A Ghost from the Past
Mu Yun approached Ak Mu-gil with a light smile. "That's enough sparring for now. Train on your own for a while. You'll feel something."
Ak Mu-gil nodded and asked out of curiosity. "Got it. By the way, one question."
"What?"
"When did you break through to the peak level?"
Mu Yun answered honestly. "I didn't."
Ak Mu-gil chuckled, assuming he was hiding it. "The deputies all think you did, so why bother concealing it? I was just curious about when you smashed through that wall."
"I said I didn't."
"...For real?"
"Yeah."
Ak Mu-gil's eyes sparkled with curiosity. Mu Yun's expression told him it wasn't a lie. What was even more astonishing than his martial prowess was how he'd refined Ak Mu-gil's Hwanu Sword Heart Method and forms. For someone who'd dug into one art for nearly fifteen years, it had left him dumbfounded. Not only were his answers flawless, but the way he guided him to unravel his own doubts sent shivers down his spine at times. With skills like that, he'd figured he'd surpassed peak level long ago and just kept it under wraps. But he denied it flat-out. Now he couldn't help but ask out of pure curiosity.
"Like you said, Bangju, I'd say I'm at the tail end of expert level now. But today, I couldn't even graze your sleeve. You think that makes sense?"
"Can't call it nonsense when it's true. I've just learned something a bit unusual. That's all you need to know."
"Damn!"
Mu Yun changed the subject and strode ahead. "Come on. Time for patrol."
"..."
He truly hadn't surpassed peak level. Or rather, he was deliberately holding back. Prioritizing the lower dantian to break through first would slow his progress in the Body-Mind-Intent Art. Lower dantian methods focused on inspecting the body through meridian flows and operating inner energy.
The middle dantian art contemplates the body's overall flow. Focusing on meridians before body-qi force emission does more harm than good.
The middle dantian's peak level—body-qi force emission—required uniform flow not just in the meridians, but across muscles, nerves, organs, every bodily organ. He couldn't explain why, so he brushed it off vaguely.
A short while later, as dusk fell over Chim-ju's market street. The crowds were endless, so hawking was par for the course.
"Freshly arrived fancy Xiang embroidery! Come check it out!"
"Xiang tea just brewed, only ten mun! If there's cheaper, bring 'em out!"
"Mulberry paper that takes ink like a dream. Not bamboo, I swear! Try it and see!"
"Silver bracelets to ward off ghosts, just one nyang of silver! Hey, pretty miss, I'll cut you a deal. Even looking works wonders—take a peek before you go! Aw, come on, don't just walk away!"
Mu Yun, scanning the surroundings, let a wistful smile play on his lips.
Time flies!
Comparing it to a thousand years ago naturally stirred memories. Without his past life's recollections, he'd have been lost in the spectacle for days. The buildings and attire were starkly different, the goods and quantities incomparable, but Chim-ju's main trade items hadn't changed much. The biggest one? Silver, hands down.
Across Honam, rice, grains, and tea were staples, with Xiang embroidery, Xiang tea, and fine paper as specialties. But in Chim-ju, which produced a tenth of the Central Plains' silver, silver enterprises reigned supreme. A thousand years ago, silver had dominated too. But now, with advanced mining and refining, comparing it to the all-manual era was laughable. Production had multiplied hundredsfold.
Silver had been a vital barter medium back then, but scarce across the Central Plains. Even with explosive growth now, supply still lagged.
Who knew commerce would boom like this.
Double-cropping innovations had skyrocketed rice output in the south, fueling unprecedented commerce across the Central Plains. Ballooning currency supply was inevitable. But silver was risky to carry—one nyang bought five seom of rice. Street trades stuck to iron coins and coppers; silver paired with bills for big deals.
Yet silver's scarcity meant its value kept rising just by holding it. Landlords, nobles, even commoners hoarded it feverishly. Gold was rarer still, a pipe dream for most. No wonder Chim-ju's prosperity swelled daily.
A bitter smile touched Mu Yun's lips—echoes of the past.
We really turned those mountains inside out for years.
Then or now, aside from banditry, orphans had few options. Penniless, untaught kids, tired of begging, headed to the hills. Digging wild roots, a lucky silver vein could change everything. Mu Yun and his friends had scoured harder than anyone. Outsiders faced local kids scarier than adults.
Jackpots were dreams, though. Veins found were impure dross.
Suddenly, Mu Yun's eyes lit up.
With modern refining...
He'd marked spots in regret, maps treasured for fifteen years. Those childlike longings lingered sharp in memory.
His gaze drifted to ragged street urchins, dozens more than before. He chuckled wryly.
They've probably found them all by now.
Mining experts abounded, plus a millennium's toil. But maybe...
Shall I hunt for fun?
Yeo Hwi's legacy meant no money woes. Pure nostalgia.
Mu Yun eyed Ak Mu-gil. "Know any silver mine developers?"
"A few. Why?"
"Set up a meet sometime."
Ak Mu-gil's eyes widened—he knew a prime spot. "Silver vein?"
"Not certain, but worth checking."
A bright grin spread on Ak Mu-gil's face. Perfect excuse to visit often.
"I'll fetch him now."
Mu Yun chuckled at the assumption. "You hunting veins too, Deputy?"
"Nah, but I know spots."
"Good ones?"
"The best! Used to be famous, handled big clans. Scaled back now."
"Why?"
"Big families mine direct now business boomed. These experts lack capital, can't compete. But their work's top-notch. I guarantee."
"You know 'em well?"
Ak Mu-gil blinked toward the market. "Just... ahem! Let's patrol."
"...?"
As they nearly finished sweeping Cheong-ho Bang turf, the Yeom brothers dashed up.
Thud-thud!
Yeom Jung-tak scanned around, frowning. "Shit! Lost her. Where'd she go?"
"What's up?"
"New pickpocket bitch. Vanished mid-chase."
Then Yeom Ri-ung, scouting, perked up. He rolled sleeves, eyes blazing. "There! If I catch that bitch, she's done."
As Yeom Ri-ung lunged, Mu Yun grabbed his hem. "Let her go. That's Chimdo Bang turf."
Chimdo Bang, Chim-ju's other black path pillar with Cheong-ho. No stirring trouble now.
"So what? She's an outsider."
"Still, drop it. No headaches."
Yeom Ri-ung deflated. "Ugh, she was quick. Wanted to nab her."
"Next time."
Yeom Jung-tak, withdrawing glare, paused puzzled. "Wait, something's off."
"What?"
"Ha Hu-jin was ahead of her earlier. Second time too. And now again."
Ha Hu-jin—Mu Yun knew the name.
Ha Hu clan's bastard. Bullied one.
Big clans were alike; concubine maids' sons got no recognition. Especially if offending the legal wife.
They lived unseen even by clanmates. No ties here.
But turning away, Mu Yun's eyes sharpened.
He looks like him.
Yeo Dan, comrade with Yeo Hwi. Slender jaw, wistful eyes, stubborn lips—all matched. But what gripped him: that faint, shadowed smile.
Yeo Dan's distant gaze at the world, laced with quiet pain. It echoed in Ha Hu-jin.
Lonely soul.
Yeo Dan too, bastard of a Yeong-ju salt maid. After the family head died, he'd nearly been buried alive with Mu Lun and Yeo Hwi as servants. Family-abandoned pain birthed that smile.
Similar face, smile—stirred wistful memories.
But staring blankly, Mu Yun's gaze hardened. The pursuing woman's skirt hid nimble steps that caught his eye.
Three months' training let her shake the brothers—meant trained. Yet no martial grace or warrior gait. Just a common housewife's soft, clumsy shuffle.
No proper martial artist moved like that. Women especially betrayed training. Unless...
Master or assassin!
Target: Ha Hu-jin, clearly. Mu Yun's brows furrowed.
He'd vowed silence till a certain realm. Four months smooth—first snag.
Irrelevant, headache to tangle. But reason restrained, heart urged.
Yeo Dan's regrets and longing weighed heavy.
Decision came swift.
I'll watch.
Soon after, a teahouse in Chimdo Bang's left market stretch.
Thud-thud!
A woman stumbled in clumsily, scanned, rushed a man. "Sob sob! Sir! Help me!"
"What happened?"
Tears rolled over her rustic matronly bun. "Thugs chased me. Please!"
Ha Hu-jin's face hardened. Obvious ploy.
"Stay here. You're safe."
Then Chimdo faction thugs burst in. "There you are. Damn, speedy bitch."
Ha Hu-jin stepped forward. "What's this?"
Chimdo deputy Ma Cho-ung, tense at first, recognized him. A sly grin spread. Can't injure him, but roughing up was fine.
"Oh, it's Ha Hu young master! Joining in?"
"Seems like a misunderstanding."
"Misunderstanding my ass! Figure a bookish young master sees her crying and thinks we're the villains. Heh!"
"We'll know once we hear."
"Ask the bitch if she picked pockets."
"Pickpocket?"
"You really that clueless? Check her pouch!"
Ha Hu-jin eyed her, startled. "Is he telling the truth?"
"I, well... actually..."
As she bowed silent, his eyes quivered. Her pitiful look overlaid his dead mother's. He'd stepped in rashly again. She'd begged him to stay hidden till leaving the clan, repeating it on her deathbed—her face flashed.
His dazed gaze hit the ceiling.
Another mistake!
Then, behind deputy Ma Cho-ung, a soft breeze stirred. Amid the crowd, a sleeve fluttered, glinting metal.
Swish!