Chapter 54
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Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 53
Chapter Title: Remnants - 1
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Opening her eyes, painful sunlight floods in. Yang Choseol gazes at the ceiling with half-lidded eyes.
Some bed somewhere—not the Huangfu Clan. The blanket feels different. Probably an inn in some nameless town.
Was it a nightmare? She clings to a sliver of hope.
Nothing happened.
She'd left the acupoint village and was on her way to Guangdong, but exhaustion from all the tension had conjured this absurd nightmare.
Right. It couldn't possibly be real. The Iron Blood Fist King falling, the Huangfu Clan burning, Peng Soyoung dying—none of that bizarre nonsense could have happened.
Nangong Dan's letter and the carrier pigeons from Guangdong had carried no special news.
Just that there were cultists around, and their leader seemed suspicious. That was it.
But that wasn't the case.
Creeeak. The door opens, and a heavy gloom greets Yang Choseol. The Huangfu Clan's retainers sit dazed in the empty inn, staring blankly.
At the central table, Fire Cloud Wind Sword and Little Divine Dragon slump with lifeless eyes. They don't even greet her—like people who've lost all hope, like corpses.
"Where is this place?"
"Hago..."
Only after forcing out the words does Little Divine Dragon's feeble voice leak out.
Hago, a small village on the outskirts of Guangdong.
"We escaped Mount Fire. While you were unconscious."
"I was unconscious?"
"..."
A question she already knew the answer to. A frail wish to hear it confirmed once more.
Yang Choseol squeezes her eyes shut. No one contradicts her.
The silence cruelly thrusts the truth upon her. She's not quite mad enough to turn away from it yet.
"Why...?"
Her legs give out. Everyone here shares the same fate.
They've lost their clan head, their friend. Helplessness swells like a suffocating tide.
"We can't stay here long. We have to leave soon."
Fire Cloud Wind Sword forces his mouth open. Stepping outside, a desolate street comes into view. The village reeks of ominous tension, as if bandits had raided it.
Scattered rice husks in a shattered warehouse. A nameless manor burned to ashes.
On the crumbling gate hangs a notice board: Punished in the name of the Divine Cult.
Yang Choseol draws her sword and stabs it. Deeply, repeatedly. As if it were the enemy that stole Peng Soyoung from her, she hacks away at it for a long while.
Her sobbing voice cracks. The ache in her chest won't be soothed. She swings her blade through the air until the notice is torn and scattered, until the gate it's nailed to splinters.
She screams.
A wretched, agonizing wail.
"Let's go now."
Someone says.
"To Anhui..."
In the end, there was only one place they could go.
Mount Fire.
A man in official robes hurries along. Tension fills his face, his hands fidgeting restlessly. The place he's heading to now is exceedingly dangerous.
They'd said it was just a band of lowly folk following some strange faith, but who could have foreseen this sudden disaster?
In just one day, the Huangfu Clan had burned and vanished.
Martial clans rising and falling was commonplace in the jianghu, but the Huangfu Clan was different. A symbol of immense power, the guardian of Guangdong. And now, it had been wiped out.
The world was already in chaos. He was a man hardened by the intricate power struggles within the palace walls, yet even he couldn't predict the massive backlash this incident would unleash. The branch office head would be the same.
His body burned with urgency. The frantic order from above was singular: find out if they're enemies or not.
Lamenting wouldn't help. The task had been assigned to him, and he had no choice but to carry it out. No guards or reinforcements to protect him.
The capital's guards are off at Shanhai Pass or wherever. And I haven't even learned martial arts...
Not even a million troops could watch over the entire realm, so under the noble principle that officials must not interfere in jianghu affairs, the court had left policing to the martial world. In other words, Guangdong currently had no force to maintain order.
If these people turned out to be vicious criminals...
Shiver. A chill runs up his spine.
"Ugh..."
"Are you unwell, sir?"
The man who introduced himself as an apostle peers closely at the official's face. Blood smears on his otherwise affable smile send shivers down the spine.
"If you're not feeling well, should I take you to the Divine Maiden instead of the Scholar?"
"N-No, I'm fine. I draw a salary from the state; this much is nothing."
"Ah, right. Our Scholar and all you exam passers are something else."
"Come on now, do ordinary folk pass the imperial exams? It's all prodigies. Hey, follow me. The Scholar wants to meet you."
The official nods heavily, his steps reluctant.
Scholar Zhang Ping, huh. They were acquaintances. The reason this task had fallen to him was precisely because he and Zhang Ping were in the same cohort. But...
It was hard to bring up that they hadn't been on good terms at the Hanlin Academy. It wasn't particularly bad, but he hadn't believed in Zhang Ping's ideals either.
He agonized over what to say. Clearing his throat once before the man scribbling unknown characters, he offers his prepared words.
"Scholar Zhang, long time no see. I hope you've been well..."
"It's you. I remember your face, so no need to hem and haw. State your business."
A curt interruption. One of his limping legs is now propped on a crutch.
He's completely different from before.
Zhang Ping's serene expression felt alien.
The perpetual impatience in his eyes had turned calm. Or perhaps it was madness. The official's words sped up involuntarily.
"Th-The branch office head has... great interest in the Divine Cult you're part of..."
"Ah. Hold on."
Zhang Ping turns his head. Against the wall leans a man in a scholar's turban.
They exchange words in some inscrutable tongue.
"How is it? Can you see?"
"I haven't learned martial arts."
"Then the Divine Maiden won't mind either. Go report to your branch office head. Tell him we're not interested in you lot."
"What?"
"It means we won't push unless you issue an arrest warrant. Just sit back and watch. How easy is that?"
"Hey, Scholar Zhang! Mind your words before an imperial representative—"
Zhang Ping shoves his face close as the official snaps in outrage, yelling.
"Strange."
"Uh..."
"Strange. The you I knew wasn't this dull. Do you have some way to revive the fallen Huangfu Clan, perhaps?"
A chill descends. All eyes turn to the untimely commotion.
Surprisingly, no one dares speak. The official's gaze darts left and right ceaselessly.
"We're not gathered for rebellion. Reverence and vengeance, that's it. I guarantee you, the Divine Maiden has no intent to start the chaos you fear."
"How can we believe..."
"If we were plotting treason, wouldn't it be far simpler?"
The official clamps his mouth shut. Because it was true.
If it were truly rebellion, they wouldn't stir things up in Guangdong. They'd incite riots directly in the capital, where the bedridden emperor and princes vied for power.
No need to gather powerless folk in this remote region and build influence—especially not while making an enemy of the vast martial world.
"Got it? Then go back and relay the message. Nice seeing an old classmate after so long."
"H-Hic."
A choked gasp, stumbling footsteps. The official turns and hurries away, swaying as if he might trip.
Watching him go, Bai Hui asks.
"An acquaintance?"
"Hanlin cohort. Not a fond memory."
"Then."
"A faint one. My mind has no space to waste on insignificant trash like him."
Bai Hui lowers his hand from his sword hilt. Then clutches his head.
"Agonizing."
He mutters softly. Blinking, the blood-red world slowly returns to normal.
"I'll head in."
"Nothing more?"
"My head hurts."
In the duel with Peng Soyoung, Bai Hui had overused his demonic arts for too long and too deeply. Perhaps he'd crossed some intangible line.
The whispers that only came when circulating demonic qi now echoed even at rest.
Killing intent grows harder to control. Just moments ago, hadn't he nearly drawn on an untrained civilian?
The girl wouldn't want that. Bai Hui frowns.
"If only..."
There were someone he could kill. He exhales deeply. The soot-tinged air eases his chest somewhat.
"No. Carry on."
Bai Hui steps out, and Zhang Ping resumes writing. The draft of a new book.
He tirelessly records the Divine Maiden's deeds and words. Her footsteps, vividly etched in Zhang Ping's memory and Bai Hui's, captured verbatim.
They'd spread chaos with demonic arts; now they needed a way to unite them. Beyond the existing structure and the halo of the Divine Maiden herself, something to truly bind this group.
A map of the realm unfolds in Zhang Ping's mind. The Divine Cult's roots already delve deep into Guangdong.
Faith can't be a fleeting spark. Flames must burn long. So they strike Anhui as swiftly as possible.
To shove irrefutable proof before those yet untouched by the Divine Cult.
Two months at most. After that, the Divine Cult's people would stand atop the ashes of the obliterated Nangong Clan.