Yangyang
Though he had claimed he would track the escaped Salmak leader, Hyeon-gong merely kept a cautious distance, quietly tailing Tang Mujin's group.
It wasn't that he knew any real tracking skills—rather, he wanted to deepen his ties with Namgung Myeong and Hong Golgae.
When the group reached Jingajang, Hyeon-gong hid some distance away, peeking his head out to observe.
But instead of an immediate clash, Namgung Myeong stood atop a hall roof, Hong Golgae perched on the wall—both merely watching, as though not intending to fight.
"What are they doing?"
Surely Tang Mujin wouldn't face the assassins alone.
Yet the sounds from inside Jingajang proved otherwise—noise, chaos, then flames rising from one of the halls.
That meant the assassins had been defeated.
Hyeon-gong struggled to understand.
"Did Tang Mujin kill them all alone? He didn't seem that strong. Was the martial art he learned from Gwei really that powerful? Or did he have hidden help I didn't see?"
As he pondered, a crowd of Taeui disciples appeared from the alley. Hyeon-gong crouched low again, observing.
"Now there'll be a big fight."
He pricked up his ears, ready. If Tang Mujin's group seemed to be losing, he would slip in and lend a hand—just enough to claim credit.
The Taeui disciples might curse him for it, but if he left no survivors, then no problem.
"Even if survivors remain, it's fine. Given this location, I can easily frame Taeui as having colluded with Salmak. It's not even a lie."
A flicker of guilt touched him, but he brushed it off. Such was the way of the martial world.
Yet Jingajang remained quiet. No clash of steel, no screams—only the steady crackle of burning timber.
"Did they really resolve it peacefully? Is that even possible?"
Whatever the truth, it was nearly time for him to act.
Hyeon-gong rose, jogging in place, working up sweat as though he'd been running hard.
A short while later, when Tang Mujin's group emerged, Hyeon-gong hurried toward them, wiping his brow with his sleeve.
"Ah—! I rushed back thinking I might lend a hand, but it's already over?"
Tang Mujin asked casually, "Yes. Didn't take long. Did you gain anything?"
Hyeon-gong shook his head.
"Their traces were faint—as expected of assassins. Still, I pressed on as best I could, but once they entered the forest, there was no way to follow."
His downcast expression was so convincing that no one doubted him.
Tang Mujin, who hadn't expected much anyway, nodded lightly.
"Well, if an assassin's trail were so easy to find, that'd be the stranger thing. Anyway, good work. I hope we meet again someday."
But Hyeon-gong panicked—Tang Mujin was already speaking as though they were parting.
Tang Mujin's business was done, but Hyeon-gong's was not.
"I can't let them slip away."
Within Wudang, Hyeon-gong's position was excellent—but not unrivaled.
Among his generation, he was the foremost of the late-stage disciples. But widen the scope, and there were many whose accomplishments already surpassed his.
"I'm too young to aim for the next sect leader's position. But the one after that must be mine."
The problem was, there was no guarantee his current lead would last. The contest for sect leadership was still far off. Some late-blooming genius could rise and eclipse him at any time.
But the sect leader's seat was not decided by martial skill alone.
Martial ability, character, reputation, ties with the previous leader—all were weighed together.
Thus Hyeon-gong endlessly sought ways to secure his claim.
And he had found one solution: connections.
As Wudang rose to the rank of the Nine Great Sects, nearby Daoist factions—like Zhongnan and Huashan—were subtly keeping them in check.
Wudang was strengthening internally, but its external influence was harder to expand.
So what if he brought the future Beggar Sect Chief and the future Namgung Patriarch to Wudang Mountain, and flaunted that connection?
"They'll have no choice but to regard me as their peer."
Who else but the next Wudang leader would be seen mingling with such heirs? He would be the one expanding Wudang's reach, the man destined to lead the Nine Great Sects.
Glancing at Tang Mujin, Hyeon-gong decided: though slightly beneath the others, anyone hailed as one of the Three Great Physicians in his twenties was still a prodigy.
"Fine. You barely pass. You're in."
All this he thought in the span of a breath.
Feigning surprise, he spoke:
"Tang Mujin. You're drenched in blood—can you really make it back to Sichuan like that?"
Tang Mujin had indeed taken a number of small cuts, his clothes stained red. But none were deep.
"This is nothing. It won't fester."
"Ha! Many thought that way, only to regret it later."
Tang Mujin shot him a look.
Hyeon-gong caught the meaning at once.
"…Of course, my medical knowledge can't compare to yours. Still, better safe than sorry, don't you think?"
"Hm."
Sensing his words weren't persuasive enough, Hyeon-gong rambled on.
"Besides, after all we've been through, parting so soon feels wrong. Why not stay at Wudang for a day or two?"
Tang Mujin hesitated. "Well…"
"Think positively. Who knows? Fate may even grant you a Taiqing Pill."
The Taiqing Pill wasn't on the same level as the Great Reversal Pill, but still a treasure any martial artist would covet.
Yet Tang Mujin showed little reaction. Ever since consuming the Great Reversal Pill at Shaolin, he was convinced that further elixirs would not yield major progress. What he needed was insight and experience, not borrowed internal energy.
With Tang Mujin unmoved by the Taiqing Pill, Hyeon-gong's eyes flicked to Namgung Myeong and Hong Golgae.
But both only looked to Tang Mujin, clearly leaving the decision to him.
Hyeon-gong couldn't fathom how Tang Mujin had become the leader of this group. By skill or status, he hardly seemed suited.
So he pressed again.
"Well, is there some urgent reason to return straight to Sichuan?"
"The wedding is soon. Guests are already invited."
Ah, so that was it. Hyeon-gong smiled warmly.
"Is that so? Then how about stopping at Wudang first, and traveling to Sichuan together afterward?"
"Together?"
"Of course! We fought shoulder to shoulder, did we not? On behalf of Wudang, I'd like to personally congratulate you on your marriage."
A small, harmless proposal.
Yet Tang Mujin seemed more tempted by the idea of gaining an extra wedding guest than by the promise of the Taiqing Pill. Hyeon-gong had to hide his dismay.
"…Why did that work?"
Still, it was a success. He pressed his advantage.
"The paths are nearly the same anyway. I'm not asking you to stay long—just enough to gather some belongings. One or two days at most. You won't be uncomfortable, I assure you. Our food may not be luxurious, but it's delicious. And of course, there is the Wudang Divine Sword."
He threw out bait after bait—just one needed to catch.
And when he mentioned the Divine Sword, Tang Mujin's ears perked.
"The Divine Sword?"
"Yes. Have you ever heard of the Songmun Ancient Sword?"
"No. This is my first time."
"It isn't widely known, but I can say with certainty: the Songmun Ancient Sword is the greatest blade under heaven. If you meet the Sect Leader, you may even get to see it."
The greatest sword under heaven…
Something stirred deep in Tang Mujin's chest. What kind of blade could be so magnificent that one could declare it the greatest without hesitation?
Tang Mujin calculated how much longer their journey would take if they detoured to Wudang. At most two, maybe three extra days.
"There's enough time."
Thinking positively, several reasons to visit Wudang arose in his mind.
How often would he be invited into a great orthodox sect? Curiosity toward the ever-rising Wudang Sect was also gnawing at him.
"Alright. It's not far—I'll stop by for a bit."
Tang Mujin nodded.
***
Meanwhile, the Taeui Sect Leader had cast aside his sword—but not his torment.
He could not lift his spoon at meals. He could not sleep at night.
"I had my father's killer before me, yet fear crushed me so utterly that I could not draw my sword."
If only his father had been a wicked man, he might have let it go. But the Sect Leader had revered him deeply. His father was upright in all things—stern yet kind.
Nor was he the only one who held such respect. All the disciples had honored the former Sect Leader. Even the people of Yangyang spoke highly of him.
Most sects funded themselves by squeezing money from the common people under the guise of "protection" or monopolizing trade. But thanks to the old mines of Nogunsan, the Taeui Sect had no need to extort the people of Yangyang. Naturally, they were beloved.
Tang Mujin's words echoed in the Sect Leader's mind:
"I am sorry for your father's death. But you know well it was not without cause."
The Sect Leader muttered bitterly:
"Not without cause? Are you saying my father committed evil?"
Other sects oppressed thousands to support themselves, but his father had taken far less—and only from the unrighteous. Wretched brigands lurking in remote mountains.
The former Sect Leader had claimed they ought to be grateful: he had given meaning to lives more wretched than beasts.
And the current Sect Leader had believed the same.
Now hatred welled in him.
His eyes drifted to the corner, where yesterday's discarded sword lay. Its hilt half-burned, its edge warped by fire.
Even such a battered weapon, he wished to wield—to cut down the villain.
Was not a hero one who rose again after being broken, to dominate the world?
But then Tang Mujin's face and voice returned to him:
"Do not draw your sword. I cannot say how great my next vengeance will be."
The Sect Leader's hand trembled violently.
He was terrified. That kindly face, those eyes half-mad—it chilled him to the bone.
Terrifying not as bluff or intimidation, but because it was truth. Terrifying because Tang Mujin's skill—and his companions—were far beyond him.
He shook his head violently.
"No… I didn't abandon revenge out of fear. I'm ready to throw my life away for my father's sake. What I feared… was failure. If I fail, he'll do to my disciples what he did to the assassins—burn them alive…"
With a heavy sigh, the Sect Leader lay down.
His thoughts chased themselves in endless circles.
Hatred. Fear. Surrender. Then hatred again. Fear. Surrender.
His breath grew ragged. If only he had someone to lean on.
Then a thought struck him.
"…Someone to lean on?"
He remembered vividly the transmission of Hyeon-gong:
"Do not fear. I will capture them and reveal the truth of the former Sect Leader's grievance!"
…Where was Hyeon-gong now?
Surely a righteous Wudang disciple would never shrink before villains.
But Hyeon-gong had not returned. Surely, he must have been slain.
And then the solution dawned.
"I only need to report Hyeon-gong's death to Wudang."
No matter how proud they were, Wudang could not ignore the murder of one of their late-stage disciples.
"Yes… This will work. It must work."
The Sect Leader sprang to his feet.
Without hesitation, he set out for Wudang Mountain.