Chapter 32

Chapter 32: Third-rate Martial Family Becomes the Best Under Heaven

Shaping a melody—modulating tonal height to craft a song—is an arduous undertaking.

Even masters who have spent decades perfecting their craft to attain the pinnacle of artistry struggle to weave innumerable notes into a harmonious blend.

Consequently, someone like Yanghwi, who possessed neither formal musical expertise nor the natural brilliance of Zhuge Seolha, had little right to conquer the Hall of Sound.

Yet pitch was not the sole governing pillar of music.

Another component held just as much weight.

Tempo—the space and cadence between intervals.

Every living creature enters the world carrying its own inherent rhythm.

“Breathe in, breathe out.”

Inhaling and exhaling steadily, he anchored his awareness to that uninterrupted flow.

Thump-thump! Thump-thump!

Quieting his thoughts, he tuned his perception to the inner pulse vibrating through his chest.

The chest expanding with air. The heart pulsing with life. It was time to weave that physiological rhythm into the edge of his blade.

A fitting sword form immediately came to mind.

Hundred and Eight Heaven-Splitting Swords, First Form.

Wing Striking Hanging Ice (翼打懸氷).

He drove his blade skyward, echoing the motion of a raptor taking flight to shatter icicles clinging to an overhang.

Originally conceived to deflect or turn aside an adversary’s incoming weapon, Yanghwi now treated the surrounding iron rods as hostile blades.

Wing Striking Hanging Ice (翼打懸氷), Eighth Variation.

An alteration tucked within the straightforward upward cut, tilting the path diagonally.

Using that angle, he intercepted a vertical cleaving strike.

Clang!

Even as a crisp vibration rang from the struck rod, Yanghwi maintained the sword’s momentum without pause.

The sweeping motion carried fluidly toward the neighboring pole.

Clang!

The acoustic ripples radiating from the two metal pillars intertwined.

Clang, ch-clang!

A deep pull of air, followed by a measured exhalation.

Thump-thump! Thump-thump!

Attuned to the steady cadence of his pulse and breath, he flicked the weapon toward the next pillar.

A light touch that sprang away instantly. In that suspended second, his blade served as a mallet, and the surrounding rods became the tuned bars of a percussion array.

Ch-clang, ch-clang!

Conscious monitoring of his internal tempo soon became unnecessary.

The resonance surging from the iron bars swelled until it traveled beyond auditory perception, shaking his entire frame until the resulting tune fell in complete harmony with Yanghwi’s natural biological pulse.

Clang, clang, ch-clang, clang!

Watching Yanghwi’s sword dance unfold, Zhuge Seolha stood with parted lips, mesmerized by a display that moved in seamless concert with the chiming air.

It could hardly be described as a refined piece of classical composition.

While Yanghwi’s cadence maintained meticulous timing, it showed no regard for variation between high and low tones.

Even so, an enchanting grace permeated his sword dance, gripping the senses and refusing release.

It had stepped firmly into the realm of true art.

Clack-clunk!

Yielding to the accumulated acoustic vibrations coursing through the cavern, a massive iron portal slid open.

Bringing his routine to an end, Yanghwi paused on the spot and gently shut his eyes.

Remarkable. The depths of the martial path are truly boundless.

Possessing the memories of his former incarnation, he already held the necessary insights to reach the peak realm.

In a manner of speaking, knowing the exact path to the summit meant he could sprint toward the goal without fear of losing direction.

Because of this advantage, Yanghwi had spent his current life simply treading that previously traveled road.

There was little reason to seek alternative avenues when the proper route was already known.

Yet that assumption had been flawed.

If martial advancement were merely a journey to arrive at an endpoint, his reasoning might hold.

However, cultivating the martial way was akin to constructing a high tower.

The cadence of breath and heartbeat.

The deliberate pauses linking sword motions.

The unity of movement and physical form—or rather, a vibrational harmony extending past mere synchronization.

Yanghwi internalized these fresh realizations.

In terms of sheer elevation and profundity, the insight remained relatively modest.

Nevertheless, it offered an entirely new foundational cornerstone with which he could construct a grander, far more resilient monument.

“Time to move, Junior Sister. The entryway won’t stay open forever.”

“Ah, of course! Right behind you.”

Resting his wooden sword over his shoulder, Yanghwi walked ahead with broad strides, Zhuge Seolha staying close behind his heels.

Following the twists of the constricted passage, they eventually emerged into a chamber that expanded outward substantially.

[Fourth Rite: Hall of Martial Arts (第四 禮 武館)]

Gazing at the inscription carved overhead, Yanghwi observed aloud.

“It seems the fourth trial lies before us.”

“The Hall of Martial Arts. It appears designed to evaluate one’s martial foundation.”

Although the Sacred Sound Jade Spirit Gate aimed for the immortal plane by means of tonal mastery, it remained fundamentally a martial sect.

Demonstrating martial capability was therefore a non-negotiable prerequisite for any aspiring direct disciple.

The Sacred Sound Jade Spirit Gate prioritized testing it as the fourth threshold, whereas a conventional combat sect would have placed martial aptitude at the forefront of their trials.

“Hmm. No explicit directions are left here. Still, examining the layout makes the intent fairly obvious.”

Numerous wooden automatons stood throughout the broad corridor at staggered distances.

Beneath them, the ground consisted of thousands of square tiles, each roughly the width of a child’s foot, fitted across the floor in a mosaic pattern.

The unusual setup pointed toward a singular conclusion.

“Judging by the construction, those contraptions will lash out the moment an intruder steps onto the floor, won’t they?”

“That seems very likely. Shall we conduct a trial run?”

Yanghwi glanced down at Zhuge Seolha.

Is she volunteering me as bait?

While her brighter demeanor was a welcome change, she seemed to be growing bolder and more unabashed by the hour.

“Well, witnessing something once is better than hearing of it a hundred times. Keep your gaze steady while your Senior Brother shows you how it’s done.”

Circulating the Harmonious Heaven Primordial Art, Yanghwi leaped forward, rocketing across the space at blinding speed.

The instant his foot settled near the initial automaton…

Clack, whir!

A hidden mechanism engaged beneath the stones. Instantly, the wooden figure snapped an arm directly toward Yanghwi’s head.

“Watch out!”

Ducking beneath the swing as his charge continued, the secondary automaton swept a blow toward his lower legs.

The moment he leaped to clear the sweep, a third mechanism launched a rising strike!

Suspended in midair, there was nowhere left to maneuver. Just as he prepared to batter the wooden puppet with his practice sword…

Wait, hold on.

Holding back from funneling his internal energy into the weapon, Yanghwi brought his forearms together across his face to brace for impact.

WHAM!

The strike carried immense momentum, propelling Yanghwi backward nearly three zhang through the air before dropping him directly at Zhuge Seolha’s feet.

“Oof, that certainly stings.”

Brushing the dust from his arms as he climbed back to his feet, he found Zhuge Seolha gazing down at him quietly.

Her expression seemed to ask: Did you charge forward with such swagger only to be halted by the third puppet?

“…”

“…”

“Hold on. I could have deflected that. I deliberately took the blow.”

“I haven’t uttered a single word.”

“Your gaze is speaking loud and clear.”

“Oh!”

Zhuge Seolha averted her gaze briefly, composing her features before turning back toward him.

“My apologies. Toward my savior, no less… Having spent my youth hidden behind a veil, I never needed to develop a disciplined poker face…”

Faced with such an explanation, he found himself without a comeback.

“No need to force a false front. Frankness is preferable anyway.”

“Truly?”

Zhuge Seolha’s expression instantly slid back into the previous look of quiet skepticism.

“…That hardly means you should stare at me like that. I genuinely allowed the strike to land on purpose.”

“For what reason?”

“Because smashing them is the wrong approach. Those wooden puppets are demonstrating a form (形).”

He had deduced this after observing the sequence and direction of their strikes.

What he initially perceived as erratic spacing was actually an ordered structure.

“I only experienced the opening three before being cast back, but the intent is obvious. Evading that continuous sequence allows for only one specific path.”

“Meaning…”

“One can only traverse this chamber by executing a distinct, fluid series of evasions.”

A single movement art designed to bypass every incoming trajectory, angle, and timing.

In short, an authentic movement technique (身法).

“Beside their sound cultivation, the Sacred Sound Jade Spirit Gate has long been celebrated for possessing the supreme footwork under heaven.”

“Then the Hall of Martial Arts is effectively an ordeal designed to brand that very movement method into the aspirant’s flesh and bone.”

“Precisely. There is only one complication…”

Yanghwi exhaled softly, his eyes sweeping across the line of automata.

“Those contraptions do not hold back.”

Just moments prior, that third automaton had flung Yanghwi three zhang through the air.

Without sufficient internal energy shielding one’s vitals, such a strike could readily prove fatal.

“I might endure the punishment, but you cannot learn the sequence by taking hits, Seolha.”

Ever since her Peach Blossom Body had violently destabilized, Zhuge Seolha had abandoned martial training.

She had lived in constant dread of aggravating the constitutional affliction running through her meridians.

For an unconditioned frame like hers, a clean impact from those wooden limbs would shatter bones and tear flesh, ending her life.

“That implies I am allowed only a single attempt.”

“Indeed. If you commit every single evasive transition to memory, you can slip through unscathed, but…”

“…”

Zhuge Seolha’s complexion paled.

“There is an alternative. I could simply reduce every wooden dummy to kindling so you can walk across freely.”

“…Though it seems doubtful Master sent Senior Brother to guide me merely to rely on brute-force shortcuts.”

“A fair point.”

Yanghwi quietly studied her expression.

True to her admission that she lacked the art of concealing her feelings, genuine dread was plain across her features.

This is an obstacle I cannot conquer on her behalf.

Among the virtues necessary to walk the martial road, unyielding resolve and courage sit at the very core.

This moment might very well prove the decisive crossroad for Zhuge Seolha, who was meant to stand as a disciple of one of the Ten Paragons Under Heaven and forge her own path as a martial artist.

“I will grant you time to decide how you wish to proceed. Conveniently, my stomach is empty, so let us take our fill and rest here through the night.”

A considerable duration had elapsed since their entry into the Five Halls of Proper Sound.

Roughly ten shichen had slipped past, putting them long past regular dining hours and rest.

“Speaking of which, Senior Brother… did you happen to pack any provisions?”

“Not at all. We took every meal back at the establishment, did we not?”

Even while ascending Gokyeol Mountain to prove their sincerity, they had relied solely on the rice parcels prepared by the tavern staff.

There had been little cause to haul trail provisions along.

“Then what shall sustain us? Without provisions, are we forced to go without?”

“When supplies are lacking, one simply gathers what nature provides.”

Yanghwi retraced his path along the corridor.

Returning roughly half a shichen later, he carried half a dozen field mice clutched in his grip.

“Behold. While it may not rival an inn’s banquet, your Senior Brother guarantees meat with every sitting.”

“W-We are meant to consume those…?”

Catching the absolute horror written across Zhuge Seolha’s face, Yanghwi suddenly recognized his oversight.

Ah. She is the pampered daughter of an esteemed lineage.

Having lived as a wandering vagabond forced to forage during his prior incarnation, Yanghwi found such fare ordinary, whereas Zhuge Seolha was a sheltered young mistress who had barely crossed the threshold of her family’s manor.

Naturally, such quarry had never graced her table.

“A-Are we truly dining on mice…?”

“Indeed. There is little else down here. An empty belly drains your vigor, and without strength, the Hall of Martial Arts will remain closed to you.”

“I… I will eat…”

Seeing her grit her teeth in grim resolution, Yanghwi let slip a low chuckle.

At the very least, she had chosen endurance over petulant complaints. A praiseworthy disposition.

“Wait a moment.”

Normally, roasting them whole would singe the fur away and keep the flesh tender, but…

Slipping a small blade from his garments, Yanghwi dressed the rodents in an instant.

“Here. This ought to prove far easier to swallow, correct?”

Resting upon his open palm, the rodents had vanished, replaced by cleanly portioned squares of raw meat.

A wave of visible relief washed over Zhuge Seolha’s expression.

“Yes! My deepest thanks, Senior Brother.”

“Think nothing of it.”

Gathering dry twigs and scattered foliage, they rekindled a modest hearth and roasted the portions.

“Well? It carries a rather pleasant flavor, does it not?”

“It does. It tastes unexpectedly rich. Mmm.”

Zhuge Seolha ate eagerly, earning streaks of black ash across her skin.

It was evident she had been enduring intense hunger in silence.

After all, when would an esteemed daughter of a prominent house ever have endured a fast spanning more than an entire day?

“Have you reached a conclusion, Junior Sister?”

Wiping the soot from her lips, Zhuge Seolha gathered her resolve.

“Yes. I intend to make that single opportunity an absolute triumph.”

“We possess sufficient food and spring water. That means time is on our side. Your Senior Brother will run through the array as many times as necessary to chart the way, so your only task is to commit the steps to memory.”

“Understood. I remain deeply grateful, Senior Brother.”

With a radiant smile, Zhuge Seolha gave a gentle tug to the hem of Yanghwi’s sleeve.

It was her modest, characteristic way of conveying appreciation.

“Even so, Senior Brother… if our stay here drags on, won’t Father grow anxious?”

“Hard to say. Outsiders likely assumed this ordeal would demand far longer in the first place.”

Under normal circumstances, untangling the initial hall’s mystery should have consumed at least seven days.

They had bypassed that delay entirely by forcibly carving out an exit route within half a day.

“I have never been separated from Father for this long. I find myself longing for Mother as well… Do you not feel homesick, Senior Brother?”

“Not particularly.”

Given her youth, Zhuge Seolha’s longing was natural, but Yanghwi possessed an experienced consciousness dwelling within a youthful frame, leaving him unmoved by such sentimentality.

“Though I admit to some curiosity.”

“Regarding what?”

“A few matters back home.”

Following the conflict over the dark-path territories, the main estate’s authority had multiplied, bringing an avalanche of duties along with it.

Yanghwi pictured the household retainers who were undoubtedly swamped with work at this very hour—especially Gu Ak.

A mischievous smile touched his lips.

Brother Gu. I trust you are maintaining order in my absence!

Gu Ak swore a silent, solemn vow to the heavens.

If he ever dared take the younger brother’s—no, that clan heir who handled him like a worn footcloth—words seriously ever again, he would thrust his own fist into burning embers.

How had that smooth talk gone? ‘Accompany me to the Baek Estate, and you will share joyful days alongside Rangnang’? ‘I will ensure your labor is upright, so you may hold your head high before Rangnang’?

To be fair, none of it was technically false… though it felt like a curse all the same.

Gu Ak stared down at the towering mountain of registries filling the tabletop, then shifted his gaze toward Steward Han, who had delivered them.

“Master of Reformation Pavilion. Here are today’s matters requiring your attention.”

“…”

An unending daily ordeal. Gu Ak could do nothing except draw a weary breath.

It was true enough that the work was honorable.

No one could dispute that, yet… the sheer volume of it bordered on madness.

“This is absurd. As the steward is well aware, this humble Gu has spent his days knowing little of brush and ledger. So I beg of you—”

Steward Han promptly severed Gu Ak’s plea with effortless finality.

“I am aware. The duties are far too vast for this old man to oversee unaided, and I know of no one more suited to share the mantle than the Master of Reformation Pavilion.”

“…”

“Ah, and once the registries are concluded, ensure you attend to the external dealings previously overseen by the Lord of the House. Frankly speaking, those negotiations carry far greater weight. You grasp the reason, do you not?”

Seeing the dignified, elderly administrator curl his index finger and thumb into a circle—the universal sign of coin used by dark-path ruffians—Gu Ak screamed silently in sheer agony.

Baek Yanghwi! I swear on my life I will settle this grievance with you!