Chapter 169
Chapter 169
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 169
Chapter Title: Mount Song and Tianshan
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Hyun-gong spoke up.
"How long do I need to prepare for?"
"What? You wanna come along too?"
"Of course. I heard a martial artist is heading out to repay a debt—how could I just sit back and watch?"
The moment Hyun-gong heard Dang Mujin was leaving for the north, he jumped in like he'd been waiting for it, declaring he'd tag along.
In situations like this, jumping in without hesitation leaves a good impression, and a good impression leads to good results.
Unlike Hyun-gong, who volunteered so readily, Namgung Myeong's reaction was a bit lukewarm.
"What? Why do you assume I'll come along?"
"Why? You know who Yu the hero and Wi the hero are, don't you? Besides, you've got nothing keeping you here anyway."
Since returning to Chengdu, while Dang Mujin and the Dang Clinic underwent changes, Namgung Myeong hadn't been idle. He'd steadily built up his own record in the shadows. In other words, he'd been prowling all over Sichuan Province, pilfering from officials' homes.
He'd scaled countless walls, yet Namgung Myeong never got rich. Unlike ordinary thieves who targeted valuables, his goal wasn't wealth itself.
Instead, he'd rummage through the homes of various officials, swapping their possessions around on a whim.
Like exchanging a priceless scroll from a high official's home with a cheap one from a low-ranker's, or a rich man's silk robes with a poor man's straw sandals.
This left a far stronger impression on people than simple theft.
As a result, the moniker "Divine Thief" started popping up everywhere in conversations.
For folks stuck in monotonous lives, news of the Divine Thief's exploits made for excellent entertainment, and Namgung Myeong quietly enjoyed the reactions.
The problem was that among Sichuan's high officials and wealthy elites, not a single one had escaped his grasp. He'd hit every target.
Namgung Myeong wore a dissatisfied look.
"What do you mean, no work? You think I just make a living as a petty thief?"
"...Aren't you?"
"Of course not. I was planning to head home soon anyway."
"Home? Why go home?"
"You said before you wanted to see the Hunwon Sword, right?"
Dang Mujin had forged a sword for Namgung Myeong, but the one he'd made hadn't been selected as the family head's blade. The Namgung family poured enormous sums into sword collecting, and among them was at least one piece rivaling Dang Mujin's work.
That was the Hunwon Sword, the symbol of the Namgung family head.
Dang Mujin had never seen the Hunwon Sword in person, but he didn't think his skills fell short of its maker.
Still, a sword's worth wasn't judged solely by sharpness. Appearance, symbolism, history—all factored in.
Considering everything, Dang Mujin's sword simply hadn't surpassed the Hunwon Sword.
Thus, the Namgung family head still wielded the Hunwon Sword, while Namgung Myeong had reclaimed the one Dang Mujin made through some back channel and used it now.
The key point was that even factoring in all those external elements, the Hunwon Sword had earned acclaim comparable to Dang Mujin's blade.
Curious about just how exceptional it was, Dang Mujin had once asked Namgung Myeong if he could take a look.
The issue was Namgung Myeong's sudden claim of fetching it sounded suspicious.
A guy exiled from his clan planning to swipe the family head's symbolic sword? No way that'd happen legitimately.
Dang Mujin asked Namgung Myeong.
"Didn't you just say with your own mouth you're not just a petty thief?"
"If the target is the Hunwon Sword, no one would call it petty theft."
Namgung Myeong declared it proudly, and Dang Mujin felt a pounding headache.
"You're gonna get yourself killed. Get caught swiping the Hunwon Sword, and it'll be your head, not just your arm."
"Don't worry. My old man can't carry the Hunwon Sword everywhere, even he has to set it aside for baths. Might as well grab a few manuals while I'm at it."
It was his own family, not some outsider's—why not just ask for the sword and manuals properly? Dang Mujin still couldn't fathom Namgung Myeong.
Dang Mujin let out a deep sigh.
"It's not like your dad's the only expert in the Namgung family... Whatever. Round trip to Anhui Province would take a couple months anyway. No time to dawdle, so just come along."
Namgung Myeong pouted like he wasn't thrilled, but voiced no further complaints.
While Dang Mujin and Namgung Myeong bantered about swords, someone off to the side watched quietly with gleaming eyes. Hyun-gong figured his moment had arrived.
Pretending to hesitate, Hyun-gong spoke to Dang Mujin.
"Sorry to change the subject, but could you wait a fortnight?"
"Why the sudden request?"
"I've been saving up lately. Couple more weeks of work, and I could afford a new sword."
Out of left field. Dang Mujin raised an eyebrow.
"What about the one you have? It's in bad shape?"
"Fought those assassins a while back, and the blade got pretty beat up. Tried sharpening it on a whetstone, but it ended up kinda off."
"Let me see it."
Half truth, half lie in Hyun-gong's tale.
Even after the assassin fight, his sword had been serviceable. The damage was minor, everyday wear, and he'd maintained it well after.
But while sharpening on the whetstone, a thought crossed his mind: With the right touch, could he craft something rivaling Songmun Supreme Sword?
From that day, night after night, he'd honed the blade on fine whetstones and polished it with oiled cloth. Until a perfectly fine sword lay ruined—a solid half-year of skimping sleep to grind and buff.
Hyun-gong handed the sword to Dang Mujin, who examined it closely.
Standard length, but the blade was weirdly narrow and thin. With its condition wrecked, the balance was all off too.
Dang Mujin scrutinized the blade. All he saw were marks from fine whetstones and endless oil-rag polishing.
'Doesn't look like he roughed it up on purpose.'
No way he'd let a travel companion wield this on a long trip. Dang Mujin agreed readily.
"You call this a sword? Hang on a bit. I'll whip up a new one by tomorrow or the day after."
Hyun-gong inwardly cheered while feigning surprise.
"Uh... you sure?"
"Of course. Fight with this and get run through, I'll be in danger too."
"Fair point. Thanks."
Once Dang Mujin left with the sword, Hyun-gong pumped his fist silently behind him.
*
Word spread that Dang Mujin was forging a sword again after so long, and the smiths crowded around the furnace and anvil in a circle.
Dang Mujin heated the ingot and chatted casually with the smiths. Aside from being a bit young, he looked no different from a novice smith.
The moment he hefted the hammer, the forge fell so silent you could hear the guy next to you breathing. Plenty of smiths had stuck around Chengdu just to witness this.
Sword forging takes one on tongs holding the metal, the other swinging the hammer. The hammer wielder leads, but the tongsman's skill is crucial too.
Crucial enough to read the hammer man's intentions without a word.
Today, assisting Dang Mujin on tongs was Dan Sulyoung.
An old smith who'd eyed the tongs grumbled.
"Even if you're married, Miss Dan's never hammered iron. She up for assisting?"
"No worries. It's not her first time on tongs."
Dang Mujin hadn't picked Dan Sulyoung just because she was his wife.
Smiths develop habits with experience: hammer-tongs angles, rhythm, ideal blade shapes.
Even if Dang Mujin swung true, if the tongsman unconsciously imposed their vision, their bias would taint the result.
But Dan Sulyoung was different. No smith, no warrior—no preconceived blade ideal. No imposing her subjectivity.
Yet she'd made the most items alongside Dang Mujin and had real talent for crafting, direction aside.
Plus, long years together let her read his intentions best. And for a woman, her forearms were impressively sturdy.
For truly forging what he wanted, was there a better assistant?
Dang Mujin raised his hammer hand.
Clang!
The hammer struck the ingot hard. Impurities clinging to the heated metal burst into brilliant sparks. The kind that'd scar bare skin.
But Dan Sulyoung didn't flinch from the sparks. Even if they landed on her arm, she'd endure the heat in silence. The smiths finally dropped their doubts.
Pound, reheat. Repeat. Gradually, the blade took rough shape.
Hyun-gong knew zilch about smithing, but he had the eye to appreciate the beauty of the blade glowing yellow-hot, forming ideally.
Beyond that beauty, he felt a twinge of guilt.
*
By evening, the blade's shape was set. No fancy scabbard or hilt planned, so polishing was all that remained.
'Octagonal grind on the blade, final check on temper, done.'
Busy half-day tomorrow honing the edge, and it'd be finished.
Rushed from plain materials, nothing spectacular.
Still, leagues above what average martial artists carried. Probably on par with Dang Mujin's or Namgung Myeong's own blades.
Dan Sulyoung, who'd only held tongs, was drenched in sweat, so she bolted out to wash up the instant they finished.
The smiths, meanwhile, crowded to inspect the near-complete blade. Dang Mujin slipped out quietly to avoid the fuss.
No one followed, no hammering echoed. He savored the quiet night air and stillness.
On his way back to the Dang Clinic, someone approached. Mok Wana.
Wordlessly, she offered rough cloth. Poor for clothing, but perfect as a towel.
Dang Mujin wiped his sweat and asked.
"Thought you'd be busy playing with Young at this hour. Here to bring this?"
"Mm."
"Man, what luxury. Thanks."
He chuckled lightly, wiped down, and handed it back as she reached out.
Dang Mujin slowed his pace a bit. Couldn't just ditch Mok Wana.
She followed quietly, then brought up something out of nowhere.
"Other day, around spring I think. Asked Elder Dang."
Only one "Elder Dang" in her book: his father, Dang Jesun.
"Yeah? What'd you ask?"
"You like Sulyoung so much. What do you like most about her?"
"Dad liking his daughter-in-law's natural. Especially since I'm his only son."
Mok Wana giggled, then bowed her head with a more serious look.
"Still, I was curious. Even before the marriage, Elder Dang doted on her special."
"Yeah."
Dang Mujin recalled sending Dan Sulyoung to Chengdu first, then her return.
Even then, his father had treated her like daughter-in-law material as a given. He doted so much, Dang Mujin sometimes felt sidelined.
A sudden thought hit, and Dang Mujin asked.
"You two on bad terms lately or something?"
Mok Wana startled, waving her hands.
"No! Nothing like that. Elder's not the type to clash with folks. Me neither."
"Fair enough."
"Anyway, I was curious. What he liked most about her."
"What'd he say?"
"Said, 'She's the girl who came all the way from distant Henan just to see my son—how could I not dote?'"
"Ah, yeah. I think she's amazing too."
Conversation paused, the clinic neared. Destination in sight, yet Mok Wana slowed further.
"What's Henan like?"
Mok Wana's travels topped out at Tianshan in Xinjiang and Chengdu in Sichuan. Tales of far lands naturally piqued her.
Dang Mujin answered leisurely.
"Home to Shaolin Temple and Mount Song. Kind folks, warm weather."
"How far?"
"Hmm. Ordinary walker's pace, at least two months."
"Is Mount Song farther than Tianshan?"
"Nah. Distance-wise, Tianshan's way farther. Maybe double."
Her face lit up at his answer.
"Why ask that out of the blue?"
"Oh, nothing."
That wrapped it. Mok Wana, who'd never dawdled before, scurried cat-like into the Dang Clinic.
*
Two days later, Dang Mujin, Hong Geolgae, Namgung Myeong, and Hyun-gong headed north.
Hong Geolgae played guide, leading them along the border of Shaanxi and Gansu.
Nearly a fortnight on, a vast river appeared before them.
Namgung Myeong asked Hong Geolgae.
"That the Yellow River?"
"Nope. Just a tributary. But the righteous sects' turf basically ends at that tributary."
Meaning beyond lay demonic sects, black path martial artists, barbarians.
The four stared across quietly. Landscape no different from the south bank.