Fist Demon of Mount Hua - Chapter 33

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————

Episode 33. Walking the Thorny Path as Long as We Live—Part 2
Dam Ho and Fang Jin-bo paid their respects at Fang Wu-guang’s grave.
“Father, I’ll come back to see you again.”
Fang Jin-bo’s eyes reddened once more. He wiped away his tears with his sleeve and turned to leave.
The wreckage of a carriage lay scattered there—the very one Fang Wu-guang and Fang Jin-bo had arrived in.
Fang Jin-bo began rummaging through the remains. Dam Ho watched him in silence, sensing there was a reason for it.
After searching for some time, Fang Jin-bo retrieved a wok, various spices, and other cooking ingredients from the wreckage.
They were the last legacy his father Fang Wu-guang had left behind. He couldn’t abandon them in such a place. Fang Jin-bo loaded everything he’d found onto the horse’s saddle.
Fang Jin-bo mounted his horse and spoke.
“Let’s go.”
In the span of a single night, the depth in Fang Jin-bo’s eyes had transformed markedly.
Dam Ho nodded.
Fang Jin-bo had undergone a shattering experience that upended his thoughts and philosophy of life entirely. The gaze of one who had endured such trauma could not help but differ from that of ordinary men.
Dam Ho and Fang Jin-bo departed from the place where Fang Wu-guang’s grave lay.
As they rode, Fang Jin-bo continued to weep quietly at intervals. But as time passed, his tears began to subside gradually.
Throughout their journey, Dam Ho remained silent. So too did Fang Jin-bo. In this way, the two traveled wordlessly the entire day.
Heuk-gwi occasionally whinnied with restlessness, eager to gallop but frustrated that Dam Ho held back the pace.
Dam Ho patted Heuk-gwi’s neck to soothe him. He understood the horse’s desire, but this was not the time to race.
They spent most of the day mounted. They dismounted only when they arrived at an unnamed small stream as the sun began to set.
With nightfall approaching, continuing on was impossible. Dam Ho decided they would camp here for the night.
He tied the horse by the stream and gathered fallen branches from the nearby area. Dam Ho built a fire.
It was not for himself. Dam Ho, who had spent long years deep underground, had lost almost all sensation of cold and heat.
The fire was for Fang Jin-bo. It was the least consideration he could offer.
Dam Ho sat by the fire and handed something to Fang Jin-bo.
“Eat.”
What he gave him was jerky—the very jerky Fang Jin-bo had given him before they parted in Toro Ban.
Fang Jin-bo stared at the jerky blankly. Then, seeming to regain his senses, he looked at Dam Ho.
Dam Ho was chewing the jerky steadily, his eyes closed in quiet reverence as he worked through each bite.
Suddenly, Fang Jin-bo tucked the jerky into his pocket and rose from his seat.
“Wait a moment.”
Dam Ho opened his eyes and looked at Fang Jin-bo.
Fang Jin-bo suddenly retrieved the wok from the horse’s saddle. He drew water from the nearby stream, filled the wok with it, and set it over the fire.
Fang Jin-bo took a burning branch and began searching through the nearby brush. Using the flame to light his way, he quickly gathered several varieties of wild grass.
As the water in the wok came to a boil, he finely chopped the grass and added it together with the jerky.
Dam Ho watched all of this without a word.
Fang Jin-bo opened a small pouch he had brought from the carriage wreckage. Inside appeared finely ground grain flour.
Fang Jin-bo scooped a handful of the grain flour into the wok. At once, a fragrant aroma spread throughout the area. He added several spices to the mixture.
The jerky, grain flour, and unnamed grasses mingled together to form a convincing porridge.
“It should be edible.”
Fang Jin-bo ladled a bowl of the porridge and offered it to Dam Ho.
Dam Ho tasted the porridge Fang Jin-bo had made. A rich, savory warmth filled his mouth.
“Delicious.”
“It’s cooking my father taught me. Whenever we ran short on ingredients, we’d make it like this.”
“I see.”
“It may not look appetizing, but it’s a complete meal nonetheless.”
“I’ll eat well.”
“Thank you.”
Fang Jin-bo ladled another bowl for himself and sat beside Dam Ho.
Slurp!
The sound of the two men swallowing the porridge echoed through the night.
Dam Ho ate the porridge with obvious relish. It seemed to him the most delicious food he had ever tasted since birth. Fang Jin-bo’s skill was that extraordinary.
The two quickly emptied their bowls. After the meal was finished, Fang Jin-bo looked at Dam Ho.
“Brother.”
“What is it?”
“Would you be willing to take me to Dongting Lake?”
“Dongting Lake?”
Dam Ho gazed at Fang Jin-bo with a puzzled expression. At that, Fang Jin-bo dropped to his knees before him.
“I know I’m being shameless. But you’re the only one I can ask.”
“Why do you wish to go to Dongting Lake?”
“It was my father’s last wish.”
“Very well.”
Dam Ho asked no further questions.
That reason was sufficient.
“Are you certain?”
“Go on and rest now. If we’re to travel far tomorrow, you’ll need to conserve your strength.”
“Thank you, Dam Ho. I’ll never forget this kindness.”
Fang Jin-bo’s eyes welled with tears once more.
He was grateful that Dam Ho had agreed without hesitation or inquiry.
To others, Dam Ho might appear as a Ferocious Devil, but to Fang Jin-bo he was a savior beyond compare.
When everyone else had turned away from his father and him, Dam Ho alone had not. Though countless lives had fallen by his hand, Fang Jin-bo could not bring himself to call Dam Ho cruel.
Without Dam Ho, the bandit gangs would have claimed far more victims and left far greater suffering in their wake.
“Thank you, Dam Ho.”
Fang Jin-bo expressed his gratitude once more. Dam Ho nodded and leaned his back against a small rock near the campfire.
In the meantime, Fang Jin-bo carried the pot and dishes down to the stream to wash them. There was little he could offer now beyond this small service, but he resolved to do it well.
He could not bear to sit idle. So Fang Jin-bo kept moving, never allowing himself a moment’s rest.
Dam Ho said nothing.
Overcoming sorrow rests on one’s own will alone. And Fang Jin-bo already knew the way through his own pain.
Dam Ho closed his eyes.
At dawn the next day, Fang Jin-bo rose before Dam Ho and prepared the meal. With only a handful of meager ingredients and spices, he fashioned food from nothing.
Dam Ho made no move to stop him.
When Fang Jin-bo was cooking, color returned to his face. This passion for cooking would become the very force that sustained his will to live.
After they had eaten, Dam Ho set out with Fang Jin-bo. By now the weight of grief had eased somewhat, and Fang Jin-bo began to speak more freely.
He spoke of his childhood, of his travels to the Western Regions with Fang Wu-guang—every small detail tumbled from his lips. And Dam Ho listened to it all.
It mattered little that Dam Ho said nothing in return. Fang Jin-bo talked on without cease, and as the hours passed, his expression grew brighter.
Yet Dam Ho understood: this was not forgetfulness of his father’s death, but rather sorrow being processed in his own way.
Fang Jin-bo was mourning his father still.
Dam Ho suddenly lifted his gaze to the sky.
‘I wonder what Master is doing now.’
He longed for Hyeon So Jinin.
He wanted nothing more than to set out for Huashan at once. But he could not.
His master had told him to come only when he was certain he would not waver before any storm. He had to confirm that first.
Dam Ho urged Heuk-gwi onward silently. How much further had they gone? Ahead, a small village came into view.
Fang Jin-bo brightened at the sight.
“Perfect, Dam Ho. Let’s stop there and buy some ingredients.”
“Ingredients?”
“Yes! I’m running desperately low on cooking supplies. It won’t take long—just a quick stop.”
Dam Ho nodded, and Fang Jin-bo spurred his horse ahead toward the village. As Dam Ho watched the boy’s receding figure, he saw in it the image of his younger self.
Too anxious to leave alone, and so unable to turn away……
Perhaps his master Hyeon So Jinin had once felt what he felt now.
The village was very small—so small that Dam Ho would never have stopped there on his own.
Perhaps thirty households in all, maybe fewer than a hundred souls including the children. He doubted such a place would have food supplies worth seeking.
But Fang Jin-bo saw what Dam Ho did not. The boy knocked on the doors of ordinary homes and haggled with practiced ease.
Through his efforts, Fang Jin-bo obtained a chunk of smoked pork and some dried fish, withered from the sun, along with a bundle of some unidentifiable dried herb.
He wrapped his hard-won ingredients carefully in cloth and stored them with reverence. Though he had never received formal culinary training, he had learned no small amount watching over Fang Wu-guang’s shoulder.
He knew well how precious good ingredients were to a craft. For a master chef, nothing mattered more.
“Let’s go now.”
A smile had bloomed on Fang Jin-bo’s face for the first time in days.
The two set out from the village at once. They could feel the villagers’ unease at their presence.
In such small hamlets, suspicion of outsiders always ran deep. Once their purpose was served, it was best to leave quickly, for everyone’s sake.
Dam Ho was not accustomed to sleeping rough. In his youth he had lived in remote, sparsely populated settlements, and from his formative years onward, he had spent most of his time in the Huashan Sect.
But twelve years in a sealed underground chamber had transformed him, allowing him to adapt swiftly to any circumstance.
Dam Ho was certain there was almost no situation worse than what he had endured. Having weathered that abyss, he could adapt to anything.
Sleeping under the stars was no great hardship for him. Nor was it for Fang Jin-bo. Though younger, the boy had traveled countless nights with his father and had far more experience in this than Dam Ho himself.
The true challenge was Fang Jin-bo’s stamina.
Until now, he had ridden comfortably in his father’s cart with little exertion. Riding a horse directly was an entirely different matter—the toll on his body was severe.
Their pace was necessarily slower than it would have been alone. Yet Dam Ho did not fret.
When Fang Jin-bo showed signs of fatigue, they stopped to rest. Sometimes a brief pause, sometimes a longer rest.
Fang Jin-bo grew brighter with each passing day, soon recovering his old vigor.
“Let’s make camp here for the night.”
Fang Jin-bo was the first to suggest they bed down for the evening.
Dam Ho nodded, and Fang Jin-bo burst out laughing as if he’d expected exactly that.
“Hehe! You rest for a moment, will you?”
Fang Jin-bo didn’t wait for Dam Ho’s reply—he was already moving with purpose.
He gathered the scattered twigs nearby to build a fire, then fetched water from a stream he’d spotted on the way in.
He set a wok over the flames and heated it thoroughly, then added the lard he’d obtained from the village. As the wok grew hot, he dropped the fat in.
Sizzle!
Smoke curled upward as the lard melted. Once the wok was scalding, Fang Jin-bo added the smoked pork, kidneys, and liver he’d acquired from the village, then stir-fried them with steady hands.
What emerged was Po San Yang, a traditional Hui preparation. Ordinarily it called for lamb, but Fang Jin-bo had deftly adapted it using pork instead.
Dam Ho’s eyes lit up as he tasted something new.
“Where did you learn this?”
“My father kept a cooking journal. I followed the recipe in there. How is it?”
“It’s excellent.”
“I’m glad. Hehe!”
Fang Jin-bo laughed with a touch of bashfulness at Dam Ho’s words. And for the first time, Dam Ho smiled back at him.
Fang Jin-bo clenched his fists.
“I’m going to become the Greatest Master Chef Under Heaven.”
He believed this was the way to honor his father.

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————