The Runaway Second Son

I opened my eyes.

It was not the shabby dugout I always woke up in. Nor was it the ceiling of the side-hall quarters where I had lain after the Great War of Righteousness and Evil.

A strange ceiling — and yet, somehow, a familiar one.

So I've regressed.

I felt no panic. Hadn't I known all along that I would return?

The sensation of the blade grazing my throat was so vivid that my hand drifted up to my neck before I realized it. Intact. Perfectly whole.

I sat up and looked at the bronze mirror in my room.

The haggard, threadbare beggar Myeong-gae was gone. In his place stood Dancheon Myeong, a fresh-faced youth of eighteen.

I looked around the room.

For the residence of the second son of a great martial clan that held Anhui Province in its grip, it was remarkably austere. One might call it a bare, desolate lodging fit only for the lowest-ranked servants of the household.

"So I'm back."

This was my room, all right.

The second son of a famed martial clan. A birthright everyone envied — and yet, for me, it had never been that simple.

"Is Dancheon Myeong inside?"

A woman's voice I knew all too well drifted in from outside.

So it really is that day.

Ever since I learned at what point in time I would return, I had pictured this exact moment over and over. And here it was, arriving precisely on schedule.

"Yes, Mother."

Click.

Even as I answered, the door slid open.

Thud.

She who entered another's quarters with such complete assurance was my mother. Or rather, my mother on paper.

"Well? Have you given the matter any thought?"

The woman, Baek Yeo-hae, asked me this without a shred of preamble.

No ordinary greeting. Not even the barest courtesy. An unmistakable air of distaste hung about her, as though she were confronting something unclean.

I hadn't understood it back then. I understood it now.

I was a bastard, born of the clan leader's affair outside his marriage — but for the sake of the family's dignity, I had been entered into her registry as the second, legitimate son. It was only natural that the hatred she could not aim at her husband would find its way to me.

"Mother, did you sleep soundly through the night?"

"I— yes, I did."

My warm tone must have caught her off guard, because she stammered.

"When you ask whether I've thought it over — you mean the engagement you mentioned last time, don't you?"

"Yes. I'm glad you remember."

Not that I intended to let things play out the way she wanted.

"I refuse."

"What did you say?"

Baek Yeo-hae's expression hardened into stone.

"I said no. I won't go through with that engagement."

This life, I would not live it the way I lived my last.

"Young Master. What brings you here?"

Every member of the household staff who saw me bowed their heads at once.

For Myeong-gae, who had spent more than a decade receiving looks caught between pity and contempt, the situation might have felt awkward — but for Dancheon Myeong, second son of the Dancheon clan, it was simply daily life.

A bastard, yes. A second son starved of his mother's love, yes. But I was still the son of the Dancheon clan leader.

"I've come to see the clan leader."

At my tone, the servant gave me a look of mild surprise, then quickly hid it.

I could guess why.

Twisted ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠as it may have been, I had been born holding the golden thread.

In my past life, my speech in those days had carried the particular arrogance of a great clan's true bloodline. I hadn't used a single word of courtesy toward the servants — that much went without saying.

It was only after I became a beggar that I came to understand a person's worth does not lie in their station, and corrected my manner.

There was no chance of me becoming a beggar again in this life, but was there any need to throw away what I had learned back then?

"Would you announce my visit to the clan leader?"

And so my courtesy toward the servant carried genuine warmth in it.

"The clan leader is waiting inside."

Just as I thought. Word of what happened with my mother must have already reached my father's ears.

"Follow me, Young Master."

"Thank you."

Guided by the servant, I stepped into the clan leader's hall. My thanks must have sounded stiff, because I could feel the servant glancing at me again and again — but I pretended not to notice.

At the entrance of the hall, I announced myself with a slight, deliberate awkwardness in my bearing.

"Clan Leader, it is Dancheon Myeong."

"Enter."

Listening to that dignified voice — oddly comforting to hear — I stepped inside.

The hall was not lavishly decorated, but it carried a lofty, unyielding spirit befitting the head of the Dancheon clan.

There sat a powerfully built middle-aged man who radiated the presence of a true martial artist.

He was the reigning leader of the Dancheon clan and a supreme master whose name was proudly inscribed in the Thousand Roster of Jianghu Figures — Dancheon Gang.

At his quiet flick of the eyes, the servant withdrew. I knew well what dismissing the servants meant: this was not an audience with the clan leader, but a conversation between father and son.

"My son."

"Yes, Father."

"What business brings you here?"

He knew perfectly well what had happened today, yet he played coy and made me speak first. He takes after Chwipung-gae in that regard, I'd say.

"Father."

"Yes."

His gaze settled on me.

Within those steely eyes, I could glimpse affection for me. The Dancheon Myeong of my past life, I suspect, never recognized that look for what it was.

"I've come to borrow some money."

That said, I had no intention of simply giving my father what he wanted.

The trick to dealing with men like Chwipung-gae or my father is, surprisingly, simple. Stand your ground without shrinking before their authority, and press for exactly what you want.

The strong invariably carry a certain ease about them, and experience had taught me that they were more likely to regard such boldness with amusement than with offense.

"Heh heh."

Just like my father right now.

"Money, you say?"

"Yes."

"What could you suddenly need money for? Have I ever spared any support you required?"

Instead of answering, I simply stared at him in silence. Another thing the beggar's life had taught me: those with a guilty conscience will confess under nothing more than a steady gaze.

"Ahem. Well, perhaps there have been some small shortfalls. I'll be more attentive going forward."

What could the Dancheon clan possibly have lacked, that my quarters ended up so barren? It was because the clan leader, Dancheon Gang, deferred to his wife Baek Yeo-hae's sensibilities.

My very existence was the clan leader's original sin, so the result was only natural.

But my father was a reasonable man at heart, and he carried a sense of guilt toward me.

My father's guilt — that was the ground I had to stand on.

"I lack nothing in my daily life. I simply need money."

His gaze sharpened on me, searching for sincerity.

"For what reason?"

He must have read it in my expression, because he composed himself and asked again with genuine gravity.

Guilty conscience aside, the leader of the Dancheon clan was no pushover. If I were still the man I'd been before my regression, I wouldn't have dared to stand so boldly in this hall.

But this, too, was something I had anticipated.

After endless deliberation over the course of Myeong-gae's life, the method I had chosen was the frontal assault.

I was certain it was the best way.

"Shouldn't I begin preparing for the contest of succession as well?"

A flicker of light passed through my father's eyes and vanished.

I continued, unbothered.

"I turn eighteen this year, so you're presumably thinking about two years from now. I was thinking I ought to start my preparations from this point on."

Interest kindled across his face — he clearly hadn't expected me to say such a thing.

The contest of succession, arriving when I turned twenty. In a clan whose family tradition established succession by legitimate heir rather than simple primogeniture, it was as good as a scheduled event.

For me it had been the first and only chance of my life, and because I had failed to prepare properly, I had never been able to seize it.

"Are you confident?"

The clan leader's expression turned stern.

"I intend to work for it."

And I intend to win.

"Hmm..."

Deliberation settled over the clan leader's face. He was thinking — wondering whether it was proper to grant me such an advantage.

His hesitation did not last long. He already knew the answer. The gulf between my elder brother's standing and mine was vast beyond measure, and aid of this degree would tip no scales.

"Well, since you've clearly thought this through, this conversation is easier. Wasn't it for your benefit that I had your mother look into marriage prospects for you? Why did you refuse?"

The match Baek Yeo-hae had brought me was, in truth, part of my father's arrangements ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the contest of succession — one piece of my preparation.

It was meant for my sake.

But he was an extremely patriarchal man, who believed a son's marriage arrangements belonged to the mother's hands.

My mother, Baek Yeo-hae, despised me — and the match she had procured was not, in fact, for my benefit.

That was all there was to it.

Only after becoming Myeong-gae did I learn that the incident which had plunged my past self into ruin and left me wounded had its roots in such a trivial interlocking of motives.

Naturally, I couldn't lay out all those twisted details now.

"I will do it by my own strength."

"What was that?"

I met Dancheon Gang's eyes with a resolute face.

"As one who lives bearing the name of Dancheon, I have no wish to seize anything by leaning on another's power. Least of all when what I seek is the name of Dancheon itself."

The clan leader's expression shifted.

This was the first time I had ever declared an intent upon his station — so the reaction was only natural.

"I want to grasp the name of Dancheon with my own two hands. But my foundation is still lacking, so lend me some money."

"Is that so."

The clan leader rested the back of his hand against his chin.

From his expression alone, I could gauge the fate of this gamble.

"Heh heh."

Dancheon Gang, leader of the Dancheon clan, let out his signature laugh. The retainers who had served him for decades all knew that chuckle was a habit that surfaced only when Dancheon Gang was in high spirits.

"Was Myeong-i always such a resolute boy?"

A murmur that was almost a soliloquy.

"A great blessing upon the clan."

Yeo Baek, captain of the guard, answered him. To be captain of the guard was to be the bearer of the clan leader's deepest trust.

"Show yourself."

At Dancheon Gang's command, Yeo Baek was already prostrate before him, as if he had been there all along.

"Come now. I told you to make yourself comfortable."

"This is comfortable for me."

Yeo Baek had served as Dancheon Gang's personal guard since long before the man became clan leader; the two were as close as sworn friends.

"What do you make of him?"

At the question, Yeo Baek paused briefly before answering.

"He is unmistakably the same person — and yet he seems like someone else entirely."

"I think so too."

Talented and keen-minded beyond reproach, but somewhat cowed and lacking in spine.

It was an assessment of Dancheon Myeong that anyone who had watched him over the years would have agreed with.

But today's Dancheon Myeong was markedly different.

A fearlessness that did not shrink even within the clan leader's hall.

The nerve to speak of the contest of succession to the clan leader's face.

And the resolve to achieve it all by his own strength.

There, in that hall, stood the very image of the ideal young heir that Dancheon Gang had envisioned.

"So he was keeping his claws sheathed all this time? Heh heh."

Dancheon Gang asked this with evident delight. What father would not rejoice at a glimpse of his son's exceptional nature?

"I say, Yeo Baek."

"Yes, Clan Leader."

"Would you keep an eye on Myeong-i for the time being?"

How would he use the money he'd taken from me? Dancheon Gang wanted to know.

And together with the hope that today's display of promise would prove no flash in the pan.

"I accept your command."

Yeo Baek understood his master's heart better than anyone, so he asked no questions about the reason.

"I'm off, then."

Leaving only those words, Yeo Baek's figure vanished abruptly from the hall.

Dancheon Gang had just drifted into reverie when Yeo Baek — who had gone off to observe Dancheon Myeong — reappeared.

"Why have you returned so soon?"

"Well, you see..."

In place of an answer, Yeo Baek held out a letter to Dancheon Gang.

"Heh heh. So he's run away from home?"

"It seems he left with a purpose in mind — perhaps 'setting out' suits him better than 'running away.'"

"What difference does it make?"

Dancheon Gang snorted a laugh.

"It seems he anticipated that someone would be sent after him. That must be why he left the letter."

"Heh heh. The rascal's doing things he's never done before."

How long had it been since Dancheon Gang laughed so freely? At the sight, the corners of Yeo Baek's mouth curved upward of their own accord.

"Shall we track him?"

With the intelligence network and tracking arts possessed by the Dancheon guard, it would be no great feat.

"No. Let him be."

When Yeo Baek looked at him in puzzlement, Dancheon Gang went on.

"Sometimes a gift received without your knowing is the more pleasant one. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, Clan Leader."

With that answer, Yeo Baek's figure melted away once more.

Three days had already passed since I left home.

With the money borrowed from my father, I had not gone hungry, and with a roof over my head each night, the journey had been a comfortable one.

They say hardship follows once you leave home — but compared to my days as a beggar, what I enjoyed now was luxury by any measure.

Still.

I pushed my lightness-step technique as hard as my inner energy allowed and moved briskly.

My current realm was First-Class. Compared to my days as Myeong-gae, when I had stood at the threshold of Peak, it fell short — but for a boy of eighteen, it was an achievement more than remarkable.

Upon entering the First-Class realm, though projecting and manifesting qi remained difficult, its circulation and control became second nature — so the blades of grass beneath my feet were not crushed flat. Grass-Flying Step, as it was called.

"Whew."

Only after running a long while did I catch my breath. My inner energy was running dry.

Recovering it through breathing cultivation was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠out of the question without someone to stand guard, so I began to walk.

With each measured step, thoughts surfaced and dissolved in my mind.

Regression after death.

The refusal of the engagement.

The negotiation with my father.

And even the departure from home.

Had I not prepared for every one of them in advance, none would have gone so smoothly.

And then, at last —

Yes. I will become the Alliance Leader of the Murim Alliance.

Those dying words surfaced, along with the faint tang of blood. It had happened, by my reckoning, only days ago — no wonder the memory remained so vivid.

Become the Alliance Leader. For a beggar's dying wish, it was quite the grand ambition, I thought.

I turned my mind back to how I had felt in that moment.

Was that last gasp of defiance mere bravado?

No. I had meant it, completely.

I had witnessed the Great War of Righteousness and Evil with my own two eyes. Since the last such war had ended a good two hundred years before, I was likely the only soul alive who knew its true horror. It was a hell that must never be allowed to descend upon the world again.

The resolve to become Alliance Leader had been born of the determination to prevent that carnage.

But.

"Can I actually do it?"

It would not be easy.

The Great War of Righteousness and Evil would come when I was thirty. I was eighteen now, which left me twelve years.

I had laid innumerable arrangements in place before my regression, so twelve years was no short span.

And yet, the seat of Alliance Leader — or the title of Number One Under Heaven — was not something granted merely because one wished it.

But I, too, had a weapon.

"The Yakseon Heart Decision..."

The contents I had memorized down to the last particle during my days as Myeong-gae rose naturally to the surface of my mind.

Yes. With the Yakseon Heart Decision at my side, it was worth attempting.

Absorbed in these musings, my busy footsteps came to a halt.

"Here it is."

The shape of it differed somewhat from that time, but at last the familiar mountain path met my eyes.

That's right.

I had been here before.

Myeong-gae had scouted this place in advance, in promise of this very moment.

The place my three days of travel had carried me to was Mount Cheonjung, in Henan Province.

The place where, three years from now, the Empty Blue Stone Milk would be discovered.