One Roof, Two Heads - Chapter 4: The Sect Leader's Worries Are Unfounded
The sect leader's concerns were needless. The Censorate doesn't drag off just anyone—it's for criminals. But thanks to those needless worries, I could gauge the man's character well enough.
'Not a figurehead or a mindless puppet.'
On the contrary, he was practically the linchpin holding Jeom-cheongpa together, at least on the surface. Otherwise, there'd be no way he'd tolerate the utter disasters that Dan Ju-pyeong and Go Bin were throwing inside the sect. No matter how useless or bizarre they were, he was approaching them with a mindset of 'I'll love our pathetic grand elders anyway.'
Moreover, the clothes the sect leader wore were garments blending white and black. Considering how the disciples outside were divided into white and black factions, didn't that symbolize his dream of harmony for Jeom-cheongpa?
'The only sane one...' I looked at him with pity.
Even from the perspective of an outsider like me or Baek-su-mun's Ji Wi-pyeong, Jeom-cheongpa was in a spectacular state of fragmentation. How agonizing must it be to hold the position of sect leader—the sole sane person—in such a powder keg of a sect?
"The Censorate has no intention of intervening as long as you don't threaten the peace of the realm or the tranquility of the common folk. In fact, if Jeom-cheongpa's existence contributes to that peace and tranquility, we'll commend it readily enough."
With his mental state in mind, I spoke bluntly. My visit to Jeom-cheongpa wasn't to capture Dan or Go alive—it was to confirm whether the sect was worthy of the government's recognition and protection.
"Furthermore, the Sa-il Sword Technique you're using is a martial art unknown to the Censorate. All under heaven falls under His Majesty's grace; all under heaven belongs to His Majesty. If you offer your martial arts to him, the Censorate will acknowledge your harmlessness."
This was also to verify the true nature of this newly emerged martial art.
"Offer our martial arts... to His Majesty?"
"Yes. Of course, you needn't surrender the original manual. A copy will suffice for understanding its contents."
The sect leader blinked at my words.
I wasn't sure how a new sect leader would know this, but every sect and clan in the Central Plains was obligated to submit copies of their martial arts manuals to the government. This applied regardless of whether they were founding merit clans or not, and violating it branded you a "reverse bandit hiding a dagger from the state," ripe for extermination.
Of course, it was just a pretext. The obligation wasn't fulfilled by sects voluntarily offering techniques; officials visited at their convenience to collect them. In short, it was a legal excuse to enter any sect you wanted to topple but lacked justification for.
So it didn't strictly apply to a newborn sect like Jeom-cheongpa—but
'Let's see what this Sa-il Sword Technique is.'
From the circumstances, it was both the cause of Jeom-cheongpa's divisions and the reason it stayed together. A swift sword art far too powerful and flashy for a new sect's technique. Since I was already here, I needed to examine it in detail—from its origins and creation process to the meaning and movements of every formula.
"Naturally, the copy you submit becomes His Majesty's property and won't leak elsewhere. It will remain Jeom-cheongpa's exclusive art forever, so write it without fear."
"Understood, my lord. We shall comply."
The sect leader's eyes darted about briefly before he bowed his head readily. He didn't grasp the full obligation, but his expression showed trust that an official wouldn't stoop to fraud.
'Such a pure soul.' My pity deepened. Without this role, he could have lived peacefully as an ordinary Taoist or warrior, loved by friends for his gentle nature.
"And sect leader."
"Yes, my lord."
"You're submitting a copy, but keep it secret for now—known only to you. If anyone pries, respond with silence."
That's why I instructed him to stay mum. Sects surrendering martial arts to the government was an obligation most didn't learn about until officials arrived. Especially for a new sect leader and grand elders.
If word spread that the sect leader was handing over the Sa-il Sword Technique? Hearing of the obligation for the first time—and unaware it was just a copy—they'd panic, fearing total confiscation.
'That would stir the grand elders into action.'
I could then gauge why they clung to Jeom-cheongpa and the Sa-il Sword Technique, and how they'd react to losing it. If their motives were impure, I'd check them. If their response was extreme or rude, punishment would follow.
Simple as that.
Silence hung heavy.
I itched to pummel this Dan bastard one more time even as he lay dying—to smack him five times if I spotted the back of his head on the street. Facing him twisted my guts.
But there was no choice. Even if this weren't Dan Ju-pyeong but the ancestor of the Dan clan, I'd have to meet him now.
"Go Bin."
Then the Dan bastard spoke first.
"How much do you know?"
"Everything you know."
"And what you don't?"
"I don't know what you don't."
After this rote exchange, we sighed in unison, as if by agreement.
Yeah, that was the problem. Our factions were evenly matched, our thinking alike. So I knew what he knew, but neither of us knew what the other didn't. Merging forces wouldn't yield new intel—just hope two heads sparked fresh ideas or guesses.
"...The Sa-il Sword Technique is Jeom-cheongpa's symbol and pillar. A group without a symbol lacks cohesion; a house without pillars collapses."
"I know. Jeom-cheongpa wouldn't exist if the sect leader hadn't created it."
"Exactly. And now it's slipping from our grasp."
I clicked my tongue at Dan Ju-pyeong's rough face-wipe. Frustrating. A wildcard had struck before we'd fully learned it from the sect leader.
Was "wildcard" even the word? This shattered the whole board.
'Who'd expect such an obligation.'
Yunnan was the Central Plains murim's newest, most remote fringe. No reason to know an obligation from the inviolable murim era or post-Da-Song founding.
Had we known, we'd have prostrated before the sect leader for twelve double-hours straight to learn it all. But we hadn't, and now faced an unstoppable disaster.
We'd lose the Sa-il Sword Technique before mastering it.
'They won't take it completely.'
Optimistically, this seizure was temporary. It made no sense to fully confiscate a sect's signature art. The issue was how long "temporary" lasted.
The Sa-il Sword Technique was brand-new, Jeom-cheongpa a fledgling sect. With scant history or records compared to established ones, who knew when it'd return? Years? Decades?
'This'll drive me mad.'
My head throbbed. I wanted to protest—Even officials can't seize civilian property at will! Give a firm return date!—but impossible. This wasn't some lackey; it was the Left Vice Inspector General, with investigative authority. Defying that courted death.
'Damn it.'
Another sigh escaped. How to handle this?
Sure, even if we surrendered it, the sect leader's memory remained. He could teach verbally or rewrite the manual. But would he?
He'd already hesitated to teach us—would he continue under duress?
'No guarantee.'
This could thin or halt his teachings, using the seizure as excuse. A new copy might omit key parts. Worse, if he died of old age or accident before the original returned, no one could verify authenticity. Even if the government slyly omitted sections, we couldn't tell.
"Dan Ju-pyeong."
Contemplating the worst, I called to the Dan bastard.
"Control's fully with the sect leader now."
"As if we ever had any. We've always depended on his mercy."
"It's worse now."
I downed the cold tea and stood, facing him.
"No more holding back. We can't stop the Censorate, so secure a firm promise of full transmission from him. At least he's no oath-breaker."
Dan Ju-pyeong sighed and rose.
"We blocked you from learning alone, averting the worst, but it stings that I still can't learn after all our effort."
"Same here."
Me learning beside the sect leader was to prevent his monopoly. I'd thought that enough—even if I missed out—but now, facing it, regret burned.
The Sa-il Sword Technique was a once-in-a-lifetime boon. I couldn't abandon it. All means necessary.
For a firm commitment from the sect leader, I'd do anything.
The two grand elders' reaction was immediate, as expected.
'What the hell.'
But prostrating all day before the sect leader's building? That I hadn't foreseen.
Those bastards—fallen or not, weren't they descendants of royal and prime ministerial houses? Their "decline" was from peak glory, still ample for local lordship.
Yet these scions prostrated before the sect leader? Resorting to family power for pressure? No?
'Good idiots? Or just hated the opponent?'