Book 1 Chapter 2

The first thing he taught me was how to cook rice.

Sifu taught family activities for the first time

"Boom, boom, boom!" It was a beautiful spark.

As hammer and forged iron collide, fantastic sparks fly from the

It went off like a firecracker. The beauty of an instantaneous flame is the beauty of the

It had a mystical power that could suck the soul out of a man.

On the wrist of the boy with the sledgehammer is a chunky, black bracelet that reads

It was cold. It was Bi Ryuyeon.

The boy's hammering was very skillful and also very natural. You could tell he had been doing this for a long time.

"Damn, why does Sensei look like that every day, ugh!

The more I thought about what had happened that morning, the more I felt sick to my stomach.

"Who the hell does he think he is to feed himself!

The more I thought about it, the faster the hammer came down. He was taking out his anger on the poor innocent piece of iron. It was as if each blow was directed at his master. The boy was seized by a strange feeling that his soul was being sucked into the flames.

What I'm doing right now, sweating my ass off, is making a sword.

Tempering iron to make a sword required great skill and precision, so only trusted craftsmen were allowed to forge swords in the forge. They were given the title of swordsmith, which was a great honor for a blacksmith. I am the youngest and most junior swordsmith here, but no one dares to disrespect me. Not only do they fully recognize my abilities, but they also fear me. Anyway, it's been six years since I've been a blacksmith here.

The problem is that it has become a full-time job. With the money I made here, Master and I were able to make a living. Oh, and of course, my master was a poor man. Naturally, making money became my main job, my main task, and practicing martial arts became a boring side hustle, or a hobby of sorts.

And yet, pathetic Savuwal,

"We're humans too, we have to eat before we can practice our martial arts!"

You say. You can't help but snort.

It was already seven years ago, when I met my master, when I was ten years old. I was the son of an ordinary sculptor, and my father carved and sold small trinkets and small Buddhist statues. My mother had died when I was five years old. I remember her as a very beautiful woman. But I have very few memories of her, so I don't try to think about her often.

My father was a loving man and taught me to carve in his spare time. By the time I was 10, I was able to do some decent work. Then, boom, misfortune struck. The misfortune was both terrible and equal: a sudden plague struck the village and killed most of the people. And my father was among them. I was left a young orphan. I was an orphan in a sleepy village.

I was the only exception in our village, so I dug my father's grave by myself and clumsily buried him. My hands were covered in blood, but I didn't care. Instead of a tombstone, I carved his image out of a large log and placed it in front of his grave. My artistic talent was so great that I was able to create a masterpiece that was the crowning achievement of a decade of my life.

But something about it seemed empty. I soon began carving my mother's figure on a log of the same size. I thought it would be lonely without my father. Luckily, next to my father's grave was my mother's grave. I had just finished carving my mother's image and placed it next to my father's when I turned around. An old man was standing there.

The old man pointed to my father's grave and asked, "Did you build this grave?" I answered, "Yes," honestly and respectfully. I was a good kid at the time, practicing the path idea well.

The old man asked again, "Did you do these wood carvings as well?" Those two pieces were the best masterpieces I had ever carved up to that point, so I hesitantly and politely replied, "Yes, I did."

The old man frowned for a moment, thought about something, then held out his hand to me and asked, "Won't you come with me?" Then I asked, "What will I get for following you?"

The old man laughed at my polite question and said he could teach me the greatest martial arts in the world. But I couldn't believe it. How could I trust the words of a man I'd just met when I was barely more than a snotty little kid, so I couldn't help but ask.

"How can I believe you?"

I demanded clear proof. The old man turned his head toward the woods to his left and flicked his hand once. In an instant, I saw a white flash, though it wasn't clear, and ten pine trees standing ten yards away were cut down to their bases.

"What do you think, do you want to learn?"

At the time, I honestly didn't believe the old man's claims that he could teach me the greatest martial arts in the world, but I thought he might be able to teach me some level of martial arts. I was an orphan and had nowhere else to go, and I also harbored a vague admiration for the martial arts, so I foolishly concluded that there was no harm in following the old man. When Suu Kyi finished her calculations, I cleverly said, "Okay!" and took the old man's hand. That was my first encounter with my master, and the beginning of my damned fate.

But it didn't take me long to realize that my quick calculations of the moment were a terrible mistake. Sifu was the one who made the first and most fatal mistake in my suji tasan, a decision I still regret to this day.

My teacher took me into the mountains, which were located next to a village. The village was quite large. The mountain was also very high and deep, connected to a very large trunk. In storybooks and in the mouths of storytellers, almost all miraculous people live deep in the mountains, away from the world, and teach their students. I found that the master seemed more and more plausible.

The master took me to a ramshackle hut with two rooms and a small kitchen. There was quite a bit of firewood piled up next to the hut, but strangely enough, I didn't see a hatchet where the firewood should have been. The master said that this was his home. And that it was also the place where I should live in the future…….

I was inwardly disappointed that it wasn't a quaint place like the Wuling Garden, where everything was in place and the violets were in full bloom, but I didn't let it show. I knew my master would be disappointed. After all, I was a good child with a good heart. Anyway, judging by his residence and living conditions, he didn't seem to be a very high level qi person. But it could be so, I thought, and I understood it in terms of the vastness of the ocean. What a beautiful and fine discourse, like a bead of pearl!

But my master has betrayed me in a naked way. He trampled on my generosity of spirit and my beautiful, good, and kind heart. He tore my brilliant blueprint for the future to shreds and shreds and shreds, and threw it all in the trash. By then, my suffering had already begun.

The first thing he taught me was how to cook rice.

I've been warned to never wash rice more than three times. Apparently, washing it more than three times makes it less nutritious……. I was also taught that when cooking rice, the water should come up to the back of my hand. We were also told to keep the lid on the pot. He was proud to tell us that the secret to cooking rice high up in the mountains is to place a rock on top of the pot, and that this is a secret that everyone knows. What a great teacher.

But cooking rice was just the beginning. The next thing he taught me was how to make side dishes. Because he was not a high-level adept, he could not survive on raw food alone. I had to eat meat to get plenty of protein, and I had to drink alcohol from time to time, sometimes without even trying. I didn't want to live on raw rice and pine needles, either, so I learned to cook a lot.

First, we learned how to make simple side dishes such as stir-frying vegetables, stir-frying meat, and stewed tofu, and how to make soup. When stir-frying vegetables, we were told to add oil once and stir-fry quickly. This was to prevent the aroma and flavor of the vegetables from being blown away during stir-frying. In particular, Sensei repeatedly asserted that cooking is all about the heart. I was suspicious of his former job. Or maybe he was still an active chef.

According to him, the martial art we were about to learn, called "flying sword," requires a great deal of dexterity and delicate senses. In this sense, cooking is a combination of dexterity, skill, and senses, and is the ultimate art of harmonizing the two. As I listened to Sifu's culinary praise, I couldn't help but snort and eventually snorted.

"Pow, pow, pow!"

It was just an excuse, I thought, and the only thing that sounded good about it was that the name of the martial art I was about to learn sounded pretty plausible. Despite all the mishaps and mishaps (I melted a couple pots, burned a crockpot, and blew a month's worth of food in the name of practice), I now had the skills to make a basic meal. It's been an amazing journey.

In fact, it didn't take me long to learn how to cook rice and make side dishes. The sad part is that once I was able to cook, it became my job to set the table. I even suggested that we should divide the work equally, such as assigning meals to different days of the week, and got a few good slaps for my trouble.

That's when I realized that my fists were faster than my words. It really hurt my bones. Sifu's fists were unbelievable. That day, I learned that I could control reason and emotion with my fists, and this fact had a profound impact on my character formation. The lesson of that day is etched deep into my instincts.

The next thing he asked me to do was chop firewood. He told me that we needed firewood to light the fire for cooking, so he took me to a pile of wood. To my right was a pile of firewood that had been split in half, and to my left was a pile of freshly cut wood from the mountain. But no matter how much I looked around, I still couldn't find the axe I was supposed to use to chop wood.

"Master, where is the axe, don't you have to have an axe to chop wood?"

I politely demanded that the master explain why he didn't have a hatchet.

"I don't want any of that!"

The master replied.

"So what do you beat the tree with, do you just beat it like a dog?"

My question was the result of a natural logical thought process, since "beat" meant not only to chop wood with an axe, but also to hit someone hard without thinking about it. Then the master said, with a hint of annoyance, that he would like to demonstrate. The word was definitely "annoyed.

'Well, you're still lacking in mental discipline. Very much lacking!

I made my own assessment of him. It was clear that this man was not yet a human. From the pile of wood to my left, he picked up a log the size of a man's forearm and laid it on top of the cut tree trunk. Then he pulled a small katana from his sleeve, an ordinary, ubiquitous katana with a blade the length of a child's palm. It was the kind of cheap bido you'd find in any nondescript hardware store, general store, or small arms shop, where you'd say, "Hey, mister, I'd like a bido," and the owner would say, "Here you go!" and bring it to you.

With the sword drawn, Sensei squatted down in front of the log, gently grasped the sword with his fingertips, and struck it with a flick in the center of the cylinder of the upright log. No, "flick" is just my way of saying that the Sensei simply flicked his wrist, and the sword sliced through the wood in a fantastic semicircle, like a cloud cutting through a cloud.

The next moment, something amazing happened. The tree I was standing on had split into two pieces. I was so surprised that my mouth split open like a tree. I had never seen such a trick before. Sensei looked at me with my mouth open in amazement and smirked.

"You should be able to do this with skill alone, without any inner strength. The secret is speed and the trick is to use your wrists flexibly."

With that condescending remark, Sensei asked me to try. I set up a log just like Sensei, and using the same form as Sensei, I flicked and moved my wrists and slammed the sword against the tree.

"Pop!"

My blow came to a stop, leaving a fingernail-sized scratch on the tree. I was ashamed, and I could feel my face growing warm.

"Use your elbows, not just your wrists, to make a big semicircle!"

The master said in a stern voice. There was a second attempt. But it was still a failure. Fifty or a hundred steps, and there it was, the rice on the herb, the rice on the herb.

"This time use your shoulders and swing really hard!"

Again, the master's command came.

I tried a third time. But the result was a failure. What's more, this time I couldn't find the logs I had placed at the base of the tree. Had it turned to dust and disappeared? No, it had flown away with a crackling sound.

"It's a lack of speed. Even if you don't have the strength, you can do it with finesse."

The master kindly analyzed the cause of the splintered wood and the reason for the failure, but at the age of 10, no matter how capable and talented I was and how promising my future was, I could never succeed. Even if I had a good axe, I would not be able to split wood in two, and the blade would get stuck in the middle of the wood, so how could I fan firewood with this tiny biro, unless the biro was a miracle of the heavens…….. But since you've made it happen right in front of my eyes, I can't argue that it's impossible at all……. Then, isn't he a master of the qi level!

So I drew the brilliant conclusion, "I failed because I was just a beginner," and I told my teacher that in a polite, logical way.

"Master, I'm still a frail young boy of 10 years old, and I'm also a beginner, so I can't chop firewood with this little biddo yet. Until I have the strength and skill, please make arrangements for me to chop firewood in other ways, otherwise I'll have no firewood to make a fire and will probably have to starve."

I convinced the master in a very logical and reasonable tone. He thought about it for a while and then went into the hut's storage room. Soon, I heard a series of rustling, rustling, clanking, banging, and woo-dang-dang-dang sounds coming from the storeroom. A strange, ominous feeling of foreboding ran down my spine.