and there. It is only natural that he would harbor resentment.”
“But after receiving such favor, will his anger not fade? Won’t he voluntarily lower his head and join us?”
“Well, let us watch and see.”
Some of the elders seemed greatly displeased that they had allowed him into the Martial Classics Pavilion, a place even the clan’s own martial artists could not easily enter.
“There have been complaints.”
“This is not the first time we have made an exception.”
The person who had voiced the complaint cleared their throat as though conceding the point.
“More importantly, he did indirectly save Murong Rin. If we do not praise one who feared no death and stepped forward to fight, who in this world will step forward to fight?”
“Ahem... But could this not reveal the clan’s martial arts to an outsider...?”
“It is fine. Our divine arts and ultimate techniques are not kept there, and since he has not learned the Murong Clan’s inner cultivation method, he will not understand even a quarter of what he reads.”
In other words, the Murong Clan elders believed that letting Cheon Hwi spend six hours looking through the clan’s countless martial arts manuals would merely make him admire the clan’s might.
‘The only thing that bastard can take out of there is respect for the Murong Clan.’
It was a plausible plan and strategy. If they had not happened to grant Cheon Hwi an elixir containing yang qi that was incompatible with the undissolved elixir already within him, things would have gone exactly as planned.
The only problem was that Cheon Hwi was a madman who considered dying from qi deviation in pursuit of greater strength a good death.
* * *
Emerald Jade Pavilion, where the Murong Clan Inner Hall’s rising juniors gathered.
Sharp complaints erupted nonstop around an ornate table laid with fragrant refreshments.
“Even if he rendered merit, how can an Outer Hall warrior from a mere wanderer background set foot in the Martial Classics Pavilion? The Elder Council has gone too far.”
“Would it not have been enough to reward him with silver taels or elixirs? Why open the clan’s secret archive to him?”
A heavy scraping sound rang through the pavilion amid the noisy voices.
The Murong Clan’s third son, Third Young Master Murong Geon. Among the clan’s young generation, he was a burly, forthright man counted among the foremost in fist techniques.
“I think this is for the best.”
The corners of his thick lips had lifted slightly. Those who knew that expression tensed. It was the look he wore when his combative nature awakened and he intended to fight.
“Yes, yes. They say that Outer Hall warrior defeated the Black Fist Twin Tyrants. I hear he is around my age as well?”
The Third Young Master clenched his massive fist, cracking his knuckles.
“Can Murong Geon, who calls himself Murong’s Number One Fist, simply let this pass without testing the ability of the genius who entered our clan?”
“...!”
“When he comes out of the Martial Classics Pavilion, tell him I will personally give him a lesson. Is it not the greatest honor for an Outer Hall warrior to spar with a direct descendant like me?”
“We will summon him as soon as he comes out.”
“No.”
Murong Geon shook his head.
“I have no hobby of dragging out an injured man and beating him down. Tell him we will meet once he has recovered. Once he has taken all the elixirs granted to him as well.”
“As expected of the Young Clan Head!”
“It is hardly worth taking interest in. Even if he struggles after entering the Martial Classics Pavilion, what can a rootless wanderer gain? He must simply have painfully realized his limits at Black Fang Stronghold and be making a futile effort to grow stronger.”
Murong Rin, who had been quietly sipping tea in the corner, started to stop her brother, then decided against it.
‘It does not seem like a good idea.’
Her brother was also a rival to Murong Rin, but more than that, she was curious as well.
Whether that man had truly endured against the Blood Serpent Sword through luck, or because of experience from having encountered the Blood Serpent Sword in the past.
.
.
.
At the same time, in the Family Head Hall at the heart of the Murong Clan.
Murong Hyeoncheon, the family head, sat before a vast desk carved from an ancient tree hundreds of years old, with a landscape folding screen behind him. He looked indifferently over the letters piled before him as reports continued.
“It is said that an Outer Hall wanderer has received special permission from the Elder Council to enter the Martial Classics Pavilion.”
Complaints had broken out among the Inner Hall’s rising juniors and part of the Elder Council, but only faint boredom lingered on Murong Hyeoncheon’s wrinkled face.
To a supreme master of a family head’s caliber, the martial arts manuals filling the first and second floors of the Martial Classics Pavilion were no more than foundational studies. The advanced martial arts reaching the middle and upper dantians, built upon the Murong Clan’s true inner cultivation method, as well as its divine arts and ultimate techniques, all lay sleeping in the hidden archive of the Family Head Hall.
“It is nothing to make a fuss over. What are the origins of the martial arts he normally practices?”
“According to the report, he has crudely pieced together unknown third-rate unorthodox martial arts.”
Murong Hyeoncheon did not even snort. He was seriously judging Cheon Hwi’s potential.
Of course, the Martial World was filled with people who swaggered about, calling their own martial arts unique martial arts. But upon closer examination, many of those so-called unique martial arts did not even compare to a Hao Sect member’s throwing-knife art. In most cases, they were merely rootless, worthless third-rate martial arts in the eyes of others.
‘But if Cheon Hwi’s level has reached the point where he can face a first-rate martial artist, that changes things.’
“Report to me once he leaves the Martial Classics Pavilion.”
“You intend to see him yourself?”
If it was true that a wanderer martial artist who had learned only miscellaneous techniques had endured against the Blood Serpent Sword, he needed to confirm it.
“We must see whether a small spark will burn a mountain, or be extinguished by the night wind.”
Still, Murong Hyeoncheon was certain that Cheon Hwi would not gain much during those short three shijin.
Someone without a solid foundation could not gain enlightenment in a single day.
The matter demanding the Murong Clan head’s full attention was not the fortunate martial tale of a single wanderer.
“The next matter.”
“A Martial Alliance summons from the Central Plains.”
The small disturbance surrounding a wanderer named Cheon Hwi was swept aside in an instant. In its place, a larger, darker wave seeped into the Family Head Hall.
Murong Hyeoncheon rose heavily and looked out the window.
“The reason?”
“Traces of the Blood Cult. Similar movements have reportedly been detected not only in Liaodong, but in Shanxi, Henan, and Sichuan as well.”
Darkness had settled over Shenyang’s night sky. Thick black clouds slowly crept in and swallowed the moon.
As Murong Hyeoncheon watched, a line from a verse by Venerable Deokseong passed through his mind.
A wave stirs, and ten thousand waves follow.
They had merely touched a single mountain stronghold, yet the waves in both Liaodong and the Central Plains were shaking.
* * *
Cheon Hwi had no idea that while he was inside the Martial Classics Pavilion, he had drawn the family head’s interest and received an impending challenge from the Third Young Master.
A tall, five-story pavilion. Three characters were written above its great doors.
<Martial Classics Pavilion>
The scent of old books met him as he stepped inside. It reminded Cheon Hwi of libraries from when he had been a modern man.
A place of old books. A treasury of knowledge that transcended time.
As he walked farther inside, the presence flowing from those old martial arts manuals seemed to press down on him.
Now that he could somewhat read auras, was he gradually learning to sense the energy residing in objects and spaces as well?
Or perhaps he was only now beginning to feel the weight of martial studies.
“State your token and affiliation.”
An old voice came from within.
An elderly figure sat behind a table deeper inside. With a thin body, half-closed eyes, a face spotted with age, and a long white beard, they looked like a village schoolteacher.
Cheon Hwi held out his Outer Hall warrior token tied with a red cord, along with the permission tablet given to him by the Inner Hall Chief Steward.
“I am Cheon Hwi, an Outer Hall warrior.”
“An Outer Hall warrior...?”
The elderly figure looked Cheon Hwi over from head to toe.
His shoulder was wrapped in bandages, his wrist still could not fully straighten, and his complexion was pale from his injuries. He looked as if he might collapse the moment he entered the Martial Classics Pavilion.
“What use are books to someone whose body is not even whole?”
“I do not use my shoulder to read.”
The elderly figure’s brows rose slightly.
“Your mouth works well enough.”
“My eyes work as well.”
The elderly figure snorted, then immediately hid their smile.
Cheon Hwi instinctively knew that this elder was stronger than he was. Their inner energy, their martial arts, everything.
“Leave all weapons behind. More than a few people have become excited while reading martial arts manuals and swung them without realizing it. I hope you understand.”
“...Understood.”
He was strict. If Cheon Hwi had entered unaware, intending to stab himself in the neck with a dagger, he would have been in serious trouble.
‘It is fortunate I obtained that elixir.’
“May I bring the fasting pills inside?”
“You will not even be here for a few shijin, yet you brought fasting pills? You are excessive.”
The elderly figure eyed him disapprovingly, but it seemed they would allow that much.
“Three shijin, as written on the permission tablet. No copying. No damaging the manuals. No entering above the second floor. If you set foot on the stairs toward the third floor, your head will roll together with your permission tablet.”
“Yes.”
“The Murong Clan’s core inner cultivation method and advanced secret arts are not here. Do not entertain vain hopes. Just look around and leave.”
Without lifting a finger, the elderly figure pointed inward with their chin.
“Excuse me, Elder. Where are the sword manuals?”
“Look at the wooden plaques and find them.”
“...”
The elderly keeper’s name was Murong Gyu. An elderly member of a collateral branch who had guarded the Martial Classics Pavilion for over thirty years. They knew precisely where every book on the first and second floors was kept, but saw no reason to be kind even to an outsider.
Cheon Hwi did not ask further questions. Speaking with them would only waste time.
As he walked farther in, the Martial Classics Pavilion was far larger than it had appeared from outside.
Tall bookshelves stood in rows, each with a wooden plaque hanging above it.
Walking between shelves far taller than himself, Cheon Hwi wondered how many times he would have to die before leaving this archive satisfied.
The thought of dying made him smile. Cheon Hwi could no longer deny it.
He had become a true martial artist.
“Did Confucius not say, ‘If one hears the Way in the morning, one may die that evening’?”
Those who claimed they could die that evening if they attained enlightenment that morning. Were they not martial artists?
As Cheon Hwi scanned the shelves and memorized the locations of the books, another passage from Mencius came to mind.
When Heaven is about to entrust a great responsibility to a person,
it must first make their heart and will suffer,
strain their muscles and bones, and starve their body.
It impoverishes them
and frustrates and confounds all that they do.
For this reason,
it stirs their heart and steels their nature,
allowing them to develop abilities they did not have before.
Cheon Hwi repeated those words and accepted his fate.
Those who used death like an anvil and hammer to hone their martial arts. Those who cast themselves into death to learn how not to die. He accepted the fate of a martial artist.
They said that if one heard the Way in the morning, one could die that evening. Then he could be a little greedier.
He would die in the evening, return to the morning, and steal another Way. The pain along the way would only be Heaven’s trial for the great task that awaited him.
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