chapter 4

 

Chapter 4

There is a saying in the world: "Bi-in-bu-jeon".

Seok Munpyeong, being a man of little learning, did not know the origin of this phrase. Like with many other difficult adages, all he knew was its usage.

In the world of the martial artists, the Jianghu, it was a phrase used quite often. It was a favorite saying of those who considered themselves ‘someone of importance.’ The Nine Sects One Union, the prestigious orthodox factions, the long-standing unorthodox factions, the Five Great Families, and other extraordinary masters—they all lamented the lack of true talent, constantly invoking "Bi-in-bu-jeon".

Countless young men knocked on the doors of the Jianghu, eager to learn martial arts, only to be turned away with that single phrase. "Bi-in-bu-jeon". To one who is not a true person, the teachings are not passed down. It was a warning against transmitting knowledge to someone of improper character, lest it be misused.

Taken at its literal meaning, one couldn't help but question it. Did that mean all those young men were morally bankrupt? Were the disciples of the great sects all paragons of virtue?

Of course not. Perhaps in the Taoist sects that cultivated the path of immortals or among the Confucian scholars who passed down learning, but not in the Jianghu. In the Jianghu, "Bi-in-bu-jeon" had little to do with one's character. The ‘person’ they spoke of referred not to one's nature, but one's constitution. The physique to endure grueling training, the brilliant comprehension to understand profound martial principles, and a specialized constitution destined for great achievement.

A person with one of these qualities was called a talent. One with two was called a genius. And one who possessed all three in perfect harmony was called a prodigy.

Cheonma, Hyeokryeon Sang, was one such rare prodigy, born with all three. Even in the Demonic Cult, with its long history and a gathering of talents, his aptitude was so exceptional that he was hailed as the greatest prodigy in a century.

So outstanding was his potential that the previous Lord of the Demonic Cult, who would become his master, was said to have grabbed his hand the moment he saw the young Heavenly Demon. He was so captivated that the thought of asking the child's parents for permission never even crossed his mind.

At the age of ten, Hyeokryeon Sang caught the eye of the Demonic Lord and, without any formal procedure, immediately became his disciple. He, who was not even from the Cult, was granted the honor of becoming the Lord's adopted son solely because of his extraordinary talent.

He was not only talented but also fortunate. His senior martial brothers, who had joined the Cult twenty to thirty years before him, had all perished in the Battle for the Demonic Dragon a year before his arrival. Thus, he ascended to the position of Lord without a single rival.

He reached the Transformation Realm in his thirties, became the strongest under the heavens in his forties, and in his eighties, he reached the Peak of Perfection, the Profound Realm.

There was no one to compare to him, not in his own generation nor in the one before. He was always hundreds of steps ahead of everyone else. Everyone knew he was out in front, but few could even fathom the distance between them. That was why his path was always unobstructed.

There was no one before him on the path he walked. Not a soul to hinder his steps, not even one to drag him down from behind.

`So, in conclusion, his terrible personality is the product of these innate and acquired factors? He was born like that, and he's never once faced a hardship that could change him, so his character is just… that awful?`

After long and serious contemplation on the question, ‘Why is Cheonma, a man over eighty, still acting like that?’, Seok Munpyeong had finally found a plausible answer. The reason the man was so perfectly and utterly arrogant was that there had never been anyone to put him in his place.

He never had a single rival. Thanks to his heaven-sent, overwhelming talent and luck, he had never met anyone better than himself, nor had he ever lost to another. His senior brothers, who would have been powerful competitors, had conveniently wiped each other out, disappearing from his life. As the sole disciple and adopted son of the previous Demonic Lord, he was cherished and raised with care, becoming the head of an entire organization in his mere thirties. His martial talent blossomed, and by his fifties, he no longer had any enemies. Cheonma had walked a constant path of flowers, like a protagonist from a fantastic tale of the Jianghu.

Watching Hyeokryeon Sang, Munpyeong realized that the level of one's martial arts and its achievements had absolutely no correlation with the refinement of one's character. The martial arts of the Demonic Cult, unlike those of Taoism or Buddhism, lacked any form of spiritual cultivation. It had only served to amplify his eccentric nature, doing nothing to polish his personality.

To think that the saying "Bi-in-bu-jeon" was created to prevent passing on teachings to people just like him, yet in the Jianghu, the exact opposite situation unfolded. Even Munpyeong, a mere martial artist, couldn't help but let out a deep sigh.

He had no idea what would become of the Jianghu at this rate.

“Why? Is something wrong?”

Cheonma must have heard his unconscious sigh. He turned to look at Munpyeong, who quickly wiped the expression from his face and forced an awkward smile.

The man probably wouldn't care if he was lost in thought, but if he found out Munpyeong was cursing him, the consequences would be dire.

“No, it is nothing.”

“You look uncomfortable standing there. If it’s too difficult, you can come sit here. I don’t mind.”

The place Cheonma pointed to was his own thigh. Even if they were within the grounds of the Thunder Palace, they were still outdoors. He was telling Munpyeong to come and sit on his lap in the open air.

“This spot is comfortable. I will stay here.”

Munpyeong steadfastly refused Cheonma’s offer.

“Is that so?”

Cheonma asked, as if it were of no consequence, and casually returned to what he was doing, as if he hadn't really meant the offer anyway.

`Why would I sit there and invite more trouble? Does he think I forget what happened every fifteen minutes?`

Just before coming out to the garden, Munpyeong had been pulled onto Cheonma’s lap for the absurd reason that his posture was ‘too proper,’ leading to an intense afternoon tryst. He found Cheonma’s audacity in offering his lap again utterly shameless.

His waist still ached, and despite having cleaned himself, he could feel a foreign sensation in his anus. His clothes covered most of it, but if he were to undress, his entire body would be a patchwork of bruises, not a single spot left untouched—the aftermath of their repeated encounters.

What he thought would be a one-time affair, like a dog bite that would pass, did not end with just one time.

If Cheonma truly enjoyed ‘breaking’ things as he claimed, then Munpyeong should have been shattered to pieces long ago, with not even a recognizable shape left. Yet, Cheonma still seemed to enjoy playing with him.

For the entire ten-day journey from Ruoqiang to the Heavenly Mountains, he had shared his body with Cheonma. For two of those ten days, they had been cooped up in an inn room, not even seeing the light of day. Cheonma had explored Munpyeong’s body with the persistence of a young man experiencing intimacy for the first time. Since Munpyeong had given his consent at the beginning, unlike a true rape, he had no justification to stop him.

If he had been genuinely in pain or injured, he might have had a reason to refuse. But Cheonma was so skilled in the art of lovemaking that such excuses were impossible. The pain had only been present on the first day; since then, he hadn't felt even an ache.

Accepting Cheonma's member into his body was still a tremendous ordeal, but the man was a seasoned veteran of sodomy. He took his pleasure while meticulously caring for Munpyeong’s body, freeing Munpyeong from the constant fear of a torn rectum.

Even on the day he was deflowered, though it was agonizing, his muscles hadn't torn. His insides had churned from being stretched to their limit and relentlessly pierced, but considering the size of the man he had taken, the price had been surprisingly small.

The lovemaking with Cheonma was excessively rich and sweet. Like an overripe peach dripping with juice, or honeycomb bitten straight from the hive. The ripe passion shook his body and his heart.

As time went on, he grew accustomed to Cheonma’s touch. He began to see accepting the man’s member as natural, and was on the verge of being tamed by the pleasure he gave.

For Munpyeong, having these unknown sensations—sensations he would have been better off never knowing—developed and brought into bloom one by one by Cheonma was a terrifying ordeal.

He did not want to become any more accustomed to being Cheonma’s plaything. The man was merely toying with him because he was an easy body. To adapt to that meant surrendering the very essence of Seok Munpyeong’s being. Cheonma, who saw only his body, could never guess, but he, too, had a soul.

“Ah, so you were here?”

From behind him, where he stood lost in thought, came the soft sound of footsteps. Thinking it was likely a woman from the light steps, Munpyeong turned around and his eyes widened in spite.

For a moment, he thought a fairy had descended from heaven. He had considered Yehwa and Ranran to be beautiful, but the woman walking toward him was on another level entirely. If he had to make a comparison, she was perhaps similar to what Abbess Myo-won must have looked like in her youth. Though she lacked the Abbess's pure and graceful beauty, this woman’s vibrant charm was a notch above. A captivating woman, like a peony or a camellia. Munpyeong’s heart began to pound fiercely.

“What is it?”

Cheonma, who had been reading under a parasol in a beautiful corner of the garden’s rockery where a small waterfall cascaded, frowned slightly at the woman.

“I brought you a gift.”

Without stating her purpose, the woman abruptly held out a bottle. Cheonma snorted softly.

“I sent you to the state of Kang, but it seems you went to Dali instead. Did you get lost on the way?”

“I turned back on the way to Kang. Instead, I beat up the person who went to Dali and got another bottle. That sly senior brother of mine brought back two bottles but only presented one. How could he, knowing how much you enjoy your drink, Master? So I snatched it from him. I did well, didn't I, Master?”

The woman spoke with a charming affectation, presenting the bottle to Cheonma. Munpyeong noticed the bottle looked familiar. The simple white porcelain, the wax seal on the mouth…

`Wait. Could that be… more Monkey Wine? There were two bottles, not one? What kind of beauty is she to be so perfect? A peerless beauty holding a bottle of Monkey Wine. She has everything a man could ever want.`

She wore a red-dyed skirt with a jade-colored sash that accentuated her slender waist, and from her sides hung jade pendants that made a clear, tinkling sound. A delicate figure that looked as if it could dance on the palm of one's hand, a small face that could melt a man's heart, and a slender, smiling eyes—and she appeared with a bottle of Monkey Wine. Munpyeong let out a silent cry of admiration.

Although his body was one that yielded to Cheonma, Munpyeong had not completely forgotten his identity as a man. Seeing her reminded him that he was, indeed, still a man. His gaze was drawn to women before men, and seeing a beautiful one warmed his heart.

It seemed that no matter how Cheonma held him like a woman, that fundamental part of him hadn't changed. Munpyeong secretly thought it was a relief.

“Did well? How many times have I told you not to be so willful with Mu-a? That fool may seem easygoing on the surface, but he’s deceptively calculating. He throws up his hands early with someone like you who is too much to handle. You're already on his bad side for all you've done. Why did you do this again? Do you enjoy being in his bad graces so much?”

Unlike Munpyeong, who would have welcomed even the ugliest crone with open arms if she brought Monkey Wine, Cheonma didn't even accept the drink from the peerless beauty, instead scolding her first. The beauty's shoulders slumped at his words.

“Furthermore, what excuse do you have for abandoning your trade mission midway? Put the Monkey Wine down and report properly. You were given an official duty of the Cult. Why did you act so irresponsibly?”

Cheonma's subsequent words were even sterner. His usual fierce and intimidating aura settled into a heavy solemnity, creating an atmosphere that could almost be called majestic.

`This is the image of Cheonma I always imagined… I really thought he was always like this.`

Seeing his master’s dignity for the first time after nearly a month by his side, Munpyeong sighed in lament.

“Master…”

The harsh scolding slowly wiped the smile from the beauty's face. She adopted a posture of meek reflection.

“I know, Master. I know I did something I absolutely shouldn't have. But I had my reasons. Something truly urgent came up.”

“Is there anything more urgent for you on a trade mission than completing your duty?”

“Yes, Master. It was truly urgent.”

As she said this, she glanced around cautiously. She didn't know where the Demon Shadows were hiding, but they were always by Cheonma’s side, so they were not her concern.

What was strange was the man standing blankly within a few yards of them. She had been curious since she first saw him. Why was he here?

Judging by his attire, he wasn't a servant. Judging by his martial prowess, he wasn't a high-ranking warrior either. She couldn't fathom any reason for such a man to be summoned before Cheonma.

“Master, that man…?”

“Pay him no mind.”

When she inquired about the man's presence, Cheonma cut her off. Having done wrong, she didn't dare ask further and fell silent. Cheonma questioned her again.

“Speak. What was this urgent matter? If I find it acceptable, I may lighten your punishment.”

In the end, he wasn't going to let her go unpunished.

“It was when I had almost crossed the Pamir Plateau and reached Taxkorgan…”

She stopped, feeling that speaking aloud was not wise, and switched to a sound transmission.

“I saw Gwak Hyo.”

Despite the shocking news, Cheonma remained silent. He merely listened with an impassive face.

“I saw him from a distance, but it was undoubtedly Gwak Hyo. The half of his face that was blown away by your Lightning Cloud Rend was still the same.”

As a high-ranking member of the Demonic Cult, she remembered the face of Gwak Hyo, the young master of the Gwak Family, which had been one of the Five Great Families of the Demonic Cult. It was partly because she remembered calling him ‘uncle’ as a child, but more so because the memory of him attempting to assassinate Cheonma during his rebellion was so vividly etched in her mind.

She had witnessed people being brutally killed and her master being attacked right before her eyes at the tender age of seven; it was no wonder she couldn't forget.

In that incident, her father lost an arm, and more than half of the Five Great Families were decimated. If Cheonma, fighting on despite being poisoned with the Power-Scattering Toxin ‘Immortal's Waste’ and the ‘Seven Steps to a Broken Heart Powder’, had not managed to behead Cheolma Gwak Hang, the head of the Gwak Family, it would have been she and Cheonma who lost their lives that day.

“What was unsettling was that he was surrounded by men who appeared to be from the Central Plains. They weren't just gathered; they seemed to be an organized force. Their movements were coordinated, and many followed Gwak Hyo's orders.”

Cheonma still maintained his silence. Cho Gyo-yeon, who could never quite read her master’s thoughts despite having known him her entire life, looked at him with a worried expression.

“Seeing him use men and send carrier pigeons, I rushed back myself. I felt it was something you needed to know, Master.”

She had told Gwak Jin-mu that she had returned because of the clock, but in truth, she had only heard about that upon her return to the Cult. Thinking she should check on Gwak Jin-mu’s condition, Cho Gyo-yeon had used it as a convenient excuse. But honestly, when she first saw Gwak Hyo, she couldn't think of gifts or anything else.

The Gentleman Demon Sword , Gwak Hyo, was Gwak Jin-mu's father. Despite being a member of the Demonic Cult, he was known to be so righteous and upright that the word 'Gentleman' was part of his title. He was praised for his discreet conduct and was popular for his skill in managing his subordinates. Furthermore, Gwak Hyo's son, Gwak Jin-mu, was Cheonma's disciple, and Gwak Hyo himself was married to Son Yeo-yeong, the daughter of Cheonma's most cherished subordinate, Yukma Son Gyu. Because of this, he had earned Cheonma's firm trust.

No one had expected him to stage a rebellion. Not even Cheonma himself. But the person most shocked by his betrayal was his wife, Son Yeo-yeong. Unknowingly, she had handed the poisoned cup to Cheonma, only realizing she had been used after the incident unfolded.

Gwak Hyo had kept it a secret even from his wife because he knew she would never approve. And his prediction had been correct.

When Cheonma began to show signs of poisoning, Son Yeo-yeong realized her husband harbored treacherous intentions. She also realized he had used Cheonma's trust in her to have her deliver the poisoned cup with her own hands. Upon this realization, she threw her body in front of Cheonma.

Gwak Hyo, sword in hand, tried to cast her aside, even cutting down her unarmed body, but she refused to move, even as she lost her life.

If Cheonma had saved Cho Gyo-yeon, it was Son Yeo-yeong who had saved Cheonma. Without that brief moment she had bought with her body, Cheonma, unable to suppress the poison's onset, would have died at Gwak Hyo’s hands.

It was largely due to Son Yeo-yeong's sacrifice that Gwak Jin-mu was able to remain a disciple of Cheonma despite being the son of the rebellion's leader. Cheonma had annihilated the entire Gwak bloodline, down to the last distant relative, but he did not touch Son Yeo-yeong’s son, Gwak Jin-mu. It was his own way of repaying the unarmed woman who had given her life to protect him.

“...And Jin-mu?”

“Second Senior Brother doesn't seem to know anything. If he'd heard the news, he's the type to show some sign, but from what I saw, that wasn't the case.”

“That’s not what I’m asking. I’m asking if you told Jin-mu. Did you tell him you saw Gwak Hyo?”

“No, I didn’t. It’s not something I should tell him, is it?”

The matter of Gwak Hyo was Gwak Jin-mu's greatest vulnerability. The reason he lagged behind Ho Wan-pyeong, an orphan raised by Cheonma, and Po Yeong-ui, who was sent to Cheonma as a male concubine, in the succession race was because of his father’s original sin.

In Cho Gyo-yeon’s opinion, that was why he ignored worldly affairs and immersed himself only in mathematics. It was a wound that even she could not touch lightly. She hoped, if possible, that Gwak Jin-mu would never learn of this.

“Good. Make sure it does not reach his ears.”

“Yes.”

Cho Gyo-yeon, who had been quite worried about how Cheonma would react to the news of Gwak Hyo, answered in relief.

“...And you returned early for such a trivial matter?”

Her relief was short-lived. Cheonma scolded her with a stern face. Startled, Cho Gyo-yeon recoiled for a moment before quickly realizing why he was acting this way and bowing her head.

“But, I was desperate, Master. Otherwise, I would never have abandoned my duty.”

Cho Gyo-yeon even added a rather convincing performance. The Thunder Palace was the heart of the Cult, but for that very reason, it was a place where rumors spread easily. Even the smallest event here could become a major incident.

“Desperate or not, that is your personal affair. To place it above a public duty is to show contempt for the Cult's rules. Why do you not understand this? If you continue to act this way, how can I trust you with any task?”

“Master…”

“Enough talk. Return to your quarters and reflect on your actions. Do not take a single step outside until I summon you.”

“Until you summon me? Not for a fixed number of days?”

“I will adjust the date based on your attitude. But if you do not show sincere remorse, you should know that you may not leave your quarters for years.”

At Cheonma’s firm tone, Cho Gyo-yeon’s face fell. Her master was a man who kept his word. Even if this was an act, no, precisely because it was an act, he would enforce it strictly. She understood the necessity—if she were released too easily and seen roaming the Cult grounds, it would arouse suspicion. But for Cho Gyo-yeon, who loved to wander, this unplanned confinement was bound to be an ordeal.

“Be gone.”

Cheonma waved her away. Having no choice, Cho Gyo-yeon bowed and retreated from his presence.

Munpyeong watched Cheonma's masterly display, a side of him he had never seen before, with fascination. His speech was a bit crass and overly sharp, but considering Cheonma’s usual behavior, he was doing a decent impression of a master.

Honestly, it was a bit surprising. Judging by the poor examples of Ho Wan-pyeong, Po Yeong-ui, and Gwak Jin-mu, he hadn't expected Cheonma to treat his disciples like any other master would. Was it that even Cheonma couldn't help himself in front of a young female disciple? Or was it the opposite—that he showed her no special consideration *because* she was a female disciple?

`It's baffling. Which one is it?`

Munpyeong tilted his head. In a normal situation, the former would be true, but since Cheonma was a very special case, it might be the latter. He tolerated Gwak Jin-mu’s insolence, a man he had openly declared was his type, yet he was so cold to a beautiful female disciple. Munpyeong's suspicion didn't seem entirely baseless.

***

“Hak-ah. Hak-ah.”

Returning to his quarters with his squad after training, Im Hak turned his head at the sound of his name.

“Ah, Choi-hyung? What is it?”

Looking toward the sound, he saw Choi Wi-myeong beckoning from his half-open door. He was a cheerful man who was always smiling and joking, but strangely, his face was devoid of its usual smile. Im Hak tilted his head slightly and walked toward him.

“I need to talk to you for a moment. Do you have time?”

“I do. The day’s duties are over, and I have nothing else to do.”

“Then let’s go inside. I have something important to discuss.”

Choi Wi-myeong pulled Im Hak inside. Drawn into the room, Im Hak watched with a puzzled expression as Choi Wi-myeong carefully secured the door behind them.

“What is it, Choi-hyung?”

Im Hak asked carefully, studying Choi Wi-myeong's expression. Seeing his face, which was rarely serious, set in a grim line, he knew something unusual was afoot.

“You said you met that fellow, Munpyeong, a while ago, right?”

“Yes, I did.”

Im Hak answered readily to Choi Wi-myeong’s confirming question.

“And you said Munpyeong left his room without a word because he was assigned some mission? And that he wouldn’t be back for a while.”

“Yes, that’s right. Why are you bringing this up again? I told you this when everyone was present, didn’t I?”

“The place where Munpyeong was assigned his mission… is it by any chance the Thunder Palace?”

At the unexpected words, Im Hak’s face hardened for a fleeting moment. It was only for an instant before he schooled his expression, but it did not escape the eyes of Choi Wi-myeong, who had been watching him intently.

“So it is the Thunder Palace. I can tell by the way your face just stiffened.”

“...Why are you suddenly asking about that?”

It wasn't something he wanted to reveal. Munpyeong had asked him to keep it a secret, and he himself thought it was better not to know too much about such things. If it had been a simple promotion of one or two ranks, it would have been a cause for celebration, a lucky break. But for a low-ranking warrior from the Outer Hall to be suddenly scouted for the Thunder Palace, the very heart of the Inner Hall, was no ordinary matter. It surely involved the complex affairs of their superiors. It was better for underlings like them to remain ignorant of such things.

“I heard something strange. I wanted to confirm it.”

“Something strange?”

“Well… It was so absurd I thought it was nonsense, but if he’s really in the Thunder Palace, it makes it hard to talk about. I was just checking, just in case, but now it feels like it might be true.”

“What is it?”

Im Hak’s face was now as serious as Choi Wi-myeong’s. He wanted to feign ignorance, but hearing that something bad might have happened to Munpyeong, he found it hard to stay silent.

“Who did you hear it from? Is it related to Seok-hyung?”

“Yes. So I’m told.”

“Tell me.”

“I heard it from the young lady I’m seeing now. She does laundry for the guards’ quarters in the Inner Hall, you see?”

Im Hak was well aware that Choi Wi-myeong, with his easy smile and good humor, often had dalliances with the young women of the Cult.

“But yesterday, she told me something strange. She said she’s always doing the warriors’ laundry, and one person’s clothes keep coming out with something strange on them. At first, she didn’t know what it was, but an older woman she works with took a look and said it was a mixture of perfumed oil and semen. They figured one of the Inner Hall warriors must be engaged in sodomy.”

Expecting to hear about Munpyeong, the topic took a strange turn. Im Hak stared blankly at Choi Wi-myeong, who continued his story in a serious tone.

“That’s not all, so keep listening. The girl said she just thought, ‘what strange things happen in the world,’ and forgot about it. It was annoying every time she did the laundry, but it’s not like she could go and confront the person. She did, however, memorize the name of the warrior who kept sending out those clothes.”

Im Hak had nothing to say to this outlandish story. Why was he talking about some Inner Hall warrior's underwear when they were supposed to be discussing Munpyeong? But as frivolous as Choi Wi-myeong could be, it seemed unlikely he would set such a serious mood just to tell a joke.

Im Hak decided to listen to the end. If there wasn’t a valid reason for making him listen to this strange tale, he was prepared to give the older man a piece of his mind.

“That girl has another friend who works in the Thunder Palace. She fetches water for the baths there. And she whispered that our Lord has apparently taken a new male favorite. They say he often has grand affairs in the bathhouse, and this male favorite is a low-ranking warrior recently brought up from the Outer Hall.”

`No way.` Im Hak’s face turned cold. He finally understood where Choi Wi-myeong’s story was heading.

“The girl said that, thinking about it, it all made sense. The warrior who always gives her clothes stained with perfumed oil happens to be that warrior from the Outer Hall. She said she remembers clearly because he's the only one who's been brought up from the Outer Hall recently.”

As far as they knew, Munpyeong was the only warrior from the Outer Hall recently transferred to the Inner Hall. Choi Wi-myeong let out a low sigh and rubbed his face.

“She asked if I knew him, since I’m also from the Outer Hall, and what kind of person he was. I was speechless. I never expected to hear Munpyeong’s name in such a context. I’d heard whispers that the Lord sometimes dallied with men, but I thought it was just a rumor, not the truth. And to imagine that Munpyeong, of all people, would be the one… it’s truly unthinkable.”

It was something Im Hak had never imagined either.

“...Isn’t it a misunderstanding? Why would he choose someone as ordinary as Seok-hyung? A man of our Lord’s stature must have countless better options if he were to indulge in such tastes, wouldn’t he?”

“I’d be relieved if that were the case. Do you think I wanted to believe this story? I couldn’t believe it either, so I came to ask you. To see if Munpyeong was really working in the Thunder Palace. But now that you’ve confirmed it, I don’t know what to believe.”

Im Hak thought of Seok Munpyeong’s face the last time he saw him. The awkwardly stiff smile, the hesitant expression as if he wanted to say something. But in the end, he had said nothing, and Im Hak had simply turned away without asking.

`Seok-hyung, was this what you wanted to tell me? Were you trying to ask for my help, and I just walked away?`

The possibility weighed heavily on Im Hak’s heart.

The Seok Munpyeong he knew was a truly ordinary man. An orphan since childhood, he was soft-hearted and couldn't help but stare at pretty women, yet was too foolish to even speak to them properly.

Im Hak couldn’t even begin to imagine what it would feel like for such an ordinary person to suddenly be forced to offer his body to a superior, completely against his will. He truly had no idea. He had never even considered such a thing could happen.

“It must be slander, don't you think? I don’t know the details, but it sounds like a malicious rumor to me. A warrior from the Outer Hall suddenly gets promoted to the Inner Hall, so people get jealous and spread nasty stories. There’s no way something like that could happen to Seok-hyung, right?”

Im Hak said this, feigning indifference, even as he half-doubted his own words. Choi Wi-myeong, who had been just as anxious, looked up at him.

“You think so?”

“Yes. It makes the most sense. Think about it. This is Munpyeong-hyung we’re talking about. Does he seem like the type to be a male favorite? And with the Lord, of all people? The story is just too absurd.”

“But who would dare spread a rumor with the Lord’s name in it?”

“Well, you never know. Maybe the Lord really does have a male favorite. He’s never had a single rumor involving a woman his entire life, so it’s a possibility. But the idea that it’s Munpyeong-hyung is probably nonsense. It was likely tacked on to slander him, to ask how a mere Outer Hall warrior could enter the Inner Hall without some sordid reason.”

Im Hak spoke words he didn't believe himself. His expression was calm and composed, but it was a facade to reassure Choi Wi-myeong, not his true feeling.

He knew his words were hollow. Most importantly, the rumor hadn't come from the warriors, but from the maids.

They had no stake in the power struggles among the warriors. The chance that they would deliberately fabricate a story to discredit Munpyeong was practically nonexistent.

“You really think so?”

“That’s what I think. I don’t know if it’s true or not.”

“No, listening to you, it does seem unlikely. I was so confused and startled myself. Hearing something so unexpected was quite a shock.”

But Choi Wi-myeong was easily persuaded. It was easier to believe what he wanted to believe than to pursue an unbelievable truth.

“I’m saying this just in case, but don’t let this story get out. He’s probably already upset by the rumors. It will only make it harder for him if he finds out we’ve been talking about it too.”

Im Hak, just in case, made Choi Wi-myeong promise to keep his mouth shut. Whether it was true or not, it wasn't good for such a story to circulate within the Cult. If it was false, they would be guilty of the grave crime of slandering the Lord. If it was true, Munpyeong himself wouldn't be able to bear it.

Choi Wi-myeong, understanding this, nodded readily. With a more relaxed expression, he said to Im Hak:

“I’m glad you were here. I was so shocked when I heard the story. I didn’t know what to do on my own. It’s a good thing you’re smart and could see things clearly. If it weren't for you, I might have believed a story that could harm Munpyeong.”

Having unburdened himself to Im Hak and heard a somewhat plausible explanation, he looked relieved. Choi Wi-myeong clapped Im Hak’s shoulder firmly in praise. Im Hak nodded perfunctorily, a faint smile touching his lips. He wanted to smile back, but his muscles were so stiff that his expression was closer to a grimace.

***

Po Yeong-ui was exhausted.

Intelligence work, especially the espionage he specialized in, always demanded a razor-sharp mind. It was a job that required accurately judging and distinguishing what each piece of information signified, whether a clue was a warp or a weft in the grander scheme of things.

No matter how small the information, it could not be neglected, and he had to constantly question whether his judgments and responses were correct. Sharp perception, swift judgment, and a well-ordered intellect—his work, which consumed all three, was inherently draining. The frequent migraines and his increasingly edgy personality were all due to this excessive mental exertion.

On top of his usual fatigue, a new pressure had been added. A foolish mad dog. That stupid dog, who charged headlong toward a single goal, had saddled him with a formidable task.

To steal the Qilin Plaque, a treasure considered the best in the Jianghu, from the Zhuge Clan, a place even harder to penetrate than the Righteous Path Alliance headquarters. It would probably be easier to steal the imperial seal from the palace.

But Po Yeong-ui had already accepted the task, and in return, he had been promised what he desired most. Just as Ho Wan-pyeong would do anything for Cheonma, Po Yeong-ui would do anything to have Ho Wan-pyeong. He could not give up.

`The Jade Qilin has arrived at the Zhuge Clan, whose security is already tight. The Jade Qilin is a renowned orthodox master, so even if Lady Baek's illness is grave, people will flock to see him. No, some might even use her illness as an excuse. The Jade Qilin will have no choice but to show his face to those who come to pay their respects to his mother.`

Like many who were called chivalrous, the Jade Qilin, Baek Woo-gyeong, had many friends. There were his sworn brothers from the Azure Blood Corps, formed to fight off Japanese pirates in Fujian, but he was also close to renowned masters like the Myriad Sword Scholar, Liu Lingzong, and the Dual Intent Sword, Cao Shihua. Such men would also visit the Zhuge Clan to coincide with the Jade Qilin's return. A single misstep could lead to a major disaster.

Deep in thought, Po Yeong-ui opened the door to his dark room. He disliked having people around, so his room, which no one entered except to clean, was dark and quiet. Feeling weary, he untied his topknot and continued to ponder his strategy.

`The chaotic atmosphere from the frequent comings and goings of common folk might be helpful. But the problem is who to infiltrate into the family. I can't waste a spy who has long established a foothold within the family on a job like this, so I'll need to find someone new. How can I get a new person inside without arousing suspicion?`

He didn't have much time. Only a month remained in the year, and Lady Baek's condition was worsening by the day. Once she died, the Qilin Plaque would pass into the hands of the Jade Qilin. The transcendent master, Jade Qilin Baek Woo-gyeong. Even if Po Yeong-ui went himself, he would not be an easy opponent.

`Should I use one of the agents operating under a false identity? Damn it. It’s not easy to build a reputation without a suspicious background. If their identity is exposed, it will only heighten the Righteous Path Alliance's vigilance. The Alliance is already focused on expanding its power. Giving them an excuse would be...`

As his thoughts reached that point, Po Yeong-ui suddenly thrust a hand into his sleeve. In an instant, five daggers appeared between his fingers. The essence of the flying dagger technique was stealth. The Black Crow Daggers, their blades made of black iron to prevent reflection, did not glint even in the light. Po Yeong-ui flung his signature technique, which was as dear to him as his own life, in a scattershot motion toward the source of the presence.

“Who’s there!”

“A harsh greeting.”

The five daggers, flying silently in different directions, suddenly vanished. Hearing a voice just after throwing them, Po Yeong-ui recognized his opponent, bit his lip, and took three steps back into a defensive stance. The Black Crow Daggers he had just thrown returned to him, but with a technique a level above his own.

In a split second, he used not just his hands but his entire sleeves to block the daggers. He caught two with his hands and wrapped two more in his sleeves, but one was missing. A sharp sting followed by a searing pain spread through his forearm. A Black Crow Dagger, having grazed his arm, was now embedded in the floor.

“Your training is lacking. Have you still not mastered the Returning Flow Dagger?”

“...I greet the glorious Lord, Cheonma.”

The person who had entered the empty room and waited for him was none other than Cheonma. Po Yeong-ui, who had never expected Cheonma to be in his room without notice, bowed his head, his forehead slick with cold sweat, and offered a deep bow. A soft click of the tongue sounded in the darkness. Cheonma muttered to himself.

“How is it that they all hate to train? Not a single one of them does anything properly.”

Po Yeong-ui did not lift his bowed head. He had been exhausted, his mind cluttered with thoughts. But no matter the excuse, for a martial artist to fail to sense another's presence was a fatal mistake. Even if that person was Cheonma, who had deliberately concealed his presence to test him.

“What brings you here at such a late hour without notice?”

“I came because I have something urgent to tell you.”

“You could have summoned me.”

“If it were something I could have summoned you for, would I have come myself? Leaving my pretty little tail behind?”

Po Yeong-ui focused his inner energy into his eyes to see ahead. Cheonma was sitting at the table he used as a tea table. As always, he was leaning back languidly, his posture quintessentially him.

“Have you checked the surveillance network near Yumenguan recently?”

Cheonma asked, still seated in the unlit darkness. Po Yeong-ui finally turned his head and stanched the bleeding from his arm.

`Something has displeased him, and he’s taking it out on me.`

Familiar with Cheonma’s temper, Po Yeong-ui knew the man had wounded him on purpose. What was the problem this time?

“Yes. I finished re-inspecting it just a short while ago.”

“Is the net tight enough?”

“A surveillance network can only fulfill its function if it is tight enough to catch even a minnow. I believe I have not neglected the basics.”

“Is that so? Then Gwak Hyo won't be coming through Yumenguan. That slippery eel is quite sharp; he wouldn't risk passing through a place with such a thorough net.”

`Gwak Hyo!` Hearing the name, Po Yeong-ui’s head snapped up. He asked Cheonma, his tone disbelieving:

“Did you just say Gwak Hyo?”

“Yes. I said Gwak Hyo.”

“Are you saying the traitor Gwak Hyo has reappeared?”

“Yeon-a said she saw him in Taxkorgan. He’s been hiding like a rat all this time. I suppose he got careless, thinking he was outside the Central Plains.”

At the mention of Yeon-a, Po Yeong-ui pictured Cho Gyo-yeon's face.

`So that was the reason she abandoned her important trade mission and returned. I thought it was strange for a girl who, despite her willfulness, never forgets her duties. So there was a reason.`

But he couldn't make an accurate judgment without knowing the details. He wanted to ask Cho Gyo-yeon directly, but knowing she had been ordered to self-reflect, he couldn't. So he directed his question to Cheonma.

“Did you obtain information that Gwak Hyo will be returning to the Central Plains?”

“I heard he seemed to have a force with him. All of them were said to be from the Central Plains. I also believe that if Gwak Hyo has shown himself, it must be after he has gathered some power. He is not a man who makes a move without perfect preparation.”

Cheonma, who had once trusted him and paid a bitter price, spoke calmly. Po Yeong-ui silently clenched his jaw and nodded.

He was right. Gwak Hyo was that kind of man. A man who calculated everything thoroughly and would not move unless he was certain of victory.

Though Po Yeong-ui hadn't even been in the Demonic Cult when Gwak Hyo rebelled, he knew the man as well as Cheonma did. Because his own father had fallen into Gwak Hyo's scheme and lost his life.

Po Yeong-ui's father had been the master of the Poison Valley. As the head of a sect that dealt with poison, they were ostracized even within the Unorthodox Faction. He joined the Demonic Cult to gain the power to protect his sect and, knowing nothing, provided poison simply because it was a request from the Cult.

But it was Gwak Hyo, not the Demonic Cult, who had persuaded the Poison Valley and used that poison. When Po Yeong-ui's father learned that the poison he made had been used to assassinate Cheonma, he took his own life. He didn't want Cheonma's wrath to fall upon the entire Poison Valley.

That was why Po Yeong-ui, who had been the young master of a sect, was demoted to a child concubine and dragged to the Demonic Cult. His uncle, who had taken his father's place as master, heard that Cheonma favored men and sent his young nephew to curry favor. He believed his nephew's outstanding beauty would surely win Cheonma's affection, and with it, the Poison Valley could survive.

Just as Gwak Hyo was Cheonma's enemy, he was also Po Yeong-ui's. He had deceived his foolish father, leading to his death, and turned him into a child concubine. If Cheonma hadn't recognized his talent and taken him as a disciple, Po Yeong-ui's life would have ended writhing under countless men.

“Activate the secret network and find out what he's planning. Keep in mind that his grudge against the Cult is not small, so we will be his primary target. Gwak Hyo's forces, the factions connected to him—find everything you can. Even if the details are secondary, you must grasp the overall picture. Otherwise, we will surely be caught off guard.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Discuss the details with that fool Wan-pyeong and proceed. And be extremely careful that not a word of this reaches Jin-mu.”

“Understood.”

“And make sure something like this never happens again. An outsider brought information that the Secret Pavilion failed to obtain. If we're going to rely on luck for our lives, what's the point of the Secret Pavilion? You should be ashamed.”

The advice was delivered lightly, but Po Yeong-ui knew it was laced with barbs. His conscience pricked him. He had been distracted by a matter unrelated to his duties, and he had much to feel guilty about.

“My apologies.”

“You know well what my intentions are. If you fail to do your part, Wan-pyeong will falter as well. One was not enough, so I bound you two together. If I've done that, you should at least be able to do your job. How long do you intend to make me interfere?”

Po Yeong-ui couldn't say a word. Even if he had a mouth, he had nothing to say.

**Tsk, tsk.** Clicking his tongue again, Cheonma rose from his seat. Having said all he wanted to say, he strode out of the room without hesitation.

Po Yeong-ui, who had been kneeling, quickly rose to follow him. But Cheonma raised a hand to stop him.

“Don't follow me out. It's a bother.”

Having handled the matter entirely on his own terms from start to finish, Cheonma vanished as if melting into thin air. Po Yeong-ui, seeing him off from within the room, quietly closed the door.

`Gwak Hyo. Gwak Hyo.`

The name alone made his already tired head throb with a migraine. The traitor Gwak Hyo, the first and last man to strike Cheonma from behind. Tracking a traitor and apostate like him would be no easy task. This was a man who had escaped Cheonma's pursuit even with half his face melted off and a severe injury to his dantian.

For the past twenty years, they had searched for him and found not a single trace. The fact that such a man had reappeared, with a force of his own, was not a matter to be taken lightly. Knowing that his primary target would be the Demonic Cult, as Cheonma had said, there was no way he could underestimate him.

`The Qilin Plaque, the Jade Qilin, and now Gwak Hyo as if that wasn't enough.`

Po Yeong-ui closed his eyes, massaging his throbbing temples. In his feverish mind, thoughts swirled in disarray.

***

Secretly heating water in the middle of the night was not as easy as it sounded.

Moving stealthily in the dead of night when the wary warriors, who would awaken at the slightest sound, were asleep; fetching water for the cauldron, stoking the fire, and then carrying that water back to the bathtub—it all required immense mental concentration.

He only dared to do it because the bathhouse was in a separate building from the dorms. Otherwise, no matter how grimy he felt, he would have just endured it.

After filling the tub, Munpyeong undressed. His body, bearing the deep marks of the intense lovemaking he had just shared with Cheonma, was laid bare. He hadn't been handled roughly, so there were no injuries, but the hickeys that bloomed like flowers on his skin were starkly visible. Some were red, some dark, some yellowish. The different colors of the marks told that they had not all been made at the same time.

It was because of these blatant marks that Munpyeong had to avoid the times when the other warriors used the baths. People were already looking at him strangely, and he couldn't give them more reason to stare.

Although he and Cheonma had compromised to keep their trysts within the walls of the Thunder Palace, he couldn't completely ignore the rumors.

It was whispered in hushed tones, but it seemed everyone who knew, knew. Munpyeong was keenly aware of the way people would fall silent when he was near, only to start murmuring once he had passed.

He was dying to know what was being said and how, but no one told him the rumors directly.

Here, he was nothing but a stranger. He had no friends to know, no superior to trust, and to be precise, he did nothing but follow Cheonma around. He was still following him, but unless Cheonma left the Cult grounds, his role was nothing more than that of a bothersome shadow.

Ho Wan-pyeong had seemed satisfied with Munpyeong's function, as the black flowers he had left behind during the pursuit had at least allowed him to know Cheonma's general direction. But Munpyeong, who could not agree with Ho Wan-pyeong's obsession with his master, felt not even the slightest pride in what he was doing.

`What am I even doing now?`

Munpyeong let out a deep sigh as he mixed cold water into the hot to lower its temperature. He had always believed in living as life came, just going with the flow, but even he was displeased with this situation.

To live a life where he had to secretly boil water in the middle of the night, afraid that others might see his body, and use that water to wash off the heavy traces of another man—this was absolutely not what he had wanted.

`...Of course, that's not to say I wanted a life of luxurious bathing in a splendid bathroom after waking up a maid in the middle of the night, like the Lord does.`

Munpyeong shuddered, remembering how he had almost caused Yehwa, Ranran, and all the maids under them to be woken up in the middle of the night after casually mentioning that wiping himself with a towel wasn't enough.

Just because he slept with Cheonma didn't mean Munpyeong had any intention of acting like the pampered concubine of a rich family. The excessive treatment he was sometimes offered was a heavy burden. It wasn't the kind of consideration born from genuine care for the other person; he could feel the callousness behind it, a sentiment that said, `Since you sleep with me, you deserve to enjoy this much.`

Consideration of that sort wasn't consideration; it was payment. And Munpyeong would rather have consensual sex than sell his body.

Once the water reached a suitable temperature, Munpyeong sank into the tub. He hadn't used to enjoy bathing like this, usually just rinsing off the dust, but recently, after being tormented by Cheonma's excessively intense lovemaking, he had come to appreciate a soak to relax his stiff muscles.

After being overworked to the point where his bones ached, soaking in warm water made the stinging pain melt away as if dissolving in the water. Soaking alone like this, it felt as if all the worries of the world disappeared entirely. It would be wonderful if he could stay like this forever, but the fact that he couldn't was a pity.

Munpyeong washed his body once more, which Cheonma had already wiped with a wet cloth, and stood up. If he stayed any longer, people would start waking up, and he would be in trouble.

He carefully drained the water and began to clean up any trace of his presence.

**Clank.**

He had just finished cleaning the bathroom and was about to pick up his clothes when he heard the door open behind him.

Startled, Munpyeong looked up and turned around. He hastily grabbed his clothes, but there was no time to put them on.

“Well, what’s this? Isn’t it a damn man?”

A dull, slurred voice, not at all pleasant to hear, echoed through the bathhouse.

Though his body was clean from his recent bath, the reek of alcohol that wafted over made Munpyeong frown.

A man with unfocused eyes, clearly drunk though he managed to stand, was at the doorway. Munpyeong had seen his face coming and going from the dorms, but he didn't know who he was.

“Shit. I heard water splashing in the middle of the night and thought some lady was washing herself, but it’s just some damn man. What rotten luck.”

The man muttered to himself, his voice loud. The classic speech pattern of a drunkard. Talking to himself and answering himself, he seemed more than just a little drunk.

`Damn it all.` Feeling cornered, Munpyeong hastily threw on his clothes over his wet body. He had to quickly pull on his pants without even putting on his undergarments. The fabric clung uncomfortably to his damp skin, but it was better than showing his bare skin to this man.

“You've had a lot to drink. You should go and rest.”

Munpyeong said politely, pulling on his pants. He knew he was in a bad situation, but he hoped the man would leave. Who knew if there were others with him, equally drunk. He had to get out of there quickly.

“But what’s with your body? A man looking like a spotted dog… Hey? Your face looks familiar. Where have I seen that mug before?”

The drunkard wouldn't let him go. Seeing Munpyeong about to leave after simply telling him to rest, the man seemed to think he was being ignored and blocked the doorway, starting a fight.

Munpyeong didn't know it, but the Inner Hall warrior before him was famous for turning into a dog when drunk. He was even called ‘Yeogyeonja’, which literally meant ‘dog-like man,’ in addition to his title. In short, it meant he was a son of a bitch, a nickname that fit him perfectly when he was drunk, if not when he was sober.

“Aha. I remember. It’s the male favorite. The Male Daji who somehow snagged our Lord with that plain face and has fun with him day after day. No, his surname is Seok, so is it Seok Daji?”

The man’s reckless words made Munpyeong’s face flush. He knew rumors were circulating behind his back, but he had never heard them directly, so he didn’t know what kind of rumors they were.

He was stunned to learn that people were comparing him to the infamous femme fatale who had burned people to death on a hot bronze pillar.

`It’s shameful enough that there are rumors of me being a male favorite, but Daji? What did I do to deserve that?`

An indescribable sense of injustice washed over him, but to argue about it would be pathetic.

Feeling offended, Munpyeong tried to ignore the man and walk past. There was no point in dealing with a drunk. Judging by the fact that he was saying such things to his face, he was very drunk. He probably wouldn’t even remember what happened between them tomorrow morning.

“Fuck. Stay put. You ignoring me, you male favorite?”

“...Let go of me.”

“Your body’s a work of art, ain’t it? All spotted and bruised. You think you’re above everyone just because the Lord showers you with his favor? Huh?”

Just as he tried to pass the man, his arm was grabbed. Annoyed even at the thought of getting angry, he warned the man in a low voice, but the stinking face came right up to his. `Real bad luck.` Munpyeong’s face hardened as he glared at the troublesome man.

“Huh? You’re glaring at me. The fuck you gonna do about it?”

The man, muttering like a ruffian, leaned in close and whispered vilely.

“Are you that good? You look so plain on the outside, but you managed to seduce our Lord with that body. Your flesh must be pretty tender, huh? Is that why the Lord can’t get enough of you?”

“You’re saying things you’ll regret.”

“Regret? Don’t make me laugh. You were making all that noise with the water in the middle of the night to seduce another man, weren’t you? Are you that hot? Can’t sleep unless you’re rolling around with a man?”

Hot breath washed over his face.

Disgusting. Repulsive.

The very situation of having to listen to this was a humiliation. No longer wanting to hear it, he tried to shake off the man’s hand again, but a shadow suddenly fell over him. Pushed helplessly against the wall by the man’s sudden lunge, Munpyeong gritted his teeth as he felt the man bite his neck.

`Son of a bitch, I’ll kill you!`

“Fuck, let me have a taste…”

The man bit down on his neck, not as if to make love, but as if to tear him apart alive.

Munpyeong struck the man’s stomach with his palm, pushing him away, then gritted his teeth and tripped him. Grabbing the man’s collar, he twisted his body and used his Misanbo (微散步) footwork to slip between the man and the wall. The man who had cornered him was now caught in his own trap, falling victim to Munpyeong’s joint lock.

“If you’re going to drink, you should have just slept it off. Didn’t you know that if you act like a dog, you get treated like one?”

With one arm twisted and its joint dislocated, Munpyeong slammed the man’s other shoulder against the wall and snarled.

“You lowly male whore! How dare you!”

The man, gritting his teeth in pain, shouted defiantly, his spirit unbroken. Munpyeong applied more pressure to the dislocated joint and whispered lowly.

“If I’m lowly, then the Lord who sleeps with me is lowly too. How can one of us be lowly and the other noble when we’re in this together?”

“You piece of sh—”

“Be grateful I’m letting you live. If I were really Daji, you’d be on the burning pillar.”

With the man still screaming, his face red with fury, Munpyeong twisted his arm again, making him cry out in pain, then chopped the back of his neck with the side of his hand.

The man, who would not have been so easily defeated normally, was no match for him in his drunken state. His head lolled forward, and his body slumped to the floor.

As if he had touched something filthy, Munpyeong flung the man’s arm away and rubbed his own neck with a grimace.

He had bitten so hard that, in that brief moment, a perfect set of teeth marks was left on his neck. Even Cheonma was careful not to leave marks in visible places, yet he had suffered such a humiliation from an unexpected quarter.

A fire of rage erupted within him. Unable to contain his anger, Munpyeong kicked the unconscious man’s stomach with all his might. He didn't intend to kill him, so he didn't use his internal energy, but the full-force kick sent the man’s body rolling with a dull thud, like kicking a leather ball.

Still seething, he shot the man one last fierce glare before striding out of the bathhouse. Dark blood seeped from his bitten lip.

***

His plaything seemed to be in a very bad mood today.

Cheonma, who was painting an orchid, glanced up at the silently sitting Seok Munpyeong. As always, Munpyeong sat with a proper posture, his back straight, looking at Cheonma.

He had insisted on standing, but since he wasn't just a subordinate but also a frequent bed partner, Cheonma couldn't keep him on his feet all day and had provided a chair.

Once he had personally brought in a chair, Munpyeong could no longer refuse and now kept his watch seated instead of standing.

It looked rather pathetic, him dragging the chair to the same corner where he had first stood, but Cheonma said nothing. If that was what he wanted, there was no reason to comment.

`What happened?`

Dipping his brush in the inkstone, Cheonma wondered about Munpyeong's mood. He was trying his best to hide his displeasure, but to Cheonma’s experienced eyes, his feelings were as clear as day. After all, he was just a boy, young enough to be his grandson. Reading his mind was easier than turning over a child’s palm.

“Come here.”

Just then, he finished his painting. On a whim, he decided to play with his toy for a bit and beckoned to Munpyeong.

Munpyeong, who had grown accustomed to Cheonma occasionally speaking to him after they had become physically involved, rose from his seat and approached.

“What is it?”

Munpyeong asked in a low, quiet voice. His subdued mood made his tone darker than usual. Cheonma, feigning ignorance, called him closer.

“Come closer and take a look at this. It’s been a while since I painted an orchid, and I feel like I've lost my touch.”

“What do I know? I don't know how to look at paintings.”

“It’s absurd for someone with eyes to say they can't look at a painting. No excuses, come here and see.”

At Cheonma’s insistence, Munpyeong reluctantly came closer and looked down at the painting. On a plain white silk scroll, the elegant leaves of an orchid stretched across. A single clump of orchid, clinging forlornly to a majestic rock face. A rock orchid.

`He’s good.`

Munpyeong, who knew nothing of magnificent brushwork or the free play of light and dark ink, had a simple assessment. He could feel the skill involved, but he didn't know what else to say.

The rock was drawn majestically, as a rock should be, and the soft, pliant orchid leaves were rendered perfectly. But he didn't know if these were things worth praising.

Munpyeong, unsure of where to look or what to praise, just stared blankly at the painting.

Given Cheonma’s temperament, he had expected him to paint a stiff, rock-like orchid, but surprisingly, he had achieved a perfect balance. Well, Cheonma had reached the Peak of Perfection. It would be strange for someone at that level to not understand harmony.

They called a man with deep talent in many fields a Ten-Talent Martial Artist. A rare being whose depth of skill in various fields was different from a mere jack-of-all-trades.

As Munpyeong saw it, Cheonma was just such a person. He had never seen him fail at anything. Painting, calligraphy, poetry, music—there was nothing he couldn't do, nothing he lacked.

It was sometimes baffling how such a person could exist, but the one thing this otherwise perfect man lacked was humanity.

“What do you think?”

Though he must have known he had painted well, Cheonma insisted on hearing Munpyeong’s opinion. Munpyeong had no choice but to open his mouth and praise him.

“It is good.”

“That’s vague. What specifically is good about it?”

“The rock looks like a rock, and the orchid looks like an orchid. That is what’s good.”

“Anything else?”

“It seems technically well-painted.”

Cheonma laughed at the simple, unadorned praise. Not a mocking laugh, but as if he found the answer amusing.

“If it looks that way to your eyes, then it must not be bad. Good.”

Seemingly satisfied with Seok Munpyeong's unremarkable praise, Cheonma nodded and pulled the bell cord to summon a maid. Yehwa rushed in and bowed, but Cheonma waved her greeting away impatiently and pointed at the silk painting.

“When the ink is dry, have it mounted on a scroll. Once it’s framed, send it to the Garden of Bewitching Flowers. Add a note congratulating her on her 60th birthday.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

`He painted an orchid just to give it as a gift?`

Puzzled, Munpyeong tilted his head. Why did he ask me to appraise an orchid destined for such an important person?

The Garden of Bewitching Flowers was the residence of one of the Demonic Cult's Three Guardian Kings, the Demon King (妖王) Man-Su-Baek-Yo, Ye Ogyeong. The only woman among Cheonma’s trusted Three Kings, she was a great beauty who, though over sixty, was said to look no older than thirty. In her youth, she had been called the Flower of the Demonic Cult. She was also the mother of Cheonma's disciple, Cho Gyo-yeon, and her daughter, having inherited her mother's beauty, was also renowned for her looks.

`Come to think of it, I heard Man-Su-Baek-Yo is turning sixty this year.`

Hearing the word suyeon (60th birthday celebration), he remembered hearing a rumor that her sixtieth birthday party was coming up.

Women usually didn't make a big deal of their birthdays as they got older, but Man-Su-Baek-Yo was attracting attention by preparing on a grand scale, buying flowers and even making white lanterns to hang at the celebration.

A sixtieth birthday held great meaning for people. It was so difficult to live past sixty that the years after were considered a bonus. Furthermore, Man-Su-Baek-Yo was a person of high status and great martial skill, not someone to be taken lightly.

The Three Guardian Kings were second only to the Lord in the Demonic Cult, so excluding the leaders of the unorthodox factions, their position was practically one person below, and thousands above.

“Are you not planning to attend Man-Su-Baek-Yo-nim's birthday celebration?”

To send the scroll before the celebration day meant he did not plan to attend. The sixtieth birthday of a Guardian King would not be a small affair, and Munpyeong found Cheonma’s attitude strange.

Cheonma smirked and caressed the back of Munpyeong's neck. Munpyeong, who had unwittingly come within his reach, hesitated awkwardly, unable to pull away.

“You really hate this during the day, don't you?”

Knowing this, Cheonma did not stop his caress.

“That's right. I'm not going this year.”

Cheonma answered readily, gently pulling Munpyeong closer. Munpyeong, forced to follow his lead, found himself sitting on Cheonma’s lap, facing him, and his cheeks flushed.

The faint blush pleased Cheonma. It wasn't a blush of shyness or joy, but one of shame, which he found refreshing. After countless times together, the man was still like this. His body was thoroughly accustomed, yet his heart was always like the first time.

`He really doesn’t change.`

It had been nearly a month since he started playing with Munpyeong’s body, yet he still held on stubbornly, his spirit unbroken.

These days, he didn't seem to be in much pain during insertion and would sometimes even sway his hips and beg for more. But even though his body was so tamed, his heart was not. Cheonma found this attitude of Munpyeong's genuinely interesting.

A truly unremarkable, ordinary man. That was all Cheonma saw in Munpyeong. A man who had lived his life just going with the flow, with no particular pride. A common man who was servile when he needed to be, and valued his own life above all else. And yet, he was still holding on.

Cheonma couldn't understand how he had managed to endure for so long.

He had held chivalrous heroes of the Jianghu, famous for never bending to anything against their will. He had held staunch scholars with unyielding integrity. He had held the leaders of fierce bandit groups and even a monarch who ruled like a king in the Western Regions.

But none of them had held out as tenaciously as Munpyeong. They would either hate him with a clear passion or be drawn to his body and fall headlong into pleasure. Most fell into one of those two categories; no one had ever shown a different choice.

It was a strange thing.

Cheonma traced a finger down the bridge of Munpyeong’s nose, who was seated on his lap. The soft, tickling caress made his lowered eyelashes tremble.

The scab on the corner of his lip was pitiful. It hadn't been there when he'd sent him away last night. He must have bitten his lip again while lost in thought in his room.

“Why… why aren't you going?”

Feeling a sense of crisis that if he just sat there blankly, he would be taken again, Munpyeong desperately searched for a topic of conversation.

Cheonma pulled Munpyeong's waist, who was perched awkwardly on his lap, closer and licked the scabbed lip with his tongue.

“She asked me to repay her for the lost arm this time.”

“Pardon?”

“Cho Ji-baek. He said he’s determined to propose this year. He’s already in his seventies, and the old hag is over sixty, so they must get married within the next year, he said. He claimed she wouldn’t be able to give a proper answer if I was there, so I’m staying away for them. What can I do? He said he’d rather die than become a bachelor ghost. I agreed, as if granting a dying man’s wish.”

“...The Demon King and the Flame King aren’t married yet?”

Munpyeong asked, a stunned expression on his face at this new information.

“You didn't know?”

Amused by Munpyeong's shocked reaction, Cheonma chuckled lowly and moved his lips down Munpyeong's jawline.

“That’s right. Not yet.”

“But don’t they have a daughter? The young lady, Hwanyo-pyeon…”

“Gyo-yeon is their child, yes. When she was born, Man-Su-Baek-Yo wanted to give her the surname Ye, according to the custom of the Nuwa Sect, but Chug-yung-do went ballistic and fought to give her his surname. It was only because she was a daughter that Man-Su-Baek-Yo raised her. If it had been a son, she would have just given him to Chug-yung-do and pretended not to know him. The Nuwa Sect’s customs are like that, apparently. The women don’t marry, and even if they have children, they only raise the daughters.”

Man-Su-Baek-Yo was originally from the Southern Man lands. The daughter of a clan that worshipped Nuwa, one of the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors and also a water goddess, she had a talent for handling all sorts of beasts, as her title suggested.

In her youth, she was said to be more beautiful than a flower, but her demeanor was extremely coarse. Having grown up in the female-dominated Nuwa Sect, she had formed a unique worldview, which must have been difficult for the men of the Central Plains, who believed women should be submissive and obedient, to accept.

When she, feeling stifled by the narrow world of her clan, ventured outside, it was this difference in values that caused the most friction.

Coming to the outside world for the first time, she was appalled by the customs of the Central Plains, where women were treated as property and handled carelessly. Men were beings who should be chosen by women, and if rejected, they should simply retreat, no matter how sad. But the men of the Central Plains were unenlightened, savage, and without morals.

Men would hit on women, and if things didn't go their way, they would even rape them without hesitation. Their behavior was a spectacle. Enraged, she soundly beat any man who hit on her and killed all those who tried to rape her.

With her unusually sensual appearance and voluptuous body, she attracted more men than the average woman, which only made the situation worse.

Rumors that a demoness from the south was beating and killing every man she met, trying to wipe out the male seed, spread like wildfire. In the midst of it all, she happened to kill a disciple of the Huashan Sect, and the matter blew up beyond control.

She quickly became a public enemy of the Jianghu. The rumors got twisted somewhere along the way, and she became a being who drained young men of their vital essence and killed them, hunted by all the orthodox sects of the Central Plains.

It was then that she met Cheonma. Cheonma, who was simply wandering the Central Plains out of boredom, found the swarming riffraff of the orthodox sects annoying and wiped them out. As he was about to turn away, Man-Su-Baek-Yo, thinking he had saved her, blocked his path.

Being from the south, her way of expressing gratitude was also unique. Instead of saying thank you for saving her, she declared that since she owed him a great debt, she would repay him by bearing his child, leaving Cheonma utterly dumbfounded.

`Well, she ended up having a child with Cho Ji-baek, but she did pester me for my seed for quite a while after that.`

With her different values from the women of the Central Plains, she asked for his seed with great confidence. It wasn't because she loved Cheonma, of course, but because she thought his seed would be strong and she wanted to have a healthy, vigorous daughter.

Cho Ji-baek, a typical man of the Central Plains, seemed to have some serious misunderstanding about it, but Man-Su-Baek-Yo felt no romantic feelings for Cheonma. If there was any man she loved, it was Cho Ji-baek.

If she didn't have feelings for him, she would never have tolerated a man who hovered around her so annoyingly for all this time.

Unaware of these circumstances, Munpyeong still looked puzzled. He, too, was a typical man of the Central Plains and couldn't easily understand a woman who openly had a child out of wedlock, maintained a relationship with the father, yet refused to marry him.

While Munpyeong was bewildered, Cheonma was having a fine time with his body.

Loosening his tightly bound sash, Cheonma slid a hand under his clothes, caressing the sleek line of his back while gently teasing his jaw and cheek.

The sharp, masculine jawline and strong neck always made his mouth water. The skin, roughened by the harsh winds of the Heavenly Mountains, and the golden-brown complexion, like a well-baked wheat cake, all pleased him. The healthy, firm muscles were a delight to chew on. They were so firm and responsive that every bite was like biting into a crisp persimmon.

Cheonma moved his lips from his ear down the line of his neck. As his lips grew more intense, Munpyeong's breathing quickened. On Cheonma’s lap, his member began to harden. His body, accustomed to pleasure, was ready to open up at the slightest touch.

He could see his nipples hardening under his loosened top. The tempting fruits were inviting Cheonma's mouth.

“Hm?”

Excited by Munpyeong’s shuddering response, Cheonma was about to delve deeper into his body when an unfamiliar sensation on his lips made him pause and lift his head.

On Munpyeong's right neck, where the neck and shoulder met on the trapezius muscle, was a mark not of his own making. A clear set of teeth marks, so strong that a blood blister had formed. A large, ugly mark, the kind he himself no longer left.

Discovering the scar, Cheonma’s brow furrowed slightly.

“Did you get a new lover?”

After a brief pause, Cheonma licked the scar someone had bitten into, asking with amusement. No emotion other than curiosity could be found in his voice. Munpyeong’s jaw tightened for a moment, but he soon answered in a nonchalant tone.

“No. I was bitten by a dog.”

“Hm. A dog?”

“Yes.”

“It looks like a human’s teeth marks to me.”

“Even a person is a dog if they don't act like one. What else would a dog be?”

Munpyeong, in an uncharacteristically sharp tone, brushed off Cheonma’s meddling.

`It’s none of your business.`

The dignified attitude, neither making excuses nor complaining about what had happened to him, caught Cheonma’s attention. Of course, the lingering blush on his face and the beads of sweat forming on his nose did much to undermine that dignity.

But knowing that it was extremely rare for Seok Munpyeong to show such an attitude, Cheonma couldn't help but be more concerned with his state of mind than his physical condition.

“Which dog bit my weed? Do dogs these days eat grass?”

‘Weed’ was what Cheonma had recently taken to calling Munpyeong. He would fall when pushed, but his roots remained straight and deep. It was an affectionate, cute nickname, but the recipient didn't seem to think so, as his expression darkened every time he was called it.

“Why are you concerned with what a mere dog did? Dogs are always making messes.”

“Even a weed, if it's in my garden, is my weed. Does a master just stand by when an ill-mannered dog digs up his garden? You have to teach it a lesson the first time so it doesn't happen again.”

“The advantage of a weed is that it grows without being watered. There’s no need for you to look after it.”

Munpyeong gave a clipped reply to Cheonma’s teasing question. He couldn't just tattle on what had happened like a child running to their mother after being hit outside.

If he reported it, Cheonma would take care of it, but doing so would be tantamount to admitting he was Cheonma's male favorite.

He was desperately trying to convince himself that this was just a temporary amusement, that he was not a concubine or a child prostitute. To act like a concubine himself would be a contradiction.

`Hm.`

Of course, Cheonma didn’t really care one way or the other. He had only feigned interest to see how Munpyeong would react. But when Munpyeong continued to refuse his offer, he felt a strange mood settling in.

It wasn't his business where Munpyeong had gotten into trouble, but after being repeatedly rejected, he found his mood souring.

From Munpyeong’s reaction, he could roughly guess what had happened. But it was somehow vexing that he wouldn’t say a word even after something like that. It was absurd that someone had dared to touch a body he was currently using, and Munpyeong’s staunch silence was equally unamusing.

`If he had just complained a little, as if to be endearing, he could have vented his anger. The dense fool.`

Clicking his tongue, Cheonma lifted Munpyeong’s chin with his fingers. Munpyeong did not resist, silently raising his head to look at him.

“Even if a weed isn’t cared for, it’s the owner who gets angry when someone else plucks it. I am not accustomed to others' hands touching my things. I will let it go this time, but it must not happen again. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand.”

“If you don't want to see me chasing after dogs, you'd better behave. Where in the world can you get something without effort?”

Cheonma, having read Munpyeong's intentions clearly, said with a smile.

When Munpyeong couldn't say anything, Cheonma’s hand reached out again and violated his body. Munpyeong silently bit his bloodied lip and surrendered to Cheonma’s embrace.

Cheonma's words about not liking others touching his things seemed to have been the plain truth.

Munpyeong shuddered lowly, thinking of the unusually long and persistent lovemaking that followed. Cheonma was naturally vigorous, but he had never drained him as much as he did today.

He didn't insert easily, instead teasing and caressing him from head to toe, even licking his genitals and anus. He licked between the delicate folds of his skin and bit and sucked the thin membrane of his testicles until they flushed a rosy red.

Even when Munpyeong, unable to bear it any longer, cried and begged with his legs spread, he refused to enter, and in the end, he finished without inserting at all.

One might think that lovemaking without penetration would be less taxing on the body, but that was a huge mistake. A lightning-like tremor ran through every nerve ending deep within his skin. Munpyeong, exhausted from the pleasure, couldn't even sit up straight afterward.

He had to lie in Cheonma's bed for a while to recover, but his fingertips still tingled, and an uncomfortable lump sat in his stomach. Even without penetration, he had climaxed three times, so it was no wonder he was exhausted.

And that wasn't the only atrocity Cheonma had committed. Recently, he had been considerate enough not to leave marks in visible places, but today, he had deliberately left a huge mark on his neck. And not on the part closer to the shoulder that could be hidden by a collar, but right next to his Adam's apple, a place anyone with eyes could see. The dark purple bruise was no ordinary thing and didn't look like it would fade in a day or two.

`I’ll probably have to walk around like this for a while.`

Depressed, Munpyeong walked with his head bowed.

The stares of passersby felt like sharp needles. They had always been frequent, but now with a large hickey on his neck, their gazes felt even more blatant.

In their eyes, he must look like he had the words ‘male favorite’ written in large letters on his forehead.

`It’s over, Seok Munpyeong. The whole town knows.`

Munpyeong thought with a miserable, self-deprecating feeling. He wondered how he would ever show his face if his relationship with Cheonma ever ended.

Rumors would surely fly about how he had finally lost favor. Then, even the people who didn't dare speak to him directly now for fear of Cheonma would laugh in his face.

`I’m not some courtesan. What kind of treatment is this?`

The absurdity of his situation made Munpyeong just sigh. It was ridiculous, but it was true. Once the rumor that he was Cheonma's male favorite started, the people of the Demonic Cult looked at him as if their respectable elder had suddenly gone blind with lust and brought home some common courtesan.

`What did he do to make our Lord fall for him so hard? The worthless thing must be good at his coquettish tricks.`

The gazes of the people who looked at him were full of displeasure, as if a vile creature had brazenly taken over a place it didn't belong.

The people who looked at him with disdain seemed to believe that he was the cause of all this. The fact that he was an outsider, a rolling stone from outside the Cult, seemed to have worked against him. There was no one in the Inner Hall who looked at him with favor.

Honestly, Munpyeong felt wronged. If he had seduced him because he wanted to, as they believed, he wouldn't be feeling this way.

He had resisted, but the man had kept pushing, so he had reluctantly given in. Once he had given in, he couldn't refuse a second time and had been swept along. To be insulted for that, called vile and ‘Male Daji,’ was an injustice he couldn't bear.

Sometimes he wanted to scream that it was just bad luck that it was him, and that it could have easily been one of them. Not that the people of the Demonic Cult, with their devout worship of Cheonma, would believe him.

`If you love Cheonma so much, why don't you offer your bodies? I’d be grateful if you did. It would at least free me from this reluctant predicament.`

If they looked at him with disdain, he would look back with disdain. He had done nothing wrong, why should he suffer? With a conscience clearer and more confident than ever, Munpyeong tried not to be intimidated by the gazes directed at him.

When he felt his shoulders slump under their strange gazes, he would deliberately straighten his back and lift his bowed head high. The murmurs grew louder, but he didn't care. They were cowards who couldn't say anything to his face anyway.

Munpyeong walked through the gauntlet of gazes and arrived at his quarters. A month had passed since he entered the Inner Hall, but he still had no one to greet. His quarters were, as always, lonely. On quiet nights, he sometimes couldn't sleep and even missed the sound of Choi Wi-myeong's snoring.

His only wish was for this tiresome mission to end quickly so he could return to the Outer Hall.

“Seok-hyung.”

`Gasp. What a shock.`

Munpyeong, who was about to close the door to his room in a gloomy mood, was startled by a sudden voice from behind and turned his head. A figure emerged from the shadows beside his bed. It was a young man with a handsome face and intelligent eyes—Im Hak.

“What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

Munpyeong, staring at him with wide, startled eyes, quickly finished closing the door. The warriors of the Inner Hall were proud and had a strong sense of superiority, and they didn't like the warriors of the Outer Hall. Furthermore, since Outer Hall warriors were forbidden from entering the Inner Hall, Im Hak would be in trouble if he were discovered.

“I told you not to come looking for me until I returned. Why are you here again?”

Munpyeong scolded Im Hak in a low voice. He knew Im Hak wasn't someone who would come without a reason, but he was worried about him taking such a risk. Last time it had at least been the middle of the night, but now it was only evening.

It was the time when warriors were returning to their quarters after finishing their duties, the busiest time of day. He had no idea what had possessed the boy to come here at this hour.

“It’s alright. I borrowed the uniform of an Inner Hall warrior, so no one would have paid me any mind.”

Looking closely, he saw that Im Hak was indeed wearing the uniform of an Inner Hall warrior. Judging by the three jewels symbolizing Indra's Net embroidered on his right chest, it was probably the uniform of a warrior from the Hall of Law.

“It seems you prepared well… Alright. What is it? What on earth happened that you had to go to such lengths to come here?”

Munpyeong looked at the uniform with a complicated feeling and sighed. It wouldn't have been easy for an Outer Hall warrior like him to obtain the uniform of an Inner Hall warrior. If he had gone to such lengths, he must have had a very important reason to see him.

The boy was thoughtful; he wouldn't have come all this way without a good reason. Thinking this, scolding him further seemed meaningless.

“...Seok-hyung.”

Im Hak looked at Munpyeong with deep, unreadable eyes. Munpyeong felt that his gaze was strangely dark and heavy.

`What is it? Why is he looking at me like that?`

For a moment, he couldn't understand the meaning of his gaze, but then he realized where his eyes were directed and his face turned deathly pale. He hastily raised a hand to cover his neck. His undisguised distress was clearly visible to Im Hak.

“Ha, Hak-ah…”

“That mark. Who made it?”

Just from the pale, stricken look on Munpyeong's face, Im Hak felt he could understand everything. But still not wanting to believe it, he forced himself to ask, to press him.

Hearing his question, Munpyeong’s eyes darted around frantically. He couldn't say a word, only stare at Im Hak’s face.

“Hyung-nim.”

Im Hak’s neat face twisted in sorrow. Seeing the clear distress on the usually calm boy’s face, Munpyeong instantly understood why he had come.

“You… you know everything, don't you? You came to confirm it.”

Munpyeong muttered, more a groan than words. He had thought he wouldn't care what people who didn't know the situation said, but now that he knew the rumor had reached Im Hak, his mind went blank.

If Im Hak had heard, then everyone else must have heard too. They were people who loved to gossip, why wouldn't they? He had known rumors about himself were circulating, but he hadn't thought about how it would affect them. The thought made the ground beneath him feel like it was crumbling away in despair.

`They all know? They all heard?`

The faces of his friends flashed before his eyes, which were seeing flashing white spots. The ever-reliable and kind eldest, Ak Hyung-dae; his cheerful, joking friend Choi Wi-myeong; and his younger but calm and dependable brother, Im Hak.

They were the first friends he had ever had, the first semblance of a family. The thought that his naked shame might have been exposed to them was a humiliation he couldn't bear.

Stunned speechless. That was the only way to describe it. The blood drained from Munpyeong’s face so quickly he suspected it was all pooling at his feet. He swayed as if he would collapse at any moment.

Alarmed, Im Hak rushed forward to support him. But Munpyeong stumbled back, out of his reach. It was the movement of a child fleeing something terrifying.

“Do they… do they all know?”

Realizing what Munpyeong was worried about, Im Hak quickly tried to reassure him.

“No. They don't know yet. Choi-hyung heard something, but I made sure he kept it quiet. You know how it is. It's not common for rumors from the Inner Hall to reach the Outer Hall. Ak-hyung doesn't know, and the others haven't heard either.”

“...Really?”

It was a small mercy, but Munpyeong’s expression didn't lighten. He knew this was only the current situation, and it wouldn't last.

Rumors would eventually get out. You can dam a river, but there is nothing that can stop a rumor that flows from mouth to mouth. Hadn't the rumor already escaped the high walls of the Thunder Palace? The walls of the Inner Hall, no matter how high, were not higher than those of the Thunder Palace.

Munpyeong closed his eyes in despair. His closed eyelids trembled faintly.

Munpyeong’s face was so horribly twisted that Im Hak began to feel he had made a mistake. He had come because it seemed the rumors were more than just rumors, and he wanted to help if he could. But seeing Munpyeong so hurt by the mere fact that he knew, he felt his own shortsightedness.

It was a sensitive matter he shouldn't have touched so carelessly. In his haste to show his concern, he hadn't considered how the person himself would feel.

“Seok-hyung.”

Im Hak called to Munpyeong with a heavy heart. He hesitated for a moment, afraid of saying the wrong thing again, but he couldn't bear to see Munpyeong suffering so much and spoke again.

“I know what you're thinking right now. But please don't think of it that way. You can trust me, trust us, more. We won't change because of something like this.”

If he could, he would have taken his trembling hand and held it tight. If he could, he would have held him in his arms. But since Munpyeong was rejecting all physical contact, Im Hak could only express his feelings with words.

“Whatever happened to you, it doesn't matter. You don't have to explain the reasons or circumstances of what you went through. You seem to be worried about us, but even if others find out one day, no one will blame you. No one will see you any differently than before. If we were the kind of friends to grow distant over something like this, we couldn't have called each other friends in the first place. If you are our friend, then we are your friends too. Please, don't worry about us.”

What had happened to Munpyeong was certainly a shameful thing for a martial artist. He wasn't a helpless woman or a scholar who knew no martial arts. The fact that he had been helplessly violated and toyed with without any resistance was a merciless punishment that could shatter a warrior's pride.

A warrior who takes up the sword in the Jianghu must take responsibility for himself with the sword. Unsympathetic people might criticize Munpyeong for choosing to survive without resistance instead of choosing death as a warrior.

But Im Hak didn't think that way. He thought it was a relief that Munpyeong had wisely submitted. Because he submitted, he survived. Because he survived, he could at least feel pain.

For his sake, and for the sake of his worried friends, he was grateful that he hadn't resisted. There would have been no greater pain than to lose a friend without even knowing how. If he had lost Munpyeong that way, Im Hak might not have been able to maintain his loyalty to the Demonic Cult.

“I’m ashamed to face you.”

Munpyeong buried his face in his pale hands and muttered. He knew Im Hak was speaking from the heart. He was grateful, and because of that, he was even more ashamed.

He had told himself he gave in because he couldn't win, but he knew the truth. What he did was a compromise for the sake of comfort. He was afraid of being hunted, terrified of being threatened, so he chose to be devoured.

He had submitted his body to something he didn't want and made the excuse that he had no choice. Because his opponent was Cheonma. Because it was easier to lose to him than to win. ...The excuses were endless.

Im Hak looked at Munpyeong, who stared at him with a forlorn expression before falling silent after that one phrase, and let out a low sigh. Then he quietly shook his head and said:

“You can be like that in front of others, but not in front of me. It feels strange and disappointing.”

“Hak-ah.”

“No, even in front of others, don't be ashamed. What is there to be ashamed of? You didn't kill an innocent person, or rape a child. And look who your opponent was. Who would dare defend their honor against him? Those people who are mocking you, calling you a male favorite? Ha. If Cheonma went to them and made the same demand, do you think they could refuse him?”

Was he trying to comfort Munpyeong's wounded heart? Im Hak's reply was clearly biased in his favor. His informal tone and open criticism made him sound like a younger brother defending his wronged older brother.

He was a young brother, but he was deep. Grateful that he wasn't ashamed of a brother like him and was looking out for him, Munpyeong managed a faint smile. He didn't feel like smiling in his turbulent state of mind, but he wanted to show a smiling face. He didn't want Im Hak to worry about him any longer.

“I think that sometimes too. If I see a handsome one among those who mock me, I feel like dragging him before the Lord.”

Munpyeong said in a dry voice, attempting a joke. He didn't want to show a side that was ashamed and hiding. He wanted to pretend to be enduring with dignity. He was already a pathetic older brother; he didn't want to appear even more pathetic. So Munpyeong put on a little bravado.

“Why not? Why don't you do it?”

“I really wanted to, but they can't say a word to my face and just run away. They run so fast I can't catch them.”

It was a relief that he still had some bravado left. Munpyeong thought, seeing a faint smile appear on Im Hak's face as well. That smile wasn't from the heart either, but at least they were both making something like a smile, which made it easier to maintain his composure. If he had broken down and cried in front of Im Hak, it would have been hard to pull himself together afterward.

“...I really just came because I was worried. The last time I saw you, I knew you had something to say to me, but I just left. It’s been bothering me.”

“I know. I know your heart. Thank you, Hak-ah.”

They say true feelings connect. Munpyeong felt his heart gradually calming down at Im Hak's unwavering attitude. He reached out and gently took Im Hak's hand.

His dry hand grasped Im Hak's firm one. A rough, calloused warrior's hand, different from Cheonma's silky smooth one. The honesty he felt from that hand warmed his heart.

He squeezed the hand once and let go, expressing his unspoken gratitude.

“You should go now. It’s dangerous to stay too long.”

“Is it okay for me to just see you and go? Is there anything I can do to help…?”

As he, having recovered some of his composure, tried to send Im Hak away, Im Hak hesitated and asked if there was anything he could do to help. Finding his heart both admirable and a little reckless, Munpyeong slapped his shoulder.

“You brat. You think you’re some great figure, don't you? If it was something that could be solved with your help, I would have handled it myself. We’re both powerless underlings, what’s with this bravado? Go back and make sure the others keep quiet. So that I have a place to lean on when I get back.”

He had hit him hard, so it must have hurt, but Im Hak only frowned. `Good kid.` Ruffling Im Hak's hair, Munpyeong opened the door to send him out.

Or rather, he tried to.

Before his hand could touch the door, it opened on its own. Munpyeong, looking up in surprise at the unexpected event, froze, his eyes widening as he saw who had entered.

`H-how did he get here?`

Munpyeong was so stunned he forgot to even bow and stumbled backward.

Im Hak was just as pale-faced upon identifying the person, but he reacted faster than Munpyeong. He hastily dropped to his knees, offering the deepest bow to the master he was seeing in person for the first time in his life.

“I greet the glorious Lord, Cheonma.”

As the greeting indicated, the person who had come to see Munpyeong was none other than the Lord of the Demonic Cult, Cheonma himself.

“Is this the ‘dog’?”

Cheonma, his eyes narrowed as he looked down at the bowing Im Hak, asked Munpyeong abruptly. Still unable to process the sudden appearance of his opponent, Munpyeong asked in a dazed voice:

“Pardon?”

“I’m asking if this is the dog that nibbled on my grass.”

Munpyeong finally managed to understand what Cheonma was saying. But he still didn't quite understand why he was asking.

`Wasn't that matter already over? He told me to make sure it never happened again, I agreed, and we even finished that punishingly long tryst. The score should be settled, right?`

But it seemed Munpyeong was the only one who thought the score was settled. Cheonma, with a cold sneer that could freeze ice, said:

“I came because I thought I should see the face of the dog that nibbled on my grass. I need to know who dared to disturb my garden and get away with it, which wretched mutt did such a thing.”

…Cheonma held quite a grudge.

Dressed as usual in a black robe, he was not a person who belonged in a common warrior's narrow room. His presence was so immense that the small room felt packed to the point of bursting. An overwhelming aura that seemed to have a physical density.

It was perhaps natural that Im Hak, facing such an aura for the first time in his life, was too terrified to even lift his head.

Munpyeong, on the other hand, was different. Had he built up a tolerance from his time with Cheonma? He focused not on his aura, but on the purpose of his visit.

“No, why are you bringing this up again? It’s over. There’s no need to do this now.”

Feeling a dizzying vertigo, Munpyeong tried to placate Cheonma. Initially just shocked by Cheonma’s personal visit to his room, Munpyeong was even more horrified when he learned the reason for it.

“Is that what you think? My thoughts are a little different.”

Despite Munpyeong’s earnest pleas, Cheonma’s stubbornness did not yield. He had seemed indifferent before, why was he acting like this now? Munpyeong couldn't understand his fickle mind.

He didn't know that Cheonma’s mood had started to sour the very moment he himself had thought it was over. He didn't know that the decisive reason for his bad mood was his own attitude, that the annoyed Heavenly Demon had made him writhe with a persistent caress, and that, still not satisfied, he had sent him away only to pace around and finally come rushing over.

“After sending you away, I thought about it, and it wasn't you who was insulted. When I really think about it, the one he was trying to slight was not you, but me.”

`Slight? What slight? Do you think you’re some kind of emperor?`

Munpyeong grumbled to himself, displeased with the exaggerated way he was blowing up what had happened to him, but in truth, Cheonma wasn't entirely wrong. In the Demonic Cult, Cheonma was more than an emperor. If he referred to himself with the royal ‘I,’ no one would think it improper.

“What do you mean by that?”

“There’s a saying that you should know the master before you hit the dog. That dog bit the wrong grass, grass that had a master.”

The ‘my garden’ argument reappeared. Munpyeong patiently pointed out the fact he was ignoring.

“It’s a weed.”

“The weed isn’t what’s important. What’s important is who’s raising the weed. If the peaches the Monkey King ate weren't raised by the Queen Mother of the West, would he have been punished? If you touch someone’s property, you should be prepared to face the owner.”

Cheonma said with a cold smile. The gist of it was that he was annoyed and offended that someone else had dared to touch a man he was using.

Munpyeong, who had suddenly become the Queen Mother’s celestial peach, was speechless. He was well aware of the man’s sky-high pride, but to be so incensed over something like this, to the point of being unable to tolerate it, was simply overwhelming. Even with his social standing and dignity as the Lord, did he really have to act like a child squabbling?

Cheonma would feel relieved once he had vented his anger, but Munpyeong already felt a headache coming on.

The very fact that Cheonma himself had graced the common warriors' quarters was a major event. The reason for his visit being to find out who had touched the man rumored to be his male favorite was even more shocking. If this rumor spread, he would be irrevocably branded as the Male Daji.

He was already being called a vile creature who bewitched a great man. What more did he want people to say about him?

“So I’ll ask again. Is it this one? The one who nibbled on my grass?”

Im Hak, who had been too stunned by Cheonma’s sudden appearance and too confused by the incomprehensible metaphors of dogs, grass, and peaches to understand what the two were talking about, flinched in surprise when Cheonma pointed directly at him.

Like villagers who feel anxious before a magistrate even without having committed a crime, Im Hak felt a baseless anxiety under Cheonma’s icy glare.

“No, it’s not him. This is a junior I knew from the Outer Hall. He came to deliver a message.”

When Cheonma's arrow flew toward Im Hak, Munpyeong hastily defended him.

“A warrior from the Outer Hall, so why is he wearing the uniform of the Hall of Law?”

“It is forbidden for Outer Hall warriors to enter the Inner Hall without permission… I apologize.”

Unable to let Im Hak be turned into the ‘dog,’ Munpyeong rushed to speak and inadvertently confessed Im Hak’s transgression to Cheonma. He realized his mistake as soon as the words left his mouth, but it was too late. Having tattled on Im Hak with his own mouth, Munpyeong was in a predicament.

How could he fix this? As the flustered Munpyeong belatedly added an apology, Cheonma didn't seem to be listening.

“So it’s not him, you say?”

What should he do? Should he fall to his knees and beg? Should he plead with tears? As Munpyeong frantically considered various ways to save Im Hak’s life, he was surprised by Cheonma's lack of comment on Im Hak’s crime. When Munpyeong looked at him with suspicion, Cheonma urged him to speak.

`He’s… not going to blame him?`

After a moment of gauging the situation, Munpyeong, seeing that Cheonma remained silent about Im Hak’s transgression, quickly changed his attitude. It seemed he was too preoccupied with other thoughts to notice the illegality of Im Hak's action. In that case, it was better to just pretend he didn’t know either.

“Of course it’s not him. And I have no intention of telling you the dog's name. Please leave the affairs of the lower ranks to be settled among ourselves. I fear it might tarnish your great dignity.”

Munpyeong, composing his flustered expression, played dumb and answered Cheonma. If he tattled on the man, he would truly be unable to stay in the Demonic Cult, so he was desperate.

“If you tell me, I'll send this boy back with his clothes on. If you don't, I'll send him back naked.”

Seeing Munpyeong’s continued resistance, Cheonma said nonchalantly. Munpyeong’s face turned pale at the threat to send an innocent man back naked. He had received many threats from Cheonma, but never one as absurd as this.

“...Pardon?”

“Whatever implicit rules you may have, there is no rule in the Cult that forbids Outer Hall warriors from entering the Inner Hall. However, wearing the uniform with the insignia of one's affiliated hall is a measure to prevent spies from infiltrating the Cult. The law forbids a warrior from wearing an insignia that does not belong to his own hall. This one is not a spy, so I won't drag him to the Hall of Law, but since he wore clothes he shouldn't have, it's only right to make him take them off.”

The law Cheonma spoke of was the exact opposite of what Munpyeong knew. It was unlikely the Lord would be mistaken about the Cult’s laws, so it was probably Munpyeong and Im Hak who were mistaken. But even so, the threat was too cunning. The distance from here to the Outer Hall was considerable. To send him back naked over that distance? He wasn't a three-year-old who could run around with his bottom bare, but a grown, proud warrior.

This was no different from telling Im Hak to hang himself.

“What will it be? As always, I will give you a choice. Will you send this boy out naked, or will you tell me the dog’s name?”

As always, he presented a choice that was no choice at all.

“My Lord.”

“Shall I tell you one more thing to make your choice easier? If I ask one more time and you still refuse to answer, I will go outside and summon all the warriors of the Inner Hall. And I will go to each and every one of them and kindly ask, ‘Did you nibble on my grass?’, until I find the dog. If you really want to see that spectacle, you can continue to remain silent.”

Cheonma’s tone suggested he really didn't mind doing it. But just hearing the words made Munpyeong's face turn pale.

If Cheonma did as he said, the one witness he feared would become hundreds. To think that Cheonma would go around asking oblivious warriors, ‘Did you touch my male favorite?’… It was a declaration that he didn't care about dignity or anything else.

“I-I don’t know his name.”

The bleak scene, which he tried not to imagine, unfolded before his eyes, and Munpyeong had no choice but to tell the truth. Hearing his words, Cheonma’s eyebrows arched coldly. At that silent question, Munpyeong struggled to speak.

“Last night, I encountered him while I was bathing after returning to my quarters. He was very drunk and not in his right mind. He started a fight with me… I haven't been in the Inner Hall for long, so I don't know many people. I wouldn't know his name even if I saw his face.”

“But you know his face, is that it?”

“I would recognize him, but… please, just don't tell me to identify him by checking every single person.”

Horrified by Cheonma's tone, which suggested he would do just that to find the culprit, Munpyeong practically begged.

“Why?”

“He bit my neck, so I dislocated his shoulder and arm joints and kicked him in the stomach. He probably shit blood today. That’s more than enough punishment. If you get involved, I won't be able to show my face.”

Cheonma’s brow furrowed at this new piece of information he hadn't heard before. Dislocated his shoulder and arm joints and kicked him in the stomach?

So. He didn’t just take it meekly.

“Well done.”

Cheonma was still displeased that someone had dared to slight him, but hearing that Munpyeong had beaten the man half to death improved his mood slightly.

“A dog like that should be beaten. It’s fine to beat him to death.”

The person who would be the first to be beaten to death if he followed his own words spoke with great confidence.

“Yes.”

Munpyeong, relieved that the situation seemed to be resolving, replied. If he had known it would be resolved this way, he would have told him about the beating earlier. He felt the tension leave his shoulders, thinking he had wasted time arguing over the wrong thing.

“If you had told me earlier, it wouldn't have been so troublesome.”

Cheonma seemed to think the same, clicking his tongue and blaming Munpyeong.

`Do you think I’d be so docile with just anyone? It was only because it was you that I had to endure it.`

Munpyeong thought with a bitter smile, but as usual, he couldn't voice such thoughts to Cheonma.

“I am returning.”

Having concluded the matter anticlimactically, Cheonma brushed off his sleeves and said. Im Hak, who had been watching like a mute, hastily stood up, and Munpyeong, who had forgotten to bow when Cheonma entered, did not forget this time.

Munpyeong thought the matter was finally resolved. Though words had been exchanged again, it was over now. He wouldn't have to speak to Cheonma about this again.

He was right in a way. Cheonma never mentioned it to Munpyeong again. Because there was no longer any need to speak to Munpyeong about it.

“Did you hear?”

Cheonma asked in a low voice as he walked down the corridor from Munpyeong's room. As he appeared, startled warriors dropped to their knees one after another, bowing. Walking over the wave of human bows that fell in his path, Cheonma spoke as if to himself.

“He’s the one who was drunk last night and had his arm and shoulder joints dislocated. Find him and deal with him.”

His voice was low, and it seemed no one heard him. No reply came from the empty air.

But Cheonma knew that his order would be carried out precisely.