Aunt Hyeon-yo's Return
“Your cousin is coming with her too. Her name is Danmok Seong, and she's a good child, so I hope she'll become a wonderful family member and friend for you.”
Wijicheong spoke with a beaming smile, clearly delighted by Danmok Hyeon-yo's return.
Ryeon froze for a moment upon hearing the name Danmok Seong for the first time in ages, then swallowed hard.
“But why is she coming back so suddenly?”
“Hmm? Well, I suspect she heard about the duel with the Geum Clan and rushed over. She must have hurried from Henan Province all the way here. Thankfully, our Ryeon handled it beautifully.”
“Ahhh, I see.”
Ryeon nodded with a bright smile, but she could guess Danmok Hyeon-yo's intentions. The frail Danmok Ryeon, whom everyone expected to remain sickly her whole life, had risen to clash with another clan's heir. How could she stay away? She must have worried that Ryeon would lose and tarnish the Danmok Clan's reputation—or perhaps even hoped a victory over the Geum heir might position Ryeon as the next family head.
But no one had anticipated the duel ending so swiftly in Ryeon's favor.
“What? You don't like that cousin?”
Ryeon set down her brush midway through writing a character and turned to the side. Hwaryun, having finished his calligraphy practice in record time, had sidled up to her.
At the desk beside them, Danmok Bi was furiously memorizing and copying characters, his little brow furrowed in concentration.
Ryeon whispered softly.
“I've never even met the kid, so why would I dislike her...”
At least not here.
“Your face looked pretty sour. Hmm. Want me to beat her up for you?”
“That'd be a disaster.”
“I could really do it.”
Ryeon gazed at Hwaryun with a wistful expression. Every time she forgot that he had once been a young lord of the Machun-gyo, he reminded her with lines like this.
“No, that's not it at all. You absolutely can't. Got it? And more importantly, just don't show yourself in front of Seong.”
“Why?”
“Seong takes after her mom and dad—she's super pretty. But...”
Ryeon turned back to her paper, dipping her brush and continuing.
“But because of that, she really likes things that look like her. Or at least, she says she does. What if she sees you and immediately demands I hand you over? So, Ryeun-ah, even when my aunt arrives, you stay inside.”
“...”
“And please, don't go around saying you'll beat anyone up. Or actually do it.”
“Do I look like that kind of guy?”
“Huh?”
Ryeon looked up at the unexpected response, only to find Hwaryun grinning cheekily right in front of her.
“What?”
“I asked if your cousin looks like the type who'd want to take me away.”
“Oh? Ah...”
Realizing what she'd said, Ryeon reached out and ruffled Hwaryun's hair wildly.
“Of course you do. My little Ryeun is just so cute.”
“Hey, I asked nicely, and now you're messing up my hair!”
As the two bickered playfully, Danmok Bi looked up with wide eyes.
“Nui! Me too!”
“Bia, my Bia is cute t— Nui, you're coming over! You're gonna make me fall!”
The tiny boy charged with such enthusiasm, throwing his arms around her, that Ryeon nearly toppled backward in her chair. Hwaryun sighed, quickly steadying it with a foot and hand while shaking his head.
Tucked safely in Ryeon's arms, Danmok Bi flashed a brilliant smile.
Danmok Hyeon-yo was a stunning beauty. Her face bloomed like a vibrant peony, and standing side by side with her daughter Danmok Seong, they resembled a grand peony next to a delicate bud.
Upon arriving in Zhejiang Province, Danmok Hyeon-yo had doubted the exaggerated rumors she'd heard. The tales of her father, who had secluded himself in Wolyeongjae as if awaiting death, suddenly gaining enlightenment and rising once more seemed too sweet to be true. And the story of the precious elixir Qinglian Water, created by the clan, selling like hotcakes—turning her own niece into a millionaire—sounded like pure fabrication.
She couldn't even buy this Qinglian Water on the streets, after all. Every medical hall and apothecary claimed it was sold out!
Yet despite the supposed windfall, the clan estate that greeted her looked much the same: crumbling walls, unrepaired roofs, rotting wooden pillars, and a barren courtyard dusted with sand.
After first paying respects to the retired family head Danmok Cheon-gi, Danmok Hyeon-yo broached the most pressing matter.
“Mother is doing much better, they say. She was overjoyed to hear that Ryeon had awakened.”
“...”
Danmok Cheon-gi sat in silence for a long while before parting his lips with effort.
“Did you meet her?”
Danmok Hyeon-yo shook her head.
“No. I visited several times, but the gates remained sealed. Fortunately, Mother sent a letter.”
“I see...”
As she spoke, Danmok Hyeon-yo pulled a bundle of letters from her bosom. The papers rustled, worn and slightly yellowed from handling.
Danmok Cheon-gi stared at them for a long moment, fingers tracing their edges, before carefully tucking them into a nearby drawer and exhaling.
“No troubles on the journey here?”
“No, we came flying. But Father, I heard all sorts of rumors on the way.”
Danmok Hyeon-yo asked her father about recent events. She would learn the truth about his enlightenment or the Qinglian Water in time if the rumors held; what gripped her most was the duel with the Geum Clan.
Having heard the full details of the duel, Danmok Hyeon-yo let out an ambiguous sound—admiration or irritation, it was hard to tell.
“My goodness. So Ryeon really did awaken—and true to her uncle's daughter, no less.”
“Madam.”
The man who spoke softly in gentle remonstrance was Seok Ban-an, third son of the Pungrim Jeonjang's master from Shaanxi Province and Danmok Hyeon-yo's husband, who had entered the family as a son-in-law.
Danmok Cheon-gi clicked his tongue lowly.
“Mind your words.”
“We rushed here like our tails were on fire over some catastrophe with the Geum Clan, and it turns out it was all for nothing.”
“I didn't summon you for that. Didn't I tell you to wrap up your residence in Henan? I was planning to call you back anyway.”
“Pardon? Why now? Things are at their busiest!”
Danmok Hyeon-yo exclaimed in indignation. Danmok Cheon-gi tilted his teacup leisurely.
“Busy with what?”
“Have you heard? The Murim Alliance is forming an emissary corps soon. One of those seats could go to our clan...”
“Who would you appoint as leader?”
“What?”
“An emissary corps needs leaders—four, by the name. Even with deputies, that's eight. With the Nine Great Sects, Eight Great Clans, and the Black Heaven Union's Thirteen Pavilions vying for them, the Machun-gyo will claim half outright. Who from our clan could possibly snag one?”
“There... there are only two deputies, so really twelve seats total. And anyway, YuseongdoDanmok Han-so...”
“He's away wandering.”
“...Pardon?”
Danmok Hyeon-yo gaped, glancing behind her as if Danmok Han-so might appear from thin air.
“Wandering? Since when? Why?”
“A few months now.”
“A few months? But he's our pillar elder—he should be shoring up the clan! The Balsa Sesu!”
Realization dawned mid-sentence, and Danmok Hyeon-yo burst out.
“Ryeon performed the Balsa Sesu on him, didn't she? How much inner energy did he lose? That's why he left the clan...”
“Quiet!”
At Danmok Cheon-gi's low command, Danmok Hyeon-yo bowed her head, her face the picture of grievance. She had heard about Ryeon's Balsa Sesu, but only after everything was done. If she'd known sooner, she would have stopped pouring money into a hopeless niece.
The hoped-for marriage alliance with the Sacheon Tang Clan had evaporated, and someone must have expended great power for the ritual—whoever it was remained a mystery. Losing inner energy was a glaring weakness for any martial artist; with enemies inevitably accrued over a lifetime of achievements, the performers' identities were top secret.
If you're going to spend that much, do it for my Seong!
Of course Danmok Seong had more potential than a sickly child bedridden for seven years!
Danmok Cheon-gi gazed down at his daughter with a bitter expression before speaking quietly.
“The Huashan Sect, Shaolin Temple, Jeonjeok Clan, and Sacheon Tang Clan will take four seats. The Black Heaven Union's Thirteen Pavilions another four, and the Machun-gyo the rest. Enough of your schemes—come back to Hangzhou for good.”
Hyeon-yo's eyes flickered with anger and disbelief.
“We could wrest a seat or two from the Machun-gyo or Black Heaven Union!”
“You? If that were possible, there'd be no need for the Murim Alliance including them.”
Unable to contain herself, Hyeon-yo nearly shouted—then bit her lip hard. The orthodox sects had accepted the Black Heaven Union and Machun-gyo into the Murim Alliance to combat Blood Valley. And even that hadn't sufficed; they'd borrowed the might of the North Sea Binggung too.
The result lingered before her eyes: scars and wounds marring her father's face. He allowed no one at his side.