Chapter 1653
It's a Good Day (3)
Paaaat.
The sword cut through the air.
It was an impeccably clean strike. Yet the sharpness that once lingered at the blade's edge was gone.
Had it dulled?
No.
What now filled the sword was softness.
To replace sharpness with softness—this was the essence of Wudang's sword.
When speed and flow wrapped around gentleness, the swordsmanship of its wielder approached completion.
Paaaat.
The sword flashed again.
Ssssk.
This time, the movement faltered slightly.
The swordsman frowned, swung several more times, then shook his head.
Something was off.
"Sahyeong! Sahyeooooong!"
He turned.
A pale-faced Saje came running toward him, breath ragged.
"What is all this noise?" the swordsman asked calmly.
"It—it's terrible news, Jin Hyeon Sahyeong! Have you heard?"
Jin Hyeon frowned slightly.
"What news? Speak properly—"
"Jang Ilso is coming here with Sapaeryeon!"
The words slammed into the air.
Jin Hyeon's parted lips closed.
Cold gathered in his eyes.
"Is it confirmed?"
"Yes! The rumor is spreading everywhere. The Beggars Sect reports that Sapaeryeon is moving toward us."
"…I see."
He nodded once.
That was all.
Jin Song stared at him, frustration bubbling up.
"Then what happens now, Sahyeong?"
"What do you mean?"
"Sapaeryeon… Wudang can't face them alone, can it?"
"..."
"I heard even Shaolin was destroyed. Before they arrive, shouldn't we abandon this place and—"
"Silence."
Jin Song froze.
"Once spoken, words cannot be retrieved. Do not speak carelessly."
"I—I'm sorry, Sahyeong."
"The decision belongs to the Sect Leader. We follow orders."
Jin Song nodded.
Then Jin Hyeon added quietly,
"If we intended to flee at a time like this, we would never have sealed ourselves in Bongmun."
The sword at his side glinted briefly.
Tatadat.
The once-serene grounds of Wudang filled with hurried footsteps.
"Sect Leader!"
"Sect Leader, are you well?"
Disciples bowed hastily as a group rushed past.
At its head walked a white-haired Taoist with a stern expression—
Heo San-ja (虛散子), Acting Sect Leader of Wudang, foremost elder of the era.
They passed even the Upper Clear Palace and stopped before a small, secluded structure far from the sect's center.
Heo San-ja stared at the dilapidated building.
"Wait here."
"Yes."
He inhaled deeply and approached the door, lowering his voice in a courtesy unfitting of his status.
"Sect Leader, are you inside? This is Heo San."
To outsiders, the scene would seem strange.
Wudang already had a Sect Leader—Heo San-ja himself.
Yet he addressed someone else as Sect Leader.
The elders behind him showed no confusion. They accepted it as natural.
"Come in."
Heo San-ja entered.
The interior was harsher than expected.
Cracked walls. Cold wind slipping through gaps. A place less like a residence than a site of relentless asceticism.
In one corner sat an old man with white hair and worn robes.
Heo San-ja bowed deeply.
"Heo San greets the Sect Leader."
The old man returned the bow, then frowned slightly.
"How many times must I say this? I am no longer Wudang's Sect Leader."
"Please don't say such things," Heo San-ja replied immediately. "Someone as inadequate as myself cannot truly hold that title. Everyone knows I am only filling a position forced upon us by circumstance."
The old man sighed.
His hair and beard—once black and magnificent—were now white. Yet his gaze remained sharp, colder than before. If anything, it carried a transcendent weight absent in his youth.
"Very well. Why have you come?"
"Sapaeryeon is heading this way."
The old man did not respond, but the heaviness in his eyes said he already knew.
"What should we do, Sect Leader?"
Silence.
"The elders believe Wudang alone cannot stop them. Facing Sapaeryeon directly would be impossible."
"Impossible…"
"Yes. Therefore, they propose the Gold Cicada Sheds Its Shell strategy."
"…So we flee."
"For now, that is their intention."
"Do you agree, Sect Leader Saje?"
"I… do not know. What is truly Wudang's path…"
Heo San-ja trailed off.
To fight was suicide.
To flee was disgrace.
Sapaeryeon had already crushed Shaolin, Paeng, and Kongtong.
Yet lifting Bongmun only to retreat would stain Wudang's name forever.
At that moment, Heo San-ja finally understood the weight of the decision made at the Yangtze River long ago.
Regardless of right or wrong, it had been unbearable.
"For me… it is too difficult. Please guide me."
"Gold Cicada Sheds Its Shell…"
Heo Do Jinin nodded slowly.
"The priority is to preserve Wudang's disciples. Go to Shaolin. Join the remaining monks there. Hold out until Cheonumaeng arrives."
Heo San-ja stopped.
Something was wrong.
"Go…? What do you mean by that?"
No answer.
"Sect Leader… you must lead us."
Heo Do Jinin smiled faintly.
"We may retreat once."
"..."
"But we cannot retreat twice. If we do, the meaning of the first retreat is sealed. Wudang would forever be known as cowards who fled twice to save their own lives."
"But—"
"Therefore, we must prove it."
Heo Do Jinin's voice sharpened.
"That Wudang does not flee. That we are willing to fight."
"…."
"You will lead the disciples to Shaolin."
"I will remain."
"What… what will you protect?"
A glacial chill flashed in Heo Do Jinin's eyes.
"Wudang's honor."
The words pressed down like a mountain.
"The honor I sank into the Yangtze."
His voice was a blade, honed over years of silence.
"This time, I will protect it. No matter the cost."
Heo San-ja's breath caught.
He wanted to stop him.
But how could he?
He knew the life this man had lived since Bongmun—bearing the burden alone, repenting in silence.
"Gather the disciples," Heo Do Jinin said calmly. "Decide quickly."
"S-Sect Leader…"
"Saje."
His tone hardened.
"Lead them to Shaolin. Leave behind only those who share my resolve."
He stood.
"I do not need companions in death. But if some choose to die for Wudang's honor, I will ensure their deaths are not meaningless."
"Sect Leader…"
"There is no need to stop me."
A chilling smile curved his lips.
"From that day onward, I have lived only for this."
He gazed at the worn ceiling.
He spoke truthfully.
Except for one thing.
Whenever he closed his eyes, one face returned again and again—
A man who had seized his collar in rage.
A man who stood beside Jang Ilso that day.
"…It is unfortunate I never apologized."
His smile softened.
"But apologies are not made with words."
They are made—
With one's life.
Even if the one who receives it stands far away.