Tap the text to show or hide reading controls.
“What on earth is the point of this?”
Seo Nak-yeon’s outburst came after five hours of wandering through garden after garden.
By the time they noticed, the sun was sliding behind the western hills.
All that time Yeon Mujin had been running through the gardens, spinning lie after lie.
A merchant from Fukian, a noble family from Hunan, a scholar from Hebei, a courier house from Shaanxi… his status shifted, but his behavior never did.
He buttered them up with falsehoods, probed the garden lords, and handed over a bottle of wine as a gift.
Flattery—claiming to be the most famous man in Suzhou, or learned and virtuous—was the basic play.
Not once did the name of Brahmacharya Clan come up. He never directly brought up the troubling rumor.
To Seo Nak-yeon, it looked like a waste of time and money.
“Do you think this will clear Father’s name? The garden masters won’t even answer straight when the Brahmacharya name is mentioned—how are we supposed to find who framed him among so many people?” She threw off the silk face mask and snapped irritably.
Yeon Mujin stared at the mask on the ground for a moment, then looked up at the setting sun and said, “Nak-il.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“I’m hungry. Let’s go eat.”
“Yes.”
Seo Nak-yeon was dumbfounded, too enraged to form a reply.
“What a pointless waste! And you—Brother, what are you doing? Are you actually helping? You make me wear this nonsense all day! Do you think this will help Father? This is the worst!”
Hearing his sister’s lament, Seo Nak-il asked Yeon Mujin in an odd, matter-of-fact tone, “Grand Lord, do you have any idea who the culprit is?”
Seo Nak-yeon froze.
“What on earth do you mean you know!” she shouted.
Yeon Mujin’s next answer stunned her even more.
“Of course.”
“What did you say?”
Seo Nak-il ignored his sister’s agitation and asked, “Who framed my father?”
Nak-il’s voice carried a coiled anger that Seo Nak-yeon felt in her bones. Wordless, she watched her brother’s back. Yeon Mujin replied, “All of them.”
“All of them?”
“All the garden lords we met today are in cahoots.”
“What? Can you even say that?” Seo Nak-il pressed.
“How did you know?”
“It’s a feeling.”
‘Is he really crazy?’ Seo Nak-yeon thought. Accuse the entire garden network of Suzhou on a feeling?
But Seo Nak-il nodded.
“Then it’s certain.”
Seo Nak-yeon stared at her brother in disbelief. “Now let’s calmly think about how to deal with those bastards. That’s not important—aren’t there any good inns nearby?”
“What would you like to eat?”
“Meat.”
“I know a place. I’ll take you.”
“You pay.”
“Of course, Grand Lord.”
They trudged off toward the setting sun.
“…”
Left alone, Seo Nak-yeon felt the world mocking her.
“Am I the only one who’s weird? Am I the only one!”
No matter how loudly she shouted, there was no answer.
She picked up the silk mask from the ground, dusted it off, and followed her brother.
“They’re definitely con artists.”
Back at Brahmacharya Clan, Seo Nak-yeon went straight to Seo Tae-gon.
In the empty prayer hall, Seo Tae-gon—alone, as always—was mid-ritual.
“He said all the garden lords of Suzhou are working together to bury Brahmacharya Clan. Does that make any sense? What wrong have we done? And there’s no evidence—it’s just his feeling! Ha! It’s not even funny. Father, he’s clearly a con artist.”
“Nak-yeon, I’m in the middle of offering,” Seo Tae-gon said.
“He put this silk mask on me and spun impossible lies. Someone who spews lies every time they speak sounds less like the Bukgung Family and more like a con man selling cheap potions in a back alley. Didn’t you find it strange, Father? If he’s from the Bukgung Family, why that outfit? Even wandering warriors in Suzhou dress better.”
The tapping of Seo Tae-gon’s prayer drum stopped. He sighed and spoke softly.
“He’s a guest Nak-il brought. He wouldn’t be such a rogue.”
Seo Nak-yeon snapped. “What are you putting your faith in—my brother? Nak-il ran away from home long ago. Isn’t his claim to be a deputy commander of the Bukgung Family a total lie?”
“If that were so, we would not have received a letter from your mother.”
Seo Tae-gon turned to his daughter. “Your mother said she sent a letter to the Bukgung Family’s Flying Swallow Manor. From what I learned, Flying Swallow Manor belongs to the Bukgung Family’s youngest daughter, and the External Protection Troops guard her. Nak-il became a deputy commander of such a place.”
“That is…” Seo Nak-yeon’s words faltered.
“And that small hero you insulted… Yeon Mujin, the Grand Lord, is very famous.”
“That one?”
“The lord of Flying Swallow Manor was recently recognized by the Bukgung Family Lord and declared one of the official heirs. Yeon Mujin’s merits there were great. Some say he slaughtered dozens of warriors with a single sword; some say he spoke bluntly in front of the Bukgung Family Lord without flinching; some say he led several External Protection Troops to annihilate a Black Path sect. Of course, I don’t know where truth ends and exaggeration begins.”
‘…That frivolous fellow?’ The Yeon Mujin described by her father did not match the one Seo Nak-yeon had seen. She believed a man’s words should match his sword; frivolous behavior meant lesser skill.
“Nak-yeon.” Her father called again.
“Yes?”
“Did Captain Yeon say that?”
“Eh, yes? What did he say?”
“Did he say all the garden lords of Suzhou are conspiring against Brahmacharya Clan?”
“Yes, that’s right! I simply can’t believe it. What could we have done to offend them?”
Seo Tae-gon looked up at the Vairocana Buddha whose face always seemed to wear a strange smile.
“Amitabha…”
His next words were so soft Seo Nak-yeon barely heard them.
“Has the Buddha sent a providential person?”
“Yes? What did you say?” she asked.
What he said next surprised her.
“This is not the first time the garden lords have banded together to trouble Brahmacharya Clan, Nak-yeon.”
“…Yes?”
“The garden lords of Suzhou have long regarded Brahmacharya Clan as a thorn in their side. They want to control Suzhou’s interests as they please, but Brahmacharya Clan’s influence reaches everywhere. People chose our gate over inns when resting, and the prayer hall instead of taverns when in trouble. The garden lords have been eyeing our donation box for an opportunity.”
“What did you say?” Seo Nak-yeon had never heard anything like it.
“Sometimes some garden lords approached Brahmacharya Clan to propose schemes to make money. They said that if we collaborated, we could siphon all of Suzhou’s wealth. I refused every time.”
“Why?” she asked.
“We are worldly, but we’re a Buddhist gate, not merchants. If we built our gate with gold, there would be those who could not cross its threshold. I did not want to make Brahmacharya Clan that kind of place.”
“Ah…”
A question surged. “So did you suspect from the start that this incident was the garden lords’ doing?”
Seo Tae-gon nodded slowly.
Feeling almost betrayed, Seo Nak-yeon asked, “Then why on earth did you never say anything all this time? At least you could have told Shaolin!” Tears threatened.
Yeon Mujin’s words flashed through her mind—
—A father concerned with face, a daughter too—this whole household is soaked in empty ceremony. No wonder Brahmacharya Clan ended up like this.
Could it all be because of mere face? Did Brahmacharya Clan have to suffer for Father’s pride?
“Why didn’t you confront them? You should have gone to the garden lords and threatened them or done something. Did you really let things come to this because of face?”
Seo Tae-gon looked at his tearful daughter and answered, “It’s not about face, Nak-yeon. This father has never cared for such things.”
“Then why?”
“Because I showed them mercy.”
“…”
He tapped the prayer drum as he spoke. “The Buddha taught not to simply follow words or only hear with the ear, but to guide through action, without expecting from those who do not seek. Brahmacharya Clan is worldly but remains a Buddhist gate. How can we repay hatred with vengeance? I tried not to fight them with fists or words, but with the time and trust Brahmacharya Clan has built. I believed that was mercy and the Buddhist way.”
His voice trailed off. “But that may have been my overreach. This father is sorry.”
After his evening meal, Seo Nak-il picked up his spear and went to find Yeon Mujin.
“Captain, one match, please.”
Members of the External Protection Troops rarely requested duels with Yeon Mujin. Few chose an opponent they expected to beat them. But Seo Nak-il was different tonight.
“With full force, I beg you.”
Yeon Mujin scoffed. “Full force is for the weak to show, not for warriors.”
Seo Nak-il nodded. “Right. I’ll go all out.”
“Let’s see you struggle.”
He did. When sparring his comrades or dueling Deputy Captain Yang Gwan-wol, Nak-il rarely used full strength—he feared injuring his opponent. He had improved greatly at Flying Swallow Manor and grown much stronger.
Against Yeon Mujin it was different.
“Relax your force, you fool! You’re too tense!”
“Your feet move slower than your arms! Didn’t I always say the lower body moves first and the spear follows?”
“Your attacks are linear! Use the advantage of reach! Why have you not progressed at all?”
No matter how hard he pushed, Nak-il couldn’t touch so much as a hair of the Grand Lord. That realization comforted him. Even after emptying himself of strength and guile, he could not reach Yeon Mujin.
So he relaxed and thrust with everything he had.
“Yes!”
“I’ll go again!”
“Coming again!”
Nak-il swung his spear furiously; Yeon Mujin dodged as if strolled through a courtyard.
To an outsider their exchange might look choreographed. Nak-il took kicks to the face, bruises on his shoulder, strikes to his legs, yet he kept rising.
In the end Nak-il collapsed with his body a web of sweat and bruises.
“Tch. Pathetic.”
“Th-thank you…”
He ached, but relief eased his chest. Tonight he had wanted to empty himself.
Yeon Mujin, by contrast, had neither a scratch nor a drop of sweat.
‘The captain really exists somewhere unreachable,’ Seo Nak-il thought again. How far did Yeon Mujin’s strength extend?
He was not the only curious one.
“The young devotees are doing something entertaining.”
Onlookers inhaled sharply and made way as an old monk with a long beard and eyebrows, wearing a worn kasaya, stepped forward.
“…Oh?” Nak-il didn’t recognize him, but Yeon Mujin did instantly.
Leaning on his staff, the venerable monk stroked his beard. “That novice looks still spry. If you have the time, would you exchange a match with this old novice?”
A cold sweat formed at the back of Yeon Mujin’s neck. He had expected monks from Shaolin might come to deal with Brahmacharya Clan, but not this one.
‘No way—I didn’t think this fellow would be here…’
Fighting-Victorious Buddha.
He was regarded as Shaolin’s strongest martial monk, a genius of their martial studies whose fist techniques could be counted on one hand across Shaolin’s long history… and a man obsessed with fighting.
“Ah….”
We’re screwed…….
Reading Settings
