The Storm of Anhui Beckons: Cheon-sang Ru
Bang So-un and Jang Il returned to Cheon-sang Ru after leaving the Nangong family manor. Having long ago enslaved Ki Mo-ryeon, the true mistress of the place, there was no safer or more discreet spot in all of Anhui.
In the lavish private chamber she had prepared for them, they lounged about like idle playboys, whiling away the hours with drink and women. Of course, those women—the top courtesans of Cheon-sang Ru—were already obediently hypnotized slaves, so there was zero risk of any leaks.
Bang So-un waited patiently, utterly relaxed. Jang Il, on the other hand, was fidgeting like a man with ants in his pants. It wasn't in his nature to sit still in one corner for long. He was holding it together only because Bang So-un was right there beside him—if he'd been alone, he'd have bolted out the door ages ago.
"...Young master, couldn't I just step out for a bit of fresh air?"
Unable to bear it any longer, Jang Il finally shot a sidelong glance and asked.
"You're getting plenty of fresh air just outside the room, aren't you?"
"Aw, come on. How's stepping out into that tiny courtyard really 'fresh air'?"
"Haha, fair enough."
Bang So-un chuckled in understanding. But that didn't mean he was about to grant permission to go out.
"Still, right now we're on the cusp of something huge. We can't afford even the slightest slip-up."
"I get that, young master. But just a quick breath of air couldn't hurt, right...?"
"A single moment of carelessness can bring total ruin."
"...You think there are folks here who know my face?"
He scratched the back of his head, gazing at Bang So-un with pleading eyes. But Bang So-un just let out a wry chuckle, firm as ever.
"No, staying completely out of sight is our only option right now."
"Ugh."
When Bang So-un put it like that, Jang Il had no choice but to back down meekly. Every decision Bang So-un had made so far had been spot-on, and Jang Il knew better than anyone that it would stay that way.
"...Got it, young master. No helping it."
"Come on, have a drink of valley brew from that sturdy wench over there to ease the boredom."
With a smirk, Bang So-un turned his head.
"Hey, you Gimo bitch."
"Yes, Great Master. Command me in anything. This lowly one obeys."
Mo Ryeo-won—the formidable woman of Anhui's merchant world who had built Cheon-sang Ru from nothing into what it was today—was now kneeling stark naked, forehead pressed to the floor in the posture of the lowliest slave not even fit for a back-alley whorehouse.
"Serve up some valley brew right now."
"Yes, Great Master. This lowly one obeys your command and will serve the valley brew at once with her wretched body."
Mo Ryeo-won finally lifted her head. She carefully grasped the cup and bottle. Rising slowly, her voluptuous breasts swayed naturally. Her hands moved—one cup beneath her crotch, the bottle atop her cleavage.
The true valley brew posture. Yet utterly impossible to witness at Cheon-sang Ru.
This was a top-tier pleasure house. Vulgar orders like valley brew were strictly forbidden. Any guest who dared utter such words would be thrown out on the spot.
For the real owner, Mo Ryeo-won, to strip bare and serve it herself? Anyone who'd ever set foot in Cheon-sang Ru once would sooner die than believe their eyes.
Bang So-un, savoring this impossible hospitality, grinned and said,
"Now that's a proper pose."
"Your undeserved praise leaves this lowly one at a loss. It is all thanks to your gracious and stern discipline, Great Master."
"Heh, right. How many times has it been now?"
Not content with making her serve the humiliating valley brew—he even asked her to count the times? It was as absurd as inquiring about the number of fucks she'd taken.
Yet Mo Ryeo-won answered with precise, polite deference, without missing a beat.
"Exactly thirty-nine times, Great Master."
Thirty-nine valley brews. On the surface, one might peg her as a perverted slut who pretended to be a tough businesswoman by day but craved humiliation by night. But the story changed entirely when you learned all thirty-nine had been served to one special guest in less than half a month.
Bang So-un alone had turned her into a pathetic valley brew bitch.
"See? Told you you could do it."
"Your words ring utterly true, Great Master."
"Yeah. Those saggy udders and used-up pussy of yours—your whole body's just a booze dispenser. What was that?"
"This lowly one's saggy used udders and used-up pussy—her entire vulgar body is nothing but a booze dispenser."
Mo Ryeo-won even added her own degrading twist, belittling her own genitals further. It was no longer human. Just a booze dispenser devoid of any dignity.
"Haha, good. Keep going."
"Yes, Great Master."
Mo Ryeo-won immediately tilted the bottle atop her breasts.
Drip.
Liquor flowed between her ample cleavage, trickling down her belly—unlike a peak female expert's, it bore the slight softness of a married woman's. Past her navel, it soaked her sparse pubic hair and slid lower.
Finally carving through the valley of her pussy, the liquor dripped into the cup below.
Drop. Drop.
The cup began to fill with valley brew. Moments later, brimming full. Mo Ryeo-won knelt once more, offering it reverently to Bang So-un.
"Not bad. That's how a booze dispenser bitch should be."
Murmuring in satisfaction, Bang So-un passed the cup to Jang Il.
"Here, drink up. And get it through your head—I get the itch too, you know."
"Huh? You too, young master?"
Jang Il's eyes widened as he took the cup.
"Haha, what, you think I'm not human?"
"No, but you're... different somehow."
"I can endure because I know the sweet fruit is coming soon. That's the difference."
Bang So-un picked up a slice of beef with his chopsticks, chewing slowly as he continued.
"You know what?"
"What, young master?"
"When this blows up, the murim world's gonna lose its shit at least ten times worse than you think."
"That bad...?"
"The Nangong family head isn't just some bigwig. He's the Sword King, patriarch of one of the Five Great Families—the absolute pinnacle of the current murim. If a guy like that drops dead out of nowhere? The murim's gonna erupt. Rumors and suspicions everywhere."
"But I heard he's past sixty. Isn't that a normal age to go, without all the fuss...?"
"For regular folk, sure. Even second- or third-rate murim types."
Sixty was indeed a ripe old age for most. But not for everyone. Not for true murim experts.
Those below first-rate lived like ordinary folk, but from first-rate on, lifespans stretched, and peak experts outlived common dreams by far. Let alone the Azure Sky Sword King Nangong Myeong, nearing the Transformation Realm? Dying just past sixty was practically a premature death.
"But if he dies now, it's a short life."
"Aw, come on, even so, 'short life' is a stretch..."
"Just watch. The Murim Alliance will panic and scramble for an autopsy."
"Whoa? If that's true, that's bad news. What if they find poison...?"
Jang Il's eyes wavered.
"Haha, relax. What kind of outfit do you think the Demon Cult is? If it was a plan that could unravel so easily, they wouldn't even try. After decades of meticulous plotting, it's foolproof."
Bang So-un spoke with total conviction.
The Demon Cult, routed in the Great Orthodox-Demonic War, had lost all Central Plains bases and hunkered down in the Tianshan Mountains. If they botched a plot against a Five Great Family patriarch and got caught, the Murim Alliance wouldn't sit idle—they'd crush them with overwhelming force. Possibly end the cult entirely.
Knowing that, the odds of a sloppy scheme were nil. That was why Bang So-un was so sure.
"Besides, the Murim Alliance investigation? Impossible from the start."
"Huh? Why's that?"
"It's the Nangong family. One of the Five Great Families and Alliance leaders. You think they'd let outsiders autopsy their patriarch? Not even the Murim Alliance. Nangong matters are handled by Nangong. That's how it is."
The Nangong family weren't some subordinate sect under Alliance thumb. They were the core driving it. Even the Alliance wouldn't cross that line.
"Ah, yeah, makes sense."
Jang Il nodded in realization.
"In the end, it'll be an internal probe. Ruled an unfortunate natural death."
Peak experts like the family head lived extraordinarily long, but exceptions happened. He'd just be one unlucky case.
"Wait, hold up. So no real issues then? I could sneak out for air...?"
"Haha, think, Jang Il. Mourners will flood in from everywhere. You wanna stand out? Better to stay forgettable—especially as murim folk."
Their presence in Anhui was top secret. Bang So-un wanted zero ties to the Nangong sphere. Wise, truly.
Why? His pact with future head Nangong Ji was a clandestine deal. No one could know.
"Aigoo, right. My bad, young master."
"Haha, no self-flagellation. Anyone gets antsy cooped up."
"Thanks for understanding... Wait, young master."
"What?"
"You said mourners—doesn't that mean the Golden Dragon Battlefield's lord—you—should pay respects too?"
Jang Il blinked his big eyes. Valid point. They couldn't snub a murim titan’s funeral.
"Haha, of course. But not me."
Bang So-un smiled leisurely, as if he'd planned for that already.
"Huh? Why not?"
"Remember: Nangong Ji knows nothing of the plan."
The family head's own son was in the dark.
"Shocked by his father's death, if Nangong Ji runs into me offering condolences—think he can keep a straight face?"
"Y-yeah, when you put it that way..."
"Can't give them any reason to suspect."
"Damn, young master, your airtight planning—no one can match it."
Jang Il nodded in awe.
"I've already notified the vice leader. She'll handle the condolences."
His wife and vice leader, Hwang Bo-seol. She'd manage flawlessly.
"Just hold out a bit longer. It's almost time."
Exactly seven days later.
The news of the Nangong family head's death rocked the entire murim world.
And then...
"Wh-what is it, Jegal strategist?"
Lion Iron Fist Gok Wi-gang stared in alarm at Dream Illusion Flower Jegal Cheongha, who had suddenly shot to her feet.
"I smell something."
"...No, what smell now?"
Chasing the fiend who massacred the Sagong family manor, he'd slaved away as Murim Alliance investigator for months now. Their efforts hadn't been wasted—they'd cleared two-thirds of Jegal Cheongha's suspect list.
But one-third remained. Gok Wi-gang still half-doubted if the culprit was even among them or when this would end.
...So why was she sniffing out more trouble?
"It's a really vague scent. But we can't ignore it."
"Wh-where exactly?"
"Let's go."
"I-I mean, where to?"
"Nangong family condolences."
"N-no, we don't have to—the Alliance can send a proper delegation without us..."
"That's their business."
"Pardon...?"
"Hurry. Might even run into someone from the list—could be good for you too, Gok hero."
"...A-alright."
Gok Wi-gang rose with a resigned sigh. When the higher-up said jump, the underling jumped.
"Let's head out."
Jegal Cheongha stepped forward, her eyes inscrutable.