Prologue
Could immortality truly exist?
Martial artists had devoted themselves to the path of attaining the Dao by cultivating their internal energy, but apart from the path of ascending to immortality, they could not approach the true meaning of immortality.
It was a domain permitted to no one.
But he had neither wished for it nor ever thought of it. It was merely an uninvited guest that arrived at some moment. A simple accident.
He did not age.
He could not starve to death, nor could he die from injuries.
For whatever reason, by whatever means, he could never die.
Therefore, he could achieve anything.
“How boring.”
The meaning of life did not exist.
Having obtained an infinite life, there was nothing more to fill it with, nor anything to take away.
All that remained was an unbearable boredom.
Episode 1. Deukdochon (1)
From afar, there was a mountain that rose tracing a rather decent curve.
It was a nameless mountain with nothing to boast of.
Called Yeongsaengsan only by the locals, it was an exceedingly ordinary mountain that could be found anywhere—neither rugged nor gentle.
No one paid it any mind, and particularly those who cultivated the Dao had no reason to climb it.
For nearly five hundred years, neither miraculous elixirs nor spiritual creatures had been discovered, and even common medicinal herbs were so devoid of efficacy that they were treated as weeds. Thus, there was no reason for outsiders to come, and only small villages occasionally dotted the mountain’s perimeter.
Clearly, until about a hundred years ago, it had been quiet to a miserable degree. The only visitors were those who had lost their way and stayed out of necessity.
A bizarre rumor had begun to spread starting from a hundred years ago.
[Anyone who arrives there can attain the Dao!]
The rumor that shook the martial arts world was, no matter how one looked at it, by no means normal. But to martial artists who had crashed against a great wall and were experiencing despair, it was a rumor like a ray of light.
As a result, these environs, where one could find neither ordinary people let alone martial artists, were packed to the brim with martial artists who had heard the rumor and come. The uproar settled roughly ten years later.
Just what kind of incident had occurred?
Now, in a different sense, it had become a place where no one’s footsteps could reach—no, where they could not reach. As if they had all made a promise with one another.
“Ho, the weather is fine.”
On the path closest to the mountain, at a crossroads not far from the village, an old man in shabby clothes always sat.
Some called him Gwangno. It was for the childish reason that all his hair had fallen out and his head shone.
Those who came here for the first time openly ignored him, but when they left Yeongsaengsan, they treated him with reverence nearly to the point of prostrating themselves, calling him Hoesaengseonin or Bulgwangnoya. It was a bizarre thing that those who had not experienced it could never know.
As always, Gwangno sat using a bundle of medicines as a chair and waited for a guest.
“Hehe, here one comes.”
Receiving guests was extremely rare, and the timing was always regular. Before anyone knew it, this had become a rule.
“Is this the road leading to Deukdochon?”
The old man who had been standing far away approached Gwangno like the wind and asked. It was a movement that would have startled an ordinary person into falling on his backside. Had martial artists seen it, they would have praised it as a divine movement technique beyond human capability.
Clearly, he did not seem to be an ordinary old man. His white beard descended long past his solar plexus all the way to his navel, and in his hand, he held a glossy staff. Judging by his luggage, he seemed to have come from quite far, yet not a speck of dust clung to his snow-white dao robe.
A martial artist.
Moreover, one who had reached a realm that could rightly be called beyond human.
But Gwangno remained leisurely. So much so that the old man felt rather awkward.
“Where have you come from?”
“I have come from Huashan.”
“You have come quite a long way.”
The old man’s expression slightly furrowed. He could not feel any momentum from Gwangno. He merely looked like a shabby old villager worn down by the passage of time. The moment the old man saw the appearance of someone who seemed to have come rolling out of a field, his heart was colored with disappointment.
From the moment he descended Huashan and came to the fringes of Shandong, his steps had been light with the expectations he harbored. But now, the old man felt as though the fatigue accumulated over that time was crashing down upon him all at once, along with his disappointment.
‘To think that after waiting so long, someone like this would guide me on the path of attaining the Dao…! Were all those words empty talk? I simply cannot understand the words of my master who ascended to immortality!’
Unable to hide his complicated feelings, the old man shook his head. Seeing that, Gwangno smiled and began to lead the way.
“Follow me.”
Gwangno climbed the mountain with ordinary steps. No trace of internal energy or divine movement techniques could be felt, yet his steps were incredibly fast. There was something in those steps that transcended boundaries. Only then did the old man’s eyes fill with surprise.
‘So there is something after all.’
Thinking so, the old man followed Gwangno with some relief. After walking for some time, a wooden signboard came into view.
Deukdochon.
The old man couldn’t help but stop dead in his tracks the moment he saw those characters.
‘What momentum!’
Every stroke carried a majesty as though it could split a mountain. If it were merely majestic, he would not have frozen like this. The overwhelming artistic conception and freedom contained within dealt the old man a massive shock.
This was everything he had so desperately longed for.
‘To think freedom could be expressed to such a degree through extreme artistic conception. Even the profound meaning of the Zixia Shengong I recently touched upon was not like this. What is artistic conception for? Does such formless freedom not shatter form itself? Could I express that with my sword?’
The old man’s eyes gradually closed. The internal energy gathered within his body circulated, and a purple glow began to emanate.
“Tsk, tsk, meditating in broad daylight. Get up—we must go inside now.”
At Gwangno’s words, the old man’s body trembled with a start, and his eyes flew open. They were full of regret. If only he had meditated a little longer, he could have broken through a great wall.
He looked at Gwangno with resentful eyes, but Gwangno looked back with an unconcerned expression and took out a pill from his sleeve, handing it over.
‘What is this?’
Together with a sweet fragrance, the clear energy it exuded was extraordinary. It was an inner pill close to completion, comparable in quality to Huashan’s secret treasures. It was a miraculous elixir that, if thrown into the martial arts world, would spark a bloodbath.
“Take it as a palate cleanser. There are occasionally those who vomit blood and collapse, so it is no trivial matter.”
The old man carefully received the pill and held it in his mouth. He thought he would need to circulate his internal energy to digest it, but the pill’s energy spread naturally and was absorbed into his body.
‘It is the finest miracle medicine!’
Its efficacy was not inferior to Shaolin’s Dahuandan—no, it was even superior. The old man composed his mind. It was a realm beyond his current affinity. But since he had grasped even the faintest trace of its edge, if he devoted himself, he could reach it.
As the old man steeled his resolve and composed his mind, Gwangno stopped for a moment, looked at him, and spoke.
“Do you know the rules?”
“I do.”
They were rules passed down by word of mouth from predecessors of distant generations.
-First, do not circulate internal energy once inside Deukdochon.
-Second, do not ask about anything, nor be curious about anything.
-Third, act as though you are using an ordinary inn.
Having been drilled into him almost like brainwashing, the old man knew them all too well.
“Now, then…”
Gwangno took the lead and entered Deukdochon. The scenery was magnificent. Every single building exuded a spirit as if alive and breathing.
Could the buildings of the Imperial Palace even compare!
The old man’s steps faltered. The door plaque had been merely the beginning. He had sustained an internal injury, and fresh red blood seeped from his mouth. If he did not circulate his energy, it could fester grievously.
The moment he worried whether he should break the rules, the medicinal effects of the pill circulated and healed his internal injury in an instant.
‘What in the—?!’
The old man stopped thinking. Because the voices of his predecessors struck his mind.
[Do not be curious about anything!]
Barely composing his mind, the old man followed Gwangno into the inn. It was not an exterior one would expect to find in such a remote area. Even if it were in the capital, it was beautiful enough to make a name for itself, and the relief work was excessively ornate.
Gwangno cleared his throat and spoke.
“Musaeng, are you there?”
“Gwangno, it is you. A guest after a long time?”
“Hehe, so it is.”
The one called Musaeng walked out from the corner of the inn. He was quite a tall young man wearing clothes of an unprecedented style. The outfit was neat overall, and the naturally dyed color was exceptionally pleasing to the eye.
“Ah!”
Coupled with the young man’s outstanding appearance, it was enough to draw an exclamation. He was like a jewel that seemed to have been touched by a master artisan.
The old man closed his eyes, steadied his breath, then opened his eyes again and looked at Musaeng. Even viewed with an unmoving mind, he was still an incredibly handsome man. His deep pupils were impressive, like looking at the night sky, but the old man could not discover what lay within. The old man could never read the immense years hidden in those eyes and the accumulated boredom.
When Musaeng appeared, the old man felt as though the air had changed. He held onto that feeling with momentary puzzlement. Musaeng walked over silently, stopped before Gwangno, and upon discovering the old man standing behind Gwangno, gave a slight bow.
“Please, have a seat. I will prepare a simple meal.”
“T-then I shall trouble you.”
The old man observed the young man called Musaeng closely but could not discover any peculiar point. There were no traces of martial arts training, and his gait was unsteady. Apart from his extremely handsome face and tall stature, there was nothing to distinguish him from any other young man. But strangely, the old man’s senses were on guard against him. Cold sweat broke out on its own, and his fists clenched tight.
‘Just who is that young man?’
There was no one to answer the old man’s question.
Musaeng slowly went into the kitchen. Strangely, the kitchen of this inn was completely open, allowing one to see the cooking. The old man observed Musaeng, and the moment his thoughts reached the young man’s physique, his eyes gleamed.
‘How can he have such a physique!? It is not natural but forged! Yet I cannot find any trace of martial arts training—what in the world is going on?!’
At the moment he was looking at Musaeng with complicated feelings, Musaeng picked up a kitchen knife.
‘Urk!’
Clatter!
The old man jumped up in surprise, and the chair toppled backward, crashing to the floor. He paid no heed to the fallen chair and could only look at Musaeng with an expression of extreme shock.
‘I—I’m overwhelmed! It’s like facing… no, like facing a sword that could split Mount Tai!’
Musaeng began to cut the vegetables. The kitchen knife danced, scattering them across the cutting board. The air seemed to ripple, and a cucumber was cleanly sliced apart in an instant. It happened in a fleeting moment that could almost be called simultaneous.
Before the kitchen knife, the sword he had devoted his entire life to crumbled. A tremendous shock shook his body. It was the most optimal sword path—one that surpassed cognition and seemed impossible for a human to perform.
“Hurk!”
Musaeng held the kitchen knife in one hand and flipped a pot into the air with the other. That process was as natural as flowing water. But the old man’s jaw dropped not because of that.
It was too fast. No, it was by no means fast. To be precise, he could see the movements but could not perceive them, so he could not even comprehend them. It was a moment where his mind, gazing upon a profound realm, came to a halt.
‘No matter how many feints one mixes in, it is only natural for movements to have a preparatory process and for the results to be predictable. Yet that is like water itself! Could even an immortal’s knife skills be such?’
If such an attack were rained down upon him, the old man had no confidence he could block it.
‘So that was it? The Zixia Shengong I thought was complete was merely the first fold? Was completing the lost formulas of the Zixia Shengong with my own hands impossible all along? Hehe, I should have abandoned such greed.’
The old man calmly sat on the floor, made a reverent gesture to split the air, then slowly lowered his hands. Then he closed his eyes. There was a mystical quality to his appearance, as if one were watching an immortal.
The old man’s meditation lasted until Musaeng finished cooking. Musaeng calmly plated the food as always and approached the table where the old man was.
“Hm? Why are you sitting on the floor when there is a chair?”
“Do not mind it. There are all sorts of people, are there not?”
“Indeed, the guests you bring are all peculiar.”
The old man suddenly vomited blood, then opened his eyes with a refreshed expression. Musaeng briefly observed the old man’s complexion and began placing the food on the table.