Chapter 34
Chapter 34
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 34
Chapter Title: Nangong Ming
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'What a joke.'
There was no need to speculate who stole the sword.
To avoid suspecting Nangong Ming, there would have needed to be at least a few days' gap between the day Dang Mujin asked if he intended to sell the sword and the day Nangong Ming vanished.
Hong Geolgae offered a curt assessment.
"You must've looked like a real pushover."
"No, it's not that I looked like a pushover—it's that Nangong Ming lost his mind. Who in the world pulls off a stunt like that when they know damn well it'll get them caught?"
"Anyway, what're you gonna do about it?"
"Go find him."
"You think you can?"
Dang Mujin's words caught in his throat at the simple question.
Logically speaking, tracking down Nangong Ming wasn't a smart move.
The Nangong Clan was far too big for Dang Mujin to take on, and he could forge a sword equal to or better than that one anyway.
Moreover, since Nangong Ming had brazenly stolen it, there was no way he'd hand it back if asked nicely.
But the thought of giving up didn't sit right. It wasn't complicated—he was pissed.
Just then, Yi Chung emerged from the cabin and plopped down beside Dang Mujin.
Dang Mujin figured Yi Chung would cackle and tease him mercilessly, given his usual temperament. Instead, Yi Chung said something completely unexpected.
"Whether it works or not, give it a shot. Now that you've stepped into the jianghu, it's better to be a mad dog than a sucker."
"Senior, as someone who's been a beggar, I can tell you mad dogs get beaten to death with sticks."
"A guy who bends over without even trying is as good as dead, even if he's breathing. If your strength falls short, you lose and get taken—but swallowing humiliation is a habit."
It scratched right at the nagging itch in Dang Mujin's chest. He shot to his feet.
"You're right. Success or failure, I have to try. The problem is how to find Nangong Ming."
"Obviously, head to the Nangong Clan. He's probably galloping back home like a bat out of hell right now."
"Where's the Nangong Clan located? On the way to Luoyang?"
"No. It's a detour. The Nangong Clan is in Anhui Province."
Dang Mujin studied Yi Chung's expression.
Going to the Nangong Clan meant veering well off the path to Luoyang, but Yi Chung didn't seem bothered.
"Assuming we head to Anhui Province, what's the best way?"
"Get off the boat, grab horses, and ride—that's fastest. But neither you nor Hong Geolgae can ride worth a damn, so sail to Anhui, then travel overland a bit. That's your best bet."
It meant spending more time on the boat than originally planned.
Dang Mujin wasn't worried about the fare, though. He'd been treating the crew's ailments steadily, so they'd sooner pay him than charge extra.
"But what was Nangong Ming thinking, pulling something like that?"
"Thinking? Bet he doesn't even think he did anything wrong."
"That make any sense?"
"Don't assume the mindset of kids from massive sects is like ordinary folks'. Especially clueless ones like Nangong Ming. To them, the world is their sect and nothing else."
*
Nangong Ming spurred his horse onward with glee.
Each time the hooves pounded the earth, the sword in his pack jostled with a clunk. Normally, it'd annoy him, but now it just thrilled him.
Not long ago, Nangong Ming had dreaded wrapping up his jianghu excursion. He feared his father's gaze—and those of the family elders.
But things had changed. Now he couldn't wait to rush back and show off the sword.
At first, he'd felt a twinge of guilt for taking someone else's possession.
A few days of hard riding and deep reflection had convinced him otherwise, though. This was good for everyone—for him, the Nangong Clan, and even Dang Mujin, who'd lost the sword.
A weapon belonged in the hands of one who could wield it properly.
Leaving a lifetime masterpiece with a mere physician who wasn't even a warrior? The swordsmith would weep in the underworld.
Dang Mujin might be upset now, but possessions too grand invited disaster.
Luckily, a righteous hero like himself had found it first. If a notorious demon had spotted it?
That demon would've slaughtered Dang Mujin's group without a second thought and claimed the sword.
By taking it first, Nangong Ming had saved three lives.
'Talk about "blessings in disguise."'
Worse scenarios were all too possible.
What if a mighty demon wielded this sword and slew famed righteous heroes? Not only the heroes, but countless others they'd have saved would suffer.
Or if a bloody feud erupted over it? Unthinkable carnage.
But Nangong Ming's bold decision had averted all that. The sword now rested in the hands of the Nangong Clan, self-proclaimed leaders among the Five Great Clans.
'It wasn't some petty greed.'
Nangong Ming felt like a nameless hero—or a shadowy vigilante.
He'd dirtied his hands, but in doing so, saved lives that might've been lost to demons—lives oblivious to their brush with death.
Time flies when you're having fun. His galloping fantasies were pure delight, and the journey to the Nangong Clan flew by.
"You're back."
"Yeah."
The guards at the main gate nodded curtly to Nangong Ming. It was a bit insolent for the clan heir, but he didn't mind.
He quickened his pace to the Ascending Dragon Pavilion, the clan's central hall. As he approached, a warrior out front spoke up.
"You can't enter now. They're in a meeting."
"Got it."
Nangong Ming paced outside without even unloading his pack. Time passed, and family elders began emerging—protectors, elders, division heads.
Once a good number had filed out, Nangong Ming slipped inside.
His father, Nangong Jincheon, was first to catch his eye. A few elders lingered, yet to depart.
Nangong Ming bowed and cupped his fists before his father.
"Father, your son has returned."
"Good. You worked hard. Go rest."
The usual curt response.
Normally, he'd be relieved and scurry off. Not today.
"Please wait just a moment. I have something to show you."
"What is it?"
"A sword. It'll blow your mind."
Nangong Ming unpacked the cloth-wrapped swords from his bundle and set them on the table.
He unwrapped the Three Peaks Sword first, revealing its severely damaged state.
Nangong Jincheon raised his right hand as if it were the most natural thing and backhanded his son across the face.
*Crack*—*thud crash*.
Nangong Ming tumbled ignobly across the pavilion floor. The commotion drew no surprise.
Not from Nangong Jincheon, the remaining elders, or Nangong Ming himself.
"You really brought something mind-blowing. I explicitly told you to care for the Three Peaks Sword so it wouldn't be damaged when I gave it to you. Forgotten already?"
"I haven't forgotten."
"Good. Elder Gilt! Fetch the whip."
A slap he could take—he was used to it. But a whipping? No thanks. Before the elder could leave, Nangong Ming waved him off frantically.
"No, wait. See this, and you'll change your mind."
Nangong Ming unwrapped Dang Mujin's sword.
A plain scabbard and hilt, nothing like the Three Peaks Sword. Nangong Jincheon's brow furrowed.
Before his father's hand could rise again, Nangong Ming pressed on.
"It's not what it looks like. Take a look."
He drew the Lone Soul Sword from its sheath. A blade as unremarkable as the rest.
No black iron gleam, no clear damascus gray, no chill from millennium steel.
Yet Sword Ghost Nangong Jincheon sensed something extraordinary.
He lifted the plain sword and examined the blade.
An average smith, told to make a sword, hammers out something thin and sharp.
True swordsmiths obsess endlessly over angles that stay keen without chipping.
But blade angles offer infinite variations. Thus, Nangong Jincheon's creed: no perfect blade exists. At least, until now.
'This is... different.'
Perfection—or the closest a human blade could come—lay before him.
Coincidence? Surely. Extremes and infinities don't yield easily to mortals.
Nangong Jincheon tapped the sword on the table. Wood muffled the ring, but vibrations hummed through his fingers.
Uniform, flawless resonance.
"Hmm."
He sat back down. This sword demanded scrutiny.
'It might not be mere chance.'
Nangong Jincheon had never forged a sword, but he'd swung them his whole life.
Hence his moniker: Sword Ghost. He knew blades better than most smiths.
This wasn't forged from premium stock—no fine steel for plows or lady's daggers here.
Such scrap had no place in a Nangong warrior's hand. That was the pride of the realm's foremost sword clan.
But if scrap yielded a blade surpassing elite weapons like the White Lotus Pure Steel swords? That changed everything.
Nangong Jincheon swung it through the air.
Perfect balance. Flexible yield with resilient tip, no wobble.
He pressed the edge to a table corner and slid. It sheared cleanly.
Lowly materials fused with craftsmanship beyond his eyes—a lopsided masterpiece.
One question burned: Why craft such skill on scrap?
A memory surfaced.
'Mandala.'
Nangong Jincheon recalled the high monks of Tibet from his youth.
They'd spent weeks crafting intricate mandalas with colored sands, countless Buddhas vivid in his mind.
Yet upon completion, the monks destroyed it themselves.
They gathered the sands and swept them into the river—to remind of impermanence, their ascetic goal achieved.
This sword reminded him of that mandala.
'A forge master seeking enlightenment at the anvil?'
Exquisite mandala from mere sand.
Peerless sword from mere scrap.
Like the monks' creation, perhaps forged for cultivation.
Unlike the mandala, it reached Nangong Jincheon's hands before scattering.
He gripped the plain sword and eyed the Three Peaks.
In a flash, he slashed. The flawed blade split in two.
"Clan Lord!"
The elders cried out in shock. None were strangers to the Three Peaks Sword.
Moments later, their gazes locked on the plain sword in his hand—its edge unscathed.
Nangong Jincheon set it on the dais and eyed Nangong Ming.
"You've brought a divine sword to the Nangong Clan. Where did you get it?"
Naturally, Nangong Ming couldn't say, "I swiped it from a doctor I met on a boat."
He fell back on the jianghu hero image he'd dreamed of.
"I rescued someone in peril, and he gifted me this heirloom sword in gratitude."
"Quite the serendipity."
Nangong Jincheon waved, and an elder approached, bowing.
"You called?"
"He's performed a righteous deed and gained fortune. We must commemorate it. Prepare a ten-day banquet."
"As you command."
Nangong Ming could scarcely believe it. He'd taken enough slaps from his father to call it routine, but praise? Never.
A banquet in his honor? Unthinkable.
Elated, he left the pavilion. The world seemed beautiful today.
*
When Dang Mujin's group arrived near the Nangong Clan, they sensed an unusual buzz.
The whole town thrummed with excitement, packed with warriors everywhere.
Yi Chung clocked it immediately.
"They're holding a feast."
"A feast?"
"His first jianghu outing was a success, so they're celebrating. The town's in an uproar, outsiders pouring in—that Nangong Ming kid's no side-branch bastard. Gotta be Clan Lord Nangong Jincheon's son, nine times out of ten."
Then Hong Geolgae jumped in, eyes gleaming with anticipation.
"I'm off to score some free grub. Call if you need me."
Lately, tagging along with Dang Mujin had kept him from begging.
He'd eaten well but looked uneasy—now seizing the chance to roam free.
Suddenly, Hong Geolgae vanished, leaving Yi Chung and Dang Mujin.
Dang Mujin pondered deeply. How to infiltrate the Nangong Clan and retrieve the sword?
But he was the only one brooding. Yi Chung strode straight toward the clan gates.
"What’s the plan? You got something in mind?"
"The town's vibe says the feast is winding down. Figure it out once we're inside."
"Won't it be better to wait till after? Crashing the party might make enemies."
"Nangong Jincheon is one of the Six Venerables at the absolute peak. Mutter something off in a dark corner, and your head rolls unnoticed. Better speak in a crowd."
Yi Chung's words rang true—he'd clearly stirred plenty of trouble.
Still, one part baffled Dang Mujin.
"The clan lord of the famed Nangong Clan? Kill someone just 'cause they rub him wrong?"
"Never chatted deeply with Nangong Jincheon, so I can't vouch for his character. But assuming a sword-slinging killer's a saint is naive."
Before long, they stood before the Nangong Clan's grand gates.
Two guards approached Yi Chung and Dang Mujin.
"You look like warriors. May we have your names?"
"The physicians Yi Chung and Dang Mujin are here to recover a lost sword."
Yi Chung went for the direct approach.