Chapter 24
A banquet unfolded at the Medical Pavilion. It celebrated the return of Tian Ailang and Hwaran after a full year away. It was also the moment when the pavilion's members swore their loyalty to Tian Ailang. Beneath the moonlight, a massive bonfire crackled, its shadows dancing playfully over the jubilant crowd.
“Hahaha! To think the treatment actually worked! The Pavilion Lord is a miracle healer!”
A thoroughly drunk disciple clung to Tian Ailang, bellowing at the top of his lungs. Tian Ailang simply smiled.
Was it Ha Chun? He was the disciple who'd been with Ma Chung when they emerged from the formation.
“Pavilion Lord, thank you so much for healing our sister Hwaran~.”
“Pavilion Lord, have a drink on a night like this.”
Chu Yeon and Chu Dam, the siblings, Tian Ailang recalled their names one by one, accepting their greetings with genuine joy.
“Pavilion Lord! You’ve expanded the horizons of medicine itself. We revere you!”
This burly fellow was Chun Seok. His sturdy build screamed martial artist, yet he was a master of tuina therapy. Tian Ailang chuckled softly.
The disciples approached in turn, like passing a cup of wine in sequence, each one sincerely celebrating Hwaran’s recovery and expressing their gratitude. Seeing such pure devotion and love for others filled his heart with contentment. Just witnessing Hwaran safely claim her spirit medicine and undergo her bone transformation had already repaid a year’s hardships. But with their heartfelt sincerity added to it, the reward felt even greater. And now, considering them family under the Qi Arts Clan banner, his resolve grew all the firmer.
“On a night as fine as this, allow me to recite a poem to lift our spirits.”
Ma Physician rose, flushed-faced, clutching his wine bottle. He intoned:
Old friend bade farewell from Huanghe Tower high,
In blooming March, he sailed downstream to Yang Province’s sigh.
Lonely sail fades into blue skies afar,
Only the Yangtze remains, touching heaven’s bar.
The rhythm carried a deep nostalgia.
Missing his grandfather, perhaps.
“Beautiful~!”
The disciples cheered the poem, raising their bottles high. Ma Physician’s eyes reddened, but he broke into a radiant grin and danced with lively steps. Tian Ailang’s spirits soared too; he stood and strode to the crowd’s center.
“The Pavilion Lord can’t sit this one out on a night like this!”
Tian Ailang flung open his robes like unleashing a martial art, his dance blending softness with unyielding strength. He recited:
Standing atop a thousand-foot cliff, robes whipping in the gale!
Washing feet in rivers flowing ten thousand li without fail!
A hero born must boast such spirit, such noble flair!
The sea sprawls vast for fish to leap and play carefree,
The sky lies empty, letting birds soar wild and free.
A hero born must hold such breadth, such magnanimity!
This was the poem Ni Daeyeok had taught him amid worries of family vengeance and karmic debts—the essence of a hero’s grandeur. Tian Ailang’s flowing black robes and resonant voice wove together under the moonlight like an ink-wash painting come alive.
“The Pavilion Lord is the best!”
Some disciples, fired up, gathered around to dance with him; others wept, moved to tears. Hwaran shed happy tears amid the scene.
* * *
Time flew like an arrow as they shared stories and mended old bonds. Tian Ailang had discussed future plans with Ma Physician. With no immediate base, they decided to stay at the Medical Pavilion for now, with a vague promise to relocate once a proper stronghold was secured. In the meantime, the pavilion would focus on building its strength, preparing for the day Tian Ailang would soar across the world.
“Ailang, you may be the Pavilion Lord, but you’re still an unripe bud. You need more worldly experience, more connections, before you can revive the clan—and ultimately exact vengeance.”
With the Medical Pavilion now serving Tian Ailang as lord, everyone addressed him with respect. Ma Chung did too, though Tian Ailang insisted on keeping their grandfather-grandson dynamic unchanged.
“That’s why you mentioned the escort bureau?”
“Exactly. It’ll expose you to all sorts of places and situations, maybe even sharpen your eye for talent. And you’ll earn coin to boot. Speaking of which, are you really leaving without any funds? We could at least cover your travel expenses.”
Ma Physician eyed him worriedly. Tian Ailang smiled calmly and nodded.
“I’ll be fine. The escort bureau will sort it out.”
There was good reason for Tian Ailang’s concern over the pavilion’s finances. Maintaining the formation—built for Hwaran but vital for Qi Arts training, which demanded heavy exposure to nature’s qi—was enormously expensive. With more users now, costs had ballooned. The pavilion, curtailing external gigs to focus inward, could barely afford it as is. Thus, Tian Ailang firmly refused their money.
Hwaran gazed at him wistfully from the side. She longed to join his journey but couldn’t. Excluding Tian Ailang, she alone could teach the disciples the Qi Arts heart method. So she stayed behind, full of regret. Ma Chung smiled warmly at her evident closeness to Tian Ailang, forged over shared time.
“Take care, Ailang.”
Ma Chung’s words held worry, but his face shone with warmth and trust.
“I will. Don’t worry.”
“May you find peace and safety.”
Hwaran clasped her hands gracefully and bowed. Tian Ailang grinned brightly.
“You’ve worked hard all this time, Hwaran.”
Her eyes welled up; Tian Ailang coughed awkwardly and bid farewell to the gathered disciples. Escorted to the village entrance, he stepped back into the wide world.
* * *
An escort bureau took commissions to deliver goods—or even people—to destinations for a fee. Anything went if the price was right, from trifles to lives, mostly from merchant caravans. Typically, clients brought items to the bureau, which handled delivery. Occasionally, they fetched and managed the whole affair end-to-end.
Boundless Escort Bureau. Run by the Jegal family of Hubei’s Wuhuan as a subcontractor to the Boundless Merchant Group, its Sekka Village branch shared the name and steadily fulfilled orders for a cut of the profits.
Right now, the Sekka Village branch was en route after procuring horses from a horse trader. Tian Ailang, hired as a porter for this run, felt utter bewilderment at the unfolding chaos.
“Kuhahaha! Hand over your pretty loot!”
No fewer than forty bandits ringed them, threats bellowing. Before their leader lay a decapitated man, eyes frozen wide in death. Word had it he was one of the Hundred Great Masters of the Realm. Yet he’d perished pathetically under the chieftain and bandits’ combined assault. Tian Ailang, who’d pinned hopes on such a master’s prowess, felt let down. Even the corpse fiends from Baekdu Mountain—not to mention some Fiend Squad members—seemed stronger.
Haengsu Pi Mandu, the run’s overseer, was just as stunned as the rattled Tian Ailang. The cargo—Mongolian horses specially ordered at a premium by southern Mongols—was worth a fortune. They wouldn’t normally rush like this, but the payout was huge, with talk of exclusive future contracts. So Pi Mandu had pushed ahead. Departing hastily from Sekka, they had only five escorts, including two new hires. To bolster security, they’d splurged on a Hundred Great Master. The cost was steep, but success would cover it.
But disaster struck. One reason for paying the Jegal family fees to use the Boundless name was the implied backing. Yet these bandits attacked despite the banner. Two possibilities: ignorance, or intent to slaughter regardless of Jegal clout.
Sensing this, Pi Mandu masked his fear and bellowed at the bandits.
“Who might you be, to obstruct the Jegal family’s escort?!”
“Kuhahaha! As if the Jegal name means squat before us great greenwood elders! The mountains are ours now—fork over the goods!”
Pi Mandu’s face twisted. His crew—five escorts plus porters—numbered under twenty. Forty foes outmatched them numerically, to say nothing of skill after slaying a master. They were crammed on the trail with the horses; bandits held the sloped heights in encirclement. Terrain and tactics screamed defeat.
“Ahem... My poor sight failed to recognize esteemed heroes.”
Pi Mandu bowed deeply, then continued.
“We’ll make it worth your while. Might you grant us your vast magnanimity?”
He figured: Surrender most silver and cash, keep the horses, complete the run—pure profit. The master’s pay was post-job anyway; no loss there. But things didn’t go as planned.
“Kuhaha! You rat, pulling tricks? You clocked us as heroes, so your eyes aren’t total trash—but we ain’t sparing you! Finish ’em all!”
At the chieftain’s order, bandits tightened the noose, nimbly traversing the slope—clearly all trained in martial arts. Pi Mandu sweated coldly at these unreasoning foes. Death loomed.
Pyodu Chu Sang-un stepped beside him, drawing his sword with a grim face.
“Haengsu, slim chance or not, we’ll carve a path. Abandon cargo if you must—get the porters out.”
Pi Mandu saw the escorts’ death-ready resolve. He rubbed his dry face darkly. No way out.
“Ugh! We’re done for. Totally screwed!”
Suddenly, a porter bolted from the line in panic; a guarding bandit cleaved him down mercilessly. No time to stop the rash act. The remaining porters chilled at the corpse. Morale plummeted.
Chu Sang-un roared at the faltering group.
“Steel yourselves for death!”
Escorts snapped to, drawing blades.
The world truly knows no peaceful days.
Watching, Tian Ailang reflected on the chaos everywhere. Was it his blood-soaked fate, the murim’s nature, or just the world? Every step outside sparked conflict. He sighed, ready to protect them. Inner power sealed or not, he couldn’t ignore them. And the bandits wouldn’t spare non-fighters anyway—no choice.
But someone stepped forward before him.