The Homeward Journey (1)
Among the top merchant groups in Sacheon, the Ten Great Merchant Groups stood out, but in truth, only the Three Great Merchant Groups truly deserved the title of great. The rest paled in comparison. One might think it sensible for the Three Greats to absorb and consolidate the others, but the world wasn't so straightforward.
Competition raged even among mid- and small-sized groups—what made the great ones any different? They seemed preoccupied with face and reputation, but beneath the surface, the rivalry burned far fiercer. The Three Great Merchant Groups of Sacheon had been locked in this struggle for ages, intertwined with the province's major sects: the Sacheon Tang Clan, the Ami Sect, and the Qingcheng Sect, which backed them.
Not wanting any one group to grow too dominant, the sects had propped up seven groups to keep each other in check. Yet none had abandoned their ambition to claim the throne of Sacheon's premier merchant house. They schemed to break through the restraints and seize control of the province's trade networks. Still, the entrenched power and prestige of the Three Greats remained unshakable.
This was partly because whenever one group surged ahead, the others banded together to sabotage it. To dodge such alliances, they'd covertly backed mid-tier groups, stoking competition until the weak were weeded out and merged into their own ranks.
"This is troubling."
"There's no direct evidence, so they can't pin anything on us."
"Evidence doesn't matter. The problem is giving them an opening."
"Then why not handle it so no rumors spread?"
"That would be as good as admitting guilt."
They'd incited rivalries among the Ten Greats to spark conflicts, skim profits, and consolidate power. For that, they'd favored the Hwajeong Merchant Group lavishly—not just with funds, but with backchannel deals to smooth ties with officials.
Yet not only had they failed to crush Jeokgeum Merchant Group; they'd been crushed in turn. Their reputation was plummeting. In this climate, any whisper of ties to Hwajeong would invite the others to pounce.
"It's just suspicion, but it's odd. It doesn't make sense for Jeokgeum's young master to have recruited the Red-White Twin Heroes. They might've pulled the same trick on us."
"Likely."
No rule said the others couldn't play dirty too. If one had backed Jeokgeum to challenge Hwajeong, the current mess made sense.
"If we uncover which group Jeokgeum's linked to, we can counterattack."
"Any ideas?"
"We'll spread rumors about Jeokgeum's young master. Warriors crave glory more than merchants do. If Jeokgeum can't handle it, won't someone like Tak Jung-il extend a hand?"
"Not bad. But they can't trace it back to us."
"Commission Nangcheon—they won't pinpoint us."
"Good. Excellent."
"I'll bring satisfying results soon."
To him, Hwajeong's failure meant little; it was just a disposable pawn. But the collapse of his own scheme was harder to swallow.
'And this unease... it's no trifle.'
Lately, his emotions swung wildly, irritatingly so. He felt unlike himself—impatient, somehow. Dismissing it as mere mood proved difficult amid recent setbacks. A smooth path had suddenly veered off course.
'What the hell is it?'
If only there were a clear cause, but this inexplicable disquiet choked him. He'd thought time would heal it, yet it bordered on obsession.
'I have to root them all out, one by one.'
That was his resolve. Fail to identify them, and the anxiety would devour him first.
Branch affairs wrapped up, but heading home was delayed; Mother's realm needed time to settle. She'd leaped not just from peak First-Rate Extreme to mere entry, but two full stages from mid-First-Rate Extreme to Hwagyeong.
The gulf between Transcendent and Hwagyeong was vast enough; adapting straight from mid-stage was no small feat. One might say delay it, but fixing flaws right after breakthrough prevented deeper entrenchment later. Habits formed young lasted to old age.
Realms weren't equal; Hwagyeong was supreme. Plenty reached Peak Expert, but Hwagyeong was rare even in the clan—top hundred in the entire martial world.
Of course, "top hundred" wasn't fixed at exactly one hundred; it symbolized revealed elites.
Cheon-woo read Mother's meditative flow and guided her path.
"Syncing with the world's myriad flows isn't enough. At Hwagyeong, you must forge your own self-sovereignty."
Ye-ui-seon-gyeol emphasized harmony with all phenomena, but Hwagyeong transcended singular paths. Directions held infinite grains. "All rivers return to the sea" implied unity, but obsession with one was folly—especially since cultivators were human, each with unique aptitudes.
The pinnacle birthed personal flows. No need to reject this; Daoist and Buddhist schools deemed it heart demons, but it was innate individuality. Unrefined, it birthed true demons and wrong paths; mastered, it evolved further—key to Absolute Realm.
Thus Absolute masters shone with unique traits. Now was critical. For some, Hwagyeong was an insurmountable wall; for others, a mere step. Mindset shaped the realm.
Those lingering in Hwagyeong without ascending failed to claim personal sovereignty at the threshold. Natural, really—overwhelmed by surging power, they basked in satisfaction.
Cheon-woo didn't blame such tendencies; he'd erred similarly in early regressions, delaying his own ascent.
"Attune to the primal voice within your heart. Don't view this other self solely as a heart demon—understand and embrace it."
Rejecting the primal birthed demons. Deny oneself, and Absolute Realm eluded you.
Imparting fragments of his eons of insight, Cheon-woo withdrew. He instructed the maids not to enter until Mother emerged herself.
"Faster this time."
He'd elevated her realm before, but never this swiftly post-Hwagyeong entry. He begrudged crediting Mu-myeong, yet her positive shift was undeniable.
"Awkward, but not bad."
No clear memory of long talks with Mother surfaced—distant past, blurred by time. The word "mom" clashed with dominance, embarrassingly resonant.
"Mercy, huh..."
Forty millennia of tempered Mireok Paedo left no cracks for sentiment. Goodwill aside, mercy toward malice was luxury. Only eradication minimized harm; ignoring small evils invited greater ones.
"Hard to accept."
Intellectually unconvincing, emotionally tougher. Habits terrified for this reason—once set, they didn't yield instantly.
Then—
Kraaack!
A scream pierced the courtyard. Common sense urged checking, but branch merchants shrugged it off. Cheon-woo ignored it too.
Shunned by all, those two were dead serious.
Thwack! Wobble!
For days, the courtyard hosted rank skirmishes. Only Cheon-gi fought desperately to escape "baby brother" status; Ga-bok pummeled gleefully.
"Why can't I hit you... urk!"
"'Cause you're slow. Didn't know?"
"Fuck, if I do banmal to the young master for real... guwek!"
"A man's word is heavier than gold."
Ga-bok's cunning matched Cheon-gi's. Their antics were spectacle—young master and servant any house would disown.
Yet superiority was clear. Ga-bok called him "young master" publicly, punching bag privately. Cheon-gi knew he feigned ignorance for plausible deniability, upholding form.
Brotherhood only in secret, per pact.
"Fuck! Fuck! Take a hit already!"
"I'd love to. But too slow!"
Ga-bok had reason: endless beatings from the eldest honed evasion instinct. Even willing hits auto-dodged.
'Nailed it!'
Ga-bok marveled at his flawless dodges. Cheon-gi's attacks telegraphed clearly—though sloppy, recent gains awed him.
"Planning to roam the jianghu with that skill? You're something."
"This bastard—now mocking me! Think you'll get away?!"
"Whaaat? Tell the young master? Ooh, scary!"
"Fuck! I'll kill you! Fuuuuck!!"
Ga-bok's taunts scratched pride at Hwagyeong level—mental assault a novice like Cheon-gi couldn't weather. Near sorcery.
Like master, like servant.
Splat!
Forward dash crossed advance precariously—victory by a hair. Cheon-gi couldn't bridge it.
That razor-edge gap maddens—too close for triumph, too far for surrender, gnawing life away. Yet such lives were commonplace.
"Cheon-gi, as your elder by a decade, advice: keep that up, you'll drop dead."
"...Just you wait!!"
Villainous vow from an aspiring hero. Ignoring realism hurt only him; days wouldn't close the gap—honestly, it widened hourly.
Huff! Desperate, Cheon-gi begged big brother for lessons.
"I can beat that punk!"
"I said my arts don't suit you."
"You teach the servant but not your brother? This how you be family?"
"No regrets?"
"None!!"
He could teach if asked. Suitability aside, Mother's synergy prompted recommendation. If he insisted on hardship, no dissuasion.
"Of course! The third young master's no genius, but stamina's top-notch. Under the young master's guidance, he'll surpass me soon!"
"...?"
Ga-bok's endorsement over encouragement bred odd unease in Cheon-gi—like stepping into forbidden ground.
Nod.
Cheon-woo's assent bloomed Ga-bok's face.
"A man's word is gold. Kekekeke!"
Ga-bok victory-posed. He'd trained diligently, hiding from Cheon-gi.
"I'll teach basics step-by-step—just trust and follow me!"
"...What kinda training is this?"
Ridiculous pose couldn't be legit—Ga-bok pranking at master's expense. That sly fox would.
"C'mon, branch tours make it fun. Kekeke!"
"...What the hell, you!"
Absurd training. Secret solo was bed-kicking material; public monkey act? Face mattered, even for future masters. Memorable stains forbidden.
Inner quarters beatings shamed privately, not flaunted.
"Hold."
Cheon-woo halted Ga-bok dragging Cheon-gi by the neck.
"Why, young master?"
"Big bro!"
Ga-bok puzzled, Cheon-gi relieved. Cheon-woo pointed at Ga-bok.
Keeping kin despite idiocy?
Ga-bok despaired at young master's blood-tied sentiment bending principles.
"Evasion training time."
"...Pardon?"
Aiding Mother skipped Ga-bok's sessions days. No tolerating dodge via Cheon-gi ploy.
"Pay back the easy rest in bulk."
"Who rested easy!!"
Bulk thrashing meant.
Thud! Kraak!
Servant pleas ignored. Cheon-woo struck; Ga-bok ate every blow—like his Cheon-gi bout.
Relative prowess was martial essence.
"Yes! Beat him, big bro!"
Cheon-gi, grudge-built, cheered vengeance.
Right, more!
Cheon-woo focused solely; cheers neither added nor subtracted. Sibling whims irrelevant—he acted decisively.
"Dulled."
"This is typhoon-level—where's dulled?!"
"Should've dodged Cheon-gi's with eyes shut."
"Eyes shut how?!"
"One arm suffices."
"I'm not that worthless!"
Cheon-gi, cheering, tilted head. Replay soured to self-loathing tsunami.
Ga-bok's flaws exposed, no catharsis.
'Bro, just curse me!'
Worse, it dawned: his turn next. Ga-bok's edge explained.
'Daily hell?'
Self-invited doom chilled. Escape now.
"Where to?"
Cheon-gi, rat in trap.
They departed the branch. Homeward loads didn't lighten. Mother and Cheon-gi added, plus Shaanxi specialties.
Trade was trial and expense; maximizing profit standard. Thus, great groups rarely self-escorted all routes—escort agencies filled gaps for fee.