Our First Prey
Looking back on our first prey, we truly knew nothing back then. Our initial thought was that we needed escorts. Jang Il's ability didn't work on men. With our pathetic third-rate martial arts, we risked our lives if we crossed paths with any passing demonic cultivator or righteous hero from the orthodox sects—any male martial expert in the Murim. So we agreed: first, we needed powerful escorts with strong martial arts.
Our first target was the Cheonsan Sword MaidenBong Yeon-bi. She was the one hailed as the Sword Fairy perched alone atop Cheonsan Mountain, one of the Ten Absolutes of the Murim. We chose her because, among women at the Transformation Realm, she was the only one without any sect affiliation, living in elegant solitude on Cheonsan. We figured it'd be easier to make our move.
That notion shattered within days.
On our way to Cheonsan, we ran into Sagong Hemi, the Rakshasa Sword Fairy—a second-rate martial artist by Murim standards. We tested Jang Il's ability on her. In hindsight, encountering Sagong Hemi was a stroke of luck. Without her, our heads would've been lopped off by a single stroke from the Cheonsan Sword Maiden on that mountain.
That's right—Jang Il's power had zero effect on Sagong Hemi.
We learned later that the moment Jang Il's ability takes hold, the target's internal energy reacts instinctively to shield their mind. Unless Jang Il could disperse that internal energy entirely—which he couldn't—there was no way around it. In short, it didn't work on anyone with stronger internal energy.
Oblivious to this, Jang Il muttered, "You fall into eternal slumber," only to nearly have his throat slit by the vicious temperament that earned her the moniker Rakshasa. If I hadn't jumped in to block her, he'd be dead. Though I nearly died in the process. Even now, my side aches where her blade gouged me.
That incident finally drove home the gravity of our situation. My family's handed-down Chase Wind Heart Method was a third-rate technique unworthy of mention in the wider world. And no peak-level internal art like the Yi Jin Jing was just going to drop from the sky.
We agonized over it. What if we joined a prestigious orthodox sect right now? Rejected. No great sect would accept us with our mediocre aptitude, age, and bones. Even if they did, how many years to raise our skills? We couldn't guarantee reaching first-rate before we were hunchbacked geezers, let alone peak.
So we flipped the script. If Jang Il couldn't build internal energy, what if we stripped it from our targets? It had merit. Take someone dosed with San-gong Poison—even a Transformation Realm expert might fall to Jang Il's power...
But we weren't poison masters from the Tang family. Even if we were, using San-gong Poison on peak experts or higher was like pouring oil on a fire—suicidal. What about hypnotizing a subordinate to administer it? Like using Sin I-rok, the Fire Red Hand and right hand of Cheon So-mae, the Yunfeng Immortal and another of the Ten Absolutes, to take down her master in Yunfeng Forest.
Impossible. Both were elusive legends, rarely seen even by famed experts. How could nobodies like us infiltrate the acknowledged Mystery Forest of the Murim?
But... there's always a way out, no matter the bind.
My eyes fixed on a public notice posted in the marketplace. Even at a glance, it was made of luxurious paper, the posters clearly trying to flaunt their prestige.
Hwang Bo-pyeong, the Wealth God who elevated the Golden Dragon Battlefield to the world's top merchant group, had one worry: marrying off his late-life daughter, the only heir and Jiangnan TalentHwang Bo-seol.
But Hwang Bo-seol, the sole successor and a genius poised to expand the Golden Dragon's riches, delayed her wedding because no man pleased her. Her doting father couldn't force her.
Then things changed. Hwang Bo-pyeong fell gravely ill, his life hanging by a thread. Even the resolute Hwang Bo-seol couldn't postpone forever. Her brilliant solution—as befitting the Jiangnan Talent—was this notice:
"I shall wed the man whose answers to my three questions please me most. As everyone knows, given the Golden Dragon Battlefield's circumstances, he will be a son-in-law joining our house."
"Finally, to earn the right to answer my questions, one must pay one hundred gold taels."
Though flowery and verbose, that was the gist. The one hundred gold taels condition was ingenious. It filtered out riffraff upfront, leaving only those willing to sacrifice a fortune for her love.
"Young master, why stare so intently at that notice?"
I chuckled at Jang Il's question. "Jang Il, if I become the Golden Dragon's son-in-law, it won't be as some ordinary live-in groom. With your ability, I can lurk behind Hwang Bo-seol and manipulate their millions in gold. And money moves ghosts, they say."
"Ah, is that your thinking?"
"Yes. We need influence. Money, fame. I'll step into the light."
"Then must I come into the light too?"
"You stay in the shadows completely. The instant anyone suspects your power, we're done. Disguise yourself as my escort warrior and hide your true ability."
"...Not easy. But this Hwang Bo-seol—does she truly have no martial arts?"
"Right. The Golden Dragon may hire decent experts with money, but the heir apparent is known to have zero martial prowess. No choice but to trust it."
My gaze returned to the notice. Jiangnan Talent Hwang Bo-seol. You are our first prey.
Above is paradise, below lies Suzhou and Hangzhou. Hangzhou was that beautiful. If West Lake—rivaled only by Li Bai's poetry—embodied nature's splendor, then the women of Jiangnan, petite with slender hands and feet, pale skin unlike the sturdy northern beauties... especially those of Hangzhou and Suzhou, represented mortal perfection.
Scoff if you like—"What's so special about Hangzhou girls?"—but spoiled rich heirs often lost their minds to the sirens in every pleasure house, squandering every coin. Such tales were commonplace.
Yet amid Hangzhou's flowers bloomed one extraordinary bloom. So captivating that any man who glimpsed it once remembered its form for days, wasting away in longing.
Her name: Hwang Bo-seol. Nicknamed the Jiangnan's Number One Beauty alongside her talent title, heir to the Golden Dragon Battlefield.
But that untouchable flower was about to be plucked. All eyes focused enviously on which lucky man would claim her.
Heavenly Fragrance Road, Hangzhou's busiest street, lined with grand inns and brothels, buzzed with unexpected business. Despite the one hundred gold taels entry, men's fervor for the Jiangnan's top beauty was explosive. Sons of local magistrates, provincial relatives—even scions of central nobles joined the fray.
They didn't come alone. Retinues and spectators packed the inns to overflowing.
In the Mara Dragon Inn—a shabby outlier on the periphery—sat two men amid the full house. Sipping famed Zhejiang rice wine at a corner table on the first floor. Both shy of thirty. One a handsome man in neat white robes; the other burly in worn black martial garb.
The white-robed beauty, Bang So-un, spoke. "This exceeds expectations."
"Impressive. The Golden Dragon's pull, eh?"
The black-clad brute was Jang Il, glancing warily about even mid-chat. Plenty of pampered young masters, but also rough-faced warriors aplenty. When eyes met a thug's, Jang Il flinched despite his bulk.
"Keep your composure, Jang Il. If our plan succeeds, third-raters like them will obey at a flick of my chin."
"Caution never hurts. Getting dragged into trouble here... Ugh, terrifying just thinking."
Jang Il wiped phantom sweat from his brow. The big man's gesture looked comically timid. Bang So-un snickered.
"Why so timid now? That's not the Jang Il I know."
"All because of that crazy bitch..."
Trailing off, Jang Il scanned anxiously, as if she might appear. His voice dropped. "...Anyway, that psycho nearly killed us. Without you, young master... Whew, she was ready to carve us up. You're my lifesaver, truly."
The "crazy bitch" was the Rakshasa Sword Fairy Sagong Hemi. They'd once tested his power on her by chance—and barely survived. Since, Jang Il trembled at her surname's "Sa."
"In a way, she did us a favor. Without that encounter, imagine the horror on Cheonsan."
"No way! Once I get strong, I'll turn that bitch's pussy into the world's doormat slut-cunt."
Excited, Jang Il's voice rose; Bang So-un waved him calm.
"Easy. Focus: Hwang Bo-seol."
He pulled a numbered ticket. 390. It denoted his interview order with her.
Overwhelmed by applicants, the Golden Dragon revised: one hundred per day over five days. Official count: 513. Bang So-un's turn fell on day four.
"I've got a plan ready," Jang Il said reassuringly, flashing his ticket: 394. They'd lined up together, naturally.
"Your alone time with her will be less than a cup of tea. Time an issue?"
"A cup of tea... Yeah, it takes time. Deep suggestions are out, but light nudges to her psyche? Possible. Like making her feel instant fondness for you."
"That's it? Can't make her a Good Child like Mother?"
Bang So-un's face darkened at the underwhelming response. He'd anticipated hurdles, but expected easy victory. Disappointing.
"Impossible. That requires total collapse of mental defenses—deep hypnosis. Short time like this? Can't deepen it that far. Shallow hypnosis risks her resisting and snapping out."
Jang Il shook his head emphatically. Human consciousness was intricate. To shatter it utterly into subhuman obedience required patient, repeated deepening.
Only Jang Il could even achieve such thorough breakdown. Bang So-un's stepmother had endured his obsessive "education," her mind crumbling into blind obedience.
But not here.
"...Then what?"
"Your role's crucial, young master. Absurd answers to her questions could ruin my efforts."
"What?"
Bang So-un blanked, as if clubbed. He'd never seriously pondered her questions, assuming Jang Il's power would handle any answer.
"Why that face? You've read books since childhood."
"Sure, in my village. But among these people, who lacks my learning? Damn..."
He sighed, downing his cup. Despite past failure, he'd underestimated again. Should've prepared rigorously using experience as a mirror. Still green. Four days left—too short.
"Don't fret. Worst case, no death this time, right?"
"If I botch it, I'll be too ashamed to face you. Fine, as you say—not life-or-death. Let's stay relaxed."
Whether they'd approach it so calmly as planned... no one knew yet.