Shortening Everything

The highest-grade guesthouse suite specially provided by Haebuk Paenga. I plopped my butt down on the edge of the plush bed and roughly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠dragged both hands over my face.

"Hoo..."

A deep sigh echoed heavily through the silent suite. The moment I closed my eyes, the scene I'd witnessed earlier at the Paenga main hall replayed vividly in my mind.

Paeng Suho, the young master of Haebuk Paenga, heir to the family and hailed as a prodigy of the murim. His bloodshot eyes were rolled back, and his entire body trembled like an aspen leaf. No matter how I looked at it, this wasn't qi deviation or any natural illness.

It was the brutal drug addiction that shattered human brain nerves—the kind I'd seen countless times in movies and news back in my previous life in Korea. In other words, textbook withdrawal symptoms from narcotics, matching perfectly in a spine-chilling way.

The gritty performance from that movie Friends, where the guy clawed at the floor—now unfolding in real-time 4D right in the heart of the wuxia world.

But there was one fatal obstacle keeping me from voicing my rational judgment: the record left by Uiseon Jo Myeong-hwan, one of the Ten Great Masters and my master.

This was the objective diagnosis of Paeng Suho by the world's foremost medical expert, Uiseon.

My built-in web novel writer's 'cliché detector' was blaring warnings in my head.

Murim novels often feature drugs used by shadowy factions: forbidden elixirs that squeeze every drop of potential from the body, or sinister arts that burn life force to explode inner energy. When writing novels, I'd toss in these tired tropes lightly, fingers dancing over the keyboard. The protagonist uncovers the plot, smashes the mastermind in the shadows, and delivers cathartic justice. Easy plot.

But this situation thrown in front of me wasn't pixels on a screen—it was brutal reality, with blood spraying and flesh tearing.

If I spoke out based on a writer's shallow instincts? That one careless word from me could veer the colossal military might of Haebuk Paenga off course entirely. One misstep, and innocent heads could roll—or I could get sucked into a nightmare conspiracy worse than the one with Moyong Sega.

"This is driving me insane."

I pressed my throbbing temples and shook my head.

The suffocating pressure of the Mu-rim-meng's intelligence network and Paenga's forces fixated on my lips, waiting to be pried open. In the end, I couldn't rush to a conclusion and forcibly snapped the tangled threads of my thoughts.

I needed to change the air. At this rate, my brain cells would fry, and I'd fall into qi deviation first.

So, I turned to another clue.

In the corner of the wooden bed frame: three tiny but sharp, vividly scratched letters.

To break through this chaos, I'd start with the most logical assumption.

What if the one who left these three letters is my missing master?

I immediately recalled ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the entire secret manual my master had given me, from start to finish. But no matter how I racked my genius text-decoding brain, no technique or heart method was named 'Hoakdae'.

Then, a cipher from someone else? Or a desperate message scratched by Young Master Paeng Suho in a fleeting moment of clarity before blacking out?

"Argh, damn it. I tried to clear my head, and now it hurts even more."

I ruffled my hair irritably and slumped back onto the bed.

Deduction starts with pruning branches. Build one solid hypothesis as the pillar, stack logic on top, and reach the truth.

With all my info and instincts, there was only one prime suspect.

The one who left this is Master.

Assuming that premise, I fully immersed myself in his perspective.

If I were Jo Myeong-hwan, one of the Ten Great Masters with absolute medical prowess, why leave such an ambiguous, cryptic three-letter hint?

As my thoughts chained together, a flash of insight struck.

The most fundamental, glaring contradiction.

Master is currently 'missing'.

The young master's room I'd just inspected—no traces of fierce martial combat. No signs of struggle from being dragged away. Not even a whiff of poison or drugs scattered around.

He'd vanished like smoke, unnaturally quietly.

The implication was crystal clear: 99.9% chance it wasn't abduction.

Even charitably assuming some odorless, colorless freak drug or toxin slipped past him unnoticed—but the victim was Uiseon. Master of all poisons and drugs in the world, his dantian overflowing with the Hwalcheon life force. Him overwhelmed without a fight by some minor potion? If I'd written that in my novel, the forums would've erupted in reader rage and mass unsubscribes the next day.

Only one conclusion: Master wasn't kidnapped. He vanished of his own will, quietly.

Why? Because he realized this incident with Haebuk Paenga's young master tied into a far larger, more dangerous conspiracy than it seemed?

To slip past enemies' eyes and infiltrate ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the heart of the plot, he chose the extreme measure of going into hiding.

But Master would've prepared for failure. After he vanished, someone to uncover the truth and find him: his one reliable ally.

Me, Yeon Woon-ryong. So he left an ultra-secret clue as insurance.

Then why the bizarre, incomprehensible 'Hoakdae' cipher?

Right then.

A buried memory surfaced from deep in my mind: a trivial yet eerie episode in the carriage from Yodongseong to Nakyang.

"Woon-ryong, how old are you this year?"

"Twenty-nine, Master."

Yeon Woon-ryong's age: teetering on the edge of his twenties.

Master smiled like a grandfather eyeing his grandkid and dropped a bombshell.

"Tsk tsk. No thoughts of marriage? How are you still single at that age?"

In the conservative murim worldview, twenty-nine was prime "confirmed bachelor" territory—no complaints there.

"I know a truly refined young lady among my acquaintances. Shall I introduce you?"

Master's lighthearted joke. But the moment it landed, the carriage temperature plunged to a perceived minus twenty.

Sloooowly.

To my left vision: Hwangbo Suyeon, the golden flower of Hwangbo Sega, turned her rigid head toward me. Her clear, massive eyes blazed with icy fury that could freeze the world.

Shiiiing.

To my right: The cursed survivor Seol Muyeong's embrace, her eternal frost sword Seola couldn't contain its owner's murderous intent—it half-unsheathed, spewing blizzard chill.

The two women's lethal glares crossed, piercing only my lips.

If I bite here and say 'yes, introduce her'... I'll be dismembered and dumped before Nakyang, limbs first.

My survival instincts screamed.

I flashed the most awkward smile possible, waving my hands frantically.

"N-no! Haha! I... uh, pursue ja-man-chu!"

Oh crap. In my panic, a modern Korean abbreviation slipped out unconsciously from my past life.

Master's eyes widened in curiosity.

"Ja... man... chu? A four-character idiom meaning 'savoring autumn naturally'? Never heard that mantra before."

Cold sweat pouring, I scrambled an excuse.

"Ah, it's... shorthand from the first letters of 'pursuing natural encounters.' Just a silly joke I made up for fun."

But.

At my flimsy cover, Master's eyes sparkled like stars for an instant.

The eccentric genius who'd mastered the world's top medicine and all scholarly truths—his intellectual curiosity perfectly hooked by the alien concept of modern 'abbreviations'.

That's when it started. In this grand, serious wuxia world, Master's horrifying 'Byeol Da Jul' life—shortening everything.

One day, guiding my neigong training with utmost seriousness:

"Woon-ryong, did you skip your morning un-jo today?"

"Pardon? Un-jo?"

"Tsk tsk. Ungi josik shortened to un-jo. Rolls off the tongue nicely, doesn't it?"

Another day, carriage halting at an inn for lunch:

"Woon-ryong, care to do some jeom-yo-chu today? Your picks suit my taste."

"Jeom... yo... chu?"

"Haha, you rascal. Jeomsim yori chucheon shortened! The guy who invented ja-man-chu lacks application!"

Master, utterly hooked on this linguistic play. His joyful face and innocent smile paraded through my mind.

Ho... Ak... Dae.

If the one who left this is Master, obsessed with Byeol Da Jul. And he perfectly predicted his sole disciple—the abbreviation inventor—would investigate this room!

A cipher no spy agency or strategist in this world could crack. Our exclusive code!

This was an abbreviation.

Puzzle pieces snapped into place at breakneck speed, forming the big picture.

A message Master left before vanishing, signaling his destination.

Framing it as a 'place', the truth hit like lightning.

Starting with Ho... Hobuk Province? Honam Province?

Then Ak? Countless murim maps from my novels flooded my mind.

Akga? No, that's Shandong. Then... Akyang! Honam Province's Akyang!

"Crazy...! That's it!"

I shot up, screaming like a madman, and flung open the door.

Outside: Hwangbo Suyeon, Seol Muyeong, and Jegal Cheom in a tense standoff, faces grim. I didn't hesitate—grabbed Jegal Cheom's shoulder like his collar, the flirt hovering too close to Suyeon.

"Jegal Cheom!"

Stunned by my sudden frenzy, he stammered.

"Wha—what? Why all of a—"

"Akyang in Honam Province!"

I pressed him like a predator eyeing prey.

"In Honam Province's Akyang, any murim sect starting with 'Dae'?! "

At my out-of-left-field question, he tsked with a bored look.

"You go in to check the young master's condition, and suddenly you're asking about Honam sects? "

"Is there or not?!"

I raised my voice.

"This could be the key clue unraveling Master's disappearance and Paenga's bizarre illness!"

'Key clue' sharpened his sleazy gaze. He dropped his flippant act, chin in hand, seriously rummaging his prodigious memory. True to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Jegal Sega blood, every murim sect and power map was databased in his head.

"Hm..."

His brow furrowed, then—snap—he smacked his knee.

"Yes!"

My heart pounded wildly at his confident reply.

"In central Akyang, Honam Province, there's a sect called Daeryeok Dobang."

I felt it. Orchestral swells in my brain.

Ho! Nam-seong Ak! Yang Dae! Ryeok Dobang!

Perfect. It fit like a glove, chills racing down my spine.

Voice trembling, I pressed.

"What kind of place is this Daeryeok Dobang?"

Jegal Cheom smirked, intrigued.

"They're straddling the line between black and white—zheng-sa ji-gan. Front: legit escort agency and merchant guild, aping the righteous sects. Back: dirty underworld jobs, bat-like scum."

Chills exploded over my skin at the description.

Zheng-sa ji-gan! If full-on evil, I'd be disappointed—but this gray-zone wrapper felt perfect.

Master sniffed out the conspiracy tail here at Haebuk Paenga, traced it to Honam's Daeryeok Dobang, and chose stealth infiltration.

Every piece clicked.

Overwhelmed with joy, I seized Jegal Cheom's hands.

"Thank you! Thanks to you, this unsolvable case finally cracked!"

I shook them vigorously, pouring out sincerity.

"Really, truly—thank you, Jegal Cheom! You've contributed massively to murim's peace today!"

"Uh... y-yeah?"

Blindsided by my intense skinship and praise barrage, his eyes darted wildly. Forgetting he'd treated me like a pest moments ago, his ears burned red as he cleared his throat.

"A-hem...! No big deal, making a fuss like this. As a scion of prestigious Jegal Sega, piercing the world's info is as natural as breathing."

Stealing glances at Hwangbo Suyeon, he puffed up, showing off.

"Ahem! If Suyeon—er, Great Hero Yeon—needs any intel for the investigation, just ask this Jegal Cheom. I've got tens of thousands of tidbits in my head..."

But I had no time for this tsundere's gap-moe bravado exploding.

Every second counted. Master had plunged solo into the tiger's maw—no dawdling here.

I cut him off sharply, whirling to my two combat weapons behind me.

"Suyeon! Muyeong!"

At my firm, charismatic call, the women snapped to attention like drilled soldiers.

"Yes, sunsengnim!"

"Give the order, jakganim!"

Fist clenched, I bellowed with conviction.

"Pack now! We're heading out immediately..."

My eyes pierced south toward Honam Province.

"To Honam!"

With my bold resolve, our footsteps stormed away from Haebuk, charging fiercely toward the grander, deadlier Honam Province.