68. I Always Loved You (6)
“……What are you?”
I Hwan dropped through the ceiling to the floor. The feminine tone had vanished, replaced by a sharp, piercing voice like a awl brimming with ferocity.
“What’s so special about a merchant welcoming a guest?”
“You knew I was coming?”
“I’ve heard about the East Factory’s methods since ancient times. They slice people up at the slightest provocation, right?”
“Where’d you hear that nonsense?”
A sly arc curved I Hwan’s beautiful lips—a wild grin, unlike the calm smile on Muk Hwi-yeong’s face.
“But it’s not wrong, and as a fellow East Factory man, that embarrasses me. It’s like being stripped naked.”
“I’m not particularly interested in imagining you naked.”
“Don’t you see it when you look at my face? I was pretty popular in the palace. Even someone who’d shock you lusted after me.”
“I’m not into men.”
“True, you don’t look like the playful type for a merchant. Kinda like the guy who kills the vibe at drinking parties—kinda pathetic.”
“Better to work than play. That’s why I don’t like fooling around.”
“Nailed it. I’m good at reading faces. Right now, you even look a bit small down there.”
“Me? Back in the day, they called me the Red Hare on the Bed.”
“Don’t talk bullshit. That’s a lie.”
Muk Hwi-yeong flinched at I Hwan’s venomous glare, which had detected the falsehood. He admitted it readily.
“Yeah, it’s a lie. But it’s not smaller than yours, right? Couldn’t be.”
“There’s a storage for cut-off dicks in the palace. Where they keep the eunuchs’ severed parts. If you saw mine there, you’d shrivel up.”
“What good’s a living Lü Bu or Yue Fei? They’re corpses now.”
“Never heard of dead Zhuge Liang chasing a living Sima Yi?”
“Doesn’t it ache down there every rainy day? They castrate on rainy days to muffle the screams. And it’s voluntary—why the fuss?”
I Hwan’s expression wavered, a flicker of pain crossing his face as if phantom agony gripped his groin.
After the mental sting, I Hwan’s lips straightened again. Then, a burst of blue energy exploded from his body. Blue flames roared in his eyes.
“Shut your mouth. You’re dead soon anyway.”
The flickering blue glow in his eyes sharpened into a thin, flat line. The azure ray traced a swift curve behind Muk Hwi-yeong. A dagger had appeared in I Hwan’s hand from his sleeve.
“Die!”
With a shrill scream that pierced the ears, the dagger flew toward Muk Hwi-yeong’s throat.
I Hwan doubted his own eyes in that instant. Muk Hwi-yeong’s throat and his right hand’s dagger suddenly seemed impossibly distant. Muk Hwi-yeong had turned slowly, leisurely.
I Hwan locked eyes with the turning Muk Hwi-yeong. Strangely, Muk Hwi-yeong stared not at the incoming dagger, but at I Hwan. In his eyes swirled not the blue righteous energy typical of orthodox sect folk, but a violet aura better called demonic qi.
Ordinary people might dismiss it as sinister energy, but I Hwan, admiral of the East Factory, knew exactly what it was.
“Demonic qi!”
Chills raced up I Hwan’s spine. He retracted the dagger and leaped far back.
“Y-You’re really a Heavenly Demon Divine Cult spy?”
“Why? You were sure I was one. That’s why you hit the caravan, right?”
Muk Hwi-yeong’s taunt left I Hwan speechless. He’d never truly believed Muk Hwi-yeong was a demonic cultist. As a fellow East Factory operative, he’d investigated him thoroughly. Who’d suspect a Wudang lay disciple of being from the cult? It was just an excuse to halt the caravan.
“But I’m not a cult spy. I just have some circumstances that let demonic qi linger in my body.”
“Don’t spout nonsense.”
“Even I think it sounds ridiculous saying it. But what can you do? It’s the truth.”
Muk Hwi-yeong grinned brightly, satisfied by I Hwan’s shock.
I Hwan was on the verge of fainting. The long-extinct Heavenly Demon Divine Cult still terrified people.
Any thought of overwhelming and killing Muk Hwi-yeong had vanished. Last time at the Hwi-yeong Merchant Group, when he’d drawn his blade to Muk Hwi-yeong’s throat, he’d been certain the man was inferior. Records showed he’d only recently become a Wudang lay disciple.
But if Muk Hwi-yeong was a demonic cultist, it was all lies. Convinced now, I Hwan eyed escape routes.
“You barge in uninvited, and now you’re thinking of running?”
Muk Hwi-yeong pierced his thoughts. I Hwan shuddered, struck at the core.
“Don’t even think about fleeing. You’ll die before leaving this building anyway. Might as well put up a good fight, no?”
I Hwan wondered if some demonic mind-reading sorcery had probed him, but it was just his agitation showing plainly on his face.
“Y-You. Think you can kill a fellow East Factory man and get away?”
“I heard some good intel lately.”
Muk Hwi-yeong’s eyes curved slyly.
“They say the East Factory makes killers vanish—and the killed too.”
Before Muk Hwi-yeong finished, I Hwan emptied his sleeves of darts and hidden weapons, firing them all.
A storm of metal flew between them—an absurd amount, enough to wonder where he’d hidden it. I Hwan leaped back, smashing through the door and fleeing outside.
Got away.
Emerging into the courtyard, I Hwan thought he just needed to vault that low wall. Beyond it lay bustling streets. Empty at night, but not so much that leaking demonic qi would be an issue. If Muk Hwi-yeong had any brains as a spy, he’d hide rather than pursue. Had to be.
But Muk Hwi-yeong was faster than expected. He was right beneath the wall-leaping I Hwan.
“Told you, you’re not getting out.”
Muk Hwi-yeong grabbed I Hwan’s collar and slammed him to the ground.
I Hwan’s head hit first, vision blurring. Immense power and speed. Helplessness flooded him. This monster subdued him with raw strength and speed alone—no martial arts.
“Guh, ugh.”
I Hwan couldn’t even scream properly. Only then did Muk Hwi-yeong draw his sword from his waist and press it to I Hwan’s throat.
The cold steel brought terror crashing down. Warmth flooded I Hwan’s crotch, then chilled. Spring nights still bit.
“P-Please.”
Looking up at Muk Hwi-yeong, I Hwan resembled a pitiful beauty. His stunning looks had served him well, even as a man, and after becoming a eunuch.
So I Hwan believed it might sway Muk Hwi-yeong a little. And that would be his final chance.
Muk Hwi-yeong’s face, backlighted by the moon, was hidden. As the moon shifted, revealing it bit by bit, I Hwan clung to hope.
“Hey.”
I Hwan flinched. Muk Hwi-yeong’s voice held no warmth. A chill beyond his dried loins enveloped him.
Muk Hwi-yeong’s face emerged expressionless. No habitual merchant’s fake smile, no rage at the assassin. Even the polite speech was gone.
Seeing it, I Hwan abandoned hope. Muk Hwi-yeong showed no reaction to his pitiful face.
“Debt’s paid.”
Before I Hwan could reply, the blade plunged into his white throat. Pain and fear shrank his doe-like eyes.
***
I Hwan’s corpse was buried deep. Merchants were surprisingly adept at graves—unwritten rule to bury roadside dead from their ranks. Scorned folk fostered strong bonds.
My past life’s experience burying countless merchants, plus this life’s martial prowess, made it easy. Still, digging deep took an hour.
No sweat or strain after an hour’s labor. The upgraded talents shone.
With remaining silver, I overhauled my talents. Swapped 8th-grade Sturdy Body for 7th-grade Martial Bone, 7th-grade Swift Movement for 6th-grade Elusive Phantom, and bought 6th-grade Body Technique (Low). Filled gaps, upgraded all to superiors.
With 1,500 taels, I agonized, but chose right. Recalling I Hwan’s speed at my throat, one step up in physical talents made it feasible. Better performance than expected—I had to test nonstop.
“Hoo.”
Eyes stinging, I looked up: the sun rose. Blood-mixed dirt clung stubbornly to my hands.
Killing brought no thrill. Past life, I’d slain bandits ambushing caravans. Blind blades took lives—freshly fallen peasants.
No guilt. Bandit or me, we fought to survive. Difference: I won and lived; they died as eagle food.
This East Factory fight felt the same. On a single-plank bridge over a chasm, even non-enemies must be shoved off to cross. We’d met in such tragic fate.
“May your pecker regrow in heaven.”
My parting rite done, I tamped the disturbed earth.
It tasted bitter, facing the sharp me of old. After becoming caravan lord in past life, leisure came; this life, mingling with Taoists and odd “brothers” blurred that edge.
Thought it gone, but the keen merchant hid deep, awaiting chance. People don’t change, even in death. I alone proved it in the Central Plains.
I washed blood off with water, changed clothes. The deathmatch hours ago felt dreamlike.
Gazing blankly at the sky, I shook my head. Too early for such thoughts. The fight wasn’t over.
One more to settle. Leaving the warehouse manor, I headed for Pojung Temple.