The Pleasure of Watching (1)
“Mom, are we really going to have Dae-jeong-san-jang kill Jang Cheon?”
The one who asked was Yang Do-hwa’s son, No Gae-cheol.
Considering Yang Do-hwa’s past life, it was no surprise he hadn’t received proper education or guidance. In the end, he was the type explained by the saying, like mother, like son.
“That damn old man won’t move easily.”
“I want to chew up that bastard Jang Cheon while he’s still alive. Thinking about how we ended up like beggars because of that dog makes me so furious I can’t even sleep.”
There was no vengeance for his father in his grudge. His vulgarity and immaturity flopped around like a fish thrown on deck.
Yang Do-hwa was no different. It wasn’t her husband’s death that grieved her, but the disadvantages she suffered because of it.
“I dangled the secret related to the Jang Clan Sword Family as bait.”
“Really? What’d he say? That he’ll kill him?”
“We don’t know yet. We have to be careful. That sly old fox might just snatch the secret and leave Jang Cheon alive.”
“Right. Mom, you absolutely can’t tell him the secret first! No, now that things have come to this, tell me too.”
“You idiot!”
“Why?”
“Then you’d be the one in danger. Don’t talk nonsense.”
No Gae-cheol spoke with a hint of fear.
“They say that Jang Cheon guy is insanely strong, right? What if he finds out you asked the Dae-jeong-san-jang old man to kill him, gets pissed, and comes after us?”
“If he were that type, he would’ve killed us back then.”
No Gae-cheol grinned slyly.
“Yeah, true? Those hypocrites pretending to be good guys—makes me sick.”
“Just don’t act out. We have to play it smart until he’s dead.”
“Victim cosplay, huh?”
“Exactly. But that alone won’t be enough.”
“Then?”
“We need another card.”
“How?”
“Seo Mal-cheong.”
“Seo Mal-cheong? Who’s that?”
“The old man’s youngest disciple at Dae-jeong-san-jang.”
“Oh. That annoying prick?”
No Gae-cheol’s face twisted in disgust.
“Still, he’s the one they call a martial arts genius. The old man dotes on him too.”
“I saw him at a party a couple years back. That guy was so full of himself.”
“What’d he say to you?”
“Nah, nothing like that.”
At that party, Seo Mal-cheong had treated No Gae-cheol like he didn’t exist. He hadn’t said a word to him the whole time.
In fact, it wasn’t just Seo Mal-cheong—everyone else had done the same. No one approached No Gae-cheol, who was overflowing with inferiority complexes and resentment toward the world.
“That bastard stirred up the others against me on purpose. What an idiot! As if I’d bat an eye.”
“Guys like Seo Mal-cheong are easy to manipulate. Son, there’s something you need to do.”
“What?”
“Can you meet him soon?”
“Yeah. There’s a junior experts’ gathering the day after tomorrow. Wasn’t gonna go, though?”
“Go. Scratch at his pride hard. Tell him how dare he act superior when he can’t even avenge the destruction of his former blood ally sect. Humiliate him in front of everyone.”
“That okay?”
“It’s fine. No— you have to do it.”
A mix of slight fear and budding excitement crossed No Gae-cheol’s face as he grinned.
“Got it. Leave it to me.”
At that moment, as U Myeong-hwan and Yang Do-hwa’s shadows began to intertwine, Jang Cheon was cultivating Sohyeon Ilgi-gong in his lodging.
As he’d told Bishop earlier, when the shadows gather, stay quiet.
Of course, he was getting updates on the situation through Bishop.
Such information reached him through Asia and Korea’s intel networks, without needing to tail anyone specifically.
In the Murim world, news of any incident spreads instantly via SNS.
From community boards exchanging info to paid intel sites, information flows everywhere.
Where something happened, who killed whom.
Trivial info goes on free sites; valuable stuff sells high on paid sites or through freelance informers.
Of course, fake info floods in too.
That’s why reliable intel lines are essential. Naturally, Bishop knew all the major sites and informers from each country—many operating secretly for security.
From now on, watch closely. See how Dae-jeong-san-jang reacts. Can we bug Yang Do-hwa and No Gae-cheol’s place?
Jang Cheon ended the call and returned to his own time.
He sat comfortably, listening to Geum Sa-cheon’s recordings on his MP3 player.
Repeating them so often, he’d memorized everything. Still, he listened as if for the first time.
One change: he’d started conversing with Geum Sa-cheon occasionally.
“...Acts of goodwill are difficult yet valuable. People feel most unhappy when they sense no one around them loves them. Thus, extending goodwill to someone is the most precious thing in the world. A martial artist must uphold justice and goodwill.”
Jang Cheon paused the MP3 and responded.
“Senior, times have changed.”
He didn’t deny the nobility of such acts. But the era demanding unconditional sacrifice from martial artists was over.
He’d seen half-hearted goodwill turn into blades that struck back many times.
Extending goodwill is noble.
But now, you must assess the recipient first. Rational goodwill is needed—harsh reality, but true.
Still, if choosing unconditional goodwill, do so without regret.
Only then can both giver and receiver be happy.
Sometimes, his differing views drew positive reactions.
“...Don’t fall into the delusion that ‘feeling’ is key in cultivating and executing martial arts. What matters is learning.”
“Absolutely right, Senior.”
Higher martial arts mastery made that trap tempting. Instinct covers most situations.
Senses feel paramount.
But Jang Cheon knew: from start to finish, learning is paramount in martial arts.
Even insights or fortuitous encounters require this foundation.
Now, he’d advanced from mere acceptance of Geum Sa-cheon’s teachings to deeper reflection, comparison with his own thoughts, application, and development.
Like Sohyeon Ilgi-gong reaching 3rd Stage, his grasp of the teachings had evolved too.
“Why’d you do that?”
Seo Mal-cheong bowed his head at U Myeong-hwan’s rebuke.
“I’m sorry, Master. This unworthy disciple acted too rashly.”
Kneeling and apologizing, but no true remorse.
“Now the whole Murim’s buzzing. They got exactly what they wanted.”
Seo Mal-cheong kept his head down.
Damn you, No Gae-cheol.
He regretted not beating him to a pulp.
If he was getting scolded anyway, should’ve wrecked him properly.
But is this worth getting so mad over?
Just beating a punk who insulted the sect? Isn’t ignoring him worse?
He still didn’t grasp the political fallout.
“Withdraw and reflect. Don’t act recklessly.”
“Yes, Master.”
Seo Mal-cheong slunk away, dejected.
U Myeong-hwan knew scolding wouldn’t bring remorse—only fuel anger at No Gae-cheol.
If he caused trouble with those mother-son shadows, it could be irreversible.
“An Dan-ju, you there?”
A deep voice came from behind the screen.
“Yes.”
An Dan-ju was An Bae-su, U Myeong-hwan’s closest confidant among many.
“Can you contain the rumors?”
“Doubtful. It spread the moment it happened—junior experts’ gathering made it faster.”
“Gangnam-il-mun knows Jang Cheon entered the country too, then.”
“They’d know regardless.”
“And they sat on it?”
“Jang Cheon’s thorny for them too.”
“Fair enough.”
“The more you dig into Jang Cheon, the more enigmatic he gets.”
After learning of Jang Cheon’s return, he’d tasked An Bae-su with investigating. That was his conclusion.
“Best not to touch Jang Cheon. We could eliminate him if pushed, but one slip and our losses would be huge.”
U Myeong-hwan had no intent to touch him either. No desire to defuse an unknown bomb over stale loyalty. But Yang Do-hwa was the issue.
“That Yang woman’s poking everywhere. What if she triggers the fuse?”
“Why not handle those two before it’s too late?”
An Bae-su casually suggested murder without a trace. It was his long-standing role serving U Myeong-hwan.
Voicing and executing the dark side.
That’s why U Myeong-hwan kept him closest.
“Disguise as double suicide. Motive’s plenty. Depressed, unhappy lives—Jang Cheon’s appearance exploded those feelings. Blame me for not granting their request. Moral responsibility, sure, but not ours.”
“Nonsense!”
U Myeong-hwan snapped. An Bae-su had voiced his dark side, so the bright side erupted naturally.
“If Gangnam-il-mun worries you, don’t. They’ll suspect us but play dumb. That Yang Do-hwa thorn isn’t just in our throats.”
“Shut up!”
“Sorry.”
No real scolding, no true apology. If serious, he wouldn’t have heard him out.
An Bae-su waited. For a minute or ten days—until the order came, veiled and implicit.
No worry of missing it. He’d caught them all before.
Long service let him guess U Myeong-hwan’s thoughts.
Will killing them end this?
Once calculations finished, orders would come.
As shadows mingled, darkness thickened.