Same Bed, Different Dreams

Even under the three’s heavy stares, Ma Sepung calmly sipped his drink. No one dared to speak of such a matter carelessly, so silence stretched on.

“I heard there are three hundred Ryeo people captured in the Unpyeong Escort Bureau.”

“……”

At last, when Ma Sepung spoke, Seong Gon’s face stiffened.

“Just tell me the route, date, and number heading to Cheonseo.”

“What are you doing right now?”

Before their friendship, Ma Sepung was a man of Gyeong. They could help each other—but only within bounds that didn’t harm their own country. Never had they asked or expected more. Seong Gon felt shame at such a proposal.

“Do you think we’re pitiful?”

Shame and fury trembled in Seong Gon’s voice. Yet he couldn’t storm out—he desperately needed the man’s help. For days he had sought a way in, but not a step into the Bureau was possible. At this rate, trying to rescue the Ryeo captives might endanger the whole sect.

“Aren’t you the one who pities yourself?”

Seeing Seong Gon’s rage unyielding, Ma Sepung finally set down his flask and met his eyes. His tightly pressed lips showed resolve—a rare serious look.

“Even if it were pity driving me, you’re in no position to refuse help.”

“Ma Sepung!”

Seong Gon roared, leaping up—the flask toppled and shattered on the floor. The two by the kitchen squirmed nervously, certain a fight was impending.

“Don’t mistake me. I’m not helping Ryeo. I just can’t stand it.”

Unlike his fiery friend, Ma Sepung stayed calm. He upended the flask, draining the last drop. Returning to his playful look, he waved high toward the kitchen. As Yun-seon shuffled closer, he rubbed his belly theatrically.

“My belly’s shriveled—it’ll be greeting my spine soon. Can I get a double serving of noodles?”

Even as Yun-seon gave a weak laugh and headed back, Seong Gon stood staring at his dearest friend, not knowing what face to wear.

Their friendship spanned longer than fingers could count. From different nations, they trusted each other only because nothing else was allowed between them. As youths they dueled and studied music; in age they shared stories of time. They never touched each other’s wounds—by restraint and by silence. Today, that taboo was broken.

“It must be that fool Go Yu-saeng blinded by ambition. I simply hate that old snake presuming to sway Yellow Stone Sect. And pretending to be virtuous—disgusting.”

“Is that truly all?”

Seong Gon’s voice sank. He had no right to refuse Ma Sepung’s goodwill. Could pride outweigh the lives of three hundred kin?

“What more do you want? Hm… let’s call it guilt then.”

A glimmer of tears shone in his eyes. That guilt was why, as sect leader, he secluded himself in the mountains, living like a ghost. Spilling words long held, disguised as jest, he felt strangely lighter.

“That matter—Yi Jeong already untangled it. Leave it behind.”

Seong Gon sat again, flask in hand. Whatever the outcome, they could never go back. Both knew it well, and so they drowned the heaviness in drink.

“What of that boy’s aptitude?”

Ma Sepung rolled his eyes in thought, then suddenly pointed at Yun-seon.

“Not bad.”

“Then quite sharp, eh?”

From Seong Gon, “not bad” was high praise—he often found fault even with prodigy Yi Seomun. Ma Sepung beamed and called Yun-seon over.

“Want to learn from me properly?”

With his Sabaek beside him he hid it, but Yun-seon’s heart raced. Having witnessed Soul’s Eminence Fist’s might, he would beg on his knees to learn it. Offered freely, how could he refuse?

“But—you must master over half in fifteen days.”

Seong Gon narrowed his eyes. Lingming Fist was formidable, thus difficult. Even Go Yu-saeng, rival to Jo Yang, never learned fist-force from his master. To master twelve of its twenty-four forms in half a month was nearly impossible. To demand it meant a hidden plan.

“These days spying on the Bureau, you’ve seen—it’s impossible to learn its inside. Even if you had a spy, meeting them would be near impossible.”

Pierced straight through, Seong Gon frowned. By Ma Sepung’s words, Jo Yang surely knew already. A month’s effort wasted—he sighed.

“So, we need a true spy. Skilled, loyal beyond betrayal—and unknown to all within the Bureau.”

Both gazes turned to Yun-seon. This was why they tested him. All Seven Stellar Lords of Taiyi Divine Sect were known except Yun Seol, but she had no martial skill. Only Yun-seon could infiltrate, gather intelligence, and link with their hidden contact.

“From what I taught, he has talent. With fifteen days of desperate training, twelve forms should be his. Enough to keep himself alive.”

Departure for Cheonseo was in about two months. There was no time to waste; plans must be meticulous.

“I’ve already scared that coward Go Yu-saeng, so Jo Yang will come see me soon. When that old snake tries persuading, I’ll pretend to yield and retreat to the mountains. Meanwhile, you circle the Bureau, acting defeated. While they’re distracted by outside threats, this boy and I free the captives.”

He spoke as if simple, but both knew the peril. They must deceive cunning Jo Yang, secure exact information, and above all the infiltrator’s role was life-risking.

“Is it possible?”

Yun Seol looked to her grandfather, worried. She disliked Ma Sepung’s scheme. Yun-seon seemed resolved, but she still wanted another way.

“Difficult.”

Seong Gon sighed, watching his friend slurp with face buried in noodles.

“But there is no other way.”

Though the sun was high, angry clouds darkened the land. Rain of full autumn seemed ready to fall.

The opulent chamber, veiled in curtains, was choked with smoke from incense. Jo Yang tried to endure but coughed dryly a few times.

“How have you been?”

He greeted politely the man lying straight on the bed, facing the ceiling.

“Long time, Alliance Leader Jo.”

Though blindfolded, unable to see, he knew instantly who it was. Lose one sense, the rest sharpen.

“How is your health?”

Jo Yang asked as politely as possible, fearing offense. Like all warriors he was proud, but especially hot-tempered. To be treated as crippled might spark fury.

“Damn it, this endless incense for healing makes my head split year-round.”

As expected, he began with curses. Fine needles in his key meridians bound him to bed. Since losing sight, he remained here for treatment, but improved none—only his temper worsened.

“In truth, I came with a request.”

Jo Yang sat by the bed and calmly explained: Soon the Gyeong royal court would send tribute to Cheonseo; Taiyi Divine Sect planned to disrupt; Yellow Stone Sect was aiding, but he feared the head of Yellow Stone Sect Ma Sepung might obstruct. By the time he finished, a candle had burned down.

“If this fails, who will bear the storm to strike Yellow Stone Sect?”

Jo Yang sighed heavily, lowering his brows—he had to seem cornered.

“But why in the world did Eldest Senior Brother appear?”

The man shook his yellow beard, pounding the floor. One who never showed for sect affairs—why meddle now?

“That is why we need your aid, Great Hero. Will you help?”

Though told never to move during acupuncture, the man bolted upright.

“My eyes fail, but my nose suffices. Do not fret—proceed. This time, I’ll settle matters with my Senior Brother.”

He drew his treasured sword, the Soaring Sword, from the wall and swung fiercely. To an outsider, he looked whole.

“I am deeply grateful for your help. Also…”

Jo Yang whispered into his ear. Even alone in the room, he was overly cautious, fearing a leak.

“Hmph! What can worms do? Trust me.”

Jo Yang bowed deeply in thanks and left. Long after, the man still fumed, then lowered his head to the Soaring Sword. An old friend, long unseen.

Srrng…

With a soft hiss, the Soaring Sword slid from its sheath. In the blade’s reflection appeared Bu Neungpa’s grim face—finally holding his chance for revenge.

동상이몽 (同床異夢), Same Bed Different Dreams:

Behaving the same outwardly but harbouring different thoughts inwardly.