Yeon Ihwa

A cool breeze drifted through an autumn afternoon, across the heart of Sichuan — a city that sat ill with scenery like that. It happened in one inn among the countless packed shoulder to shoulder, a place of unusually modest size saddled with the peculiar name Irangso.

"......"

Thin noodles, dumplings, and twice-cooked pork. Before a spread of dishes one could find in any inn across the murim, I lifted my chopsticks and slurped up a pinch of the noodles. Soft and yet springy, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the strands tapped against my tongue, and before I swallowed I bit into a large dumpling. Juice from the meat inside seeped into the noodles and the two fell into harmony, and for several minutes I chewed in small, careful bites, lost in a feast of flavor beyond words. When I finally worked my throat and sent it all down, my stomach felt — if only a little — warmly full.

Full, from a single mouthful.

A body that had lived ten years on nothing but fasting pellets still seemed unable to properly accept food with any seasoning to it.

"And yet three whole days have already passed..."

Three days since I had arrived in Sichuan. I had been taking a brief rest ahead of the ordeal soon to crash down on me, but my body still had not adapted to the new surroundings, or to the food. Even a physique honed past perfection into completion, it seemed, could do nothing about a tongue gone dull. In truth, that alone made me want a few more days of rest.

"...I ought to start moving."

I could not rest any longer. The time originally granted to me had been twenty years. Ten of them I had spent in the Cave of Tempering, which left me only ten.

"......"

I really do have to do this.

After a moment's hesitation, I opened the Md-list.

Epithets and names unchanged from when I had seen them ten years ago. I decided who my first targets would be.

Sichuan Province. A region set in the south-central heart of the Central Plains, where countless martial sects had taken root. Anyone who had read more than two martial arts novels would know that Sichuan held three great powers in all: Mount Qingcheng, Mount Emei, and the Sichuan Dang Clan. Two of the Nine Sects and One Gang, and one of the Five Great Clans, had planted themselves in this land, and of Hwa Baek's targets here, there were two.

The Lord of Ten Thousand Poisons, and the Gold King. The great clan head of the Sichuan Dang Clan, the founding house of poison, and the guild master of the Great Heaven Merchant Guild, acknowledged by one and all as the greatest merchant company under heaven. Two giants, seated within the vast territory of Sichuan Province.

Hwa Baek had judged that the Lord of Ten Thousand Poisons and the Gold King had to die first, and the reason was simple. What did the two of them share? As fathers, they were garbage beyond redemption. Old men so rotten in character that the heroines, unable to endure them, would declare a severing of all ties — old men the protagonist would, in the end, choose to kill.

Bastards like that are better killed ahead of time.

Of course, the reason he meant to kill them first was not simply that they were trash. The Lord of Ten Thousand Poisons and the Gold King were each a giant exerting immense influence upon this murim. Not that any of Hwa Baek's targets failed to do the same — but their influence, even set beside the others, operated on an entirely different scale. Beyond the renown they held across the Central Plains, the merchant guilds and sects tangled up with them were so numerous that their deaths would plunge the Central Plains into tremendous chaos. Even in the original story, there had been lines describing how the murim was shaken after ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the Gold King, Ha U-yeol, died.

Hwa Baek intended to kill them and drop this murim, in a single instant, into utter pandemonium. Once the murim fell into chaos, the sect leaders and clan heads would have no choice but to move — and that meant more chances for Hwa Baek to take aim at them. He had no intention of killing them in some upright, open duel to the death. He had not come here to play a game. To Hwa Baek, this place was reality.

A life-or-death duel against absolute masters like them, in the middle of a street where everyone could see, in a world that was real? Ha. A notion fit only for some cracked-skull idiot. So Hwa Baek meant to assassinate them.

...To do that.

First, he would need allies. Sturdy allies who could lay the board so that he might assassinate absolute masters, and clean up after him. Hwa Baek stepped into a wine house whose sign read Jeokhwaru.

For the three days since his arrival in Sichuan, Hwa Baek had rested body and mind while wandering the city in search of the wine house called Jeokhwaru. It was a wide city, and combing every corner for one building was no easy task, but he considered it worth the effort. The person he believed he had to win over first was here — at Jeokhwamun, the Red Flower Sect, wearing the name Jeokhwaru.

A red interior, thick with the heavy scent of powder. True to the name Jeokhwaru, the space was dyed crimson through and through, and women in lavish dress filled it. They were dancing girls: employees of Jeokhwaru, women who earned their coin by dancing. They fluttered the long sleeves of their robes, tempting someone.

That someone was a man with a fierce look and yet clear, sharply cut features — a body of firm, compact muscle that no woman could behold without failing to hold back a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠gasp of admiration. Hwa Baek. He passed indifferently by the dancers who tried to speak to him. His purpose did not lie on the first-floor wine house, where one came to drink. The floor he wanted was the second.

A waiting room, where dancers soon to perform were making ready. In particular, Hwa Baek felt a room vibrating with the presence of a "strong human." Dancing girls almost never harbored formidable martial power. Which meant the person he wanted was beyond that door. He moved, and opened it without hesitation.

Clack—!

The moment the door opened, the gazes of countless women fixed on him. Leaving behind those eyes — every one of them more than beautiful enough to be called a beauty — Hwa Baek began to walk slowly, studying their faces. And soon, his steps stopped.

"......"

Before he knew it, he stood facing a woman.

Silk-smooth crimson hair, and eyes like rubies. A peerless beauty beyond comparison with any of the beauties in this place. Hair and eyes of a color one would never see in East Asia — but this was no ordinary murim world.

Hwa Baek asked.

"Are you the mistress of this house?"

"Who might you be?"

"Just an ordinary wanderer."

"Pay, and I'll assign you a suitable girl."

He had intruded somewhere no one but those involved was permitted to enter, yet the woman answered with perfect composure, as if this much were familiar. This was a wine house in Sichuan. In wine houses, martial artists beyond counting brawled and raised hell. She was the mistress of such a place, and she knew well how a situation like this was handled.

"I came to make a deal."

"Please leave. I have no wish to cause ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a disturbance."

"I came to make a deal."

"......"

The woman closed her mouth. They had exchanged only a handful of words, but she had realized just how ignorant, and how stubborn, the man before her was.

"...You don't seem to be someone one can reason with."

As if resigning herself, she waved a hand through the empty air. At that, shadows the color of ink descended from the ceiling. What had looked like shadows were martial artists — shadow guards she had personally selected and employed. Each of them a First-Rate martial artist, and when they drew their swords, a thick killing intent devoured the space.

Taking in the killing intent pouring in from every side, Hwa Baek thought.

First-Rate martial artists. So they handle qi with some skill.

Qi of a distinct color clung to the guards' swords. It had not taken the shape of a blade, but unmistakable internal energy had gathered along the steel.

"I'll say it one last time. Please leave."

The guards closed the distance by a step — a movement steeped in killing intent, as if they would cut him down the moment he failed to yield. Feeling it, Hwa Baek let out a low sigh. He had expected as much, but this was going to be a little tiresome. He moved his hand, only slightly.

The guards could not leave a motion like that alone. And then they understood.

"......!!!"

The swords they had drawn — blades infused with internal energy, several times stronger than ordinary steel — were gone. More precisely, every one of them had been cleanly snapped in Hwa Baek's hand and now dangled between his fingers. He flung the blades to the floor with a clang. Arms folded, as if he had no mind to fight, he spoke once more, evenly.

"I came to make a deal."

The woman fixed her narrowed red eyes on him. They shone like a crimson giant star in the night sky, and Hwa Baek knew the identity of those inhumanly luminous eyes. Blood Red Eyes. Eyes that perceived the residual qi rising around a martial artist in the form of color, and held the power to measure an opponent's strength. Unless one had reached the realm of perfectly controlling the flow of qi, no one could escape them.

Hwa Baek, however, was an enormous exception.

There's no way she'd see anything.

He had never learned internal energy. No residual qi remained around him to be seen. It was enough to leave her shaken at the sight of nothing at all, yet the woman kept a calm face and withdrew her Blood Red Eyes. Then she waved her hand once more. This gesture sent the dancers and the guards out of the room.

So every gesture carries its own signal.

To Hwa Baek, who had grasped as much, the woman — now left alone — spoke.

"Please, sit. You don't seem to be an ordinary wanderer."

Closing the door of the emptied room, Hwa Baek dropped into a chair without ceremony. The woman sat facing him as well, and asked with an expressionless face.

"Would you tell me what sort of deal you've come to make?"

A woman who questioned him without once letting go of her composure. Looking at that unruffled calm, as if she had no emotions at all, Hwa Baek decided he would have to break it first.

"First, I ought to pay for the time I've taken."

From his robes he drew a piece of jade that looked like an ordinary stone. It was a night-luminous pearl — a jewel of value enough to buy a fortress outright, a priceless treasure an ordinary person might never see in a lifetime. Before the woman could even show her surprise, Hwa Baek went on.

The woman's eyes flew wide.