Namgung Clan
The two left the Namgung Clan and walked toward the forge Namgung Jincheon had indicated.
Tang Mujin felt a faint unease. It was because Goiyi wore a deadly serious expression.
When someone usually stern grows angry, it's burdensome enough. But when someone who always laughs and jokes suddenly turns grave—it's far heavier.
Unable to endure the silence, Tang Mujin spoke.
"What's wrong? Did you run into someone you don't get along with?"
"No. Running into a few unpleasant people doesn't matter. That happens all the time. The problem is your behavior."
"What? That story about a sword giving birth? I know it's nonsense, but I had no choice. It was the only excuse I could come up with. You went along with it—so why bring it up now?"
"No. Whether a sword gives birth or nurses, that's not the issue."
Goiyi tapped his temple with his finger, then cast Tang Mujin a sidelong glance as if gathering his thoughts.
"How many times have I told you? Better to be a mad dog than a fool. Do you know why I said that?"
Tang Mujin had taken the 'fool versus mad dog' line lightly.
After all, Goiyi joked too often for every word to be taken seriously.
"Well… So I wouldn't be looked down on?"
"Exactly. But what does it mean to be looked down on in the martial world?"
"Someone weak?"
"That's part of it. But there's someone even easier to look down on—someone who never pays anything back. In that sense, covering Namgung Myeong's malice with kindness makes you a perfect fool."
After all that grave buildup, the conclusion was: You're a fool. Tang Mujin answered irritably.
"So what? A broad-minded man like me can choose to be generous. It doesn't take months to forge a sword. Just a few days of effort."
"No. This was something you should not have covered with kindness. Remember this: kindness must be repaid with kindness, malice with malice."
It was a brutally straightforward answer. Tang Mujin could not grasp it.
"How was I supposed to repay Namgung Myeong's malice? My knees were already shaking just from Namgung Jincheon's presence."
Goiyi clicked his tongue at him.
"Who told you to repay it right away? If you lack the strength, sometimes you can't return kindness, and you can't avenge malice. That's how life goes—debts and favors left unresolved. But you must never repay kindness with malice, and you must never cover malice with kindness. What you did wasn't ignoring malice—you tried to repay it with kindness."
Not repaying kindness with malice—that Tang Mujin could understand. Such people were called ungrateful, after all.
But not covering malice with kindness? That was harder to accept.
"Isn't that too rigid? Whether someone's intent is good or bad, if I have room to spare, why can't I show kindness first? Since I've done them a kindness, surely Namgung Jinya and Namgung Myeong will feel grateful to me."
Tang Mujin's father, Tang Jaeseon, had often treated the poor without taking money. Whether with friends, acquaintances, or even those who disliked him.
Often, by extending kindness first, old grudges melted away. Sometimes, he even received more in return than medicine fees could buy: a basket of fine fruit, a pair of handwoven sandals.
This tradition carried on for generations, letting the Tang family live as beloved physicians in Chengdu.
Hearing this, Goiyi's brow furrowed.
"Of course. A man who's spent his whole life brewing tonics in the backwater wouldn't understand this."
"I've never been called stupid before."
"I don't mean you're stupid. I mean you don't understand the ways of martial men. Listen carefully. If you repay kindness with malice, no one will extend a hand to you again. But if you repay malice with kindness, you'll draw wolves eager to devour you."
"But—"
"Be quiet and listen. If you cover malice with kindness, nine out of ten will repay you with greater kindness. Martial men are still people, and people know gratitude. But one in ten will repay you with malice again."
"Then isn't the answer clear? Without kindness, I face ten enemies' malice. With kindness, I face just one. Showing kindness is better."
Goiyi snorted.
"That answer proves you don't understand martial men. Malice toward a physician might mean gossip or grumbling in the street. But malice between martial men ends with steel and blood."
In the distance, the old forge came into view.
Goiyi's pace slowed, as though he wanted to finish his words before they entered.
"Ten enemies blocking your path—you can handle that. You can run, retreat, or rally allies to fight with you. But one enemy drawing a blade at your back—you cannot handle that. Don't hand out cheap kindness that creates danger behind you."
His steps slowed even further. The two now walked at a crawl. The wind was calm.
"Why do you think Namgung Jinya bowed so low to someone of your mere second-rate level? It's simple. He's lived long enough to know how hard it is to overlook malice. And why did I cut him off and press him? Because I know how dangerous it is to cover malice."
Finally, Goiyi stopped, folding his arms and fixing Tang Mujin with a stern gaze.
He didn't look like a mere travel companion. More like an elder brother, a senior of the martial world—or something else altogether.
"So what should I have done?"
"I told you: justice is setting wrong things back in their place. You should've told Namgung Jincheon the truth, and let Namgung Myeong bear his punishment."
"But Namgung Jinya said Myeong would be thrown in prison or crippled. That's too much."
Goiyi nodded faintly, acknowledging the point.
"Stopping short at covering part of his fault would've been fine. As you said earlier—another stole the sword, and it just happened to end up in Namgung Myeong's hands. That would've been the best course. But deciding to forge him a new sword, adding kindness on top—that was foolish. You went too far."
Tang Mujin understood what Goiyi meant.
But he could not accept it easily in his heart.
What he had learned as a physician, and the lessons Goiyi spoke, were too different.
Goiyi stood in silence for a long time, then finally chuckled. The heavy mood lightened.
"You soft-hearted fool. Forget it. Everyone learns after being bitten once. Before that, few ever understand."
A cool breeze swept down the slope.
The two didn't enter the forge but circled it slowly.
It was far enough from the village that no one would come near.
"Still, remember this: never cover malice with kindness. You're a physician—you'll extend kindness to many, so all the more reason."
Their footsteps echoed in the quiet. Tang Mujin broke the silence.
"…Do you think Namgung Myeong will try to harm me?"
"Who knows. But he's not innately wicked. If he were, he'd have killed you or acted so no one could trace it back to him."
Tang Mujin let out a sigh of relief, stretched lightly, and entered the forge.
Flames sprang to life in the dust-choked furnace, and soon the sound of hammering filled the air.
Goiyi didn't go inside. He sat out front until sundown, lost in old memories.
Five days later, Tang Mujin and Goiyi returned to the Namgung Clan. A few onlookers murmured at their approach.
"They're here."
Spectacle was rare in this world.
Though days had passed since the banquet should have ended, many still lingered around the Namgung Clan, so the feast had dragged on.
A host must serve as long as guests remain, after all.
The crowd followed Tang Mujin and Goiyi back into the Namgung compound.
As before, Namgung Jincheon sat at the head seat, with Namgung Jinya, Namgung Myeong, and other household leaders flanking him.
Tang Mujin glanced at Namgung Myeong beside his father. Fear and guilt were written across his face.
All eyes focused on Goiyi.
But he did not speak. He was only the guarantor. This stage belonged to Tang Mujin.
Namgung Jincheon asked calmly:
"I am curious. Did the sword give birth?"
A ripple of laughter spread through the hall. No one truly believed such nonsense.
They were waiting for two things. First, what excuse this bold youth would conjure to claim the Namgung treasure sword. Second, why Goiyi had taken his side.
If there was a third—it was to see what kind of death awaited them for mocking the Namgung Clan.
The clan's martial artists stared at Tang Mujin. The gaze of masters sharp enough to cut flesh.
Under the pressure, Tang Mujin's heart pounded. Yet he kept his face steady with practiced shamelessness.
"Yes. A healthy offspring was born."
Amid sneers, Tang Mujin produced two swords.
Two blades identical in appearance.
The onlookers nodded knowingly.
The most basic trick: prepare a copy and swap one out.
But the chance of success here was almost nil. Against street merchants, perhaps—but never against sword devotees like the Namgung Clan.
The crowd whispered.
"Even Goiyi's sunk this low, to meddle in such a farce."
"He's always lived with half a life wagered. Surprising he's survived this long."
At Namgung Jincheon's gesture, the clan steward collected both swords.
One was passed to the far left of the hall, the other to the far right.
On the left, the head of Ipcheong Hall, Namgung Hwan, received a sword.
Namgung Jincheon spoke.
"Test them one by one, then pass them along."
Namgung Hwan drew his sword. Its plain blade gleamed in the sun.
This one's genuine.
Like others there, Namgung Hwan had devoted his life to the sword.
At such mastery, one didn't even need to swing to recognize a blade's quality. Balance, gleam, aura—all marked a true treasure.
Though certain already, he stepped forward and swung. Who knew if he'd ever hold such a blade again in his life?
Namgung Hwan savored the moment.
…Superb.
The sharp sensation of cutting air.
He longed to test it against another sword. This was the fabled treasure said to have split the Three Peaks Sword in half.
Any match, any duel—he wished to feel this more.
Reluctantly, he passed the sword along, for beside him Namgung Jinseol of Bisang Hall waited her turn.
She too soon wore a foolish grin as she swung the blade.
Meanwhile, from the other side, the second sword made its way around until it reached Namgung Jinseol, who then handed it to Namgung Hwan. Her expression was strange.
Namgung Hwan disliked this moment. He didn't want a crude imitation to sully the feel left on his hand.
But he wasn't there for selfish pleasure. With some reluctance, he drew the new blade.
And froze.
…Why is the genuine sword back again?
He swung it. The sharpness cut the air. Even without channeling qi, it felt as though it carried qi within.
Certain now, Namgung Hwan declared:
"A switch has been made. The genuine blade has passed this way twice."
The other household heads hadn't spoken yet, still uncertain in their judgment.
Thus Namgung Hwan relished the chance to be first to expose the trick, basking in subtle superiority—until Namgung Unjung of Seongwan Hall spoke up.
"No. The genuine blade passed this side twice as well."
Namgung Hwan rose in visible disappointment, glaring.
With so many spectators, for a hall chief to show such poor discernment was shameful. If he'd kept silent, no one would have known.
He stalked over and thrust out his hand.
"Give me that sword."
Namgung Unjung reluctantly handed it over.
Namgung Hwan grasped it—and felt a bizarre shock.
This one too was genuine.
"What in the world…?"
He swung it. The aura was sharp enough to slice flesh.
The blade was supple and flexible, yet not unstable. The balance, which seemed as if it might snap at any moment, instantly returned to its natural state. And contrasting it all—the coarse, rough texture of the hilt.
It was unmistakably genuine.
No—this was impossible.
One of the two had to be a counterfeit. A mere imitation, crudely forged to resemble the original.
But the sensation at his fingertips declared that both were authentic.
Only now did Namgung Hwan understand the flicker of doubt that had crossed Namgung Jinseol's face earlier.
Flustered, Namgung Hwan stammered, "Uh, uh—"
Namgung Jincheon pressed him.
"The blades moved without crossing. Tell me, Namgung Hwan. The sword in your left hand, and the sword in your right. Which one is real?"
Namgung Hwan glanced around in panic.
The young swindler, the eccentric, and dozens of onlookers—all waited for his answer with sharp ears.
That he had to say something was obvious, but no answer could be found.
So Namgung Hwan lowered his head.
"...I do not know. My judgment is lacking. Both seemed genuine to me."
A few bold spectators booed.
"And they call him a master at the peak of martial skill? Can't even tell a real sword from a fake?"
Then a voice from among the crowd slipped into Namgung Hwan's ears.
"What if both were genuine from the start?"
Yes. That was it. His head snapped up.
"Yes! Both are genuine. Twin blades, forged from a single hand."
Namgung Jincheon burst into laughter.
"Indeed. Perhaps twins. Twins born of the same womb."
Raising his hand, he pointed at Tang Mujin. Namgung Hwan's eyes followed his finger.
Tang Mujin held yet another identical sword.
"Wha—...?"
Namgung Hwan's head spun. Not two, but three?
Did the sword truly... give birth to twins? Impossible. At least one of the three had to be false.
He strode over to Tang Mujin and seized the sword from his hand.
Drawing it from its scabbard, he swung it in a practiced flourish—one he had executed tens of thousands of times before.
The sensation at his fingertips declared this one genuine as well.
Namgung Hwan's gaze darted about wildly. The onlookers looked just as bewildered. Tang Mujin and the eccentric wore smug expressions of confidence.
Ordinarily, Namgung Hwan cared deeply for how others perceived him.
But now, he had no room left to worry about how much of a fool he looked, what sort of disgrace he was making of himself.
"This is strange. I cannot explain it. There is no fake..."
Thus did Namgung Hwan, a master at the pinnacle of martial arts, effectively proclaim all three blades to be authentic. Shock swept through the crowd.
And it wasn't only Namgung Hwan. Other warriors of the Namgung clan, too, nodded—they, as well, had felt nothing false in the two swords they had touched.
Speculation buzzed in every head.
What trickery had been used?
Some kind of drug to muddle the mind? Impossible. Perhaps one or two, but not the entire Namgung clan.
A staged performance, then? Unthinkable—what reason would they have?
Had there been three genuine swords from the very beginning? That made no sense either.
Secretly forged in a smithy? Nonsense. Swords weren't things that could be hammered out overnight. And even if they were, the Namgung warriors would never mistake a crude forgery for the real thing.
Then... had the sword truly given birth to offspring, as they claimed? That, too, was absurd.
Every possibility was laughably far-fetched. The spectators whispered among themselves, voices swelling into a restless drone.
Namgung Jincheon stamped his foot lightly. The ground trembled; a faint haze of dust rose. The murmurs fell silent.
Both the Namgung warriors and the crowd fixed their ears on his words.
"Namgung Hwan says all three are genuine. The other patriarchs and branch masters agree. Does anyone here claim to guess the reason?"
The Namgung warriors shook their heads. No spectator dared speak.
Namgung Jincheon smiled faintly.
"Since no one can fathom the reason, we must honor Tang Mujin's account."
It was, in essence, a declaration in the name of one of the Six Lords.
Though the truth remained unknowable, the matter was no longer up for debate.
Tang Mujin stepped forward to Namgung Hwan and extended his hand. Namgung Hwan, almost without realizing, handed the sword back.
Now holding all three blades, Tang Mujin walked up to Namgung Myeong. His knees trembled faintly, though few noticed.
Namgung Myeong's heart thundered in his chest. His eyes quivered with unease.
Before the clan elders and countless witnesses, Tang Mujin might at any moment declare him a thief.
But instead, Tang Mujin spoke softly.
"Even a stray dog, when the time to whelp draws near, seeks out a den. This blade must have been heavy with birth, which is why it sought the hands of Hero Namgung Myeong."
He placed one of the newborn blades before Namgung Myeong.
"Treat it with care."
As Tang Mujin finished, Namgung Jincheon clapped his hands lightly.
"A rare spectacle, and rare blades. How can we not commemorate today? Everyone, stay another day, feast and drink. Tang Mujin and the eccentric shall lodge in the inner hall tonight."
The banquet, once nearing its end, swelled anew with food and wine.
The crowd, still trying to imagine what they had just witnessed, slowly surrendered to drink and merriment.
The last day of the feast was livelier than the first. After all, a banquet's spirit depended not on its length, but on the amusements it offered.
And nothing could rival the spectacle of Tang Mujin presenting three swords.
Night deepened. While the guests grew merrily drunk, Tang Mujin and the eccentric reclined in the Namgung clan's most luxurious quarters. Tang Mujin had never set foot in such a fine building.
He, too, had drunk a few cups, and his face was flushed.
Perhaps not from the alcohol, but from the lingering thrill of the day's events.
"Whew. That was close. I thought it was all over."
"Over? With so many eyes watching? The Namgung warriors are reckless, but they don't draw blades in front of an audience."
"Trouble doesn't always come from swords. Just meeting Namgung Jincheon's eyes made my legs quake. And I had to keep my face steady on top of that."
"Hmph. If your courage is so small, what sort of man are you?"
The eccentric snorted. He wanted to tease him more, but he had to admit Tang Mujin had handled himself rather well. Admirably, even.
Tang Mujin grinned sheepishly.
"Still, I think this settles everything. The grudge is over, at least for now."
Namgung Myeong's scandal had been sealed with Namgung Jincheon's authority.
Having gained a sword without losing face, Namgung Myeong had no reason to bear resentment. And even if, by some twist, he did, he could hardly defy Namgung Jincheon's ruling to harm Tang Mujin.
"Don't go thinking things will always go your way. One out of ten will still want to swallow you whole. And it's not over yet."
"What else is left?"
"The most important part."
"The most important part?"
"Grudges always cut both ways. They'll come to settle theirs soon enough. Ah—speak of the tiger, and he arrives."
Even as he spoke, footsteps approached from beyond the door.