Chapter 2

The Golden Cauldron Pond Axe Atrocity Incident

My master came out holding a pitch-black iron axe.

Then, he handed the axe to me, telling me to chop the firewood with it.

As I carelessly took the axe, my shoulder almost popped out with a pong! It was because that pitch-black axe was insanely heavy.

I asked my master how much this axe weighed.

"It's only 60 kilograms."

That was my master's answer, as if it were nothing. But to me, it was a bolt from the blue.

"Wha-what? 60 kilograms? What kind of axe is this! If it's 60 kilograms, that's 1,600 ryang, 16,000 don, 160,000 pun, and 1,600,000 ri! To explain further, one geun is 16 ryang, one ryang is 10 don, one don is 10 pun, and one pun is 10 ri. How am I supposed to lift a weight of one million six hundred thousand ri? Especially with this delicate body of mine."

I tried to muster as much moisture as possible into my eyes, putting on a full emotional display to win my master's sympathy. However, my efforts went down the drain with no results.

"You brat, stop inflating the numbers for no reason. With effort and grit, a human can do anything. Do you understand?! Effort and grit. Besides, this is no ordinary axe. This is a living, legendary axe!"

A passionate speech erupted from my master's mouth. His eyes were too serious to dismiss it as a joke. An undeniable passion was contained within them. However, it was most regrettable that along with the passion, a large amount of saliva also came flying out. I demanded that my master tell me about this legend at once. My master's story was as follows.

According to a story passed down in our school, this axe is a historic one with a sad and sorrowful legend. One day, the founding grandmaster of our school, whose name is still unknown, was chopping wood by a pond called Golden Cauldron Pond when, due to a brief mistake, he dropped his axe into the pond.

As the grandmaster was worrying, 'How can I get that axe back?' the middle of the lake suddenly began to boil, and an old man with beautiful, pure white hair and the air of an immortal appeared out of nowhere in a dazzling, sparkling light. A sage of the immortal class had appeared. In the hands of the old man, who stood on the water's surface as if it were solid ground, were a golden axe, a silver axe, and an iron axe.

The old man introduced himself to the troubled grandmaster as the mountain spirit who guarded this place. Then, holding out the sparkling golden axe, he blurted out rudely,

"Is this your axe?"

The grandmaster firmly replied, "No!" How honest of him... Then the immortal held out the silver axe and asked the same question,

"Is this your axe?"

Our honest grandmaster again replied, "No!" Finally, the mountain spirit held out the rusty iron axe he was holding and asked,

"Surely this rusty iron axe isn't yours?"

Of course, the moment the grandmaster said, "That's right, that axe is...," the incident occurred. Suddenly, the mountain spirit, who had been floating serenely on the water's surface, lost his balance and began to wobble. Then, with a cry of "Whoa, whoa whoa! Huh?" he flailed his arms trying to regain his balance before falling flat on his back. And with a gurgle, the mountain spirit vanished from the grandmaster's sight in an instant. What an unsightly affair! It was a major incident that completely shattered the mountain spirit's dignity.

As the grandmaster took a deep breath to compose his bewildered heart, a red energy suddenly began to rise from the pond. Feeling with his superb, beast-like instincts that something was wrong, the grandmaster dived into the pond without delay. The axe was, after all, an important tool for his livelihood.

Golden Cauldron Pond was a much deeper and wider pond than he had thought. When the grandmaster dived quite deep, he saw a small, hut-like thatched house at the bottom center of the pond. It seemed to be the house where the foolish mountain spirit from before lived. Looking slowly around the house, he saw the mountain spirit sprawled out next to the thatched house in a spread-eagle position.

The red energy in question was gushing fiercely from the crown of the mountain spirit's head. At that spot, the grandmaster's iron axe was gruesomely embedded, and from that part, a bright red energy was spewing out. As the grandmaster examined him, it seemed, no matter how he looked, that the mountain spirit was no longer of this world.

'Wait, so was the mountain spirit a person of this world before?'

I momentarily had this question, but my master paid no mind to my simple query, and the story continued. The cause of the mountain spirit's death was thought to be due to exceeding his capacity. The grandmaster's iron axe was at least ten times heavier than a normal axe used by ordinary people, so it had exceeded the weight that even the mountain spirit's spiritual power could handle. Yet, he had foolishly tried to use a levitation spell while holding the insanely heavy iron axe along with the gold and silver axes, and finally, unable to bear the weight of the iron axe, he had sunk into the water.

What was even more unlucky was what happened next. In the process of sinking calmly, the iron axe, which was sinking with him, cluelessly found its way to the mountain spirit's head and got stuck, sending the mountain spirit to his grave. My master added a kind footnote, saying that this kind of situation is called a "safety accident." In any case, our grandmaster, pitying him, buried the mountain spirit at the bottom of the clear-watered, scenic lake.

Praise to Amitābha Buddha and Guanyin! After praying for the mountain spirit's passage to paradise, the grandmaster entered the mountain spirit's house. Strangely, no water came into the house, and the air was plentiful. It seemed the mountain spirit had cast some kind of spell to keep water from entering. Looking inside the house, besides ordinary furniture, he saw several more gold and silver axes.

Originally, the grandmaster was a fine man with no interest in worldly wealth. However, he had acted as a geomancer by finding a burial spot for the mountain spirit, and since he had dug the grave and buried him, he had also acted as an undertaker. Furthermore, since he had also prayed for his passage to paradise as a bonus, he thought it would be alright to receive a fee. He also thought that the dead have no need for wealth, so rather than letting it rot in a place like this, it would be what the mountain spirit wanted to take it out into the world and use it for the good of the world. After these deep and careful thoughts, the grandmaster brought several gold axes and several silver axes out with his iron axe.

I asked how the grandmaster could have brought out so many axes from the deep waters of Golden Cauldron Pond when even the mountain spirit couldn't. My master replied that I would naturally find out when I learned the advanced course of the Flying Thunder Dagger. It was a truly annoying answer. Just to solve this mystery, I had no choice but to learn the advanced course of the Flying Thunder Dagger.

A convincing side story is also passed down, saying that the reason the legend uses the abstract expression "several gold axes and several silver axes" is that after obtaining the gold and silver axes, the grandmaster underreported the number of axes when declaring his income to the authorities to evade taxes. There is also a bonus story that the grandmaster founded the current Flying Thunder Sect with the money he got from selling the gold and silver axes.

Later, the grandmaster is said to have called that incident the 'Golden Cauldron Pond Axe Atrocity Incident'. An epilogue is also passed down that after that incident, no more fish or water plants grew in Golden Cauldron Pond, and because a ghost would appear every night, wandering around the pond crying, "You thief, give me back my things!", people came to call the place Ghost Pond.

After hearing the whole story from my master, I didn't snort or chuckle. The legend of Golden Cauldron Pond was quite charmingly constructed, as legends should be, and its narrative structure was excellent. Moreover, unlike the traditions of most martial arts schools (which are usually serious with a bit of exaggeration), it was witty and fun. But my master's sharp gaze was too frightening to dismiss it all as fiction. So I decided to remain silent. I was not a foolish idiot who would run his mouth without the ability to handle the consequences.

In any case, I came to chop firewood with this legendary axe that had such a historic story. To lift this historic axe, I had to undergo special training to build my arm strength for over a month, and it took a full four months before I could chop firewood passably. Furthermore, it took a year to chop firewood with unwavering movements, and after a year and six months, I could chop firewood naturally with the same speed and correct posture. I had to chop firewood with this legendary axe for almost a year and a half before I could chop it with a dagger.

The Terror of the Steel Laundry Bat

Along with chopping firewood, my master taught me how to do laundry.

About a thirty-minute walk from the thatched hut, there was a valley with clear flowing water. My master took me there, dumped a load of stinky laundry on me, and told me to wash it all and come back. I held it in. I was his disciple, after all...! 'Alright, let's do the laundry for my poor (?) master!'

With these thoughts, I obediently followed my master's instructions.

"Tsk, alright. I'll do it, I'll do it."

I answered obediently.

"You brat, why the long face? You got a problem? If not, take this!"

And he held out a pitch-black club. It was a roundish club, about the length of an adult's forearm and slightly curved like a crescent moon.

"What's this now, Master?"

To harbor questions in order to understand the incomprehensible was a very good thing for the development of consciousness.

"Can't you tell by looking? It's a laundry bat. You'll know once you use it, but it's an essential item for doing laundry. What are you doing? My arm hurts. Hurry up and take it!"

'Tsk, what's the point of a laundry bat...'

I thought to myself as I took the laundry bat in question.

"Ugh!"

Like the axe, that laundry bat was also insanely heavy. It turned out that the laundry bat was made of steel. It was a moment where my shoulder could have popped out with a pong!

"Ma-Master! Wha-what kind of laundry bat is so insanely heavy? Just how much does this thing weigh?"

I shouted at my master, my face beet red. My master's voice came to me faintly. At that moment, I was concentrating all my nerves on the laundry bat, so I couldn't hear my master's voice clearly.

"What's so heavy? It's only 30 kilograms. It's only half the weight of the iron axe."

"What? It weighs 30 kilograms! What is this thing? My frail body is already overwhelmed by just one brutish iron axe. How am I supposed to do laundry with such a brutish laundry bat? If I do laundry with this, I won't be left with laundry, but rags!"

I now shouted at my master with a face on the verge of suffocation.

"Hey, you brat! Didn't I tell you not to inflate the numbers for no reason? Of course, if you do laundry the ordinary way, you'll be left with rags, not laundry. Do you think a thin piece of cloth would be safe when struck by an iron bar weighing dozens of kilograms? To prevent that, you must master the secret principle of 'Yu' (Softness). Only when you can contain softness within strength will you be able to do laundry properly. Also, this laundry develops your shoulders and wrists, so it has a chain effect that kills three birds with one stone. This training method is our Flying Thunder Sect's officially designated training method, passed down for generations, called 'Secret Method Laundry'. Stop complaining and just do the laundry diligently!"

My master mobilized all sorts of flowery language to persuade me. For words meant to persuade someone to do laundry, it was extremely elaborate. It didn't fit the current situation at all. But what could I say when it was part of the training? I had no choice but to submit to my fate. I felt pathetic for having no power to resist, and I hated my master. Once my heart calmed down after deciding to submit to fate, I asked my master about the question I had when I first held the black steel laundry bat.

"Master! Doesn't this steel laundry bat have a legend like the Golden Cauldron Pond iron axe? For example, a story where the grandmaster was doing laundry in the valley with this steel laundry bat, and then he beat a celestial maiden who came down to bathe to death with the steel laundry bat and stole her valuables."

To me, who asked innocently with eyes sparkling like the Milky Way, my master gave a rap on the head and a blunt reply.

"No such story has been passed down in our school. If you want to make one so badly, go do it yourself and leave such a legend behind. Anyway, stop thinking such useless thoughts and just do the laundry diligently."

With these words, my master left the laundry place.

At first, the steel laundry bat was so heavy that I had to hold it with both hands to do the laundry. Even though I was supposed to hold the laundry with one hand and the laundry bat with the other. Moreover, my foolish master had just spouted useless words and left without teaching me the important principle of 'Yu'. So there was no way the laundry would be done properly. It eventually led to a situation where it was impossible to tell if the clothes had become butterflies in a dream, or if the rags had become clothes in a dream.

That day, I think I went home and got a good beating from my master. Thanks to that, I had to see a tremendous amount of blood. It's a bitter memory I don't want to recall, and just thinking about it still makes my thumb and index finger tingle. And I had to spend all night sewing the clothes that had become rags with a needle. I advised him that it would be faster and more profitable to just buy new ones, but my master, a dictator and a tyrant, did not have the broad magnanimity to listen to the advice of a loyal subject. Instead, he just spouted useless sophistry about how sewing helps to develop delicate hand senses. In any case, I had to sew, and those rags truly became rags soaked in my blood and sweat. I named those rags the Mankyeolbok, meaning the "Ten Thousand Knots Robe."

I wore the Mankyeolbok and continued to go to the stream every day to do laundry. And a month later, I was finally able to hold the clothes with my left hand and do the laundry. It had taken about thirty nights to be able to hold the steel laundry bat with one hand. I alternated every week, one week doing laundry with the bat in my right hand, and the next week with it in my left.

The Mankyeolbok served as my practice partners, and it took about a year and a half for the ten thousand knots to become a thousand knots, the thousand knots to become a hundred knots, the hundred knots to become ten knots, the ten knots to become one knot, and the one knot to become no knots.

From then on, I was able to do laundry naturally in a very comfortable posture, and I was able to contain softness within strength. By that time, my sewing skills had already reached the level of divine artistry.