Family Affairs
During the long journey to the Murim Alliance Headquarters, I'd picked up all sorts of rumors.
The talk of the jianghu was that the winner of this Dragon-Phoenix Gathering would inevitably be the Azure Cloud Sword of the Namgung Clan.
He was the legitimate heir of the Heavenly Sword—one of the Ten Great Masters under Heaven—and a sword genius said to have no equal among his peers.
Everyone sang the Namgung Clan's praises, declaring that their brilliant glory would continue unbroken. They whispered that the Namgungs were pulling even further ahead of the other Five Great Clans.
That was precisely why Moyong Cheon, desperate to shed the Moyong Clan's eternal runner-up stigma in his son's generation, used to flinch every time he heard the name Azure Cloud Sword.
"I hear that Azure Cloud Sword is sitting out the Dragon-Phoenix Gathering for some reason."
That was the latest intel Ilhong had brought back from her trips in and out of the Black Market.
I'd been wondering why a man who should have been sitting in the clan lord's study had turned up all the way out here in Shaanxi. Apparently, once it looked like his own son—Moyong Hwi, known as the next most gifted after the Azure Cloud Sword—had a real shot at the championship, the old man had finally dragged his heavy backside out of the house.
A man who valued the glory and survival of his family above all else. With Moyong Cheongjin's memories still living inside me, his motives and intentions were crystal clear.
"He is the most impressive person I know."
Ma Jungcheon of the Beggar Sect was introducing me to one of the great figures of the orthodox factions as if he were doing me a favor. He was, without question, the most famous name in Ma Jungcheon's entire network.
"A pleasure. I am Moyong Cheon, lord of the Moyong Clan. In my younger days the comrades of the jianghu called me the Thunderbolt Sword."
He introduced himself first and offered a greeting.
Startled, our whole group shot to our feet and hastily returned the formal fist-and-palm salute. Moyong Cheon's cold eyes—thinly veiled behind a mask of benevolence—swept over us once.
"Judging by that massive blade, you must be the Minor Tiger Blade Jo Harang I've only heard of, and that one over there is the Dang Clan's Poison… Claw Mountain Blood, I take it."
He had been about to say "Poison Dog" and hastily course-corrected. Then his gaze landed on me as I absently fingered my human-skin mask.
"But who is this young brother here?"
Seeing me mixing so naturally with the famous figures of the murim, Moyong Cheon finally took an interest in the nameless face among them.
"You don't know him? This is the bastard who cut off the Soul-Stealing Demon Lord's breath, caught the Low Poison Demon, and helped me beat the Blood-Sucking Ghost into the dirt."
Dang Yeohye, never one for etiquette, gave a clipped summary of my résumé.
"Ah, so you're that Fortune Five-Five Heroes fellow?"
"…It's still Fortune Seven-Three Heroes."
The man was just inventing other people's monikers on the fly.
"Is that so? The nickname stuck with me—it was memorable. You're a far more strapping young man than I expected."
Apparently the moniker alone had led him to picture someone unimpressive. Jo Harang jumped in to bolster the description.
"He's not just strapping. He's gifted in the martial arts and a man of real chivalrous spirit."
She thinks way too highly of me. What is she going to do when my real identity comes out later?
"That guy? Well… I think of him like a little brother. His grit and sheer viciousness are worth acknowledging, at least."
When a newly risen Peak Realm expert and a woman of the Dang Clan both vouched for me at once, Moyong Cheon's gaze shifted from pure indifference to the faintest flicker of interest.
Anyone else might have been disappointed by a look like that. But after a lifetime of eyes that treated me like an unexploded bomb waiting to go off, a gaze this mild actually felt refreshing.
So that's how it is, in the end.
Alive, it had been impossible. Only after dying once did anyone look at this body as it truly was. The feeling was bitterly complex.
"Well then. Do your best. For the sake of your sect's revival, you'll need a good result."
We exchanged a few more words, but the moment Moyong Cheon learned that Jo Harang's sect was an obscure minor school, he lost interest entirely and walked away from the table.
He always used to say time was finite and should be treated like gold. No matter when you looked at him, the man was the ultimate profit-chaser—the sort who would cut off even his own child if that child became a liability to the family.
"Ah, of course. The champion has already been decided—it will be my second son, Moyong Hwi—so don't push yourselves too hard."
Mid-stride he half-turned, tossed out that little declaration that his son was guaranteed the win, and continued on his way.
Overflowing with paternal love, I see.
But do you know this? I was once your son as well. When I was little, your proud third boy was me.
"Haaah."
A long sigh thick with tangled frustration. The whole encounter had been unbearably uncomfortable. I hadn't even done anything, yet simply facing him once had drained me dry. I kneaded my throbbing brow again and again.
"Haha! Everyone looks like their souls left their bodies at the unexpected appearance of such a great man."
The moment Moyong Cheon vanished, Ma Jungcheon sidled up with a thoroughly self-satisfied face.
"Well? What do you think of my extraordinary connections?"
I just felt speechless. The Beggar Sect daoist fishing for praise was every bit as absurd as the rest of it. The old saying claimed you couldn't curse a smiling face—right now I felt like I might manage it.
"Just go away over there."
I pointed at the banquet hall exit with pure disgust written across my face.
"What? Why…?"
Ma Jungcheon looked utterly wronged, still completely oblivious to what kind of meeting he had just arranged.
Noon the next day.
We visited the Myeolmade building at the Murim Alliance carrying a salt-cured head, a tightly bound wanted criminal, and one elegant dagger.
The moment I held the dagger out to a staff member, recognition lit his face.
"This is… the Evil-Slaying Divine Maiden's dagger! You must be the young hero she spoke of!"
"Yes. That would be me."
"Please wait just a moment!"
She had clearly given them advance notice. The staffer asked us to wait while they brought the money and poured us tea in the meantime. So we took a brief tea break in the Myeolmade headquarters—luxuriously funded by the Murim Alliance—sheltered from the sun.
"Comfortable enough."
The chairs were stuffed with what had to be expensive cotton and felt properly plush. A pleasant floral scent drifted from somewhere, layered with the subtle fragrance of tea. It felt a little like sitting in a bank waiting for your cash to be counted out. Unlike yesterday, my mood was almost good.
"Hey. You're really handing that Low Poison Demon over here?"
Dang Yeohye watched the living corpse being dragged off with muffled "mmph-mmph" sounds and tossed me a question whose meaning I couldn't immediately grasp.
"Why?"
"If you took him to the Unorthodox Alliance instead of the Murim Alliance, they'd pay more."
Apparently the bastard had caused trouble a few times in unorthodox territory, so their bounty was double. Vagabonds didn't discriminate between orthodox and unorthodox; if anything, they leaned unorthodox as long as the money was good. In other words, I had just left money on the table.
"…Why are you telling me this after I already handed him over?"
"Heh. Because you never asked?"
What an impossible woman. No matter how I looked at her, she had more of a little hellion in her than a grown young lady.
"Haaah."
Being around her occasionally made my blood pressure spike. But her martial arts were strong enough that I couldn't really call her on it. So I decided to soothe my irritation by drinking tea instead.
I fanned the steaming cup for more than a half-ke until the temperature felt right, then slurped it down with a satisfied look.
"…What are you doing?"
"What does it look like? I'm cooling my tea so I can drink it."
"You're seriously weird…"
She reacted as if she had just watched an Italian watch someone break spaghetti noodles. Ilhong and Jo Harang wore matching looks of incomprehension.
"Hey, respect people's tastes, will you?"
Central Plains folks who have never known the joy of a properly chilled drink. What, you people don't even know about hexagon ice?
"I'm a weirdo myself, but you're something else."
Dang Yeohye propped her chin on her hand and simply watched me drink. I ignored the stare and finished every drop. The moment I set the cup down, a strange tingling bloomed at the tip of my tongue.
Come to think of it, why had she been watching me so intently while I drank?
"…Did you put something in the tea?"
"Yep."
For heaven's sake—why did she sound so proud about it, you lunatic? I set the cup down with a look of pure revulsion.
"It's fascinating every time. Even a weak poison, and you don't react at all?"
Thank the heavens for the Heavenly Killing Star's body that could shrug off poison. Otherwise, just like she'd warned me last time, I'd have been running to the latrine all day. I might even have earned a latrine-related moniker. Just imagining it was horrifying. I shot Dang Yeohye a thoroughly displeased look.
"Ahh, Young Master Dan, please understand. That is simply the young lady's way of showing interest. She occasionally torments people she likes like that."
Neungsam the maidservant shook her head with a long-suffering sigh, implying she had endured plenty of it herself.
"Wh-what the hell are you talking about?! When did I ever show interest in this guy?!"
Bull's-eye. Dang Yeohye shot to her feet, ear-tips flaming red, denying everything at the top of her lungs. She wasn't some elementary-school boy pulling the hair of the girl he liked—this was a thoroughly twisted form of affection. A few more doses of it and she might actually kill someone. No wonder she had no friends even in a gathering this full of people.
"You son of a—! I do have friends, okay?!"
Oops. That last part must have slipped out loud. Dang Yeohye's entire face went scarlet as she denied it with desperate fervor.
"Noona, Uncle Neungsam doesn't count as a friend."
"No, I seriously have some, damn it…! And you—are you trying to die today or what?!"
She lunged at me and shook me by the collar, insisting I was wrong. Thoroughly worked up. People who have been caught dead to rights usually react exactly like that.
"…Young Hero Dan Mujin? What exactly is going on here?"
A soft, familiar voice brushed my ear. Today she wore no bamboo hat; her black horse-tail hair hung free. A refined beauty with a Moyong Clan sword at her waist—Moyong Cheonghye.
"Just the usual. Don't worry about it."
I waved it off as nothing important. At the same time, every eye in our group locked onto the heavy money pouch she was carrying. So much coin had been packed inside that gleaming gold and silver pieces piled up and overflowed from the top.
"Whoa."
"Wow."
So this was financial therapy. The sheer violence of the sight made every petty squabble among comrades vanish in an instant. Moyong Cheonghye thrust the pouch straight at me.
"Oh my, you shouldn't have."
I delivered the socially agreed-upon line and shoved the pouch deep into my robes.
"Hey, brat—we're splitting that."
Dang Yeohye jabbed my back with a scowl.
"Tch."
With the Blood-Sucking Ghost it had been eighty percent her and twenty percent me, as I recalled. Looked like there would be plenty to divide.
"In any case, thank you for the money. I'll put it to good use."
I offered a crisp, proper fist-and-palm salute as I spoke. When the client paid this well, the polite posture just came out on its own.
"Not at all—we should be thanking you. You erased evil from this world on behalf of the Myeolmade. I'd almost like to beg you to keep doing it forever."
Her smile was pure warmth. No pretense—she was genuinely happy that one more evil had been wiped away.
"…"
Watching someone burn with a sense of mission while the Heavenly Killing Star hid its face right in front of her felt complicated in ways I couldn't name. I found myself absently checking the skin mask covering my face again, just to be sure nothing had slipped.
"But what are you two going to do with all that money?"
Ilhong asked, eyeing the massive haul we had just earned. This was the kind of sum that wouldn't disappear even if we stayed in luxury inns and ordered expensive dishes for quite a while.
"Hmm. I'll probably put every last coin on the winner of the Dragon-Phoenix Gathering."
Whenever the Gathering opened, a betting board opened right alongside it—wagers on who would take the championship and who would place where. Private murim sports betting… though since the Murim Alliance itself hosted the board, maybe "private" was the wrong word. Contestants even bet on themselves. Play it right and you could multiply your money several times over, just like a horse track.
"Oh? Who are you betting on?"
I asked, hoping for insider information.
"Myself, obviously, you idiot."
Oh, that confidence. She thumped her chest as if the championship were already hers.
"What about you, Boss?"
"I might put a little money down myself."
I had just learned there was a cheat character walking around with a murderous star jammed into his skull. So I planned to split a reasonable sum—eighty percent on Jo Harang, twenty percent on Dang Yeohye.
"For reference, Moyong Hwi currently has the highest odds of winning. The payout's low, but he's the safest bet."
Even if the odds were good, I had zero desire to put money on anyone from the Moyong Clan. I loved money, but not that much.
"I hear my name being spoken."
A sudden voice made Ilhong flinch hard. We turned to find a cold-faced young man standing in the entrance of the Myeolmade building, staring steadily at the person who had just mentioned him. The face and presence felt somehow familiar.
"Who the hell are you, and why are you saying my name?"
Ilhong mumbled something about it being nothing and slid behind my back in a flash. It really was the season when every orthodox martial artist in the land flocked together. We were seeing absolutely everyone.
Moyong Hwi. I never expected to run into my second older brother here—the one who had been the most enthusiastic participant in casting me out.
"Hmph."
He snorted as if we weren't worth his time and brushed past us. From the start his target hadn't been us; he walked straight toward Moyong Cheonghye, who wore a faintly startled expression. Then he delivered a line that reeked of complicated family affairs even at a glance.
"Sister Cheonghye, leave the Myeolmade and return to the Moyong Clan already. Cutting down villains like this won't bring that boy back to life, will it?"