The Orthodox Schism
When completely unexpected words left the innkeeper’s mouth, Cheongwol and Ak Seo-a widened their eyes in surprise.
The Qingcheng Sect, after all, stood among the orthodox forces that represented Sichuan’s martial world, alongside the Dang Clan and the Emei Sect.
How could people like that be oppressing common folk on Sichuan soil?
Of course no one could claim that every faction under the orthodox banner was pure, yet this was the Qingcheng Sect of the Nine Great Sects. No matter what they did behind closed doors, they were supposed to keep the righteous path unbent before the eyes of others. To handle matters so carelessly that even a commoner innkeeper could instantly see through their identities…
Cheongwol’s brow furrowed slightly, her expression one of pure incomprehension.
“It will be easier if I simply show you this. I suspect the Qingcheng martial artists came to the inn precisely because I still keep it.”
As though he had expected the question, the innkeeper nodded and drew an object from his robes, setting it upon the table.
“Isn’t this… a hidden weapon? How does an innkeeper come to possess such a thing…?”
Just as Ak Seo-a said, the object was a hidden weapon—simple at a glance, yet radiating exquisite craftsmanship in every engraved pattern.
“It is. I received it when I left the Dang Clan.”
A faintly bitter smile touched the innkeeper’s lips as he looked down at the weapon.
“Wait a moment. What do you mean, the Dang Clan?”
Qingcheng had been startling enough; now the innkeeper himself was tied to the Dang Clan. Cheongwol’s head began to throb.
“I run an inn now, but I was once a martial artist of the Sichuan Dang Clan. Only a branch member, of course—I served in the outer hall.”
Cheongwol regarded him with half-belief, yet the innkeeper’s eyes were already wandering through the past.
“It was such a vast place that even a branch member could live quite comfortably. If that day had never come… I would probably still be living that life.”
Fear, rage, and helplessness seeped into the eyes that had been tracing old memories.
“…It must have been a little less than twenty years ago. In the dead of night they summoned every soul from the inner and outer halls and made us climb the mountain.”
As the memory grew sharper, the fear that rose with it became more than he could bear. He finally closed his eyes.
“I was wondering why we were climbing a mountain in the middle of the night when he appeared before us.”
Thunder that seemed ready to swallow all of Sichuan split the darkness. Rain hammered their shoulders so hard that even the voice of the person beside them was lost. And through that rain came a middle-aged man, so drenched in blood that no storm could wash it away, charging straight toward them.
If one were to meet the most terrible and terrifying nightmare in waking life, it would feel exactly like that.
“Before I could even cry out, his blade grazed my throat. If the rain-soaked ground had not made me lose my balance for an instant, I would certainly have died—just like the others standing beside me.”
As though still living that moment, the innkeeper’s hands clenched so tightly the blood left them.
“Are you telling that story again?”
While the two of them were still absorbed in the innkeeper’s words, a woman appeared. Fine lines showed at the corners of her eyes, yet her bearing was quiet and refined, carrying a gentle dignity.
“I had no choice. I needed to prove to our benefactors that I had once been a martial artist of the Dang Clan.”
At the sight of her, the rigid lines of the innkeeper’s face softened.
“…I see.”
The woman looked mildly displeased, yet she accepted it with reluctant grace. Then she stepped closer and offered Cheongwol and Ak Seo-a a courteous greeting.
“I am late in greeting our benefactors. Did the food suit your tastes?”
Cheongwol and Ak Seo-a swallowed the lingering spicy oil still coating their mouths and nodded.
“Yes. It was truly delicious.”
“Likewise. But who might this lady be…?”
When Ak Seo-a’s gaze asked for an explanation, the innkeeper gave an embarrassed smile and took the hand that rested on his shoulder.
“My wife. She is also the cook of this inn.”
At the word “wife,” Cheongwol and Ak Seo-a rose at once and clasped their fists in formal greeting.
“So you are his lady. I am Cheongwol.”
“This humble one is called Ak Seo-a.”
The courtesy that honored her husband’s face drew smiles from both the innkeeper and the woman.
“Thank you. In any case, the story has wandered a little. The woman who cared for me after I tumbled down the cliff that day is now my wife.”
“I wasn’t exactly trying to care for him. At the time I thought he was a corpse.”
“Fortunately I managed to move my hand a little. Otherwise I would have been buried in the ground without a doubt.”
He smiled once more at his wife, then continued in a calmer tone.
“…Lying on that sickbed, I understood. As long as I lived as a martial artist, I would carry the fear of that day for the rest of my life.”
No matter how hard he tried to overcome it, the chill of the scar left on his throat never faded. What else could he do?
“In the end, as soon as my body recovered I went to the Dang Clan and told them I wished to lay down my martial arts. They understood. Fortunately I had only learned the outer hall’s arts, so there was no need to destroy my dantian.”
He looked up at the ceiling of the inn—old, yet still kept meticulously clean—and brought the recollection to a close.
“Right after that I proposed to my wife, emptied every coin I had saved, and bought this inn. Later I learned that the elders of the outer hall had quietly made up the shortfall for me.”
“I never knew the Dang Clan possessed such loyalty. Today this humble one has broadened her narrow knowledge.”
Clearly moved, Ak Seo-a clasped her hands and gazed at the couple.
The innkeeper’s tale was indeed warm and heartening—except that the most important fact had still not been spoken.
“…I understand clearly now that you were once a martial artist of the Dang Clan. But hearing that only confuses me more. You’re saying Qingcheng’s martial artists laid hands on someone of the Dang Clan. Of course, now…”
She trailed off, realizing her slip, but the innkeeper simply shook his head as if it were nothing.
“It was the path I chose, so it is fine. Listening to you, though, I finally understand why the conversation has been going in circles. I assumed you already knew and skipped over the crucial part.”
“…Pardon?”
When Cheongwol looked utterly lost, the innkeeper cleared his throat.
“Young lady, do you know anything of the recent state of the orthodox martial world?”
“Recently…? No, nothing.”
“As I thought. And the young lady Ak beside you…?”
At the question, Ak Seo-a glanced at Cheongwol with a flicker of surprise.
“Ah, well… this humble one knows the rough outline. You speak of the orthodox path having split, do you not?”
“Precisely.”
The innkeeper nodded slowly and turned his gaze back to Cheongwol.
“As young lady Ak says, the orthodox martial world of today is divided into two camps. One gathers around the Alliance Leader of the Wulin Alliance; the other gathers around the Seomun Clan.”
At the mention of the Seomun Clan, Cheongwol flinched before she could stop herself.
Surely Seomun Hwi isn’t standing at the center of that as well?
She pushed the fleeting thought aside as the innkeeper continued.
“With the orthodox path splitting in two, the martial world of Sichuan also reached the moment when it had to choose a side. Qingcheng chose the Alliance Leader’s camp; the Sichuan Dang Clan chose the Seomun Clan’s.”
He pushed the dishes aside and overturned two cups on the table.
“Here is Qingcheng, here is the Dang Clan. And…”
He slowly set a third cup between them, a little closer to the first.
“Here. Our inn sits a little nearer to Qingcheng. It is out of the way, yet the waterfall and lake draw a fair number of visitors.”
Only then did Cheongwol feel every piece of information she had heard click into place inside her mind.
“They found it inconvenient. That a former martial artist of the Dang Clan still lived inside their territory. That is why they didn’t even bother to disguise themselves properly—they wanted to leave a warning for the Dang Clan.”
“…I suppose that must be it. And one cannot entirely blame them. Had it been the Dang Clan instead of Qingcheng, the result would likely have been no different.”
A bitter expression crossed the innkeeper’s face as he lowered his head slightly.
“The only mercy is that the long friendship I built while running this inn has kept them silent until now.”
“…But you no longer have any tie to the Dang Clan. This is far too harsh a treatment…”
Even as she spoke, Ak Seo-a already knew the truth. The orthodox martial world stood on a knife’s edge; even a matter this small could not be overlooked.
“Ties are not so easily severed, it seems. One can only accept it.”
After a heavy sigh, the innkeeper picked up the hidden weapon and held it out to Cheongwol.
“Why are you giving this to me…?”
When she tried to refuse, he allowed her no room to retreat and laid the weapon upon her open palm.
“Please take it. After what happened today, I have begun to think that the one who could not let go of the bond with the Dang Clan was me. If I keep this, I fear it will always be so.”
How could one refuse the request of a man trying to set down a heavy burden?
“…Thank you.”
Cheongwol smiled as though she had no choice and slipped the hidden weapon into her robes.
“We are the ones who should thank you. And talking with you has steeled my resolve. For a while we will go down to the village and live there. I cannot lose something greater simply because I was greedy to keep the inn.”
Knowing that “something greater” meant the precious person standing at his side, Cheongwol offered a faint smile of her own.
“Did we only make things worse by stepping in?”
“How could that be?”
Unlike when he had first sat down, the innkeeper rose lightly and gathered the empty dishes.
“To be honest, watching the sparring match was a little satisfying.”