Dog In The Hall With The Moon And Wind

A year at the Hall of Shame and Aversion passed like an arrow. In the battle with Taiyi Divine Sect, many Emptiness Dhuta Sect disciples had died or been injured, but there had been enough time for healing. Yet Yun-seon had not changed a bit.

“There’s even a saying, that even a dog in the hall can learn poetry. Yet you’re worse than a dog.”

Kwak Do-pyeong clicked his tongue at the pathetic sight of Yun-seon, who still couldn’t execute even the first move of the Living Sword Technique. Having the bad luck of being assigned as his senior and saddled with this burden irritated him endlessly.

“I’m sorry, sahyung. Could you show me once more?”

“Your right hand is crippled, fine, external skills are hard. But why does even your internal energy never improve?”

Even after showing him a dozen demonstrations, Yun-seon still floundered. Do-pyeong’s anger boiled over. He didn’t care who heard—he had to scold this fool to feel satisfied.

“Here, here, here!”

Do-pyeong jabbed his stick at Yun-seon’s Chest Center acupoint, Spirit Courtyard¹ acupoint, and Jade Hall²—the three fundamental acupoints required to practice Emptiness Dhuta Sect’s internal technique, Silent Poetry.

“Argh!”

Yun-seon collapsed to the ground, unable to breathe from the stabbing pain. The disciples nearby, all of equal or higher seniority than Do-pyeong, openly snickered at his suffering.

“I truly don’t know why you even came here.”

Swept up by the atmosphere, Do-pyeong grew bolder. He decided it was the perfect time to beat the laziness out of him and poured out harsher words.

“How the Sword God ever accepted this useless brat as a disciple… tsk tsk.”

“And maybe that Plum Blossom Virtuous Hero or whatever was just as pathetic as him, eh?”

As Do-pyeong and the others slandered his master and sect, Yun-seon’s eyes hardened. In truth, Do-pyeong was two years younger than him. Until now, Yun-seon had endured insults out of gratitude to the Emptiness Dhuta Sect, respectfully calling him “senior brother.” But he could not abide slander against his master and brother.

“Senior Brother Kwak, I may be foolish, but don’t speak ill of my master.”

Yun-seon clenched his teeth to swallow his anger, and a trace of blood seeped from his lips.

“Oh, fancy that! So you are the Sword God’s disciple after all?”

Another disciple, arms crossed, interjected from behind Do-pyeong. Having endured years of harsh training and exams to become Emptiness Dhuta Sect disciples, they resented how Yun-seon had suddenly joined their ranks as a “brother.”

“Let’s show this brat some discipline!”

At the call, they eagerly circled the fallen Yun-seon.

“You dare overstep your place!”

At Do-pyeong’s kick, a dozen disciples swung their sticks wildly at Yun-seon’s body. Some deliberately struck his crippled right arm.

“What is the meaning of this!?”

“E—Eldest Sahyung!”

“Eldest Sahyung!”

Only when Hyeongjin’s thunderous shout rang out did the beating cease. Curled on the ground, shielding his head, Yun-seon was caked in dirt.

“Our Emptiness Dhuta Sect upholds righteousness and compassion for the weak as our core tenet. How can fools so base and shameless call themselves disciples of this sect?”

Hyeongjin, his face red with fury, began scolding them.

“Eldest Sahyung, we weren’t bullying him! He failed to complete tasks due days ago and even glared defiantly at us. Our rules demand respect to seniors—why do you always take his side?”

Do-pyeong, who especially admired Hyeongjin, felt that Yun-seon had stolen his favor. Now, even without checking the circumstances, Hyeongjin defended only him.

“You still don’t see your fault! When a disciple is slow to learn, it is the elder’s duty to guide and support, not to abuse. How pitiful.”

“Eldest Sahyung!”

Do-pyeong, stung by his words, shed tears.

“All of you, copy the Sect’s 108 regulations by hand. Do-pyeong, you will do it twice over.”

But Hyeongjin spared only a glance at Do-pyeong, indifferent, and after issuing punishment, led Yun-seon out of the training yard.

‘That brat… I’ll ruin him one day.’

Do-pyeong clenched his fists, glaring at Yun-seon’s retreating back.

“Eldest Sahyung, thank you. But Senior Brother Kwak isn’t at fault. I was too dull to remember the moves he taught me.”

Yun-seon scratched his head awkwardly, and Hyeongjin turned back with a gentle smile.

“No. Talent differs from person to person. Learning slowly is no fault. I entrusted you to Do-pyeong not only to teach you martial arts, but to guide and protect you. He is still young and cannot yet master his heart—try to understand him.”

Yun-seon felt warmth again at Hyeongjin’s care. Though all the other brothers disdained him, only the Sect Leader’s assistant and Hyeongjin truly treated him with heart. He resolved to work harder to repay their kindness.

“But Sahyung, where are we going now?”

“Master is about to enter closed-door training. Before that, he said he had a task for you.”

Hyeongjin answered bitterly. He worried that at such turbulent times, Master’s old illness had flared up. This “closed-door training” was little different from convalescence.

“Yun-seon, what happened to you?”

Jo Yang, resting in his quarters, leapt up at the sight of Yun-seon’s face. Though the dirt and dust on his body had been brushed off, the bruises on his face could not be hidden.

“I must have taught my disciples poorly.”

With a pained expression, Jo Yang gently stroked Yun-seon’s messy hair, like a grandfather to his grandson.

“I heard you’re entering training in seclusion.”

Yun-seon asked in a worried tone, and Jo Yang chuckled in reply.

“Hyeongjin must have blabbed nonsense. It’s just a yearly ritual, nothing to worry about.”

When Jo Yang looked at him, Hyeongjin coughed awkwardly, then left the room as promised, leaving the two alone.

“Yun-seon.”

“Yes?”

Jo Yang hesitated for a long moment, staring into his eyes before speaking.

“Is what you wrote from the book truly all of it?”

“Huh?”

Jo Yang carefully explained so Yun-seon wouldn’t misunderstand.

“Your master, my sworn brother, always said to prepare for coming crises. He told me there was a hidden secret within the scripture.”

He clasped Yun-seon’s hand warmly, kindness on his face. A cooling energy poured into Yun-seon’s arm, chilling him to the bone.

“The Saṃdhinirmocana Sūtra was originally an ancient Buddhist scripture from Gyeongguk. The version interpreted in Ryeo was the Commentary on the Saṃdhinirmocana Sūtra. There were ten volumes of interpretation, and the tenth was the one Yul-cheon held. That single volume alone was said to contain not mere scripture, but the essence of martial arts.”

He sighed deeply, as if recalling memories with his sworn brother.

“Then the book Master had wasn’t a commentary at all?”

“That is what I heard.”

Jo Yang rose and slowly walked toward the window.

“Yul-cheon told me that if anything ever happened to him, I must uncover the hidden meaning in that book and leave it to the world. That was the promise we made over ten years ago.”

Tears welled in his eyes as he added, stressing that it was a promise he had never shared with anyone.

“What you wrote is certainly from the Saṃdhinirmocana Sūtra. But that was all. Recall again, see if anything was missing.”

Yun-seon’s eyes flickered for a moment, but he steadied himself and answered calmly.

“In truth… there was a part that didn’t fit with the rest, so I couldn’t bring myself to write it down.”

“As I thought.”

Jo Yang hurried forward, gripping both his hands tightly.

“Could you transcribe it for me, before I begin my training?”

Yun-seon smiled lightly and nodded. He had already written it down, fearing he might forget, so he handed it over without hesitation.

“Ohh…”

He took it, tucked it into his robe, and embraced Yun-seon tightly.

“Yul-cheon can rest in peace now.”

“Where have you been?”

“Ju-un!”

At the sight of her face, all the tension drained from Yun-seon’s body. Spending nearly every day with her had made even the grueling training and painful heartache bearable.

“I went because the Sect Head summoned me.”

“Hmph! He leaves you to us kids and then calls you away himself? Why?”

Ju-un leaned lazily against a tree, grumbling as always. Despite her words, Yun-seon couldn’t help but smile, grateful for how much she cared for him.

“Ju-un, may I ask you something?”

“What?”

“When practicing Silent Poetry, the direction of qi flow is different from Taiyi Divine Art. My internal qi won’t improve at all. What should I do?”

In truth, Yun-seon had been sacrificing sleep to practice both internal and external arts, desperate to improve quickly. Training in Taiyi Divine Art (taught by Jeok-woo) while learning Silent Poetry from Emptiness Dhuta Sect caused his qi to feel obstructed at his Chest Center acupoint.

“Since last night, it even feels like something is stabbing me here.”

When Yun-seon pointed to his Chest Center acupoint, Ju-un’s face grew grave.

“That’s not a good sign…”

Ju-un had been secretly helping him interpret the formulas while he trained. Yun-seon knew Jeok-woo’s formulas alone wouldn’t heal his arm, so he tried practicing the next parts from the book—but couldn’t understand them. Only Ju-un could decipher it, yet she feigned ignorance and quietly guided him anyway.

“It’s best not to practice Silent Poetry. Its origin is completely different, and its qi flow is opposite. Forcing it could drive you into qi deviation.”

Yun-seon nodded, realization dawning. Though Taiyi Divine Art was based on water, its nature leaned toward fire. The first stage, taught by Jeok-woo, focused on Fire Qi—heating the body’s Water Qi to unclog blocked blood vessels and purge impure fire.

By contrast, Silent Poetry resembled cold Water Qi, blocking unnecessary flows and gathering it into three acupoints to control the body’s Fire Qi. Ju-un’s warning that the two forces might clash and damage his meridians was correct.

“The Living Sword Technique requires internal energy. In your state, you couldn’t even perform a single move properly.”

Ju-un had wondered why, despite all his practice, his sword technique showed no progress. Now she understood, and pity stirred in her.

“Would you like to learn Moon Heart?”

“What?”

Yun-seon asked in shock, and Ju-un’s face puffed in annoyance.

“Forget it, if you don’t want to.”

“No! I do! I want to learn!”

Fearing her fickle heart would change, Yun-seon flailed his hands in panic.

“Then we begin tonight.”

Ju-un couldn’t help but smile, pride swelling in her chest. Watching her, Yun-seon felt his heart race.

당구풍월 (堂狗風月), The Dog in the Hall with the Moon and the Wind:

“A dog raised at a private academy (hall) reciting poetry.”

A saying meaning that even someone with no experience or knowledge in a field will gain some experience and knowledge over time.