Wudang Sect (1)
A great merchant. If martial artists have realms like second-rate or first-rate, then for merchants, the title of great merchant must be the pinnacle of perfection.
What more is there to say? It was me. Muk Hwi-yeong, the great merchant. I never proclaimed it myself, but somehow, that's what I'd become.
I'd achieved it through sleepless nights, skipping meals, wearing rags, and grinding my bones to dust—becoming the wealthiest tycoon in the Central Plains.
But...
"Hey, this is millennium cold iron!"
"How can millennium cold iron be this big?"
"Quiet down, all of you. We're not here for some millennium cold iron."
The man who seemed to be the leader spoke sternly. His pompous demeanor made my blood boil, and words slipped out automatically.
"You petty thieves, full of hot air!"
My vision flashed white in an instant. I didn't even know how I'd been hit.
Blood trickled from my overturned mouth, accompanied by excruciating pain wracking my jaw.
"What we're taking belongs to our cult. You Central Plains folk stole it."
"You stuffed a demon eye stone into your pocket earlier. Does that belong to you too?"
"...That's my wife's. I'm just collecting it as interest."
"It's not your wife's—it's the property of the Hwi-yeong Merchant Group, you damn petty thief!"
As I bellowed, something swung at me again. A dull thud resonated in my jaw along with the sound of air slicing.
Looking back, blood—presumably mine—stained a scabbard. They'd hit me with the scabbard. Even dead monks get their asses whipped, or so they say... Well, martial artists wouldn't bother reading sutras anyway.
"Leader! Found it. There's a box here."
A shout came from the corner of the merchant caravan's warehouse.
"Oh."
The leader's eyes, which had been glaring at me, curved into crescents.
Soon, a jade box dropped in front of me, where my arms and legs were bound. I chuckled at the sight.
"You can't open it even with your boasted martial arts, right? Yeah, it's a jewelry box made of millennium cold iron. No idea how much it cost to make, huh?"
"I have no interest in your vulgar money games."
My insides churned. Vulgar money games. Martial artists always dismissed commerce like that. In their world, merchants were just lowly money grubbers.
But right now, I wanted to ask every martial artist: Is bullying and robbing common folk the noble path, or is accumulating wealth?
"Your mother must've raised you with money too."
This time, no scabbard flew at me. Instead, a rough hand seized my chin and yanked it up.
"Where's the key?"
"You think I'll tell you?"
"Of course not. Look at me."
As he said "look at me," his black pupils dilated. The eerie sight of his black iris overwhelming the white sclera froze me—I couldn't close my eyes or turn away. It felt like his eyes had a suction force.
Suddenly, my brain felt scrambled, like I'd jolted along in a cheap carriage for ten hours.
"Answer me. Where's the key?"
Unbearable nausea and headache consumed me. To escape this agony, I had no choice but to tell the truth. I sensed it instinctively. Still, I resisted once.
"N... No way, you bastard!"
"When Hwanin Seophon Gong reaches a higher level, you'll only suffer more."
The black-clad man leaned closer. I still couldn't escape his gaze, and now pain like a porcupine rolling inside my skull intensified.
"Argh, aaaah!"
"Speak quickly. We don't have much time."
"Un... Under the chair in the caravan leader's room! Under the chair!"
Only then did his black pupils contract, releasing me.
Defeat washed over me for spilling it. Guilt and rage toward the Murim Alliance Leader who'd entrusted it to me surged simultaneously.
"Huff... huff..."
"You brought this pain on yourself, but you're the first non-martial artist to hold out this long."
Soon, his subordinates fetched the key and presented it. He inserted it smugly, but the box didn't open.
"Looks like your wife doesn't need a demon eye stone—she needs another man."
I mocked desperately. He grabbed my hair and hoisted me up again.
"What's this? Wrong key?"
"Yeah. You're just too incompetent."
"Hwanin Seophon Gong would've prevented lies..."
The man fiddled with the key and box, then tossed them at me in frustration.
As the box rolled with a clatter, a sword pressed against my throat.
"Open it."
"What if I don't?"
"Hwanin Seophon Gong can compel actions too."
Don't want that pain again? Open it quietly. But I'm no fool. The moment I open it, I'm dead.
Yet refusing means he'll force me with that technique.
"Fine."
"That's better."
The blade severed the ropes binding my arms. I rolled my shoulders, stiff from prolonged binding.
I stared at the box ahead. Damn Murim Alliance Leader. Not content with fleecing my money, now he's taking my life too.
It was always like this. Martial artists snatching what was mine. Bandits once looted over twenty carts; a single powerhouse demolished the manor I'd built.
They sweep away a lifetime of commoners' efforts in one go.
"Why are you martial artists so arrogant? Aside from killing, what can you even do? Useless parasites who can't wield a brush with their own hands."
"Shut up and open it."
I closed my eyes. I'd climbed this far despite it all. But this is the end.
"...What a weary life."
My true feelings slipped out unwittingly.
I inserted the key into the slot. Using the Samjae Heart Method, I channeled a rat-shit-sized amount of qi through it.
The reason the man couldn't open it was simple: Only I and the Murim Alliance Leader knew it was a mechanism box. Qi must precisely follow the groove before turning. The key was merely a conduit.
Click.
The box sprang open with a snap.
A small, gleaming black pill rested carefully inside.
"Ooh. This is the Divine Demon Pill..."
The man's awestruck voice echoed above.
"Hey."
"What? I'll hear your last words before you die."
Now he's openly admitting it'll kill me. Not that I expected otherwise.
"Do you know the merchant's path I followed to become a great merchant?"
"Not particularly curious."
"Repay everything. Favors or grudges alike."
I smiled. Then slammed my head into the pill.
I didn't know what it was, but one thing was certain: The Murim Alliance Leader had warned me emphatically.
—Don't even think of touching it with your tongue. It's an imperfectly refined pill; it'll melt away instantly.
They seemed oblivious, hence their leisure.
My tongue tip touched the pill immediately. It wrapped around my tongue with a bitter taste.
"You mad bastard!"
Realizing too late, the man slashed my throat with his sword. The pill touching my tongue and my head separating happened in a split second—testament to his sublime skill.
But what could he do? I'd already swallowed the pill. It was dissolving, coursing through my body... Even if he dismembered me or scattered my limbs, the absorbed pill was beyond recovery.
I wanted to mock him fully, but I couldn't speak. My head was severed. Twisting my lips forcibly was my best effort.
Thus, my consciousness faded.
A panoramic life review flashed by—countless events from my life rushing like rapids in a narrow valley.
...
My awareness kept drifting into the past, finally landing softly at one moment.
"Gasp!"
I bolted upright.
I craned my neck side to side. Unbelieving, I grabbed my head. Astonishingly, it was still attached.
"Rise!"
Simultaneously, a thunderous roar and flute trill shook my chest.
I knew this sound.
The shout and grass flute signaling wake-up time for Wudang lay disciples. The chest-thumping impact was no mere yell—it was Lukhap Jeonseong infused with inner power.
The kids beside me groaned, rising one by one.
But having woken first, I had time to think.
I was kicked out of Wudang in less than a month, right?
I remembered. Thanks to my father's endless donations, I'd entered as a lay disciple, but I had zero martial talent. Booted out in under a month. My peers' mockery still burned my cheeks recalling it.
That was around my early twenties, probably.
"How can those who entered the Dao Gate be so lazy!"
The door burst open, and a Taoist with a black beard reaching his navel flew into a rage.
"Cheonghyeon Zhenren?"
I blurted blankly, and he glared.
"What? Am I your buddy? This fool's still half-asleep, talking nonsense."
Cheonghyeon fetched a long bamboo slip from who-knows-where and smacked my head. No way could I, a commoner, dodge a martial artist's strike.
"Ow!"
Stars exploded in my vision. Then I recalled: Despite being a martial artist, Cheonghyeon was merciless, using inner power on lay disciples no better than civilians.
"Awake now?"
He addressed me, but I couldn't respond.
Unbelievable text floated before me.
And beneath it, even more absurd items scrolled down.
With prices attached, it seemed they could be bought. To me, a merchant, the amounts were ridiculous.
10 silver taels? 300? Easy to say—one silver tael buys two seom of rice; ten buys land for a 30-pyeong house.
The item names were beyond absurd, runaway-to-the-border absurd. Martial Bone or Sword Talent, fine. But Martial King Body was a heavenly martial bone appearing once a millennium; Heavenly Eye, one of Buddha's six supernatural powers.
I must be crazy.
I shook my head. The rational thought: I died and my soul still wanders the Ninth Heaven. A resentful ghost from life's attachments.
Still, since it's here, I wanted to test it. A great merchant can't pass an unseen good. Handle all wares to become one.
"Zhenren. May I ask one thing?"
"Heh, head smacked and now your speech is weird. Fine. What is it?"
"Could you lend me three copper taels?"
I asked politely, and the bamboo slip flew at my head once more.