Chapter 62
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 62
Chapter Title: Who's Your Father?
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“No, the Shaolin Abbot said he’d let it slide, but our sect elders insisted, just insisted on giving you a punishment.”
I recalled the time I was dragged before the Shaolin Abbot by my sect elders and forced to confess my wrongs.
It might’ve been because I actually messed up, but it was still a sweat-inducing ordeal. The Abbot wore a serene smile like a kindly old monk on the surface, yet his presence weighed down on my qi so heavily.
It felt like I had no choice but to shut up and bow at ninety degrees.
And I did. My waist bent all on its own.
After hearing the details, he saw how overflowing with camaraderie the kids were and burst into hearty laughter, saying the future of the Murim Alliance looked bright. But he was the only one smiling brightly. Watching our sect elders force awkward chuckles and nods, I realized once again how tough social life could be.
“It’s too much, making you take the punishment like that on purpose. Now I can’t even invite you to my place. Tch.”
Namgung Seheon clicked his tongue. The fact that he didn’t blurt out an invitation without thinking showed his brain had grown a little.
“It’s fine.”
I snatched the rag he’d flung my way again and replied calmly.
“I once wished that if I messed up, I’d get a good scolding.”
“You’re really insane, aren’t you?”
His gaze now carried a hint of pity. That look only amused me more.
This kid, raised drowning in love, would never understand in his lifetime how much better loving discipline was than neglect and indifference.
“Hey, young master.”
I approached Namgung Seheon, who’d sprawled out flat on the floor, and nudged his leg with my toe. I dangled the rag over his upturned face, the one where only his eyes rolled to look at me, and waved it teasingly.
“Hey, get that away! Dust’ll fall off!”
Namgung Seheon recoiled in horror, but since it was clean, no dust fell. Typical of a delicately raised young master—such a fuss.
He’d know this rag in my hand was spotless if he’d ever gotten one blackened with dirt or soaked through the face during a brawl with fellow disciples. Tch.
“Want to try cleaning for the first time in your life?”
“You think I don’t clean? I tidy my own room, you know?”
“You sweep, scrub, and catch bugs yourself?”
“…Well, I organize my stuff?”
“That’s cleaning?”
This was exactly why kids spoiled rotten like him were no good.
My attempt to foist today’s cleaning duty on Namgung Seheon as a fun and exciting game sadly failed. It didn’t work on a ten-year-old with a somewhat thick skull.
How many minutes had passed since he’d started half-heartedly pushing the rag around the floor?
“Cleaning done!”
I tossed the still-pristine rag into the air, caught it, and shouted triumphantly. Namgung Seheon, lounging contentedly in the hall, slowly raised his upper body at the call.
“You’ve been in here less than fifteen minutes.”
“So what? It’s just for show anyway. And it was already clean without me doing much.”
I flung the rag into a corner of the hall and stepped outside.
With the Murim Alliance conference just a day away, the Shaolin Temple bustled with far more people than when we’d first arrived.
I wove through clusters chatting or strolling about, heading toward the guest quarters, dodging a gaze that clung to me especially persistently.
Having nearly been kidnapped once before, my guard sharpened instinctively. Even if this was Shaolin, host of the Righteous Faction gathering, incidents could happen anywhere.
The place where I’d almost been snatched was Hwaeum, practically Mount Hua’s front yard.
I turned toward the gaze and locked eyes with a middle-aged man. He headed straight for me.
“That guy’s been staring at you since earlier. Know him?”
“Nope. Stranger.”
“Then why’s he acting like that?”
“No idea.”
Namgung Seheon frowned, sensing something off in my reply, but before he could step in front of me, the man was right there.
Up close, his eyes held no particular fondness, but thankfully no hostility or killing intent either. Namgung Seheon picked up on it too and relaxed his tense stance.
Next, a large scar crossing his mouth caught my eye. The man narrowed his brow as he gazed down at me steadily.
‘What’s his deal…?’
No way he was staring like that just because I didn’t greet him after eye contact?
I’d heard endlessly that any rudeness on my part reflected badly not on me, but on Mount Hua, so I immediately cupped my fists and bowed.
“This lowly disciple of the martial world, Biyeon, greets senior. Might I have the honor of your esteemed name—”
He raised a hand to cut off my greeting and opened his firmly shut mouth.
A deep, resonant baritone voice rumbled out.
“What’s your father’s name?”
The abrupt question, straight out of ‘what’s your daddy do?’, left me silent. Namgung Seheon whispered a translation from the side.
“He’s asking your dad’s name.”
I knew that much. But I didn’t know my biological father’s name.
Actually, shouldn’t he ask if I even had a father first?
“I don’t know my birth father’s name. May I substitute with the name of my master, who raised me?”
“A child who doesn’t know his father’s name…”
“Of course not. I don’t have one.”
The man raised an eyebrow at my confident reply.
“You don’t?”
“Nope.”
“You didn’t?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Oh, so you did?”
“No, I don’t. Seriously.”
What a broken record? I said no! Growing impatient listening to this, Namgung Seheon thumped his own chest with his fist.
The man stroked the scar on his mouth, fell silent for a moment, then tossed another question.
“How old are you?”
“Ten.”
Ten… He muttered, then suddenly burst into laughter. I couldn’t tell why, but it didn’t seem like laughter from joy.
The man added a word of advice to us both, now on high alert again.
“For reference, when greeting, you usually state your affiliation first, kid.”
I recalled my greeting and blinked, realizing I hadn’t mentioned Mount Hua.
“Oh, right. Forgot. Should I greet again?”
“No need. That plum blossom emblem on your chest tells me Mount Hua Sect. I have urgent business—fetch your master.”
Huh? Asking for an adult usually meant I’d done something wrong. What did I mess up?
My unease must’ve shown plainly on my face, because the man sighed and waved it off.
“I’m not here to blame you, so stop rolling your eyes.”
“Please say the same to my master… Oh, there he is.”
Spotting me, Uihyeon hurried over. I waved to him.
He arrived practically running, face saying this was a headache, positioned himself protectively in front of me, and immediately cupped his fists politely.
“Mount Hua’s twenty-seventh generation disciple Uihyeon greets the Yunnan Fist King.”
A chill ran down my spine at the title from Uihyeon’s mouth.
He looked like your standard musclebound thug uncle number one, yet he was a supreme master whose title included ‘King’.
This was why they always said to watch your words and mouth in the jianghu. Good thing I hadn’t pissed him off.
“Did my disciple perhaps commit some offense against Fist King?”
Uihyeon asked cautiously. He had his back to me, so he missed my desperate head-shaking. Seeing it, the man let out a cough—or laugh, hard to tell.
“That brat’s your disciple?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“I have business regarding your disciple. Follow me.”
Uihyeon glanced back at me, eyes full of worry. I waved reassuringly.
As soon as the two walked off, Namgung Seheon and I spoke up at once.
“What’re they gonna talk about that needs just the two of them? Should’ve followed.”
“Wow, Yunnan Fist King. A title with ‘King’ in it. So cool…”
I snorted at Namgung Seheon, who clapped a hand over his mouth in awe.
“What’s cool? The ‘King’ part? Hey, honestly, ‘Venerable’ or ‘Emperor’ sounds cooler.”
Sword Venerable, Sword Emperor. Talk about swagger and style. Namgung Seheon let out a short sigh at my jab and shook his head.
“Your tastes are so tacky.”
“What? Yours are childish!”
Just as we were about to grab each other’s collars again over our clashing tastes, someone butted in.
“The Yunnan Fist King—if I recall—is one of the Ten Great Masters of the Murim.”
Peng Haran, wearing her usual fluttering translucent veil on her collar, waved only at me in greeting. She openly ignored Namgung Seheon beside me.
“What? Ten Great Masters of the Murim?”
Namgung Seheon didn’t mind the snub and reacted fully. Every time, I marveled at his mental fortitude.
Eyes wide like a startled rabbit, mouth agape, he turned to my deadpan face and asked.
“Why aren’t you surprised?”
“My home—er, Mount Hua—has one too. The Plum Blossom Sword Immortal.”
Yours doesn’t, does it?
I smirked, and Namgung Seheon clicked his tongue, saying I was proud over nothing.
“Oh yeah, speaking of which, I heard the rumors suddenly got corrected?”
“Hey, if you’re jealous, just say so—huh? What rumors?”
I stopped dusting off Namgung Seheon and turned to Peng Haran. She replied softly.
“That it wasn’t the Namgung Family youngest and North Hebei Peng youngest who caused the trouble, but the Namgung Family youngest and Mount Hua’s third-generation disciple.”
Peng Haran rested her chin on her hand, slowly looking back and forth between us frozen mid-collar-grab, her eyes curving into a smile.
“Boys, how do you think that happened?”