Chapter v17c8

He had once been hailed as the pinnacle of the martial arts world, a man who had ascended to the throne of God. He had even been called the Martial God, and though he was embarrassed by it, the title still clung to him.

What set those at the pinnacle apart? They were superhumans who had transcended human limitations, pioneers who had forged new paths to unprecedented heights. They were unique, unparalleled, the best of all time, the number one under heaven, those who had reached the ultimate realm, the enlightened, those who had attained the realm of the divine. And these superhumans shared two common experiences.

One was the loneliness that came from having no one to share their achievements with. The other was the realization that this wasn’t the end. They knew, or rather, they realized, inevitably, undeniably, completely, that there was another level, another realm, beyond their current state. When ordinary people looked at them and saw the end, they saw a new horizon stretching before them. Only those who had reached the summit could see the next peak.

The horizon of the world always pointed to another horizon of existence, expanding endlessly.

The world we lived in was infinite. The world could never surpass existence. The void of emptiness had no end in sight. Whether that was a blessing or a curse depended on your perspective.

This was called true infinity.

***

The old man, dressed in a gray robe, stood by the window, his back to the light, his head tilted upwards.

“So he returned to where he came from…”

Elder Hyuk sighed, his eyes closed.

“He’s gone to a place where we can never meet again in this world…”

He expressed his sorrow, a grief he had kept bottled up for twenty years.

He had sensed it intuitively, the passing of his only soulmate, the one who had shared his vision and his will. But hearing it confirmed by his friend’s successors brought a fresh wave of grief. It was like being stabbed in the heart with the truth. He was now alone, burdened with his friend’s legacy.

*You heartless friend…*

He was too old to carry the weight of the world alone. His back might give out. But his friend, who had shared the burden, was gone, never to return. The seat next to him would always be empty.

Yeomdo and Bing-geom remained silent, their heads bowed, their expressions somber. They couldn’t speak.

Their only soulmate, the one who had seen the world the same way they did, was gone. Who would they share their lives with now? No one could understand their sense of loss. It would be presumptuous and arrogant for anyone to try, even if they were their master’s disciples, even if they were their own flesh and blood. They couldn’t possibly comprehend the emptiness, the feeling that half the world had vanished.

“How did he die?”

He wasn’t interested in jokes about dying of old age. He was still alive and well, and his friend, who had been his equal, couldn’t have died of natural causes.

“He said he had to take care of something, that he had a task to complete. He went on a long journey, and when he returned…”

“When he returned?”

“He was mortally wounded. His chest was covered in a web of fine cuts, as if he had been torn apart by a wild beast.”

Bing-geom’s face contorted in pain, remembering the horrific sight. Even his icy heart couldn’t freeze that memory. He still had nightmares about it, waking up in a cold sweat.

*A web of cuts? Could it be ‘him’…?*

But he shook his head.

It was impossible. And ‘he’ wouldn’t have stayed quiet for twenty years.

“What did he say?”

There must have been some last words, some final message. It was their only clue.

“He said it was something he had wanted to do, something he had to do… He said he had no regrets, that he had gotten what he wanted… that this was the price he had to pay… He only regretted that he had to leave us.”

“He got what he wanted…? He must have left you some insights.”

Yeomdo and Bing-geom took out two halves of a mirror from their robes and presented them to Elder Hyuk. It was the Heaven and Earth Creation Mirror.

“He gave us each half of this mirror.”

“His will and his heart are contained within those mirrors. But…”

He paused, looking at Yeomdo and Bing-geom in turn.

“…Have they ever been joined together?”

“…”

They didn’t answer.

“Why aren’t you answering? Have they or haven’t they?”

His rebuke struck them like a blow to the heart.

*Master…*

They were physically present, but their minds were lost in the past.

They would never forget that day.

The image seared into their retinas would never fade, not even after a thousand years.

“Why are you crying? Are you sad?”

Their master had asked gently. The two young men and the girl had wept uncontrollably, their faces stained with tears. Their master, who had been like a god to them, was lying on the cold ground, his breathing labored, his face pale. They could sense it, the imminent extinguishing of the sun that had always shone so brightly before them. The end of twilight was approaching.

“I’m not sad. Just a little regretful. I knew this day would come. I’ve been living with a time bomb inside me ever since that day, eighty years ago. Eighty years is a long life. I’m lucky. I got to meet you three.”

“Father, don’t die! Please!”

The girl sobbed, burying her face in his chest. Her pretty face was streaked with tears.

“…That’s what makes me happiest.”

Their master continued, his voice weak.

“My only worry is that you two don’t get along. Yeong-hui, you’re too soft-hearted. You need to learn to control your emotions. Cheol-su, you seem rational, but you have a fiery temper. I’m worried about both of you. Take this!”

He took out a smooth bronze mirror from his robe. Its surface was covered in inscriptions, like some kind of ancient scripture.

“This is all I have to give you: a pair of swords and this mirror. Cheol-su!”

“Yes, Master!”

The boy in blue replied, his cheeks still wet with tears.

“I give you this sword, ‘Ice Soul,’ which is like my left hand. It will help you master the swordsmanship I’ve taught you. Yeong-hui!”

“Yes, Master! I’m here.”

The boy in red replied, his face a mess of tears.

“I give you this saber, ‘Red Flame,’ which is like my right hand. It will help you master the saber techniques I’ve taught you.”

“Th-Thank you, Master! Sob!”

“And… So-ryeon!”

“Yes, Father!”

“I’m sorry. I have nothing to give you. But I’ll give you this jade flute. You have a talent for music. You’ll be able to use it better than I ever could. And if you combine it with the swordsmanship I’ve taught you, you’ll be able to protect yourself.”

“Father! Don’t go! Don’t leave me!”

The girl, clutching the jade flute, buried her face in her father’s chest. He smiled gently and stroked her hair. Then, he spoke, his voice quiet but firm.

“Cheol-su, Yeong-hui, listen carefully!”

“Yes, Master! We’re listening.”

“I can’t teach you anymore. I regret leaving you before you’ve reached your full potential, but it seems our bond as master and disciples ends today. But I have one concern. You’ve each only learned half of my martial arts. It’s enough to make a name for yourselves in the Jianghu, but it’s not enough to face the coming calamity. You’ll need to combine your strengths. But you two are like fire and water. You don’t get along. That worries me. So I’m going to entrust you with half of my final insights, contained within this Heaven and Earth Creation Mirror.”

He held the mirror and applied a bit of pressure, splitting it into two halves, each bearing the symbol of yin and yang.

“Remember, yin and yang originated from taiji, but they are still one, not two. Change cannot occur without the harmonious balance of heaven and earth, yin and yang. Help each other, encourage each other, and strive to improve. And if you ever meet someone worthy of inheriting my legacy, someone with the potential to embody these insights, I want you to join forces and pass on everything I’ve taught you, and everything you’ve learned. Do you promise?”

“We promise, Master!”

He nodded, satisfied.

“My role ends here. I’m sorry, but when you go out into the Jianghu, don’t reveal who your master was. And don’t tell anyone that I’m dead. I still have a role to play. They say a dead Zhuge Liang scared away Sima Yi… I guess I’m in the same boat. I’ve burdened my friend too much…”

A bitter smile appeared on his lips.

“My body may perish, but my spirit will remain. The spirit of taiji… Cough! Cough!”

He coughed violently, spitting up blood.

“Master!”

“Father!”

“It’s alright. I’m alright. Just a little impatient friend hurrying me along. It’s nothing.”

He raised his hand, calming them down. His breathing had stabilized, and the pain had vanished from his face. He looked peaceful, enveloped in the embrace of death.

“Find the one who will inherit my spirit, the talent of taiji. If you two join forces, you can revive my spirit. I pray that my will, my light, will shine brightly once again in your generation. And…”

He took a final breath.

“Take care of So-ryeon.”

And then, he returned to where he came from.

One of the brightest stars of the martial arts world had fallen.

The god they had believed to be invincible was dead.

***

The old man finally broke his silence.

Yeomdo and Bing-geom hung their heads.

“Is that so? It never happened? He’ll be sad…”

He didn’t blame them. But his words hurt more than any rebuke. They couldn’t speak, their throats choked with emotion.

“But at least he died surrounded by his disciples. He wasn’t alone. He trusted you. He believed you would carry on his legacy.”

They couldn’t look at him. Their petty pride had made them disobey their master’s final wish. Guilt gnawed at their hearts. The fire of their grief flickered like a dying ember, and the ice of their sorrow melted into a gray mist of despair.

Elder Hyuk looked at them, his expression disapproving.

“Tsk, tsk. What’s with those pathetic faces? Judging by your appearances, you’ve only mastered the Acquired Techniques! Am I right?”

They looked up, startled.

“H-How did you…?”

“Why are you so surprised? It’s obvious.”

Elder Hyuk replied casually. But Yeomdo and Bing-geom couldn’t remain calm. How could they? He had seen through their achievements with a single glance… Even if he was their master’s close friend, it was unsettling that he knew so much about their secret martial arts. But they had overreacted.

“And I also know that they’re incomplete. So it’s safe to assume that you haven’t mastered the Innate Techniques yet.”

“Y-You know about the Innate Techniques?!”

They were astonished. It was amazing that they could still be surprised after being surprised so many times. Their eyes were already wide open from the previous shock, so they had to use something else. Their jaws dropped, their mouths gaping wide enough to dislocate their jaws.

“Is there a back without a front in this relative world? There’s a front because there’s a back, and there’s a back because there’s a front! Left and right are a pair, just like yin and yang are one and two, two and one!”

The Supreme Sage’s ultimate technique was said to be the “Heaven and Earth Taiji Supreme Qi.” But that was only a fraction of the truth, the tip of the iceberg. No one ever revealed the deepest secrets of their martial arts. It was their greatest secret, their final trump card. The more widely known a martial art was, the less effective it became. What was the point of giving your enemies a chance to prepare? It would only make your life more difficult and dangerous. So only a part of their true skills was ever revealed to the public. Therefore, the fact that he knew about the “Innate Techniques,” the highest level of their secret martial arts, meant that he knew the entire system. It was natural for them to be shocked. Only a pervert would enjoy being stripped naked in front of someone.

Yeomdo and Bing-geom had inherited martial arts based on the elements of fire and ice, respectively. They weren’t the vessels their master had hoped for. They weren’t “taiji talents.” But he hadn’t abandoned them. If he had, the Five Great Saber Masters would have become the Four Great Saber Masters, and the Five Great Swordsmen would have become the Four Great Swordsmen. They weren’t incompetent. It was just that their master’s talent was exceptionally rare.

In any case, they lacked the aptitude to master the Innate Techniques. But instead of abandoning them, their master had decided to teach them martial arts that suited their individual strengths and personalities. And so, they had learned the “Acquired Techniques,” based on the elements of fire and water, which formed the core of the “Later Heaven” trigrams.

In the Bagua diagram derived from the Hetu, the trigrams of Qian (A) and Kun (D) represented the two poles of yin and yang. But in the Bagua diagram derived from the Luoshu, the trigrams of Li (B) and Kan (C), representing fire and water, formed the core of yin and yang, the center of change. The Hetu represented the world of essence, and the Luoshu represented the world of function, but it was complicated, so let’s move on.

The original training process of the “Heaven and Earth Sun and Moon Divine Art” involved progressing from the “change” of the Later Heaven to the “unchanging” of the Prior Heaven, from movement to stillness.

Li represented the most prominent manifestation of yang in the phenomenal world, and Kan represented the most prominent manifestation of yin.

Yeomdo’s “True Crimson Seventeen Flames” and Bing-geom’s “Ice Spirit Flowing Sword” were based on the principles of Li and Kan, respectively. Therefore, having only mastered one of the two “instruments” of the Later Heaven, they had only learned less than a quarter of their true potential. And the difference in power between the Acquired Techniques and the Innate Techniques was immeasurable.

They were ashamed of themselves, for tarnishing the legacy of their master, for failing to live up to his expectations. They had disobeyed his final wish, and they were now mere disciples of a young boy. They couldn’t even bring themselves to commit suicide, for fear of facing their master in the afterlife. What would they say to him?

They had no excuses.