An Investment Worth the World
A single carriage cut through the morning air and rattled out of the heart of Hefei.
The rhythmic clatter of hooves rose and fell in time with the swaying of the carriage. On the driver's bench, Baek Heon held the reins with careful hands, while inside, Namgung Cheon sat with his eyes closed in quiet meditation.
Just before they reached the center of the city, his eyes opened.
“Stop the carriage for a moment.”
“Resting already? We haven't even left Hefei yet.”
Mujin asked with a puzzled look, but Namgung Cheon only gazed out the window in silence. His eyes had settled on the mouth of a narrow alley, empty of all passersby.
“There's somewhere I need to stop.”
Mujin tilted his head, but pressed no further. Everything Namgung Cheon did had a reason behind it. He shrugged and pulled the carriage up to the alley's entrance.
“Understood. I'll wait, so go on.”
“I won't be long.”
Namgung Cheon stepped down and walked into the alley.
His footsteps came to a halt before a shabby old inn.
The Drunken Moon Inn.
It was early morning, and the doors were firmly shut. But the moment his hand touched the latch, the sound of a bar sliding loose came from within—as if they had known he would come.
Crreeeak—
The old hinges shrieked as the door swung open.
The interior was pitch dark, without even a sliver of light. There were no customers, not a single server to be seen. The only illumination came from a single candle burning on the central table, its flame trembling precariously as it lit the room.
And beyond that candle, a man was seated.
Not Pyo Ryang, then.
A middle-aged man in plain hemp clothes, dressed like an ordinary traveling merchant. But there was nothing ordinary about the look in his eyes. He did not rise when Namgung Cheon entered. He simply continued toying with his teacup and spoke in a low voice.
“So you've come to keep your promise.”
“I have.”
Namgung Cheon did not ask who he was. There were precious few men in all the world whom Pyo Ryang, the Anhui branch manager of the Hao Gate, would step aside for and yield the seat of honor. Fewer still who could greet a young master of the Namgung Clan with such perfect composure.
“I pay my respects to the Sect Leader of the Hao Gate.”
Namgung Cheon sat down across from him without a moment's hesitation.
At that unshakable calm, the eyes of the Hao Gate's leader—the Thousand-Faced Man—narrowed slightly. A young noble who had seen through his disguise at a glance and felt not a trace of intimidation. Just as the rumors said.
“You know who I am, and still you don't flinch.”
“If an information broker comes walking through my door himself, doesn't that mean he wants a transaction worth his while?”
At Namgung Cheon's answer, a faint smile touched the Thousand-Faced Man's lips. He lifted his teacup, took a slow sip, and set it down.
“Precisely. A transaction worth the while. I am a merchant, after all.”
The Thousand-Faced Man's gaze swept over Namgung Cheon.
“I'll speak honestly. I was curious about you.”
“The string of events that unfolded in Anhui. The destruction of the Blood Sword Gang, the bargain struck with the Four Black Alliance, and even the resurrection of the Baekcheon Merchant Caravan. You stood at the center of it all.”
He tapped the table lightly.
“That is not something brute force alone can accomplish. Nor money alone. It takes force and cunning—and the boldness to wield both together.”
“You flatter me.”
“You consider it flattery?”
The Thousand-Faced Man's eyes glinted sharply.
“I have been searching for a place to invest. Not a rotting old tree, but a sapling that will grow until it pierces the heavens.”
Despite his words, Namgung Cheon said nothing. He simply drew a thick envelope from his robes.
A promissory note of considerable sum, issued in the name of the Baekcheon Merchant Caravan. Payment for the intelligence on the Four Black Alliance's Black Wind Squad, and the stated pretext for this meeting.
“The agreed price.”
He placed the note on the table.
The Thousand-Faced Man glanced at it. It was a fortune. But instead of reaching out to take it, he slid it back across the table toward Namgung Cheon.
“……?”
When Namgung Cheon gave him a questioning look, the Thousand-Faced Man spoke.
“I won't be taking this money.”
“Why not?”
“Did I not tell you? I came to make an investment.”
The Thousand-Faced Man leaned forward.
“And the right to call upon our information network whenever you wish—that is my investment.”
It was an unprecedented offer. The Hao Gate, with eyes and ears across all the world. Free use of their network was a value no amount of coin could measure. For Namgung Cheon, standing at the threshold of thejianghu, there could be no stronger ally.
But there was no such thing as a favor without a price in this world.
“And in return, what must I do for you?”
“Nothing, for now.”
The Thousand-Faced Man smiled, his meaning veiled.
“Only—someday, when you become the master of that great world called Namgung… or perhaps climb higher still.”
His eyes deepened.
“Let our Hao Gate find its place in the light of that world. And when darkness moves to swallow us whole, do not abandon us. That is all I ask.”
Namgung Cheon was silent for a moment.
The Thousand-Faced Man's offer was tempting. It was also dangerous. An alliance with the Hao Gate could stain the name of the Namgung Clan, a noble house of the Orthodox Path.
And yet.
It doesn't matter.
The corner of Namgung Cheon's mouth lifted. He had no intention of letting profit slip away out of someAttachment to honor. In the first place, the division between righteous and demonic was a worthless distinction.
More than that, his goal was to reach Changcheon. If something aided him on that path, he would use it—Demonic cult or Unorthodox sect, it made no difference.
“Agreed.”
Namgung Cheon answered.
Their eyes met across the empty air. It was the moment a wordless contract was sealed. The candle on the table flickered, stretching their two shadows long across the floor.
The Thousand-Faced Man drew a small jade tablet and a wooden case from his robes and handed them over.
“If you need the Hao Gate—whether at an inn or a gambling house—present this jade tablet, and you'll be brought to the branch manager. As for what's in the case… read it on your journey, to pass the time.”
“What is it?”
“Information on the River-Along Martial Assembly, and those who will attend it.”
Namgung Cheon accepted the tablet and the case and rose from his seat.
“My thanks.”
He gave the Thousand-Faced Man a light nod, then turned away without a trace of regret. No lengthy farewell was needed. Each had obtained what he wanted, and that was enough.
Crreeeak—
The door closed, and silence settled over the inn once more.
The Thousand-Faced Man raised his teacup, gazing at the closed door. The tea had long gone cold, but its fragrance was still strong.
“Namgung Cheon……”
He murmured quietly.
“This may yet prove the most meaningful investment in the history of the Hao Gate.”
He drained the cup and vanished into the darkness—as if no one had ever been there at all.
To the northwest of Hubei, near Xiangyang—the gateway to Jingzhou—lay Longzhong.
Mist rolled thickly between peaks of strange rock and towering stone, and beyond that mist stood ancient trees that had weathered centuries, rising in deep forest. The Zhuge Clan, home to the finest strategists under heaven, was nestled in the deepest reaches of that forest, at the heart of Wolong Ridge.
It looked less like a great clan's estate than an immense garden. Instead of gaudy halls or oppressive walls, pavilions and towers built in harmony with the natural terrain dotted the mountainside at scattered intervals.
But behind that peaceful scenery lurked lethal danger. Every tree, every boulder concealed an intricate mechanism formation, and the moment an uninvited guest set foot inside, they would be trapped for eternity. Such was the majesty of the Zhuge Clan.
Deep within it all stood a small annex.
Wolong Pavilion—the place where, it was said, the clan leaders of every generation came to make their gravest decisions or lose themselves in deep contemplation.
For the past two months, however, it had been sealed shut entirely, because a woman regarded as the future of the Zhuge Clan had entered secluded cultivation to study her formations.
And today, the long-closed doors of Wolong Pavilion finally opened.
Crreeeak—
The doors swung open, and a woman walked slowly out.
Raven-black hair bound neatly atop her head, white silk robes without a single wrinkle. Her jade-pale skin looked bloodless, as though it had gone too long without sunlight—but her eyes gleamed with brilliant light.
She was Zhuge Seoyeon, direct descendant of the Zhuge Clan, known across thejianghu as the Dark Phoenix.
The moment she crossed the threshold back into the world, she pressed a hand to her forehead and squinted. The cascading sunlight stung her eyes.
“Whew……”
A deep sigh escaped her lips—a sigh steeped less in liberation than in exhaustion. Leaning against the railing, she stared blankly up at the sky. It was the first sky she'd seen in two months, but she felt nothing special about it. It would look no different from yesterday's, after all.
“Miss!”
Just then, a welcome voice called up from below the pavilion. Her maid Hongcheong was hurrying up the stairs, a tea tray clutched in her hands, her face a mixture of relief and worry.
“Are you all right? I was so concerned when I heard you were skipping meals and doing nothing but research.”
Zhuge Seoyeon waved a hand and swallowed a yawn.
“I'm fine, I'm fine.”
A voice utterly boneless with languor. For someone hailed as the greatest mind of her age, she looked remarkably listless. But Hongcheong, well accustomed to this, set the tray down without missing a beat.
“It's your first time out of seclusion in two whole months! We must inform the clan leader and the young master, and you have all those overdue reports to receive—and above all……”
Hongcheong's eyes brightened as she pressed on.
“You have to prepare for the River-Along Martial Assembly!”
“Ah. The Martial Assembly.”
Zhuge Seoyeon frowned.
“Do I really have to go?”
She lifted her teacup and moistened her lips. To some, the River-Along Martial Assembly was a lifelong dream, a stage of glory. To Zhuge Seoyeon, it was nothing but a nuisance. All that business of ranking the Seven Dragons and Two Phoenixes struck her as absurd, and the sight of young geniuses preening before one another was the last thing she wished to see.
“This time is different! All of the Seven Dragons and Two Phoenixes will be gathered in one place… and the clan leader himself insisted you attend, in no uncertain terms.”
Hongcheong stamped her feet in persuasion, but Zhuge Seoyeon didn't even pretend to listen. Resting her chin on her hand, she watched the carp drifting in the pond and murmured,
“Can't I just keep doing my research and live in peace?”
“Miss……”
Hongcheong sighed and drew a thick bundle of correspondence from her robes. She had prepared her trump card for exactly this moment.
“The state of thejianghu is dire. There are quite a few stories you'd find interesting, Miss.”
“Interesting? We'll see. If it's another tale of the North Sea Ice Palace taking a new concubine, or the Green Forest brawling with a water fortress, I'll pass.”
“No. It's news of the Namgung Clan.”
“Namgung?”
For the first time, Zhuge Seoyeon's gaze turned fully to Hongcheong.
The Namgung Clan—the home of her aunt, Jegal Hwa. As a child she had come and gone there so often it had felt as familiar as her own home.
“Let me guess. Uncle Hwi is off flaunting how wonderful he is again?”
She had never much cared for Namgung Hwi, the Namgung Clan's eldest young master. That air of effortless grace born of sheer perfection had always rubbed her strangely wrong.
“No. Not the eldest young master—it's about the third young master. Young Master Namgung Cheon.”
“……Uncle Cheon?”
Zhuge Seoyeon's languid eyes flew wide open.
The Namgung Cheon of her memory. The forgettable cousin. The fragile boy who could never fit in among his siblings, always lurking in the corner.
But Zhuge Seoyeon remembered something—something from very long ago.
She had once, eager to show off her genius, played a mischievous trick. She had laid out an intricate formation in the rear garden and lured her cousins inside to trap them.
The other cousins had either lost their way and burst into tears or flown into a rage. Namgung Cheon had been different. He hadn't wept. He hadn't panicked. He had simply, methodically—slowly, but with perfect precision—found the Life Gate and walked straight out.
And the strange chill she had felt at that moment. It had been the instinctive recognition of a genius meeting another genius cut from the same cloth.
“……Why him, all of a sudden?”
“Anhui has been in an uproar lately, they say. They're calling him the Sword Ghost—he's been crushing the Unorthodox gangs one after another.”
“Hm?”
Zhuge Seoyeon blinked.
Sword Ghost. The moniker could hardly have suited that docile boy less.
Hongcheong spread the letters open and continued.
“He went on a dueling campaign, destroyed the Blood Sword Gang root and branch, and resurrected the dying Baekcheon Merchant Caravan as if by miracle.”
“……?”
Zhuge Seoyeon's eyes rounded as she read slowly down the pages. The letters detailed, step by step, the chain of events that had unfolded in Anhui. The Sword Selection, the dueling campaign, the proxy war fought through the Gold Pavilion. And underpinning it all—the Transcendent Realm.
“What? The Transcendent Realm?”
Well, she thought, the scheming part made sense. He'd inherited Jegal Hwa's blood, so a sharp mind was hardly surprising. But—
“Is this wrong somewhere? The Transcendent Realm? And a dueling campaign?”
She blinked twice and checked the contents again. She had not misread.
“This has to be a mistake, doesn't it?”
But Hongcheong shook her head firmly.
“It was verified personally by Hall Master Simhyeon.”
Hall Master Simhyeon—the man who commanded the eyes and ears of the Zhuge Clan, where all the secrets of the world were said to gather. If he had verified it himself, the information was beyond doubt.
Zhuge Seoyeon found herself speechless.
“……The Transcendent Realm.”
A brilliant mind, fine—that was the domain of talent, she could accept it. But martial cultivation was another matter entirely. The Transcendent Realm was not a place talent alone could carry you. It demanded years of bone-grinding labor, fateful encounters, and enlightenment. And that docile little cousin had reached it—in the flower of his youth, no less?
“They say the world brims with strange and wondrous souls… but who'd have thought it would be Uncle Cheon.”
A hollow laugh burst out of her. And then she remembered something from long ago.
“I knew it.”
Zhuge Seoyeon slapped the letters down. Her eyes gleamed sharp and bright. She had found a reason—the only reason worth having—to attend an assembly she'd assumed would be nothing but tedium.
“Get ready. We leave at once.”
Zhuge Seoyeon shot to her feet. Every trace of languor had vanished.
“Yes, but—without paying your respects to the clan leader first?”
“Is that what matters right now?”
Zhuge Seoyeon's gaze turned toward the far distance.
“I have to go and see for myself. Whether what I saw back then was a delusion… or whether——”
——the beast that had been holding its breath had finally bared its true fangs.
—
The Heavenly Demon of Namgung
Author | Baek Rihang
Publisher | Samyang C&C Co., Ltd.
Managing Editor | Editorial Department
Published by | Samyang C&C Co., Ltd. — Dream Books
Address | 7F, Gwangseong Building, 28 Bongeunsa-ro 114-gil, Gangnam-gu, Seoul
ISBN | 979-11-7306-734-1
Blog | blog.naver.com/dreambookss
Twitter (X) | @dreambookss
Submissions | [email protected]
No part of this book may be used in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of Samyang C&C Co., Ltd. — Dream Books.