Chapter 92
Chapter 92
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 92
Chapter Title: Heart Ailment
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Dang Mujin came to his senses in a seated position.
He didn't know what was behind his back, but it was definitely not an ordinary wall.
To make matters worse, his hands were bound behind him.
Dang Mujin wriggled his shoulders and wrists to feel the object behind his back. It was a table. His hands were tied to the table leg.
As he fidgeted, wondering what this situation was, the person lying face-down in front of him sat up and looked at Dang Mujin. It was Namgung Myeong.
Vague memories surfaced of what had happened before he lost consciousness. Namgung Myeong with a mask pulled over his face.
An inexplicable chill, and surging killing intent. That was as far as Dang Mujin's memory went.
Namgung Myeong spoke in a listless tone.
"You're finally awake?"
"What happened? I have a rough idea."
"You caused a ruckus, and I subdued you."
"Subdued me?"
"People having a heart ailment seizure stiffen up rigidly. Whether they faint or make a fuss like you, it's the same. That's why the Golden Snare works so well."
Dang Mujin belatedly noticed the minor issues with his body. His wrists, elbows, and shoulder joints all felt out of place with a dull ache. At least nothing seemed broken or sprained, which was a relief.
"Looks like you've been hit with the Golden Snare more than once or twice."
"You had six seizures, and I subdued you with the Golden Snare six times."
"What? Six times? How much time has passed?"
"It's the third day today."
Naturally, he had no memory of eating anything over those three days. He felt a strong hunger.
But paradoxically, he wasn't in a state of desperately craving food.
Sometimes when you're hungry and don't eat, you gradually forget the hunger—and this seemed exactly like that.
"Couldn't you have at least given me something to eat?"
"If you eat your fill and build up strength just to seize again, it tires me out."
An utterly self-serving idea. But it wasn't wrong, and he wasn't in a position to complain.
The situation was a bit strange, but Namgung Myeong was taking risks for Dang Mujin's sake.
"What were the results?"
Namgung Myeong shook his head. No significant progress, apparently.
But Namgung Myeong's expression wasn't dark. He even seemed expectant about something.
Namgung Myeong spoke in a cheerful voice.
"No need to worry. I didn't recover with the first method either."
"What's the second method?"
"I'll explain that later. For now, let's go eat."
"Not here?"
"The food at this inn—I tried one of everything they sell, and the cooking is downright awful."
As soon as they stepped out of the room, the innkeeper appeared with a highly displeased expression. No doubt Dang Mujin and Namgung Myeong had been troublesome guests hindering business.
Dang Mujin rummaged in his bosom and handed a few silver coins to the innkeeper. The man's furrowed brow instantly brightened.
Of course, Dang Mujin didn't feel burdened by that amount. The money Haeryeong had given him was quite ample.
Namgung Myeong led Dang Mujin, strolling aimlessly through the village.
He didn't seem to have a specific destination. They'd retrace steps on paths already walked and pass by decent-looking eateries without a glance.
If anything, it looked more like he was combing through the entire village rather than searching for a restaurant.
Dang Mujin wasn't starving to the point of impatience, so he leisurely followed Namgung Myeong, taking in the surroundings. The outside air after three days felt especially refreshing.
But unlike the mild weather, the village atmosphere was oddly gloomy.
Was it because he'd come from the familiar Chengdu and bustling Zhongjing?
No, that didn't seem to be it. Everyone's faces were troubled, and even the local kids weren't running around noisily but huddled quietly in corners.
If even children could sense it, there must be a real problem.
Dang Mujin asked.
"Why's the mood like this? Did someone die?"
"It's been this way since we first arrived."
"What's causing it?"
"I know just the person to explain. Follow me."
Namgung Myeong led Dang Mujin to a corner of the marketplace.
There was a small street stall.
Two pots on a tiny brazier served as the kitchen, and roughly placed wooden stumps stood in for chairs and tables. The cheapest place to grab a bite.
It was fairly late, so no one was eating.
"...No money?"
"Nah. I came here on purpose."
The wrinkled old stall owner recognized Namgung Myeong and waved.
As Dang Mujin and Namgung Myeong sat, the owner brought out two bowls of buckwheat noodles without asking what they wanted. It seemed buckwheat noodles were the only thing he sold.
The broth had no oil, and there were no fancy toppings.
But the moment he smelled that plain aroma, hunger crashed over him like a wave. Dang Mujin emptied one bowl in the blink of an eye. The bland food actually left his stomach feeling refreshed and good.
'I could eat a bit more.'
Dang Mujin held up his empty bowl toward the owner. The old man caught on immediately and quickly brought another bowl of fresh noodles.
As the owner turned back to the fire, Namgung Myeong grabbed him.
"Elder, what's with those sword-carrying guys over there?"
Namgung Myeong pointed to two men striding about arrogantly with swords at their waists.
From their gait, they seemed to have learned some martial arts, but probably just barely sniffed its scent.
But anyone carrying a sword draws wary glances wherever they go.
People clearly avoided the two men, who subtly relished the attention.
The stall owner replied.
"Those guys? Thugs the Jo Manor Lord brought in."
"Jo Manor Lord?"
"Over there. Go straight down that alley—it's the biggest house in the village. That's Jo Manor."
"A place with three or four buildings, unusually high tiled roof and walls, and mulberry trees in the courtyard?"
"That's it. Sharp eyes you've got."
"It's the only house in the village big enough to be called a manor anyway. So, what's the Jo Manor Lord gathering scum like that for? They don't look like quality folk."
The stall owner didn't hide his displeasure.
"He's just doing what his father did."
"Can we hear the details?"
"The previous Jo Manor Lord was some guy who went out and learned to swing a sword. He swung it incredibly fast and could leap onto treetops in a single bound."
"I see."
"That bastard gathered local riffraff and set up a little outfit called Jo Manor. Of course, calling it a sect was a joke—it was just a gang."
The owner's face was deeply uneasy. Clearly not a fond memory.
Namgung Myeong smoothly coaxed out more with his affable manner.
"From what you're saying, elder, they must've been real troublemakers."
"With no tigers around, foxes play king. They weren't outright slaughtering people left and right, but they'd muscle in anywhere money was to be made."
"How bad was it?"
"If someone died, they'd brazenly snatch the inheritance. Try to do business, and they'd demand 'protection' fees. During harvest season, they'd loiter by the irrigation ditches and charge for water—even though the villagers built those ditches, not them."
"I haven't seen that sort of thing the last few days. Guess they turned over a new leaf."
The stall owner snorted at Namgung Myeong's words.
"Not turned—they got turned. During the last Righteous War, he got too cocky with real martial artists, caught a sword to the gut, and died. The thugs who followed the old lord scattered when the gravy train ended."
"Then what's this about the current lord imitating his father?"
"You think that punk knows how to earn an honest living? He grew up watching his dad bully folks for cash, so he's trying the same. Those thugs are ones he scraped together from elsewhere recently. Deserves to get struck by lightning."
As he cleared the empty bowls in front of Dang Mujin and Namgung Myeong, the stall owner pointed with a limp to a passerby.
"That guy over there? Ended up like that recently. Some unknown person beat him senseless, crippled his leg, and took his precious jade ring. Everyone in the village knows who did it."
Dang Mujin looked at the limping man's face. His gaze was dazed, as if focused yet not. It was heartbreaking just to see.
Dang Mujin let out a deep sigh.
To varying degrees, you'd see similar sights wandering the Central Plains.
Big cities fare better. Prestigious sects often nest there, and large sects care about their reputation, so major atrocities are rare. It's even better when multiple sects compete and keep an eye on each other.
But middling small villages are different.
No rival sects to compete with, no reputation to uphold—fists make the law.
Villagers might band together to protest, but they quiet down before blades. A local bigwig hiring a few swordsmen can lord over the whole place.
Such thugs and hired blades settle in, reaping rewards beyond their skill. In the end, only the ordinary villagers suffer.
Namgung Myeong rose with a meaningful expression.
"Good meal."
"Come again."
Dang Mujin paid for the noodles. The stall owner, having vented about the Jo Manor Lord, looked much lighter.
The sun had set, and it was growing dark. Dang Mujin and Namgung Myeong returned to the inn.
Dang Mujin slowly loosened his shoulders.
"Alright, belly full—time to start again?"
Namgung Myeong shook his head.
"I told you earlier. The first method didn't yield much."
"Then on to the second?"
"That depends on your choice."
"My choice?"
Namgung Myeong spoke calmly.
"Remember when I said I was forced to watch sparring matches when I had my heart ailment?"
"Yeah."
"As you might guess, it didn't help much. If anything, I grew more afraid of swords. Just glimpsing a blade from the corner of my eye made my body twitch. Know what my father did then?"
"No idea."
"He put a real sword in my right hand. Well, not just put—he bound it so tight I couldn't let go."
Dang Mujin was appalled. Even to him, ignorant of heart ailments, it sounded too extreme.
"...Is that okay?"
"Even I think it was pretty radical. I remember bawling my eyes out. But it worked in the end. The ailment gradually improved until it vanished. Father's decision was right."
Namgung Myeong continued steadily.
"If the first method failed, two paths remain: give up entirely, or overcome it with a bolder approach."
Namgung Myeong unpacked the bundle in the corner of the room.
Somehow, there were now two sets of night clothes and two masks.
Since no one was wearing a mask flipped over, no killing intent surged. It just made his chest feel tight.
To grasp Namgung Myeong's intent, Dang Mujin looked up at him.
Namgung Myeong's eyes were utterly resolute—not like a young warrior, but fitting an heir to a great clan.
Dang Mujin felt pressure. Namgung Myeong was emanating an indescribable aura.
"...So what exactly is the second method?"
"Simple. You wear the mask yourself. Like how Father bound the sword to my right hand."
Absurd.
Yet at the same time, it filled his mind with convincing logic.
"It's new moon tonight. Sky's dark, and there's a suitable target: Jo Manor. Robbing the lord's wealth and scattering the thugs would help the villagers—call it righteous theft."
"But..."
"Feeling repulsed? That's the heart ailment, the phobia. The one thing you must overcome. The greatest obstacle blocking your path."
Namgung Myeong slid the mask and night clothes forward. Dang Mujin's heart pounded wildly.
Namgung Myeong spoke firmly.
"Choose here and now. Will you conquer it and move forward? Or flee in fear?"
With trembling hands, Dang Mujin grasped the mask.