A Child Born with a Heavenly Fate
The awkward silence left behind by the abruptly ended spar was heavy enough to choke on. The faint sense of closeness that had come from sharing martial arts, the satisfaction and joy of rising in realm—none of it mattered anymore. Both of them now understood with their bodies what it truly meant that everything depended on the finish.
“It seems the lightning energy I left inside you reacted to my inner force. I should have warned you beforehand….”
“No, not at all. How could this possibly be your fault, Eungong…? I was the one who didn’t disperse the lightning energy properly, and I was the one who forcibly drew it up.”
Paeng Ha-ryeong had not the slightest intention of becoming a shameless, thick-faced woman. No matter how embarrassing the sight she had shown him—a sight no woman should ever reveal—it had been her own mistake, not Namgung Woo’s.
“Rather, I should be thanking you. I’ve received yet another favor from you.”
“It’s hardly a favor. When two people spar, there’s no need to speak of grace or grudge.”
“Hehe, as expected of Eungong. You truly are a great hero. Most people would have immediately claimed they had done you a favor.”
She paused, then added with a small laugh, “Ah, right. I keep forgetting to mention something.”
“What is it?”
“Exactly that. The way you speak to me, Eungong.”
At Paeng Ha-ryeong’s pointed remark, Namgung Woo narrowed his eyes in confusion. The sight must have been amusing, because she giggled softly before continuing.
“The grace I’ve received from you is by no means small, yet it feels wrong to keep hearing you speak so formally. I would be grateful if you could speak more comfortably with me.”
“Your honorable age…?”
Honorable age was a respectful way of asking a young man his years. It was practically archaic in the modern era, but to Namgung Woo—who had been close friends with Namgung Pung, the man obsessed with hanbok customization, the one who had swallowed an entire concept whole and been born in the wrong era—it was common knowledge.
“I’m twenty-four. Exactly one year older than you, Eungong?”
Watching Paeng Ha-ryeong attempt to draw an elegant, mature smile while claiming seniority, Namgung Woo felt a slight pang of guilt. In truth he was twenty-six, but he had shaved two years off his age because his appearance had changed. At first he had done it to avoid needless suspicion, but now he regretted it. More than anything, being treated like a younger brother by Paeng Ha-ryeong—who was actually two years his junior—felt wrong as a man, quite apart from any moral qualms.
“Actually, I’m twenty-six.”
“Hmmm?”
“It’s the truth.”
Paeng Ha-ryeong gave him a sidelong glance with half-lidded eyes. Namgung Woo met her gaze without flinching.
“Everyone has their own story. It’s actually better this way. You’ll be able to speak much more comfortably now.”
“Then let’s both speak casually…”
“That won’t do.”
Paeng Ha-ryeong rejected his compromise in a crisp, decisive voice.
“Eungong is Eungong. How could I possibly speak down to you?”
She had no intention of yielding. Her aura was every bit as fierce as it had been during their spar moments ago—perhaps even more so.
“…Fine.”
When Namgung Woo reluctantly dropped the honorifics, Paeng Ha-ryeong nodded with a satisfied smile.
“Very good.”
Yes. It really was good. Not simply because he had stopped speaking formally, but because the conversation itself felt right. Speaking with Namgung Woo no longer felt difficult to Paeng Ha-ryeong. It was comfortable, like talking with her own family. The invisible wall that had built up between them—age, gender, gratitude—had crumbled away during their spar. Or perhaps it had been the embarrassing display at the very end. Whatever the reason, she no longer needed to gather courage just to speak to him. Their conversation flowed naturally, like a gentle stream, without either of them forcing it.
In one corner of the courtyard stood a massive tree stump. Judging by its size, uprooting the entire thing would have been difficult and expensive, so they had apparently left the stump and converted it into a resting spot. For the two people who found it awkward to either go inside the annex or head back to the inn, it became the perfect place to sit and talk.
“I see. I should have preserved more of the foundational herb back then. I still can’t properly control the power that came with opening my blocked meridians.”
As expected, the easiest topic for them to share was martial arts. They reviewed their recent spar, discussing which moves had been effective and where they had fallen short—an extension of the duel itself. It was true that Namgung Woo lacked real combat experience, but the martial knowledge forcibly imprinted on his brain and the insight granted by his Changnyeongmanan more than compensated for that deficiency.
Once the review of their spar ended, the conversation briefly died. As Namgung Woo wondered whether he should bring up another subject or suggest they go inside since it was getting late, Paeng Ha-ryeong asked,
“Eungong, why did you establish the Ronin Unit?”
“Why, you ask.”
“There must be some other purpose behind creating the unit, right? A master of your caliber would be treated with great respect anywhere he went. I found it strange that you would choose to lead a band of ronin instead.”
At her question, Namgung Woo recalled the night he had stayed up talking with the Yang twins. At first, he had planned to wander this world alone. To him, this was a place he would eventually leave once he found a way back. That realization was separate from the joy he had discovered in martial arts during his duel with Hwang Mu-tak and his acceptance of his current situation. The difference between completely rejecting this world and acknowledging it as a temporary home was like heaven and earth. That was how he had been able to partially restore the broken balance of the Three Treasures.
Did that mean he had pushed away all connections in this world because they would eventually part? That was part of it, but there was another reason. The legacy of the Namgung family that he had heard from Song Chae-ji. Although it had nothing to do with him personally, as long as he refused to abandon his name and his martial arts, that label would follow him like a tag. So Namgung Woo had tried to avoid forming bonds, hoping to spare himself the pain of inevitable farewells and future hardships. That was why he had refused Song Chae-ji’s offer to stay at the Song family residence if she was fine with it, and had instead sought out the Yopyeong Escort Agency.
But that mindset had changed. The Yang twins had sincerely bared their everything to him. In that case, he could not simply push them away. That was what he had concluded. Having accepted the world and accepted people, what he needed next was a place to put down roots in this world. The Namgung family had been destroyed, and neither the Yang twins nor he himself had a sect to return to. That left only one option. Namgung Woo had decided to create his own place in the world.
“I wanted to create a place where I could belong.”
“A place?”
Paeng Ha-ryeong’s eyes widened like a startled rabbit at the unexpected answer. She had assumed that someone like Namgung Woo would have a far more noble goal than ordinary ronin—something like sealing the Ghost Gates that plunged the common people into suffering, for example.
“Yes. And there’s something I need right away.”
“Ah… I see. If there’s anything you need, please don’t hesitate to tell me. As long as it’s something my uncle and I can help with, we will do everything in our power.”
Paeng Ha-ryeong had spoken quite firmly, but perhaps realizing that limiting it to herself and Paeng Mu-ho instead of the entire Hebei Paeng family sounded rather meager, she added in a slightly deflated voice,
“It’s just… I haven’t spoken with the family head yet. But I’m certain that once he hears how you helped us, he will treat you as a great benefactor of our clan!”
“You waited in Beijing without contacting your main house?”
“We did send word, but Father is currently away. My older brother, the young clan head, is acting in his stead.”
Paeng Ha-ryeong thought of her father, who had left Hebei and traveled far away. The heads of prestigious martial families carried heavy responsibilities. Most clan leaders rarely left their homes. When they did rise from their seats, they would make grand preparations befitting their position, assembling a large entourage before setting out. But the Paeng family was different. They moved lightly, as if the military unit was simply taking on a mission with only a few men. It wasn’t so much that they avoided empty formalities and sought practicality, but rather that the Paeng family was that desperate. Even Paeng Ha-ryeong herself, a direct descendant, traveled without a proper retinue.
“Eungong, would you listen to my story?”
Namgung Woo listened quietly to Paeng Ha-ryeong’s story. What flowed from her lips was a hidden tale of the Hebei Paeng family—not exactly a secret they tried to conceal, yet one that no one spoke of lightly. Paeng Ye-ryeong, the youngest daughter of the clan head and Paeng Ha-ryeong’s younger sister, had been born with a frail body. She was what people commonly called a “seven-month child.”
But if she had simply been a premature baby, they would have said she was a bit weak but there was nothing to worry about. After all, they were the Hebei Paeng family, one of the great martial clans. They would have performed the usual cleansing of marrow and veins, opened her blocked points, and restored her health. A seven-month child might find it difficult to reach greatness as a martial artist, but at least she wouldn’t have to worry about life and death like the premature babies of ordinary households.
However, Paeng Ye-ryeong was special.
“Ye-ryeong was born with her upper dantian left open.”
“I thought all babies were like that.”
An open upper dantian. To martial artists, that phrase referred to the state where one had opened the life-and-death gates of the Conception and Governing Vessels, finally storing true energy in the upper dantian’s Hall of the Spirit, and communicating with the outer cosmos through the Hundred Convergences point. But newborns were slightly different. Quite literally, their heads were open. The great and small heavenly gates. Newborns actually had holes in their skulls. When you touched a baby’s head, it felt soft because the skull hadn’t fully closed, leaving the fontanelles known as the great and small heavenly gates. These openings usually closed by around eighteen months of age. Moreover, since a baby’s body and mind were not yet complete, even if they received qi through their wide-open upper dantian, they couldn’t store it inside their bodies, rendering it meaningless.
Namgung Woo didn’t know the precise mechanism, but he did know what it meant for the upper dantian to remain open. It was thanks to the martial knowledge forcibly engraved into his brain.
“That’s right. But in Ye-ryeong’s case, her upper dantian never closed.”