Chapter 330. Another March 3
It would not have been an exaggeration to say that the attention of all two thousand men had settled on a single person.
Whenever an opportunity arose, the Balhae soldiers came to Youngwoo.
During the march, many rode their horses alongside his and asked questions.
Whenever the column rested, others came near wherever he sat and tried to strike up a conversation.
Most asked about his success, his abilities, or what he intended to do next.
Some questions, however, were mischievous.
One cavalryman approached him with a sly expression and mentioned that he had a younger sister.
"Are you married?"
Youngwoo shook his head.
"No. I am not. And I do not intend to marry in the future either."
"What? Why not? You should have sons and daughters and live happily with them."
Youngwoo smiled awkwardly.
"I am studying in the mountains now.
"How could a man who never knows when he may leave again properly look after a family?
"Think about it.
"Peach blossoms drift down a flowing stream.
"You follow those flowers upstream and discover a valley filled with peach trees, with beautiful songs coming from somewhere within.
"They tell you to rest for a while in a bright garden beside the water.
"So you eat one meal and come back.
"And when you return, two hundred years have passed in the outside world.
"What then?
"Would your children not curse you for generations as the father who abandoned his family?"
The cavalryman burst into laughter.
"Hahaha. Do you think a hidden immortal realm is that easy to find?"
Youngwoo suddenly became serious.
"That is the sort of cultivation I am studying.
"You settle your breathing once, and perhaps three days have already passed.
"Things like that may happen."
"So you are a mountain cultivator."
It was an absurd fantasy.
Yet because Youngwoo said it, somehow it sounded almost plausible.
Perhaps that was because he genuinely believed it himself.
The story that he was cultivating to become an immortal spread more widely than any account of his worldly rank.
Along with it went the rumor that his martial arts were the arts of Goguryeo's Jo-ui Immortals.
People even began saying that the reason his sword method differed from others using the same forms was because he had learned the true core of the art.
It did not take even one sijin for the rumor to spread from the head of the column to the rear.
They said he was this kind of man.
They said he liked this or that.
They said he was an undefeated general who had never once lost a battle.
They said his martial arts had already reached the highest level and that he would soon enter the Realm of Transformation.
They said it had taken him only a few months to turn the rough cavalry of the Jurchens into the fearsome heavy cavalry known as the Iron Pagoda.
They said he had been able to capture the emperor in the last battle but let him go only because everyone around him begged and begged.
They said defeating seven hundred thousand men with twenty thousand was almost unheard of in history, and that it had only been possible because he was there.
They said he could look at a man's face and know his future more accurately than a fortune-teller.
Endless rumors flowed from the front of the marching column to the rear.
Perhaps it was because the army numbered only two thousand.
With so few people, words traveled quickly, and what one man heard was passed farther and farther back.
But the real reason was that Youngwoo's first explanation had sounded plausible.
When he explained why he would not marry, he had spoken of hidden immortal realms and cultivation.
It sounded like a joke.
Yet somehow it also sounded sincere.
As the words moved backward through the column, flesh was added to the bones.
At first, it was merely that he studied in the mountains.
Then it became that he had learned the martial arts of the Jo-ui Immortals.
A little later, it became that he was about to enter the Realm of Transformation.
At first, people said he had led the charge in battle.
Then they said he had reached the emperor's banner.
A little later, they said he had captured the emperor and then released him.
A rumor did not need much time to become a lie.
Strangely, however, almost none of the stories were entirely without foundation.
It was true that Youngwoo had helped reform the Jin army.
It was true that he had seen to armor and weapons.
It was true that the Iron Pagoda Cavalry had grown stronger.
It was true that he had charged toward the emperor at Hubodagang.
It was true that he had ties to the Jo-ui Immortals.
And everyone had seen with their own eyes that his swordsmanship was extraordinary.
Small truths swelled as they passed from mouth to mouth.
Once swollen enough, they settled into stories that sounded convincing.
More than that, many of the rumors came from people who had directly heard him speak.
One man had learned swordsmanship from him.
Another had heard him explain how to lace armor.
Another had shared tea and spoken with him about Liaoyang.
Everyone possessed a fragment of something real.
That made it difficult for anyone to dismiss the whole thing as a lie.
They asked one another questions.
They confirmed details.
They added whatever pieces they knew.
It gave them something to do during the dullness of the march.
"Did he really almost capture the emperor?"
"They say he reached the imperial banner. The man I heard it from said he saw it himself."
"I heard his sword made a sound."
"That part I heard too. They say when he cultivates, the sword itself cries out."
"And why does he refuse to marry?"
"They say if he enters an immortal realm and comes back two hundred years later, his wife and children will hate him."
The men laughed.
They laughed, and still believed it.
Words first heard as jokes became serious by the time they reached the next person.
Serious words then took on the shape of legend.
One cavalryman rode up and pressed close to Youngwoo.
"Commander Yi, there is a rumor that you can fly through the sky. It is spreading toward the rear right now."
In an army, few things moved faster than a message.
One man heard it.
The next received it.
Then that man passed it on again.
Each time, the words shifted slightly.
Youngwoo remembered a conversation from not long before.
He had said that he could leap ten or several tens of jang at a time.
Someone had laughed and said that at that point he might as well be flying.
Apparently, as the story moved backward, might as well be flying had simply become he flies through the sky.
When Youngwoo explained what had happened, the cavalryman immediately understood.
He turned his horse around and raced toward the rear to correct the rumor.
"He does not fly! He said he can leap ten or several tens of jang!"
The rumor changed again.
Several tens of jang soon became several hundred.
And if a man could cross several hundred jang, someone added, he might as well have wings.
It did not take even a quarter of an hour for that version to spread farther down the column.
Another retelling took another shape.
Someone said he had heard it directly.
Someone else said a man who had learned swordsmanship from him had seen it.
Another nodded knowingly and said that such a feat made sense if it was a martial art of the Jo-ui Immortals.
The rumor crossed from mouths into imagination and continued growing.
The next chance to correct it came when the column stopped to rest.
Soldiers who wanted to verify the story gathered around Youngwoo.
"Can you really leap several hundred jang?"
Youngwoo sighed.
"Ten to several tens of jang.
"And even that is not flying.
"It means using footwork and internal power to make a very large leap in a single instant."
They nodded solemnly.
Then they went back and said,
"He does not fly. But with internal power, he can cross several tens of jang in a single step."
By the time that reached the rear, it had become:
He does not fly, but the moment he touches the ground, he disappears for several tens of jang and then reappears.
Even Youngwoo's own correction became another legend before reaching the end of the column.
Strictly speaking, it was a mythology of success.
The story of one man grew as it moved through the marching ranks.
And as it grew, it lit a small fire in the hearts of the soldiers.
We might become like that too.
Someone like that has joined our army.
If Commander Yi is with us, perhaps we can win too.
Success becomes hope for people who have lived with failure for a long time.
It creates the expectation that perhaps one's own life can change if one works hard enough.
That expectation then moves the body.
For them, the rumors about Youngwoo were not merely exaggerations.
They were the shape of effort made visible.
"They say he practices his sword one hundred and twenty-five times every morning."
"They say there is a secret in the number one hundred and twenty-five. You have to do exactly that many."
"We do it once and go wash our faces."
"They say if you do one hundred and twenty-five repetitions every day for one hundred days, your Ren and Du meridians open."
A man listening nearby immediately objected.
"Hey, that is a matter of qi cultivation. This is sword practice. What does one have to do with the other?"
Another soldier lowered his voice.
"That is exactly why it is strange.
"They say he does not really teach some incredible secret method.
"He just tells us to do ordinary things relentlessly.
"They say you have to hold horse stance for an entire sijin.
"There is even a method where you hang several sandbags on yourself and endure.
"We only pretend to train.
"Maybe what he says is actually right."
It did not take long for conversations like these to find their way back to Youngwoo.
Whenever he tried to correct them, the correction itself became another legend passed from mouth to mouth.
When Youngwoo practiced his sword in the morning, a few men began copying him.
At first they stood beside him with the intention of learning.
Soon there were more spectators than practitioners.
Someone caught a glimpse of the blade and said that light had appeared from the sword.
Another called it the manifestation of sword qi.
Then even a man far across the column claimed that he too had seen the sword qi.
Youngwoo shook his head and explained,
"It was not glowing. The blade reflected the sunlight."
That explanation traveled backward and changed again.
"They say his sword qi can only be seen when it catches sunlight."
"They say when he practices at sunrise, a silver aura appears."
"They say that is the cultivation of the Jo-ui Immortals."
Eventually, Youngwoo stopped explaining.
The more he corrected the rumors, the more elaborate they became.
Even his ordinary explanations became new secret teachings once they passed through the mouths of the soldiers.
The column continued toward Liaoyang.
Stories about Youngwoo traveled back and forth through the ranks slightly faster than the army itself.
After a while, Youngwoo gave up trying to correct every rumor.
When someone came to ask him, he simply shook his head.
"They are all nonsense.
"None of that happened.
"People do not fly through the sky.
"I do not leap hundreds of jang in a single step.
"And I cannot look at someone's face and predict his future.
"All of that is exaggeration.
"Do not believe such things.
"Instead, do what you should be doing every day."
Rather than pushing back against the rumors, he repeatedly told them about things they could actually do with their own bodies.
He spoke of practice rather than secret methods.
Training rather than miracles.
Drawing on his own experience, he pointed out the things that could only be reached through effort.
"One hundred sword repetitions a day is the minimum.
"If you pick up a sword, keep using it until your hand remembers.
"If you swing it once and then go wash your face, what is your body supposed to learn?"
"Hold standing post for one sijin.
"Do it somehow.
"Your legs will shake and your back will hurt.
"Endure it.
"At first it is difficult, but eventually the body remembers the position."
"If you cannot sleep at night, do not toss and turn.
"Sit in meditation.
"Practice your breathing.
"That too should be one sijin.
"Count your breaths.
"Settle your mind.
"Observe the movements inside your body."
Those three soon became what the soldiers called Commander Yi's Three Great Training Priorities.
One hundred sword repetitions.
One sijin of standing post.
One sijin of seated breathing practice.
Youngwoo repeated the same things again and again.
He wanted them to stop relying only on absurd rumors and gradually improve their own bodies instead.
No one could easily argue against that.
The rumors still swelled.
Stories about Youngwoo continued endlessly through the marching ranks.
But those few practical rules remained clearly in the minds of the Balhae soldiers.
During rest breaks, they picked up their swords.
They stood still like stakes and endured.
At night, they sat quietly and regulated their breathing.
Looking at their armor, Youngwoo said,
"Do not wait until you are hit by an arrow and start crying because it hurts.
"Repair it beforehand.
"This is how.
"Join the iron plates.
"Thread the leather cords tightly.
"Patch the gaps.
"That does not mean piling everything on carelessly.
"Leave the places that need to move free enough to move.
"Thicken the places that need protection.
"Reinforce the chest first.
"If the chest survives, the man survives."
To a soldier carrying an old sword, he pointed at the whetstone.
"Do not stand around doing nothing just because you are not holding a sword.
"What are you doing when there is no work?
"You are not carrying that whetstone around merely to balance your load, are you?
"You can sharpen your sword beside the fire while meat is roasting in the evening.
"Scrape, scrape, scrape.
"Keep the edge alive.
"When the blade comes alive, your mind comes alive too.
"Sharpening a sword has a way of straightening the mind."
Even during the march, he had them lift empty bows.
"Do not simply walk.
"Practice with empty bows while marching.
"When I call, 'Imaginary enemy!' raise your bows.
"When I shout, 'Loose!' everyone releases together.
"Anyone too slow gets scolded.
"Anyone too fast gets scolded too.
"Better to be scolded now than on the battlefield. Hahaha."
The Balhae soldiers laughed and lifted their empty bows.
At first it felt like a joke.
After several repetitions, however, the rhythm of the column began to align.
One man counted his one hundred sword repetitions.
Another retied the cords of his armor.
Another practiced raising an empty bow from horseback.
The rumors about Youngwoo still drifted up and down the ranks.
But beneath those rumors, the hands and feet of the soldiers were beginning to change.
Youngwoo's method was unusual.
More precisely, it sounded new because he treated obvious things as though they truly mattered.
Nothing he taught was some astonishing secret technique.
Most of it consisted of things anyone could do with a little care.
Sharing food.
Giving a comrade room.
Checking armor cords every day.
Making folding shields that could be carried on the march.
Sharpening swords.
Inspecting bowstrings.
Checking a horse's hooves and saddle.
Small, concrete habits like those spread one by one.
It was not that people had never known such things.
Often, they simply did not bother.
They believed there was little point because nothing would change anyway.
The military culture of enduring hardship above all else exhausted men before anything else.
Many gave up before they even began.
But Youngwoo carried the mythology of success around him.
People said that the coordinated volley training he had taught the Jin army had played a major role at Hubodagang.
They said that when twenty thousand soldiers released hundreds of arrows together against the flank of two hundred thousand Liao troops, the side of the Liao army collapsed inward in a single rush.
They said that when the Iron Pagoda Cavalry struck through that opening, the enemy formation broke almost absurdly easily.
So the soldiers' attitudes changed.
Things that merely could be done became things that had to be done.
Tasks once postponed because they were troublesome became preparations necessary for survival.
They began to believe that small repairs and repeated training could change victory and defeat on the battlefield.
By the second and third days, signs of change began to appear.
One man shared part of his allotted horse fodder with the man beside him.
Another removed his own worn armor and repaired a comrade's broken cords first.
Groups began lifting empty bows during the march and practicing releases at shouted commands.
At night, the sound of blades being sharpened continued beside the campfires.
It was not a change created by orders alone.
The desire to try for themselves was slowly spreading through the camp.