Chapter 267
Chapter 267
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 267
Chapter Title: Double Sprout
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When Dang Mujin and his group laid out everything they had seen and heard, several of the Daoists marveled at aspects beyond the story's content itself.
"No wonder it took so strangely long—you didn't stop at Pingliang County but went all the way to the Kongtong Sect?"
"Impressively brave. A fine example for young martial artists."
Though they had initially told the group not to take risks and just gauge the atmosphere, the Daoists swiftly changed their tune, praising Dang Mujin and his companions' actions.
It even felt like they had subtly anticipated such a turn.
'Well, they brought back such crucial information, so of course they'd be pleased.'
The other Qingcheng Sect Daoists and Ilsunja grew gravely serious.
"Ghost King? I've heard the moniker before. One of the Demonic Cult's Six Great Experts... You're certain the man there was the Ghost King?"
"It's someone I've seen before, so no chance of mistake. And it's not just a face I know alone."
As Dang Mujin replied, Hong Geolgae and Namgung Myeong chimed in.
"We encountered him a few years back too. The skill we witnessed far surpassed the ordinary, so he's definitely the Ghost King."
"I see. The situation is dire."
The Daoists each sank into thought. No one spoke up.
The mood suggested they might pull an all-nighter with eyes wide open, so a Qingcheng Sect Daoist named Gongryeongja stepped forward.
Gongryeongja was close with the Huanglingja of the Chengdu Branch, so Dang Mujin had crossed paths with him a couple of times.
"The situation boils down to one of two possibilities. Either the Demonic Cult is orchestrating this from behind the unorthodox sects, or the Ghost King broke ties with the Demonic Cult and defected to become an unorthodox martial artist. Both seem plausible."
Most Demonic Cult martial artists were fugitives who had committed crimes somewhere and fled.
When their skills were lacking and survival tough, they threw in with the Demonic Cult, but once their prowess grew enough to fend for themselves, many would slip away and carve out a place in the unorthodox world.
The Demonic Cult's atmosphere was intensely ascetic and subdued, which bloodthirsty martial artists often found stifling.
But among peak experts, quite a few quietly deserted.
At that level, they could make a name in the unorthodox martial world. For someone transcendent like the Ghost King, indulging in wine, women, and song was no tall order. Especially since he was notorious for his fondness for the fairer sex.
Still, the silence dragged on as everyone pondered. In the end, Dang Mujin stepped up to clarify.
"It doesn't matter which."
"Hm?"
"There's no sure way to determine the truth right now, and whichever it is, the orthodox martial world's response won't change. After all, they're not occupying the Kongtong Sect for any noble purpose."
Dang Mujin scanned the room. People nodded faintly, eyes on him.
He pressed on.
"No one here plans to let the Ghost King and those unorthodox martial artists hold the Kongtong Sect. So there's only one thing to do: return to the Zhongnan Sect, gather forces, and reclaim it. Right?"
"Quite right."
With Dang Mujin's explanation and Yeongheoja's agreement sealing it, the tension eased.
People settled into seats or lay back, closing their eyes.
*
It took the group a full two days to reach the Zhongnan Sect.
An astonishingly swift pace by any normal measure, but none among these martial artists lacked the skill to endure a forced march.
"Wow, it's magnificent."
Dang Mujin and his companions gazed at the Zhongnan Mountains in admiration.
The peaks weren't particularly rugged or wild. Yet the scenery rivaled any famed mountain.
Add the vibrant spring energy, and one could happily spend the whole day just taking it in.
"Let's go."
But Ilsunja had no time for leisure, leading them without hesitation.
The Zhongnan Sect buildings weren't so much dilapidated as elegantly austere, retaining the charm unique to ancient structures.
Hyeon-gong eyed the weathered halls and moss-covered stone lanterns with a touch of envy.
Yet unlike the serene architecture, the grounds bustled like a marketplace.
Daoists from three neighboring sects had gathered: Zhongnan, Huashan, and even Wudang.
But as Ilsunja, the Qingcheng Daoists, and Dang Mujin's group arrived, the clamor hushed.
A Zhongnan Daoist approached Ilsunja, who issued a firm command.
"Gather everyone in the Sword Immortal Hall."
The Daoist vanished on the errand, and soon a low, resonant bell tolled.
Dang Mujin whispered to Hyeon-gong.
"What's the Sword Immortal Hall?"
"Probably the building with the sect leader's quarters. Never been inside myself, so not sure."
Most Qingcheng Daoists were guided elsewhere by Zhongnan members.
Only Ilsunja, a handful of transcendent experts or higher, Dang Mujin's group, and Namgung Myeong at the lead headed straight there.
Ilsunja, walking a bit behind, asked Namgung Myeong.
"Young hero Namgung, have you been to the Zhongnan Sect before?"
Namgung Myeong mumbled evasively.
"Not... exactly. Why do you ask?"
"You stride ahead like you know precisely where the Sword Immortal Hall is, so I wondered."
Namgung Myeong had indeed visited once—sneaking in to steal Sword Immortal Ye Dongbin's blade.
Hardly something to admit, so he bluffed.
"Instinct. It just feels like it's this way."
A flimsy excuse.
Before Ilsunja's faint suspicion could solidify, Hyeon-gong interjected.
"One can guess the path by the direction of people's gazes and footsteps. And should some foolish junior stray, the esteemed seniors watching from behind will surely set us right. Why hesitate?"
Hyeon-gong's gift was spinning such flowery lines without a pause.
They rang true, laced with subtle flattery.
Ilsunja forgot any budding doubt, praising Namgung Myeong and Hyeon-gong.
"With such wise and bold juniors, the Namgung family and Wudang Sect's futures shine bright. People are a clan's greatest asset, after all."
"You're too kind."
By the time they finished talking, they had reached the Sword Immortal Hall.
It was spacious enough for over a dozen to sit in a circle, with a weathered sword hanging at the far end—Sword Immortal Ye Dongbin's blade.
As they waited amid murmurs, people arrived at the bell's summons.
Huashan Daoists, Wudang Daoists, even Kongtong Sect Leader Sanggwal Doin.
Wudang's Yeongbo Jin-in was absent as expected, but one surprise guest appeared.
A rotund beggar—Hong Geolgae's master, Great Wind Beggar Paeng Cheon.
Paeng Cheon gave Hong Geolgae a faint smile.
Once all were seated, Ilsunja began, legs crossed.
"Let the meeting commence. Single agenda: reclaim the Kongtong Sect and purge the unorthodox scum."
*
The meeting ended on a crisp note.
The warriors gathered at Zhongnan would move out tomorrow without delay to crush the unorthodox occupiers. Further plans after.
As people dispersed, Great Wind Beggar Paeng Cheon approached Hong Geolgae.
"Been a while."
"Didn't expect to see you here, Master."
"I divined a fated reunion, but uncertain, so I came half-doubting. Even without that, I had vital news to share..."
Paeng Cheon hadn't come to fight, but to deliver critical intelligence.
Just as unorthodox martial artists had seized the northwest Kongtong Sect, the northeast Hebei Peng family had fallen to them too.
Proof the unorthodox were moving in force.
It planted faint unease in Dang Mujin's group and the Qingcheng Daoists—southern unorthodox might stir next.
With Sichuan Province southwest and the Namgung family southeast in the central plains.
If southern unorthodox mobilized, Qingcheng, the Dang family stronghold, even Namgung could be threatened.
The Daoists under Ilsunja opting for battle tomorrow considered Dang Mujin's group and Qingcheng's position, but also their own.
Linger in "preparations," and if unease drove the others away, Zhongnan would fight shorthanded.
Paeng Cheon draped a thick arm over Hong Geolgae's shoulder.
"Made a lot of experiences, have you?"
Hong Geolgae thought his master looked far more aged than before—now more white hair than not.
Hong Geolgae replied confidently.
"Anywhere something big happened, you could say I was there. When Neungwang Sword ascended to transcendent realm, when Manryeokseung broke through that wall—I was right there."
"And your own achievements?"
"Mine aren't bad, but I feel a step behind my friends. All three seem to have grasped the key to the next stage."
Hong Geolgae expected fatherly advice like "Your turn next, no rush," but Paeng Cheon's face darkened.
"That's not good."
"Why?"
"Two new transcendent experts? Fine so far. But your three friends already seizing clues to the next realm? Too fast, by far."
Hong Geolgae laughed.
"No need to worry. They were warned against false paths. Those guys won't rush—they'll find their way."
But Paeng Cheon's expression grew stormier.
"No, it's not that. Not about martial achievements."
"Then what worries you?"
"I'm speaking of heavenly omens and the world's principles, Jusan. Ever seen new leaves sprout on a fresh branch, shoving off the old ones?"
Hong Geolgae wasn't one to scrutinize trees closely, but sensed the oddity.
"Some trees maybe... Normally, old leaves yellow and fall before new ones bud next spring."
"Right. The old must yield for the new to take root."
Obvious, so Hong Geolgae nodded silently.
Paeng Cheon continued.
"But people differ. They don't sense their time like leaves and drop. They cling to the branch till the end—that's human. Yet time flows, and new leaves must grow. Know what happens when too many old leaves cling?"
Hong Geolgae pondered, then shook his head.
"...No idea."
Paeng Cheon's tales were simple yet tangled in metaphors, hard to grasp.
Aware, he didn't chide his disciple's dullness.
"Fierce winds blow, stripping the old leaves. Space clears for new sprouts to thrive green. That's how trees grow, generations turn. The world's flow itself."
Now Hong Geolgae caught on.
"The fierce wind... you mean?"
"Could be this orthodox-unorthodox war, or the Demonic Cult clash after. But harsh times are coming, enough to shake off the old leaves."
To lighten the gloom, Paeng Cheon forced a cheerful grin.
"But not all bad. Sprouts weathering cold winds grow greener than before."
Still, the mood hung odd.
In such times, master and disciple would scrounge wine to wet their throats.
Luckily, no need to venture far—wine sloshed at Hong Geolgae's belt.
He pulled the gourd, but Paeng Cheon waved it off.
"No. Wine among Daoists? Too conspicuous, ruins the taste. Let's head out first."
They slipped from Zhongnan, settling under a nearby tree.
Paeng Cheon spoke now.
"Here after ages, and I just rambled on. Tell me your tales."
Hong Geolgae began slowly.
Venturing north, to the Sima family, meeting infamous Blood Rain Guest, tales from lingering at the Dang stronghold.
His tone brimmed bright.
But Paeng Cheon noted a strange name woven in.
Mentioned as often as his three friends: Wang Jincheong.
"Wang Jincheong? Who's that?"
"Oh, right—skipped explaining. A kid captured by the Sima family, survived mortal peril young."
Paeng Cheon unconsciously rubbed his face dry. Tipsy, Hong Geolgae missed it.
"Tell me in detail."
"Nearly died at Sima's, but treated his blocked meridians—built vast inner power young. Fine talent, steadfast heart. Unbeggarlike smarts too. Young, but better than me in many ways."
Paeng Cheon's breath quickened.
Sounded just like a master boasting a disciple.
"You took a disciple?"
"Sort of. More like a little brother. Age gap's big, though. A bit more, and he'd feel like a son."
Hong Geolgae denied, but Paeng Cheon heard excuses, laced with his own unease.
Paeng Cheon muttered hollowly.
"Jusan. Double sprout. It's a double sprout..."
Double sprout—twin buds.
Two sprouts at once.
Unknown form.
Both might thrive, or the later one wither beneath the first.
Or the first shelter the second through storms, letting the latecomer survive.
Paeng Cheon grew urgent.
"Jusan. This Wang Jincheong kid—"
But Hong Geolgae cut in.
"No, enough."
Paeng Cheon eyed him. Hong Geolgae smiled faintly.
"Master, we part tomorrow. Wine now? Not the finest, but..."
Paeng Cheon looked skyward. Bit early for drink.
All the better—descend the mountain drinking, time it perfectly.
Paeng Cheon feigned complaint.
"Wait—after ages, you offer your master the cheapest swill?"
"You've drunk it fine till now. Hate it? Don't."
"Down we go. My treat tonight."
"With what money, Master?"
Paeng Cheon rummaged, producing a silver nugget pinky-nail size. Pennies against his skills, but beggarly substantial.
"Not much, but buys better than that."
Hong Geolgae grinned, rising.
As ever, Paeng Cheon slung his thick right arm over Hong Geolgae's shoulder.
"Let's go!"
The master and disciple strode side by side.