47 — I Don’t Understand Any Of This. (2)

Dan Ja-Yeong’s hand trembled.

The Mount Hua disciples and the other students watching seemed surprised, but because he was the one among them most deeply versed in calligraphy, he was the one most shocked of all.

‘How could such a novice produce handwriting like this…’

It was impossible to accept in any ordinary sense.

The writing before their eyes was so excellent. To exaggerate slightly, it was a majestic script that could bring tears to the viewer’s eyes.

And yet the person who wrote it was an utter novice who didn’t even know how to hold a brush properly. How could such an absurd thing happen?

“Y-you truly wrote this?”

“You were looking right at me—what are you asking for?”

Normally Chung Myung would have scolded a bit more, but this time he kept his mouth shut. After all, he knew this was a kind of foul play.

‘So what are you going to do? Do you have proof?’

Chung Myung straightened his posture confidently and grinned.

Imitating another person’s handwriting is the foundation of calligraphy. Even Dan Ja-Yeong, who has now completed his own style, would have at first imitated the scripts of famous historical masters.

Therefore, when competing in calligraphy, copying the strokes of famous calligraphers is forbidden. Calligraphy is not a contest of who can mimic better.

But this handwriting was free from that restriction. The author of these characters was neither a historical calligrapher nor someone they knew.

‘Indeed, our sect leader sahyung really was excellent at writing.’

Nowadays the visitors to Mount Hua aren’t particularly versed in literature and art, so it goes unnoticed, but in the past, high officials who visited Mount Hua were all struck by the grandeur of the inscriptions on the plaques.

And when they learned that Chung Mun had written those characters, they fawned over him, trying to get even a single character.

‘It’s just that sahyung disliked such things so much that it wasn’t widely known.’

If Chung Mun had been someone who readily wrote for others, he would probably have become a very famous calligrapher among them.

‘I can’t copy that skill, though.’

The ignoramuses of Mount Hua could be easily deceived, but when facing experts in brush technique, any sloppiness would be obvious. No matter how much effort one put into imitation, traces would remain.

However, these four characters were different.

They were the phrase one inevitably saw when passing through the mountain gate. Perhaps the characters Chung Myung had seen most in his life, the most familiar characters. He could reproduce these four characters perfectly even with his eyes closed.

Yes. Just like now.

‘In any case, even dog shit can be useful as medicine.’

• What? Dog shit? You bastard.

‘He stays quiet when it’s praise, but comes alive like a ghost only at times like this.’

Meanwhile, the senior scholars judging were left with no choice but to fall into serious deliberation.

“This is…”

“Hmmm.”

It was a hand difficult to describe. It differed from any script they knew, yet it had strength comparable to those scripts. Discussing this writing was not easy. But at least one thing was certain.

“It does not fall short of Dan Ja-Yeong’s script.”

“No, to be frank… if we’re only judging the script itself, it’s far superior to Dan Ja-Yeong’s.”

“I see. There are technical shortcomings—control of strength and weakness, some rough finishes, insufficient overpainting…—but if we look only at the script, there is no denying its quality.”

“Huh. I never thought I’d see a case like this…”

Their dilemma deepened inevitably.

Chung Myung’s phrase was grand and overwhelming but like a fortress with missing bricks, while Dan Ja-Yeong’s was like a well-built mansion—orderly and neat—but could not compare to a fortress.

Which of the two was superior? Could one truly rank these two writings?

When no one could easily speak amid deep thought, So Jung-GYeong spoke as if having made up his mind.

“It is indeed a matter worthy of deliberation. But such deliberation would only apply if the competitors were the same kind of scholar, would it not?”

“…What does the senior scholar say?”

“I know.”

So Jung-GYeong let out a deep sigh.

“The contest is decided the moment the writer of these characters is a Taoist. It would not be fair to view the two by the same standard, would it? Dan Ja-Yeong would not want that either.”

The two senior scholars pondered briefly, then nodded with faces of agreement. As So Jung-GYeong said, the moment one compares a Confucian scholar and someone who is not, the outcome is already decided.

“This match is a victory for Chung Myung the Taoist!”

At Sang Seo’s loud cry, the Mount Hua disciples cheered hurrah.

“Wow! He won this!”

“What a trick! Even gamblers would weep!”

“As expected, it’s Chung Myung! I believed in him.”

“Honestly, some of us didn’t.”

“Shh.”

Amid the commotion from the Mount Hua disciples, Chung Myung grinned and looked at Dan Ja-Yeong.

“Hard to accept the loss, isn’t it?”

“…No.”

“Hm?”

Chung Myung cocked his head. The sermon he had prepared to rattle the angry Dan Ja-Yeong—enough to fill a whole corner—would be useless now….

“I was just thinking. Perhaps I’ve been so tied to my brush technique that I’ve been trapped in too narrow a place.”

“…”

“There are so many outstanding people in the world… I failed to think of surpassing what I have and focused only on perfecting small things. Isn’t it natural to lose for that reason?”

“Uh…”

As Chung Myung instinctively recoiled, Dan Ja-Yeong suddenly bowed deeply toward him.

“Ah, no. What’s this?”

“Thank you for broadening my perspective.”

“Th-that is…”

Dan Ja-Yeong raised his head and looked at Chung Myung with a serious face.

“‘When three walk together, there must be a teacher among them.’ I have clung to Confucius’s words as if to a sacred truth, but I deeply feel I have failed to live by them. Thank you for teaching me not just the art of calligraphy but the way of learning itself; I will regard this kindness for life.”

“Uh. Th-that’s… well.”

The Mount Hua disciples watched the spectacle with strange looks.

“He’s cold-sweating, isn’t he? The back of his head is all damp.”

“If you don’t feel any pangs of conscience you’re not really human. But it’s hard to just admit he actually cheated.”

“Did Chung Myung ever have a conscience?”

“He does have a surprising weakness for people who drop their guard and speak sincerely.”

“…That looks less like being weak and more like being exorcised, doesn’t it? Almost like a corpse seeing the light.”

“…Well, there’s not much difference. He’s practically an incarnation of malice.”

Then Dan Ja-Yeong took Chung Myung’s hand and pleaded earnestly.

“Taoist, would you teach me this script? I really want to learn it.”

“Uh… uh. I’m a—a Taoist. How would a Taoist teach a scholar calligraphy?”

“What does that matter? Whether one is a scholar or a Taoist is less important than whether there is something to learn. Taoist, please…”

“Hey, get him off me! Quick, quick!”

The Mount Hua disciples sighed and took Dan Ja-Yeong away instead, watching Chung Myung recoil as if he’d seen a ghost.

“I’m sorry. The truth is he isn’t at the level for that.”

“If you expect much, you’ll be disappointed. It’s always been that way.”

“W-what do you mean?”

“There’s something like that.”

Fortunately, Dan Ja-Yeong seemed to notice Chung Myung’s discomfort and didn’t press harder. Instead, he kept sending him looks full of regret.

“…His gaze is excessively sticky.”

“C-creepy.”

Yu Han-Bin shook his head at the pale Chung Myung.

“But if you write so well, why not say so?”

Chung Myung silently put a hand on Yu Han-Bin’s shoulder.

“Han-Bin.”

“Yes.”

“Life is more complicated than you think.”

“…”

“That’s all you need to know.”

Adult matters. Adult matters.

Yu Han-Bin brusquely brushed Chung Myung’s hand away.

“Anyway, this settles a major matter. Heh heh heh.”

A smile never left Baek Cheon’s lips.

“…sasuk, you’re pleased that your sajil cheated and won?”

“Even if they call it Mount Hua trickery, there’s honestly nothing to refute.”

“Bandits don’t do this. Bandits are robbers, not swindlers.”

Though the Mount Hua disciples shot scornful glances, Baek Cheon remained unashamed.

“If I’m to lose honestly, I’d rather win by cowardice!”

“…Truly admirable, sasuk.”

It’s just that it’s a bit embarrassing to show this to others.

Thus while the Mount Hua disciples regained their composure, the students fell silent as if at a wake.

“I never thought Dan Ja-Yeong would lose at calligraphy…”

“Indeed.”

But this time there was no particular blame against Dan Ja-Yeong. The Six Arts have their hierarchies. Archery and horsemanship are arts of skill, but calligraphy is an essential etiquette every scholar must learn.

That their best calligrapher, Dan Ja-Yeong, had been defeated meant they all had effectively lost. None of the students were foolish enough to insult Dan Ja-Yeong now—doing so would be like spitting on their own faces.

“…They’re really tougher than I thought.”

“Hmm. I never imagined the Taoists’ level would be like this. I thought they were fools wasting their lives on pointless alchemical theatrics.”

“In any field, those who reach the pinnacle cannot be ignored, can they?”

A sense of crisis shaded their eyes as they discussed the situation.

They began to fear that they might actually be defeated right in what they considered their own home by those they had dismissed as inferiors.

‘And we lost to Taoists even in the Six Arts?’

This was beyond mere humiliation. It was a negation of their foundation.

“Um…”

“I know.”

“It seems…”

“Didn’t I tell you I know?”

And it was Jwa Go-Hak who felt that burden more than anyone.

‘Damn it.’

The other side took the second victory first? That wasn’t in Jwa Go-Hak’s calculations. Calligraphy and archery were not events they expected to lose.

They could have somewhat understood losing in archery, but to lose in calligraphy—

“There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Yes? Why?”

“The next event is one we absolutely cannot lose. If we lose here, I’d rather cut off my head.”

“W-what kind of talk is that?”

Jwa Go-Hak bit his lip hard and shouted.

“The next event is arithmetic! Whoever will compete, step forward!”

But even as he spoke, a flicker of anxiety crossed Jwa Go-Hak’s eyes.

Didn’t someone completely unexpected appear in the previous match and defeat them?

‘Could it happen again?’

That must not happen. It cannot.

As Jwa Go-Hak tried to hide his nervousness and looked at the Mount Hua disciples, Baek Cheon laughed genially and stepped forward.

“Oh.”

Jwa Go-Hak flinched at that confident smile.

‘No way, that one?’

No, no. That can’t be.

But….

‘It’s not good to judge by appearances… but honestly, that face looks like someone who can’t fail at anything.’

A face that would draw attention anywhere. If such a person stepped forward so confidently—

‘Even the self-taught… once you reach a certain level, mere repetition won’t improve skill. If Mount Hua, now famous, has such people… surely in this direction too.’

Just as Jwa Go-Hak’s hand trembled with tension, Baek Cheon opened his mouth with a confident smile.

“I forfeit.”

“…”

“Oh. This won’t do.”

There’s nothing but fools here. Sorry.