The Conspirators (3)
Yi Jinpyeong gazed silently at No Gae. Decades ago, another old beggar—his master's spitting image—was reciting the very story that beggar had once told him. It was a long tale, and it still wasn't over. He vaguely recalled the man No Gae spoke of as his master: some fellow named Gu Ji-gae. Back then, Yi Gyeol hadn't cared to ask his name, but he clearly remembered the brash young beggar who had boldly sought him out and attacked without warning.
For a kid, he had real talent. He even resembled Yi Gyeol himself during his early days venturing into the jianghu. Perhaps that's why Yi Gyeol had given him chance after chance to charge again—something out of character—and listened patiently as the boy jabbered on about his martial arts and the Open Faction's techniques. Or maybe it was because Yi Gyeol, sensing his own impending death on some instinctive level, had grown uncharacteristically sentimental and soft.
That young beggar had later taken No Gae as his disciple, and now, after the long passage of time, No Gae sat here by Dongjeong Lake facing Yi Jinpyeong. What a strange twist of fate. But Yi Jinpyeong still needed to hear more about what the Open Faction's old elders meant by "opportunity" and how they bore responsibility for the fall of Yi Gajang.
No Gae continued, speaking in the voice of his master, Gu Ji-gae.
"At first, I couldn't make heads or tails of what those old elders were on about. But as I listened, it started to sink in. While Yi Gyeol was alive, no one dared touch his family. But now that he was dead, they figured they could approach them, learn and master the core principles of Yi Gajang's martial arts. 'Learn and master' my ass—it was just a fancy way of saying steal them outright."
"I couldn't believe such an outrageous idea was coming from the elders of our Open Faction, pillars of the Central Plains martial world. But those elders had suffered through so much heartache over the years that their minds were made up. The faction leader felt the same, and so did most of the other Nine Great Sects. The Murim Alliance, which had become a toothless shell and disbanded, was revived on flimsy pretexts. There, in secret, they traded whispers and hammered out detailed plans—ways to siphon Yi Gajang's arts without tarnishing the Nine Great Sects' reputation."
"I sneered at them inwardly. How could such a scheme possibly work? Just because Yi Gyeol was gone, did they really think they could steal the arts of the world's greatest clan?"
"But my predictions were spectacularly wrong. Not long after Yi Gyeol's death, discord erupted within Yi Gajang. Some descendants insisted on upholding his final words—'live by giving to others'—even if it killed them. Others twisted them into a convenient pretense, doing just enough to fake it. And it wasn't just the will; no one had fully inherited Yi Gyeol's arts to unite the clan under one iron fist. Plus, his descendants might as well have been from different fathers entirely—they were never going to unite easily. That was a golden opportunity for the Nine Great Sects."
"We—meaning the forces of the Nine Great Sects—quietly reached out to the disgruntled descendants. Imagine how meticulously and precisely they operated, with all the major Central Plains sects pooling their will. They fanned the flames of internal strife, promising vast wealth and honor to those who broke away or leaked the arts. Results came quicker than expected. Clan conflicts, their own limits in mastering the ancestors' arts... Even the staunchest holdouts gradually wavered over time. Some handed over manuals and vanished; others took prestigious elder or protector roles and lived in luxury."
"I was utterly disgusted by it all. That's when I turned down the next faction leader position and started wandering aimlessly. But I couldn't shake the deep curiosity gnawing at me. What secrets and principles lay hidden in that absolute being who had crushed me so thoroughly? In the end, I tracked one down and read it—the manual said to be passed only through Yi Gyeol's bloodline."
"It was shocking. Even I, who fancied myself a genius, couldn't comprehend the dense, esoteric words. The inner energy foundation aligned with what we'd cultivated, but the results it produced were worlds apart. Wind qi, wood qi, metal qi, fire qi of Gwi Hwa Yeon Cheon Gong... Could a mere human body truly contain and manifest the harmony of heaven and earth with each advancing stage? I had no choice but to believe, since Yi Gyeol had demonstrated it himself. I threw myself into studying Yi Gajang's arts obsessively. I couldn't grasp or master it all, of course, but I drew inspiration and insights, grafting them onto our Open Faction techniques. And we weren't alone. Shaolin, Wudang, Hwasan, and countless other conspirators... It became the foundation for massively elevating their own martial prowess..."
The young beggar No Gak stared blankly at his aged master. He couldn't fathom that the Nine Great Sects—righteous symbols he'd always seen as paragons of justice—had schemed against Yi Gajang like this. Gu Ji-gae gave a wistful smile at the boy's expression.
"The arts I taught you are infused with those insights. Our techniques grew immensely stronger, and our status and power in the martial world solidified further. In a twisted way, we'd claimed Yi Gyeol's legacy. Meanwhile, Yi Gajang's power steadily waned. And at some point, it wasn't just weakening anymore..."
No Gae fell silent, having spoken in his master's voice up to that point. By now, Yi Jinpyeong was staring into the pitch-black waters of Dongjeong Lake, puffing quietly on his pipe. The fleeting spark died down, and white smoke soon curled upward. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled far out. The smoke, shaped like a boat, drifted into the lake's depths and vanished.
No Gae spoke in his own voice. "My master said he'd carried the guilt his whole life for conspiring with the Open Faction and the other Nine Great Sects' seniors to bring down Yi Gajang. I held his cooling hand and told him it wasn't his fault, but he wouldn't listen. He could've stopped it but didn't, and he'd even stolen and learned their arts—he was no better than the conspirators..."
"'Conspirator. I am a conspirator.' Those were his absurd last words. He ate just two pieces of dog meat, had nothing else to pass on to me specifically, and just rambled about Yi Gajang until he closed his eyes. I buried him in a sunny spot, wept for a long time, and started digging into Yi Gajang myself."
"But by then, Yi Gajang was just another middling clan in the Central Plains. Then, suddenly, its collapse accelerated uncontrollably. No vendettas or invasions—just core arts leaked or lost, descendants scattering, remaining wealth endlessly given away..."
"I sought out the high elders, faction leaders, and branch masters around me, asking about what my master had told me. Most flinched and played dumb. A few admitted it, but none took responsibility or felt remorse. In a way, they had reason. It was a conspiracy spanning multiple sects and generations, carried out so gradually. They hadn't stormed the manor or killed anyone. They'd just let the clan follow that outdated will to the letter—'live by giving'—until it went bankrupt..."
"In the end, even I grew weary. Why had my master burdened me with that on his deathbed? What did he expect me to do, how to live? I couldn't find my bearings. Like him, I tossed aside any faction leader ambitions and started living freely. That's how I became No Gae."
No Gae's long story finally concluded. Yi Jinpyeong gazed at the lake's gentle ripples. Stormy waves churned in his heart. White smoke puffed intermittently from his pipe.
"Have you ever told this story to anyone in our clan before?"
"No. Never."
"Then why tell me?"
"I've met your father and grandfather. But they were all so disappointingly weak—I wondered if they were truly descendants of the world's greatest martial artist my master spoke of. They hadn't even properly surpassed the first stage of Gwi Hwa Yeon Cheon Gong, let alone its extremes. What good would telling them do? Revealing the truth to the powerless and hopeless would just mock them."
"..."
"But meeting you today by chance... I couldn't help but get excited. A kid not even twenty, already breaking through the third stage of Gwi Hwa Yeon Cheon Gong, and strong enough to trade blows with me—someone who could claim a spot among the Central Plains' top ten. You have the qualifications. To hear all this, to hold the Nine Great Sects accountable. You are undoubtedly the true heir to the world's greatest, Yi Gyeol."
No Gae could never dream that the boy before him was Yi Gyeol himself. Yi Jinpyeong smiled thinly.
"What a ridiculous notion. Our ancestors were too weak to deserve the truth, but I'm strong enough? Is that it?"
"Don't twist my words. I'm saying this because I recognize you."
"So what do you expect me to do? Declare the Nine Great Sects enemies of our house and wipe them out?"
"How does it come to that?"
"Didn't you just say with your own mouth that I have the right to hold them accountable?"
"I said you have the right, not to exterminate them."
"Old timer, that's not for you to decide—it's for us victims. What if I demand your lives as payment for the crime? Would you accept?"
"...You're not seriously saying you'd challenge the Nine Great Sects, are you?"
Yi Jinpyeong answered simply and firmly.
"Why not?"
Fighting the Nine Great Sects meant taking on the entire Central Plains, No Gae included. Besides, the generations directly involved in Yi Gajang's fall were long dead; holding their heirs accountable now was like grasping at wind. Too late for revenge, too trivial for justice... But what did it matter? Ultimately, the right to judge guilt and exact punishment belonged to the victims.
No Gae eyed him with a strange glint. Then, abruptly, he let out a hollow laugh.
"You might be right. Retaliation or forgiveness—whatever it is, it's for Yi Gajang to decide. But I think one thing my master wanted from me was to one day confess all this to a worthy successor of Yi Gajang, to get it off my chest. Even if it seems like cowardly buck-passing, no matter the consequences."
No Gae's face, lit by faint moonlight, looked especially wrinkled. The fierce blaze in Yi Jinpyeong's heart didn't easily subside. But demanding repayment from No Gae wasn't right—neither as the target of his rage nor in terms of timing. Yi Jinpyeong stared at his face a moment longer, then stood abruptly.
"I've heard your story. We'll mull over what form our ancestors' karma takes for you all."
"Wait. I'm not done yet."
"...Still more?"
"Yes. There's one more reason I wanted to meet you alone. In some ways, this might be even more important."
The tale No Gae had shared was already long and shocking enough. Something more crucial?
"As if. You're probably just gonna suggest spying or something."
Yi Jinpyeong turned to leave without waiting.
"The Demonic Cult."
He stopped dead.
No Gae lowered his voice. "They're stirring again."