Who Is the Master of Cheonhwaru
I stepped outside carrying a pouch of considerable weight. Inside were gold and silver ingots mixed together — roughly 8,900 taels' worth when all was tallied up.
Jo Hyeon, still wearing a dazed expression, spoke up.
"...I didn't see that coming."
"What do you mean?"
"I never thought they'd hand over 8,900 taels so readily... Why would they give it to us?"
I regarded the boy with a strange look.
"How old did you say you were again?"
"I turn twenty this year."
"Not so young after all. Then I suppose I should explain. They inflated the prices with falsified ledgers, and yet they still handed over this money — why? The answer is simple. This is a settlement fee from the Jang Clan."
"A settlement fee?"
"More precisely, you might call it hush money. The Jang Clan's meddling in Cheonhwaru to swallow the Yi Clan's silver was no trivial matter."
"Wasn't it?"
"Indeed. If it ever went public, it could spiral into open warfare between the two clans. No matter that the Jang Clan's eldest son has ties to the Imperial Sword Sect — at its root, this is a fight between families. Whether the Jang Clan would lose more than it gained is anyone's guess until the abacus clicks, but borrowing the Imperial Sword Sect's name is one thing; actually dragging them in would bleed them badly. If they care about their eldest son at all, the wisest course is not to burden him. Their current wish to keep this quiet — that wish is this very money."
Jo Hyeon scratched his head.
"I don't understand all the details, but... that sounds good for us?"
"Exactly. Think of it that way. By the way — how long have you been working here?"
"Since I was ten. Ten years now."
"Ten years. Then you know well enough how Cheonhwaru runs."
"I do."
"Good. Before business opens today, gather every employee who belongs to Cheonhwaru."
Jo Hyeon tilted his head.
"The master of the house has changed, and so has the Vice Pavilion Master. Isn't it only proper you address everyone at least once?"
Jo Hyeon, Vice Pavilion Master of Cheonhwaru.
Having succeeded beyond his station, the boy beamed.
"Yes, of course! I'll prepare everything properly!"
I had reached the Zhuchuan Realm, but my tendons and bones were still wanting. A body had to be tempered to its absolute limits before stepping into the Four Realms of Qi Condensation.
And so Jo Hyeon headed off to Cheonhwaru, and I returned to the Yi Clan estate.
The eldest and second sons of the Yi Clan, who had gone to wipe out the bandits of Myeongwol Mountain to bury their own sins, returned to the family today with all of it behind them.
They had expected a hero's welcome. What greeted them was anything but.
At first, they thought they had misheard.
So they asked again.
The second time they heard it, they wondered if they were dreaming.
A bolt from the blue.
Impossible.
The youngest had reached the Zhuchuan Realm, reclaimed every coin Cheonhwaru had swallowed — and then devoured the entire pavilion itself?
He had even walked into the Jang Clan's estate alone and walked out with 8,900 taels of silver?
What kind of nonsense was this?
And yet it was true.
A day — at most two.
In that span of time, everything had changed. More and more people were beginning to see Yi Do, the concubine's son, differently. Among them was the clan head himself, Yi Se-geuk.
This cannot stand. It has to be stopped.
The two men were promptly summoned by the two ladies, and together they began to weave a scheme.
Time passed, and the two brothers emerged together.
Yi Jeong's face was bright. Yi Won's was not.
Yi Jeong spoke.
"Won."
"...Yes, brother."
"Don't take it too hard."
"..."
"In the end, it is the eldest son — me — who becomes the young master of the Yi Clan. You, the second son, could claw and scrape your whole life and never take that seat. Such is the way of the Murim."
Wrong.
The way of the Murim is that no one ever knows what will happen next.
"The council convenes at the hour of Sul. Go rest."
"...Yes, brother. You should rest as well."
I had learned five martial arts from my master in total.
Honwon Ilche Qi Cultivation. Ring Stepping Cultivation.
These two — an internal method and an energy technique — were devoted entirely to building the body's foundation and wielding what it produced.
The remaining three.
When my master first explained them, this is what he said:
How to fight with the fist. How to run fast. How to slip into an opponent's openings before they can blink.
A fist art, a movement art, and a footwork art.
The fist art was called Asura Heaven-Breaking Five Secrets.
Composed of five stances, I drew this technique only when absolutely necessary — in moments of crisis.
Anyone who saw it. Anyone who felt it. Anyone present at all.
Except for those who were completely mine, every last one of them had to die. If I left them breathing, the trouble that followed would be mine to bear.
The movement art was not so lethal.
It was called the Eight Cloud Dragon Steps.
A martial art of the extinct Great Kunlun — mastered, it allowed eight instantaneous changes of direction in midair or anywhere else.
A wondrous art it was, equally useful for fleeing, or for feigning flight and striking back.
The last was the Heavenly Steed Divine Steps.
Also a legacy of Great Kunlun, compatible with any martial art in existence.
At its root, it went beyond merely exploiting an opponent's openings — it was a footwork art that held me at the perfect distance whether I attacked or evaded, and so I had relied on it more than anything else in my past life.
What I was practicing now was the Heavenly Steed Divine Steps. The Eight Cloud Dragon Steps yielded nothing meaningful below the Four Realms of Qi Condensation, so drilling it now would have been pointless.
My feet never stopped moving. The ground split open, mounds of earth surging up in my wake.
I closed on the imaginary opponent. His sword came sweeping down. I snapped my head back — the blade grazed past my nose by a hair's breadth. My rear foot shoved off the earth, the muscles of my waist and arm firing in unison.
PAANG—!
The empty air burst apart.
Had it been real, my neck would have been shattered at the very least.
I conjured a second phantom opponent.
Two swords and two fists churned the air into confusion, and my footwork tangled after them, weaving through the storm of blows grazing past me from every side.
I thrust both arms out hard to either side.
PA-AAANG—!!
The air tore open on both flanks.
Wordlessly, I wiped the sweat streaming from my brow.
I had pegged my phantoms at roughly Zhuchuan Realm to early Radiant Yang Illusion level, but it was a poor fit. What I needed was an elixir.
One Hundred-Year Ginseng would give me perhaps even odds of entering the Four Realms of Qi Condensation. Two, and my chances would climb past ninety in ten.
I raised my head. The sun was beginning to dim.
It was about time to wash up and head for Cheonhwaru.
"Young Master?"
I turned.
"What is it?"
"...The Clan Head is asking for you."
My brow creased faintly. I couldn't fathom why the man kept summoning me so often these days.
"Is it a private audience?"
"...No. He says an important council is being held and you must attend."
I clicked my tongue lightly.
Come to think of it, every time a council convened, something had happened. Could it be—
Had the Hundred-Year Ginseng already been prepared?
I washed up hastily and made for the Clan Head's Hall.
It was the same scene as always. The Clan Head at the seat of honor, four elders arrayed behind him, the two wives, the eldest son, and the second son.
Once again they gazed down at Yi Do as he entered last, for all the world like judges presiding over an inquisition.
The composition displeased him greatly, but he let it slide. He was no child, and Yi Do had lived through enough harsh years that such theater rolled off him with ease.
What followed, however, was another matter entirely.
It trampled far, far past the line Yi Do called 'acceptable.'
"Today, Jeong and Won returned from rooting out the bandits of Myeongwol Mountain. Have you paid your respects?"
Yi Do answered Yi Se-geuk.
"I was busy training. I have not."
"I see. A martial artist who has reached the Zhuchuan Realm may be excused. I only wished to say that today, these two have brought great honor to the Yi Clan."
Frankly, the whole situation verged on farce.
There had never been bandits or thieves on Myeongwol Mountain — not even displaced farmers. And then, suddenly, bandits appeared. And who, exactly, had summoned those bandits?
The 'four' people standing there.
The two mothers, and the two elder brothers.
They had had no choice but to exterminate them all. The more people who knew a secret, the less it remained one.
Yi Do felt an instinctive unease crawl up his spine.
Honor, elevation of the family name — he couldn't have cared less about any of it. But why insist on saying such things here, now, before everyone?
What was the true intent behind those words?
Yi Se-geuk spoke.
"I hear you intend to manage Cheonhwaru."
Whether he'd heard it from the Head Steward or from the two women standing there, Yi Do couldn't have cared less.
"And yet — could you truly manage it yourself?"
Everything else he could shrug off with indifference, but not this.
"I'm afraid I don't follow your meaning, Father."
"Yes, I've been circling the point. How would it be to entrust the management of Cheonhwaru to the eldest son standing here?"
Yi Do's brow knotted at once.
"I hear you've made a mere errand boy your Vice Pavilion Master, left the post of Pavilion Master vacant, and intend to run the place yourself as its de facto head. Is that correct?"
"Yes."
"But Cheonhwaru is no petty entertainment house. How can a lowly errand boy presume to sit in the Vice Pavilion Master's seat? Cheonhwaru now belongs to the Yi Clan, and if one is to govern its subordinates, it is only right that a man of the Yi Clan be dispatched to oversee them."
Yi Do held his tongue and simply listened.
"Therefore, I intend to seat Yi Jeong, the firstborn, as Pavilion Master of Cheonhwaru, and appoint Head Steward Yang to assist him. Steward Yang has run an entertainment house in the past, and though small, he has also operated a merchant caravan. What say you?"
Yi Do said nothing. He simply stood there in silence.
One person could not endure that silence.
Lady Sang, the first wife.
She exploded.
"You wretch! The Clan Head has asked you a question — how dare you stand there with your mouth clamped shut!"
Yi Do's gaze swung to her.
And his lips, sealed until now, finally parted.
"Do you not remember what was said before?"
"What?"
"This is a conversation between the Clan Head of the Yi Clan and myself. Why is it that you cannot tell when to intrude and when not to?"
"...The gall of this boy... Just because you've reached the Zhuchuan Realm, do you think nothing remains beyond your sight?"
"I see everything clearly. Far too clearly — that's the problem. Father."
"...Yes. Speak, then."
"What exactly is this performance meant to accomplish?"
"...Wh... what did you just say?"
Yi Do took a single step forward.
"Who was it who brought Cheonhwaru into our hands?"
The room sank into stillness.
"And who walked into the Jang Clan and came back with the silver?"
"..."
"These were things I accomplished — by my own strength, alone. What, precisely, have the eldest brother and his mother done, that what is mine should be handed over to the two of them as though it were theirs?"
This time Yi Jeong stepped in.
"Little brother. I understand your feelings are wounded. But didn't you say it yourself back then? That we own nothing as individuals — that everything belongs to the Yi Clan."
"I did. How well you remember. But it seems you've misunderstood."
"Hm?"
"What I said was that while none of it may be ours, whatever an individual has carved out with his own two hands — that much, he may claim outright as his own. Am I wrong?"
"...So Cheonhwaru is yours?"
"Isn't that only obvious? Or does the eldest brother claim it's his?"
"...The one who will one day lead this family is me. Think of it as a gift to its future head, from the youngest. Wouldn't that sit easier?"
There was no need to dignify that with an answer. Yi Do's gaze turned to Yi Se-geuk.
"Answer me plainly. Is this your will, Father?"
"..."
"Stripping away the ones who egg you on from the sidelines, the ones who spout nothing but pleasing words — is this the decision you have made, as Clan Head of the Yi Clan? That is all I ask."
Yi Se-geuk hesitated a moment, then nodded.
"Yes. This is my decision. Yi Do, I do not deny your merit — but now is the time for you to devote yourself to the sword. Leave the running of an entertainment house to others, and give yourself wholly to your cultivation."
It bore repeating: in this family, Yi Do had no one on his side.
He looked each of them in the face, one by one.
Yi Jeong. Lady Sang. The four elders. Yi Won. Lady Un.
And last of all, Yi Se-geuk.
Slowly —
onto Yi Do's lips —
there spread a smile of almost unbearable softness.
"As you wish. So be it."
And with that, Yi Do turned away.
But the face he wore was cold beyond all measure.
As if —
a fire were about to break out.