Lying on Brushwood and Tasting Gall (1)
Yeon Hojeong, who had slipped out the back door of the inn, said to Moyong Gun,
"It might be fine this first time, but you won't need to come in person next time."
Moyong Gun nodded.
"If Yang Cheon takes a liking to you like that, he'll plant eyes that are hard to shake."
"It's already like that. We caught him off guard today, but I don't know if the same trick will work next time."
"Even if it does, don't push yourself. From what you've said, Yang Cheon doesn't seem like an ordinary fox. Make sure you don't arouse suspicion with any needless actions."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"Contact through the Beggar Union will work, right?"
"That's the safest way."
"Understood. Good luck."
"You too, take ca—"
It was then.
Yeon Hojeong's eyes caught an alley far to the northwest of the inn. And in the middle of that alley, a single figure cloaked in a pitch-black bloodwind robe.
'……!!'
Yeon Hojeong's expression changed in an instant.
It was an emotion he couldn't suppress with mere willpower. Surprise filled his eyes naturally.
Moyong Gun's eyes gleamed. His gaze followed Yeon Hojeong's.
'……?'
The dim alley held only a few beggars slumped against the wall.
Moyong Gun asked, "What's wrong?"
"……Nothing."
Yeon Hojeong struggled to maintain a composed expression.
A flicker of interest flashed in Moyong Gun's eyes.
'Oh ho?'
It was the first time he'd seen it. Yeon Hojeong acting to hide his flustered state.
Of course, he'd put on countless acts during their past clashes. But he'd never worn such an awkward expression before.
Moyong Gun's peculiar gaze. Yeon Hojeong realized he'd read his fluster.
'Damn it.'
He'd shown a momentary gap. Managing his expression now was pointless.
But he couldn't openly reveal his embarrassment either.
"Then I'll be off."
"Yes, take care. We'll contact you immediately once the information is ready."
"Alright then."
Yeon Hojeong started walking. He could feel Moyong Gun's eyes on his back.
'No choice.'
The other man shouldn't take an interest in this. But Moyong Gun wasn't ordinary—he'd try to dig into this gap Yeon Hojeong had revealed.
Slipping smoothly into the crowd, Yeon Hojeong blended in. Moments later, his presence vanished.
The corner of Moyong Gun's mouth curved up.
"Impressive concealment technique."
It wasn't suppressing his presence with internal energy, nor was it an assassin's art specialized in stealth. He'd simply gradually masked his aura and melted into the throng.
It was one of the highest forms of concealment, toying with human perception.
"Where on earth did you learn such tricks? Your insight and martial arts don't match your age either. Truly curious."
Gazing quietly at the northwest alley with a smile, Moyong Gun spoke up.
"Mu Yeon."
A low voice came from inside the inn.
"Yes, my lord."
"You saw it too, right?"
"Yes."
Mu Yeon was the Moyong family's—no, Moyong Gun's—top stealth expert. He was an asset too precious to deploy freely in the Mu Rim Meng.
With so many masters around, discovery would lead to immediate scrutiny. But out in the world, no one was more reliable than Mu Yeon.
"Yeon Hojeong noticed you as well. He just didn't say it aloud."
"……."
"But if you move carefully, even the world's top late-generation talent couldn't pierce your stealth."
Moyong Gun's amused eyes suddenly flashed with icy killing intent.
"Follow him."
Whoosh.
A gust of wind fluttered Moyong Gun's sleeves. He realized Mu Yeon had vanished the instant the order was given.
He knew of Mu Yeon's presence, so he could sense it. But in open spaces like this, when Mu Yeon committed to full stealth, even he often lost track.
No matter how great Yeon Hojeong was, he couldn't detect Mu Yeon's tailing. Moyong Gun believed that without doubt.
"Heh heh heh. People really do need to breathe the secular air now and then. You get unexpected fun out of it."
Grinning, Moyong Gun entered the inn. Time to work diligently. Who knew what unexpected gifts hard work might bring?
"Nice weather today!"
* * *
Slipping along, the black-clad man's gait was unique. Only those versed in martial arts with keen insight would notice.
It looked utterly ordinary at a glance, but his crossing feet struck the ground in a peculiar rhythm. A master's step, ready for explosive movement at any moment.
Yet his light, springy steps and the baggy bloodwind robe hid it all, drawing no eyes to his movement.
A sinister appearance, if anything. But ronin warriors dressed like this were commonplace in the jianghu.
Unique, yet utterly inconspicuous.
'Definitely ten li southwest from here.'
He passed through bustling central Changsha into the outskirts. Even here, people abounded. But the open scenery and elegant mountains drew the eye more.
The black-clad man's eyes trembled.
'Ak Lok Mountain!'
Ak Lok Mountain wasn't particularly tall. Perhaps that's why it exuded a laid-back simplicity and leisure.
That simplicity, that leisure. Its serene form, embodying the history of the Central Plains—no, the entire murim—stirred waves in the black-clad man's heart.
Shimmer.
An ominous aura rippled from his body. A savage, brutal energy. Though suppressed, uncontrollable agitation fueled a surging killing intent.
'…….'
Gritting his teeth, he turned away. The wild killing intent quickly subsided.
He'd failed to contain the momentary surge, even leaking killing intent—but only briefly.
'I'm sorry, Father.'
If only he'd been stronger. Or if he'd heeded his father's words and mastered Jinjian Gate's supreme secret art early.
Then, before capturing the enemy general, he could have beheaded his underlings and vented even a fraction of this rage.
'Mother, just wait a little longer. I'll kill the enemy and ensure your path is smooth.'
Tears finally streamed from his eyes.
The ones who killed his parents and siblings—blood enemies piercing the heavens. He'd vowed to shed these tears only after slaying them.
But the human heart isn't that cold. Recalling his lost family, realizing he couldn't act even knowing where their killer hid—the misery peaked.
'At least I saw it once.'
He'd shaken off his subordinates' dissuasion to come here on purpose. To steel his resolve.
Some might call it trivial, but to him, it was non-negotiable.
He recalled his father's words.
'See to know, hear to understand, feel to embody. This truth isn't limited to martial arts. When you venture into the world for your goals, prioritize seeing and hearing with your eyes and ears. Then, pour your heart into truly feeling what you've seen and heard.'
Looking back, every one of his father's teachings was vital, not to be overlooked.
Drunk on his innate talent, he'd ignored much of it. He progressed fast without strict adherence anyway.
But now he realized: his father's teachings, his mother's advice—treasures no talent could replace. Precepts every warrior must engrave in their heart, talent or not.
'I'm sorry.'
He was following those precious teachings only after losing his parents. It filled him with resentment. And that resentment exponentially fueled his hatred for the enemy.
'I'll return. On the day I draw my sword again, I'll dismantle everything you've built.'
Gnashing his teeth, the black-clad man—Gang Ryang—headed to Changsha's eastern outskirts, toward his subordinates.
How long had he walked? As he pushed through the woods into a small valley's entrance,
'…….'
Gang Ryang's steps halted.
Chirp chirp.
Chirp chirp chirp.
Birds sang. The babbling brook offered refreshment. The cool breeze soothed the soul.
Perfect weather, beautiful scenery.
But Gang Ryang felt it. Intense malice focused on him.
Like a beast's predatory scent, sharp killing intent rode the wind.
Click.
His left hand gripped his sword hilt at his waist.
"Come out."
Chirp chirp.
Strong killing intent reacts first in beasts. Birds wouldn't sing.
But Gang Ryang knew. Even this birdsong was part of the false staging.
Slipping low, he assumed a stance ready to strike from any direction, anytime. His posture's stability suggested he could hold it for days.
Then, a voice rang out.
"As expected."
Rustle rustle.
A man emerging from the northern brush looked impressed.
"They say you're Gui Cheol Geom Mun's greatest genius in history. You read the killing intent well."
Gang Ryang asked, "From Muk Ryong Bu?"
"……Muk Ryong?"
The smiling man's face turned blank in an instant. Gang Ryang felt a chill at the speed.
Was the prior expression a mask? It changed as if peeling off a layer of skin.
An inscrutable face and eyes. From that alone, Gang Ryang knew the man was a formidable foe.
"Muk Ryong's name is for the permitted only. An unpermitted mouth uttering it means death."
"Bullshit."
Smooth.
His expression shifted again—to a beaming smile. No transition, like a face-change act.
No overt aura, no sharpened gaze, yet he exuded an eerie dissonance. Almost inhuman.
"But rest easy. If you kneel obediently, I won't kill you."
Tsss.
Murderous sword intent rose from Gang Ryang's body. No more birdsong.
Instead, black-clad, masked figures emerged from the woods all around. All wearing sheep masks.
The black sheep masks were subtly creepy.
The man—Heuk Jang—said, "Kneel."
Gang Ryang bit his lip.
"Just one question. The traitor—no, Yong Hwa Myeong—where is he……."
"Final offer. Kneel."
No room for compromise, no intent to share info.
Then, only battle remained.
Fierce killing intent blazed from Gang Ryang's eyes.
"My final offer too. Come at me all at once. Too annoying to take heads one by one."
Heuk Jang's eyes flamed.
"Kill him."
Boom!