The Return of the Maiden of Yue
The protagonists of heroic tales are usually chivalrous heroes. They busily traverse the Nine Provinces, eradicating unorthodox cults and evil sects, or avenging the grievances of the common folk, earning fame through their various exploits. In the process, it is only natural that countless conflicts arise. Since the protagonist is a martial artist, these conflicts are almost always resolved through force.
So, where do these conflicts usually take place? Given that the Nine Provinces of the Jianghu serve as the backdrop, they clash with all manner of eccentric experts in various locations. However, if one had to name the most iconic venue, they would undoubtedly say: the tavern.
Schemes, conspiracies, and brawls broke out in taverns with such frequency that in his childhood, Yoo Jeong had actually believed taverns to be dark, terrifying places. In those heroic tales, a tavern was never passed through peacefully.
Although he had realized taverns weren't quite as terrifying as he'd imagined after frequenting Innkeeper Jang's tavern, one question still lingered: Why do they always have to fight in taverns?
Yoo Jeong finally understood the reason during his current journey through the Murim. He had experienced it firsthand.
First: as Yoo Jeong was doing now, drinking alone, eating at a tavern naturally involved alcohol.
"My lady. For what reason do you wear such a lonely expression while pouring drinks for yourself?"
Second: once alcohol enters the system, people tend to become emotional.
"You appear to be a traveler from afar. The gentleman over there is the Young Leader of the Punglim Sect, which rules this entire region. He will treat you generously, so why don't you go over and offer him a cup of wine?"
Third: thugs who had learned a smidgen of martial arts loved to band together, form a gang, and flaunt their power. And most martial artists never backed down from such provocations. Yoo Jeong, whose quiet, solitary time had just been disrupted, was no exception.
"Sigh." With a soft sigh, his delicate fingers wrapped around the wine cup.
Mount Hwang in Anhui Province. While it is famous for its breathtaking scenery, counted alongside Mount Jiuhua and Mount Tianzhu as one of the three great mountains of Anhui, it is known by a different name in the Murim. The Namgung Clan—the prestigious martial family that vied for the title of the world's strongest. A branch of that Great Heaven Sword Family was located right here on Mount Hwang.
Even though it was only a branch, the lofty name of Namgung was enough to deter the wicked factions of the unorthodox path from running rampant. Consequently, orthodox sects or neutral factions that walked the line between orthodox and unorthodox naturally settled in the area. The Punglim Sect was one such neutral faction. However, their behavior was barely distinguishable from that of common unorthodox thugs.
Today, as usual, the Punglim Sect mob occupied the tavern and caused a scene.
"Hey, innkeeper! The food is too salty!"
"..."
"Ha! You don't even know how to treat your customers properly anymore? Wipe that look off your face!"
Slap!
A burly thug's hand struck the back of the innkeeper's head. With a loud crash, the tavern owner collapsed to the floor. His face was already a bruised, swollen mess, suggesting he had been beaten multiple times. Yet, the owner could not dare to resist.
"Hehehe!"
"Hey, go easy on him."
Mockery and sneers erupted from all sides. Every single patron filling the tavern belonged to the Punglim Sect.
Keeping his head bowed, the innkeeper picked himself up and began to clean up the shattered plates and spilled food. That was all he could do. The Punglim Sect thugs used the miserable owner as a side dish for their raucous laughter. But at some point, they suddenly fell silent. It wasn't because they had suddenly felt a pang of guilt. Every single one of them was staring in the same direction. What could possibly make them gape with such foolish expressions? Driven by an instinctive curiosity, the innkeeper turned his head, forgetting his pain, and his face mirrored theirs.
A blue-eyed beauty with jet-black hair cascading all the way down to her waist. Clad in black martial robes, her dark hair and striking blue eyes, combined with her cold demeanor, lent her an air of mysterious allure. She looked like a girl poised somewhere between youth and womanhood. Her lips, reminiscent of peach blossoms, parted slightly.
"Are there no seats left?"
A melodious, pleasing voice flowed out. Several of the thugs stared at her, utterly spellbound.
Oh no. There's going to be trouble.
Of all times, a young woman had walked in alone right when the Punglim Sect was gathered here. Just as the panicked innkeeper was about to hurriedly claim there were no vacancies—
"We have seats," a burly thug spoke up, catching his leader's eye.
"Are you the owner?"
The situation and their behavior were highly suspicious. At the suspicious tone of the question, the thugs' faces stiffened for a split second, but they quickly put on a sly front.
"Ah, no, I'm not the owner. But we're close friends with this fellow. Yes, indeed."
"As for the seats—hic."
The brute pulled up the swollen-faced innkeeper, throwing an arm around his shoulders in a forced display of intimacy. His hand gripped the innkeeper's shoulder tightly.
"Ah, we actually rescued this guy after he got beaten up somewhere. He can't speak properly right now, but he says there are seats. Yes, please sit over there. Hey, you! Clean that table up properly, you bastard."
The gang bustled about to clear the cleanest table in the room. However, the young traveler wasn't looking at the table. Staring at the innkeeper with a strange expression, the youth let out a short sigh and walked over to the designated seat.
"Go take her order. ...If you say anything stupid, your daughter's face will end up looking just like yours."
"...Ugh."
"So go and behave yourself."
With a rough shove, the innkeeper stumbled forward. He dragged his feet toward the table where the youth sat.
"May I... take your order?"
"Yes. I would like a light meal and a cup of wine."
"Our house specialties are the stewed pigeon of Mount Hwang or the bamboo shoots of Mount Wenzheng."
"My lady! The stewed pigeon is delicious here!" the brute chimed in from behind, offering unsolicited advice.
The youth slightly knitted his fine brows.
"I will have the Mount Wenzheng bamboo shoots."
He deliberately chose the other option.
"...Understood."
The thugs giggled, thoroughly amused by the cold response.
"And for the drink..."
"My lady, if this is your first time in Anhui, you must try the Gujinggong wine. It's a famous local liquor that you can't easily find outside this region."
"Just give me some yellow wine."
"Right away."
Watching the youth with anxious eyes, the innkeeper headed to the kitchen, his steps heavy and uneasy. Nonetheless, he returned without a word, served the bottle of wine and a cup, and went back to prepare the food. The youth slowly broke the seal of the bottle and poured a cup.
"Look at that girl. Even the way she pours wine is a work of art."
"Indeed."
The ones gossiping about him were the brute and a young man who appeared to be the leader of the group. The young man, in particular, harbored an incredibly sinister gleam in his eyes.
"But Young Leader, she's carrying a sword and traveling alone. Shouldn't we be cautious?"
"Hmph. For someone of your size, you worry too much."
"Hehe, it's just my prudent nature."
"Look at how she sits."
"What about it?"
"You can tell a person's character by their posture."
"She sits... exactly like a man."
Whispering among themselves, their eyes greedily licked over the youth's body. It was just as the young man said. Despite his delicate appearance, Yoo Jeong sat with his legs apart, exactly like a man.
"I've seen a few women like that before. They're usually either loose and lustful, or proud and full of empty bravado. It's always one of the two."
"Oh! As expected of the Chwiwha-rang of Mount Hwang. So, which one is she?"
The young man, known as Chwiwha-rang, stroked his smooth chin and replied, "The latter."
"How can you tell?"
"She carries a sword, but her exposed hands are perfectly smooth. And the temples visible through her hair show no signs of bulging. She is not a trained martial artist."
"Is that so?" At Chwiwha-rang's words, the brute's eyes gleamed.
"Then should I bring her over right now and make her kneel?"
"No. Her clothes and sword look high-quality. She might be the offspring of a wealthy family, so let's be polite at first."
"At first, eh? Hehe, understood."
The brute stood up and approached the youth. Until he spoke, the members of the Punglim Sect snickered, imagining what would happen next. Would she cower before the might of the Punglim Sect? Would she feel intimidated by the brute's massive size? Or would she chirp back noisily only to be harshly disciplined? They were eager to see how this cheeky girl would react.
However...
"You want me to offer a cup of wine to your master?"
The words slipped out so calmly, yet so chillingly. Just as a sense of unease began to dawn on them—
Trickle.
The youth slowly poured wine into his empty cup. What he did next made everyone's eyes widen in sheer shock.
Holding the filled cup, the youth casually flicked his wrist and threw it. The cup spun through the air—
"..."
And landed precisely in front of the Young Leader. The wine filled the cup to the absolute brim, so perfectly balanced that a single additional drop would have caused it to overflow.
Even though the Punglim Sect behaved like unorthodox thugs, they were fundamentally a martial arts sect. Moreover, they were a force that held considerable influence around Mount Hwang. They possessed enough discernment to recognize that the display of skill they had just witnessed belonged to a terrifying master.
Leaping to his feet, the Young Leader of the Punglim Sect quickly clasped his hands in a respectful bow.
"Please forgive us! We failed to recognize an esteemed master and committed a grave offense. We beg for your mercy!"
"Please forgive us!" the rest of the gang shouted in unison, bowing alongside their leader.
Watching them, Yoo Jeong let out a cold snort.
"You asked me to offer a cup, so I did. Your change of heart is remarkably swift."
With a sharp retort, the cup floated up into the air. It drifted slowly back to its owner as if carried by an invisible ghost. Even in midair, not a single drop of wine spilled. It was a truly terrifying display of internal energy control—a flawless execution of Heogong-seobmul.
"You're noisy. Get lost."
As if awaiting a verdict from the King of the Underworld, the Punglim Sect thugs had been pale with fright while watching the floating cup. Upon hearing Yoo Jeong's merciful dismissal, their faces instantly brightened, and they scrambled to flee the tavern.
"Thank you, Great Hero!"
Fearing he might change his mind, the Punglim Sect mob fled in a frantic rush. The innkeeper watched their retreating backs with hollow, haunted eyes.
The next day.
Having enjoyed a satisfying meal and a deep, restful sleep, Yoo Jeong woke up and rubbed his eyes at the sight awaiting him right outside his door.
Am I still half-asleep?
But there was no way the eyes of a master who had just finished his morning meditation could play tricks on him. No matter how many times he rubbed his eyes, the sight remained unchanged.
"I sacrifice my body to appeal to the Great Hero."
A letter written in blood. Yoo Jeong's eyes trembled as he read the grim, desperate opening of the Salsin-wiso petition—an appeal made by sacrificing one's own life.
Stepping out of his second-floor room, he entered a U-shaped corridor that overlooked the open space of the first-floor dining area. And right in the center of the tables below, directly in Yoo Jeong's line of sight as he left his room...
"..."
The innkeeper lay collapsed in a pool of blood. He was a lifeless corpse. The blood that had gushed from his slit throat had pooled on the floor and already hardened. His wide-open, unblinking eyes stared upward, filled with a deep, unresolved grievance.
What kind of deep-seated resentment could drive a man to take his own life just to make an appeal? Feeling a massive headache coming on, Yoo Jeong desperately called out to someone who wasn't there.
"Sigh... Sua."
Though she occasionally showed a clumsy, airheaded side, Namgung Sua was fundamentally an experienced and rational guide. Even though it had only been a single day since they parted, Yoo Jeong already felt her absence deeply.
With a deeply troubled expression, Yoo Jeong recalled the past. A memory from when they were still staying in Hangzhou.