Chapter 78
Chapter 78
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 78
Chapter Title: The Withered Sprout
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A massive three-story grand hall was bathed in the sun's rays, casting a deep, dense shadow that completely filled the training courtyard.
The edge of that shadow.
Near the wall, an old man dressed in dark green silk robes was meticulously tending to the soil.
Two endless rows of furrows ran along the wall, various vegetables sprouting in each one.
"Oh dear, oh dear."
The old man wore a heartbroken expression as he gazed at one plant that had lost its vigor and was wilting away.
Its roots must have been weak; it couldn't absorb enough moisture and had dried up in the sun.
"Looks like the ones next to it sucked up everything, even what belonged to others."
The old man glared at the neighboring vegetables, their leaves lush and thriving.
For mere vegetables, his eyes seemed to brim with genuine murderous intent.
"Goodness, my lord. At it again?"
A passing woman caught sight of the old man and came running over in startled alarm.
"Ah, has Chisam's mother come?"
The old man broke into a wide grin, his face creasing with wrinkles, but the woman let out a sigh.
"What do you mean 'ah'? Get up already. What if someone sees you?"
"Heh heh, woman. Who would dare say anything to me?"
"They do say things. No one speaks up to your face, my lord, but they point fingers at us underlings."
"Eh? Who dares?!"
The old man feigned anger and glared sharply around him, but the woman sighed again.
"Everyone. All of them."
"Nonsense. What business is it of theirs what I do in my own home?"
The old man chuckled playfully, and the woman shook her head.
The old man was a former Grand Scholar.
Though he had retreated to the countryside after losing in court intrigues, his upright character reached the heavens, earning him the utmost respect from all.
Even when the city lord personally sought him out in admiration of his name to receive instruction, or when power brokers who controlled the province came calling, he refused them all, calling himself a mere hermit lost in the wilds—such was his prestige.
Yet his nature was so unpretentious and compassionate that he divided his vast estate among tenant farmers.
He released relief grain during famines and floods, ensuring no one starved within three hundred li of his home.
And he worried even about poor harvests three hundred li beyond—that devotion inspired reverence that pierced the skies.
"Look at it. Isn't it pitiful?"
"What is?"
The woman, who had dragged the old man into the main hall against his will and was now peeling fruit for him, looked puzzled.
"That one in the middle."
"......"
"The damned ones next to it stole all the water. It would be nice if they shared, but they're so greedy."
Always so compassionate.
Now extending his pity even to a mere vegetable?
"Sigh, my lord. That's just how the world is. Where there are the capable, there are the inept; the strong prey on the weak. Isn't that life?"
"Eh? Have you been sneaking off to study somewhere?"
The old man pretended to be shocked, and the woman puffed up with a grin.
"I've been the village school mutt for over three years now."
"Oh? Ha ha! Not bad. Not bad at all. Can't underestimate a bumpkin like you, Chisam's mother. You've got some real wisdom in your words."
"You're too kind."
Knowing it was flattery, the woman smirked.
"Isn't it a tragic world? Everyone culls the withered ones, but really, they should be culling the thieves."
"Then they'd all starve."
"Is that so?"
"Of course. The withered one's doomed anyway. If you cull the healthy ones to save it, what do you eat?"
"True enough. You're right. But listen—if we culled one of those thieves beside it and shared it with everyone, wouldn't all bellies be full, and the withered one survive too?"
The woman nodded in agreement, then furrowed her brow.
"But my lord."
"Hm?"
"Instead of fretting over vegetables, worry about yourself a bit."
"What?"
At his question, the woman stared pointedly at his dark green silk robes.
"......"
They were filthy with dirt.
She would have to wash them.
And that chore was clearly hers to do.
"I have to wash several outfits a day. Why not buy more clothes instead of wearing just these few?"
"Mm, ah... Sorry about that."
"And please, keep some dignity. Ever since the lady passed, there's no one to scold you."
"Heh heh."
"Heh heh my foot! What kind of dignified hall has a farm in it? Leave that work to the servants."
"No, I need something to occupy my time..."
"My lord!"
"......"
The old man fell silent at Chisam's mother's sharp shout, her face stern.
He looked just like a child being scolded.
But it was a sight that revealed his true character, so passersby always smiled warmly at the scene.
The most prestigious man in the area mingled freely even with lowly servant women doing menial tasks.
"Now, come inside and take off those clothes."
"No, they're still wearable..."
"Hurry!"
With hands on hips and eyes narrowed, she left him no choice but to mutter "Oh dear" repeatedly as he headed to his quarters.
Once he confirmed Chisam's mother had left, he sneaked back out to the vegetable patch.
And stared silently at the wilted plant.
[Third Palace Lord.]
A voice came from somewhere.
There was clearly only the old man there. Yet strangely, the voice rang clearly in his ears.
One might expect him to startle at a ghost, but his expression remained utterly calm.
[The Form Lord's mission has failed.]
"......!"
Deep furrows creased the old man's brow.
"Did they trace it back?"
[No. With Ucheong dead, the trail ends there.]
The old man paused, pondering deeply.
"The child?"
[Under investigation by the Justice Alliance.]
"Yang Sobang?"
[No. We couldn't identify who. Apologies.]
Regret colored the voice from thin air.
"No need to apologize. Mistakes happen. We can replace it with another child."
[What about the one in the Justice Alliance?]
"......"
The old man's steps carried him toward the vegetables.
"Kill it."
The voice from the air cut off briefly.
"Having second thoughts?"
[No.]
"It's a sacrifice for a new world. Some blood must be shed, pitiful or not."
[Understood.]
Silence fell between them again.
"How goes the search for Yang Ui?"
[Still no trace.]
"We must find him, no matter what."
[We know. But we've located Muhyeol's whereabouts. Once secured, the Qingcheng secret will unravel.]
"Who's retrieving Muhyeol?"
[Jeokhae went for it. Orders are to deliver it immediately to Gwiyeong, who's infiltrated Qingcheng.]
"Got it. Then we should send reinforcements to Daerang."
[Pardon? To Daerang?]
"Mm."
[Has the Blue Wolf Corps under Daerang been mobilized too?]
The old man nodded silently in affirmation.
[Third Palace Lord. But that's too risky. A large force will alert the Tang Family, and they won't sit idle. If conflict arises...]
"We must secure it at all costs. Even if it means bathing the Tang Family and Qingcheng in blood."
[Third Palace Lord.]
"Return now."
[......Yes.]
The voice from the air fell silent after its reply.
The old man's gaze lingered on the vegetable.
"It's not far off. The new world. When the time comes."
Crunch!
Two thriving vegetables beside the wilted one were yanked out roots and all.
They were plump enough to serve to the kitchen staff, but without hesitation, the old man crushed them underfoot.
"Thieves or victims, they're all useless scum in this world."
The trampled vegetables smeared into the dirt beneath his foot.
"Pus-filled filth of the world. Wait. I'll carve out every last one of you, like the world's rotten sores."
The Grand Scholar, still praised for his virtue even in seclusion.
Bloodthirsty malice filled his eyes, utterly at odds with his image.
Rooooar...
A massive torrent of water flowed with refreshing force.
The river known since ancient times as the one that connects the realm.
Originating in Qinghai Province, it wound through ninety-six thousand li, encompassing eight provinces before emptying into the Eastern Sea at the end of Jiangsu.
Its tributaries linked every region, making the name "connecting the world" most apt.
It was the Yangtze, flowing alongside the Central Plains' history and into the future yet to come.
The Justice Alliance's location in Wuhu owed much to this river's flow.
Goods and people could travel to every corner of the Central Plains by waterway—an ideal spot.
From Wuhu, any boat heading up the Yangtze to Qinghai had one unavoidable waypoint.
A vast lake at the southern tip of Hunan Province, smack in the Central Plains' heart.
Lake Dongting.
If the Yangtze was the realm's greatest river, Dongting was its greatest lake.
Like fruit-laden trees dangling sweet scents from a long branch piercing the Central Plains' center, it captivated every passerby.
Poets and scholars visited year-round without cease; every merchant caravan and escort bureau passed through. It was the rivers and lakes' true hub.
Hundreds of inns and wine houses lined its shores—enough for a city in itself. Dazzling lights banished night, earning it the name "City of Never-Night."
Yet it had no master.
It was an unspoken pact.
All the orthodox sects coveted it, but none claimed it.
Still, with immense profits converging there, it had long been a battleground for greedy rivers' denizens.
The most hermits dwelled there; countless orthodox sects had planted branches.
Incidents erupted daily, yet no grand war for control ever broke out.
Thus, it was a lawless wasteland—and the realm's most orderly domain under the rule of law.
Rear alley of the Ox Market on Dongting Lake's outskirts.
A livestock trading hub for cattle and pigs, it brimmed with slaughterhouses where hides were stripped and meat carved.
Thud! Slash! Chop chop! Slice, slice.
A thick cleaver danced across a massive cutting board, slicing meat.
With straight, precise strokes, hefty beef ribs were severed; in moments, bone and flesh parted into separate baskets.
"Wow!"
The shaggy-haired boy Ochil, who had come to collect the meat, let out cries of admiration at the expert handiwork.
But the cleaver-wielding hand never paused.
"Truly, among Dongting's beef butchers, you're the best, big bro!"
"......"
"How do you dismantle a whole cow so effortlessly with a body like that?"
Ochil stuck out his tongue in awe at the silent man focused solely on his task.
Most butchers were burly, with thick beards and arms like women's thighs, their bulk rivaling two ordinary men.
But the man before him—Baekpyo.
He looked pitifully frail.
Skinny.
Skeletal, even—the massive cleaver seemed too heavy for his frame, a burden to wield.
Hunched over with unfocused eyes as he walked, he seemed one nudge away from crumbling to dust.
His hollow gaze and ragged breaths only added to it.
He could collapse clutching his chest after a few steps, and no one would bat an eye.
Yet bizarrely, his butchery was flawless.
The cleaver trembled under its weight when idle, but once begun, he transformed into a dancer wielding it like a blade in a performance.
One might believe the legendary butcher Poding—said to have dismantled thousands of oxen while keeping his blade razor-sharp—had been reborn.
With no thickness, enter the without-between.
In other words, wielding a paper-thin blade to navigate the gaps between an ox's bones.
That was exactly Baekpyo's technique. He finished without so much as a nick on any bone.
Thud!
"Done."
"Whoa! So fast."
Amid Ochil's awe, Baekpyo set down the cleaver and slumped heavily to the ground, gasping with a guttural rattle.