The Hand Behind the Board

As they emerged from the gloomy mouth of the Valley of Lost Souls, sunlight that stung the eyes and the fresh scent of living earth burrowed deep into Ouyang ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Qiangang's lungs. After more than half a day of blood-stink and dust assailing his nostrils, the simple act of breathing the air of the living world seemed to loosen the knot of tension inside him at last. The sun already hung at its zenith.

Suppressing the fatigue that weighed on every inch of his body, Ouyang Qiangang pressed on. The bloody duel with the Death Spirit Demon Lord and the rampage of his Nine Yin Severed Meridians had drained him badly, though thanks to his absorption of the fifth great acupoint, his body was actually in better condition than before. The three of them found the horses tethered before Ghost Valley Village, mounted up, and set off southward without a word.

Clip-clop... clip-clop...

Surrendering themselves to the rhythm of the horses, the three rode in silence, each burdened with his own thoughts. Ouyang Qiangang was looking back over his martial arts, the blood-soaked fight with the Death Spirit Demon Lord, and the changes in his Nine Yin Severed Meridians.

It looks like I'll be able to deal with the four remaining great acupoints soon enough.

Though the Death Spirit Demon Lord had slipped through his fingers, discovering that the Nine Yin Severed Meridians could be treated far sooner than expected was a harvest in itself. At the same time, his curiosity about the aims of the Death Spirit Demon Lord and the Death Spirit Blood Cult only deepened. The landscape of the murim was far more tangled and dangerous than he had imagined.

Han Jo, for his part, was sorting out in his head what to report to the palace. This affair was no mere bandit raid; it was a conspiracy laced with the influence of a colossal demonic sect that had made its name in the Great Righteous-Demonic War of the old days, and there was no telling how the Emperor would take it. Pung So-cheong, too, was calculating the shockwaves the incident would send through the murim. The cult's revival would surely rock the orthodox sects to their core. The Hao Sect would need contingencies of its own.

Toward evening, the party reached a small village a hundred-odd li from the Valley of Lost Souls and sought out an inn. Pung So-cheong glanced back at the gathering dark, unease in her eyes.

"Don't you think they might come after us?"

"I doubt you need to worry. With Hwayang Jin'in on their trail, they won't do anything careless enough to leave their tails exposed."

At his confident reply, Pung So-cheong and Han Jo both relaxed. The party rented an entire annex from the innkeeper. It was safer ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠than mingling with the other guests, and above all it let them speak freely. For now, they agreed to rest in their separate rooms; the brutal fighting and the strain had worn them all down.

In his room in the annex, after an hour of circulating his energy through the Transcendent Formless Divine Art, Ouyang Qiangang opened his eyes. The fatigue was gone entirely. The internal energy he had absorbed from the Death Spirit Demon Lord and the ultimate yin qi of the Nine Yin Severed Meridians had settled into harmony with his own true qi, and in his dantian a reservoir of power incomparably vaster than before surged like a deep blue sea.

Akasha, analyze my current internal energy level.

Listening to the report, Ouyang Qiangang took stock of how far he had come. Forty years' worth of internal energy was no small advance.

And yet he was not satisfied.

His bones were harder than dark iron. Even my Gale Flash Lightning Palm and Gale Nine Shadow Palm, thrown with everything I had, couldn't put a fatal wound in him. I confirmed the Divine Venerable Sword could cut, but at this level of skill... I can't promise myself victory if we meet again.

Martial arts that had grown stronger yet still fell short, the transformation of the Nine Yin Severed Meridians, the Dark Current's conspiracy winding its way to the Death Spirit Blood Cult, and beneath it all his worry for his clan and family: Ouyang Qiangang's mind was as tangled as a knotted skein of thread.

What in the world is the Dark Current?

The Empress's cold eyes and the horrific Death Spirit Blood God Ritual he had witnessed beneath the Valley of Lost Souls flashed across his mind. These were people who played the imperial house like pieces on a board and offered up thousands upon thousands of the living as sacrifices. It was the Emperor's request, yes, but if he waded any deeper into this affair there was no telling where it would end. He could not even see the bottom of it.

And that was not the whole of it. The confidence he had built refining the seven martial arts at Yeomga Manor had shattered to pieces before the Death Spirit Demon Lord's overwhelming skill. That confidence, it turned out, had been nothing more than a greenhorn's arrogant fantasy, spun by a man who had never truly known the murim.

The murim has far too many monsters in it.

The Death Spirit Demon Lord, to say nothing of the pressure with which Sword Absolute Hwayang Jin'in had shaken space itself with a single unfolding of his domain. As he stood now, he could promise victory against none of them.

Now that I've confirmed true qi can effectively suppress the ultimate yin qi of the Nine Yin Severed Meridians, the first thing I must do is...

Clenching his fist, he let out a long, quiet breath and looked out the window. The moon riding the night sky felt unusually cold.

This won't do. Like this, I can't protect my family, my comrades, or even myself. I have to become stronger. Everything else comes second.

The martial arts he had refined at Yeomga Manor were powerful, certainly, but before the truly strong they ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠were still wanting. The Emperor's commission and the salt trade mattered, yet the precondition for all of it was overwhelming force. He had to be stronger. The tangled skein came undone at last, and a single path sharpened into view. He had his answer.

Ouyang Qiangang surfaced from his long reverie, called for Han Jo in the next room, and when the man entered with his usual expressionless face, he spoke.

"Vice Envoy Han, at first light tomorrow, go to the palace, request an audience with His Majesty, and convey my intentions."

"What shall I report?"

"Tell His Majesty that I am suspending his commission for the time being."

Startled, the skin between Han Jo's brows twitched almost imperceptibly, and Ouyang Qiangang went on.

"You went through it yourself beneath the Valley of Lost Souls, Vice Envoy Han. The Dark Current's power is immense. Hunting them with the strength we have now would be little better than suicide."

The memory of the Death Spirit Demon Lord and the jiangshi's horrific power rose in Han Jo's mind, and a low groan escaped him. He could not argue.

"I regret disappointing His Majesty, but carrying out the mission with my strength still incomplete could ruin the greater enterprise instead. I need time, time to build the power to hold back a far greater threat and tear the Dark Current out by its roots. Please tell His Majesty that this is, in truth, the best choice for him."

It was no declaration of abandonment. It was a bold bargain struck toward the Emperor: time demanded as collateral for a more certain victory.

Han Jo asked, "And this power you need... how long do you expect it to take, Young Master?"

"Three years at the outside."

Han Jo was struck speechless for a moment, barely swallowing the question that rose to his lips: is that even possible in three years? To claim he would stand against a Transformation Realm master of the Death Spirit Demon Lord's caliber within three years was a boast no martial artist alive would credit. And yet, having seen the man's martial skill and cunning with his own eyes, Han Jo could not bring himself to doubt it. He knew the man before him could not be measured by common sense.

Ouyang Qiangang continued, "The Azure Heaven Murim Alliance will be hunting them as well, so those three years won't be an empty gap."

"You intend to work with the Murim Alliance once your martial arts are complete?"

"I'll know when I get there. But if it's a matter of standing against the Dark Current, couldn't I join hands with anyone at all, the Murim Alliance included?"

"Understood. I will convey it to His Majesty exactly as you have said."

Han Jo bowed with perfect formality and withdrew. Left alone, Ouyang Qiangang's gaze sank deep.

Three years...

He had given Han Jo a generous figure on purpose. Rash expectations bred watchfulness, and growth beyond all common sense would only invite suspicion he did not need. But time ran differently for him with Akasha at his side than it did for ordinary men.

One year. Within that year, I take hold of the power to overwhelm everything.

It was at that very moment that a subtle energy brushed against his senses, familiar and strange at once. It carried no killing intent, and yet something in it felt as though it were calling his name.

This energy... where have I felt it before?

Ouyang Qiangang hesitated. It could be a trap. And yet the energy held a strange intimacy, like the voice of an old friend.

Let's have a look, then.

Unfolding the Phantom Shadowless Divine Art, he slipped from his room. Han Jo and Pung So-cheong were Peak masters both, but neither would catch so much as a whisper of his leaving. Kicking off the inn's roof and melting into the curtain of night, he ran the art toward the southwest of Huangdu, following where the energy led. Rooftops swept past beneath his feet.

Perhaps a dozen li on, a quiet hill asleep under the moonlight rose before him. It stood some two hundred jang high, thick with trees great and small, yet mysteriously not a breath of wind moved anywhere on it, only a perfect, ringing stillness. Without hesitation, Ouyang Qiangang entered the hill, and at its summit a clearing some ten-odd jang across opened before him.

But he already knew. The one who had called him was here. Just as he expected, someone sat atop a boulder at the clearing's edge. The moonlight fell on the figure's back, hiding the face, but mystery rolled off the silhouette in waves.

As Ouyang Qiangang drew one step closer, the figure slowly turned his head.

"...Senior Brother Cheon?"

Surprise spilled from Ouyang Qiangang's lips. The man smiling back at him was Cheon Un-gi, the same enigmatic wanderer he had met on the road to Huangdu months before.

Cheon Un-gi smiled. "It's been a while, Young Master Hahu."

"Was this your doing, Senior Brother Cheon?" The question came out of nowhere, but there was no doubt in his voice.

Cheon Un-gi blinked, plainly intrigued. "And what is it you think I've done?"

"Putting the iron fan marked with the tailless serpent tattoo into the Ghost Valley Village chief's hand."

Ouyang Qiangang thought he saw it: a flicker, so faint it barely existed, in Cheon Un-gi's eyes. In pupils that had always been as still as the abyss, it was as if the smallest ripple had risen and died.

Was that my imagination?

He could not swear to it, but it felt like the first crack he had ever glimpsed in the man. Cheon Un-gi recovered his composure at once and smacked his lips.

"Haha, what an amusing fancy. And why would you think it was my doing?"

"The very premise was too flimsy: that the Death Spirit Blood Cult, having annihilated Ghost Valley Village, would let their sacred object slip into the hands of a man who knew no martial arts. Unless someone deliberately placed that iron fan in his hand, such a thing could never have happened."

"A fair argument. But isn't it rather a leap to say the one who did it was me?"

Ouyang Qiangang nodded readily. "It is a leap."

"Hm..." At his composure, Cheon Un-gi's gaze only deepened.

"And yet I am certain of it."

"On what grounds?"

"This entire board could only have been laid by someone who sees through my nature and my abilities to the very bone. And the only person ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠who has ever looked into me that deeply, Senior Brother Cheon, is you." Ouyang Qiangang smiled and went on. "I've suspected it since Han Jo first told me of the iron fan. It seemed someone wanted me entangled in this affair."

Looking thoroughly entertained, Cheon Un-gi took a pull from his gourd. "Oh ho. Do go on."

"In Ghost Valley Village, someone let slip a lure only I could sense and drew me toward the Valley of Lost Souls, then dropped clues only I could untangle. Is it not only natural to conclude that all of this was aimed at me from the very start? Someone who knows me set this board. Of that there is no question."

"And that someone is me?"

"It is. The one who lays the board must, sooner or later, appear before me and reveal his purpose. And the one standing before me now is you, Senior Brother Cheon."

Silence held for a moment. Then Cheon Un-gi set his gourd down on the boulder and broke into vigorous applause.

Clap clap clap clap!

Genuine admiration lit his face. "Flawless!"