Longevity - Chapter 6

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 6: The Cultivation Methods of the Three Teachings
Once they entered Gwandou, the sound of the road changed.
Cart wheels ground through the dirt between wisps of dawn mist, and a steady stream of porters and shabby-dressed travelers flowed past without end.
Jin Ipchu, who had been trading jokes with the disciples on the mountain path, fell silent. Nayangja’s group narrowed their formation and hugged the road’s edge.
Each time someone brushed past them, the conversation faltered, and once the traveler had moved on, the talk of the Thunder-struck Wood and Lightning never resumed.
Jangseong shifted the branch of Thunder-struck Wood on his shoulder, hoisting it higher. Though the load was light, his legs had grown heavy from walking through the night. His knee wavered with each step on his left foot, yet he maintained his distance from the person ahead.
I Jungyong slowed his pace and came alongside him.

“You said you came to Mopyeong three years ago?”
“Yes. I visited the market once.”
“And you never left the village after that?”
“I went to the nearby mountains.”
“Any relatives?”

Jangseong looked ahead for a moment. An elderly man in worn straw sandals shuffled past.

“None.”
“What have you heard about your parents?”
“Only that Grandfather Wang found me on the roadside.”

His answer was true—though he left out the stone chamber in the mountain cave and the suspicion that lightning had followed him.
I Jungyong asked no further questions and gazed at the travelers along the road.

“Was it always this destitute?”

Jangseong looked around more carefully now.
He saw people whose frayed clothes were tied together with string, children whose shoe-soles had worn through to bare feet, and strong-backed porters walking weakly with empty baskets slung across their shoulders.
Three years ago, when he went to the market, peddlers had stood along the road hawking candy, needles, and cloth scraps with loud voices. Now there were almost no merchants pulling carts, no bundled-goods carriers with heavy packs.

“It seems people’s lives have grown harder.”
“The Hwangso Rebellion
may have ended, but the world doesn’t improve overnight.”

I Jungyong waited for a cart to move out of the way before walking on. According to what he had told them, the current emperor was Heejon’s younger brother, barely twenty years old.
When he inherited the throne, the granaries were already depleted and the army already spent.
Jangseong nodded.
He had heard that the emperor was young, and he had heard that Hwangso had shaken the realm for years. But these facts felt remote, distant as a neighboring county from a single plot of farmland and winter stores.
I Jungyong pointed to a broken cart axle abandoned by the roadside and explained how the court, in its effort to suppress the rebellion, had borrowed the strength of regional military governors.
Now those men ruled their own lands like kings and raised armies against one another, while eunuchs fought for power within the imperial court itself.
Baturou turned to look back from ahead.

“Master I, don’t dump the nation’s worries on the boy.”
“It doesn’t hurt to know.”
“When you’re hungry, rice matters more than the nation.”

Jin Ipchu laughed and interjected.

“Elder Baturou’s never wrong, but somehow it always comes down to rice.”

Jangseong could not laugh along. It was not that I Jungyong’s explanation was difficult to understand. Even if the court, the military governors, and the eunuchs fought among themselves, there was nothing he could do about it.
I Jungyong seemed to read his silence and fell quiet as well.
For a time, there was only the sound of footsteps and cart wheels.

“So what do you know of the Gangho?”

Jangseong turned his head.

“The Gangho?”
“People who wield swords and practice Fist Technique.”

Jangseong’s pace quickened slightly.
A smile tugged at the corner of I Jungyong’s mouth.

“So that’s what you want to hear about.”
“If I learn Martial Arts, will I become as strong as you?”

Baturou glanced back over his shoulder.

“I was already strong.”
“You didn’t become stronger by learning Martial Arts?”
“Never learned any.”

Jangseong’s eyes widened.
I Jungyong suppressed a laugh and spoke.

“There are hundreds of named sects in the world. If you count the Green Forest Bandits that have sprung up lately, the number approaches a thousand. But you can’t call every brigand who blocks a road and robs travelers a martial artist.”
“Then what makes a true sect different?”
“They have a transmission passed down through generations. It’s clear what they practice, what rules they follow, and from whom they learned.”

Low paddies stretched alongside the road to Gwandou. On the cracked and desiccated field, two farmers were using spades to redirect the irrigation channels. As they passed the scene, I Jungyong held up three fingers.
According to I Jungyong’s explanation, the Cultivation Methods of long-established sects were divided broadly into three roots: the Confucian School, the Buddhist School, and the Daoist School.
Among them, Confucian martial arts were the oldest and most widely disseminated, difficult to bind into a single form. They encompassed swordsmanship and spearmanship, techniques for governing the body, and skills used in military formations.
Jangseong counted on his fingers before asking.

“Do scholars who read books also learn Martial Arts?”
“Just reading books doesn’t make you Confucian. It means that the intention and the transmission flow from the same root.”

Jin Ipchu spoke from beside them.

“Your explanation is right, but it’s too stiff. Think of the Confucian School as so broad that it lacks nothing.”
“Your explanation is too vague.”
“But it’s easy to understand.”

Jangseong’s gaze shifted between the two of them.

“What about the Buddhist School?”

This time Jin Ipchu answered.

“Its power is direct and formidable. Yang Energy runs strong, and there are many Cultivation Methods that push through head-on in direct confrontation.”

I Jungyong continued.

“They say that venerable monks who have deeply understood the principles of Buddhist dharma sometimes display Divine Abilities. But such people are rare.”
“The Daoist School uses Talismans?”

Jangseong asked, observing the Talisman Pouch hanging from Nayangja’s back.

“Not only Talismans.”

I Jungyong brushed aside a branch that hung across the path.

“The Daoist School studies Yin-Yang and Celestial Principles. So their Cultivation Methods don’t harden into one form—they possess great fluidity. Those who receive formal Discipleship as Daoist practitioners draw Talismans and erect altars to pray to heaven.”

Jangseong watched Nayangja walking ahead. He wondered if he too had received formal Discipleship as a Daoist practitioner, but seeing the steady back that opened the road in silence, he swallowed his question. Yet his eyes shone differently than before.
The boy who had asked nothing when told the nation was falling now could not stop asking questions when the talk turned to Martial Arts and Daoist practices. Jin Ipchu, observing him, let out a soft chuckle.
By the time the sun had fully risen, the city walls came into view.

“Muping County
Muping County
is.”

I Jungyong pointed toward the city gate.
Deng Prefecture lay near the eastern edge of the Tang, and beyond it stretched the open sea. Under its jurisdiction lay three counties: Huang, Mopyeong, and Wendeng.
Inside the gate was far more crowded than Gwandou. Jangseong kept close to Baturou’s back, careful not to lose sight of the party amid the press of carts and bodies.
They stopped at a small inn tucked down an alley off the main road. A weathered sign hung above a few rooms and an adjoining stable.
The inn was run by a married couple. The moment the party took their seats, the proprietress counted heads and brought out six bowls of noodles. Before Baturou, five identical bowls were placed.
Jangseong thought he must have miscounted.
Baturou emptied the first bowl and moved his chopsticks to the second.
The proprietress smiled and spoke.

“We have a rooster caught this morning. I’ve stewed it slowly until the meat falls from the bone.”

Nayangja asked the price.

“Ten cash.”

Nayangja shook his head.

“Noodles will suffice.”

The proprietress turned away with a disappointed expression, but Jangseong called out.

“Wait. We’ll take the chicken too.”

The sound of chopsticks ceased.
I Jungyong and Jin Ipchu both turned to look at him. Jangseong felt his ears burn under their gazes, but he didn’t retreat.

“Without my teacher and all of you last night, I might be dead. I might not have been able to give Nohwang proper burial.”

He drew out the purse at his breast.

“This money too came from what my teacher received from the village elder as payment for medicine. I want to treat you all to at least one meal.”

Nayangja studied Jangseong for a moment, then smiled and nodded.
Jangseong relaxed and turned to the proprietress.

“Do you have wine?”
“Five cash per catty.”
“Two catties, please.”

The woman’s face brightened at once and she hurried to the kitchen.
I Jungyong realized that Jangseong was unfamiliar with local prices. He explained that a silver tael was worth roughly a thousand cash, and a measure of rice that once cost five cash had risen to ten cash or more.
He tapped the empty table with a fingertip. Ten cash for a chicken meant he could have bought ten catties of rice, and the wine was dearer than market rate besides.
Jangseong looked down at his purse.

“I understand.”
“Will you ask for it back?”
“No.”

He tucked the purse away again.

“The danger may have passed, but that doesn’t make the kindness I received any smaller.”

I Jungyong said nothing more.
Shortly after, steaming stewed chicken and wine arrived. Though Jangseong’s mouth watered at the smell of the meat, his chopsticks took only noodles. Instead, he watched the cups and rose to pour wine for Nayangja and the other four.

“Thank you, Master.”

He walked a full circle, sat back down, then stood again.

“Thank you as well, Dae-sa.”
“I’ve already heard it.”
“Still, I must say it.”

While Jangseong refilled I Jungyong’s cup and offered his apologies once more to Jin Ipchu and Jeon Jingung, the five men exchanged a look between them.
When Jangseong returned to his seat, his noodle bowl was heaped with chicken.

“What is this…?”
“Each of us gave you a piece.”

Jin Ipchu calmly gnawed on a chicken leg.

“If the one serving goes hungry, it makes the others uncomfortable.”

Jangseong couldn’t bring himself to lift his chopsticks; he only stared at the bowl. Heat bloomed inside his chest.
Nayangja spoke.

“Eat before it gets cold.”

Jangseong lowered his head and placed a piece of meat in his mouth.
After so long, the chicken was salty and tender against his tongue. As he swallowed, Nohwang’s Horn in his breast pocket pressed against his chest.
Baturou finished all five bowls and still gazed down at the empty dish.
Jangseong called the proprietor.

“Five more bowls of noodles, please.”
“Enough.”

Baturou waved his hand, but his eyes remained fixed on the kitchen.
I Jungyong exhaled slowly.

“That’s not the face of someone declining.”

When the fresh noodles arrived, Baturou picked up his chopsticks without further urging. Watching him empty the broth from the tenth bowl, Jangseong’s jaw fell open.
Jeon Jingung spoke quietly.

“That’s why our Dae-sa has never managed to save a single coin.”

When the meal was finished, Jangseong paid the bill. His coin purse had grown noticeably lighter.
He held out what remained to Nayangja with both hands.

“I would entrust this to you as well, Master.”

Nayangja did not accept it.

“It’s your money. Keep it yourself.”
“But if I alone keep separate funds while we travel together…”
“Jungyong, Ipchu, and Jingung all have money of their own.”

Nayangja’s gaze rested briefly on Baturou.

“Only Baturou has none.”
“I spent it all on food.”

Baturou answered without shame, and Jin Ipchu burst into laughter.
Only then did Jangseong withdraw the purse.
Nayangja had taken six rooms. Jangseong opened the door to his and paused, staring inside. Two sleeping pallets could fit within and space would still remain.
It was larger than the single earthen room where he had lived. The window was covered smoothly with paper, and the quilts on the pallet carried the scent of cloth dried in sunlight.
From behind, Jin Ipchu patted his shoulder.

“You didn’t sleep a wink last night, did you? Get some proper rest.”
“I’m fine.”
“Your eyes are red.”
“What will you be doing?”
“My master and my senior have business elsewhere, so the rest of us are taking it easy.”

Jangseong looked toward the end of the corridor.

“Is there nothing I can help with?”

Jin Ipchu yawned and opened the door to the adjacent room.

“There’s much you don’t know yet. Rest for now. We’ll be traveling together for a long time to come.”

The door closed.
Jangseong entered his own room. He set down his pack and sat at the edge of the bed, then lay back without even removing his shoes.
His body felt so heavy it might collapse at any moment. He hadn’t slept properly the night before, or the night before that.
But the moment he closed his eyes, the images returned in sequence: Nohwang’s tomb, the thunder-struck tree, unfamiliar city walls, and the teachings of the Three Teachings he’d just heard.
He still didn’t know what Nayangja and his companions did for a living. Where they would take him, what they would have him do—none of it was clear.
To say he felt no unease would be a lie.
Yet it was because of those people that Nohwang’s body had been laid to rest intact. Simply not having to witness the villagers flay its hide and divide the meat among themselves was debt enough to repay.
Jangseong drew Nohwang’s Horn from his breast and closed his fingers around it.
Whatever lay ahead didn’t matter.
He had decided to follow those who had given him this debt.

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