Chapter 32
Pitch and Rhythm—mastering the rise and fall of sound to create melody was never an easy task.
Even those who honed their craft over long years to reach the heights of art often struggled to harmonize multiple notes into a sound that pleased the ear.
For someone like Yang-hwi, who lacked both deep musical understanding and natural talent like Jegal Seolha, passing a music-based trial was almost impossible.
But—
“Pitch isn’t the only thing that matters in music.”
There was another element as crucial to Pitch and Rhythm as pitch.
Rhythm. In other words, timing.
And every person is born with a rhythm unique to them.
“Inhale… and exhale…”
He drew a breath, then let it out slowly—focusing on the flow and its steady tempo.
Thump! Thump!
He centered himself and listened closely to the beat that pulsed from deep within.
‘Let’s channel the rhythm of the lungs and the heartbeat into the sword.’
There was one technique that was perfect for that.
Heaven-Shrouding 108 Sword—First Form.
Wing Strike on Hanging Ice.
Rising like a hawk slicing through an icicle hanging from the eaves, the blade struck upward.
Originally, it was designed to deflect or redirect an opponent’s sword.
Yang-hwi imagined the many hanging steel rods around him as the enemy’s blades.
“Wing Strike on Hanging Ice—Eighth Variation.”
The blade, which had been rising in a straightforward arc, shifted diagonally as he introduced the subtle twist of variation.
And just like that, he parried a downward vertical strike.
Chala-lang!
Even after the rod let out its clear, ringing note, Yang-hwi’s sword didn’t stop.
The sword’s path flowed naturally into the next rod.
Chala-lang!
Two chimes rang out—overlapping and echoing in perfect resonance.
Chala-lang!, chala-la-lang!
Inhale… exhale…
Thump! Thump!
Focusing on the rhythm of his heart and breath, Yang-hwi extended his sword toward the next rod.
Lightly. As if bouncing. At this moment, the sword was the brush, and the rods—keys of a percussion instrument.
Chala-la,lang!, chala-la-lang!
He no longer needed to consciously follow the rhythm of his heart and lungs.
The harmony created by the resonating rods grew powerful enough to not only echo in his ears—but vibrate through his entire body.
The rhythm it produced was perfectly in sync with the rhythm that defined Yang-hwi himself.
Chala-lang!, chala-lang! chala-la-lang! Chala-la-lang!
Jegal Seolha watched with parted lips, mesmerized by Yang-hwi’s sword dance—no, his dance of sound.
It would be a stretch to say his melody showed deep musical expertise.
After all, the rhythm was there, but the melody lacked distinct pitch or modulation.
Even so—
His sword dance possessed a mesmerizing beauty that drew the eye and refused to let go.
He had touched the realm of art.
Clang!
The great iron door resonated and groaned open, reacting to the harmonized vibrations that filled the chamber.
Only then did Yang-hwi lower his sword and stand still, eyes closed.
‘Fascinating. The world of martial arts truly is vast and boundless.’
He remembered his past life. He already held the insight needed to reach transcendence.
It was like knowing the destination on a map—there was no need to wander when you already knew the way.
Until now, Yang-hwi had focused solely on retracing the path he once walked.
Why seek out a new road when the one you already know leads you where you need to go?
But—
‘That was the wrong way to think.’
If martial arts were nothing more than walking a path to reach the end, then he wouldn’t have been wrong.
But martial arts… were also about building something.
Constructing a tower, brick by brick.
The rhythm of heart and lungs.
The timing between sword movements.
The synchronization between body and technique—or no, something beyond mere synchronization. Harmony.
Yang-hwi gathered the enlightenment he had just found.
It may have been shallow and low in scale—
But it was a new material—one capable of building a bigger and stronger tower.
“Let’s go, samae. The door’s going to close.”
“Ah—right, coming!”
With his wooden sword slung over his shoulder, Yang-hwi strode forward. Jegal Seolha followed close behind.
The narrow corridor twisted and turned until it suddenly widened into a vast open space.
[Fourth Trial – Martial Hall]
Reading the inscription carved into the ceiling, Yang-hwi spoke up.
“Looks like this is the fourth trial.”
“The Martial Hall… must be a test of our aptitude in martial arts,” Jegal Seolha replied.
Sacred Sound Jade Spirit Sect was, without a doubt, a martial sect—yet one that pursued transcendence through the power of sound.
Which meant: even though its focus lay in the arts of sound, a proper successor had to be proficient in martial ability as well.
The reason the fourth trial was about combat wasn’t despite the sect’s values—but because of them.
If this were a more traditional sect, they likely would’ve tested martial aptitude right at the start.
“Hm. No extra instructions, huh? Well, I think I get the gist of it just by looking.”
A corridor stretched before them, lined with dozens—maybe hundreds—of wooden puppets positioned at irregular intervals.
The floor beneath was made up of thousands of square tiles, each just big enough to fit a child’s foot.
Judging by this unusual setup, there was only one conclusion.
“Looks pretty obvious, right? Step on the path, and those things’ll start attacking.”
“I think so too,” replied Jegal Seolha. “Why don’t we give it a try?”
Yang-hwi glanced over at Jegal Seolha.
Was she seriously suggesting he test it with his body?
He was glad to see her becoming more cheerful, but… wasn’t she also becoming a bit too brazen?
“Hmph. Well, no amount of guessing beats seeing for yourself. This Sahyung will demonstrate. Watch carefully.”
Activating Heavenly Harmony Art, Yang-hwi launched forward with force, slamming into the floor and dashing ahead at speed.
And the moment he stepped near the first wooden puppet—
Click! Whirrrr!
The mechanical device beneath the floor let out a grinding hum, and the puppet swung its arm down at his head.
“Yikes!”
He ducked and dashed past—only to have the second puppet strike low.
He leapt over the attack, but then came a third puppet’s overhead strike!
Still midair, with no time to dodge, he instinctively raised his wooden sword to smash the puppet—
Wait. Hold on.
Yang-hwi stopped. Rather than strike, he crossed his arms above his head to block.
Smack!
The blow sent him flying in an arc nearly 3 meters across the corridor—right to Jegal Seolha’s feet.
“Ugh—ow, ow…”
Rubbing his aching arms, he stood back up—only to meet Jegal Seolha’s gaze looking down at him.
That look on her face seemed to say: Really? You made it all of three steps?
“……”
“……”
“It’s not what you think. I could’ve dodged it—I got hit on purpose.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re saying it with your eyes.”
“Oh!” Jegal Seolha flinched, quickly turning away to rub her face, then looked back with an apologetic smile.
“Sorry… I didn’t mean to offend. I always wear a face veil, so I’ve never had to practice, um… expression control…”
Well. With a response like that, he couldn’t exactly argue.
“You don’t have to force yourself. I actually prefer honesty.”
“Really?”
Her eyes immediately reverted to how they were earlier.
“…Not that honest. Don’t look at me like that. I really took that hit on purpose.”
“Why?”
“Because… I didn’t think it was something we should destroy. Those wooden puppets—they hold a form.”
He’d realized it as he observed their attacks and sequence.
At first glance, it seemed like the puppets were placed randomly. But that wasn’t the case.
“I only saw up to the third one, but I’m sure of it. There’s only one way to make it through all their attacks unscathed.”
“In other words…”
“You can only pass by following one single flow and motion.”
Speed, position, direction—everything had to move in perfect harmony to evade them all.
In short, this was a test of movement technique.
“Sacred Sound Jade Spirit Sect was renowned not just for sound techniques, but for possessing the most exquisite movement technique in the world.”
“So the Martial Hall trial is really a way to engrave that movement form into the body,” said Jegal Seolha, understanding dawning in her voice.
“Bingo. But the real problem is…”
Yang-hwi let out a sigh and stared down the row of wooden puppets.
“…those guys don’t hold back.”
Just now, the third puppet had sent him flying nearly three meters.
If he hadn’t reinforced himself with inner energy, he might’ve been seriously injured—or worse.
“I’ll be fine… but you, Seolha, can’t afford to learn this one the hard way.”
Jegal Seolha had put off her martial arts training ever since her Peach Blossom Constitution Body had gone berserk.
She feared the divine affliction tied to her special constitution might worsen if she pushed herself too hard.
For someone like her, even a single blow from one of those wooden puppets could mean shattered bones and burst vessels.
“So I only get one shot at this, huh…”
“Pretty much. If you could fully internalize the flow of the movement technique, sure—you’d dodge them all.”
“……”
Jegal Seolha’s face dimmed.
“There’s another way,” said Yang-hwi. “I could just smash all the puppets, and you could stroll through like nothing happened.”
“…But I doubt Master sent me with you just so you could brute-force your way through,” she replied quietly.
“True.”
Yang-hwi looked at her face for a moment.
So much for not being able to control her expressions—her fear was written all over her.
‘This isn’t something I can help her with.’
One of the most important traits in mastering martial arts was courage—the guts to face danger.
In fact, this moment could very well be a turning point for Jegal Seolha, who would someday stand as a disciple of the Heavenly Martial Ten and a martial artist in her own right.
“I’ll give you time. Think carefully about how you want to handle this. Anyway, I’m getting hungry. Let’s eat and rest here for the night.”
It had already been quite a while since they’d entered the Five Trials of Proper Sound.
To him, it felt like nearly ten sijin—in other words, they’d already passed both mealtime and bedtime without noticing.
“But… sahyung, did you bring any food with you?”
“Nope. We’ve been eating all our meals at inns lately, haven’t we?”
Even when they were climbing Gokyeol Mountain to make their offerings, they’d just eaten the rice balls packed by the inn.
In other words—he hadn’t seen the need to carry food with them.
“Then what are we going to eat? If we don’t have supplies, we’ll starve, won’t we?”
“If there’s no food, we’ll just have to make some.”
Yang-hwi turned back the way they came.
Roughly half a sijin later, he returned holding a bundle of five or six field rats.
“Ta-da. Might not be as good as the inn’s cooking, but your sahyung here can at least guarantee meat with every meal.”
“We’re… we’re eating that?!”
Jegal Seolha’s face was pure horror. That’s when it hit Yang-hwi.
Ah. Right. She’s from a noble household.
Yang-hwi had wandered as a vagrant in his past life and was no stranger to sleeping under the stars, but this was Jegal Seolha’s first time ever venturing outside her family grounds.
There was no way she’d ever eaten rat meat before.
“W-we’re really going to eat rats…?”
“Yup. Not like we have other options. If you go hungry, you’ll lose energy. And if you lose energy, you won’t pass the Martial Hall.”
“…I-I’ll eat it.”
She answered through clenched teeth, and Yang-hwi couldn’t help but smile.
At least she wasn’t whining about it. That was something.
“Hold on.”
Normally, you’d roast a rat whole to burn away the fur and tough outer skin, leaving behind tender meat—but—
Yang-hwi pulled a small carving knife from his robes and swiftly prepared the rats.
“There. This should make it easier to eat.”
In his palm, there were no more rats—just neat little chunks of cleaned meat.
Relief visibly spread across Jegal Seolha’s face.
“Thank you so much, sahyung!”
“Don’t mention it.”
He gathered twigs and dry leaves, built a small campfire, and roasted the meat.
“So? Tastes better than you thought, doesn’t it?”
“Yes! It’s… actually kind of tasty. Nom~”
Even with soot smudging her face, Jegal Seolha munched away happily at her portion of the rat meat.
Judging by the way she was eating, it was clear Jegal Seolha had been starving—though she hadn’t said a word about it.
Well, of course she was. When would a precious daughter of a noble family have ever gone more than a day without food?
“Have you made up your mind, samae?” Yang-hwi asked.
Her mouth now stained black from soot, Jegal Seolha wore a look of fierce determination.
“Yes. I’ve only got one shot—I’m going to make it count.”
“There’s no shortage of food or water out here. Meaning, we’ve got time. I’ll run the path as many times as it takes. You just need to memorize it perfectly.”
“Okay. Thank you, as always, sahyung.”
Smiling shyly, Jegal Seolha reached out and lightly tugged on the hem of his sleeve.
A small, quiet way of showing her thanks.
“But sahyung, if we take too long, won’t Father start worrying about me?”
“Hmm. I doubt it. They probably expect this to take even longer.”
The first trial alone was tough enough that most people would take over a week to pass.
Yang-hwi had only managed to break through it in half a day because he brute-forced a path through the trial itself.
“This is the first time I’ve been away from Father for so long. I miss Mother too... Don’t you miss your family, sahyung?”
“Hmm…”
For Jegal Seolha, who was still a child, that kind of sentiment made sense. But Yang-hwi, though he looked like a boy, was a grown adult on the inside. It didn’t strike him the same way.
“I guess... I’m curious, at least.”
“Curious about what?”
“You know. That kind of thing.”
After the Dark Path Conflict, their household’s influence had expanded drastically—and with it, the workload.
Yang-hwi pictured everyone in the family scrambling to keep up—especially Gu-Ak, who was no doubt buried in work.
And he couldn’t help but grin.
“Gu-Hyung… I believe in you!”
****
Gu-Ak made a vow.
If he ever again took that little punk’s words lightly—no, if he ever again brushed off the Young Master’s schemes—he’d set his own hands on fire.
“What? Come to the Baek Family estate, and you can live happily with sister Rang-rang? I’ll make sure you do respectable work and never feel ashamed around her again?”
Well… he wasn’t wrong. Technically.
Gu-Ak stared blankly at the mountain of paperwork on his desk, then at the steward who had just brought in another stack.
“This is today’s workload, Deputy Steward.”
“……”
This had become a daily routine over the past few days. Gu-Ak could only sigh.
To be fair, Yang-hwi had kept his promise: he was giving him respectable work.
It was just… way too much of it.
“There’s too much. You know I’ve lived my life far away from writing and documents, Steward. Please, I beg you—”
The steward cut him off with calm finality.
“I do know. I know there’s far too much work for this old man to handle alone. And I also know there’s no one better suited than you.”
“……”
“Oh—and once you finish all the paperwork, don’t forget to take care of the master’s outside tasks too. That’s actually more important. You know why, don’t you?”
Then, with the calm smile of a true gentleman, the steward raised his fingers in a familiar gesture—thumb and index making a perfect little money circle.
Gu-Ak screamed internally.
‘Baek Yang-Hwi!! I swear I’ll repay this torment one day!’
And just like that, the last conversation between Yang-hwi and Baek Mu-ryang before he entered seclusion floated into Gu-Ak’s mind like a haunting whisper...
---The End Of The Chapter---
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