Wudang Sacred Scriptures

Kwak Yeon called over the guesthouse boy to have the table cleaned, and handed the innkeeper not only the room fee but a generous tip on top.

Then, he hoisted Chwi Dugae—now dead drunk—onto his back.
He only prayed the man wouldn’t vomit on his head or clothes.
Only after carrying him did Kwak Yeon understand why he was called Chwi Dugae—the Drunken-Head Beggar. His booze-soaked head felt as heavy as an iron boulder.

There was no doubt about it: the Beggars’ Guild leader doted on his disciple to a ridiculous degree.
When sober, the man spoke and acted with cutting sharpness.
Kwak Yeon had even felt a flicker of tension when Chwi Dugae deduced his identity on the spot. If he had been an enemy, his instincts would’ve made him a dangerous one.

Now, Kwak Yeon sat silently, watching Chwi Dugae sleeping on the bedding, scratching himself fiercely in his sleep.
He was well aware of the long-standing enmity between the Beggars’ Guild and Hao Clan. The two sects overlapped in many fields, especially information handling.
He also knew Hao Clan straddled the line between the orthodox and the demonic.

But still, was this matter truly grave enough to make the Beggars’ Guild tremble with such disgust?
“So that’s not the whole story.”
Even so, he had no intention of waking the Guild’s Rear Beggar to grill him for every last detail.

Wouldn’t that make him no better than a gossiping eavesdropper?
At this point, since he had already started and uncovered so much, there was no choice but to investigate the truth for himself.
And come to think of it, something didn’t sit right.

“Half-form martial techniques?”
Was that alone worth the exorbitant cost and effort Hao Clan had expended?
Hard to believe.

Suhmyeon Horui’s excuse had sounded plausible on the surface, but there were gaps.
The idea of collecting partial techniques from various sects to build a new one was nonsense.
Martial forms required internal coherence and flow.
“There’s definitely more to this.”

That was likely why even a Rear Beggar of the Beggars’ Guild had come to investigate personally.
Following only the innkeeper’s vague directions, it hadn’t been easy to find the mountain path. But Kwak Yeon was used to mountain terrain by now and didn’t lose his way.
Hyeopmungok was just as Suhmyeon Horui had described—a narrow trail between cliffs and sheer drops.

By the time Kwak Yeon arrived at Hyeopmungok, midnight had long since passed.
And the matter was already over.
Though not in the way Suhmyeon Horui or the Hyeongui Sect disciple, Jeong So-hyeop, had planned.

The Hyeongui disciple lay dead in a pool of blood, and in front of the corpse sat a man murmuring something incessantly.
To be reciting incantations before someone you had just killed—sure enough, it reeked of a demonic heretic.
Kwak Yeon felt a twinge in his chest.

Though he had sought fame and power by disgraceful means, he was still cut down in the prime of his youth.
Where had it all gone wrong?
Had the Mountain Bell Toxin failed to affect that man? Or had they botched the poisoning?

In truth, there was no real reason Kwak Yeon needed to know.
He simply meant to punish the demonic man and offer a sliver of comfort for the youth who had perished in vain.
But what incantation was that man chanting so earnestly?

His curiosity piqued, Kwak Yeon focused his hearing. The man’s voice rang out clearly.
“...I’m sorry.”
Kwak Yeon thought he had misheard.

But then—
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for hurting you, So-hyeop. I had no other choice. I had already given up on life. But I couldn’t let myself die to your sword… I’m sorry. I truly am.”
The words were too heartfelt to be an act. And out here in the mountains, who was there to perform for?

His demeanor and bearing didn’t quite match that of a typical demonic heretic either.
Regardless, the truth of the matter had to be uncovered.
As Kwak Yeon revealed his presence, the man flinched and raised his head.

“Did you come to capture me too?”
The man backed away, retreating in staggered steps.
“I’m not the Killing Fiend! I swear, I don’t know anything! How did I become that filthy killer overnight...? Don’t come closer. I don’t want to kill you like I did Jeong So-hyeop. I’ll end this myself, so don’t worry about me fleeing.”

Again, his words and expression didn’t fit a demonic killer. And now, he was backing toward the edge of a cliff that dropped straight down a thousand feet.
“Calm yourself.”
Kwak Yeon raised both hands.

“Let’s hear your side first.”
“It’s all over. All so empty and meaningless.”
Shaking his head weakly, the man spoke as if reciting a verse.

“To not disgrace my master and sect—that’s all I have left. I fled this far to at least preserve that. But Jeong So-hyeop blocked my path. I begged him to let me throw myself off the cliff, but he refused. He insisted he’d kill me and reveal my identity as the Killing Fiend to the world. What choice did I have?”
His speech was disjointed and rambling, but the conclusion was clear.
He claimed he wasn’t the Killing Fiend.

“Who are you, and how did you come to bear such a false charge?”
At Kwak Yeon’s words, the man flinched. Likely because he had called it a false charge.
“I am Yeong Ho-beom, disciple of Baeksangmun of Shanxi. I came to Aknyang Pavilion with a friend attending the Hwayeong Assembly. We spent a night at Hongru, and when I woke up late, the courtesan was lying there—brutally murdered. Then someone shouted that the Killing Fiend had appeared. I ran out in confusion, was chased all over, and ended up here.”

The look on Yeong Ho-beom’s face was utterly shattered. It didn’t feel like a lie.
His devastated expression and trembling voice were not things one could fake. And wasn’t he stepping backward toward the cliff’s edge without the slightest hesitation?
“So-hyeop Yeong Ho, I understand. I believe you. So please, stop where you are. If you’ve been falsely accused, then we must clear your name. Let me help you.”

“Don’t lie. You came chasing after me, hoping to earn fame by slaying a demonic killer, didn’t you?”
Kwak Yeon was at a loss.
The man now stood at the brink of the cliff. One wrong move, and he would throw himself off.

They were five jang apart—he could throw a blade to kill, but not to save.
Realizing that only sincere persuasion could work now, Kwak Yeon spoke calmly.
“I understand that you won’t believe anything I say. But ending your life won’t erase the false charge, will it?”

Yeong Ho-beom shook his head.
“If I fall off this thousand-foot cliff and am crushed beyond recognition, no one will know who I was. It will simply be another demonic killer dead. That’s all I want. So please, don’t come closer.”
He feared death—and yet, he feared tarnishing his master and sect’s name even more.

“That kind of reputation matters more to him than his own life.”
“So-hyeop Yeong Ho, I understand your devotion to your sect. But aren’t you angry? All those years of training, wasted in a single day.”
Kwak Yeon’s throat tightened as he recalled the daily sweat and struggle of his peers at Seokjang Mountain, Maejangso, and Yeongmudang.

“So-hyeop Yeong Ho, fortunately it’s just the two of us here. I regret what happened to So-hyeop Jeong, but he bears some blame of his own. So I don’t think it’s wrong to borrow his body for a moment.”
“Borrow his body? You mean…?”
“Yes. If he falls over the cliff, then the Killing Fiend dies here. Please trust me.”

Yeong Ho-beom shook his head with quiet sorrow.
“It’s useless.”
He rolled up his sleeve. A vivid blue skull tattoo stood out on his forearm.

“I’d heard rumors «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» while traveling through Hoseo that the Killing Fiend had these skull tattoos. I never imagined they’d appear on both my arms overnight.”
Kwak Yeon now clearly understood why Yeong Ho-beom had chosen a wretched death over running.
There was no way to remove the branded tattoos. And so, instead of erasing the marks, he had chosen to erase his own face.

Kwak Yeon was momentarily at a loss for words.
He couldn’t think of a way to deal with those tattoos either.
At that moment, voices rang out from below the narrow trail.

“There are footprints leading this way!”
“Yes, and they’re fresh!”
“This time, we’ll catch the Killing Fiend for sure and reveal the bastard’s true identity!”

Kwak Yeon realized it was now nearing the first hour of the day—roughly between 1 and 3 a.m.
His eyes met Yeong Ho-beom’s.
Yeong Ho-beom looked at him briefly—then leapt backward.

He positioned himself headfirst and fell from the cliff.
A flower had withered.
Before it could even bloom fully, it was gone.

Kwak Yeon couldn’t stop him. He couldn’t even try.
Because he had seen the desperate look in Yeong Ho-beom’s eyes.
In those eyes was a final farewell.

A thank-you—for believing him.
By the time the others arrived, the only body left at the scene was that of the Hyeongui Sect disciple.
 

****
When Kwak Yeon returned to the guesthouse room, Chwi Dugae was still passed out cold.
“Beggar, indeed—able to sleep anywhere. But this one? He’s a beggar among beggars. How can he be so carefree?”

Only then did Kwak Yeon wonder if perhaps Chwi Dugae wasn’t simply drunk.
Suddenly, he recalled the delicate young inn-boy who had brought the wine flask.
He had seen that child somewhere before.

He had brushed it off at the time—thinking that all inn boys looked more or less the same.
“Wait…”
But back then, it had been a slender young girl.

“Why would that girl…?”
As Kwak Yeon tried to make sense of it—
—Knock, knock, knock.

Someone knocked at the room door.
“May I intrude for a moment?”
It was an elderly voice, rough with age.

“Come in.”
In walked an old man, his face wrinkled like dried fungus. Behind him stood that same child inn-server.
Tonight, the old man’s eyes were open, and there was no geum (zither) slung over his back. The demure young girl had turned into a mischievous-looking boy.

The old man stepped inside and gave a respectful bow.
“To think I’d meet my benefactor from Geyang-hyeon here again.”
Kwak Yeon slightly furrowed his brow.

“So the blind old man… was in truth a hidden master of the martial world. I must apologize for meddling blindly, not realizing your intent.”
“Oh, you flatter me. At the time, this old man truly was a blind vagrant. The debt I owe you is no less real just because my status has changed. A kindness received doesn’t vanish with circumstance.”
“Then why…”

“My ward here played a bit of mischief. I couldn’t let it go without an apology as an adult.”
The girl-disguised-as-a-boy, called Gwaa, pouted.
“Grandpa Jo, I only did it to help our benefactor. That lousy Beggars’ Guild mutt was all over him, so I had to step in.”

Gwaa turned to Kwak Yeon.
“Daoist-nim, tell him, please. That rotten Beggars’ Guild guy dragged you here from Aknyang Pavilion against your will, right?”