Even a Broken Clock Is Right Twice a Day
A full week had already passed since the release of the second volume of Nangahyeopjeon.
Anyone who caught wind of the news swarmed straight to Muho Bookstore, owned by Old Man Kang—Kang Seokho. Readers remained thoroughly entranced, swept away by the comic’s radical, unprecedented developments and overpowering artistic detail. Sanwol had well and truly acquired a taste for drawing manhwa. With legions of fans roaring in excitement and his coin pouch growing hefty, he had no reason to complain. Yet he didn't immediately set about illustrating Volume Three, for he had business to settle first.
“Quitting the escort agency? What in heaven's name are you talking about?!”
“I’ve earned a fair bit of silver, so I figured it’s about time I settle down and live a normal life.”
The reception room boasted polished lacquer furniture and a notably ornate table. It was the chief’s private office at the escort agency where Sanwol worked—or rather, used to work. There, Sanwol sat face-to-face with the head of the agency. It wasn't the chief who had summoned him; Sanwol had simply marched in unannounced and thrown down his resignation.
“Please, reconsider. Just this once.”
“I’m sorry, Chief.”
“Come now, work with me here, won’t you? Sanwol, you’re the only Peak Realm martial artist in our entire escort agency!”
Though thrown into momentary disarray by the sudden notice, Agency Chief On Yu quickly softened his tone, coaxing the boy with a gentle voice. He had plenty of reasons to hold on to someone trying to walk out the door, but paramount among them was the boy's martial realm. First-rate experts were surprisingly common across the realm, but those who crossed the threshold into the Peak Realm were an entirely different breed.
“Was there something uncomfortable about your work here? With my authority, I can easily grant you special privileges.”
“It’s not that the job doesn't suit me. I actually think this place is a wonderful workplace.”
Even among prestigious sects and prominent martial clans, a youth reaching the Peak Realm before thirty was hailed as an exceptional genius. Most masters at that level had long passed their thirties or were already well into middle age. Yet Sanwol had not even reached twenty. Far from being a grown man, he had barely shed the traces of boyhood. Should his growth proceed smoothly, this rising star might transcend into the Super-Peak Realm, and eventually reach the Profound Realm itself.
“From now on, I plan to focus on my cultivation and raising my martial realm.”
“…Indeed. A talent like yours was never meant to linger merely at the Peak Realm.”
Faced with that reason, On Yu had no choice but to concede. Here was a prodigy capable of standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the rising stars of the Murim Alliance who had caused such a stir—or more accurately, used to cause a stir. Blocking the path of such a youth for the sake of petty personal interest was something an adult shouldn't do to a boy, much less one martial artist to another.
“And while I’m at it, I’ll be doing a bit of drawing and writing on the side. It turns out my manhwa is surprisingly popular.”
“Ah, that reminds me. Word has it the Murim Alliance is practically gnashing their teeth over Nangahyeopjeon.”
“Would the lofty bigwigs over there really spare a glance for commoners' entertainment?”
“Well… that may be true, but there has never been a craze quite like Nangahyeopjeon. It wouldn't hurt to keep a wary eye on the Nine Sects and One Gang and the Five Great Families.”
Even for an ordinary escort agency, the seat of a chief demanded far more than met the eye. People often said that great power came with great responsibility, but before acquiring great power, there were responsibilities one had to shoulder first. On Yu was no exception. Outstanding martial prowess was the virtue of frontline escort warriors who physically transported cargo, whereas a chief—occupying what was essentially an administrative post—required an extensive network of connections and ties to government officials.
Dark rumors have begun whispering that the Murim Alliance is none too pleased with Nangahyeopjeon.
Consequently, On Yu had his finger on the pulse of Wuhan. Thanks to his broad web of contacts, he grasped everything from marketplace gossip to the musings of high society.
Because of the wildfire popularity of Nangahyeopjeon, public interest in the Murim Alliance has become somewhat diluted… No, in truth, it’s been completely buried.
The founding of the Murim Alliance was meant to unite the orthodox factions, display the unyielding might of the Central Plains, and keep the Demonic Cult and the Blood Cult in check. Broad public attention was indispensable for such an endeavor, yet Nangahyeopjeon had cleanly stolen all that spotlight and fanfare.
Sanwol is a genius, but he’s not yet in a position to defy the Murim Alliance.
How On Yu had first met Sanwol was rather amusing. A scruffy boy barely coming up to his chest had knocked on the escort agency’s gates just as winter gave way to early spring. He had mistaken him for a beggar seeking alms, only to discover the boy was a martial artist. When asked what he practiced, the boy had named the Three Talents Cultivation—a third-rate method readily bought in any marketplace.
Under normal circumstances, On Yu would have turned him away without a second thought, but the boy had already attained the middle stage of the Second-rate Realm at such a tender age. The agency's severe labor shortage at the time had also played a part in taking him in.
Still, what an absolute waste to see him go.
Back then, On Yu had wondered how long the child would last before running away. Work at an escort agency was far too grueling for a youngster. Yet Sanwol had far surpassed every expectation, smashing all prejudices with achievements that defied common sense.
Within half a year, he had stepped into the First-rate Realm, and in just over a year, he broke clean through the barrier to reach the Peak Realm. Through it all, his mission success rate had been nothing short of astonishing.
“You look quite pained, Chief.”
“If you were in my shoes, could you send someone like you away with an easy smile?”
On Yu’s stomach churned as agency head. If he had his way, he wanted nothing more than to cling to the boy’s pant legs and beg him to stay just a little longer.
“Well, it’s not as if I’m ungrateful. Here, take this.”
“Isn’t this… Nangahyeopjeon?”
“It’s a rare treasure. These are private author copies bearing my personal seal—definitely not for sale.”
On Yu accepted the two volumes with a bemused expression, the covers clearly marked Volume One and Volume Two.
“Heh, very well. I haven’t read it yet, but since you gave them to me, I’ll give them a look.”
“Once you finish reading, Chief, you’ll be clamoring for the next volume yourself.”
“Is that so? Then I shall trust you to send me a copy of each upcoming volume.”
In the end, Sanwol received On Yu's blessing and officially resigned from his post as an escort warrior.
It had been a significant decision. To Sanwol, On Yu had been like an approachable, dependable uncle. That was why he gave him the most valuable gift he could currently offer: author copies of Nangahyeopjeon. Though Sanwol couldn't fully gauge its worth himself, buyers would likely form endless queues if these ever hit the market. They would probably fetch more silver than several run-of-the-mill escort missions combined. He hoped On Yu would keep them safe, but he wouldn't mind even if the chief chose to sell them.
“Next on the list… house hunting, I suppose.”
Veiling his face with a silk scarf, Sanwol stepped out into the bustling streets.
It was finally time to tackle the errand he had pushed aside for an entire week while indulging in his gourmet food crawl across Wuhan. In fact, handing in his resignation at the escort agency had also been delayed by that very food tour, finally taking place today.
A house with a yard would definitely be best, right? Since I’m planning to live alone, a modest, ordinary residence should do.
With his current wealth, Sanwol had more than enough coin to purchase a grand mansion near the downtown district. But from his past-life experience living alone, he knew intimately just how much endless labor went into maintaining a solitary household. A sprawling mansion only looked impressive on the outside; unless one cared deeply about posturing and neighborhood prestige, it was hardly an appealing choice.
All right, time to find a place that suits my taste.
Sanwol began scouring the streets on foot.
“How… how on earth can this be?”
Three days had already passed since launching Operation House Hunt. Sanwol held his head in his hands, despairing over the dismal reality of Wuhan's real estate.
Every house with a yard is practically a full-blown manor, and anything reasonably sized doesn’t have a yard at all!
In hindsight, it made total sense. This wasn't the countryside where people farmed open land; a city crammed with people required the utmost spatial efficiency. And Wuhan, where Sanwol lived, was one of the largest metropolises in the entire Central Plains. With such a dense population, courtyards were luxury amenities reserved exclusively for sprawling estates where they were deemed essential. If asked why a mansion needed a courtyard, the answer was simple: aesthetic prestige and flaunting the master's authority.
“Do I really have to compromise after all…? Hm?”
Strolling down the street with a heavy sigh, Sanwol suddenly froze and turned his head, prickled by an odd sensation. It felt as if someone had been tailing and watching him intently, only to vanish into thin air a heartbeat ago.
There's definitely something there.
The gaze had come from a dim, narrow alleyway flanked by towering multi-story buildings. Cut off from sunlight day and night, the passageway remained shrouded in gloom. In short, the perfect place to swiftly conceal oneself or conduct shady business. Sanwol glared at the alley corner as if trying to bore a hole through it with his eyes.
After several tense seconds, he nonchalantly turned his back, putting on an unbothered front.
“…Must be my imagination.”
Just like characters always did in manhwa and dramas, he deliberately mumbled the cliché under his breath and took a step forward. One single step—roughly the time it took for a person to draw half a breath.
“Who’s there?!”
Having taken that lone stride, Sanwol spun on his heel and lunged straight toward the alleyway.
It was a sophisticated feint: lowering their guard by feigning indifference, then laying a trap with an audible mumble. Sanwol was certain he had caught his stalker red-handed. A Peak Realm martial artist reinforcing his physical body with internal qi while executing supreme lightness skills—in the blink of an eye, a distance of several dozen yards vanished beneath his feet. Short of ascending into the heavens or sinking into the earth, escape was impossible.
And so, the gloomy stalker lurking in the alley was… gone?
“What? It really was my imagination?”
Deflated, Sanwol stared blankly into the alley with a bewildered expression. Really no one? No, I definitely felt someone watching me.
Lingering at the alley mouth, Sanwol craned his neck this way and that, scanning for any suspicious figures or objects. Regrettably, the deserted alley yielded nothing.
“Sigh, might as well go look at more houses.”
He chalked up his paranoia to frustration over failing to find a good property. Kicking a harmless pebble out of his way, Sanwol hurried back onto the main thoroughfare.
“…I thought we were done for.”
“To pretend to walk away only to close the distance in a fraction of an instant…”
Thanks to his sudden charge, five prospective heart patients had just been minted. Concealed behind the roof tiles of the towering building above, five figures clutched their chests, desperately trying to calm their wildly pounding hearts. In order, the victims were Namgung Mugyeol, Paeng Jongcheon, Moyong Gaye, Jegal Jahyeok, and Dang Hayeong.