Chapter v21c3

(TLN: We got DMCA nuked So all korean novels will be removed this week If you want to get updated on What might happen join the discord or Kofi If you can )

## Compete with Guts

– Steamed Buns and the Fault of the Glass Surface

“You’ve learned music now. You’re still a beginner, but it’s bearable. However, knowing music and embodying it are two different things. If you don’t internalize it, it’ll just be a hobby. So it’s time to move on to the next stage.”

His master said, his face serious, his words profound. The eleven-year-old boy, Bi Ryu-Yeon, listening attentively, started to frown. He knew, instinctively, that bad things happened whenever his master spoke like this.

“What do you mean by the next stage?”

The master shook his head, disappointed by his blunt question. Bi Ryu-Yeon’s sense of foreboding intensified. His master’s sophistry was a well-trodden path to misfortune.

“The best way to learn is through real-life experience. You need to be tempered by real-life situations and prove yourself in the field. Anything that hasn’t been tested is useless. It’s as good as nonexistent. I hate things that are vague and ambiguous. Are you satisfied with your music?”

Ah, the path to misfortune had opened. Bi Ryu-Yeon sighed and replied,

“Of course, I am. I’m a genius.”

*Thwack!*

A flick on the forehead arrived as if on cue.

“Stop bragging about being a genius. Have you ever thought about how your music sounds to others? You’ve only practiced it, never performed it. How would you know?”

“I’m not curious.”

*Thwack!*

“That means your music only exists within you, not for others. How can you be sure it’s not just your own delusion? So you need to be confident… (omitted)… confront the world… (omitted)… confirm yourself… (omitted)… become one with it…”

“So what you’re saying is…?”

Bi Ryu-Yeon interrupted his master’s rambling and asked. The master suddenly held up something soft and fluffy.

Where did he get it? Bi Ryu-Yeon didn’t know, but it was clearly women’s clothing, and it was accompanied by an unspoken pressure to put it on.

“Why? Why do I have to dress up as a woman?”

He protested vehemently.

“You don’t want to?”

“Of course not!”

It was strange to even ask. But his master didn’t seem to think so.

“You fool! Half of the world is made up of women. Yin and yang must be in harmony for the Taegeuk to operate and all things to be created. How can you achieve enlightenment by only seeing one side? You need to understand both yin and yang, the positive and the negative, and harmonize them to become a true human being.”

It was a grand theory, but Bi Ryu-Yeon wasn’t buying it.

“But I can’t change my sex, can I? I’m a man.”

That fact wouldn’t change. His gender identity was firm.

“You’re giving up because you can’t? You have no guts!”

The master scolded him, as if he had seen something truly appalling.

“What does this have to do with guts?”

Guts weren’t a universal solution.

‘What does dressing up as a woman have to do with guts? His logic is flawed!’

He grumbled inwardly. He respected his master, but he couldn’t accept illogical arguments. He doubted his master was even trying to be logical.

“You dare to defy your master?!”

But his scolding had no effect.

“You told me not to listen to illogical and unconvincing arguments, even if Buddha himself said them. Was I wrong? You’re not going back on your teachings, are you?”

He even talked back. He had learned from experience that it was pointless to back down when he hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Sigh, I’ve taught you wrong!”

The master said, sighing.

“You taught me well. I’m quick to put your teachings into practice.”

He wouldn’t concede a single point. The master sighed again, lamenting his lack of cuteness.

“Cuteness? What good is that?”

He shrugged, his voice filled with disbelief.

“Tsk, tsk, you’re so naive! You don’t understand the power of cuteness! There are things in this world that strength alone cannot achieve. If you only have one, you’ll eventually hit a wall! Only those who possess both strength and gentleness can overcome that wall.”

The master said, his voice filled with passion, as if he had a mission to enlighten the world with the truth.

“Is that so?”

But the boy remained unconvinced.

“Fine. If that’s what you want, I’ll straighten out your stubborn attitude with the impenetrable logic of an iron fortress!”

The master declared, pointing his index finger at him.

“Please do.”

He replied, ready to face his challenge.

They both looked like swordsmen about to duel. In a way, it was a mental duel, using sharp logic as their weapons.

“Alright. Let’s start with a hypothetical situation. You’re walking along a dangerous path, five days’ journey long, with only a little water and five king steamed buns. There’s no way to find food along the way, and one king steamed bun is enough to sustain you for a day. Understand?”

The master asked.

“It’s a strange scenario, but let’s assume it’s true.”

He replied cautiously. He couldn’t agree too readily, or he might get caught in his master’s trap.

“You stubborn brat. Anyway, you meet two people along the way. One is a muscular man, and the other is a delicate young lady, as fragile as a flower. They’re both out of food and ask you for a king steamed bun. Now, who would you give the king steamed bun to?!”

“I would politely decline. I barely have enough food for myself.”

The master was furious at his cold and decisive answer.

“You heartless brat! Did I raise you to be so uncaring?”

“Uh oh, wasn’t I?”

*Thwack!*

“Ugh.”

He clenched his teeth. This wasn’t a simple flick on the forehead. An ordinary eleven-year-old boy would have been bleeding… well, maybe not bleeding, but he would have been knocked to the ground. He decided to change tactics.

“I-I understand what you mean. You’re saying that the cute one gets the king steamed bun, right?”

“Hmph, you’re not a complete idiot.”

The master scoffed, and he shook his head.

“But that’s just you, Master. Reality is different. If you meet a muscular man on a deserted path, wouldn’t you be terrified and give him everything you have? And if you meet a delicate young lady, and she encounters a lecherous man, she might end up in a worse situation than just losing a king steamed bun…”

*Wham!*

“You little…!”

He was sent to hell and back as his master’s fist connected with his face. He realized that a complete change of direction was necessary.

“W-well, I guess a ‘cute’ young lady with martial arts skills would be more advantageous than a man with martial arts skills.”

“Hmm, you’re finally getting it.”

The master nodded, as if he had no choice but to agree. He secretly wiped away a tear, hearing his master’s unspoken thought, “He only listens after getting hit.”

But his sorrow was ignored. His master continued his passionate speech.

“The point is, the same goes for dressing up as a woman! Women are the embodiment of yin, soft and abundant. If you become a woman, you’ll see and understand many things that you couldn’t before! Don’t give up before you even start.”

“But this isn’t about…”

But his master was no longer listening.

“Where there’s a will, there’s a way.’ Don’t you know that saying? Don’t give up with your half-assed guts. Even if you fail to become a real woman, the effort is what matters, the effort!”

“What does this have to do with effort…?”

His logic was flawed.

“It has to do with effort if I say it does!”

He was being completely unreasonable. Did he think effort and guts were a universal solution? Bi Ryu-Yeon decided to point out something.

“It’s not just because it’s more profitable, is it?”

“…Profitable?”

The master’s expression was as if he had been struck by lightning. But the brief silence before he spoke… the silence that seemed to contain a muffled groan of pain, as if he had been stabbed in the heart… made Bi Ryu-Yeon suspicious.

He had a lot to say.

“Isn’t that right? The vast majority of people who drink in brothels and taverns are men. And most of them are ignorant about music and dance. How could they appreciate music and dance when all they think about is drinking and women? They drool at the sight of a skirt, without knowing a thing about art!”

His words were sharp and biting.

“D-don’t worry about such trivial matters.”

The master coughed, flustered.

“Is that trivial? It seems a bit too widespread to be a personal matter.”

The master shook his head at his disciple’s protest.

“Finding someone who truly appreciates art is as rare as finding a lucky opportunity after falling off a cliff. If there were so many people who were knowledgeable about music and dance, why would there be sayings like ‘high mountains and flowing water’ and ‘soul mate’? Why would Bo Ya break his geomungo strings after the death of Zhong Ziqi? You should be grateful if you meet even one enlightened person out of ten thousand. So stop complaining and put on these clothes!”

“…”

* * *

…He didn’t know why the conversation always ended this way, but…

“Can I really achieve anything looking like this?”

He muttered, looking at his reflection in the mirror. He was sitting crookedly in a chair, his chin resting on his hand, dressed as a girl. He wasn’t convinced.

“Ugh, whatever!”

He waved his arm dismissively, and the bells on his wrist jingled.

He looked at the bells, attached to a bracelet with a dragon design.

‘Damn Master! Putting these on me…’

He remembered what his master had said after he had changed clothes.

* * *

“Ah! I forgot to tell you something…”

“What is it?”

“Don’t take them off while you’re dancing.”

He said, his face serious.

“Who would even take them off?!”

He shouted, clutching his collar, his body half-transformed.

‘Is this senile old man planning to sell me to some illegal and decadent establishment? No way…!’

It was a plausible scenario, and he felt a threat to his chastity.

“What’s with that creepy look? I’m talking about the bracelet and anklet.”

The master pointed at the pair of bracelets and anklets he was wearing.

“Ah, these?”

He had become quite accustomed to them, but they had been a nuisance at first.

“Practice until you can dance perfectly while wearing them. And here’s a bonus.”

The master tossed something at him.

“What’s this?”

He caught it and asked.

“What do you think it is? It’s a bell. Can’t you see?”

“I can see that, but…”

He didn’t understand why he had to wear a bell. It wasn’t like he was a cat.

“Attach it to the bracelet and anklet.”

The master instructed.

“And then?”

He asked, still suspicious.

“What do you think? You have to practice until you can dance without making a sound.”

‘It’s not obvious at all! It’s not natural!’

He suppressed his urge to shout and said, as calmly as he could,

“Master, bells are meant to jingle. If you don’t want to hear the sound…”

Why bells? Bells were meant to jingle. But that wasn’t common sense in his master’s world.