Wudang Sacred Scriptures

It was a crude ceramic marble—the kind little children played with. One of its edges was even chipped.
Kwak Yeon picked up the marble and turned around.
A child, no older than six or seven, was staring up at him with wide, gleaming eyes.

“Is this yours?”
He held the marble out toward the child.
“Here. Take it.”

But the child only fidgeted shyly, unable to approach. So Kwak Yeon took a step forward.
As he moved at the narrow prow, the Cheonggang Sword at his waist swayed and struck the boat’s gunwale.
—Clang!

For some reason, the child’s face went pale.
In that instant, a surge of energy exploded inside Kwak Yeon, constricting every meridian in his body.
“What…?”
The Primordial Harmonious Art (Honwon Musanggong) had activated—out of nowhere.

“I wasn’t executing a technique… nor was I circulating energy. So why did Honwon Musanggong suddenly trigger?”
Even more startling was the energy’s nature—it was entirely different from before.
It was dark. Oppressive.

Until now, the effect of Honwon Musanggong had always felt bright, radiant, white. But the energy it stirred this time felt bleak, murky—black.
What’s more, the black energy swept through his body, leaving behind a layer of darkness at each acupoint.
It was jarringly out of place—like scattering coal dust across a pure white snowfield. Kwak Yeon was deeply disturbed.

“…!”
Suddenly, he realized—it had happened because he had empathized with the child’s emotions.
The child’s soul had been completely consumed by terror.

And in that moment, a wave of sorrow washed over Kwak Yeon.
It was the sorrow one felt when witnessing a young, helpless soul—so thoroughly smothered by fear that it had abandoned even the will to resist.
“Just what did a child this young go through…?”

He quickly understood that this terror had been triggered not by his Cheonggang Sword—but by the sight of a blade itself.
“Not my Cheonggang Sword… but the sword as an object—he fears it.”
For a moment, Kwak Yeon couldn’t do anything.

If he took another step toward the child in that terrified state, it felt like the boy’s spirit might collapse entirely—choked out like a candle’s flame. But he also couldn’t recklessly speak to him.
Hrk… hic… hic…
It was as if he could hear the child’s soul choking in his ears.
At that moment, a woman pushed through the other passengers and rushed forward, quickly wrapping the child in her skirt.

Only then did the black energy that had surged through his body begin to recede.
Holding the child tightly to her chest, the woman turned to Kwak Yeon with a pale, stricken face and spoke.
“Warrior… I’m so sorry. I beg your pardon.”

“…”
“There are so many people on board, so I told him not to play with marbles… but he just couldn’t help himself…”
“It’s all right, ma’am. Truly. You weren’t bothering me at all.”

Kwak Yeon replied quickly, gently offering the marble.
“Please accept it on his behalf. I think… the child may be afraid of me.”
“Thank you, warrior.”

Clutching the marble, the woman turned and quickly disappeared into the crowd. She still kept her skirt wrapped tightly around the child.
Kwak Yeon stood dazed, watching them vanish into the sea of passengers.
Even though they were now completely out of sight, the remnants of that black energy still lingered.

He could still feel a thin layer of it clinging to one of his acupoints.
Kwak Yeon realized he had just struck an obstacle on his path toward the Realm of Infinity (Mugeukgyeong). And at the same time, he also knew—it was a clue. A gateway.
“I must overcome it… and purify it with light.”

Otherwise, that alien black energy would hinder the flow of the Primordial Harmonious Art.
“And the method to do that is…”
Even as the thought surfaced, the answer came to him.

He had to free the child from the fear that had summoned the black energy in the first place.
Kwak Yeon grimaced inwardly.
“But how…?”
If it had been his own inner struggle, he could have wrestled with it, meditated, endured, and overcome it himself.

But this was someone else’s fear.
Ultimately, the child would have to overcome it on his own.
And the boy was so young—so utterly consumed by terror that he had abandoned all resistance.

In that moment, Kwak Yeon finally understood why Patriarch Zhang Sanfeng had said the Primordial Harmonious Art was such an immensely difficult spiritual cultivation.
“The path to awaken the righteous intention of Heaven is treacherous—one will be ceaselessly tormented by the suffering of delusion.”
As he stood there, uncertain, a new thought arose.

“This is a formidable obstacle… but also a test I must pass to reach the Realm of Infinity. In truth, this encounter may be a stroke of fortune.”
After all, he had left Mount Wudang in search of a path to that realm.
“If I can help that child overcome his fear—then that’s all I must do.”

The child wasn’t yet an adult with hardened thoughts. And because he was more deeply consumed by fear, that also meant he might recover from it more quickly.
“First, I need to find out what made the child so terrified of blades. That’s the only way I’ll know how to help. And to do that…”
Kwak Yeon found himself troubled again.

He was bad at approaching strangers.
Even after all this time since leaving Mount Wudang, he still found it hard to connect with people.
It was probably because he had grown up in a secluded farming village and had always kept a certain distance from ordinary people.

“All right. I’ll use this opportunity to try opening up. Elder Jang Noya always worried about that side of me too.”
With that resolution, another truth resurfaced in his mind: the Primordial Harmonious Art was a forge that needed endless fuel.
People carried their own joys and sorrows—their desires and seven emotions. Each person was a small universe that could feed the flame of the Primordial Harmonious Art.

Sometimes, as with that child, those emotions could ignite the forge in entirely unexpected ways.
What Elder Jang Noya had said came to mind again—“The gnarled firewood that bears knots and scars burns hottest.”
“This is why I can’t just ignore people—I must be actively interested in them.”

Kwak Yeon tore a strip from his long robe and wrapped it around the Cheonggang Sword.
Only then did he realize he had been carrying it fully exposed all this time.
“Right… ordinary people are wary of martial artists who carry weapons.”

Shame welled up in him.
“I was proud of my martial training—but in that pride, I became arrogant. I never once stopped to consider how others might feel.”
He could almost hear Master Hyunam’s rebuke in his ear:

"Is the whole world meant to revolve around you?"
As he fully wrapped the Cheonggang Sword in the strip of cloth, Kwak Yeon felt as though he had taken one more step into the world.
“I’ve only learned a «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» few martial arts moves—nothing more. I’m no different from anyone else.”

And with that, his steps toward the other passengers felt a little lighter.
As he left the prow and headed toward the stern, several people finally made their way toward the front of the boat.
Seeing this, Kwak Yeon felt his face flush with embarrassment once more.

It hadn’t been the lake wind that had kept people from the prow—but the presence of a martial artist with a cold, gleaming blade strapped to his waist.
The child and the woman now sat in a corner of the deck with a man. Behind them were several bundled belongings.
There was only one reason a family would pack up their things and travel like this.

“They must be displaced folk… refugees who’ve left their hometowns.”
Kwak Yeon realized that, just like this family, quite a number of the passengers aboard the Pyoun Boat appeared to be uprooted people.
Lives grown too harsh had driven them to abandon their native lands.

He suddenly recalled the families from his own village—Haenghwaseok Pavilion.
He’d heard they had been forced to leave their mountain farming village in Sanhyeop due to the state’s repatriation policy for displaced citizens.
The refugees on the boat no longer seemed like strangers to him.

Perhaps that was why, as he walked toward the child’s family, it felt less like approaching strangers and more like returning to his own kin.
Kwak Yeon’s rigid expression softened.
“Kwak Yeon, fix that scary face of yours. Ever heard the saying, ‘No one spits at a smiling face’?”

He remembered Seokjangsan scolding him like an older brother, and tried to smile.
Even so, the woman flinched as he approached. The child, too, shrank further into her arms.
“So much for smiling—it’s still not easy.”

“…Warrior, is there something…?”
Her reaction went beyond a natural fear of martial artists.
“This family must’ve had a bad run-in with a martial artist before.”

The man who appeared to be the child’s father wore an equally tense expression.
Kwak Yeon spoke.
“I’m sorry to disturb you while you’re resting. I have a favor to ask.”

The man, still watching him warily, responded.
“A man like you, Warrior… what favor could you possibly have for lowly folk like us?”
“I boarded the Pyoun Boat in a rush, and I wasn’t able to prepare anything. If you happen to have any food, would you be willing to share a bit? I’ll, of course, pay for it.”

The man hesitated, then replied,
“We do have some, but… it’s far too meager to be worth offering to someone like you, Warrior.”
“Anything is fine. My belly’s practically sticking to my spine. I’d chew iron right now if I had to—so please, share what you can.”

Still hesitating, the man finally spoke.
“Then… I’ll give you what we have. But there’s no need for payment. Our little So-cheong was discourteous earlier…”
He brought out some dumplings wrapped in oiled paper.

“They’re cold and dry, as you can see. I’m embarrassed to offer them. You’d be better off finding real food somewhere else, Warrior.”
Kwak Yeon immediately reached for the paper.
“This is more than enough.”

He took out a silver tael and handed it to the man.
“This is for the food.”
“There’s no need. It’s not even worth a copper.”

“Please accept it. To me right now, this is a feast beyond compare.”
“But still…”
Kwak Yeon quickly picked up a dumpling and popped it into his mouth.

“Warrior…?”
He devoured the cold dumplings as if a strong wind might snatch them away and then spoke.
“Well, I’ve already eaten them. If you refuse the money now, it means I’ve dined and dashed.”

“If you insist… just give a single coin. Even that’s too much.”
Kwak Yeon made an awkward expression.
“I’m afraid I don’t have anything smaller than a silver tael.”

“Even so… this is far too much…”
“Then let’s call the rest pocket money for your son.”
“…What?”

“I startled your boy back at the prow. It’s been bothering me.”
“Ah… that’s why…”
The man’s eyes eased with the slightest hint of relief.

“You’re… different, Warrior.”
Hearing those words, Kwak Yeon was once again certain: this family had indeed suffered under the cruelty of martial artists before.
The woman, who had been quietly watching, finally spoke up.

“You didn’t frighten our child, Warrior. Our So-cheong was startled all on his own. There are… circumstances.”
Kwak Yeon replied.
“I already knew it wasn’t because of me.”

“…?”
He gently tapped the Cheonggang Sword, now wrapped in cloth, and continued.
“Still, I was wrong to walk around openly displaying something so frightening.”

“…”
“In any case, your child feels like a younger sibling to me. I only want to look out for him—so please, don’t refuse.”