Chapter 99
“……”
Jin Cheong-ak fell silent.
Yeo Il recalled the faint scent he had carried on the day he met secretly with subordinates of the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult and spoke from experience.
“I tried every method imaginable to kill the Gu as well. There is no way I would not recognize it.”
At once, his pitch-black eyes sharpened.
“Who?”
“From the lingering scent alone, I could tell what medicine you obtained and from where—”
“Answer me, Miss. Who fed you the Gu?”
Yeo Il frowned as though he had asked the obvious.
“Who else?”
Cheon Muryeong.
Not only Yeo Il. Jeokryong Heukdo and Cheonmyeon Magwi had also swallowed Gu to swear absolute loyalty to Cheon Muryeong. That they later became free of it was nothing more than Cheon Muryeong’s whim.
The moment his name was spoken, displeasure flickered openly across Jin Cheong-ak’s face. He let out a long breath.
“Yes… you are right. I searched for countless ways to kill the Gu within my body. So what? What do you intend now? Was it not you who chose to close your eyes and pretend not to see—”
Her blade cut horizontally, clean and precise.
He barely avoided it; a lock of hair was severed.
“If Gwangbyeok saw you now, he would faint!”
The name, heard again after so long, deepened the furrow between her brows.
“I handed you over to him, and yet what would he think seeing you urge me to flee or steal that box…”
“Enough with the dead old man. Unless you intend to dig up his grave and raise him as a Jiangshi.”
“What a dreadful thing to say. Regrettably, I have no intention of moving as you wish, Yeo Il. I will continue to behave as I please, irritate you, and cling to you like a leech.”
Cling like a leech?
She let out a hollow laugh.
“Have you finally lost your mind? Have you forgotten your position?”
“Haha. Since meeting you, my mind has indeed wandered far. Sometimes even I find it remarkable—how the world can turn so completely upside down. The day I met you was a turning point my life will never see again.”
“……”
“But do not worry, Miss. On that glorious day when you fulfill every one of Gwangbyeok’s dying wishes, this Jin Cheong-ak will personally leave your side.”
Smiling playfully, he slowly drew his sword.
“If you truly wish to cross blades, I shall respond in earnest. Ah, it brings to mind that nostalgic day—”
The sight was so unbearable that Yeo Il rarely lost control as she did then.
She swung without thought, as though venting.
At first he evaded lightly, scoffing. Gradually the smile faded.
In the confined space he moved like a performer, even tossing her clothes and jewelry box aside to escape at critical moments.
Most of the gifted garments and ornaments were ruined.
“Wait. Stop. Even so, this is excessive, is it not? How am I to explain this to the young masters—ah.”
Suddenly he ceased moving.
She seized the opportunity and pressed her blade beneath his throat.
“So that is it… I see. You found the Sal-saeng-bu.”
Abruptly disinterested, he let his sword hang toward the floor.
After several sighs, he sheathed it and raised both hands.
“Strike me as much as you like, but do not cripple me. I do care for the dignity of a Second Young Master.”
Idiot.
I gave him a chance to flee, yet he thinks I merely vent my anger on him.
He attempted to slither past like a snake.
“As for the Sal-saeng-bu—I have no interest in scraps of paper. I ask only in preparation for the worst. Will you kill and seize it? Or steal it and run?”
“……”
“If neither… do not tell me Namgung Jeok-myeong will act directly?”
“……”
“Ha. Ridiculous fellow. I dislike him from beginning to end.”
She had not answered once, yet he deduced everything.
His intuition was sharp.
He glared at her; she returned the look without concern.
Closing his eyes briefly, he spoke more seriously.
“What I said was not false. I will remain still. Strike me until satisfied. Even cut me if you must—just do not stab.”
He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes.
Absurd.
Not him—but the way her anger settled at his few words.
Should she end it here?
It would not be difficult. He had completely lowered his guard.
If she struck now, he would not defend in time.
And the discomfort she felt keeping him by her side would vanish.
She raised her free hand toward his face.
Tap.
She extended her fingers slowly, brushed his cheek once—
Then threw down her sword and left.
The room lay in chaos.
Jin Cheong-ak stood blankly for a long time.
Then he covered his face and raked his fingers through his hair as if to tear it out.
“…You truly are something else, Jin Cheong-ak.”
The tips of his ears were red as maple leaves.
Fifth day after returning to the Namgung Clan.
The mood of the maids in the Western Study had changed.
They treated Yeo Il with frightened faces, much like when rumors once claimed Namgung Soyo devoured people.
Chang-a, who would normally protest loudly, now bit her nails anxiously.
“Wh-what should we do? Rumors say you are an impostor… If the truth is revealed…”
“Do not worry. The Young Clan Head will protect us.”
Namgung Huimyeong continued instructing Seol Yeong as usual.
Outwardly, aside from minor noise, all seemed calm.
At the hour of the rat, when insects chirped softly—
“You have come.”
Within the Northern Pavilion, beneath a willow tree, Namgung Jeok-myeong stood waiting.
He approached, placed her hand upon his arm, and walked.
The autumn night air was distinctly cold.
Noticing her thin attire, he paused and draped his garment over her shoulders.
It was cumbersome, but she did not refuse.
Deeper within the corridor, a familiar voice spoke.
“Miss Namgung, I am relieved to see you in good health.”
Dang Maeryeong.
Before she could question it, Namgung Jeok-myeong’s voice reached her through sound transmission.
< The Lord of Sichuan Tang has matters to discuss. Behave naturally. She believes you came to bid farewell to your father. >
Another question replaced the first.
Farewell?
Had Namgung Je died?
She bowed quietly. Dang Maeryeong patted her shoulder and withdrew.
The direction they walked felt familiar.
Entering the chamber, she followed Namgung Jeok-myeong to the seat prepared.
This was—
Yes.
The room where Namgung Je lay.
Had he kept the copy of the Sal-saeng-bu?
Namgung Jeok-myeong gently guided her hand and placed it upon something cold and hard.
The sensation was vivid.
It was too smooth, too unpleasant to be paper.
Surely not.
She grasped it.
Long and thin like a branch.
“Soyo. What you are touching is the copy of the Sal-saeng-bu.”
If her suspicion was correct—
“And.”
A corpse.
“It is also the dead flesh of my father.”
Namgung Je was dead.
The copy of the Sal-saeng-bu had been written upon his flayed skin.