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Translator/Editor: Asakusa

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◈ A Wandering Warrior's Survival Guide ◈

Chapter 6: The Wanderer Market (1)

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Following Yi Mu-gwang's instincts, their life of crossing mountains while avoiding all traces of people had come to an end.

Almost as welcome as no longer taking turns snatching brief naps was finally seeing other people again.

Yi Mu-gwang said,

“At the Wanderer Market, they roughly assess martial artists' skill and divide them into Grades A, B, and C. You need to at least make Grade C before you can ask to join me on jobs. To do that, it would help to have roughly learned one inner cultivation manual and one martial arts manual.”

Yi Mu-gwang thought Cheon Hwi would only barely fail Grade C in the Wanderer Examination.

The people conducting the qualification test were second-rate and third-rate themselves. They would only judge based on the power that was visible, so what he could show mattered.

“There should be booksellers selling commercial woodblock editions. Most will be worthless martial arts manuals, but something good may be hidden among them now and then. Find a martial arts manual first. Being able to demonstrate even one plausible form will help with the assessment.”

According to Yi Mu-gwang, such manuals could contain absurd formulas or omit important passages.

“When you find one you like, tell me. I will give it a quick look and see whether it is complete nonsense.”

“You say that as if anything will do.”

“Anything will do. The things we can obtain are all more or less the same. Ah, can you read?”

“Yes. I can read and write to some extent.”

“You have talent in abundance to become second-rate.”

It was not a joke. Most people could not understand written martial arts manuals, so they sought out manuals made up only of illustrations or failed to understand even half of one with pictures.

Yi Mu-gwang deliberately put some force into his voice as he continued.

“Do you know what separates us from the children of martial families?”

“Our roots.”

Cheon Hwi's unhesitating response made Yi Mu-gwang blink in surprise for a moment before answering.

“...Well, that too. But unlike them, whose paths are somewhat decided from birth, martial arts choose us.”

“Martial arts choose martial artists.”

“That is right. Unlike martial artists who follow a martial art as though it were destiny from birth, we are chosen by martial arts. That is what I believe.”

There were also people who occasionally stacked books on street stalls to sell.

The Wanderer Market.

People, goods, money, and food all mingled together, filling the place with life.

Cheon Hwi felt a little excited too.

Booksellers knew how to read people's eyes. They could tell whether someone was merely passing by or looking with an interest in books.

When someone looked interested, they knew how best to approach them.

There were two methods. Treat them politely as a customer, or provoke them a little.

For example, no one spoke to Yi Mu-gwang. Perhaps they could tell at a glance that he was second-rate or third-rate, or perhaps they had no martial arts manuals worth showing a second-rate martial artist.

But when Cheon Hwi, who looked like he had only just begun training, quietly examined the books...

“Looking for erotic pictures?”

Erotic pictures?

That was the provocation. They wanted to dismiss him as someone loitering around for such things, hoping his pride as a self-proclaimed martial artist would make him demand to know where the martial arts manuals were.

Cheon Hwi had no interest in that sort of scheme and simply replied,

“If you have them, I'll take a look.”

Third-rate drifters might have become excited or offended by those words. Cheon Hwi remained calm, so the bookseller looked at him as if to say, Well, look at this one.

“The martial arts manuals are over here.”

The books were not arranged at all, merely piled together in a heap.

At a glance, some were clearly copies printed under duplicate titles.

Just as Yi Mu-gwang had said, even sword manuals called Three Powers Sword Art differed in thickness and form.

Rustle, rustle.

Did that not mean a treasure hunt was possible?

Cheon Hwi repeated Yi Mu-gwang's words to himself.

Martial arts choose martial artists.

Martial arts manuals... Martial arts manuals.

What Cheon Hwi sought among them were sword manuals.

He wondered which sword art would catch his eye, or rather, which sword art would choose him.

There were also crude fake secret manuals, such as Taiji Sword Formula with flashy silk covers and Eight Trigrams Saber Art in jet-black bindings.

As if those could be real...

Just as he thought, Why isn't there a Taiji Wisdom Sword?, he found books whose titles differed from Taiji Wisdom Sword by just one letter.

It was a shallow trick meant to catch gullible fools.

Gale Thirteen Swords, Blood Wolf Saber Art, Flying Swallow Steps...

Flip, flip.

As Cheon Hwi pushed aside respectable-looking covers and searched through the bottom of the pile, his fingertips caught on one booklet that had warped badly from dampness.

Its paper had yellowed. Its edges were riddled with uneven holes made by insects.

It was far thinner than the other sword manuals. Even the letters on its cover had blurred and faded, but tracing the faint ink marks with his eyes, he could barely make out its title.

Well-Returning Moving Art.

“A Moving Art?”

Cheon Hwi unconsciously turned the page.

The first page was nearly blank.

Only a few crookedly written lines of formula remained.

One step, one breath.

Two steps, one descent.

Three steps, return to the well.

The breath scatters, but qi returns.

The moment he read those words, Cheon Hwi unknowingly held his breath.

Deep within his lower dantian.

A thin ripple spread through the dark well where a single drop had fallen the night before. It was as if someone had touched the water with a fingertip.

A small thump ran through his body. The sensation thrilled him, as though it resonated with his heartbeat.

The inked letters on the page looked faintly blurred.

Cheon Hwi blinked.

“Is this for sale too?”

It was in such poor condition that calling it something for sale seemed generous.

“If it's in that pile, everything but the chest is for sale.”

For some reason, Cheon Hwi was drawn to the booklet.

A Moving Art...

“You look like you were searching for a sword manual. Why are you looking through that?”

“What is this?”

“Goodness, how should I know?”

The bookseller grinned, showing yellowed teeth.

A third-rate wanderer browsing beside the stall saw Cheon Hwi examining the shabby booklet and laughed.

Yet those short lines kept circling through Cheon Hwi's mind.

One step, one breath.

Two steps, one descent.

Three steps, return to the well.

It did not seem like some grand and noble martial arts manual.

Observe the breath on one step. Settle it on two. Return it to the well on three. That was likely what it meant.

Yet he could not let it go.

“I will take this.”

The bookseller's eyes narrowed.

“Are you serious?”

“How much is it?”

“You would be better off buying another edition of Three Powers Sword Art. At least that has illustrations.”

“The price.”

The bookseller stared at Cheon Hwi for a long moment, then shrugged.

“Twenty copper coins.”

Cheap. And cheap meant that no one wanted it.

Just as Cheon Hwi reached into his clothes, Yi Mu-gwang's hand shot out from behind him and snatched the booklet away.

“I told you to find a sword manual.”

Yi Mu-gwang looked down at the cover and flipped through a page or two. Then he clicked his tongue.

“You brought back some inner cultivation manual that teaches baby steps.”

Cheon Hwi kept his mouth shut.

Yi Mu-gwang turned the pages as if it were nothing. One page. Then another. The old paper rustled.

Then his hand stopped.

Cheon Hwi saw his eyebrows rise and fall slightly, as though Yi Mu-gwang had been a little surprised.

“...So this existed too.”

“Do you know it?”

“I've heard of it, but I didn't expect to find it here.”

Yi Mu-gwang drew the booklet closer.

“Well-Returning Moving Art. It is the sort of thing that cannot be found in the rooms of orthodox sect types, but might roll around at the bottom of a wanderer's bundle.”

“Is it a good inner cultivation method?”

“There is no good or bad in martial arts. There are only things that suit you and things that do not. And so, things that are easy to learn and things that are difficult.”

Yi Mu-gwang tapped the page with his finger.

“A Stillness Art is a method of sitting still and gathering qi. The qi circulation and breath regulation you do cross-legged every night is that sort of thing.”

“Yes.”

“A Moving Art is different. It teaches you not to scatter your qi and blood while walking, running, swinging a sword, carrying loads, or even walking while half asleep.”

Cheon Hwi looked at the cover again.

“Then isn't it better? If I can train while moving?”

“The problem is that it is neither efficient nor easy. Rather than spend time trying that, and accumulating inner power that way, it may be better to use the orthodox method.”

Yi Mu-gwang's voice lowered.

“Most people cannot properly see even their own dantian while seated and focused. But you would look at it while walking? Your breath scatters from your chest, qi leaks from your shoulders, and impure qi rises through your tired soles. You would have to gather all that and return it to the well. For a beginner, that is madness.”

“Would I suffer qi deviation?”

“If you go seriously astray, perhaps. It does not appear to be an inner cultivation method profound enough for that to happen, though.”

Yi Mu-gwang was calm.

After hearing him, Cheon Hwi wondered why a cultivation method that made use of such scraps of time had been created at all.

“Then why does a book like this exist? If the orthodox way is simply better.”

Yi Mu-gwang chuckled.

“Poor people must have made it. People like you and me.”

“...”

“Those destined to sit cross-legged with incense burning, training for a day or two without worrying about money or food, would have no need for this. But people who must walk without rest, carry loads, run away, and stand watch all night just to survive from one day to the next. Would they not have made it because even a thread of breath was too precious to waste?”

Cheon Hwi's eyes widened.

He thought of his father.

That bent back walking along the government road with a pack on it. The hand that never sold its one sword, even while keeping a child at its side. The person who, even when hungry, always held food out only to me.

His father had never had time to sit cross-legged, burn incense, focus his mind, and cultivate an inner cultivation method. By the time he had slept less and used qi circulation to drive out fatigue and impure qi, it would already be time to go to work or move on.

Cheon Hwi likely did not have that time either.

His martial arts would be learned entirely on the road.

Amid fleeing footsteps, clothes still wet with blood, and breaths that opened his eyes again after death.

“Master.”

“What?”

“It seems I am not destined to sit cross-legged for long hours and build inner power either.”

Yi Mu-gwang looked into Cheon Hwi's resolute eyes.

After a brief silence, he chuckled.

“Seems that way.”

“Then I will learn this way of walking.”

The bookseller looked between the two of them and rubbed their hands together.

“So you're buying it?”

“Twenty copper coins.”

Cheon Hwi opened his coin purse and paid.

The bookseller snatched up the coins.

“Ah, Great Hero. May you be blessed. Well, if your breathing gets tangled while you learn it, this stall bears no responsibility.”

“You should have said that before taking the money.”

“That is why I sold it cheaply. Heh.”

Instead of responding, Yi Mu-gwang tossed the book to Cheon Hwi.

Cheon Hwi caught it with both hands.

The booklet was light.

“Do not try to learn it all at once.”

Yi Mu-gwang spoke as he jutted his chin toward the outer edge of the market.

“On the way to the inn, try only the first line. One step, one breath. Just observe your breath for one step. Do not try the second line or the third yet. We do not know whether it is a well, a sea, or merely stagnant water, but how can someone who cannot properly see what it is return to a well?”

Cheon Hwi nodded.

Walking ahead, Yi Mu-gwang clicked his tongue.

He had thought that if Cheon Hwi brought back a sword manual, he could help him build on it somehow.

Still, what Cheon Hwi had found did not look bad.

It was only difficult to learn. If he did learn it, every moment spent breathing, eating, and sleeping would become training. To catch up with children of prestigious families who purified their bodies and marrow and trained their inner power properly, this kind of training might be best.

Once they left the stall, the noise of the Wanderer Market flooded over them again.

Voices selling swords. People bargaining over horses. The smell of sizzling oil. The odor of sweat-soaked martial clothing. The laughter of drunken wanderers. Somewhere, metal briefly struck metal.

In the middle of it all, Cheon Hwi took his first step.

One step.

He drew in a breath.

He felt as though he were pulling that breath toward his back. As Yi Mu-gwang had taught him, he did not forcibly press down the breath rising in his chest, but slowly guided it downward.

All the market's smells surged toward him at once.

Smoke from roasting meat. The stench of horse droppings and manure.

There were so many things that distracted him that his breath began to scatter.

Dizziness rose.

He staggered, and his breath caught with the recoil.

His startled eyes blinked twice.

If he made one wrong move, he felt as though he might stop breathing altogether.

But Cheon Hwi did not stop.

One more step.

If he could not take a full step, then half a step.

If he could not take half a step, then even half of a half step.

He stubbornly gathered measured steps until they became one step.

The inside of his lower abdomen tightened faintly.

A drop had not fallen yet. He could not even feel qi circulating in his dantian.

Again. Focus.

Yi Mu-gwang watched Cheon Hwi struggle to walk and sighed. Then he joined the gambling table beside them and waited.

From time to time, as though standing guard over Cheon Hwi's cultivation, he blocked anyone who looked like they might bump Cheon Hwi's shoulder as they passed.

From the outside, Cheon Hwi seemed to be walking. In truth, it was no different from sitting cross-legged and regulating his breath. Yi Mu-gwang knew that one wrong jolt could critically injure him.

It took Cheon Hwi two shichen, a full four hours, to walk barely more than ten steps.

“I told you not to do the second line.”

Yi Mu-gwang's voice woke him.

Cheon Hwi flinched back to his senses and found the sun sinking in the distance.

The people who had been watching him from afar as though he were a halfwit and clicking their tongues turned away.

“I wasn't trying to.”

“Take it slowly. There is no need to hurry. Your steps must not pull your breath along. Your breath should follow your steps.”

Cheon Hwi returned to the first step.

One step.

Observe the breath.

One strand of breath that had been about to scatter settled downward, ever so faintly.

While moving, that alone was enough.

Yi Mu-gwang, walking ahead, said,

“The examination begins tomorrow and lasts two days. If you do not pass, our journey together ends there. That means this is not the time to be learning a Moving Art.”

“I'll do both.”

“...”

Yi Mu-gwang shrugged as if to say they would see.

With the setting sun at their backs, the two entered an inn.

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