Wudang Sacred Scriptures

Kwak Yeon had long realized that the flow of meridians could be opened or blocked depending on the natural movement of the body’s muscles and tendons. This insight had come after countless attempts at harmonizing the Celestial Meridian Map with the body’s structure.

“True strength in martial arts comes from natural movement,” echoed the words of Senior Instructor Kang Ik-yu. “Natural movement stems from proper posture. Train until you can hold the correct stance in any situation.”

Kwak Yeon finally grasped the full meaning behind those often-repeated instructions. Forced, unnatural movements not only weakened one’s strength but also obstructed the flow of internal energy through the meridians.

‘So, if I deliberately use my muscles and tendons to aid the flow of meridians, it could maximize my effectiveness,’ he thought.

Noticing Ha Gang struggling with the Yuan-Yang Kick technique, Kwak Yeon stepped over to correct his posture.

“Lean your waist forward a little. No, just a bit more. Perfect. Now lift your knee and extend it forward as if you’re stepping, letting your ankle curve naturally.”

Following the adjustments, Ha Gang executed the kick. A sharp whoosh of air followed as his foot cut through the space ahead.

Eyes wide, Ha Gang turned to Kwak Yeon. “Did you hear that sound?”

Kwak Yeon nodded. “I did.”

“What just happened? Suddenly, I felt real power in my kick.”

“It’s because your posture was right. Didn’t the instructor always say proper posture is the key to real power?”

“I get that, but how did you spot what I was doing wrong so quickly?”

Kwak Yeon, straightforward as ever, explained how the flow of meridians and the movement of muscles and tendons were interconnected and how this knowledge could be used to refine fighting stances.

Ha Gang stared in astonishment. “You figured this out on your own? That’s incredible!”

“It’s not a big deal,” Kwak Yeon replied modestly. “I was just doodling meridian maps for fun. Most of it’s just guesswork anyway.”

Ha Gang shook his head. “Guesswork or not, it works. I just experienced it myself.” His eyes gleamed with envy. “If I’d known this earlier, I would’ve studied meridian theory more seriously.”

“Why don’t we start working on the Celestial Meridian Map together?”

But Ha Gang shook his head again. “It’s too late for me to dive into that now.”

Kwak Yeon had no choice but to agree. Even Seok Jangsan, who had consistently trained alongside him, had given up on mastering the complexities of the Celestial Meridian Map.

“I’ll help you refine your posture instead. Now that I know what to look for, you’ll see a lot of improvement.”

Ha Gang’s face brightened. “Thank you! I won’t forget this kindness.”

“There’s no need to make such a big deal out of it.”

Lowering his voice, Ha Gang added, “But let’s keep this between us for now.”

“...Why?”

“First, let’s focus on becoming main sect disciples. Then we can worry about the rest.”

Kwak Yeon could only offer a faint smile. He understood Ha Gang’s reasoning but hadn’t expected him to say it so bluntly.

****

Elsewhere in Wudang Sect

“Why are there so few dropouts this time?”

Grand Disciple Hyun Gong frowned as he addressed Senior Instructor Kang Ik-yu.

“By now, shouldn’t less than half the trainees remain?”

Hyun Gong, leader of Wudang’s Shinmu Squad and overseer of the training hall, was accustomed to seeing much higher attrition rates.

“This cohort has shown remarkable progress,” Kang Ik-yu replied.

Hyun Gong’s expression darkened. “Are you praising yourself, Senior Kang?”

The instructor’s face reddened. “Not at all, sir. We’re guiding the trainees as we always have. And surely, excellent performance among the students is a good thing.”

Hyun Gong’s cold gaze bore into Kang Ik-yu. “Do you not understand the true purpose of this training hall?”

“I do,” Kang Ik-yu answered cautiously.

“Then how can you say such things?”

“Well, doesn’t this give us a better chance to select outstanding students for the main sect?”

Hyun Gong’s expression grew even harsher. “No matter how talented they are, they’re still hall-trained disciples.”

Kang Ik-yu felt a pang of humiliation.

The unspoken truth in Wudang was that main sect disciples handpicked by elders and lords—the true heirs—enjoyed a status far above hall-trained ones.

The training halls were originally established to bolster the ranks of Wudang’s Outer Sect, with only a few trainees chosen as main sect disciples as an incentive.

Kang Ik-yu, a hall-trained disciple himself, knew this better than anyone. Despite earning a place in the main sect, he had always felt the stark divide between himself and the directly selected disciples.

Hyun Gong’s condescending attitude was a constant reminder of this gap. Though they were nominally equals, Hyun Gong treated Kang Ik-yu as distinctly inferior.

“The council has decided to drastically reduce the number of main sect disciples selected from the training hall,” Hyun Gong announced.

“How many will be chosen?” Kang Ik-yu asked, his voice strained.

“Eight. It would have been seven, but Elder Jangmun insisted on keeping the symbolic number aligned with the Eight Celestial Palaces.”

Kang Ik-yu’s eyes widened. “How could the number drop so drastically all at once?”

“Outer Sect disciples are also part of Wudang, and our territory has never been larger. But we’re short on manpower there.”

Kang Ik-yu clenched his fists. “I understand the Outer Sect’s needs, but these trainees have dedicated themselves entirely to becoming main sect disciples.”

“Then increase the dropout rate during training,” Hyun Gong said coldly. “There’s no need to officially announce the reduced spots if fewer trainees make it to the end.”

As he left the conversation, Kang Ik-yu couldn’t shake the image of his trainees’ sweat-soaked faces. His heart sank with guilt as he lowered his head in silence.

As Hyun Gong, the leader of the Shinmu Squad, flipped through the training reports, a particular trend caught his attention.

“There are an unusually high number of sparring matches ending without a clear winner.”

“It’s because their progress has been exceptional,” replied Senior Instructor Kang Ik-yu. “Many of the trainees are now evenly matched in skill.”

Hyun Gong studied Kang Ik-yu carefully, then said, “There must be a specific reason behind such remarkable progress among this cohort of trainees.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Kang Ik-yu explained, “The trainees have started helping each other during practice, particularly within their assigned pairs.”

Hyun Gong frowned. “Competitors helping each other? Why would they do that?”

“It all started with a trainee named Kwak Yeon. He began assisting his partner, Ha Gang, during training, and others began to follow suit. The atmosphere in the training hall has changed significantly since then.”

Privately, Kang Ik-yu was pleased by this development. It reminded him of his own days as a trainee, and he couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride.

“Kwak Yeon… That name sounds familiar,” Hyun Gong murmured, flipping through his memory. “Ah, the report from the infirmary. The apothecary said he’d struggle to advance to Gap-rank.”

Hyun Gong recalled dismissing the note about Kwak Yeon’s unlikely promotion. Yet here he was, not only in Gap-rank but also reshaping the hall’s dynamics.

“What’s his performance like?”

“He’s currently within the top ten.”

Hyun Gong raised an eyebrow as he reviewed the report again. “Are you telling me a trainee who barely advanced to Gap-rank has reached the top ten in six months?”

“The instructors are just as surprised as you, sir.”

“Are you sure there’s no foul play?”

“That’s impossible in the Gap-rank Hall, as you know,” Kang Ik-yu replied firmly. The hall’s rigorous monitoring by instructors and assistants made any kind of cheating inconceivable.

“There must be some reason for such rapid progress.”

“I believe it’s due to the Jianche Yangsheng Method he’s been practicing since his entry. It seems to have a significant impact on muscle and bone development.”

Hyun Gong scoffed. “That method? Isn’t it a survival technique from the Daoist sects focused on immortality? Something for those hermits starving in caves to avoid dying too soon?”

Kang Ik-yu carefully responded, “It seems to be effective for the trainees’ physical growth. Several others have benefitted from it as well. I was considering whether to include it as part of the formal training process…”

Hyun Gong’s disapproving expression made Kang Ik-yu stop mid-sentence.

Hyun Gong finally said, “There’s another decision from the council you should know about.”

Kang Ik-yu’s heart sank. What could be worse than the drastic reduction in main sect disciple selections?

“They’ve decided to replace the head cook.”

Kang Ik-yu’s eyes widened in shock. “Why would they suddenly remove Jang Gu-sam?”

“He’s over eighty, isn’t he? It’s well past time for him to retire.”

“But he’s still healthy and active. The trainees—and even the assistants—look up to him like a grandfather.”

“Are you questioning the council’s decision?” Hyun Gong asked coldly.

“Jang Gu-sam has spent his life dedicated to the kitchen hall. He once said he wished to die in front of the hearth…”

“Jang Gu-sam! Jang Gu-sam!” Hyun Gong interrupted impatiently. “Stop calling him that. Does a mere cook deserve such reverence?”

Kang Ik-yu bit his tongue.

Hyun Gong clicked his tongue in annoyance. “This kind of laxity doesn’t reflect well on Wudang’s authority.”

“Jang Gu-sam has been with us since the era of the previous Grandmaster,” Kang Ik-yu argued.

“And that’s precisely why he’s being replaced.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s absurd to give a mere cook such treatment.”

Kang Ik-yu knew what was happening. Wudang Sect was becoming increasingly rigid, with a focus on enforcing strict hierarchies under the guise of reform.

Jang Gu-sam didn’t fit this new atmosphere. His presence, which symbolized warmth and familiarity, clashed with the sect’s push for stricter order.

Kang Ik-yu sighed. “I’m afraid I can’t deliver this news to him.”

Hyun Gong narrowed his eyes. “You don’t have to. I’ll handle it personally.”