Book 1 Chapter 17

The Dangsam Yi Beating Incident

Now, cool and cold are sometimes confused with

The wind was blowing through the mountains in a way that made me feel alive.

The blazing red sun has cooled off,

The last days of fall, when the world was illuminated only by crispness,

A group of them were descending from the mountains toward the village.

Some wore longswords or swords at their waists, while others held spears in their hands. All of them wore the same color and shape of black silk robes, and the same lotus pattern was embroidered on their right chests in different numbers, suggesting that they belonged to the same Wulin sect.

The man in the lead, Jiang Jiang, was in a very good mood. He had just completed the task of delivering the tribute to the Amifa. Considering the meaning and importance of tribute, the fact that the king had entrusted him with the task of delivering tribute to the Amifa was a sign of his importance.

To run a state in this part of Sichuan, right in front of Mount Ami, meant that one could not escape the notice of the Amifa, the prestigious tycoon of Ganghwa and the owner of the foot of Mount Ami. Moreover, the sovereign of the Zhongyang Domain had learned a few tricks from the Ami Sect for some time and claimed to be one of Ami's inner circle disciples. The sovereign of the Eighteen Swords, Zhang Wuyang, was a man, so although he hadn't formally studied martial arts in the female-dominated Ami Sect, he had learned quite a few techniques.

His nickname, the Eighteen Swords, was given to him by the Jianghu people because he was said to exhibit 18 changes and 18 sword movements when his qi was exerted through the sword. Zhang Wuyang's 18 changes sword form was also taught to him by Ami.

So Zhang Wuyang was calling himself Ami's disciple, and he was sending offerings to Ami every time, and Ami recognized this. Therefore, bringing offerings to Ami was one of the most important things in the Zhongyang Bureau. Sometimes, some people mistakenly believe that a prestigious family or a large and powerful family can be maintained without any income or monetary activity, which is not true.

As human beings, they need to eat, and they need money to live. The world is not a simple place. Even Taoists and Buddhists who practice the Tao and chant Buddhist scriptures away from the world cannot be an exception. However, if wealth is not something that falls from the sky, then it is necessary to produce money from somewhere. This is where donations and offerings come in.

Some secular sects, both large and small, operate lodging, entertainment, and businesses such as taverns and gyurus as a means of raising funds to sustain their organization. They may also accept honoraria for protecting the weak within their sphere of influence. Some of the more prominent sects may even charge a fee in exchange for discipleship.

In the case of the great sects, it was not uncommon for the children of the upper classes to donate large sums of money to join them. However, a secular sect such as this one, which still claimed to be a place for learning, cultivating, and eventually attaining enlightenment, could not openly expand its power or engage in the business of earning a living. Their prestige was as important to them as their livelihood.

However, even a conduit named a temple will accept offerings. This is because offerings are a type of sacred payment made to the Buddha to show one's sincerity. Ordinary temples and pavilions end up making a living from these offerings. However, if you're a renowned martial arts sect that has one of these temples or conduits, the amount of money that comes in from these offerings is enormous. Huge sums of money come into their schools. Even from a specific person or sect…….

Another way to obtain funds is through the use of fake disciples. There's a saying that goes, "I don't envy you ten well-trained disciples."

"Since I have joined this sect and have learned the secret of nothingness from you, this grace is like the Haihai Sea, and it cannot be repaid. Therefore, as a Buddhist disciple, I regularly make small offerings out of my weakness, and it would be my great joy if I could reduce even a fraction of that grace, which is higher than the heavens and deeper than the oceans."

The money he offers is no joke. How could a disciple dare to refuse such sincerity in order to join a school, learn nothingness, go out into the world and succeed in learning, and repay the favors of his former master? And that was the practice of the Murim. Seeing this, Bi Ryuyeon later said.

"You're teaching me a few tricks, and you're looking so excited. Maybe I'll take a pupil. That'd be fun. ……."

In any case, even as a profitable sect, if a disciple who has gone out into the world suffers from any kind of pain, the sect will immediately go after him and touch the cause of the pain a few times, gently, and sometimes hard, to relieve the disciple from his suffering. From then on, the disciple will be very eager to follow his sect, even if the donations he has made so far have been wasted.

For this reason, making offerings was a very important and discreet event for beings in the shadow of the great schools. Jiang Jiang was traveling down the mountain, happy to have accomplished the great task entrusted to him. He was so exhilarated that he felt the need to show his superiority to the men below him.

"All right, I'm in the mood. Everyone, meet at Yachunlu! I'm buying all the alcohol tonight. Let's go down and drink to our hearts' content. Let's eat and die today!"

Ya Chun Lu was a famous tavern near the Zhongyang Stamp Office with a reputation for beautiful women. Who doesn't love a free drink in a stronghold?" Everyone cheered, raising their weapons to the sky.

"Wow!"

"After all, you're the best."

"You're a hot mess."

"Let's die today, Kang the Great."

"We don't need tomorrow to drink, let's live and die today, Great Chief Kang."

The subordinate marksmen were all excitedly saying something, and they were all calling him 'Dae Pyo Doo-nim', especially emphasizing the big letter. He doesn't have a very good personality, but there was an incident the other day when one of his subordinates beat him to death for just calling him "Pyo-doo Kang!". This was because he hated it when people dropped the big "O" when calling him. After that incident, everyone would always call him with a capital letter, and even his colleagues in the same grade would call him "Kang Pyo-doo" with a capital letter. This is because although he had a dirty temper, he was not a man of great skill.

Everyone was calling him by his first name with an emphasis on the big "O", which made him feel very good. Then his eyes caught sight of a man in rags coming up the road with a watering can slung over his shoulder. His hair was unruly and unkempt, his clothes were tattered, and he was carrying a bucket of water on each shoulder. There was only one mountain road, one way up and one way down, so it was inevitable that a group of people and a man would meet.

The man now carrying the mulch up the mountain was Tang Cheol-young, the youngest of the three sons of the current Tang family, a master of poison and memorization, a direct descendant of the Sichuan Tang family, and a man who had a reputation for ruling Sichuan. When he saw him, the strongman let out a grunt of displeasure.

"What is that?"

Dang Chul-young was in a bad mood. The training in the valley earlier in the day had left him exhausted from running around in the water, under the water, and on land. He could feel that he was nearing the end of his training, but it was still as difficult and exhausting as it had been at the beginning. No matter how good I got at it, I was still tired for some reason. It was supposed to be less difficult as I got better, but I kept pushing myself harder and harder.

The situation was the same now. The master's order to fetch water, when he could barely lift a finger, seemed to him to be an act of gross disrespect for his character. Naturally, he was in a very bad mood, and his mood was about to explode when he heard a rude, vulgar voice pointing at him and saying, "What is that again?" in a very disrespectful way. He looked up and saw a group of strong men descending the mountain. Suddenly, Tang Chul-young's eyes lit up.

"Murin, which wave?

He had little contact with the Amifa people, and he had never met any other martial artists in these mountains, so he looked at them curiously.

"But it doesn't look that great. It's not that great.

As he pondered these things, one of their number approached him. Judging by his attire, he was a low-ranking warrior.

"Who are you, get out of the way! The head of the Zhongyang Marking Bureau, Mr. Wind and Rain, is passing by right now. Get out of his way, so he doesn't see your filthy mole! Ew, he smells it. ……."

One of the markers tried to push him to one side of the street. At the disrespectful behavior, Tang Chuling's eyes sparked for a moment. He couldn't remember when he had ever been treated so disrespectfully, and he swore to himself that no one had ever treated him like this before or since. In any case, with all due respect, it was ridiculous for a person of Tang Chul-young's character to be treated like this. He was young in his eyes. The marksman holding Tang Chul-young's hand stiffened as his grip tightened.

"What, what. That glow……. Quick, quick, turn it off……."

My legs were shaking and my tongue was stiff, and I couldn't get the words out. The look in Tang Chul-young's eyes made him completely frozen.

"Get out of my way. Get off me, that hand."

Tang Qianyong brought his hand to the wrist of the lowly Zhongyang marksman who was holding him. He then bent the man's arm in an abnormal direction that would not have been possible under normal circumstances.

"Off!"

With a scream, he grabbed Dang's shoulder and pushed him away, and Pyo grabbed his wrist and threw him to the side of the road. Dang Chul-young was naturally short-tempered. If his hair steamed and smoke came out of his ears, there was no one to stop him.

"Inomu asshole."

It's even weirder when one of your own is killed, and you stand by and watch.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

With a surprised look on his face, he turned to Tang Qilin. Even though he was a lowly martial artist, he was still a martial artist. He was one of his students. A marksman always had to train his body. Their skill was directly related to their lives. For the marksmen who served the state, improving their skills meant extending their personal lives - long live the state - and for the state, improving their skills meant reducing risk and increasing safety, which in turn meant increasing success rates. A higher success rate means fewer failures, and fewer failures means less money spent on damages, which means less money out of pocket.

In a nutshell, it boils down to making more money. Or, to put it more simply, "more money. Therefore, the state did not neglect to train its representatives on a daily basis. As the head warrior and the one with the most subordinates, it was his duty to train them. The man whose wrist had just been snapped was one of his students. He defeated him with a single blow. From the looks of it, he knew he was up to something.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"Shut the fuck up, asshole."

For the past five months, four months and five days to be exact, Tang Chul-young's not-so-nice personality had become even more abrasive. It wasn't just him; the same thing was happening to all the other people who came with him, only to a different degree. Everyone's personality had been changed by the evil master, so their words were harsh and unruly. Harsh words hurt the hearts of others, and hurt hearts are expressed in anger. One of the enraged messengers lunged at him with a longsword.

"You asshole, die."

Tang sidestepped the charging marksman's sword with his right foot, twisting at the waist as he did so, and then kicked him hard in the stomach as he lost his target.

"Boom."

The leaping marksman clutched his stomach and collapsed. Two more lunged, but the result was the same: they all fell to the ground clutching their stomachs and rolling around. Several more lunged at him fruitlessly, but he dodged them all with a precarious-looking step, then kicked them in the stomach with his foot and punched them in the face with his fist.

"That's pretty good. I'm starting to believe you."

The strong man, who had been watching, drew his sword from his belt and slowly approached. With his men falling to the ground in a heap, he knew he had to step up to the plate. As the captain would always do later, Kang Jang-jean approached and faced Tang Cheol-young, saying, "I'm sorry.

"I'll deal with it."

It was a clichéd line.

'He must be the boss. Damn, I don't have any power…….'

His training had been so intense that he could barely move. But that didn't mean he could show weakness to his opponent. A loss of momentum would mean defeat.

'Dang Chul-young, be strong!

Composing himself, he took off the water jelly and set it aside.

"Here we go!"

Jiang Jiang attacked with a friendly warning. Jiang Han's sword arced, aiming for his shoulder.

"Uh, that's not very fast.

Jiang Jianghan's dao, its movements, were all visible, no lie. Compared to the swords and dao of the opponents he had been dueling with, the members of the Zhu Jia Clan, his dao was indeed too slow. In reality, Jiang Han's dao was not that slow, but it appeared so to Tang Chuling.

"Sigh."

"Billion."

Tang Chul-young's right shoulder is slightly cut and bleeding. He couldn't dodge the sword. It didn't seem to be going fast, so I thought I could dodge it, but I couldn't……. Tang Chul-young was dumbfounded. Of course, it wasn't because he didn't dodge fast enough that he was cut. As a result of his training, his eyesight was extremely developed and he was able to see his opponent's dao, but his current physical condition could not keep up with his nerves. He could see his opponent's dao and know exactly where he was coming from and when. However, due to the extreme fatigue of his body, he was unable to properly transmit the responses from his central nerves.

Again, I was slashed with a knife, not very deeply, on my left arm, then my left thigh, then my right leg. His body couldn't keep up with his reactions, and the wounds grew deeper and deeper. Realizing that he could not continue to be beaten like this, he ducked and dodged a sword that was aimed at his neck, then picked up a cobblestone from the ground and threw it at Kang Jang.

"Ouch!"

"Huh?"

The first part of the sound was a surprised cry from Kang Jang-han, who was surprised by Tang Cheol-young's unexpected attack, and the latter part was a sigh from Tang Cheol-young himself, who was shocked that the stone flew at a speed that surprised him. The mukhuan in his hand was a heavy burden that only hindered him, and since he was already depleted of strength, there was no way that his original power and speed could have come out since he was filled with over forty mukhuan.

However, what was slow for Dang Chul-young was not slow enough for Kang Jang-jang. Instead, it was too fast for him. Instead of blocking the stone, he narrowly avoided it. The fact that he was unable to block the flying stone meant that his reaction was just as slow.

Both of them panicked, but Dang was the first to regain his composure. Tang Chul-young didn't miss the panicked strongman's disoriented stance as he tried to dodge the stone, and he lunged. Dang Chul-young instantly dug in with all the strength he could muster, into the range of his dao, into the range of his opponent's dao, and punched him in the face with his fist.

"Bam."

"Wham."

Kang Jang-han's head snapped back to the left.

"Bam."

"Wham."

This time, the head turned to the right.

"Pooh!"

Finally, a fountain of blood spurted from his mouth. But Tang Chul-young didn't stop, pummeling Jiang Han's entire body. Five months of training had left him with nothing but strength.

"Take it, Three-Footed Beating Kung Fu!"

Dang's fists pummeled Kang's entire body, as if he were feeding off of the wounds he'd inflicted and the blood that flowed from them. Dang's fourth fist flew toward Kang's thrush.

"Bam."

Lightning flashed in the back of the net.

"Cock."

A final word burst from his mouth as a lesser marksman struck him in the back of the head with a spear. His senses were dulled by fatigue, and he didn't notice this clueless and cowardly act. Tang Chul-young's vision went black.

'Kak… I don't even want to be poisoned, but I wish I had some kind of memorization…….'

Tang Chul-young's body slowly fell forward. The markers swarmed around the fallen Tang Chul-young.

"Hey, step on it."

"Let's make them pay."

"I'll make you bedbug rice cakes."

"I like pajeon……."

"I'm sorry, the fish are better."

He then circled the fallen Dang Chul-young and began to beat him. Was it about halfway through? Kang Jang-jean, who was taking out his frustration on Dang Chul-young by beating him hard and fast, said.

"Hey, pour water."

A marksman came over with a bucket of water that was hanging from the watering can that Dang Chul-young had taken off and filled it with water. Looking at Dang Chul-young, who was trying to come to his senses a bit, Kang-jang said.

"Hey, beat me until I'm dusty!"

The strongman began to incite these kids.

"Okay, let's do an experiment to see how much you can slap a wet body to make it dusty."

The markers around him began to respond. Once again, everyone surrounded him and began to stomp on his body. There was no one to recognize him, not even a dozen or so. It was time, and everyone was taking revenge for the beating they had taken earlier. Some of them took the back end of the spear to the head. Limbs were stomped on, backs were stamped on, stomachs were kicked……. After beating him for about a day or so, the marksmen stopped, either because they were tired of fighting or because they wanted to finish the job.

The strongest man, who had been beating him the most severely, stopped them. Without further ado, Tang Ch'ien-ying was knocked to the ground as if he were dead, and there was no sign of a holy place on his body.

"I'll kill you!"

"Shall we kill him?" asked one of the marksmen with a torn eye, already beaten to a pulp and too weak to move. Kang Jang-han's eyes were lifeless as he looked at the subordinate who had given him a good opinion that was somehow deeply in line with his own heart, one eye gaping and the corner of his mouth bleeding. How many of his subordinates had been killed by this man? There wasn't a single saint around here. That was because they had all been beaten by him in one or more places.

'He's been slithering since the beginning. Ugh… bam, kill him!

My blood boiled. His body ached from the beating he'd taken earlier. He had gone one-on-one with this guy, so he had a lot more unprotected spots than everyone else. The blow from the strange-named Three-headed Dog Bombshell had taken its toll. If it weren't for the help of his subordinates, he might have been in the other world by now.

His grip on the sword tightened. The hand that held the sword was trembling, and before he knew it, the strong silver sword was back in its scabbard. He couldn't let his anger get the best of him. He clenched the hand that had just held the sword. Then he struck.

"You can't kill on amygdalin. Forget it, this asshole should have woken up after this many hits. Let's go."

That's right. This was Amishan, not just any mountain, and there was an Amifa on top of the mountain who held a seat in the Nine Great Sects. To kill another person in an argument on Amishan, the territory of an Amifa, was a gross disrespect of the Amifa's dignity. There was no way the Amifa would allow a murder by sword in Amishan to go unpunished.

If a murder is committed in front of the gates of Ami, a temple dedicated to the Buddha, whose teachings are centered on compassion, how can it be ignored when you have so much dignity? You will solve the case no matter what. Amida, there was no way Ami would let those who had smeared ink on the name stone. He could not be hated by Ami. If I killed this man and was found out, I would not only be shut out of the country, but I would be hunted down to the point of death.

So I pressed Salsim and started to descend, leaving Tang Chul-young lying unconscious behind. But he was beaten so badly that he had no body, no bones, and no spirit, and if he was left there, he would either be fed to the beasts or freeze to death.