ch 13

 

Chapter 13

Like a cat that had run away from home, consciousness returned to its master with cautious steps.

Munpyeong blinked his stiff, weary eyes. The world, at first a blur, slowly sharpened into focus. An unfamiliar space revealed itself before him. Lying perfectly still in the position he’d woken in, Munpyeong slowly surveyed his surroundings.

The first thing he noticed was a humble ceiling with exposed rafters. As was common in country homes with vegetable gardens, bunches of dried greens and thinly sliced radishes hung from the beams. Tucked between them were other herbs that didn't look like common vegetables. Judging by the pungent, medicinal aroma wafting through the air, they were likely medicinal herbs.

…Medicinal herbs. Is this an apothecary, then?

Trying to grasp the situation, Munpyeong attempted to lift his head. He instinctively moved his arm to prop himself up on the bed, but the simple motion sent a searing jolt of pain through his entire body.

“No need to force yourself up. Your wounds haven't healed yet. If you move carelessly, they'll only get worse. Rest for another day or two. Otherwise, you’ll be left with a terrible scar.”

A sleepy voice came from the foot of his bed. Munpyeong, having sensed no one else’s presence, started in surprise and whipped his head around.

An old woman sat there on a stool she must have brought in. Her face, a web of fine wrinkles, was almost comical at first glance. Seeing Munpyeong’s sudden movement, she clicked her tongue in disapproval.

“There now. I told you not to move like that. Are you alright? That must have hurt a lot.”

The old woman was right. It did hurt. It was so excruciatingly, brutally painful that tears welled in his eyes.

Feeling a pain as if the skin of his entire back was being ripped away, Munpyeong hastily lay back down. The agony made him realize why he had been positioned to lie on his stomach. He must have injured his back.

But how was I injured? For a martial artist to be wounded on his back instead of his chest… what happened? …Ah, the fire bomb? Right. The fire bomb exploded.

The shattered fragments of his memory slowly began to reassemble. The recollections returned one by one, falling into chronological order, but the process was infuriatingly slow. Unaware that he had just awoken from a coma, Munpyeong found his hazy memory perplexing.

That’s right. They sent people to find Ja-ok. The pleasure boat was attacked, and I was nearly killed by the Crab-Killing Ghoul. Wait, then where is Ja-ok now? She was in my arms when we escaped the ship…

Sifting through his incomplete memories, Munpyeong finally recalled Ja-ok’s existence and his face went pale. He scanned his surroundings, but there was no sign of the child. If she had been rescued with him, surely there would have been some mention of her. The old woman’s silence on the matter felt ominous.

“Ma’am, have you by any chance seen a little girl? She was with me before I lost consciousness. A very small, thin girl. She has a blank, melancholic expression. Have you seen a child like that?”

“Oh, Ja-ok? You mean that little one? Of course, I’ve seen her. I saw her just this morning.”

“What? You saw her?”

“She was here until a little while ago. I needed some gromwell root to make a poultice for your wounds, so she went out to the fields to pick some. She’ll be back when it’s time to eat. Why? Should I call for her?”

He had asked with the utmost anxiety, fearing he had lost the child, but the reply he received was utterly nonchalant. It was an almost impossible level of indifference.

The old woman’s attitude, as if she hadn’t a care in the world, was so disarming that Munpyeong himself began to relax. He must have been worried for nothing. He let out a sigh of relief, the tension draining from his body.

“Is she alright?” Munpyeong asked, already assuming Ja-ok was fine but needing the confirmation. The old woman pressed her thin lips together and nodded.

“The little one is fine. You were the problem.”

“…How many days was I unconscious?”

“Let’s see now. I reckon it hasn't quite been three days. The black-clad young man brought you in on his back at dawn the day before yesterday, so… has it been two days?”

“Then I wasn’t out for that long.”

“It wasn't about the time, it was about your condition. One wrong move and you would’ve been on your way to the Yellow Springs, I tell you.”

For someone who had supposedly been at death’s door, his body felt surprisingly intact. Aside from the burns on his back, he felt no other significant external injuries, and even his internal wounds seemed to have healed on their own while he slept, feeling much better than he last remembered.

Circulating his internal energy to check his condition, Munpyeong dismissed the old woman’s words as an exaggeration. He figured that to an old woman who had never treated a martial artist's wounds, his injuries must have looked severe. The elderly woman must have had a hard time nursing him; he could certainly allow her this little bit of self-praise.

“Then I was truly fortunate. To meet someone as kind as you… wait. Just a moment. Did you say a ‘black-clad young man’? He’s the one who brought me here?”

Munpyeong, who had been graciously accepting her boasts, suddenly caught a detail in her words and asked for clarification. The old woman nodded again.

The black-clad young man? A local, perhaps?

Munpyeong’s eyes darted around as he considered the simple, almost rustic-sounding nickname.

“That’s right. He’s the one who brought you. Paid generously for the treatment, too, and even threw in extra for your food.”

“Where is he now? Can I meet him?”

Suddenly, he recalled the harsh, metallic voice from the telepathic message. While the black-clad young man could be a local, it seemed more likely to him that this was the same person who had helped him on the pleasure boat.

Having lost consciousness in the water, he couldn’t possibly have floated to safety on his own. Someone must have been nearby to pull him out, and as far as Munpyeong knew, there was only one person who could have done such a thing.

“The black-clad young man went to the fields, too. He should be back soon… Oh, there he is. The little one and the young man are coming back together. My, why did they pick so much gromwell root? Did they overturn the entire field?”

Munpyeong turned his head in the direction the old woman was pointing. Two figures came into his view. Just as she had said, a man carrying a large bamboo basket filled with something was entering the yard, accompanied by a small girl who barely reached his waist.

Seeing the “black-clad young man” in person, Munpyeong was at a loss for words. The simple nickname had led him to imagine a naive young man with tanned skin and large, cow-like eyes. But the man he now faced was well over six feet tall, clad entirely in black, a fearsome figure who looked like a grim reaper. It wasn’t just his height; his presence was imposing, and the quiet pressure he exuded gave credence to Yun Seung-hyo’s boast that he was a master ‘in no way inferior to myself.’

Looking at his attire, he might as well be from the Demon Shadow Corps. Black from head to toe. Is that why she calls him the black-clad young man?

Munpyeong smiled bitterly, thinking the old woman must have nerves of steel to call such a man by a common nickname.

He could feel the man’s gaze from beneath a bamboo hat painted black. Munpyeong, lamenting his predicament of having to greet a transcendent master while lying down, offered the friendliest greeting he could muster.

“Ah, hello.”

It was the best he could do, but the black-clad young man didn't reply. He simply gave a slight nod, then carried the basket into the kitchen. Ja-ok, after a moment’s hesitation, followed him inside, offering Munpyeong only a quick glance of acknowledgment.

Huh? Hey, little lady. You like that grim reaper more than me? We’re comrades who went through life and death together, you know. That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?

It never occurred to Munpyeong that she was simply too shy to look at him and had hidden in the kitchen. He cocked his head, wondering how such a timid child had grown attached to someone, especially a man with an appearance so frightening at first glance.

The tall man returned to the room after a long while. Ja-ok remained in the kitchen, and the old woman, as if seizing an opportunity to meddle, quickly left the room.

Munpyeong, who had been dozing off while lying prone, barely managed to lift his heavy eyelids as a long shadow fell over him. He thought he had been waiting tensely, but he had drifted off in an instant.

My stamina must be lower than I thought. Like a chick left out in the spring sun, the moment he relaxed his guard, his head would start to nod.

The man pulled over the stool the old woman had been sitting on and placed it by Munpyeong’s head. Munpyeong, who had been craning his neck to meet the man’s gaze, involuntarily held his breath as the man removed his bamboo hat and set it on the floor.

Seeing his reaction, the man’s eyes seemed to crinkle. The muscles around his eyes moved, but it was impossible to tell if he was smiling or grimacing.

Having revealed his shock so openly, Munpyeong belatedly felt a pang of regret. Realizing his rudeness, he couldn't meet the man's eyes and offered an apology.

“I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.”

The man shook his head at the polite apology. Then he reached out and took Munpyeong’s hand.

It’s alright.

Rough, calloused fingers tickled his palm as the man wrote. He was communicating by writing on Munpyeong's palm. Munpyeong lifted his gaze and saw the scars that ran down to his neck. A particularly noticeable gash ran right across his Adam's apple.

With the hat removed, the man’s face was so disfigured it was impossible to imagine his original features. His nose was flattened as if deliberately crushed, and one of his cheekbones had collapsed. Scars crisscrossed his entire face so densely that they didn’t even spare his lips, making it look from a distance as if four misaligned lips were clustered together. The horrific scars weren't confined to his face; they covered his neck and jaw as well, a chaotic mess of slashes.

What level of malice must one person hold for another to do such a thing? Munpyeong couldn't tear his eyes away from the brutal scars, a testament to a cruelty so severe it was a miracle the man had survived.

He had seen men who were addicted to bloodlust, who enjoyed killing or took pleasure in others’ pain, but even they had never left a living person in such a state.

“Your voice… you mean you can’t…?”

He was sure he had heard a telepathic message on the boat, but now the man seemed completely mute. Munpyeong asked cautiously. The hard fingers moved on his palm again.

You heard my telepathic voice, so you know it is unpleasant to hear. My throat was badly injured, so making sounds is not easy. This is how I usually converse. Is this method inconvenient for you?

No, not at all. Compared to someone who had suffered such a fate and lost his voice, he had nothing to complain about.

When Munpyeong quickly shook his head, the muscles around the man’s eyes crinkled again. Though his entire face was grotesque, his eyes were gentle. His pupils, as black and clear as Go stones carved from shells, looked kind even within lashless eyelids.

“If you don’t mind me asking, may I know your name? My name is Seok Munpyeong.”

I have forgotten my name. Lord Yun calls me the Broken-Faced Wanderer. You may call me that as well, Munpyeong.

To call a man with a disfigured face "the Broken-Faced Wanderer" to his face—it was more than just rude. It bordered on outright insult. Yet the man nonchalantly encouraged him to do so.

In the world of martial artists, people were known to fight to the death over the pride of having a weakness mentioned by another. But this man, on the contrary, openly displayed his weakness. Whether it was magnanimity or eccentricity, it didn’t feel malicious. His calm demeanor, devoid of exaggeration or pretense, inspired trust.

As Munpyeong had guessed, he was indeed the guard Yun Seung-hyo had left behind. He was a guest retainer personally taken in by Yun Seung-hyo and had been tasked to board the same pleasure boat from the beginning. After Yun Seung-hyo left the ship, he had inherited his duties but had found it difficult to reveal himself, choosing instead to watch from the shadows.

Munpyeong was astonished that he had failed to notice the presence of such a large, dark figure. A man of this size should have been impossible to miss.

I have already sent a messenger to inform Lord Yun of the situation. It was sent by express, so he should have received it by now.

Informing Yun Seung-hyo, he thought. The Lord Yun this man spoke of must be the real one.

He was hit with the impulsive urge to ask the Broken-Faced Wanderer if he knew there was another Yun Seung-hyo. It was a petty, spiteful impulse, but once a thought soured, it was hard to turn it back. If it wouldn't have caused trouble for both Yun Seung-hyos and the Broken-Faced Wanderer himself, he might have actually asked.

The person Munpyeong truly wanted to contact was not the real Yun Seung-hyo, but the fake one. The man whose name and face he didn’t know. The man he once thought of as his lover, though even that was now uncertain.

There was so much he needed to hear from him. There were problems between them that absolutely had to be resolved. But Munpyeong had no way of contacting him.

He didn't know where he was or what he was doing. He had no idea when he would return, or if he would return at all.

It was absurd, but the only thing Munpyeong knew about the man was this: he had the hands of a non-martial artist. Despite being a master who had reached the pinnacle of martial arts, he possessed skin as smooth and uncalloused as a newborn babe’s…

Munpyeong’s train of thought came to a sudden halt. Something, for some reason, felt wrong.

For a moment, he pondered what had unsettled him, then slowly lowered his gaze to the Broken-Faced Wanderer’s hand. The stark, contrasting image captivated him.

Unlike his nightmarish face, the Broken-Faced Wanderer’s hand was not so gruesome. It was the hand of a typical, dedicated martial artist. His entire palm was covered in calluses, a sign of his diligent training, and his overworked knuckles were thick and gnarled. The fingerprints on his thumb and middle finger, used for gripping a weapon, were completely worn away. It looked rough, but it was an honest testament to years of effort and passion.

With varying degrees of severity, every master had hands like these. Without shedding the blood and sweat required to reach this point, it was impossible to transcend one's limits.

Looking down at that common, unremarkable hand, Munpyeong’s face turned deathly white. The expression drained from his face as if being washed away by murky water, and his pupils dilated as if he were seeing something terrifying.

the Broken-Faced Wanderer was startled by his sudden, seizure-like reaction. He quickly rose from his seat and peered into Munpyeong’s face.

*"What is it? Are you unwell?"*

Unable to write out his question in time, the man used his telepathic voice. Munpyeong could only nod weakly in response.

It felt as if his stomach was being squeezed whole. Not just his stomach, but his heart, lungs, liver, spleen—every internal organ he possessed was twisting in agony. Cold sweat beaded on his pale face. He couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“I’m… sorry, but could you get a chamber pot…”

Munpyeong couldn't finish his sentence before doubling over. Realizing what was happening, the Broken-Faced Wanderer hastily pulled a chamber pot from under the bed, managing to catch the vomit just in time.

Clutching the pot, Munpyeong retched until his stomach turned inside out. But what he brought up was not the contents of his stomach, but clots of blood. The psychological shock had thrown his qi and blood into turmoil, causing his nearly healed internal injuries to violently flare up again.

The sounds of his retching must have reached outside, as the old woman returned from the kitchen to check on him. Ja-ok, clinging to the old woman’s skirt, peeked inside, wringing her hands in distress. But no matter how worried they were, there was nothing they could do for him.

Munpyeong heaved until he felt the raw pain of a torn throat. But no matter how he struggled, the heavy anguish lodged in the pit of his stomach could not be expelled.

***

As every mystery proves, the question is what most accurately explains the answer.

The moment the greatest mystery of his existence was solved, Munpyeong realized this truth. The reason he hadn't found the right answer was because he hadn't been asking the right questions. By taking in every piece of information as a separate fragment without understanding the context, by focusing only on what was immediately in front of him, he had stared directly at the answer and failed to recognize it for what it was.

Looking back now, the clues he had missed at the time came into sharp focus. Things he hadn’t understood while playing the part of a blind man were now as clear as beads on a string.

Follow the dog, and you will find its master.
You can catch a carp with a net, but you cannot catch a dragon with a net.
To find the dragon, chase the clouds. The clouds will follow the dog. —Mother

“To find the dragon, chase the clouds.”

Following that command, Munpyeong had gone to Guizhou and met Yun Seung-hyo.

“The clouds will follow the dog.”

When he chased the “dog” by investigating the kidnapping cases, Yun Seung-hyo had insisted on accompanying him.

In retrospect, their meeting itself was suspicious. What were the odds of two people meeting by chance on the road, only to have their destinations and purposes align so perfectly?

The Black Flower, left for him when no one had been sent. Cheonma, whose shadow he couldn't find even when following the directions of the Strategist who knew him best. The paths Yun Seung-hyo chose aligned with the Demonic Cult’s instructions with an uncanny precision, and his abilities were unbelievably extraordinary.

Could this be called a daeo-gakseong, a great awakening? No. This was more like don-o. Not the don-o of sudden enlightenment, but the don-o of a pig's delayed realization.

Indeed, Munpyeong felt like a pig. A pig, or a monkey. A monkey who had danced to someone else's tune, utterly oblivious to the fact.

It was sickening to think about the state of mind with which that man had watched him. The shy confession, the clumsy offering of his body that had caused him such distress—it was all an act.

How amused he must have been, watching him give his all, knowing nothing. As a man who enjoyed playing with people, he must have had a grand time.

Once he knew the man’s identity, all the questions that had plagued him were resolved at once.

Why had he posed as Yun Seung-hyo? Because there was no better way to hide his identity than to borrow that of a real person.

How could he hold him while wearing another’s face? Because it didn’t matter to him. Or perhaps, because it was more entertaining that way.

The man had numerous chances to reveal himself, yet he had continued the charade as Yun Seung-hyo without a hint of remorse. That alone proved he had no intention of stopping his deception.

The heart that had been tormented by all sorts of imaginings was trampled into nothing. The last shred of hope he had clung to when he was ignorant shattered in his hands the moment he knew his opponent. That lovely, blossoming thing. The only thing of value he had ever possessed—that feeling—was instantly uprooted.

It was his first love. He had believed it would be his last. But it was all just a delusion of his own making. All the affection he had offered was, to the other man, merely a light amusement. Cheonma had played with his heart with the same casualness as he had played with his body.

The unshed tears became a fever, burning his body and mind. The fever that flared up immediately after his intuitive realization blazed fiercely, as if to melt him away completely. Amidst self-ridicule and cynicism, Munpyeong burned.

The old woman stayed up all night tending to the inexplicable fever. The Broken-Faced Wanderer, thinking Munpyeong had fallen ill due to his own mistake, diligently nursed him, but his condition showed no signs of stabilizing.

The fever was so high that pus began to form on his healing burns. The old woman clicked her tongue, muttering that he might be scarred for life as she cleaned the wound. Whenever he regained consciousness, he would find Ja-ok sitting by his bedside, her face crumpled as if about to cry.

“Don’t be sick.”

The words, whispered repeatedly by a child who otherwise never spoke of her own volition, reached his fevered ears with clarity.

“Please, don’t be sick. You can’t get sick because of me.”

Ja-ok’s tearful whispers were endearing and pitiful, but he couldn’t say anything in return. The raging fever seemed to have stolen his voice as well.

How much time had passed? As he drifted in a state between waking and sleeping, unable to distinguish day from night, an unfamiliar hand touched his forehead.

“Of all the times.”

The person spoke to himself, his hand resting gently on Munpyeong’s sweat-drenched forehead.

“To happen when I wasn’t here…”

Within the exceedingly calm, low voice, a subtle anger honed its edge, its target unknown.

Unlike the others who were full of words, this person said no more. He quietly removed his hand and sat by Munpyeong’s bedside, keeping watch.

Munpyeong didn’t know who it was. In his hazy consciousness, a name surfaced, but it was not one, but two or three at once, making it impossible to identify anyone.

He moved his lips several times, trying to speak, but overcome by exhaustion, he slipped back into sleep. On his flushed face, mottled with fever rashes, his weakly fluttering lips were a stark, pale white.

Waking from a deep sleep is much like surfacing from deep water. Just as a body must rise, the mind, too, can only receive buoyancy once it is close enough to the surface.

His slowly ascending consciousness suddenly cleared. As if jolted awake, Munpyeong became sharply aware.

The first thing he saw upon opening his eyes was pitch-black darkness. Blink, blink. After a few blinks, his eyes began to adjust.

The heavy scent of medicine filled the room. He was lying on his stomach, half-naked, and as if that wasn’t enough, a cold, damp cloth had been placed on his back.

From the looks of it, he had been this way for more than an hour or two. His hands and feet were numb with cold, his body temperature having dropped. The tip of his nose was just as cold.

Munpyeong didn’t know why he was lying in such a state. He lifted his head, a dull ache throbbing in his temples.

“Are you awake now?”

The person who had been keeping watch by his bedside spoke upon seeing him move. The voice was fatally familiar. A voice he would have recognized even if it had been a single, monosyllabic groan. There was a time when that voice had sounded more beautiful to him than any music in the world. Now, it was simply chilling, like a cold blade pressed against his throat.

“…Don’t tell me. Yun Seung-hyo?”

“Yes. It’s me. Yun Seung-hyo. Do you recognize me?”

To be faced with such a predicament the moment he woke up. Munpyeong swallowed the groan that almost escaped and buried his face in the pillow.

Right. It would be Yun Seung-hyo, he thought, grinding his teeth internally. But which one?

“What happened?”

Honestly, he didn’t care if it was the real one or the fake one. Facing either of them would drain his energy and fuel his anger, so much so that he just wanted to be left alone.

But Yun Seung-hyo didn’t understand the true meaning of his question and, thinking he was asking for an update on his condition, explained with exceeding kindness.

“You remember the fire bomb exploding on the pleasure boat, don’t you? You were hit in the back by a fragment, and the wound was severe. It was treated once, but I heard it became infected. You’ve been sick for four whole days.”

What Munpyeong had been sick with wasn’t a bomb fragment, but a fever of enlightenment brought on by a truth too shocking to bear. But the others, unaware of his inner turmoil, seemed to have interpreted the situation in a way that was easier for them to understand.

“I see.”

“Fortunately, we found a good physician who stopped the infection and treated your internal injuries. You were very ill, so you must be quite weak. He said you should refrain from going out for a while and focus on recuperating.”

Munpyeong stared blankly at Yun Seung-hyo, who was expressing his concern in a gentle, soothing tone.

The difference between knowing and not knowing was immense. If this had happened when he knew nothing, he would have been grateful for the concern and apologetic for causing trouble. But knowing what he knew now, every single one of the man’s actions felt like a sickening charade.

“…I’m thirsty. I’m sorry to bother you, but could you get me some water?”

At Munpyeong’s weary request, the man immediately offered him a bowl. As they passed the water bowl, their fingertips brushed. The touch was sweet. The man’s skin was like silk.

The moment he confirmed the man's identity, his already turbulent emotions churned violently. The still-raw wound, exposed and vulnerable, throbbed with a fresh flush of blood at the new shock.

Munpyeong hid his expression behind the bowl, gulping the water down with difficulty. A vein bulged in his neck as he fought to suppress his rising temper.

“Even if it’s just water, drinking so quickly isn't good for you. Drink slowly.”

Cheonma, oblivious to his inner turmoil, chided him with a pretense of concern. Munpyeong ignored him and drained the bowl in one go.

Even lukewarm, the water helped to quell the heat boiling inside him. If he followed his heart, he would have lunged at the man right then and there, but he knew such an act would accomplish nothing. He had to be patient.

Cheonma was not an opponent one could defeat through reckless luck. He needed time. Whether he chose to fight, to seek revenge, or even just to escape, anything involving Cheonma could not be done on a whim.

“I’m going to lie down again. I’m still tired.”

The riot of his reckless emotions, boiling and then cooling, had left him feeling even more exhausted. His body, not yet healed, seemed unable to bear the excessive emotional strain.

Munpyeong pulled the blanket that had been under him up over his body and burrowed into the bedding. His chilled hands and feet felt as if they were weighted with lead. A shiver ran through him; he was probably going to catch a cold.

That would be just perfect. Burns, a fever, and now a cold. At that point, I really will be an invalid.

Munpyeong muttered bitterly as he closed his heavy eyelids. He had been thinking his luck was bad lately, but the situation was only getting worse. It felt as if all the misfortune in the world was being poured onto him. And of all that bad luck, the greatest was the natural disaster known as Cheonma.

Cheonma had changed his life by his mere existence, and for his own amusement, had shattered his heart to pieces.

“Sleep more if you need to. It is not yet the Hour of the Tiger.”

Though he urged Munpyeong to sleep, Cheonma showed no signs of leaving. Was he planning to stay here and watch over him all night? Munpyeong, who had been about to close his eyes, opened them again and looked at him.

“Shouldn’t you be getting some rest as well, Seung-hyo?”

“I have decided to keep watch here tonight.”

“I could understand if I were still delirious, but I’m conscious now. I don’t think my condition will worsen now that I’ve improved this much. Why don’t you go and rest? I feel bad for being such a burden.”

“You are not a burden.”

He pleaded, not thinking he could fall asleep with Cheonma at his bedside, but the man would not grant his request. Yun Seung-hyo’s character was known for being considerate and attentive, but this was too much. The man’s commitment to the role was almost too perfect. He seemed to be quite engrossed in it.

“I repeat, you are not a burden. My mind will only be at ease if I can watch over you like this.”

Seeing that Munpyeong was still watching him, his eyes open, Cheonma chuckled softly and murmured. A gentle hand reached out and stroked his hair. It was a calm, affectionate gesture, like a father coaxing a petulant son to sleep.

“Sleep now. I will stay by your side.”

The calm voice faded as the soft fingertips left his forehead. I will stay by your side. The words had a strange resonance. It didn’t sound as if he were just talking about tonight, but promising a more distant future. It almost sounded like a vow.

But whatever Cheonma was implying, Munpyeong knew it would never come to pass. If he couldn't even trust the words that came directly from the man’s mouth, how could he believe a mere hint conveyed by the atmosphere? Munpyeong had learned through experience that even words that touched the deepest part of his heart could be lies. There was no sincerity in anything Cheonma said.

He was simply a skilled and cunning liar.

***

Youxiang Village, a small village on the shores of Dongting Lake, was an ordinary farming community, the kind one could find anywhere in the Central Plains. Though it was near the lake, it was some distance from the waterways, so few were fishermen, and being off the main road, it saw few travelers.

The only establishment in the village that sold meals was the Cheonsong Inn. Despite its grand name, which meant “Thousand Pines,” it was a modest place with only two rooms, one of which was the owner’s living quarters, and meals could only be had under a canopy in the yard. It mostly catered to locals, with the occasional passerby, so its prices were low and its cooking unremarkable.

The owner of this inn, Woo-chun, had recently acquired a new problem. A new regular customer had started visiting almost daily, and serving this gentleman was proving to be a challenge.

“Welcome!”

Woo-chun’s troublesome customer had come to the Cheonsong Inn again today. Recognizing the dazzling figure from a distance, Woo-chun bowed so low his back nearly snapped.

The customer he greeted was, at a glance, a magnificent nobleman. He was dressed in rare silk robes that looked more expensive than the entire inn, wore spectacles of a peculiar colored glass on his nose, had a jade pendant at his waist, and even carried a folding fan. He was a nobleman and a perfect dandy, as if straight out of a painting.

In all his life, Woo-chun had never seen anyone so handsome and aristocratic. The man’s dignified air alone was enough to intimidate him.

“A cup of tea, and bring me some paper to write on.”

As soon as he sat down, the regular customer placed his usual order. The only tea available at a local tavern-cum-eatery was a low-quality dark tea that could be stored for a long time.

On the first day, knowing no better, Woo-chun had dithered before serving what he had. The customer hadn’t touched the tea, simply leaving money and departing. Though he had expected as much given the man’s splendid attire, the reality of it was both embarrassing and infuriating.

But on the second day, the same customer returned at around the same time. A tense Woo-chun, determined not to repeat his mistake, brought out his secret stash of fine Dongding tea. But again, the customer left without touching the teacup, only paying his bill. At this point, his pride as a lifelong innkeeper was piqued, and a stubborn streak emerged.

And so, on the third day, the tea Woo-chun presented was a precious Yushan tea he had managed to obtain after pleading with the village chief. The customer pushed the fragrant tea aside and wrote furiously. He seemed less a man who had come for tea and more a man who had come to write.

Curious as to what he was writing so intently, Woo-chun glanced over his shoulder and saw terrifying words like "Death" and "Unforgivable." The man, who usually wrote only a few lines, was today flying his brush across the paper, filling the entire sheet.

Too absorbed in his letter, the customer once again left the tea untouched. Thinking that the recipient was unlikely to enjoy what was clearly the longest letter yet, Woo-chun cleared the table.

Today was the fourth day. It was the day of the decisive battle, for which he’d had to travel to the next village, having exhausted all the good tea in his own. His progressively better offerings had been consistently rejected. This time, Woo-chun had truly steeled himself and bought Songbai Changqing—"The Evergreen Pine and Cypress." A tael of this tea cost a staggering half a silver coin, but he felt it would be worth it if only the customer would drink it.

For Woo-chun, it was a matter of lifelong pride. He wasn't a beggar; he couldn't accept money for nothing. If he took money, he had to provide food and drink. That was Woo-chun's creed.

He brought the customer paper and meticulously prepared the tea. He’d even had a crash course from the village chief, a tea ceremony enthusiast, on how to brew it properly. It was only a single day’s lesson, so he was far from a master, but he had grasped the basics.

Cold spring water was said to be best for brewing tea, so he had gone to the mountain behind the village at dawn to fetch some. He had washed and dried all the teaware and only used it for the first time upon receiving the order. Doing it properly was no small effort. As Woo-chun focused on brewing the tea, beads of sweat formed on his snub nose.

“Your tea is ready, sir. It is Songbai Changqing.”

He proudly announced the name of the high-end tea, a name he hadn't even heard of until yesterday, as he served it. But the customer, seemingly uninterested, was writing a letter with a fluid, elegant hand, and merely gave a perfunctory nod.

Receiving no real response, Woo-chun returned to his spot and watched from the corner of his eye to see if the customer would drink the tea. As always, the man seemed more interested in finishing his letter. He concluded his writing, which was shorter than usual, and set down his brush.

Oh, no. Is he going to leave just like that again?

Woo-chun, who had been anxiously waiting for him to pick up the teacup, saw him tidying up and realized he had failed again.

Even tea this expensive isn’t good enough?

His disappointment was as great as his expectation had been. Dammit! If he had no intention of drinking the tea, why did he even order it?

“Innkeeper, a paper envelope, please.”

Order tea, write a letter, let the ink dry, ask for an envelope, then pay. For four days, the customer's pattern had been the same. Accustomed to it, Woo-chun assumed this attempt, too, had ended in failure.

“Yes, sir. I have one ready.”

Woo-chun, his face fallen, replied dejectedly and went inside to fetch an envelope. Though it wasn’t much, the Cheonsong Inn was the only shop in the village. Since there was nowhere else to buy things, he kept a few non-food items on hand for those in need, and paper and envelopes were among them.

“Here you are, sir.”

This was his last one. It would normally take half a year to sell four sheets of paper in Youxiang Village, but this customer had gone through a six-month supply in four days.

As he habitually placed the envelope on the table, Woo-chun glanced up. The customer, who always sat with impeccable posture, was waiting for the ink to dry and was now tilting the teacup to his lips.

…Huh? The teacup?

At first, he had seen it without thinking, but a moment later, Woo-chun’s eyes widened as he realized the customer was actually drinking the tea.

Did he… did he drink it? Did he really drink it?

The customer took a sip and set the cup down. The tea level inside had definitely gone down.

He drank it! He drank it!

He couldn't show it, but Woo-chun was ecstatic. A sense of accomplishment he hadn't felt in his monotonous daily life filled him. The subtle humiliation he had felt clearing away the untouched teacups, as if they were unworthy of being drunk, vanished in an instant. The customer took another sip. This time, he drained the cup completely.

As the customer rose from his seat, Woo-chun reflexively stood up as well. The customer, holding the securely sealed letter, approached and entrusted it to him.

“Deliver this letter to the fifth-ranked waiter at the Sangchun Inn by the main ferry.”

Woo-chun had no idea what business such a magnificent nobleman could have with an inn waiter, exchanging letters like this. But the fee he was given was generous, so he didn’t bother with such trivial details.

“Ah, and relay this message as well. ‘There is no need to reply. I will come in person next time.’”

“‘There is no need to reply. I will come in person next time.’ Is that what I should tell him, sir?”

“Precisely.”

The nobleman replied with a slight smile. But the smile was very strange. Woo-chun, who had been looking at him without a thought, met his eyes and felt a sudden chill run down his spine. Though nothing had happened, his legs began to tremble. Even knowing the smile wasn't directed at him, he felt an urge to beg for his life.

The nobleman gave a nod and turned to leave the inn. Woo-chun, his legs trembling, collapsed onto a chair. He looked down at the letter for a moment, then began fanning himself with it.

“My, my. What a strange day.”

Woo-chun, who had lived a peaceful life, blustered on, not understanding the strange sensation he had just experienced.

How can a person’s eyes glint like that? Even a tiger’s eyes in the dark wouldn’t be so fearsome.

He hadn't heard anything specific, but he could tell just from the man’s eyes that his station was anything but ordinary. Why would such a person visit an unfitting place like his inn? Woo-chun wondered what the letter he was holding could possibly say, turning it over and over in his mind.

What on earth did this waiter do to make him so terrifying? Is he a runaway servant? Or did he have an affair with the master's wife?

The correct answer was, "He got caught after running out on the one he was supposed to be guarding," but there was no way for Woo-chun to know that. Nevertheless, even such a trivial incident was a fine piece of gossip for the bored villagers, and Woo-chun would milk this story for years to come.

***

The Black Flowers, created for covert communication, were mostly written in code, making them difficult to decipher but simple in meaning. Yet, there was one person who could use even these Black Flowers to deliver long, elaborate threats, a fact Cheonma had demonstrated for four consecutive days.

Having completed his habitual morning routine in Youxiang Village, he returned to the house. The place they were staying was a dilapidated hovel with only four small sections, including the kitchen. The cottage was not only cramped but also shabby. The earthen walls were bare, without a coat of plaster, and the yard was filled with the acrid smoke from the medicinal herbs that were constantly being boiled.

Cheonma had never seen such a hovel in his life. For a man who prized cleanliness, it was an excessively harsh environment.

If not for unavoidable circumstances, he would never have stayed in such a cave-like dwelling. But even Cheonma was human, and he, too, had his unavoidable circumstances.

“My, you’re back already? You’re early today.”

The old woman, aware that he went to the nearby village every morning, greeted him, her thin lips parting in a smile. Every one of her countless wrinkles seemed to hold a smile. Though age had been harsh on her, she had a remarkably kind face.

With her few remaining white hairs pinned back by a simple comb and dressed in old, gray cotton clothes, the old woman looked like an ordinary villager. But contrary to her appearance, this old woman was the very “unavoidable circumstance” that had tied Cheonma’s feet.

Spotting her, Cheonma straightened his clothes and bowed his head in a show of respect. Normally, she was not someone he would need to show such courtesy to, but he was currently disguised as Yun Seung-hyo, so it was a necessary act.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ve returned. Has he woken up?”

“He woke up a little while ago. You should go in and see him.”

The old woman spoke casually and picked up a basket to head to the kitchen. The basket was filled with nothing but sprigs of greenery, which meant today’s lunch would once again be a rabbit’s feast.

He watched her walk away, her gait perfectly natural. It wasn’t the measured, uniform step of a trained martial artist, nor was it the stride of a master, whose steps might be irregularly spaced but carried an undeniable presence. It was the walk of an ordinary person, one that anyone would deem normal. Because of this, few would have guessed the old woman's true identity from her walk alone. But Cheonma was one of the few exceptions, and his eyes sharply read the meaning in her steps.

That old hag seems to have achieved some level of mastery in her martial arts while I was away.

A cool glint passed through Cheonma’s eyes as he recognized a gait that was markedly different from when he had last seen her. At this rate, she was close to reaching the Profound Realm. It had been a long time since he had seen someone who had achieved this level of mastery. She was the first person in nearly a decade to even be able to follow in his footsteps.

If she keeps this up, I might finally have a worthy opponent.

The number one under heaven, who had spent half his life without a rival, felt a flicker of interest in the old woman’s martial prowess. Although the Profound Realm was a state where one could be stuck for a lifetime, separated by a paper-thin margin, someone like the old woman was worth having expectations for.

But he couldn't make a move just yet. The old woman needed more time, and Cheonma had other business to attend to.

He opened the door and entered the room. Inside the room being used as Munpyeong’s quarters were two figures. One was the recently awakened Munpyeong, and the other was the man he had met here for the first time, the one called the Broken-Faced Wanderer.

They were so engrossed in their conversation that they didn’t even notice him enter. The mute Broken-Faced Wanderer was holding Munpyeong’s hand, diligently writing on it, while Munpyeong would shake his head or voice his own opinions in response.

Not only were their clothes disheveled, but what bothered him most was seeing Munpyeong’s hand held in another man's grasp. Even knowing it held no special meaning, the sight was subtly displeasing. Cheonma let out a low, deliberate cough to draw their attention.

Only then did Munpyeong turn to look at him. His face, gaunt from his illness, looked impassive.

the Broken-Faced Wanderer stood up upon seeing him enter. Cheonma gave him a silent nod of thanks and promptly sat down in the vacated spot.

“You’re awake. Are you feeling uncomfortable anywhere?”

He had been watching for four days, but from what he’d heard, it was as if Munpyeong had been unconscious for nearly six. Though the fever had broken, there was still much to worry about. He scrutinized Munpyeong’s complexion with a meticulous gaze.

Munpyeong managed a dry smile on his gaunt face. It was a brittle smile, as if the high fever had drained all the moisture from him.

“I feel like I’ve had a good, long sleep. I don’t feel any discomfort at all.”

Munpyeong’s attitude was almost perfunctory. Cheonma, who knew what Munpyeong’s face looked like when he was being sincere, felt a sense of puzzlement. The spring-blossom smile that used to spread across Munpyeong’s face whenever he looked at him was gone. The shy affection he thought he was hiding was also absent. Cheonma, who had grown accustomed to the all-encompassing barrage of affection that felt like it could drown him, sensitively noted the change in Munpyeong’s demeanor.

When a person who was blindly in love changes their attitude, it is most often because there has been a change in their relationship with the other person.

Cheonma knew that something must have happened between Munpyeong and Yun Seung-hyo in his absence. Otherwise, there was no reason for Munpyeong’s behavior to have changed so drastically.

Well, that much was fine. It was what he had wanted, and he had given Seung-hyo specific instructions, so he couldn't blame the boy if he had actually done something. The problem was that the boy had done something but hadn't reported it.

Cheonma, who had no way of knowing what had transpired in his absence, had been left high and dry thanks to the boy's backstabbing.

Yun Seung-hyo was currently missing. To be more precise, he had made himself scarce. He had been entrusted with watching over things, but couldn't even wait that long before disappearing. When an irresolvable crisis occurred in his absence, he had sent a single letter and then promptly fled.

Cheonma, who had been wronged in such an absurd way by someone he had considered useful, was so dumbfounded that he couldn't even laugh. If you commit such an unspeakable act, you should crawl back and confess your sins, even if it means being beaten to death. What kind of upbringing teaches you to run away because you’re afraid of punishment?

Does he think that just because I can't catch him now, I'll never be able to? When I do catch him, he’ll have an extra charge for his insolence.

It seemed he had been too lenient with the boy. Was it a problem that he had let most things slide because the boy was of his great-grandson’s generation? Cheonma steeled his heart with a thought that would have made Yun Seung-hyo jump and exclaim, “Grand-Uncle, when were you ever so lenient?”

Just you wait, he vowed. Unlike ordinary people whose anger cools with time, Cheonma’s emotions only deepened with the weight of passing time if not properly resolved.

That was what made his "just you wait" all the more terrifying.

“What were you two discussing so animatedly this morning? You looked quite serious from over here.”

Contrary to the ominous thoughts swirling in his head, Cheonma’s voice toward Munpyeong was as gentle as could be. Though his thoughts were long, they had passed in a flash. Maintaining a composed expression while his mind raced was the hallmark of a seasoned veteran.

“You’ve come at a good time. I was going to have to discuss this with you anyway, Seung-hyo, so this saves us the trouble of a second conversation.”

Cheonma nodded, a silent prompt for him to continue. “What is it?”

“I would like you to arrange for a carriage.”

“A carriage? Why so suddenly?”

“I think it’s time we left. A horse would be faster, but in my current condition, I don’t think I can handle that. So a carriage would be better. Can you help with that, Seung-hyo?”

Cheonma was struck speechless by Munpyeong’s unexpected request. What had he just heard? Leave? In his current state, when he could barely support his own body?

“That seems overly hasty. How can we possibly travel when your health is so poor, Munpyeong?”

If he could have his way, he would have told him to stop talking nonsense and go to sleep, but he couldn’t actually say that. The inability to speak his mind was the greatest price he paid for borrowing Yun Seung-hyo’s mask.

Munpyeong, who had anticipated Cheonma's opposition from the start, offered a faint smile on his pale face. He had lost weight during his illness, and his face was gaunt. The one thing he had going for him was his health, and now he looked like half the man he was.

“From what I hear, it’s already been six days. I’ve unintentionally delayed us for too long.”

“Those six days saved your life, Munpyeong.”

“I’m fine now. If we travel by carriage instead of by horse, I should have enough stamina to endure it.”

“What is the reason for such haste? What if your wounds get worse?”

Cheonma’s voice rose, not in a pretense of anger, but in genuine frustration. But Munpyeong’s stubbornness was just as formidable. A man who would normally yield before a word was even spoken was now standing his ground as if his life depended on it.

“They sent nearly a hundred martial artists and three top-level masters to silence Ja-ok. The incident in Shengjiang City has already been widely publicized due to the events of the Tang Clan and the Beggars' Sect, so it’s beyond their control now. This means they weren’t trying to cover up the Shengjiang incident, but something else. Perhaps Ja-ok knows more about them than we thought. If my guess is correct, our enemies won't give up on silencing her after just one failure.”

Munpyeong had his reasons for not backing down. Cheonma, who had had similar suspicions since hearing about the scale of the attack on the pleasure boat, had to admit that Munpyeong’s point was sharp. He was right. If their location was discovered, the enemy would attack again. And having learned from their previous failure, they would be even more prepared.

In truth, Cheonma had been in a bind before Munpyeong woke up. To find out Gwak Hyo's next move, he needed to get to the Righteous Path Alliance as soon as possible, but Munpyeong’s health was too poor to rush the journey.

Munpyeong’s injuries were severe. If the one who had treated him hadn't been the Divine Healer known as the Holy Mother of Kunlun, he wouldn’t have woken up in six days, let alone six months.

To nurse his depleted body back to health, he should have been wrapped in silk and sent to recuperate for months. Dragging such a person along on the road was, by any measure, absurd.

But he couldn't leave Munpyeong behind. It would be different if he had never been involved, but he was already embroiled in the incident. Now that he was this entangled, the enemy was surely aware of his existence. To leave him alone in such a situation would be like throwing a man into the open ocean without even a plank of wood and telling him to swim back.

“I am a martial artist, after all. I won’t die from something like this. And I don’t want to bring harm to the innocent people of this village by staying behind. I know it’s a lot to ask, but please. Please understand my intentions.”

Munpyeong had made the decision Cheonma couldn't bring himself to make. Having lived as a wanderer for many years, Munpyeong knew that life-and-death matters required swift judgment.

The battlefield was a place where failure to react instinctively to an immediate situation could lead to a pointless death. He was now in the battlefield known as the Jianghu, and at its very front line. With no one he could trust by his side, he had to trust himself.

Faced with his persistence, Cheonma could no longer ignore his proposal. He knew that their options in the current situation were limited. If he wasn't going to leave him behind to die alone, he had to take him along, even if it meant pushing him. As long as he was under his watch, a situation like the last one wouldn't happen again.

Finally, Cheonma made his decision. He had been hesitating out of concern for Munpyeong’s well-being, but with the man himself insisting on leaving, there was no reason to delay any longer.

“I will look for a carriage. However, we can only travel if the Holy Mother gives her permission. Without her permission, we cannot leave for any reason. Please be aware of that.”

“Yes, I understand. …But did you just say ‘Holy Mother’? Which Holy Mother are you referring to?”

“You’ve already met her, Munpyeong. The Holy Mother who owns this apothecary. She is the one who saved your life. I don't know the details of her background, but her medical skills are at a master’s level.”

Cheonma didn’t know why the Holy Mother of Kunlun, a master from not just the previous but the generation before that, and once the strongest expert of the Kunlun Sect, was hiding in a small village by Dongting Lake instead of on Kunlun Mountain. But he had no desire to find out, so he feigned ignorance of her identity to avoid unnecessary trouble.

Munpyeong, on the other hand, gaped, his eyes blinking in disbelief. He had never imagined such a thing. In the Jianghu, it was said that the ones to be most wary of were the elderly, women, and children. He had heard stories of reclusive masters hiding their identities. But he had never thought that such a story would apply to the small, friendly-looking old woman from the apothecary.

She seemed like a simple, easygoing old woman, but she too was a master in disguise?

So it’s true that you can’t trust anyone in this world, he thought.

Because of the one “master in disguise” he knew, Munpyeong had developed a prejudice against all of them, and he sighed to himself, filled with a deep sense of cynicism and distrust.

Why couldn’t masters just let people live their lives, believing what they saw? The world was hard enough to live in without them constantly pulling the rug out from under you.

The stories about reclusive masters in the Jianghu were mostly similar.

They hid their identities, yet they never forgave those who failed to recognize them and made a mistake. They each possessed a unique skill they were renowned for, but they wouldn't bestow it on just anyone, and a favor once granted was either completely forgotten or milked for a lifetime.

They were often difficult, had their own principles that defied common sense, and secretly enjoyed being treated with deference. They wouldn’t leave alone anyone who meddled in their affairs, for better or for worse.

Munpyeong, who had heard too many such stories for his own good, couldn’t relax his guard. It would have been one thing if he had remained ignorant of her identity, but now that he knew, he didn’t think it would be so easy. But contrary to his expectations, the old woman agreed to their journey with an anticlimactic ease. There was a condition that they rest well today and leave tomorrow, but since they needed time to find a carriage anyway, it was hardly a condition at all. She didn't find some ridiculous pretext to stop them or act difficult. Before and after he learned her identity, she was just a simple old woman.

When he thought about it, it was truly strange.

While Cheonma was out looking for a carriage, Munpyeong, with nothing else to do, set aside his initial shock and began to ponder the various things that were happening to him.

When he was an ordinary, low-ranking martial artist, masters were beings from another world, whom he was lucky to even glimpse from a distance. But things had been different since he met Cheonma. Without any intention on his part, he had successively formed connections with masters he could never have imagined. The Four Evils of Majung, the Five Venoms of the Tang Clan, Yun Seung-hyo, the rising stars of the Huashan Sect, Nan Sanling and Sa-ran, and now the Broken-Faced Wanderer. In the past, Munpyeong would not have believed he could ever stand face-to-face with such beings and converse with them.

He had seen the Shengjiang Corpse, which he had thought was only a legend until he saw it with his own eyes, and had crossed swords with the Three Ghost Demons, whose skills were greater than the rumors suggested. And now, on top of all that, he had become the protagonist of a fairytale-like stroke of luck, meeting a reclusive master with divine medical skills in a life-or-death situation.

More dramatic things had happened in the last six months than in his entire life. Munpyeong couldn't tell if this string of events was simply due to his own twisted fate or because he had gotten entangled with a titan like Cheonma.

No matter how long he thought about it, it was impossible to determine the cause and effect. It was no different from arguing whether the chicken or the egg came first.

The next day, Munpyeong's party, carrying a large bundle of dumplings that the kind-hearted old woman had packed for them, boarded a carriage. It was decided that the Broken-Faced Wanderer would be the driver, while the patient, the child, and the esteemed gentleman would ride inside.

Clatter, clatter.

The monotonous sound of horse hooves echoed on the road. The warm spring sun heated the roof of the carriage. Even though several hours had passed since their departure, the inside of the carriage was quiet. Ja-ok, who was naturally quiet, had been watching the scenery outside before dozing off, and because Munpyeong was pretending to be asleep with his eyes closed, Cheonma, in the guise of Yun Seung-hyo, couldn't bring himself to strike up a conversation.

At first, Munpyeong really had been pretending to sleep because he didn't want to talk to Cheonma. But after basking in the warm spring sun for a long time, the situation changed. The top of his head grew warm. Drowsiness began to tug at his alert mind. His tired body welcomed the temptation of sleep.

Nod, nod. Munpyeong began to doze off. One moment he was sitting up straight, the next he would find his head had drooped. He considered getting comfortable and taking a proper nap, but the wound on his back was still not healed, so he couldn't even lean against the carriage wall.

So he continued to doze uncomfortably, waking up and drifting off again. After a few instances of his posture collapsing in his half-asleep state only to jolt him awake, he finally lost consciousness completely.

How long did that sweet nap last? After what felt like a truly deep sleep, Munpyeong opened his eyes, feeling refreshed.

At first, his mind was foggy, and he wasn't aware of his position. But as he came to his senses, he realized he was leaning his forehead against someone's shoulder. Startled, Munpyeong tried to sit up quickly. A gentle arm wrapped around his waist, and someone spoke.

“Sleep more. We still have a long way to go to the next village.”

The person who had been sitting opposite him was now sitting beside him, lending him his shoulder. To be precise, it was not just his shoulder but his chest as well. Munpyeong realized he was lying half-embraced by Cheonma and, startled, pulled away.

“Oh, when did I…?”

The moment he realized the position he had been in, his cheeks flushed. They burned as if being seared by fire.

Yun Seung-hyo must not have reported anything to him, because Cheonma’s behavior was no different from before he had disappeared. He acted as if they were still lovers and nothing had changed. But every time Cheonma acted this way, Munpyeong felt a sense of despair.

How could he bear with a calm heart the proof before his eyes that everything he had loved was just an illusion?

Munpyeong feigned adjusting his unruffled clothes and avoided Cheonma’s gaze. He didn’t want him to see the deep sense of humiliation and shame that was surely visible in his eyes.

Seeing this, Cheonma’s lips twisted in a show of feigned bewilderment. He had noticed that Munpyeong’s attitude had become cold since he woke from the coma, but he hadn't thought his heart had soured so much that he would physically shy away from him. He was clearly flustered.

“You seemed uncomfortable sleeping, so I moved. If I startled you, I apologize.”

Cheonma offered an apology that was overly polite, the kind innocent people make when they have to bow for the sake of etiquette, making it all the more uncomfortable.

Realizing too late that he had overreacted, Munpyeong hastily shook his head to salvage the situation.

“No, it’s not that. I was just half-asleep. I didn’t mean anything by it, truly.”

Though he denied it, the blatant awkwardness of his denial only fueled suspicion.

“Are you perhaps upset with me about something?”

Sure enough, Cheonma, having noticed that Munpyeong’s behavior was different from usual, gently posed the question.

Eyes as blue as the sky after a rain shower carefully studied his face. It was a seemingly gentle gaze, but Munpyeong, knowing he was being observed, held his breath, tense.

I can’t let him find out this quickly. It had been an unconscious reaction, which made it harder to cover up. Feeling as if his true feelings had been seen through, Munpyeong’s heart pounded as he opened his mouth. A desperate need to come up with a plausible excuse urged him on.

“That’s not it. It’s just…”

Think of something, Seok Munpyeong. Make an excuse. Explain why you acted so strangely.

“It’s just…”

Think, fast!

“‘Just’? Is it just that you’ve figured out who I am? And because of that, you’ve simply had a change of heart?”

Seeing Munpyeong stammer, unable to come up with an excuse, Cheonma spoke up as if to help him.

At the question, whispered softly, his frantically working mind came to a dead stop. For a brief moment, it felt as if time itself had frozen.

What did I just hear?

Munpyeong looked at Cheonma, his face pale. Cheonma met his gaze and smiled Yun Seung-hyo’s characteristic gentle smile.

“So that’s what it was. I thought something was strange.”

But the voice that came from his lips was no longer the one from before. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, Cheonma’s own voice flowed out of Yun Seung-hyo’s face.

“H-how?”

“If you’re going to imitate someone, you should do it properly. Did you really think you wouldn’t get caught when you couldn’t even hide the look in your own eyes? When you were telegraphing it so obviously?”

Cheonma leaned back against the carriage wall and laughed. At his sharp taunt, Munpyeong’s face turned white. He looked up at Cheonma, his expression one of stunned shock, as if he had been slapped.

Though he was acting so smug, Cheonma hadn't known everything from the beginning. At first, he too was clueless. He knew something was off, but he had thought it was natural for someone who had just woken from a coma to be different from usual.

But yesterday morning, when the topic of the carriage journey first came up, Cheonma had finally realized the change in Munpyeong.

It is not an easy thing for a person to entrust their life completely to another's decision. It requires not only a belief in the other's wisdom and judgment but also a complete faith in their perfect goodwill. Yet, there was a time when Munpyeong had shown perfect trust in Yun Seung-hyo. He had valued the other's will more than his own life and had been willing to follow him even knowing it was into the jaws of death.

But yesterday, he had shown no such behavior. Instead of waiting for Yun Seung-hyo to make a decision, Munpyeong had tried to find a way out himself. Seeing that, Cheonma realized that he no longer trusted Yun Seung-hyo. That was why he was struggling to survive on his own.

On the surface, he spoke of a greater cause, but his inner motive was purely self-preservation. He had chosen to travel in his fragile state to avoid being left behind alone.

The clue he had unwittingly revealed was not small. Munpyeong, of all people, distrusted Yun Seung-hyo. He didn't trust him, didn't rely on him, and no longer loved him. If all these changes had been gradual, he might have considered it a simple change of heart. But everything had happened with an abruptness that was almost jarring, and Cheonma was quick to notice.

No matter what the real Yun Seung-hyo had done, such a result could not have occurred in such a short time. In the end, the change was not external, but internal to Munpyeong.

“‘How’ is what I’d like to ask. How did you figure out my identity? Surely Seung-hyo didn’t confess everything?”

The man he was when imitating Yun Seung-hyo and the man he was as Cheonma were two distinctly different people.

Without a hint of threat, he simply asked with a smile of curiosity, but a cold sweat trickled down Munpyeong’s neck.

An oppressive aura, powerful enough to be used as a weapon, pressed down on his shoulders. The weight of the air, something he had forgotten for a while, returned. As was always the case when facing ‘him,’ Munpyeong found it hard to breathe.

“Your… your palm…”

The answer escaped him as if drawn by a magnet. He bit his lip after speaking, realizing his mistake, but it was too late.

Cheonma glanced down at his own palm upon hearing Munpyeong’s words. That alone seemed to be enough for him to understand everything, as a short smile flickered across his eyes.

“Ah, this? You’re sharp in the strangest places. I didn’t even know I had such a weakness.”

Despite the definitive exposure of his deception, he admired it coolly. In a way, it seemed as if he was praising Munpyeong for finding the right answer from such a small clue.

Seeing this, Munpyeong was inwardly flabbergasted. Could there be a more blatant case of the pot calling the kettle black? After a moment of panic from Cheonma’s surprise attack, the reality of the situation finally sank in.

Why on earth should he be the one interrogated by Cheonma? He was dumbfounded. When you thought about it, he had done nothing wrong. He hadn't hidden his identity, nor had he played with another's sincere heart. If anyone should be angry, it should be him. If anyone should be doing the interrogating, it should be him. Cheonma had no right to act this way. This was beyond the pale.

“…Is that all you have to say?”

Blood slowly returned to his pale face, fueled by a rising rage.

He looked up and glared straight at Cheonma. His jaw was clenched and his lips trembled from extreme tension, but his gaze did not waver.

He’s well and truly furious, Cheonma thought, a sardonic smile playing on his lips.

“Is there something you want to hear from me?”

Like a child lighting a firecracker for fun, Cheonma threw back the question, fully aware it would be a provocation.

“Isn’t there something you should be saying to me?”

“Hmm? I can’t think of anything.”

As expected, a straightforward answer was not forthcoming. Cheonma tilted his head as if he truly had no idea and even offered a gentle smile. Even though the full extent of his deception had been revealed, he was utterly shameless. Far from being apologetic, he didn't even show a hint of embarrassment.

“Surely you’re not hoping for me to say I forgive you? I can’t say that so easily. I haven’t decided what to do with you yet.”

And as if that weren't enough, Cheonma decided to twist the knife.

Forgiveness? He said forgiveness?

Munpyeong couldn’t believe such words had dared to leave his lips.

“How can you say such a thing? Forgiveness? Is that something you can say to me? What did I do wrong to you? Did I deceive you? Did I, like someone else, trample on a sincere heart and use a non-existent affection as a pretext to toy with someone’s body?”

Like a burst dam, Munpyeong’s anger erupted. He began to rage, grinding his teeth so fiercely it seemed they might crumble to dust.

Cheonma thought it was a good thing he had set up a sound-blocking barrier in the carriage. If not for that, their conversation would have flowed right to the Broken-Faced Wanderer. The sleeping child would have woken up and overheard everything.

The man who was usually so careful about his surroundings seemed to see nothing once he exploded.

“Do you really think you’ve done nothing wrong?”

“What on earth did I do wrong?”

“You committed a mortal sin.”

“Ha. A mortal sin?”

Every word he said was met with a sharp retort. The man who was unparalleled in his caution was now completely disregarding it.

Hmm. He’s in no position to be so confident, Cheonma thought.

Though he didn’t show it, Cheonma was just as angry as Munpyeong, and he met Munpyeong’s unyielding attitude with a cold sneer.

If Munpyeong had started shouting and raging the moment they met, Cheonma’s mood might not have soured so much. But Munpyeong had tried to hide his feelings even after realizing the truth, and that was what had decisively twisted Cheonma’s gut.

Even after knowing everything, he had said nothing. He hadn’t asked, just made his own assumptions and stewed in them. All the while, he was probably just plotting his escape. A man so determined to leave that he made himself sick over it wouldn’t have changed his mind now.

So, you can love Yun Seung-hyo, but you can’t even forgive Cheonma?

The resolute change in attitude, which left no room for doubt, spoke volumes about his true feelings. At this point, it was no longer a matter of preferential treatment. It was a declaration that he wouldn't even deal with Cheonma himself. Cheonma, who was well aware of this insolent inner thought, was thoroughly displeased.

There was a limit to audacity, and this had gone beyond cute. His pride was all the more wounded because his heart had been, little by little, leaning toward Munpyeong.

“I specifically ordered you not to follow, yet you disobeyed that order and tagged along. In the Cult, where the Leader's command is law, that is a crime of insubordination. As a member following the Cult’s orders, you divulged internal secrets to an outsider. Not just any outsider, but a member of the Orthodox Faction, which could be considered an enemy.

Do you know how the Sect deals with enemy spies? They are flayed alive and displayed as an example. From what I see, not only did you fail to report properly, but you also completely forgot your assigned duties. Disobedience, insubordination, and dereliction of duty. Every single thing you've done is a capital crime deserving of death. And you still claim to be innocent?”

If he wanted to be even pettier, he could have mentioned the audacity of cheating on him, but his last shred of pride prevented it. It seemed the man himself wasn’t even aware of that fact, so bringing it up would only make him look pathetic.

The cunning and petty old man was seething inside, but he showed none of it on the surface. His face still held a smile, while his eyes grew cold. The dignity befitting an absolute ruler dominated his entire being. Munpyeong could not see through his masterful mask.

Munpyeong was speechless. He had never imagined Cheonma would attack him in such a way. He felt wronged, but he had no words to rebut.

Unlike his own emotional judgment of the situation, Cheonma had brought out the inviolable laws of the Sect. No matter what the true nature of the events was, if Cheonma insisted on framing it this way, he had no way to defend himself.

“Then you should have killed me.”

His hands trembled with rage. The man knew exactly what he was resentful about, yet he deliberately clouded the issue as if to mock him. The perpetrator was him, the victim was him, yet even at this moment, he was the only one being toyed with.

So what? What was he supposed to do? Get on his knees and beg for his life? Should he bow and thank him for toying with him instead of cutting off his head?

“If I truly committed a crime, then as a superior of the Sect, you should have punished me. If it was truly a mortal sin, then you should have killed me. It wouldn't have been difficult for you to take my head.”

“Are you now questioning the grace I showed you by letting you live?”

“I am not questioning that you let me live, but stating that this is how things should be. If one commits a crime, it is only just to receive punishment. However, that punishment must befit the crime. What the Sect Leader did to me was not punishment, nor anything of the sort. Was it not, at best, a mockery, a game?”

“I have never mocked you.”

Even with the victim staring him down, Cheonma shamelessly denied it.

Munpyeong, whose blood was already boiling, felt his insides flip at those words. How, how could he dare to make such an excuse! How could he deny what he did?!

“You said you cherished me!!”

Munpyeong’s eyes were bloodshot as he practically screamed. He was so enraged that the blood vessels in his eyes had burst. He was in such a state of fury that one could believe he might die of indignation, yet he dared to raise his voice in front of Cheonma and denounce him.

“Yes. I said I cherished you.”

“You said you cherished me, and you lusted after me. You used my feelings as a pretext to play with my body. And you say that wasn't mockery?”

“I said I cherished you. I also said I lusted after you. I even confessed that I was a hypocrite and a petty man… It is I who wants to ask. Why do you assume that was a lie? Who told you I said it falsely? Did it just seem that way to you?”

Cheonma looked at Munpyeong with an expression of incomprehension. He still wore Yun Seung-hyo’s face, but his expression was entirely that of Cheonma.

Munpyeong glared at him, wondering what nonsense he was spouting now. His anger flared, thinking he was still being treated as a toy even at this point.

“Do I need to hear it in words to know? I am well aware of who you are, how could I not surmise it?”

“I know well what you think of me. But it is rash to make up your mind without even asking me.”

“Then what should I have asked? Should I have asked if you, the great Sect Leader, truly cherished me? Should I have begged you to tell me which of all your actions and lies were sincere and which were false?”

“You didn’t have to go that far, but you should have at least tried to see it from my perspective once. As you said, I should have killed you. The moment you revealed the Sect’s internal affairs to Yun Seung-hyo, your life should have already been forfeit. But I let you live. Why do you think that was?”

The title ‘Heavenly Demon,’ which many thought of as a nickname, was not a title for a single individual. It was a special designation for the one who was both the Leader of the Demonic Cult and its guardian. The position of the highest authority who protected, regulated, and supervised the Sect’s laws. In essence, the title represented a position, not a name.

Overwhelmed by his powerful personality, Munpyeong had forgotten this fact. But hearing his crimes mentioned again, the truth belatedly came back to him. At first, he had thought it was just a pretext to pick a fight, but now it seemed it was more than that. Cheonma seemed to be taking his crimes surprisingly seriously. His repeated mention of the matter was uncharacteristically grave.

“Why do you think I kept a subordinate with me who defied my warning and followed me? Why do you think I saved you when you were about to die from an aphrodisiac, removed your affliction, and protected you above all else in dangerous situations? In the midst of a pressing chase for the Sect’s traitors, do you think I would have gone to all that trouble for a mere game?”

Of course, half of it had been for fun. But in a situation like this, it was wise to act as if that had never been the case.

As Cheonma unexpectedly took a serious tone and pointed out these facts one by one, Munpyeong couldn't immediately retort and just moved his lips. He too found it difficult to explain that part.

Unaware that Cheonma was taking credit for everything Yun Seung-hyo had done, Munpyeong was swept up in his rhetoric once again, unable to form a response.

If you’re going to bloom, bloom for me. Flower, leaves, everything—I want it all facing me.

Munpyeong would never know what Cheonma was thinking as he watched him hesitate, unable to speak.

Cheonma intended to shake Munpyeong, who was completely disregarding him, to his core. He would capture the gaze of the man who was looking elsewhere, pin down his free limbs so he couldn't move, and lock him away. He couldn't let him change his mind and turn away as he pleased. Just as Yun Seung-hyo once had, he had to possess not just his body, but his heart as well.

Having resolved to place Munpyeong in a cage of his own making and make that beautiful flower he had once seen bloom again, Cheonma changed his approach to get what he wanted. It was the inescapable nature of a man of the demonic path that ‘planning,’ not ‘sincerity,’ emerged in these moments.

To Cheonma, who had lived his entire life amidst schemes and machinations, Munpyeong’s weakness was painfully obvious. And he was not a kind old man who would refrain from exploiting such a glaring weakness.

“If a heart has changed, it is yours that has changed. If a lie was told, it is you who told it. I may have deceived you about my identity, but never about my heart.”

Cheonma drove the final nail into the coffin for Munpyeong, who was staring at him, half in doubt, half in shock.

Even while thinking it was all a trick, Munpyeong was being helplessly drawn into Cheonma’s words. He was flustered by the sudden accusation and retorted.

“What lie have I told? I have done no such thing.”

“You said you liked my inner self more than my appearance. You said you loved all the bones that formed the foundation of the man called Yun Seung-hyo. But the moment you learned my identity, you changed your mind. Since you couldn't keep your own words, that is a lie. Since the heart you pledged has changed, that is also a betrayal.”

“What kind of sophistry is that? It’s only natural to feel deceived when you were hiding your true identity.”

“It is easy to blame others, but difficult to look at oneself. I will not blame you. I was the one who gave you the pretext in the first place, so what use would it be to blame you?”

Munpyeong was both angry and bewildered. At first, he had dismissed it as a ridiculous story, but as the conversation progressed, he grew more and more afraid. As preposterous as it was, not all of it sounded like a complete lie.

Perhaps he's telling me the truth. As that thought began to surface, the rage that had filled his head subsided, and a chill ran down his spine.

Knowing full well what a skilled liar Cheonma was, Munpyeong strongly denied the "what if" that was creeping into his mind.

No, that can't be it. As if he would. What would a man like Cheonma lack that he would have sincere feelings for someone like me?

He tried his best not to think about the credible details scattered throughout the story. But since Cheonma hadn't spoken entirely without a shred of truth, it wasn't easy to completely deny his words.

As he said, Cheonma, disguised as Yun Seung-hyo, had indeed saved him multiple times. Even in situations where he could have just ignored him, he had taken him in. A man who so loathed being tracked had taken him along, knowing he would be followed. He had even postponed his urgent schedule for days to nurse him when he was seriously injured.

The kindnesses he had accepted without suspicion, thinking they were from Yun Seung-hyo, now seemed suspicious in light of his true identity. The extraordinary circumstance of chasing the Sect’s traitors lent an unexpected air of truth to his actions.

This is absurd. It must be another trick to toy with me. He's just watching to see how far I'll fall for it. Once was enough, I can't fall for it a second time.

Not only was it an unbelievable story, but it was also a story he didn't want to believe. Munpyeong tried desperately to shake off the doubts in his mind.

He would much rather hear a confession that he had just been playing with him. That he had just played along because he found it amusing how he had offered his heart so freely without knowing his opponent's identity. That he was surprised he had caught on so quickly, that he wasn't as clueless as he thought. That would have been the normal reaction. Why was he being so persistent with this, instead of making that easy confession?

…But it was no use. No matter how he tried to cling to what he had originally believed, the "what if" stubbornly remained, tormenting his mind. The fact that Cheonma had fallen silent, as if to say "think what you will," was an even greater burden.

What am I supposed to say? No, before that, how am I supposed to even process this?

Lost, Munpyeong sat blankly, clutching his head. His thoughts were in such disarray that he didn't know what to accept first. His stomach churned violently, as if he were seasick. And to make matters worse, the churning brought on a stabbing pain. He might even throw up. Munpyeong closed his eyes and tried to calm his roiling gut.

It seemed Cheonma was far more detrimental to his health than his burns. If only this man weren't by his side, he might actually be able to recuperate, but Cheonma was of no help in that regard. How could he have once found this man so lovable?

The more Munpyeong thought about it, the more he resented himself.