Chapter 83

“Good morning, Elder Jang.”

“Good morning, Elder Jang.”

“Yes, yes. Did you all sleep well last night?”

“Thanks to that wooden pillow you gave me last time, I slept very well.”

“Next time some good meat comes in for the cooks, I’ll set some aside for you.”

“Hey! You fool. Do you think I’d steal Master Jang’s food?”

Jang Chun-sik had been happy these days.

Having escaped his shabby life as head of the Cocoon Silkworm Clan and become a guest at Flying Swallow Manor long ago, the manor folk now called him “Elder” and fawned over him. People bowed wherever he went, and every meal was freshly cooked, steaming rice. For most of his life he had eaten more meals standing than sitting.

From leader of a back‑alley beggar gang to guest of one of the greatest families—this was a turnaround befitting a scholar who’d passed the provincial exam and returned home in triumph.

‘Life is truly a matter of fortune and misfortune!’

The Solitary Cloud Manor that had once sought his life had fallen; the Jang he served had been named an official successor candidate of the Bukgung Family, and the manor’s power grew daily—what he’d grabbed reluctantly had turned into a golden rope.

He had even spent his own coin to renovate the guestroom and had a stylish nameplate carved.

Hwa‑yang Hall Master Jang Chun‑sik.

For reference, Hwa‑yang was the stage name of the woman he’d once loved from afar. The last he’d heard was that she’d returned to her hometown and married some peasant—or so the story went.

‘I loved you, Hwa‑yang….’

Manly as he pretended to be, Jang Chun‑sik decided to let her go with hot tears. In truth, after seeing the silk‑masked master of Flying Swallow Manor, he hardly remembered what Hwa‑yang’s face looked like.

Secretly, he hoped to become family, not just a guest. Flying Swallow Manor, Hwa‑yang Hall Master—ah, what a splendid name, far more urbane than “back‑alley Cocoon Silkworm Clan head.”

So what did Hwa‑yang Hall actually do? If Yeon Mujin asked them to find something, they found it; ask for a messenger, they assigned one; ask for a bowl of noodles, they brought it; ask them to buy something, they bought it. The work itself wasn’t important.

What mattered was that he had one foot inside Flying Swallow Manor.

Jang Chun‑sik knew the value of connections. His survival tactics included slipping a wooden pillow into a servant’s sash out of Yeon Mujin’s sight, gifting handkerchiefs to the housewomen, and sharing a bottle of liquor with members of the External Protection Troops after training. Thanks to those small favors, the household’s regard for him grew—without Yeon Mujin ever noticing.

He could quietly change his guestroom nameplate to “Hwa‑yang Hall Master,” dress in fine robes, stroll the manor with his hands behind his back, and no one would bat an eye.

Sometimes requests like this came in.

“Elder Jang, could you deliver this to the External Protection Troops?”

“What is this?”

“It’s a letter addressed to Deputy Captain Seo.”

“Understood.”

For those living far from home, a letter from home was not unfamiliar. But letters rarely circulated in the External Protection Troops. Before pocketing it, Jang Chun‑sik checked the sender on the envelope, smoothed his face, and nodded kindly so no one would suspect him of peeking.

Then, slipping into an alley away from prying eyes, he untied the knot and read the letter.

For Hwa‑yang Hall Master Jang Chun‑sik, there was nothing about Flying Swallow Manor he didn’t know.

“Gasp!”

He swallowed hard as he read. He refolded the letter and retied the knot—old habits from his former life.

I’ll have to act like I didn’t see this. After all, being tight‑lipped is a trait worthy of a trusted manor retainer.

As Jang Chun‑sik turned to head toward the External Protection Troops, a sinister shadow passed over his head.

“……”

This gives me a sense of déjà vu….

“What are you looking at?”

At that moment a voice that should never have been heard rang above him.

“Fuck…”

“Seo Nak‑il!”

“Yes, Captain!”

“Come here.”

Seo Nak‑il, who had been sparring with a wager for the monthly stipend, was called by Yeon Mujin. His opponent was Yang Gwan‑wol; their bet record stood at nine wins apiece.

He had planned to snatch the monthly stipend and run today, but….

“If you leave now, I win.”

Yang Gwan‑wol sheathed his sword. Seo Nak‑il likewise put away his spear.

“This match is a draw. The master called.”

“No, you forfeited so I won. Ten wins, nine losses. This month’s stipend is mine.”

“No, it’s not. If you don’t pay, that’s that.”

“You petty bastard!”

“The petty one is your brain trying to grab a win using the master’s excuse, you idiot.”

Their bickering was a common sight in the External Protection Troops. Having crossed the line between life and death together against the Lonely Claw Troops, the members were bound like brothers.

“Nak‑il!”

“Yes! Coming!”

Seo Nak‑il ran as if flying and landed before Yeon Mujin, kneeing once, bowing his head, and saluting smartly.

“You called, captain?”

But Yeon Mujin’s expression was sterner than usual. He regarded Seo Nak‑il with an unusually serious face.

“Deputy Commander of the External Protection Troops, Seo Nak‑il.”

“…Yes?”

“A letter arrived from Suzhou.”

Yeon Mujin handed over an envelope marked “Suzhou, Brahmacharya Clan.” “They say the Brahmacharya Clan is on the brink of ruin, entangled in baseless rumors.”

“…Sorry?”

In martial arts sects there is a distinction between the main mountain and secular branches. The main mountain is the sect’s headquarters; martial artists who wish to inherit the sect’s lineage enter the main mountain and become disciples with a formal name. But not everyone becomes a main‑mountain disciple. As a sect grows, income to the main mountain alone can’t support all followers, so secular families emerge to operate outside the sect—those are the secular branches.

It’s similar to the Bukgung Family: centered on Glorious Flower Manor in Taiyuan, it builds vast power through alliances and marriages.

In the martial world, a secular branch’s influence follows the main mountain’s. That’s why among the wandering rivers and lakes the Eight Secular Branches of Shaolin are famed.

One such branch is Suzhou’s Brahmacharya Clan. It’s the family of the External Protection Troops’ deputy captain, Seo Nak‑il.

“I have no excuse.”

Seo Nak‑il, who had packed his belongings, bowed his head to Bukgung Yoon. When he first came to Flying Swallow Manor, a single haversack had been all his possessions; now his traveling pack was laden with many things.

“I’m sorry, clan leader.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I’ll be back soon.”

But Seo Nak‑il knew that if his family’s lineage was truly threatened, the chances were high he might never return.

“Be careful on your way.”

“Yes.”

“We’ve given you enough provisions, so stay somewhere decent.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you really not need a carriage?”

“I’ll go on horseback. A carriage is too luxurious—”

“You’ll be back anyway, so why not take one?”

“No. I have enough for the horse fee.”

“Would it be enough for two people?”

“Yes…? Yes?”

Seo Nak‑il, answering reflexively, blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Because you’ll need to pay for two people’s horse fees. Ah, Captain Yeon probably has money too, so it’s fine.”

Seo Nak‑il’s eyes widened. “Why would the Captain suddenly come up in this?”

“I heard Captain Yeon is going with you?”

“Whaat?”

What sort of nonsense was that? “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

“Captain Yeon came earlier and reported to me. He should be packing by now.”

At that moment Yeon Mujin burst through the manor lord’s door.

“All packed? Let’s go.”

Yeon Mujin was plainly dressed, carrying only a single haversack.

“Where are you going?”

“You’re going to Suzhou, right?”

“Yes. I’m going home, but—”

“You said something happened?”

“Yes. But captain, how did you know? It was written in the letter.”

“I caught Chun‑sik stealing a peek.”

“…?”

Seo Nak‑il flushed. The Master is going personally?

Yeon Mujin misread Seo Nak‑il’s surprise.

“I know. That Chun‑sik fellow has no shame, right? Like a rat, opening other people’s letters.”

“No, it’s not that…”

“But don’t worry. Who am I? The turbulent, marvelous, unrivaled, indestructible Captain of the External Protection Troops, right? Let’s go take charge of that Brahmacharya Clan or whatever.”

“Brahmacharya Clan is my family’s place—why would you take charge of it?”

Before he knew it, Seo Nak‑il had objected and then snapped back to himself. “No, why are you going with me, Master!”

“Nak‑il.”

Yeon Mujin’s face turned serious. “What concerns the External Protection Troops is my concern.”

…!

At that single sentence, Seo Nak‑il’s eyes welled with tears.

He did not know that had he overheard the conversation Yeon Mujin had just had with Bukgung Yoon, he wouldn’t have shed a single tear.

—Manor Lord.

—Yes.

—Do you think fifth young lord will retaliate against the Shandong faction?

—Sigh… probably, yes.

—Then let’s do this.

—No. What kind of trouble are you planning this time?

—They say the best defense is a good offense. Before the fifth young lord strikes Shandong, we strike Kangdong first.

—Absolutely not.

—It so happens Nak‑il has matters at his family home. Since we’ll have someone to tend things, I’ll take a quick trip.

—Lord Yeon, are you even listening? This doesn’t feel like a conversation at all.

—Then I’ll go pack.

—No, ah….

Seo Nak‑il knelt, bowed, and expressed his gratitude to Yeon Mujin. Though the master was infuriating and made him want to shake him, Yeon Mujin was strong. That Yeon Mujin would step in for an issue that concerned Brahmacharya Clan’s survival was nothing short of reassuring.

“Thank you…!”

Bowed and head lowered, Seo Nak‑il did not see Yeon Mujin’s smile deepen as the lord he served grew more pensive….

“So what does your family do?”

“There’s no one exact line of work. We take in people like a martial arts sect, teach basic Shaolin techniques, accept apprentices for a share of the yield, host monks from the main mountain to preach, and often serve as protectors when requested.”

That was generally how a secular Shaolin branch operated. Some branches ran guilds or trading houses, but a branch bearing the Shaolin plaque didn’t need to be worldly—the name alone drew crowds. That was the power of the Eight Secular Branches.

“But why are you closing the hall?”

“Didn’t you say you saw the letter?”

“It was Chun‑sik who saw it, not me. A gentleman doesn’t peek at another’s letter.”

“It’s hard to call the Master a gentleman…”

Seeing Yeon Mujin clench his fist, Seo Nak‑il held his tongue. To receive help one had to explain the circumstances.

“Well…”

Hesitant, Seo Nak‑il finally spoke. “Brahmacharya Clan used to be full every year—disciples, incense visitors, guests coming to hear sermons. But these days people’s footsteps have stopped.”

“Why?”

“They say that in Suzhou, if you identify yourself as from the Brahmacharya Clan, people will throw stones at you in the street.”

“So again, why?”

“Because people spit at the gate of Brahmacharya Clan as they pass by….”

“…Nak‑il.”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to be beaten into answering, or just answer?”

“Phew…”

Seo Nak‑il sighed, then spoke haltingly. “Brahmacharya Clan’s master—in other words, my father—has been rumored to have molested women. Those rumors have spread widely in Suzhou….”

“Hmm.”

Yeon Mujin nodded. Indeed, a sexual scandal was fatal for a Shaolin disciple.

That aside, he added, “Nak‑il, your father is quite vigorous, it seems.”

…