Chapter 183 - When Cracks Form Between People

The next day, I went to the Blue Fists’ training ground.

Dressed in blue martial uniforms, they were distinctly different from the White Fists. Their greater skill gave them a corresponding ease.

The Fist Demon had not arrived yet, so I exchanged greetings with them freely. Naturally, they knew I had been training with the White Fists.

One of them asked me, “Have you learned everything the White Fists have to teach? I heard you only attended for seven or eight days.”

“How long did it take you?”

“I spent two years there. If you didn’t learn properly with the White Fists, training with the Blue Fists won’t be easy.”

He sounded concerned, but he was probably expressing his displeasure. We struggled for two whole years, yet you passed in just a few days. He was subtly voicing his suspicion that I had benefited from being the Second Young Master—that the difference lay in status, not skill.

I did not bother making excuses. Others were bound to share his dissatisfaction, and words would not resolve this.

Soon afterward, the Fist Demon appeared. Something I had learned since coming here was that he personally supervised martial training for everyone from the White Fists to the Black Fists. The other Demon Supremes taught only their disciples, who in turn taught the subordinates beneath them. The Fist Demon personally looked after every one of his followers.

“I believe personally instructing all the Iron Fists is truly worthy of respect.”

I spoke loudly. Everyone would assume I was flattering him, but I meant it. In an atmosphere where no one even asked questions, he had probably never heard anyone say such a thing. So I said it.

The Fist Demon turned his gaze toward me. Looking at his fierce, impassive face, I spoke even louder.

“You are admirable!”

Better to say it once in front of everyone than a hundred times when we were alone. This, at least, was not my Divine Art of Flattery. He deserved the praise. It truly was no easy thing for a Demon Supreme to look after even his lowest-ranking followers.

Nevertheless, his eyes said:

—Your bullshit won’t work on me.

My eyes replied:

—Then this should work. It isn’t bullshit.

As we got down to training, all the Blue Fists removed their shirts.

From the Blue Fists onward, they trained bare-chested so that even the movement of each muscle could be examined.

Once their shirts were off, their eyes turned toward me. Their looks said, Let’s see that pale body of our esteemed Second Young Master.

I slowly removed my shirt as well. The sight of my body startled them all.

Muscles honed through training for real combat, and countless scars. If they knew who had given me each one, even the Fist Demon would be shocked.

I smiled broadly at everyone.

“I came here so I could stop getting beaten up.”

The fleeting curl of the Fist Demon’s lips was unmistakably a sneer. He still distrusted me, waiting to see how long I would last.

The training began in earnest.

Once again, the Fist Demon did not teach me a single movement. I watched the others perform and then copied them. Breathing methods became important in the forms they were learning, and I learned those by imitation too. Using the New Eye Procedure, I closely observed their noses, throats, bellies, and mouths to work out how they breathed.

Then I asked the Fist Demon to check.

“Please see whether I’m using the correct breathing method.”

“Who taught you that breathing method?”

“I just learned it by watching them perform.”

None of the Blue Fists seemed to believe me.

But the Fist Demon would. He was surely reading my qi presence. How did he assess my ability?

Father’s words came back to me: if I became involved with the Fist Demon through martial arts, we would inevitably fight.

Looking at him, I thrust my hand into the air.

“I have another question!”

* * *

The next day, and the day after that, I trained hard.

Before I knew it, the Blue Fists’ somewhat hostile looks had disappeared. I worked hard, performed better than anyone else, and, above all, brought out a new side of the Fist Demon.

“How should we use this form in actual combat?”

Strictly speaking, that question was for the Fist Demon rather than the Blue Fists.

Surely he wanted to explain to his followers how the forms could be put to practical use. I would have wanted to. Why would he be any different?

Sure enough, he explained in such detail that I wondered what he would have done if I hadn’t asked. The Blue Fists looked surprised too. They could not have known he would explain things so well.

“Is there a particular mindset that keeps you from fearing a sword?”

I asked questions about psychological matters like that, as well as truly fundamental ones.

“Why fist arts?”

In truth, it was a question everyone from the White Fists to the Black Fists—and even the Fist Demon himself—should keep asking.

As I asked it, I naturally asked myself as well.

‘Why the sword?’

How a person sought the answer to that question would determine how far they could grow.

Five days after I began training with the Blue Fists, the Fist Demon spoke to me in front of their martial artists.

“Report to the Red Fists’ training starting tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.”

None of the Blue Fists objected to the decision. In just a few days, I had learned to execute their forms perfectly.

Indeed, the man who had spoken to me on my first day even came to apologize.

“Please forgive my rudeness on your first day.”

“Anyone would have thought the same. Someone among the Red Fists will probably say the same thing.”

“And a few days later, he’ll come to apologize just as I have. Thank you for opening our foolish, inadequate eyes.”

All the Blue Fist martial artists standing behind him inclined their heads to me. I bowed my head in return. Simply getting to see a new side of the Fist Demon must have made this a meaningful time for them.

* * *

“I hear Mugeuk is training under the Fist Demon.”

Geom Muyang was keeping a close watch on his little brother’s movements.

“They say he advanced through the Blue Fists’ training in only ten-odd days, and began training with the Red Fists two or three days ago.”

The Demonic Buddha, seated across from him, replied.

“That is entirely possible with the Second Young Master’s martial skill.”

The Demonic Buddha knew what worried the First Young Master. He must be afraid that, at this rate, the Second Young Master really would become the Fist Demon’s disciple.

“You need not worry about the Fist Demon. Any attempt by the Second Young Master to win him over will only backfire.”

That reminded Geom Muyang of something from the past.

“Do you happen to remember what you once told me?”

“What did I tell you?”

“The Drunken Demon is unpredictable. Once he starts stirring things up, even the Second Young Master will have trouble dealing with him. He will lose the Demon Supremes he has worked so hard to gather.”

Those were the words the Demonic Buddha had said to Geom Muyang when he received a broken liquor bottle from the Drunken Demon.

Yet the news that eventually reached them was of Geom Mugeuk drinking and enjoying himself with the Drunken Demon.

“Please don’t take offense. I simply cannot disregard what happened with the Drunken Demon.”

Despite being asked not to take offense, the Demonic Buddha felt displeased. Was it really necessary to repeat his words so precisely? Didn’t that mean Geom Muyang had been holding on to that incident all along?

Once a crack formed between people, was it truly impossible to repair?

At first, he had tried hard to ignore the crack. He had been careful not to let it widen, and ultimately convinced himself that everything would be fine so long as the relationship did not shatter.

But now the Demonic Buddha could feel it.

In human relationships, what mattered was not whether the crack led to a complete break. The existence of the crack itself was the problem.

Had the other person not been Geom Muyang, this relationship would already have been settled in one way or another. But he could not do that. Geom Muyang was the path he had chosen. He had staked his life on him.

Geom Muyang addressed the Demonic Buddha.

“Would you meet the Fist Demon and find out what he is thinking?”

“Yes. I will go speak with him.”

The Demonic Buddha readily accepted the request.

As he rose, the Demonic Buddha turned back toward Geom Muyang. He wanted to tell him it was all right to show his anxiety. That he could tell him everything. That his little brother was so strong he was struggling to cope. That saying it all aloud would ease his mind a little.

But the words caught in his throat and would not come out.

“What is it? Is there something you wish to say?”

“No. I’ll be on my way.”

Leaving the office, the Demonic Buddha reproached himself.

If the First Young Master could not speak openly, he could at least do so himself... This was not something to blame Geom Muyang for.

* * *

The next day, the Demonic Buddha stopped in his tracks as he entered the Eastern Fist School.

He had spotted Geom Mugeuk with the Red Fist martial artists.

“Spread your legs a little more. Lower your arms.”

Geom Mugeuk was checking their movements. The Demonic Buddha knew he was no ordinary person, but how many days had it been? How could he already be acting so friendly with the Red Fists?

Then he saw Geom Mugeuk’s eyes and expression. He was talking enthusiastically with the Red Fists, like someone truly absorbed in fist arts.

Yes, that was why. That was what drew them all in. They were fooled by that strange fervor—one he himself had nearly fallen for.

Just then, Geom Mugeuk spotted the Demonic Buddha, ran over, and greeted him.

“It’s been a while. Have you been well?”

Geom Mugeuk smiled brightly. How wonderful it would be if Geom Muyang smiled at him like that.

‘No. Stop thinking such nonsense. He smiles like that because we are enemies.’

Wasn’t it human nature to greet complete strangers with broad smiles, then scowl at one’s own people because things were difficult? He must not be fooled by that smile. The First Young Master showed his irritation because they were on the same side; the Second Young Master smiled because they were enemies.

“I’ve been hearing plenty of rumors that you’re engrossed in fist arts these days.”

“Serving as Pavilion Master of Yellow Springs Pavilion, I encounter far too many bastards I want to beat with my fists.”

“Come now, let’s not be hypocritical with each other. Aren’t you coming here to bring the Fist Demon over to your side?”

“I do like the sound of ‘with each other.’”

That glib tongue kept melting his resistance, even though the words were plainly meant to please him.

“Enough of your pretense. Go swing those cotton fists of yours.”

Forcing himself to be cold, the Demonic Buddha headed toward the Fist Demon’s office. Geom Mugeuk called after him.

“The Fist Demon calls them baby hands, but you call them cotton fists?”

* * *

“You are a busy man, so I will get straight to the point. I came today because of the Second Young Master.”

As if he had expected as much, the Fist Demon silently waited for him to continue. The tall, massive Fist Demon and the Demonic Buddha, who was far smaller than an ordinary person, made a striking contrast.

“The Second Young Master’s desire to learn fist arts is a ploy to draw you over to his side.”

In truth, the Demonic Buddha had never been particularly close to the Fist Demon, but he felt a private sense of kinship with him. He considered his own short stature and the other man’s terrifying face equivalent. Both were physical shortcomings that made people frown at the sight of them.

Of course, he had never shared that private thought with anyone.

“And? You came because you’re afraid I’ll fall for the Second Young Master?”

“Yes. That worries me. The Blood Heaven Saber Demon fell for him, as did the Single Flower Sword Supreme. Even the Wicked Laughing Demon and the Drunken Demon.”

The Demonic Buddha spoke frankly. Beating around the bush might lead to trouble later. This was what he needed to tell him.

“The Second Young Master is a fox. A fox with at least a hundred tails. His glib tongue is sweeter than a treacherous courtier’s. Let your guard down, and before you know it, you’ll find you’ve taken him as your disciple.”

The Fist Demon stared at him and abruptly asked, “Did you nearly fall for him too?”

The Demonic Buddha flinched inwardly for a moment, but answered with confidence.

“I have been on the First Young Master’s side from the beginning, and I will remain there.”

“The Second Young Master told me to protect the First Young Master.”

The Demonic Buddha started. He had said something similar to him as well.

“He said he would end the succession struggle without bloodshed.”

“Do you believe him?”

“Do you?”

The Demonic Buddha said nothing. This was the moment to say he did not, yet the words would not come. He had come to give the Fist Demon certainty, only to confirm that Geom Mugeuk had shaken him.

“Go tell the First Young Master that my support for him has not changed.”

The Demonic Buddha could not know the Fist Demon’s true feelings, but he felt that putting him on his guard was enough.

“The First Young Master will be greatly pleased.”

With that, the Demonic Buddha left the office.

On his way back, he saw Geom Mugeuk again. Far away on the training ground, he was still practicing fist arts with the Red Fists. Even from a distance, the Demonic Buddha could feel that he was genuinely absorbed in his training. Just as he himself had been absorbed in martial arts in his youth.

He had thought Geom Mugeuk remarkable many times before, but today felt a little different.

The Red Fists training alongside him probably made that feeling stronger. Had they already come to trust him too? How long had they known him? What did they like so much that they were throwing punches together?

Suddenly, the Demonic Buddha felt afraid of Geom Mugeuk.

Doubts surged over him like inner demons. What if those schemes that swayed people’s hearts were sincere? What if he was the fool, the one who did nothing but scheme? What if he had chosen the wrong side?

But soon the Demonic Buddha shook his head. At times like this, he had to muster even more strength. Radiating golden light, he strode forward resolutely. Though they were confused, losing ground, and even cracks had formed between them...

First Young Master, let us stay strong.