Why Is He Standing Right in Front of Me
"So? How's it feel? Not some two-bit Black Path nobody anymore — you're officially a member of a Hao Sect branch now."
Hoga Jangju didn't answer. He just squinted at Sun Wukong, the situation still refusing to settle in his mind.
"So... Hoga Manor belongs to the Hao Sect from now on?"
"Nothing's really changed. Just think of yourselves as the Hao Sect's secret arm."
"Meaning Jo Hae recruited Hoga Manor and brought us under the Hao Sect's banner. That's the picture."
Hoga Jangju was as sharp as he was seasoned. The situation had spun so fast it was hard to swallow, but once he thought it through, the current ran clear.
On the surface, it looked like Hoga Manor had lost a power struggle and been absorbed by the Hao Sect. It was a more common sight than one might think. The Hao Sect and the Black Path had always been rivals, and more often than not the Hao Sect won — swallowing Black Path outfits whole. That was how the Hao Sect had ended up with the highest proportion of former underworld men of any righteous sect. There was a reason people treated them as Black Path whenever it was convenient.
So the image of Hoga Manor being absorbed by the Hao Sect wasn't strange at all.
The truth of it, however, was the exact opposite.
"They did this to stay alive. Hell, it's crystal clear who holds the leash and who wears it."
Hoga Manor hadn't bowed first to save its own skin. Jo Hae had done it to survive — shoving his nose into the single breathing hole Sun Wukong had so casually left open.
"And he actually went along with it? He didn't strike me as a fool."
"He struck a deal with his own greed, that's all."
"He'll keep the branch lord's seat, sure. But what kind of branch lord will he actually be?"
Hoga Jangju smiled, thin and sour. It was the smile of a dangerous man of the Black Path.
"That man's got a collar around his neck now."
"Hey now. He already swore loyalty to the Hao Sect. Don't be too hard on him."
At Sun Wukong's utterly shameless remark, Hoga Jangju found himself laughing in spite of himself.
A loyalty oath. The proper, official process of submitting to the Hao Sect. But what weight did a loyalty oath really carry, when it was nothing more than a scrap of paper?
"He swore loyalty, so it's only right that a proper subordinate speak up when his superior starts to stray."
At those words, Hoga Jangju clicked his tongue inwardly. The voice was light, tossed off as if it meant nothing. What it carried was a blade.
On the face of it, the words were perfectly proper. Utterly, unassailably reasonable. If a superior wandered off the path, it was a subordinate's duty to counsel him back.
"I'll serve him well."
"Good. He's probably pretty sore about all this, so don't glare at him too much."
"We only live if he lives. You think I'd be that stupid?"
Until now, Hoga Manor had competed with the Hao Sect from the outside. There was no need for that anymore. They would burrow into the Hao Sect itself, keep watch over Jo Hae, and in all but name take the Hao Sect's Anhui branch into their own hands...
How the hell did things end up like this?
Even Hoga Jangju, who had watched every piece fall into place and thrown himself into the work with his own hands, could barely wrap his mind around it.
Just pushing the Hao Sect out had seemed impossible enough. And now they were taking the Hao Sect itself...
Hoga Jangju swallowed dryly.
"You've swallowed quite a feast."
"Whether it's a feast or a gut-ache, you'll only know once you've digested it."
"I've rolled around at the bottom long enough. I can digest garbage just fine, even at my age."
"Take it slow. Chew it fine. Swallow it all at once and you'll make yourself sick."
"Understood."
This was the same Hoga Jangju who had already built Hoga Manor into a force that could stand against the Hao Sect's Anhui branch. Sun Wukong had sketched the picture. The fine brushwork, Hoga Jangju would handle himself. Sun Wukong left the whole affair in his hands.
"Alright. Time I got to my own work."
Sun Wukong's brow furrowed. It was a pain in the ass, but it had to be done.
"You called for me, Teacher Su— I mean, Master."
Sun Wukong looked at Namgung Muyoung's pale face. A quiet, unshakable resolve lived in those eyes. Sun Wukong grinned.
"Let's get a little closer, you and me."
The reason Sun Wukong had sought out Namgung Muyoung was simple.
"You ever study the Buddhist Dharma?"
"That's... sudden."
Namgung Muyoung's eyes went round. Broad shoulders, thick brows — the face of a classic, open-hearted martial artist — but the expression on it was almost innocent. He shook his head firmly.
"All I know of Buddhist teaching is that one shouldn't take life in vain."
"A complete outsider to the Dharma, then... Hmm. Was Muyoung your original name?"
"I've been Muyoung since the day I was born."
"And your fetal name?"
"It was Taeryong. Lazy Dragon."
"Lazy Dragon?"
"The Namgung Clan claims descent from the dragon. You already know that, Teacher Su— I mean, Master."
Muyoung smiled wryly.
"Originally it was written with the character for 'great' — Great Dragon."
"So why Lazy Dragon?"
"I spent eleven months in my mother's womb and still wouldn't come out. Father said I was lazy from the womb and changed it."
"What a family. Seriously."
Sun Wukong laughed for a moment, then his face hardened.
Can't trace Sanzang through the name.
Sun Wukong scratched at his chin. Names carried powerful destinies. Sha Wujing's reincarnation had kept the dharma name Ojeong, exactly as it was. And Muhwa, Zhu Bajie's reincarnation, had originally been named Oh Neung.
Not all of them, though. Yu Baekheum, for one.
Namgung Jinbaek, Yu Baekheum's reincarnation, had been different. His title, his fetal name, his childhood name, his courtesy name, his nicknames — nowhere had the name Yu Baekheum survived.
Only Ojeong and Bajie had carried their past-life names forward, one way or another.
Those weren't ordinary names.
They were names Sanzang himself had given them.
Ojeong's dharma name. Bajie's dharma name, Wuneng.
Names touched by that damn Sanzang's mantra. Of course they'd carry over into a new life.
So what about Sanzang's own name?
No idea.
Sanzang had gone by plenty of names himself.
I'd figured it would be one of this kid's names...
Sun Wukong glanced sideways at Muyoung, who still wore the look of a man with no idea what any of this was about.
Fetal name, childhood name, courtesy name, nicknames — not a single one of them pointed to Sanzang.
Sun Wukong let out a sigh.
Is this kid even Sanzang?
Until now, Muyoung had shown any number of similarities to Sanzang. But it wasn't enough to be sure.
Just because someone was violent in a past life didn't mean they'd be violent in this one.
Ojeong had been relatively serious and reliable — and now he had a streak of the scatterbrained in him. And Bajie, that walking headache, that volcano always one spark from erupting, had become a sharp, clever beauty. Both of them still showed flashes of their past lives now and then. But never the whole picture.
Looking a little like Sanzang isn't nearly enough to be sure this kid is him.
In the end, he had to look. The soul behind those resolute eyes. The image beyond the mind's surface. Only the Fiery Golden Eyes, searching every corner, could do it.
I thought we'd gotten pretty close by now.
Muyoung's soul didn't so much as twitch. It felt like running into a wall — a thorough, unyielding one. Worse than when he'd first met Namgung Jinbaek. He didn't know what had forged a will that strong. And even that — that, too, felt so much like Sanzang it left a dull ache in his chest.
"Master, what did you need me for...?"
"You busy?"
"Yes. As Young Master, I have preparations to—"
"Come on. A man's gotta take it easy sometimes."
"Pardon?"
"Let's have a drink."
Muyoung was, if he was being honest, frustrated.
I did travel the martial world once.
Back when he was a fresh face on the jianghu. There had been no shortage of incidents, and he'd crossed paths with more than a few formidable experts. He'd even tasted the strength of nameless rural powerhouses, one after another. Plenty of those encounters had turned into grudges, and more than once he'd taken a serious beating. The faint plum-blossom sword scar still marking his waist was a heavy wound from that first venture into the martial world.
But overwhelming strength. That, he could say with certainty, he had never felt in his bones — not before that day.
That monster I saw at the Wudang Bloodshed...
The lightning that had torn through the wind — just remembering it raised gooseflesh along his arms. He had believed his will was unshakable. That with a sword in his hand, nothing could make him yield. That was the moment that will had wavered, if only for a breath.
Even Father — the strongest man in my world — couldn't beat that one.
He knew well enough that above the Ten Great Masters stood the Three Venerables, beings of a transcendent realm. But hearing jianghu rumors and seeing something with your own two eyes were different things.
And Master Sun beat him.
Not witnessing that fight was a regret he would carry for a thousand autumns. Fortunately, the disappointment hadn't lasted. What followed was the duel between Namgung Jinbaek and Sun Wukong.
Muyoung had seen it with his own two eyes. The first spark of enlightenment.
On the road to the Wulin Alliance, on the road back, even after arriving in Anhui, he had driven himself fiercely toward that insight. He hadn't fully broken through the wall. But he had climbed to a height that, even within the Peak Realm, brushed the very top. For the first time, he had briefly overtaken Seowol — the cousin he'd always felt himself trailing, just a step behind.
And that had left him a little impatient.
The Grand Assembly of Murim — an event of the age. A gathering that called for the unity of the righteous martial world. A martial arts tournament to measure one another's skill was a given. Muyoung had resolved to make it known: he was the Young Master of the Namgung Clan, and he had shed the skin of a mere rising talent.
So when Father had told him he'd asked Sun Wukong to look over his martial arts, Muyoung had been quietly delighted.
But actually getting a face-to-face with the man had been nearly impossible.
Sun Wukong had been out and about for some time. Muyoung had been busy too. As Young Master, he'd thrown himself into his duties without a moment to breathe. And then Sun Wukong had called for him.
He'd been excited, certain he was finally about to receive Sun Wukong's teaching. But...
"So there I was, right? Back in my pirate days. I'd climb up on the deck, let out one good roar, and they'd start shaking like leaves..."
"Why do I get the feeling these stories get taller every time you tell them?"
"Hey, fighting on land and fighting on a ship's deck are two completely different things!"
The light in Muyoung's eyes dimmed.
"Hey, Young Master, how come you haven't touched a drop?"
Ojeong said it with a face flushed crimson from drink. Muyoung gave a bitter smile.
"I don't particularly enjoy drinking."
"Hah, a real man— I mean, a proper fellow, yeah? The one who's gonna lead the Namgung Clan someday? A pot of this fire-wine should be nothing, just knock the whole—"
That was when it happened.
Sun Wukong flicked his fingers.
"......!"
The bitter smile vanished. Muyoung's eyes flew wide. A thick silence swallowed every sound. Ojeong was still running his mouth, eyes glazed — but not a word of it reached Muyoung's ears.
A qi barrier...?!
Something like a heat haze shimmered faintly before his eyes. The movement of qi. The corner of Muyoung's eye twitched.
"Master Sun?"
"That idiot's had one cup and he's already slurring. Better to just block your ears."
"......"
"What? You've got a look like you want something."
"Well... your teaching, Master..."
Instead of answering, Sun Wukong scratched his chin.
Teaching, huh.
He'd taken on the role of master, sure. But he'd never been a martial arts instructor to begin with. Namgung Jinbaek had entrusted the boy to him to loosen up his temperament, not polish his sword.
The first thing Sun Wukong had done with Muyoung was drag him from one drinking table to the next. Liquor had a way of bringing out a man's true face. He'd figured it might sand down some of that rigidity, give the kid a little room to breathe.
But Muyoung had gone through drinking party after drinking party without ever letting go of that taut string of tension. Vigilance was a martial artist's virtue, sure — but this was excessive. And with the kid wound this tight, how were the Fiery Golden Eyes supposed to do their work?
This, too, is just like Sanzang...
Sun Wukong considered it for a moment.
What if I just beat the hell out of him? Call it a martial arts lesson.
Muyoung flinched. Sun Wukong's eyes narrowed.
"Did I... say that out loud?"
"Pardon? Ah, no, you didn't say anything. I just got a sudden chill."
"Sharp senses. Good quality in a fighter."
"I'm a martial artist..."
"Martial artist, fighter — same thing at the core. Once you get to my level, maybe not."
Sun Wukong looked at that bewildered face and thought it over in earnest.
Well, every time I beat those demon bastards half to death, their souls showed themselves, didn't they?
Frustration pushed him toward the extreme.
If I just keep pounding this kid, he might pull out some hidden potential he doesn't even know he has — the kind that only comes out when your life's on the line. And then, well. His soul might flicker into view.
"Hss. That's not a bad idea."
"I, uh — it's warm in here. I'm going to step out for some air."
Those senses Sun Wukong had just praised. Muyoung felt a strange, creeping sense of danger, and decided this was a seat he needed to leave.
Sun Wukong cocked his head.
"You said you had a chill, and now you want air?"
"Ah. Yes. Yes."
"I'll come with you."
"......"
A faint look of dismay crossed the face of the man who had been trying to put distance between himself and Sun Wukong. But there was nothing he could say. He had no choice but to go outside with him.
Hefei's nightscape wasn't bad. The neighborhood was a bustling entertainment district even after dark, and the view from the top floor of Manhyangru — rebuilt to three stories — was genuinely beautiful.
Of course, none of that scenery registered in Sun Wukong's eyes.
If I use a spar as an excuse and beat him half to death, it might come out. And if he is Sanzang? So what. After everything I went through with the Golden Tightening Fillet, I can just think of it as a little payback. That's not half bad, actually.
Having finished this entirely serious deliberation, Sun Wukong nodded to himself.
"Alright. This master of yours will take a look at your marti—"
Sun Wukong's eyes narrowed.
"Pardon? My martial arts?"
"......"
Muyoung's face lit up at the words martial arts. But Sun Wukong didn't answer.
Muyoung looked at Sun Wukong's face, and faltered.
A face stripped of every trace of humor. Dry. Barren. Eyes sunk deep and still. Lips sealed in a hard, flat line.
Before a fight. In the thick of his brutal clash with Baekgwiwang. In the fierce duel with Namgung Jinbaek. Not once had the laughter ever left that face.
And now it was gone. Completely.
What had taken its place was a single thing.
It was a raw, blazing hostility.