Cheongmyeong

The training grounds on Mount Hua were filled with disciples panting, sweating, and lamenting the choices that had led them there. Some could barely stand after hours of uninterrupted practice. In the midst of them all, Cheongmyeong paced back and forth with his arms crossed and an expression of utter discontent. "Pathetic." Everyone fell into a hellish silence. The training was becoming increasingly demanding, unbearable. "Was that a sword technique or were you swatting flies? Not even an old woman with a backache would move that slowly." Jo Gul gritted his teeth. Baekcheon closed his eyes, resigned. Yunjong seemed to be reconsidering all his life choices. "Again!" The third-level disciples groaned in pain, mentally wondering what sin they had committed to deserve such suffering. Many complained aloud. Cheongmyeong clicked his tongue as he observed the pitiful state of his martial brothers. "Seriously, how do they expect to restore Mount Hua's glory when they're so useless? If the ancient ancestors saw them, they'd faint from disgust." Then something caught his attention. A figure he recognized, though not in that place. He immediately smiled.