The Moon Cake and the Uninvited Dragon
Namgung Cheon did not look away from Namgung Hwi's gaze.
It was endlessly deep and gentle. And yet—
Even after learning the truth, could he still look at me with those eyes?
If he ever learned that what slept within him was not the blood of the Namgung, but the soul of the Heavenly Demon who had once dyed the world crimson—would that light in his eyes remain unchanged?
There's no chance of that.
But nothing needed to change now. Whatever he had been in the past, the only thing that mattered in this life was—
The fact that I am alive under the name of Namgung.
Which meant—
"Nothing has changed about me."
"What do you mean?"
"I have only just now found my proper place."
"Your proper place..."
"Yes. I crouched low for far too long. But no matter how long the crouch lasted, it does not make me any less a son of the Namgung bloodline."
Namgung Cheon's eyes gleamed sharply.
"I simply intend to walk a path that will not shame the name of Namgung."
"The Namgung..."
Namgung Hwi turned the word over in his mouth, then shifted his gaze to his teacup. He stared quietly at the tea pooled inside it for a moment before a faint smile crossed his lips.
"Yes, that is what the Namgung name means. Never a moment of shame before the sword, always standing as a pillar of the Orthodox Path."
At length, Namgung Hwi lifted his eyes from the cup and spoke to Namgung Cheon.
"I never imagined the day would come when you would say such things to me... It pleases me."
He nodded with unmistakable genuine delight, then picked up the wine bottle and filled Namgung Cheon's cup.
"Here, take it. A day like this is no day to go without drink."
Namgung Cheon accepted the cup with both hands and drained it in one go. The strong liquor slid down his throat, leaving a rush of heat behind it.
Namgung Hwi smiled contentedly and asked again.
"I have a hundred questions I'd like to ask, but this is hardly the time to press them all. How would it be if we set aside time afterward—once all three brothers can drink together, properly and at length?"
"I would like that."
Satisfied with the answer, Namgung Hwi rose from his seat.
"Then I'll go pay my respects to the other rising stars for a while. Enjoy yourself at your leisure."
He then turned to Mujin, seated beside Namgung Cheon.
"And Master Jeongmyeolgeom, I hope you too will enjoy the evening. My little brother is not much of a talker, so I fear you may find it dull."
"Haha, you know the Young Master well. It's quite all right. I'm used to it."
When Mujin answered with a laugh, Namgung Hwi gave a faint smile and took his leave. As if on cue, the rising stars of the great orthodox sects trailed after him. Even the likes of Danri Chu and Baek Yeop exchanged only a glance of greeting before quietly drifting away.
The moment Namgung Hwi departed, the rising stars of the great sects who had lingered nearby followed him in a practiced, almost choreographed procession. As expected, the center of power here was the Sword Dragon.
But Namgung Cheon's side was not left empty either.
"E-excuse me, Young Master."
As soon as Namgung Hwi left and a gap opened, those who had been hanging back at a distance began edging closer, one cautious step at a time.
"May we offer the greetings we were unable to finish earlier? My name is Lee Ja-seong, of the White Lotus Sword Sect."
"And I, I am from the Mancheok Guild of Hunan..."
Namgung Cheon toyed with his teacup as he ran his eyes over their faces. Men who had failed to reach the inner circle of power, but who had carved out respectable positions in their own regions.
Not bad at all.
Truthfully, these men would be far easier to handle than the arrogant, scheming scions of the great houses.
Namgung Cheon allowed a faint smile to touch his lips and nodded.
"Sit."
At that single word, color bloomed across the hesitant faces, and they began to take their seats.
Watching them, Mujin picked up a large hollow fritter with his chopsticks.
"Young Master."
Mujin's voice was low, quiet enough to be swallowed by the surrounding noise.
"Look at this hollow fritter. The outside puffs up grand and gaudy—but crack it open, and the inside is empty as you see here."
He set it down and, this time, lifted a dense, heavy moon cake.
"But this one—small as it looks, it's packed solid to the core."
Mujin bit into the moon cake and grinned.
"Wouldn't a bite of this moon cake fill the belly better than a bite of that hollow thing ever could?"
Namgung Cheon snorted with laughter and raised his cup. Mujin raised his own to meet it.
"Then let us drink. We must take the measure of these moon cakes before the night is out."
Namgung Cheon gave a short nod.
Clink—
With a clear ring, their cups met.
The drinking party ripened as the night wore on. The men who had once weighed every word had, after a few rounds of drinks and a steady flow of conversation, grown comfortable with one another.
Namgung Cheon tilted his cup and studied their faces, rowdy and laughing, one by one. Not a single man at this table had been chosen by chance. These were gems sorted from stone, sifted through the intelligence Zhuge Seoyeon had whispered to him and the inside information on the assembly's participants passed along by the Master of the Haomun Sect.
His gaze settled on Jo Wi, laughing brightly.
The Hyeongju Jo Clan.
A family that had run martial academies in Hubei for generations, producing countless martial officials—many of whose disciples had risen to considerable rank within the government. Which meant, in other words—
They hold the power to move the officials when the need arises.
That was a weapon unique to the Jo Clan, one no sect or clique in the murim could easily acquire unless it numbered among the Five Great Families.
This time, Namgung Cheon's eyes turned to the bear of a man.
Hwacheolmun.
An artisan guild whose skill in forging was unrivaled in all of Hubei. According to Zhuge Seoyeon, they were small in scale and their true worth little known to the wider world, but the quality of the weapons they produced was exceptional. Of course, that remained to be verified firsthand.
Finally, Namgung Cheon's gaze came to rest on the sharp-eyed young man.
The White Lotus Sword Sect.
Tenacious survivors who had endured in Hunan, where the unorthodox factions held sway. Less inclined to flashy techniques than to the kind of killing strokes unbecoming of the Orthodox Path. Perhaps because of it, the orthodox sects that had survived in Hunan were slowly beginning to gather around the White Lotus Sword Sect as their center.
None of the three were places the prestigious great houses so much as glanced at. Yet each carried the potential to become a sturdier ally to Namgung Cheon than anyone else could be.
Profit over pretext, substance over show. That was how Namgung Cheon built his power.
"Hahaha! Truly? You burned off your own beard?"
Jo Wi's roaring laughter lifted the mood of the whole table. Hwa Jincheok, the young guild master of the Hwacheol Forge, scratched his head with a sheepish, scarlet face.
"When you work iron, burning your beard off is just part of the trade. Happens more than you'd think. Haha."
Rough but warmhearted banter flowed back and forth. Namgung Cheon occasionally nodded along or offered a faint smile at their talk.
Then Lee Ja-seong of the White Lotus Sword Sect spoke, his expression grave as he filled the cups around him.
"Thanks to you, Young Master, I believe our White Lotus Sword Sect may finally breathe freely. The iron foundries of Hunan have been tearing their hair out, unable to supply blades under the pressure of the unorthodox factions—who could have guessed a connection with the Hwacheol Forge would open up?"
"That's what neighbors are for, no? Truth be told, we're glad enough if our blades find better use."
Hwa Jincheok laughed heartily and clinked his cup against the other's.
Namgung Cheon smiled as he watched the three cups meet.
The Gold Pavilion, plus these three.
The rough sketch of a de facto power bloc spanning Anhui, Hubei, and Hunan was beginning to take shape.
"I look forward to working with you all. There will be much to see in the days ahead."
When Namgung Cheon raised his cup, the others lifted theirs high as if they had been waiting for exactly that moment.
Then—
"Enjoying yourselves?"
Namgung Hwi had returned at some point and was watching the scene with a warm, indulgent expression. At the appearance of the Eldest Young Master, Jo Wi and the rest sprang up from their seats in alarm. Even well into their cups, not one of their movements was out of order.
"We'll take our leave now. Thank you for the honor of your time, Young Master."
"We hope to see you again!"
Perceptive to the last, they tidied their seats and withdrew. Namgung Hwi watched the space they had vacated and chuckled.
"A fine sight."
He filled his own empty cup and murmured quietly.
"That one can enjoy an evening on nothing but wine and conversation—no clan prestige, no posturing required."
A note of quiet weariness ran beneath the words. Because Namgung Cheon understood that weariness, he answered evenly.
"The kernel is always better than the shell, wouldn't you say?"
"A kernel..."
Namgung Hwi nodded.
"Yes, well said. I never knew you had such an eye for people."
He smiled as he looked at his younger brother. A different path from his own—but perhaps, in the end, a firmer one. His brother, walking that path, filled him with pride.
Afterward, the two brothers sat side by side at the window, letting the river wind wash over them as they shared a few more cups.
But before long—
Tak.
Namgung Cheon set down his cup. At the same instant, Namgung Hwi's cup froze in midair.
...!
Their gazes turned, as if drawn by the same string, to the darkness lying over the river beyond the window.
A stirring—faint, but unmistakable. Far too subtle for ordinary martial artists to sense.
And in the very next instant, Namgung Hwi's eyes turned to Namgung Cheon.
His senses rival my own.
His brother had read that stirring at the same moment he had—or perhaps a hair sooner. And before the thought had even finished forming—
SHWAAAAA—!
A sound like the river itself being torn apart.
KUUUNG—!
The Golden Dragon Ship lurched violently. Namgung Cheon was the first to rise, heading for the deck. Namgung Hwi followed close behind.
The deck was already in chaos. Amid shattered railings and overturned tables of wine, a single black figure stood tall.
Then someone screamed, their voice cracking with terror.
"I-it's the Janggang Flood Dragon!"
Sole disciple of Pae Gang-myeong, Water King and Overall Fortress Master of the Changjiang Eighteen Water Strongholds—the Janggang Flood Dragon, Jang Gwang.
The grotesque scar slicing diagonally across his face glistened in the moonlight. With the tip of his foot, he flicked a single jade cup that lay rolling on the ground.
Tak.
He snatched the soaring cup out of the air, wiped the water from it with his sleeve in one smooth motion, and spoke.
"Throwing a feast in front of a man's own front door and not even sending an invitation."
Jang Gwang raised the empty cup in the air, one corner of his mouth curling up.
"So I've come to beg myself a drink."