A Guest of Jongnam
A chilling sensation settled in his chest, as sharp and cold as a flying dagger burying itself between his ribs.
Jin Yeong couldn't utter a single word. Looking back, there had been warning signs all along—suspicious details piling up, one after another.
Yet careless complacency had ruined everything. Who in their right mind could have imagined that Ryeong was a master who had attained the peak realm?
How on earth did it come to this?
There was no way out. Flirting with madness and throwing himself out of the speeding carriage wasn't an option either. Right across from him sat a superior master whose eyes were wide and vigilant—someone who demonstrated such absolute mastery over her internal qi that not a single ripple leaked into the air. In fact, he had to consider the sickening possibility that she wasn't merely a peak master, but someone who had crossed into a realm far higher.
While Jin Yeong racked his frantic brain, Ryeong wore an amused little smile, taking in his every reaction.
Looks like he's genuinely terrified.
She hadn't intended to reveal her martial prowess under normal circumstances, but she simply couldn't stand being kept in the dark when curiosity bit her. Killing the kid right here and vanishing into thin air wouldn't have been an issue anyway. Ditching the second-generation disciples of the Jongnam Sect with her lightness skills would be child's play.
In other words, she had nothing to lose. If Jin Yeong held his tongue, she would manufacture an excuse to strike him down and flee. If he spoke, she would place a restriction upon him with his life as collateral, ensuring he could never reveal her identity under any circumstances.
"Done thinking yet? I'm not a particularly patient person, so I'd appreciate an answer."
"...What is your goal? Are you coming all the way to our sect just to hear about a sacred relic?"
"Hardly. The relic is pure curiosity. Now, are you going to talk, or not?"
Ryeong pulled a chopstick from within her robes. Her posture made it abundantly clear: Speak now, or this goes right between your eyes.
"I don't know the specifics. All I know is... I heard the Tang Clan is currently safeguarding Jongnam's sacred relic."
"Jongnam's sacred relic? Now that's interesting."
Had the Jongnam Sect ever fallen into the Tang Clan's debt? Ryeong rifled through her memories of the past twenty years and concluded they hadn't. That meant whatever happened had taken place well over two decades ago. If one searched martial history for a time when the Sichuan Tang Clan stepped forward on Jongnam's behalf, it was most likely during the great war that threatened the fate of the entire central plains. And if not... well, then her intuition was off.
"And in return, the Tang Clan entrusted their relic to us."
"An exchange? How fascinating. Is that all you know?"
"Even if people call me the Sword Dragon, I'm still only a third-generation disciple. My access to information is naturally limited."
"Hmm. Not the most satisfying answer."
Twirl. Ryeong spun the chopstick between her fingers, conveying her discontent. But Jin Yeong simply shut his eyes tight. It seemed he had genuinely laid all his cards on the table. Her interest cooled.
"From now on, I'm placing a restriction on you forbidding you from ever revealing my identity."
"I'd rather you kill—"
"Did I ask for your permission?"
Thwack.
Ryeong tapped his acupoint. Jin Yeong, who had been bracing himself to resist the binding art, instantly blacked out and slumped into unconsciousness. In the meantime, Ryeong swiftly established the restriction upon him.
It was a terrifying binding: should he utter a word of her identity, the tendons and meridians in his four limbs would violently rupture. Too harsh? Well, if he simply kept his mouth shut, it would never trigger. Seeing as there were no other conditions attached, hadn't she displayed a mercy that would put the Buddha himself to shame? It was, of course, the delusion typical of Ryeong, whose thought process had long diverged from that of ordinary people.
When Jin Yeong regained consciousness several hours later, he let out a silent wail of despair. Having been forcibly bound by the restriction, he felt completely reduced to her helpless puppet. Of course, Ryeong had no intention of running him ragged, but Jin Yeong was already draped over the carriage bench like a withered old monk who had achieved weary enlightenment after a ruined life.
"Hey. Pull yourself together. What'll you do if you accidentally achieve ascension from moping like that?"
"Ascension isn't something that just happens by accident!!"
"Dropping the honorifics already?"
"...Ma'am."
Though Ryeong had no technical means to force him to do her bidding, she had undeniably become his master. There was nothing Jin Yeong could do about it.
Right. Maybe this is a blessing in disguise.
She was an unpredictable lunatic who could snap at any moment. If he kept her close, wouldn't he be able to keep her under some semblance of control? Naturally, Jin Yeong had no inkling that this naive delusion would crumble into dust before long.
Meanwhile, Ryeong swallowed her own bitter frustration. Just in case, she had held the chopstick to Jin Yeong's throat while he was unconscious, but her hand had frozen solid, unable to advance even a fraction of an inch. Through this, she discovered yet another maddening constraint: she could not kill an unconscious target.
Rotten old geezer...
If she ever crossed paths with him again, she swore she would cave his face in. For an assassin who hated leaving loose ends above all else, being forced to spare threats was sheer torture. Even the restriction itself couldn't be lethal; she hadn't been able to imprint a death penalty. The excruciating severance of the limbs' meridians had been the absolute maximum punishment allowed by her spiritual constraints.
"Jin Yeong. Since things turned out like this anyway, why don't we set up another restriction?"
"What kind of nonsense is th—...that, ma'am?"
"Unless someone strikes first, I won't show hostility or lay a finger on anyone from the Jongnam Sect. How's that sound for a deal?"
Ryeong's primary objective was to coax a bare minimum of trust out of him. Having already slapped a forced restriction on him, his trust in her was practically six feet under. She needed to raise it, even by an inch. The tactic she chose was pure sleight of hand. After all, Ryeong was already incapable of killing anyone who harbored no murderous intent toward her. The crux was that Jin Yeong had no clue about her handicap, making it the perfect bargaining chip.
Sure enough, though Jin Yeong eyed her with suspicion, he weighed the proposal carefully before asking for her terms. To which Ryeong replied:
"The unique ability of Jongnam's sacred relic. I want you to tell me what it does."
"I don't even know that myself! ...Ma'am?"
"Then find out. Got it?"
"Wait..."
If that's what you want, go investigate it yourself! Why are you cornering a third-generation disciple who doesn't even care about sect politics?! The urge to yell surged in his chest, but Jin Yeong's courage failed him. What if she killed him for speaking out? A restriction had been placed, but that hardly meant he was out of lethal danger.
And so, their uncomfortable journey continued for three days. Crossing from Sichuan into Shaanxi, the carriage finally halted where the grand plaque of the Jongnam Sect came into view.
"If there is any discomfort during your stay, please do not hesitate to speak up. We shall provide whatever assistance we can within our power."
"Thank you, Daoist Hyeon Yang."
"Rest comfortably, then."
Having arrived at Jongnam, Ryeong laid her body down in the modest quarters assigned to her. After days of sleeping rough under the stars, feeling her back rest against a soft, proper bed was nothing short of paradise.
First things first...
Verify the relic Jongnam was holding. And at the same time, leave a positive impression on the sect.
There was only one reason to leave a good impression: to operate under the guise of an orthodox martial artist. Her past identity as Cheonsal was gone anyway. Since she couldn't slaughter people at will anymore, she was far safer lingering beneath the protective umbrella of the Orthodox faction. At least she wouldn't have to worry about catching a stray blade in some dark alley. Even if someone hired assassins to take her out, it wouldn't be a problem—Ryeong had once stood at the very pinnacle of the assassin's trade. The clumsy motions of third-rate cutthroats wouldn't pose the slightest threat.
The real headache is the Heaven-Killing Art.
No matter how one looked at it, the Heaven-Killing Art was an unorthodox cultivation technique. The chances were slim, but should a physician take her pulse, the pathway of her circulating qi could easily be exposed. The moment that happened, she would be branded as a martial artist practicing unorthodox arts. No matter how sterling an impression she cultivated, if her martial foundation stemmed from the Unorthodox faction, she would be utterly ostracized. Such was the contemporary Martial Alliance. Having suffered countless betrayals at the hands of unorthodox factions throughout history, this prejudice had solidified into an immutable rule.
I knew it. I need to seat a different cultivation technique in my middle dantian.
The strategy she settled on was a camouflage screen. The Heaven-Killing Art was a technique designed to erase one's internal qi and presence below normal detection limits. Thus, if she cultivated a technique with a prominent presence in her middle dantian, no one short of a divine physician would ever perceive the Heaven-Killing Art concealed beneath.
The Primordial Chaos Art was utterly devoid of distinct traits. A mundane art belonging neither to the Orthodox nor the Unorthodox factions, it was favored by ordinary folk who learned martial arts purely for self-defense without ever stepping into the Jianghu. She would have preferred something better, but she might find herself forced to display martial arts here in Jongnam down the line. Using the Primordial Chaos Art would give her an airtight excuse. What other choice did she have?
"Phew."
Assuming a cross-legged meditative posture, Ryeong drew internal energy from her lower dantian and began directing it toward her middle dantian. For those who had reached the peak realm, the middle dantian naturally opened. Piercing through it required little effort. The real challenge began now.
Focusing on circulating her qi, she recited the mnemonics of the Primordial Chaos Art. Backed by her deep internal reserves, it shouldn't take long, but anchoring qi within the middle dantian was no trivial feat. Positioned near the heart, it demanded utmost caution—unless she fancied a hasty one-way trip across the Yellow Springs.
"Sssss."
Yet, while reciting the core tenets of the Primordial Chaos Art, an eerie sensation prickled across her senses. She was unquestionably attempting to guide the circulation of the Primordial Chaos Art, but the pathway her internal energy was blazing was entirely different.
This is bad.
To circulate qi without even knowing what technique was driving it was a recipe for catastrophe. A single slip could not only cripple her middle dantian, but irrevocably ruin her lower dantian as well.
I have to stop—wait, what? Why won't the circulation halt?!
The moment Ryeong attempted to reel her qi back, the circulation surged into overdrive, moving entirely independent of her will. Physical transformations tore through her body in rapid succession.
"Cough!"
A mouthful of pitch-black blood spilled past her lips. It was impure qi being forcibly expelled—even after she had recently cleansed her meridians with the Kongqing Stone Milk.
Panic gripped her, yet amidst the turmoil, golden characters blazed within her consciousness. It defied all physical logic, yet four words etched themselves with blinding clarity.
Sacred immortal energy surging through the middle dantian, purging all demonic impurities.
She had no idea where this technique had come from or what kind of cultivation art it was. Still, one thing was unmistakably clear.
Hyeok.
That rotten old geezer had done something monstrous to her body.