Dokgo Seol bit down hard on her lower lip, so hard that a bead of blood welled up on the soft red flesh.
"Ahh… what on earth… what am I supposed to do?"
In the end, her finely honed sword fell onto the bed beside Cheon Ryu-yeong instead of into him. She let out a long sigh and slumped down.
For a while she just sat there, glaring at the sleeping man with icy fury. The fact that he could sleep so peacefully only made her angrier—angry enough to want to punch him if not stab him. In her mind, she had already kicked him a hundred times.
She slipped out of bed and opened the window.
Cool dawn air kissed her bare skin, chasing away the last of her dizziness.
Fragments of last night's conversation came back to her.
"I was… arrogant. That's why I got taken in by that swindler. The Nokrim Eighteen Strongholds? A brilliant strategist? Hah… ha ha ha."
She looked toward the brightening eastern sky and chastised herself.
Should she take back every coin she'd spent on him? Make him live in debt and misery until he died?
This was, after all, the man who had dared try to con a squad leader of the Murim Alliance's Xuanwu Unit. That kind of punishment would be mild. Or maybe she should just take a hand?
But she pressed a palm to her forehead and shook her head.
What childish nonsense.
Passing off her own poor judgment onto someone else would be disgraceful.
And she remembered his words about the widowed mother and younger sister he had to support. If he was hurt or killed, what would happen to them?
She couldn't ruin two innocent women's lives just to vent her anger.
Cheon Ryu-yeong suddenly mumbled in his sleep.
"Mmm… mmm…"
Then he rolled himself tightly in the blanket—instinctively reacting to the chill after she'd opened the window.
That was when she realized she was still stark naked.
In her anger and humiliation—sharing a room with a man—she'd forgotten to put her clothes back on.
She shut the window and hastily dressed.
The best plan was to leave quietly. If this got out, the shame would come back on her.
"Yes. Two men slept in the same bed. Nothing happened. As long as I keep quiet, it stays that way."
Adjusting her clothes, she started to leave—then stopped when he spoke in his sleep.
"Mmm… I'm hungry. Su-yeon… I'll buy you something tasty."
Cheon Su-yeon—his younger sister's name.
She let out a short laugh. After all they'd eaten and drunk last night, he was still hungry? How poorly must he eat in daily life to dream about food like that?
It was funny… and somehow a little sad.
Even in his sleep, he thought first of buying something nice for his sister.
She turned to look at him again.
He had probably sent most of what he earned from the escort bureau home.
"Maybe he's not such a bad person… No. I can't pity a swindler. I'll forgive him because my mistake led to this, but still—he touched my chest without—"
She couldn't even finish the thought.
Anger, pity, and renewed rage tangled inside her.
He was four years older than she was. Age didn't matter, but… if she'd been born into a ruined scholar's family like him instead of the Dokgo Clan, could she have sacrificed herself from a young age to support her family?
No. She knew herself well enough to know she couldn't. She was too ambitious for that.
"Forget it. Forget it all. Damn it! I'll just say a stray dog bit me. Cheon Ryu-yeong, from now on you're a dog to me. Not that we'll ever meet again."
Clack.
She opened the door and left. In the now-empty inner room, only soft snoring remained.
Mao hour, early dawn (around 5 a.m.)
On the first floor of Seongwolru, she clicked her tongue. Even now, customers were still drinking or eating hangover soup.
Wasting their lives.
From the time she was five, she'd trained with a wooden sword without rest—her values couldn't comprehend such people.
"Leaving already?"
The drowsy clerk at the counter rubbed his eyes.
She cleared her throat. "I have urgent business."
"And your friend?"
She blinked, not following—then realized what he meant. It pricked her pride. Even in men's clothes, anyone could see there was an age gap between them.
"Don't wake him. Let him sleep."
"All right."
The clerk rummaged for something, then called her back as she was heading out.
"Warrior."
"What now?" she snapped, irritation bubbling—she wanted out of this damned place.
He held out his hand. "Your change."
She stared. Ten ten-nyang notes and five nyang in silver—one hundred and five nyang in all. Enough to feed a family for almost a year.
"Our madam said the top suite's charge is waived. Childhood friends meeting after a long time deserve that much. This is what's left from the three hundred nyang you gave when you came in."
Three hundred nyang.
The house steward would scold her soundly for this. Her father too.
The clerk kept chattering, glancing nervously in case she accused them of overcharging. But her mind was elsewhere.
They believed she and Cheon Ryu-yeong were old friends. Better to let them go on thinking that. And she wanted no reminders of last night.
"My friend's in a difficult situation."
"Oh! Then shall I give this to him?"
She nodded.
"Generous indeed. As expected, the handsome are different. If only I had a friend like you. I'll deliver it to him personally."
He was already planning to skim five nyang for himself. Surely someone who spent so freely wouldn't miss it.
Dokgo Seol stepped out into the cold dark. Pulling her clothes tighter, she glanced up at the ninth floor—where Cheon Ryu-yeong still slept.
Cheon Ryu-yeong. The pity I felt for you is settled at one hundred nyang. It's also the price of my mistake, a lesson I'll remember. All that's left is anger toward the swindler you are—so pray we never cross paths again.
She strode off quickly.
Cheon Ryu-yeong woke late in the morning, clutching his pounding head.
"Damn… what the hell happened last night?"
After much effort, he recalled their final exchange.
He clenched his fist.
"Heh… foppish bastard! I beat you."
He'd never revealed his secret. Grinning, he got up—then froze.
"What if… I didn't pay the bill?"
Sunshine in his mind turned instantly to storm clouds.
The room he'd slept in was so lavish he'd never even dreamed of such a place.
"If that's the case, then I'm…"
He trudged down to the first floor, dread gnawing. The clerk spotted him and lit up.
"Young master!"
"Uh—y-yes?" Cold sweat ran down his back. Being called "young master" felt like being marked as a sucker.
He had only eight nyang in his pocket—enough for the trip home to Sahan County and a month's expenses for his family.
The clerk brushed at his shabby clothes.
"You have a wonderful friend. I'm envious."
"…?"
"Your friend gave you a generous sum after hearing of your hardships."
"What?" His eyes widened.
"I stayed up to give it to you personally."
He pulled ten banknotes from his pouch. Cheon Ryu-yeong's breath caught.
One hundred nyang!
The clerk pressed it into his hand.
"They say friendship is one of life's greatest treasures. In that sense, you're living well."
He stared at the money, baffled. Why would that foppish bastard give him this?
Had he revealed the truth? No—he was sure he hadn't, no matter how drunk.
Then why?
His expression twisted. Could he have been so drunk he'd talked without remembering?
If so, the consequences could be dire. The Nokrim Eighteen Strongholds might send killers. Or others could decide to silence him. That was the martial world.
Late regret churned in him.
Though just a porter, he'd kept an ear to martial affairs while at the escort bureau. He should never have assumed he was separate from the murim. That complacency had only grown since leaving Jinshan Escort Bureau.
He wandered out of Seongwolru in a daze, still turning it over.
Had he said something? Maybe not. The man had acted like someone possessed by a ghost that couldn't stop spending money.
Could he just have met a reckless spendthrift by luck? No… that man's calculating eyes had belied the extravagance. Such a man wouldn't give up and hand over money unless it was like stumbling over a bar of gold in the street.
What had really happened between them?
Lost in thought, he stopped in front of a familiar place—the ramshackle shack on the west end of Chengdu, beside the main road.
A rice-soup stall, its bowls so cheap he'd often come to fill his belly.
Cheap for a reason—the taste wasn't great, and there wasn't even a table, just sitting on the ground outside. But the portions were big.
Even now, many were sitting around it slurping rice soup, beggars among them.
He decided to get a hangover soup and think it over.
Tak tak tak.
The sound of galloping hooves thundered across the ground.
The Dokgo Clan brought three hundred warriors, the Kunlun Sect four hundred, and the Xuanwu Unit one hundred and fifty—eight hundred and fifty martial artists in all—marching six abreast down the main road.
At the front rode thirty of their highest leaders, their eyes sharp and fierce enough to overwhelm the onlookers who lined both sides of the street.
At last, they reached the road leading out of the city and toward the vast, empty grasslands.
Suddenly, Dokgo Muyoung, patriarch of the Dokgo Clan, raised one hand and pulled his reins with the other.
"Wait."
At once, Hwang Haseong, chief steward of the Dokgo Clan and riding just behind, called out loudly,
"Everyone halt!"
Among the riders, the foremost three were:
Dokgo Muyoung, patriarch of the Dokgo Clan.
Invincible Sword Han Chugwang, leader of the Kunlun Sect.
Neung Unbi, head of the Xuanwu Unit of the Murim Alliance.
Han Chugwang narrowed his eyes.
"Isn't that the banner of the Murim Alliance's Sichuan branch?"
Far off on the horizon, a lone figure was running toward them, carrying a banner. To an ordinary person it would be no more than a speck, but Han Chugwang's eyesight was exceptional.
Neung Unbi focused his internal energy into his eyes, then nodded.
"Yes. And more strangely, the one carrying the banner is a Buddhist nun."
Dokgo Muyoung, who had stopped the procession, replied,
"Looks like she's trying to bring us some message. Let's wait."
At that moment, from the roadside where a few people were eating rice soup, a young man suddenly bolted forward.
It was Cheon Ryuyeong.
He ran straight toward Dokgo Seol, who was riding at the very rear of the thirty leaders.
"Hey! No—excuse me!"
Cheon Ryuyeong was desperate. He knew full well how reckless it was to run into the midst of a martial procession, but he had no time to calculate such things.
Dokgo Seol was dumbfounded. She had prayed to the heavens never to see him again—and here he was, in less than three hours.
Two warriors riding behind her frowned and raised their hands, warning him not to approach any further.
No one reached for their weapons. Frankly, in his ragged state, he looked more like a beggar than a threat. People only stared, puzzled over what madness drove him to do this.
Cheon Ryuyeong hesitated under the glare of the armed guards, but he had already stepped into danger, and his questions were a matter of life and death.
"What is the meaning of the one hundred nyang?"
His question shot through the air straight to Dokgo Seol. Heads turned from him to her, eyes full of confusion.
This shabby fellow knew the Sword Peak Dokgo Seol?
Her face flushed red with embarrassment, discomfort, and anger. Even her father, Dokgo Muyoung, and Jo Jeonhu in front of her frowned at her.
Sensing something was off but too anxious to care, Cheon Ryuyeong pressed again.
"Tell me—what does the one hundred nyang mean?"
She bit her lip under the weight of all the stares, then snapped,
"Get lost, you swindler! I never want to have anything to do with you again!"
Now all eyes went back to Cheon Ryuyeong—who, oddly enough, looked relieved.
Ah! If she's calling me a swindler, then I didn't spill the secret.
The dark clouds over his heart vanished. But another question remained.
"Then why give me the money?"
She sighed, knowing he wouldn't stop until she answered.
"Because I pitied you. Stop cheating people and think of your widowed mother and sister. Live honestly."
"So that's it? As expected, the rich spend differently. Thank you. But that's too much money… and the drinks weren't cheap either—"
"Enough. If you speak to me again, I'll take it back and have you bound."
Cheon Ryuyeong hunched his shoulders like a turtle and backed away.
The absurd commotion passed, and Dokgo Muyoung clicked his tongue.
"Tsk, tsk. She said she'd stand on her own—what is she doing now?"
Dokgo Seol bit her lip harder in frustration. Fortunately, attention soon shifted to the figure racing toward them with the banner.
The runner was indeed a nun, her robes drenched in sweat.
"Who… who is Patriarch Dokgo? And who is the Invincible Sword of Kunlun? There's terrible trouble—"
She was so breathless she could barely speak. Dokgo Muyoung, Han Chugwang, and Neung Unbi quickly dismounted.
"Aren't you from the Emei Sect? Why are you carrying the Sichuan branch's banner—"
Dokgo Muyoung handed her a water flask before he even finished asking. She drank it down in one long pull, so heartily it made even the onlookers thirsty.
Han Chugwang, sensing bad news, asked,
"What happened?"
The nun blurted out,
"It's terrible! Our Emei Sect is surrounded by black-clad bandits one hundred li south of the Sichuan branch! Please, come quickly!"
Eight hundred and fifty martial artists stirred at once.
Dokgo Muyoung was alarmed.
"What did you say? The Emei Sect is under attack?"
She nodded rapidly.
"Yes! We set out early for the Sichuan branch, but about six hundred black-clad men ambushed us from the mountains. Even though our sect is made up of elites, they're all elites too, and they're twice our number. Our sect leader sent me to find allies."
Han Chugwang clenched his fists in fury.
"How can this be? The Demonic Sect shouldn't arrive until tomorrow or the day after—wait! That means they had men hidden in advance?"
The nun wiped the sweat from her brow.
"Yes. It seems Cheonma Sword Baek Yunhoe infiltrated the area beforehand. When I went to ask the Sichuan branch for help, I found they were also under attack by him. Their branch leader told me to seek help from the Dokgo Clan, Kunlun Sect, and Xuanwu Unit."
Gasps spread through the crowd.
Cheonma Sword Baek Yunhoe—the undefeated general of the Demonic Sect, who had ravaged the Outer Murim—now striking at the Central Plains.
Han Chugwang's eyes burned with killing intent. Baek Yunhoe had once burned the Kunlun Sect's mountain home to the ground, forcing them to relocate to Chengdu.
"Cheonma Sword! Finally, my chance for revenge has come."
Han Chugwang turned to Dokgo Muyoung.
"Patriarch, I will lead Kunlun to the Sichuan branch. You take the Xuanwu Unit and rescue Emei."
"Agreed. We have no time to lose. I'll send a carrier pigeon to the Tang Clan."
Both men nodded grimly.
Then—
Cheon Ryuyeong suddenly cupped his hands to his mouth and called toward Dokgo Seol in a low but clear voice:
"Hey! You stay out of this!"
Some thought they'd misheard. Even Dokgo Seol assumed it was an auditory illusion—until he waved to her and repeated,
"You stay out of it."
Her temper shot through the roof.
By now, Han Chugwang and many warriors were glaring at him murderously.
Sensing danger, Cheon Ryuyeong quickly added,
"That's my last warning. I can't sleep easy unless I repay what you gave me. If you don't want to die, stay out."
She exploded.
"You crazy fool! Are you telling me to be a coward?"
He flinched but stood his ground. He couldn't just watch someone who'd given him a fortune walk into danger.
"That nun is a fake."
"What?"
"Fake! She's got to be a spy from Cheonma Sword Baek Yunhoe."
"What nonsense—"
Before she could finish, a gust of wind swept past her.
Han Chugwang moved like lightning and grabbed Cheon Ryuyeong by the collar.
"Do you even know what you're saying? You dare cause disorder here with such lies?"
"I'm only speaking the truth."
"You dare—"
Han Chugwang raised his fist, but Cheon Ryuyeong blurted,
"I have ten reasons why that nun is Baek Yunhoe's spy!"
Everyone froze.
No one noticed the nun's eyes flicker wildly.