Chapter 12
Murong Yan reached the Mangyeong Pavilion and pulled the door open, careful not to make a sound. The moment he stepped over the threshold, the air changed. The heavy scents of paper, ink, and aged wood mingled and seeped into his nose.
Bookcases ringed every wall and climbed all the way to the ceiling, then spilled out into the room in rows like a labyrinth, shafts of light slanting through the gaps to pick out the drifting dust.
Even so, there was none of the stale mustiness he'd expected. Someone had been diligently airing the place out.
There he is.
Murong Yan spotted Wi Hyeokrin almost at once. The boy was so absorbed in copying out a martial manual that he never looked up. He sat hunched over the desk, working his brush, with his sleeves rolled up to the elbows. It was plain who had thrown open the windows and finished the cleaning.
The Pavilion's keeper was an elderly man, so after Wi Hyeokrin began trailing Murong Yan here, the boy had started pitching in with one small chore after another. Now he'd taken over not only the cleaning and airing out but the shelving of books as well.
Being too good at your work can be a problem of its own.
The real reason, of course, was Wi Hyeokrin's remarkable memory. Murong Yan had only to name a title, and Wi Hyeokrin would fetch it on the spot, whichever stacks it sat in, whichever case it was stored in. The old keeper's eyes couldn't help lighting up.
"Young Master, you've found yourself a splendid assistant. I daresay he's far better at this than this worn-out old body of mine."
Since the old man said that, Murong Yan had discovered that he'd been quietly putting Wi Hyeokrin to work every time the boy sat down to rest. It had left him with a peculiar feeling. He wasn't so much offended as inclined to let it be, reasoning that it was good training. Wi Hyeokrin still had a mountain of things to learn, and sorting martial manuals would count as study too.
"Ah, Young Master. You're here."
A long shadow fell across the desk. Wi Hyeokrin looked up, spotted Murong Yan, hurriedly set down his brush, and rose to his feet.
His eyes shone like those of a puppy that had been waiting for its master, and Murong Yan's spirits lifted along with them.
"Hm. How much have you written?"
Murong Yan reined in the corners of his mouth, which were threatening to curve upward, and put on a deliberately cool tone.
"I was in the middle of copying the Fifth Form, Circling Current."
As he listened, Murong Yan leafed through the pages one by one. The diligent penmanship drills had clearly paid off. Compared with the beginning, when Wi Hyeokrin couldn't read a single character, he had come a very long way.
Not good enough. He has to do better.
The protagonist didn't need to write every line in one sweeping flourish. Still, handwriting that looked like earthworms crawling across the page was unacceptable.
If a young master of the Murong Clan, one who prided himself on his calligraphy, was the one teaching him, then the boy had better have handwriting worthy of that name!
"You still can't govern the strength in your grip. Here it's too heavy, here too light. Even a single character must carry its own rhythm of pressure and release. Pay more attention next time."
"Yes, Young Master."
Even while being scolded, Wi Hyeokrin looked pleased.
[Your Favorability with Wi Hyeokrin has been updated.
– Current Favorability: 66/100
※ Warning: Be careful not to let your favorability drop sharply. A penalty will be applied automatically.]
By now, he no longer found it strange that favorability piled up this way.
I wonder what happens when it hits 100.
If anything, he'd even started wondering about things like that.
"Sit. I'm going to test how deeply you understand the theory."
Murong Yan sat and motioned with his eyes, but Wi Hyeokrin only stood there, shifting awkwardly. The reason became clear with his next words.
"I'll go fetch some tea."
"Do it."
He'd worked up a thirst walking briskly all the way to the Pavilion, and he'd need to moisten his dry throat before the questions began. So he nodded instead of refusing.
He's acting like a truly capable retainer.
Wi Hyeokrin anticipated what he wanted as if it were an extension of his own hands and feet, and saw to it without being asked. Satisfaction was unavoidable.
Then a faint unease crept in: was it really all right to work the protagonist like this? But the proud look on Wi Hyeokrin's face settled it, and he relaxed.
"I'll be right back!"
Wi Hyeokrin bowed and hurried out of the Pavilion. Left alone, Murong Yan sat as silence settled over the room.
"Right, then. Let's see how well he really understands before he gets back."
At last he wiped away the smile that had crept onto his lips, pulled the pages he'd only skimmed closer, and began to read them carefully.
Theory was, after all, the most basic groundwork for imprinting movements in the mind. And copying was just as important as learning with the body: it made a person recall what he'd learned as he wrote it down, and dig out the principle behind each move.
"Hmm…"
He had already noticed, while watching Wi Hyeokrin train, that the boy understood each form of the Five Rings of Flowing Water Form correctly. What astonished him was the insight to see that the five forms, though taken apart one by one, made up a single chain of linked attacks.
Wi Hyeokrin hadn't yet reached the Fifth Form, Circling Current, in his copying, but Murong Yan could guess how he would interpret it.
"A prodigy is a prodigy, after all."
He had called Wi Hyeokrin a genius time and again, yet each time he was struck anew and couldn't help marveling.
And, if he was honest, there was a small measure of pride in having personally helped the protagonist grow.
"Young Master, I've brought the tea."
When Wi Hyeokrin returned, his cheeks were flushed. He'd hurried back, afraid of keeping his master waiting.
Murong Yan, noticing none of this, nodded absently and picked up the cup. The bitter yet refreshing tea slid down his throat, and it felt as though some of his lost strength was seeping back.
Mm, this is good.
With effects like this, he could sell it to people with cold hands and feet, or to the frail and sickly, and line his pockets nicely.
Midway through that stray thought, he felt a gaze pressing lightly against his cheek and glanced over. Wi Hyeokrin was still standing there.
"Sit."
"Yes!"
He could almost have sworn he saw an invisible tail wagging back and forth. His fingertips itched. Murong Yan took another sip of tea for no reason at all and set the cup down.
"Tell me the purpose of the Five Rings of Flowing Water Form."
"To wield the sword the way water flows."
It was an answer that went straight to the heart of the question. Murong Yan nodded, satisfied, and asked the next.
"Explain in more detail. Does it mean nothing more than moving naturally?"
"No. It doesn't mean perfecting each of the five forms separately. It means each form has to lead naturally into the next."
"Correct. It's easy to understand once you know why the character 環, 'ring,' is in the name. This art must run as one unbroken whole, from the first move to the last."
Murong Yan found Wi Hyeokrin watching him with bright, wide eyes, hanging on every word.
Is this what a teacher feels with a gifted pupil?
No, it was closer to the elation of an author watching a character he'd designed grow up exactly as intended.
"The forms are linked with no gaps between them. Only when you can perform it properly does the art earn the name 'Flowing Water.'"
"Ah… So you mean the five forms are like a ring, with no beginning and no end? Then an opponent could never find a gap where I join one form to the next."
"You've understood correctly. Then what is needed to keep the flow from breaking?"
Again Wi Hyeokrin answered without hesitation.
"Footwork. If the feet don't change the angle first, the tip of the sword stiffens at the transition and the flow breaks."
From then until the cup before him had been drained dry, Murong Yan kept asking questions. Wi Hyeokrin paused to think now and then, but not once did he say he didn't know.
Not bad at all.
Sure enough, there had been no need for Murong Gwak to cause an uproar just to teach Wi Hyeokrin. If his grasp of theory was this thorough, all that remained was to practice until his body caught up.
"That's enough. Go and train."
"Yes, Young Master."
Murong Yan glanced once more at Wi Hyeokrin, who had answered so respectfully, and left the Pavilion.
I need to rest for a while. This won't do.
As expected, spending more than half a day out and about had been more than his frail body could bear. He'd meant to watch Wi Hyeokrin train today with the test fresh in his mind, but that would have to wait.
His vision seemed blurred, and his mind felt foggy, as if he hadn't fully woken. Now that he considered his tasks done, the exhaustion he'd been holding down came crashing over him like a tidal wave.
At least he knew the way back to White Cloude Pavilion well enough. Otherwise this would have been truly hopeless. Thinking this vaguely, Murong Yan trudged on until his vision abruptly swam and he staggered.
"Ah…"
Unfortunately, his body was in worse shape than he'd expected. Before he knew it, the feeling drained out of him from the soles of his feet upward, and his consciousness guttered out. It felt as if gravity were roughly dragging him down.
"Young Master!"
Before he lost consciousness completely, all Murong Yan registered was the sound of something shattering and a frantic cry, and lastly a pair of firm arms catching his collapsing body and lifting it.
Then deep darkness swallowed him whole.
Comments Box