The Warmth of a Pebble

Dongting Lake. Spanning the border between Hubei and Hunan, Dongting Lake lived up to its renown, stretching out in boundless vastness with no end in sight.

Across a clear surface that mirrored the sky itself, the idle creak of boatmen's oars drifted and echoed.

"Astonishing! They say water and sky share a single light, and that wind and moon know no end — and it's true!"

Mujin, having just stepped off the boat, stood speechless before the breathtaking vista spread out before him.

"The old poets weren't spinning idle verse after all. Young Master, look at this magnificent scenery!"

Adjusting the bundle on his back, Mujin pointed this way and that across Dongting Lake like a child beside himself with delight.

"Your first time seeing it?"

At Namgung Cheon's question, Mujin gave a deliberate cough and answered.

"Well, no, not exactly — but then, it's beautiful every time you look, isn't it just?"

Namgung Cheon chuckled softly and nodded.

He had come to this lake only once in his past life. He had felt it then, and he felt it now all the same — a landscape that deserved the title of one of the world's most sublime views without the slightest embarrassment.

Namgung Cheon gazed quietly out over the lake. The wind blowing across the calm surface brushed past the hem of his robe. Even the fishy tang of water carried on the breeze smelled faintly sweet, and amid the throngs of people, Dongting Lake's peculiar air of unhurried ease wrapped itself around him from head to toe.

Not bad at all.

With that brief thought, Namgung Cheon started walking.

Near the ferry landing, open-air teahouses stood in a row, all facing the water. The party took seats at an outdoor table with the finest view of the lake, and Mujin dropped down onto the bench and called for a waiter.

"Silver needle tea and a plate of candied fruit here. Make it generous!"

Before long the tea and candied fruit arrived, and Mujin, as if he had been waiting all along, lifted his chopsticks. Namgung Cheon raised his teacup and moistened his lips; the warm tea slid down his throat and washed the weariness of travel away.

Then it happened.

"Um…… excuse me."

A small voice came from behind. When Namgung Cheon turned, a boy of five or six stood there, shuffling his feet. His clothes were grimy and he hadn't even proper shoes on, but his eyes were as clear and deep as the lake itself. The child, visibly tense, thrust out a dirt-stained hand toward Namgung Cheon.

On the tiny palm lay a single round, smooth pebble. It had been washed by the river for so long that no sharp edge remained, and it gleamed translucent in the sunlight — a lovely stone.

Mujin, chewing on a candied fruit, looked at the boy and broke into a warm, friendly smile.

"This is for me? Why, it's a very pretty stone."

At Mujin's gentle voice, the boy relaxed a little and said shyly, "Because you look so cool, big brother…… I wanted to give you a present."

At that innocent remark, Mujin burst into hearty laughter. "Haha! You've got a good eye, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠don't you? That's right — this big brother is a handsome one. You're going to make something of yourself someday, I can tell!"

Mujin shamelessly gestured toward Namgung Cheon, sparing no effort in the praise. The boy grinned broadly at Mujin's words and turned to look at Namgung Cheon.

Namgung Cheon picked up the offered pebble. It was a cold little stone, and yet — perhaps because the child's hands had touched it — a faint warmth still lingered.

Just then, a woman came hurrying over. She seemed to be the boy's mother. In her hand, as she dressed in ragged hemp clothes, was a worn bundle.

"Yeong-a! What do you think you're doing!"

Yanking the boy toward her, the woman bowed deeply to Namgung Cheon and his companions. "F-forgive me, Young Master! My child doesn't know any better — he's been terribly rude."

Shabby as her appearance was, her speech carried an unmistakable courtesy. She hesitated a moment, then drew something from her breast — wrapped in a crumpled cloth — and carefully held it out.

"It isn't much, but please, take this…… my child is so fond of people, you see."

It was a few pieces of rice cake — likely meant to be the mother and son's snack along the road.

Namgung Cheon looked from the woman's rough, calloused hands to the child's shining eyes, peeking out from behind her and gazing up at him. People with nothing to their names, and yet hearts full to overflowing. An unfamiliar sort of kindness.

But that unfamiliar feeling was not unwelcome.

Namgung Cheon, declining the rice cake, instead lightly squeezed the pebble in his hand. "This is enough for me."

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's a pretty stone."

He said it offhandedly and slipped the pebble into his breast. The woman stared at him, bewildered, before her face softened into a bright smile laced with relief and gratitude.

"Thank you, Young Master. Thank you for your graciousness. Yeong-a, say thank you."

The boy beamed. "Thank you!"

Mother and son vanished back into the crowd, the boy turning around every few steps to wave at Namgung Cheon until they were gone. Namgung Cheon did not take his eyes from them until their figures had completely disappeared. The pebble in his breast felt warm.

"You've changed a great deal, Young Master. The old you wouldn't have spared them a single glance."

Mujin said it with a quiet chuckle. Namgung Cheon offered no reply, only raised his teacup. As he tilted it, the tea slid slowly down his throat.

……It's warm.

A smile played at the corner of Namgung Cheon's lips.

After tea at the teahouse, the party ascended Yueyang Tower. It was, fittingly for a tower famed as the finest under heaven, a magnificent structure. From the third story, the whole of Dongting Lake opened up beneath them.

Somewhere along the way, the boundary between sky and water had dissolved, and the lake's waterways now burned crimson. The shimmering light shattered on the swaying waves scattered like golden fish scales, dazzling the eye.

"A marvel, truly a marvel."

Mujin murmured his admiration and filled Namgung Cheon's cup. "Here, drink. Scenery like this must not go without wine."

Namgung Cheon brought the cup to his lips. A fragrance as refined as the landscape itself lingered at the tip of his nose. It was a peaceful late afternoon, a moment where everything seemed perfect.

But then—

"Yeong-a! Yeong-a!"

Someone's shouts rose from below. Namgung Cheon set down his cup and looked down beneath the railing. In the middle of the ferry landing, the very woman they had just met was pushing through the crowd, her face drained of all color.

"He was here just a moment ago! Yeong-a!"

Like a madwoman, she clutched at passerby after passerby, weeping. "Please — please, someone help me find my son! He was holding my hand not a minute ago!"

But the people only brushed her off as though she were a nuisance, clicking their tongues as they passed.

"Tsk, tsk. You ought to be more careful in a crowded place."

"He's just wandered off for a moment. He'll be right back."

Most treated it as the usual, ordinary sort of commotion. But Namgung Cheon was different. His eyes were fixed relentlessly on the spot where the woman stood — the exact place where the child had vanished. An alien edge crept into those coldly sunken pupils.

It couldn't be.

Slowly, he drew up his qi perception. At once, every flow of energy around him came into vivid focus. And among those countless energies, Namgung Cheon found one that did not belong — a viscous, sinister force utterly unlike the ordinary auras of the crowd. It was precisely the energy that clung to the spot where the woman had been standing.

Crude in execution, but unmistakably the aura of the Soul Capturing Art.

Namgung Cheon's eyes flashed. The Soul Capturing Art — a wicked art that clouded a person's mind and enslaved their soul. The energy here was weak enough that only by raising his qi perception could he be certain of it. And yet even at that level, it was more than sufficient for ensnaring ordinary folk — for abducting a child, in particular.

To use the Soul Capturing Art in broad daylight, in the middle of a crowd.

And what possible reason could there be to abduct a child? Judging by the mother's circumstances, there could hardly be a ransom worth demanding. Which meant—

The child himself was the purpose.

In that instant, the events in Anhui flashed through Namgung Cheon's mind. The Black Tiger Gang. They, too, had abducted children. Parents or no parents, they had gathered up every child they could get their hands on — and those children, they had said, were sold off to the Ghost Mask Pact of Hunan.

The Ghost Mask Pact.

Hunan. And abductions. Could this really have nothing to do with them?

It will not be.

At the same moment, he felt the pebble in his breast with sudden clarity. Namgung Cheon rose slowly from his seat.

Mujin looked up in surprise. "Where are you going?"

Namgung Cheon walked off without a backward glance, quietly letting the words fall behind him.

"To repay a gift."

CRASH!

Ak Mookyeol, Commander of the Black Wind Squad, drove his fist down onto the table. His face was a tangle of naked displeasure and helplessness.

Why on earth……

Crun-ch.

The letter in his hand was crushed into a sorry wad. It was the strategist's reply to his recent report on the Ghost Mask Pact's atrocities.

Fifty children vanished from Yueyang in a single month.

And their crimes grew bolder with every passing day. Ak Mookyeol unfolded the crushed letter ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠again. A single line was written within:

The Four Black Alliance will not move; therefore the Black Wind Squad is not to involve itself either.

That was the strategist's answer to the suppression petition he had submitted.

I cannot understand it.

It had already ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠been years since the Alliance Leader entered seclusion. Because of that, all real authority rested, in practice, in the strategist's hands. And yet why — why did the strategist leave those beastlike wretches, who scraped the very prestige of the Alliance, alone like this?

No matter how treacherous Menghuando, their stronghold, may be, if the Black Wind Squad moved against it we could wipe them out. And still……

The Alliance's inexplicable silence — that was what bound Ak Mookyeol in suffocating frustration.

He flung the crushed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠letter aside. There was nothing more to be done anyway. The strategist's order was the strategist's order; all he could do was stand by and watch their atrocities unfold.

Just as he forced himself to give up—

"Commander."

The vice commander's voice came from beyond the door.

"Speak."

"An urgent report has just come in from the Dongting Lake area."

At the mention of Dongting Lake, Ak Mookyeol's brow furrowed. "The Ghost Mask Pact again?"

The vicinity of Dongting Lake was where the pact most often appeared. Paradoxically, the crowds there meant that a child or two vanishing rarely made much of a stir.

But the vice commander's next words flew completely past his expectations.

"Namgung Cheon, the Third Young Master of the Namgung Clan…… is tracking the Ghost Mask Pact."

"……!"

Ak Mookyeol's eyes flew wide open.

Namgung Cheon?

A name he had set aside for a while since returning from Anhui. The man whose preposterous martial prowess and unorthodox course of action had left him with a strange, creeping sense of defeat. Why was he in Hunan — and why was he moving against the Ghost Mask Pact?

Then, Ak Mookyeol's eyes narrowed to slits.

No — it doesn't matter.

Whatever the reason, it changed nothing. Only one thing mattered: unlike himself, pinned in place by the strategist's orders and unable to twitch a finger, that man answered to nothing and no one. Was he not a son of the Namgung Clan, a pillar of the Orthodox faction?

Men like that — with a single justification called chivalry, there is nothing under heaven they cannot do.

Ak Mookyeol glanced back at the strategist's letter he had just thrown down. Then he rose from his seat —

the corner of his mouth curling up in a strange smile.