The Cart Rolls On

Before her benefactor shattered the fog of her delusions, Yeo Il-ye had believed that the ones who murdered her parents were mere nangin—wandering warriors.

But the young Yeo Il-ye had grown, and at some point she had begun to sense the truth, however faintly.

A handful of nangin banding together could never have brought about what happened that day.

Even if every last one of those who stormed the mountain villa had been genuine wandering warriors, there had clearly been a mastermind behind them—someone who hired them. She had come to understand that much.

She had simply been captive to the brand of fire seared into her pupils and her heart since childhood, and so she had looked away.

Hwanggeum-seon.

Fifteen years ago, the Hwanggeumga had been reeling from reckless business investments. Yet the third son, Hwanggeum-seon, had somehow secured a vast sum of capital, and through his efforts the family weathered the crisis and claimed the renown of being the foremost merchant house in Sichuan.

The child Yeo Il-ye had not known it, but the adult martial artist she became could at least guess at the value of the mountain villa where she had once lived.

It had not been enough to call itself the greatest in Sichuan, yet the Golden Merchant Group had already been one of the first names anyone mentioned when speaking of trading houses. They had possessed ample power already, and still the Hwanggeumga had gambled everything for a greater leap, pouring every resource they had into the venture.

Even after the family itself had marshaled its full strength and the coffers had run dry, where on earth had a mere third son like Hwanggeum-seon managed to drag that capital from?

It's not as if I can know for certain.

Of course she couldn't. It was an affair from a full fifteen years past. The sole survivor of that incident was Yeo Il-ye herself, and the other party was none other than the Hwanggeumga. Even if the Golden Family had been among the culprits who attacked the villa, not a shred of proof would remain.

But that did not matter to Yeo Il-ye.

What mattered was only this: that she herself was certain Hwanggeum-seon was the culprit.

The Yeo Family Mountain Villa had boasted enormous wealth, and around the same time Hwanggeum-seon had supplied his family with a massive infusion of funds.

Of course, there was a non-zero chance that Hwanggeum-seon had nothing to do with the attack on the villa and had simply raised the investment capital through his own efforts.

But was that even possible by any common sense? If someone had been able to invest that kind of money in the Hwanggeumga, it would have been a chance to place the entire family in their debt—yet they had handed it over to a mere third son?

If they had, then Hwanggeum-seon would have owed that person or organization a debt he could never repay.

And yet, ever since becoming family head, Hwanggeum-seon had never once behaved as though he were serving any such benefactor.

In her heart, the target was perfectly clear.

So she needed even the slightest connecting thread—something to link her conviction to reality.

That was why Yeo Il-ye had come to the Hwanggeumga today, groping for that thread.

"My lord, I have brought Hero Yeo Il-ye."

"Show her in."

Yeo Il-ye stepped through the door the steward opened and found herself face to face with Hwanggeum-seon at once.

She had expected to be received from a high dais like a throne, or across some massive, imposing desk. Instead she found Hwanggeum-seon seated at a simple table, steeping tea, and her brow twitched.

"It is an honor to meet the rising expert who has lately made such a name for herself in Sichuan. I am Hwanggeum-seon, head of the Hwanggeumga."

"You are too kind. The Hwanggeumga and the Jeomchang Sect have long been as close as family. It would be unthinkable for me to receive formal address from someone of higher standing than even my own master."

"Haha, then I shall speak freely."

Where had all that burning hatred gone? Even if she had remade her own heart, she had expected at least a few embers to flare when she met those she believed to be her enemies. Yet her mind was as still as a lake.

True to the master of Sichuan's foremost merchant house, Hwanggeum-seon's gaze carried a peculiar pressure that seemed to pierce straight through her—yet Yeo Il-ye paid it no mind at all.

He is special.

She, too, was looking into Hwanggeum-seon's inner nature. It was only a first impression, but she saw in him a craving for gold and, beneath it, a certain darkness.

Of course, none of that mattered to her.

What mattered was whether Hwanggeum-seon stirred—or did not. Whether there was any connecting thread that could turn her suspicion into certainty.

"Hero Yeo seems to take quite an interest in me."

"Yes. I am curious."

Yeo Il-ye smiled.

"As a child I was the daughter of a very wealthy mountain villa—the Yeo Family Mountain Villa. It has since burned to nothing under a nangin attack, and my parents and every member of the household lost their lives… but still."

"…Please accept my deepest condolences. I, too, have heard of that dreadful affair."

"You need not say so."

Yeo Il-ye did not accept the courtesy. If Hwanggeum-seon truly was the culprit, what he owed her was not an apology but his neck and his ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠blood.

"And so a thought suddenly came to me. The villa of my childhood was so wealthy that a five-year-old's eyes could not even take it all in. Childhood memories grow hazy, and one day I found myself wondering…"

Yeo Il-ye and Hwanggeum-seon held each other's unwavering gazes.

"If the Yeo Family Mountain Villa was that rich, then if I met a truly wealthy man, might I catch the scent of my parents again? If I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠met the master of this Golden Merchant Group, might I recover the faded faces of my mother and father? That is why I came to look upon you."

"Hahaha…"

Watching Hwanggeum-seon laugh, Yeo Il-ye closed her eyes.

As expected, it was no use.

The head of the Hwanggeumga was not a man who would show an opening just because some greenhorn who had barely stepped into the Super-Peak Realm tried to probe him. She had not expected much, yet she could not help the thin veil of disappointment that settled over her.

Looking into those perfectly still eyes that did not so much as flicker, Yeo Il-ye admitted clean defeat in the battle of hearts.

"I have taken far too much of the family head's precious time. This is a letter the sect leader asked me to deliver."

"I have received it well. Please tell the sect leader that I will send a reply by messenger shortly."

"Of course."

The moment Yeo Il-ye turned her back and reached for the door—

"Hero Yeo."

"Please speak."

"I hear you have recently achieved a great breakthrough. I find myself a little curious just how great that achievement was."

"Is that so."

Yeo Il-ye drew her internal energy up from her dantian.

Hwanggeum-seon had trained in martial arts, true. Yet for a man who could have eaten precious elixirs like daily meals and still remained stuck at the First-rate realm, his talent could not have been anything special.

Elixirs…

That was not the end of it.

The hidden bodyguards—the elite protectors who had been thoroughly trained to remain completely silent and invisible while guarding their master—let out helpless cries.

"Ghk…"

"Khh…"

Yeo Il-ye's internal energy was modest for a disciple of one of the Nine Great Sects. She had possessed the skill to rank among the Ten Rising Stars of the next generation, yet her unstable emotions had led the Jeomchang Sect to judge that abundant internal energy would only poison her further. Her allotments had been delayed, and her habit of causing endless incidents over nangin outside the sect had often seen her elixirs confiscated as punishment.

Hyeok Gi-rin.

The successor upon whom the Jeomchang Sect had poured every expectation and every elixir. The sheer volume of Hyeok Gi-rin's internal energy needed no explanation.

Eungong.

It had been nothing more than an eight-character koan. She had simply gained enlightenment from that single phrase.

And with that alone, Yeo Il-ye had obtained internal energy that surpassed even Hyeok Gi-rin's. Merely spreading and circulating her qi was enough to overwhelm the elite bodyguards protecting the head of the Hwanggeumga—energy so vast and so violent it crushed them where they stood.

Yeo ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Il-ye reeled her internal energy back in. The bodyguards who had been unable to so much as twitch a finger under her qi, reduced to nothing but groans, finally managed to steady their breathing and vanish their presence once more.

The enormous vortex that had bound four people was sucked back into Yeo Il-ye's body in a single instant and settled.

"…Remarkable. This Hwanggeum has truly opened his eyes."

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"You flatter me. You said you were curious, so I merely displayed a trifling skill."

Yeo Il-ye calmly cupped her fist in salute and stepped out of the office. A guard stood no more than three paces from the door, yet he had not noticed a single thing that had occurred inside.

Descending the family head's hall alone, she thought:

I need more information.

It had not been entirely fruitless. By meeting Hwanggeum-seon today, Yeo Il-ye had gained one harvest: so long as no elder-level expert from the Nine Great Sects intervened, there was no one in all of Sichuan who could stop her vengeance.

If she was prepared to turn her back on her sect and leave behind the beloved sable fur she had grown so fond of, then revenge itself was entirely within reach. Of that she was now certain.

The next time they met, she might well have her swords drawn. With that thought, Yeo Il-ye looked up at the sky.

Parararararak!

A bundle of papers shot into the air.

"Ha."

A soft exclamation of admiration escaped her. The technique was that clean. To send a vortex of internal energy that far—this was no ordinary skill. Finger arts? Palm arts? The condensed, shaped flow of qi was so refined that curiosity about who had launched it rose unbidden.

The vortex unraveled, and papers scattered in every direction.

Yeo Il-ye manifested the subtle principle of Object Control Through Empty Air and drew a single sheet into her hand.

Her expression twisted.