Chapter 5: My Path
The air in the room was suffocatingly heavy.
Only the sound of warm tea sliding down a parched throat echoed in the silence.
Muk Yeo-jin looked across at the woman before him—his mother, Namgung Ryeong-ryeong—with eyes full of tangled emotions. She too held his gaze, unflinching.
In the past, every time Yeo-jin faced his mother, the long silence that inevitably followed had been unbearable.
"I once thought perhaps she had no interest in me at all… or that she even disliked seeing me."
But now, he knew the truth.
She was not indifferent—merely far too cautious.
[What words should I offer him?][What if something careless I say wounds my child?]
Surely these kinds of thoughts were swirling endlessly in her mind.
After all, Yeo-jin had been moved to the Mangdam Pavilion before he could even walk. Mother and son were separated, meeting only once a year on his birthday. With so little time together, every word carried immense weight.
Now, however, Yeo-jin could even find joy in this long silence.
Yet he could not afford to waste these precious moments with the mother he had not seen in over a decade.
Suppressing the surge of emotion, he finally opened his mouth.
"It has been a long time, Mother."
Namgung Ryeong-ryeong flinched. There was a deep sorrow in her son's voice she could not explain.
"…You've changed so much. And it's only been a year."
It was the first time he had ever spoken to her first.
And more than that—just sitting there, he exuded a strange, unfamiliar aura.
Especially earlier that day. His demeanor before the Lord of Sadocheon had left even her, his mother, utterly shaken.
She knew her son's gentle and fragile nature better than anyone. Enough that she almost doubted whether this boy was truly her son.
But a mother does not fail to recognize her own child.
The boy before her was undeniably her Yeo-jin.
"Yes, it's him. It's truly him…"
And that only deepened her confusion.
What on earth had happened to change him so drastically?
Meanwhile, Yeo-jin could read her thoughts as if they were laid bare.
"Many things have happened, Mother."
In truth, it wasn't a mere year. He had changed from the roots over a lifetime. But even to his mother, he could not yet speak of his return.
"Forgive me. One day, I will tell you everything."
Hiding his true heart, Yeo-jin smiled softly.
"Children are supposed to change quickly, Mother."
Her eyes narrowed.
"You sound like an old man already."
"Haha… hardly. I'm still only a dreamy, foolish twelve-year-old."
Her eyes narrowed even further. Feeling the sting, Yeo-jin quickly changed the subject.
"Ah! Mother, it's been a while since I last drew a picture for you."
As a child, whenever he saw her, he often painted her portrait. It had been his way to bridge the awkward silence.
But Namgung Ryeong-ryeong had cherished those drawings, treasuring them as if they were priceless.
Taking her silence as approval, Yeo-jin stood and opened the door to speak with Pyoyeon, her personal maid.
"Auntie, could you please bring ink and paper?"
Pyoyeon's eyes widened in shock.
"A–Auntie!? Young master, please, that's unthinkable! How could a lowborn like me—"
"Please don't say that. You are my mother's only friend in this land where she has no kin. It's only right that I address you properly. Isn't that so, Mother?"
He turned back slightly, and Namgung Ryeong-ryeong too was staring at him wide-eyed.
She had crossed the river alone into Guangxi through a political marriage, surrounded by enemies in Sadocheon. Her only solace had been Pyoyeon.
Yeo-jin remembered vividly how, in his past life, when Pyoyeon died under mysterious circumstances, his mother had wailed for three days and nights.
"Do not worry, Mother. In this life, no one will dare lay a hand on those who belong to me."
Her eyes, once dazed, now filled with pride and affection for her son. A smile finally curved her lips.
"If that is what you wish, then so be it."
Emotion welled up on Pyoyeon's face.
"Young lady…"
"Ahem! Pyoyeon… I'm no longer so young. At least don't call me that in front of my son…"
Yeo-jin burst into laughter.
The mood lightened.
Pyoyeon soon entered the room with brushes, ink, and colored pigments. Her sleeves were damp with tears, but Yeo-jin pretended not to notice.
"Next time, I'll paint both you and my mother together."
Pyoyeon beamed.
"I'll look forward to it, young master."
Once she left, Yeo-jin fixed the paper to the wooden frame, then glanced at his mother.
"Mother, turn your head slightly to the left. Your profile is far more beautiful than your front."
Her eyes narrowed again.
"Are you truly my son? You speak like such a sly fox…"
"Shh! Don't move. The composition will be ruined."
She could only purse her lips as Yeo-jin hurriedly began his work.
The brush glided across the page, line after line.
"It's been so long that my technique feels clumsy…"
Not since before the Blood Sect began their slaughter across the Central Plains had he last held a brush.
But just as his martial arts talent was unmatched, so too was his gift for painting. Even Baekmyo, famed as one of the three great painters of the Central Plains, had once envied his skill.
Soon, his strokes grew steady and fluid.
As the painting took shape, a sudden thought struck him.
"Painting and swordplay… they're remarkably alike."
Not all lines drawn by the same brush carry the same meaning. Not all strokes are equal.
The same was true of the sword.
Each stroke carved into the blank page like a blade slashing through the air. He painted as though wielding a short sword.
Vertical lines soft, diagonal strokes heavy, curves light, upward strokes brilliant and bold.
Time passed.
And in a fleeting instant, Yeo-jin glimpsed a possibility.
"Perhaps… I could merge brushwork and swordsmanship into a new martial art."
Yet he also knew.
"Not yet. I still need greater mastery before I can reach that point."
Placing the brush down gently, he chuckled inwardly.
"To think I start contemplating martial arts even while painting… truly, I've become a swordsman."
Before long, a portrait of his mother's beauty came into full view.
Mixing pigments, he spoke softly.
"I don't think I'll be painting for you again anytime soon."
Her brow twitched.
"Then… you intend to set aside the brush for the sword?"
"Yes."
His calm reply darkened her expression.
He was brilliant, yes, but weak. Just last year he had only dreamed of painting, uninterested in martial arts.
But now—his shocking display before the Lord of Sadocheon, his sudden resolve to abandon painting—what had brought such a change?
Could someone have pressured him?
The wives of Sadocheon were bound by political marriages. Their children's standing determined their influence.
That was why Hye Rang-young, despite her lack of talent, could strut about arrogantly—her daughter, Muk I-yeon, was a prodigy who had seized command of the Jeokrang Division at a young age.
But Namgung Ryeong-ryeong was the opposite. A daughter of the righteous sect, already despised, and with a son rumored to be frail and useless—her household staff suffered increasing scorn and harassment.
She could have resisted. She had the strength.
But for her son's sake, she endured in silence.
Now she feared her son was choosing this path out of obligation to her.
Her hands clenched into fists.
She had once sworn to the heavens that, unlike her, her son would live the life he desired.
"Yeo-jin… whatever you've heard, you need not walk a path you do not want."
But his reply came firm.
"No, Mother."
The unshakable resolve in his voice made her whip her head toward him.
And what she saw in his eyes stunned her.
"How… how can a mere twelve-year-old possess such desperate determination? What happened to you, my son?"
She could not say the words aloud.
Instead, his voice rang again, steady and clear.
"I choose the martial path not because of persuasion, coercion, or for anyone else's sake. I choose it because I desire it—for myself. This is my path."
She still could not understand his transformation.
But one thing was certain.
He was sincere.
His eyes were those of one ready to hurl himself into a storm of blood and steel without hesitation.
The eyes of a true warrior.
The same eyes she herself once had.
Letting out a sigh, she murmured.
"…So, blood really cannot be denied."
"After all, am I not the son of that Lord of Sadocheon?"
She gave him a sideways look, then chuckled.
"That's true enough. So then—will you allow your mother to finally live with some dignity?"
"Please look forward to it. Soon, no one in Sadocheon will dare raise their voice against you."
"Your bravado is unmatched, but you are not there yet. For today, at least, this mother will handle the guest."
"…Guest? What do you mean—"
BOOM!
A thunderous crash shook the residence.
At the same moment, Namgung Ryeong-ryeong straightened her clothes and rose.
"Since my son has chosen to change, then I too will no longer endure."