Thank You, Younghee-ssi
Chirp chirp chirp. Warm morning sunlight filtering through the papered window. And the cheerful songs of nameless mountain birds echoing from afar.
"...I'm alive."
Yeon Woon-ryong slowly opened his eyes atop the fluffy bedding. His lungs filled with Nakyang's signature peaceful morning air. He sat up and stretched, joints popping with a satisfying crack. Even that ache felt sweet right now.
Today's schedule? Perfectly blank. As it should be.
He'd participated in the Mu-rim-meng's annual martial academy event, the Exchange Tournament, as Cheongryong Mugwan's literature teacher representative. The sweaty pack of human weapons—students and instructors—who'd traveled with him to Jujak Mugwan hadn't returned to Nakyang yet.
Until the key participants got back, his classes as a lowly literature instructor were in a glorious state of indefinite free periods.
This electric thrill of legit downtime was something he'd never tasted even in his Korean college days!
A regular salaryman would've milked this sweet morning—sleeping in or slamming a steaming bowl of noodle soup at an inn, basking in the peace.
But not him.
He quickly changed into his outing robes, eyes cold as he smoothed the wrinkled collar. No room for luxuries like sleeping in.
An invisible blade strangled his throat.
The Mu-rim-meng—the absolute power of the righteous murim, the core of all order—had its icy gaze already skewering the crown of his head.
Without hesitation, he strode out Cheongryong Mugwan's creaky front gate.
His destination: Nakyang Castle's grandest, flashiest, and deadliest hub of money and secrets.
Danga Sangdan headquarters.
Thud, thud.
Weaving through Nakyang's market streets buzzing even at dawn, he marched toward Danga Sangdan with brazen confidence and leisure.
Someone might call him insane. 'The Mu-rim-meng has you under watch, and you're brazenly heading to your backer and secret ally, Danga Sangdan?'
What would a typical wuxia novel's fugitive or secret-laden hero do? Sneak in at midnight in black garb, roof-hopping, or masked up, slinking through alleys to a dog hole.
But that's third-rate extra bullshit.
Think about it. Moyong Sega's patriarch, that cocky bastard Moyong Cheol, had already sniffed out his identity as bestseller author Yul-gong.
Meaning anyone with Moyong Cheol's intel chops had likely pieced together his tight ties to this behemoth merchant guild.
The logical conclusion? If a mere Five Great Families head could dig it up, could the Mu-rim-meng—puppet master of the world's info web—not uncover his identity and trail if it wanted?
'No way to hide it. Hell, thinking you can is pure hubris.'
He recalled the nightmare past. His #1 fanatic stalker, Hwangbo Suyeon. The hell days when she'd nagged her dad Hwangbo Daeryeok into unleashing the world's eyes and ears—the Beggar Clan and Haomun—on him.
Why hadn't his cover blown? One reason: their hunt was passive. Just distant surveillance of oddities around Danga Sangdan.
If they'd gone full throttle, ransacking Nakyang like pros?
'My flimsy secret? Exposed in half a day, tops.'
Clear as day. With the Mu-rim-meng now seriously on him, half-ass hiding his moves or dodging Danga Sangdan contact to skulk in shadows? That just screamed 'I've got skeletons galore.'
So, the play?
'Reverse psychology.'
Drag it all into the blinding sun.
'Can't hide? Flaunt it.'
His figure striding to Danga Sangdan's front gate, utterly shameless—the picture of worldly confidence.
This freakish boldness would fry the Mu-rim-meng spies' and brass's brains.
"What the hell's this guy's ace to strut like that?"
"A pissant academy scribe openly linking with the top guild? That's flexing, right?"
Their minds a whirlwind of suspicions and what-ifs.
This: the killer first step of his all-nighter Black Curtain Cosplay Plan.
Forcing this bombshell into the Mu-rim-meng elite's heads:
"Truth is, mighty Danga Sangdan's just one of Yul-gong's minion hordes."
To seed that flawless illusion, he paraded arrogantly down this crowded boulevard today.
"Made it."
His steps now at Danga Sangdan HQ's towering front gate, a monument of scale.
Dawn, pre-business hours. The massive iron doors should've been sealed, silent as a grave.
"Hm?"
He paused.
Before the guild's majestic entrance. Through the morning mist, a colossal shadow loomed like a stone colossus.
Nearly two meters, dwarfing him. Brutish bulk. Pecs twitching to burst per breath, biceps head-sized.
Ferocious mug slashed by brutal scars.
The rice-cake pillar he'd tangled with endlessly. Danga Sangdan's core muscle and avid fan.
Guard Squad 3 Leader.
'Playing doorman at this hour?'
He tsked inwardly.
Danche Ryeong, as expected. That terrifying woman had clocked his morning visit dead-on.
As he neared, the hulking 3rd Leader spotted him, bowing 90 degrees with a thunderous salute.
"You've arrived! Author Yul-gong!"
"..."
He scanned around, gulping.
This lunatic bellowing his pen name at lung-top in the open street—maybe Mu-rim-meng eyes everywhere.
'Danga Sangdan's done hiding my ID too.'
Danche Ryeong's blatant signal. Synced with his Black Curtain Cosplay, she'd flaunt their link to fire back at the Mu-rim-meng.
"Thanks for the hard work, 3rd Squad Leader."
He masked his fluster, mustering his trademark suave smile for the greeting.
Wait—despite swapping manuscripts forever with this brute, he didn't know the guy's name.
To nail black curtain vibes, memorize your "minions'" names. Common sense.
"Come to think... I don't know your name yet, 3rd Leader. What's it?"
The brute's reaction? Freaky.
That skull-crusher face flushed maiden-pink.
"Ah, I, uh..."
The titan fidgeted, huge fingers twining shyly.
What the—? This grotesque clash? Blushing over intros?
At last, mosquito-whisper soft, mismatched:
"My... name's... Kang Young...hee."
"...Huh?"
Ears ringing false.
Dumb noise escaped.
"Kang... what?"
"Kang Younghee."
Kang Younghee?!
Textbook bob-cut Younghee from Cheolsu and Younghee slammed onto this two-meter meat monster's mug in his brain.
'Pffft!'
Mad laughter boiled from his dantian; he ground his teeth to dust holding it.
No. Laugh, and perfect Black Curtain Persona crumbles.
To leash twitching face muscles, he yanked Hwalcheon Simgyeol's chill qi from core to cheeks.
Lips quivering, forced flatline, he locked eyes on Younghee-ssi. Expression: managed. Barely.
Misreading his spasms as "name-struck awe"?
Younghee-ssi spilled his name's lore, shy as hell.
"Wh-when I was born... parents wanted a glorious, shining life for me..."
Huge toe scraped dirt bashfully.
"'Young' from glory, 'Hee' from shine... Younghee."
'Shut it, psycho!'
Inward scream.
'Hwalcheon Simgyeol's barely corking my laugh!'
Choking snickers, he wrung grave tones:
"Ah... truly, exquisite name. Deep parental hopes woven in. B-beautiful. Ahem!"
"Th-thank you! Author Yul-gong!"
Thrilled boom rattled Danga Sangdan's yard.
One more second here, he'd crack like a loon. Cough-fake, he bolted ahead.
Under Younghee-ssi's lead, into Danga Sangdan's lavish hidden depths.
Corridor hush choked them. He wheezed laugh-suppressed; Younghee-ssi speech-tied, rapt on the praise-giving great one's nape.
That weird quiet till the core: Danche Ryeong's plush office door.
Knock. Knock.
Younghee-ssi rapped the hefty rosewood oh-so-gently, fist unfit.
"Little Guild Leader. Author Yul-gong here."
Silence. Then, spine-icing alto beyond:
"Send him in."
Command dropped; Younghee-ssi feather-flung the behemoth door, sidestepped reverent.
Bow: pious peak.
"Thanks, Younghee—er, Squad Leader Younghee."
Tongue near-bit on name-fumble, poise held, he slipped through.
Creak. Thud.
Inside, rosewood sealed; world noise zeroed.
Top-shelf incense's heady allure nosedived him.
Gaze end: Massive desk beyond, red-silk underworld queen Danche Ryeong slouched, impaling him.
Red lips: cryptic smirk. Chilling orbs: razor, flaying his Black Curtain Cosplay to bedrock.
"..."
Slow steps to her opposite.
Mu-rim-meng squeeze, Moyong truth, grand scam stage ahead.
This fate-hung dawn. Hwalcheon Simgyeol chilled dantian-to-limbs; fear purged from eyes.
Then, true Black Curtain arrogance locked on.
Straight-faced Danche Ryeong.