Adapting To The Situation

Ma Sepung came to Yun-seon’s noodle shop purely by chance. Being unusually gluttonous, he happened to stop at what turned out to be a famous eatery. Then, realizing the two were hiding their identities piqued his interest, and yesterday’s garlic-throwing incident confirmed his suspicions.

‘Let’s see just how skilled that fellow is.’

With an intrigued look, he adjusted his posture to watch the two. Though he had never met Dragon-Summoning Hall’s Deputy Hall Master directly, he had long heard the rumors: a master of the Dragon’s-Hand Palm, said to surpass even the current sect leader in palm-force techniques.

“About yesterday, I apologize.”

Yun-seon, fully aware of the situation, had no intention of speaking around it. Did they really come just for the noodles? Only a fool wouldn’t see through their intent. If it was just an excuse to pick a fight, he could take a few hits and apologize—end of matter.

“There must be some misunderstanding. I only came because I heard the noodles here are special.”

But Heo Yun simply wore an expression as if he didn’t understand, sitting at the table. The two men behind him followed hesitantly, discomfort written all over their faces.

Realizing there was no avoiding this, Yun-seon trudged into the kitchen. Cooking noodles wasn’t difficult, but their attitude grated on him. They acted polite, yet their feigned ignorance was mocking.

“What’s that long-snouted bastard blabbering about now?”

Yun Seol wanted to curse them out, but feared her rudeness might harm Yun-seon, leaving her frozen. Only Ma Sepung looked thrilled, eyes sparkling.

“Who do you think will win?”

Yun Seol, anxiously gnawing her nails, snapped at the old man’s sudden question. Why had this oblivious geezer shown up at dawn just to rile her?

“Old man, you finished your noodles—how about leaving now?”

“Hmph! And miss this fine show?”

Chewing the last piece of chicken, Ma Sepung pulled his chair closer. He had long sensed Yun-seon’s strong internal power, but wondered greatly about his external skill. Though buried in Yellow Stone Mountain, cut off from the world, his blood still boiled for martial arts like a youth. Having already noticed Yun-seon’s natural talent, he secretly desired him as a disciple.

“Noodles are served.”

When Yun-seon set down the bowl with a tense expression, Heo Yun’s gaze moved from his hands to his face. No matter how he looked, this was just a flimsy youth barely past twenty—how could he have bested four of their elite?

‘He wears a human-skin mask—so he hides his identity. Which sect, which man, plays this charade?’

Heo Yun decided to provoke him first, to measure his strength. A rash judgment could disgrace his sect, given his high rank. He carefully lifted a strand of noodles, slurped it, then—

“Proprietor, even if I came at dawn, what is the meaning of serving such wretched noodles?”

As Heo Yun nitpicked, the two subordinates clattered down their chopsticks. Yesterday’s events had frightened them, but with the Deputy Hall Master present, they felt secure. They had followed mainly to watch Yun-seon suffer.

“It seems the broth hadn’t boiled enough at this early hour—please return in the afternoon.”

But instead of anger, Yun-seon apologized with utmost courtesy. Heo Yun sensed this one was no pushover, and let out a hollow laugh.

“Proprietor, perhaps you forgot the garlic?”

Heo Yun spread his left palm before Yun-seon’s face. Four blood-smeared, half-rotten garlic cloves stank fiercely.

“What connection do you have with Eminent Mountain Sect, to meddle in this mire?”

Heo Yun revealed his true colors, slowly rising to stare Yun-seon in the eyes. He had thought him a mere villager, but his calm act suggested some formidable backer.

“I only returned the change. I hold no personal grudges or debts.”

Yun-seon sighed lightly, staring at the noodles still boiling. Still, it stung to see food served with care treated like garbage.

“You damn brat, will you keep spewing nonsense?”

The slit-eyed subordinate, most humiliated yesterday, could no longer hold back and shouted. Though cautious before his Deputy Hall Master, Yun-seon’s feigned ignorance infuriated him.

“Forgive me, but as their superior I cannot stand idle.”

Heo Yun clasped his hands in mock courtesy, then instantly twisted his face into venom. As one of rank, attacking outright would shame him; this way he gave his opponent a chance to explain. By now, he considered himself more than polite.

“Must it come to this?”

Yun-seon recalled Seomun’s warning to avoid trouble, and didn’t want to fight. But his foe clearly did. Reluctantly, he raised his hands awkwardly near his chest—a makeshift guard.

‘Hah… could it be he’s never truly trained in external arts?’

Wrinkles furrowed Ma Sepung’s brow. Minor thugs would flee at a mere show of internal energy—but not Dragon-Summoning Hall’s Deputy Hall Master. Skilled in both internal and external arts, he’d see Yun-seon’s weakness at once.

“Then, pardon my discourtesy.”

Seeing the hesitation leave Yun-seon’s face, Heo Yun gathered full palm-force in his right hand. Though Dragon’s-Hand Palm had only five simple forms, each strike was devastating. He could even use two forms simultaneously with both hands, tripling the power.

“Dragon’s-Hand Palm, Third Form!”

He murmured quietly, channeling his qi into his palm. Using only index and pinky to form a mudra, he twisted his wrist and released the force. Faster than most internal techniques, the surge struck toward Yun-seon’s chest before he could react.

“Ugh!”

Yun Seol clenched her fists in panic. No matter how deep Yun-seon’s internal power, he knew neither how to release nor block such force. If he didn’t evade, his ribs would surely break, if not worse.

“It’s fine.”

Meanwhile, Ma Sepung watched calmly. He already knew Yun-seon could dodge this first strike.

“Look at the direction of his feet.”

Following the old man’s finger, she saw Yun-seon’s feet spread in the figure of eight. Relieved, she let out her breath.

‘Quite vicious and ruthless.’

Quick-witted Yun-seon read the direction from Heo Yun’s mudra. Though confident he could divert it, when it missed by only a finger’s breadth, unease prickled at him.

‘Next time won’t be so easy.’

Though his right arm had healed enough for daily life, its meridians had long been damaged—he could never again wield a sword. Thus he hadn’t even dared think of learning palm-force.

“When you’ve mastered Taiyi Divine Art, learn the sword with your left hand.”

Even Seong Gon regretted it, but there was no other way.

“Then will I never learn palm-force in this life?”

The Taiyi Palm of the Taiyi Divine Art was the essence of external power, and Yun-seon yearned for it.

“No. Perhaps fist-force, but not that…”

Seong Gon shook his head, pained. Palm-force required both arms to channel qi; with one, it was impossible.

“The next will not be so easy to dodge.”

Heo Yun moved both hands to unleash his second strike—using Forms Two and Three together. The colliding energies added explosive force, a technique that could cripple an opponent’s dantian if it landed.

“Damn…”

Yun-seon tensed. Even the preparation radiated force he could barely handle. Last time he’d spun his body to deflect it, but not this time. With no way to avoid the rapid-fire palm force, he joined his hands in a breathing posture. To others it seemed absurd, but Yun Seol immediately understood his intent.

“He’s releasing his divine energy to shield his dantian from the palm-force.”

It was his best option, yet a crude one—if his foe’s qi was stronger, injury was inevitable.

“Seems it’s my turn to step in.”

A satisfied smile floated across Ma Sepung’s face. He had judged enough of Yun-seon.

Whoosh!

As Heo Yun thrust both palms, a gust of wind swept between them.

“You!”

Ma Sepung held a reed bellows used to stoke fires. Heo Yun fumed at the old man’s intrusion, but unable to gauge his skill, only scowled.

“Elder, what are you doing?”

Yun-seon tilted his head in confusion, as Ma Sepung waved him over.

“To repay my debt, I’ll teach you something.”

“Eh?”

As Yun-seon hesitated closer, Heo Yun’s face twisted ugly. It was galling enough that untrained bumpkins had beaten his men—now some old man dared interfere, insulting him further.

“Dragon-Summoning Hall calls itself a proper sect—would you strike an old man down over this?”

Ma Sepung grinned, teasing Heo Yun. He knew their one sore spot—that kangho did not recognize them as a true Orthodox sect—and pressed it deliberately.

“Hmph!”

As expected, Heo Yun merely observed, not attacking. Whatever tricks they tried, the fight would end in the time it took to drink tea. No need to rush. If that old man spread rumors, it would only worsen Dragon-Summoning Hall’s infamy.

“Boy, want to learn fist-force?”

“Huh?”

Yun-seon gaped at the sudden question. Barging into a duel only to claim he’d “teach” him? The old man must truly be senile.

임기응변 (臨機應變), Adapting to the Situation:

Improvisation; the ability to quickly and appropriately respond to unexpected events on the spot.