O-ryang of O-ryang Mountain
Chapter 116
Just then, Han Ji-un pressed his palm lightly against the ground.
"They've followed us all the way here."
"You left it open?"
"Yes. I opened the formation to let us in."
"Hah… how did they manage to find it?"
At that moment, O-ryang rose to his feet.
"I'll go."
Young-woo stood up as well, worried about sending such a young boy alone, but Han Ji-un stopped him.
"Leave it to him. This is his domain."
"His domain?"
O-ryang gave a small nod, then stepped into empty air.
His body lifted, and in an instant he darted downward.
His feet never touched the ground, and he changed direction midair as if he were walking on nothing.
The movement technique of that small boy was far from ordinary.
At that level, there was no need to worry about him being harmed.
O-ryang crossed from tree to tree as he descended.
Each step off the treetops carried him dozens of strides forward.
Perhaps because of his small frame, he seemed to fly even farther.
Young-woo asked,
"He's so young. Will he be alright?"
Han Ji-un smiled.
"His Dao power is higher than yours. There's nothing to worry about."
Dao power.
Young-woo did not fully understand the term.
He could tell it was something different from the strength of the sword they wielded…
but what kind of power it truly was, he could not yet grasp.
The men chasing them were ruthless.
Meanwhile, O-ryang reached the base of the mountain and leapt directly into the path of twenty approaching riders.
A tall tree slowly tilted and fell across their way.
The riders yanked their reins and halted in confusion.
O-ryang stood before them.
Being small, he climbed onto a visible branch and spread both arms wide.
"Stop. This is the dwelling of a sage. Turn back."
"Move aside, brat."
"Turn back."
They did not leave.
"If you do not, I will have no choice but to use force."
The riders were dumbfounded.
A child in ink-dyed robes stood blocking their path.
They should have realized something was wrong.
"Did you fell that tree?"
"Turn back."
"Move, boy."
Words would not work.
O-ryang swung both arms.
With open palms, he traced a figure-eight in the air.
A fierce surge of force shot forward.
Bang! Bang! Pah-bang! Bang! Bang! Pah-bang!
Multiple bursts exploded before the riders.
Though the blasts struck the ground, the sound alone was like thunder exploding beside their heads.
If those strikes had landed directly, their skulls would have shattered.
Startled, they pulled their reins and turned.
O-ryang sent more bursts toward those still hesitating.
The riders who had pursued Young-woo fled in panic.
He unleashed several more blasts behind them.
Bang! Bang! Pah-bang! Bang! Bang! Pah-bang!
O-ryang then ran lightly and raised a short Cheonha Daejanggun (guardian totem) that lay slightly tilted.
As it stood upright, he slowly turned it into position.
It seemed quite heavy.
The child's face tightened with effort.
Grrrrrk—
Stone ground against stone.
In an instant, the landscape behind it disappeared.
The fleeing men turned back.
The scenery had completely changed from when they first arrived.
The totem had been the medium that activated the formation.
O-ryang dusted off his hands.
"Hmm."
After confirming the formation was restored, he clasped his hands behind his back like an adult and returned to the hermitage.
When he returned, Baek In-gyeom asked,
"How did it go?"
"I drove them off and restored the formation."
Young-woo understood.
They had left the formation open because they expected him to depart.
The dwellings of such recluses were protected by formations that barred outsiders.
The scenery would shift.
Winds would rise.
One could even be trapped in illusions of standing on a thousand-foot cliff.
There were many rumors about mountain sages.
People failed to find them and called them myths.
They did not mix with ordinary people.
They only descended for public works—repairing roads, building bridges, raising embankments, or constructing reservoirs.
Even then, dressed plainly, no one recognized them.
Young-woo asked,
"How can someone so young…"
O-ryang smiled warmly, like spring sunlight.
Without words, he swung his arms lightly.
Several strides away—
Bang! Bang! Pah-bang! Bang! Bang! Pah-bang!
Young-woo's eyes widened.
This was something he could not do.
It was not merely a different path from martial skill—
it was overwhelming ability.
"Hehe, I just did that. If it exploded inside a person… well, it would be troublesome. They got scared and ran."
The master gestured.
"Well done. Come sit. This is the Young-woo I told you about."
"We've already greeted each other."
O-ryang sat neatly on the floor.
Every movement followed proper etiquette.
Small, but composed and precise.
He was endearing to watch.
"Hehe."
The master looked after him.
"Your tea has gone cold."
"It's alright. I like cold tea too."
He took a sip.
Han Ji-un quickly poured him fresh tea.
Meanwhile, Young-woo noticed the stark contrast between their refined way of life and his own rough existence.
A deep sadness welled up inside him.
It felt as though he alone lived in hell.
They were all human—
yet he could not live as they did.
Still, he had no intention of rejecting his current life.
Someday, if circumstances allowed, he wished to live like this.
As if reading his thoughts, the master spoke.
"I hope you will sink into yourself and find stillness."
"Yes, Master."
"You must reflect upon yourself. When light shines, you begin to see. Examine each thing carefully. It will take time, but it is meaningful."
"I am trying."
"You must restrain the mind that rushes outward."
"Yes. But… that doesn't mean accepting what should not be accepted, does it?"
"Of course not. You have always done well, and you will continue to do so."
Young-woo felt the praise was excessive.
He had never done anything properly.
Everything he did felt incomplete.
There was always more to fix afterward.
"I want to do better, but things don't go as I intend."
"You have done well. Be content, and then reflect."
"Yes?"
At the words "do not keep looking back," Young-woo lowered his gaze.
He remembered how often he had hesitated, looking back.
As the outward-rushing mind quieted, clarity came naturally.
Young-woo sank inward.
The three of them drank tea in silence.
It seemed they considered giving him that moment their duty.
O-ryang quietly withdrew and hopped onto a sunlit section of the wooden floor.
Golden light fell across grass, flowers, and trees.
The texture of the granite foundation stones appeared vividly beneath the pillars.
The small Daoist boy sat there, feet swinging lightly.
The scene was like a painting.
Perhaps this was the kind of moment people dreamed of—
time itself settling into stillness.
After spending that quiet time, Young-woo received further instruction from his master.
It was still swordsmanship and inner cultivation.
But unlike before, it was not blunt or forceful.
Because it lay on the path to higher mastery, every movement and every breath was taught with care.
This was no longer martial skill meant to fight an enemy—
it was study meant to cultivate oneself.
Sword forms for learning.
Breathing for the sword.
A practice of constantly observing oneself.