A Favor
The vault holding the sect’s treasures was, as befitting a place of such importance, set a little apart behind the Main Hall like a small annex. Han Yuhyeon hadn’t even known where the vault was until now.
“First time I’ve been to the vault.”
“Only elders and above are allowed in, so of course you haven’t.”
Un Song-byeok had assigned them a guide, which the Inner Court disciples found odd at first. The vault was supposedly right behind the Main Hall — why bother giving them an escort? The guide, of all people, was a blind mortal.
The moment they reached the vault entrance, they understood. A formation of considerable complexity was laid over the place at a single glance.
“An excellent formation.”
“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard Junior Sister, of all people, sound this impressed by a formation.”
Jeong Cheon-o’s remark came on the heels of Im Su-weol’s awe. The sparkle in her eyes made it clear she had a deep interest in the art.
“You can tell just from the formation catalysts studded through it. The spiritual energy clinging to them is no joke. One wrong step and you’re done.”
At Im Su-weol’s warning, everyone snapped to full alertness.
Formation catalysts were mediators that strengthened an array. Artifacts or spirit stones were typically set into a formation, and their grade alone could tell you how advanced the array was. Han Yuhyeon hadn’t even managed to spot the catalysts, yet Im Su-weol had found them at once — so Jeong Cheon-o was right about her skill.
“A formation like this, and our guide is a mortal. That’s a little worrying.”
Hyeon Yong-gang murmured it under his breath. He had been shrinking into himself ever since they left the rear of the Main Hall; Im Su-weol’s warning only made him more rattled. For someone with such a manly name, he somehow only ever managed to look like the opposite.
“Please do not worry. I have been guiding people through this formation for nearly fifteen years now.”
The guide turned slowly as he spoke. His pupils were clouded white with blindness, lending him a faintly uncanny air — an old man who left a strange impression.
Hyeon Yong-gang had deliberately spoken low enough that the guide shouldn’t have heard. The fact that he had answered meant this was no ordinary mortal.
“You trained in martial arts?”
Han Yuhyeon asked in place of Hyeon Yong-gang, who was coughing awkwardly into his fist.
“So a cultivator recognizes the lowly martial arts of the Lower Realm. Yes. I am a martial artist.”
The guide answered. That explained the way he moved — nothing like a common mortal after all.
“Ah. They said there were people like that in the Lower Realm.”
“I’ve heard of them. Murim folk, I think?”
“I was wondering how he could navigate so well without eyes.”
Everyone but Han Yuhyeon took an interest at the mention of martial arts. The other three had been born and raised entirely in the cultivation world, and this seemed to be their first time meeting a martial artist.
“Junior Brother Han spotted it right away. You from the Lower Realm, then?”
“I’m not from the Lower Realm. It just occurred to me that people like him exist.”
“Between that and your talk with Elder Geum earlier — Junior Brother Han’s knowledge runs deep.”
Hyeon Yong-gang clicked his tongue in admiration. Fair enough — if you were born and raised among cultivators, you usually couldn’t care less about the Lower Realm.
Truthfully, Han Yuhyeon only knew that the Lower Realm’s murim existed; the details were a blank. The game was set in the cultivation world, and the Lower Realm had never been implemented. Maybe someday he’d have reason to go down there. He was curious what the murim of Yeonhwa Seonrok looked like.
“Strange to see a martial artist working as a guide up here.”
Jeong Cheon-o said. It was rare enough, true.
There were mortals living tangled up with the cultivation world — the people of the Nether King Peak had been mortals, for one. But ordinary folk of the Lower Realm supposedly regarded cultivators as legends, and only the absolute highest of the high were said to know cultivators even existed.
Han Yuhyeon tried to sense the guide’s energy, then gave up. To a cultivator’s eyes, a third-rate martial artist and a peak expert looked much the same. No matter how impressive a mortal was, even a Qi Condensation one-star cultivator would have trouble losing to one.
A question struck him, and he asked.
“What kind of figure were you in the murim?”
“Just a worthless old man. Nothing worth boasting of before cultivators.”
The guide was modest. Even if he had been famous in the Lower Realm, crowing about it in front of cultivators would have been difficult. The cultivation world and the Lower Realm were entirely different worlds.
A sidelong glance told Han Yuhyeon the other cultivators thought the question itself was pointless. Cultivators simply did not care about the Lower Realm.
In that atmosphere, pressing further became awkward. So he quietly followed the guide into the vault.
“Only one person may enter the vault with the guide at a time. Is there someone who would like to go first?”
Standing before the vault, the guide asked. There was no need for false modesty among cultivators — this sort of thing always went by realm.
Between Im Su-weol and Hyeon Yong-gang, both at Qi Condensation eight-star, Hyeon Yong-gang seemed to edge slightly higher, and he went in first without discussion.
Choosing a single artifact from the vault apparently demanded every ounce of care, because it took a long time. The remaining three made small talk in the meantime. Im Su-weol’s turn passed, then Jeong Cheon-o’s, and at last it was Han Yuhyeon’s.
“Please enter, cultivator.”
The guide, returning with Jeong Cheon-o, called to him. Han Yuhyeon followed him into the vault. As they stepped inside, the heavy doors closed behind them of their own accord, smooth and silent. Whatever soundproofing the doors had, the chatter of the Inner Court disciples outside cut off at once.
“You know the layout inside as well?”
“I do.”
“Reliable of you.”
At Han Yuhyeon’s words, the guide allowed himself a small smile. Everything about him was subdued, the way of an old man.
“Fifteen years as a guide must get tedious. Martial artists are supposed to be the sort who swing swords and roam the continent, aren’t they?”
Han Yuhyeon said it before they reached the room of artifacts — casual small talk, nothing more. But the guide turned his head toward him as if something were strange. Blind though he was, the look felt as if he were staring straight through him.
“In fifteen years of guiding cultivators, you are the first who has ever taken an interest in someone from the Lower Realm.”
“Is that so? Aren’t people usually curious?”
“Well. Cultivators don’t wonder about the lives of Lower Realm folk any more than I wonder about the lives of insects.”
The guide’s flat tone made Han Yuhyeon flinch for a moment. He almost said that was far too self-deprecating — then remembered that cultivators truly did regard mortals as little better than bugs, and held his tongue.
In a way, he himself had started to become a cultivator. Back in Korea he would never have spoken so casually to an old man like this. The thought left a bitter taste.
“Guess I’m an odd cultivator, then.”
“Indeed you are. Not in a bad way, of course.”
With that, the conversation seemed finished — until the guide carefully spoke again.
“You seem quite interested in the Lower Realm, cultivator.”
“Well. I figure the day might come when I take a tour down there.”
“Is that so.”
The guide hesitated after that. He looked as if he wanted to say more, so Han Yuhyeon opened the door for him.
“If you’ve got something to say, say it.”
“Forgive me. This is the first time I have ever done this, so I am reluctant to speak.”
“About what?”
“I am truly, truly sorry, but… might I dare ask a single favor of you?”
The guide bowed his head as he spoke. Han Yuhyeon was almost more curious what favor a mortal could make this much of a production over.
“If it’s something I can manage easily, I’ll hear it.”
“Ah—”
Han Yuhyeon had said it without much thought. The man was being so humble that turning him down cold would have felt cruel. But the guide looked as if he had never imagined such an answer could leave a cultivator’s mouth — and tears welled up.
“Forgive me. An old man making a fool of himself. I never expected you to answer so simply. To me, those words cost a life.”
He wiped his tears on his sleeve. This, right here, was the relationship between mortals and cultivators. Thinking of it, Han Yuhyeon found the mortals of this world a little pitiful.
“I haven’t agreed yet. Let me hear it first.”
“As I understand it, the cultivators will be heading toward the Yu Nation next month.”
“That’s right.”
“My daughter is in the Yu Nation. Would you be willing to pass along word of me?”
Once he heard it, the request was almost laughably trivial. In the Lower Realm, a cultivator faced no danger whatsoever. It was just a matter of setting aside a little time. The tension he’d been half-holding drained so completely it left him hollow, and a dry laugh escaped him.
“That much I can do. How do you want me to pass it on?”
At Han Yuhyeon’s answer, the guide stood frozen as if struck, then dropped into a full prostration before him.
“Thank you. Thank you. You are my benefactor, cultivator.”
“Get up.”
In the game, there was almost never any interaction with mortals, and how cultivators treated them was barely shown. Now he understood. To mortals, cultivators were objects of pure terror.
Even told to rise, the guide only trembled face-down on the floor. After a long time spent bowing, he finally stood and drew something from his robes.
“Please accept this.”
With great care, he produced a worn silver necklace. It was an odd ornament shaped like a lock.
“What is it?”
“It is called a Longevity Lock. In the Lower Realm, there is a custom of hanging one on a child to pray for health and long life.”
“I see.”
“This is the Longevity Lock with my daughter’s name on it. If you would give it to her when you pass along word of me, I would be deeply grateful.”
Han Yuhyeon took the Longevity Lock and turned it over in his hands. Silver was worthless in the cultivation world, but the dense luster suggested it was high-quality metal.
Dang Ga-hye
“Hm?”
The name inscribed on the necklace made Han Yuhyeon start. The surname Dang. A staple of every wuxia novel. He had played plenty of xianxia games, which meant he had read more than his share of martial arts stories as well.
“The Sichuan Dang Clan?”
At those words, the guide’s eyes flew open so wide they nearly split.
“H-how do you know of our clan, cultivator?”
“Isn’t it a famous house?”
“In the murim, yes — but famous only in the Lower Realm. Few have ever even asked my name, and of those who heard the surname Dang, not one has ever mentioned the Sichuan Dang Clan. You are the first.”
The old man of the Dang surname bowed his head as if overwhelmed. Well now. In a proper wuxia world instead of Yeonhwa Seonrok, this man would have been strutting about with his chest out. Then again, the Sichuan Dang Clan was probably still strutting about down in the Lower Realm even now. Why a man of such a great house was here at all, though, was anyone’s guess.
“Anyway — I just need to deliver this?”
“P-please tell her that her father is living very well. That he enjoys wealth and glory beyond anything ordinary people could imagine, and that he is happy.”
The old Dang man looked truly desperate as he said it. Bowing his head to a mere man in his twenties and begging a favor didn’t look much like happiness — but if that was the message he wanted delivered, there wasn’t much to say.
“All right.”
“Thank you! Thank you! This Dang will never forget your kindness, cultivator — not even in death!”
He dropped flat again and slammed his forehead against the floor. He struck so hard the skin split and blood ran.
“Guides are not ordinarily permitted this, but I will tell you of the finest artifact in the vault.”
Then he sprang to his feet and strode ahead. The old man who until moments ago had walked with a limp, almost boneless shuffle now moved with a light, vigorous step full of power.
“So you always knew how to walk like that.”
“Pardon? What did you say, cultivator?”
“Nothing.”
He had simply assumed the man was old and lacking energy. Before tucking the Longevity Lock into his storage pouch, Han Yuhyeon ran his fingers over it once more. The years the old man had carried it against his heart seemed to linger in it still, warm and deep.