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Yunnan Province and Guangxi Province both sat at high elevation. The subtropical climate made them hot and humid, with heavy rains and thick forests. In short, if you meant to hide, you were hard to find.
Neung Je-gang led the party only through places without roads.
Searchers, oddly enough, tended to sweep outward from roads. People often forgot that roads didn’t exist first so one could pass; they existed because people had passed. Humans could go anywhere.
They crossed the headwaters of a northeastern tributary of the Yuan River and then, cutting between the two large lakes that lay between Kunming and Yujie, reached Luoxi, a town some 250 li from Shilin.
Luoxi’s walled town wasn’t large, but it had everything one needed.
For the first time in a while they found an inn, washed up, ate their fill, and rested. Then, using a tunnel Majil had bored, they slipped back out and into the mountains.
“Why did we go to an inn at all? Didn’t we just advertise our trail for nothing?”
Bae Ji-sang, the party’s chief worrier, asked because he couldn’t help himself. After Song Seok-jin’s betrayal he still hadn’t recovered any faith in people. So even while doing exactly as Neung Je-gang said, he kept asking and doubting.
“Sometimes we need to let them know where we are to pull Yang Wi-ryeong’s nets—spread all over Yunnan—into one place.”
If they vanished entirely, Yang Wi-ryeong might suspect they’d already reached the Black Alliance and, rattled, do something rash.
So they had to show themselves—“Here’s how far we’ve come; keep up if you can.”
It would soothe Yang’s nerves and also herd his scattered forces together.
“Ah. I see.”
Only then did Bae Ji-sang understand. To wipe them out in one sweep, they had to gather Yang Wi-ryeong’s men; to do that, the party had to lead them by the nose. That was why Cheon Jang-myeong had called the plan dangerous.
Leaving Luoxi, they soon crossed into Guangxi. Fortunately, the northwest corner of Guangxi Province opened onto the wide Xiongwei Plateau. There were no big rivers there, and the trees were thick; even if they ran openly, few eyes would spot them.
They ran that way until the eastern edge of the plateau was close at hand. It was time to show themselves again.
They entered another inn, shook off the fatigue that had piled up, and, after dawn, went down to the first-floor dining hall to eat.
If they’d meant to keep low, they would’ve asked for food sent up. This time, they ate in public on purpose—to be seen.
“Boss, the food here’s good.”
Majil, the most exhausted of them, had no lightness to his footwork; whenever others were flying, he had to sprint himself raw, and sometimes he had to dig on top of that. Other than occasionally carrying him for a stretch, Neung Je-gang couldn’t help much. It had to sting that he didn’t know any lightness arts.
Still, it had helped him in one way. After running himself to death, he’d gained a flat-out sprint that barely lost to lightness skills. By now he could almost keep pace with Bae Ji-sang, whose qinggong had never been stellar.
There was a downside. When Majil ran, he left shameless tracks—deep hollows where he launched off the earth, dust pluming behind him.
“Have them wrap some to go.”
After this meal they’d be living rough for a while again. Carrying a little good food was one of the road’s tiny pleasures.
Neung Je-gang showed themselves this far south not only to draw in Yang Wi-ryeong’s web, but also to let Cheon Jang-myeong of the Black Alliance know roughly where they were.
It had been in the plan from the start: as soon as they surfaced here on the southern rim, Yang would rush to move, and while his power bled outward, Cheon would gather troops in the gap.
“Boss, where to next?”
“Hechi. From there we’ll take a boat straight to Liuzhou.”
He said it loudly enough for eavesdroppers. Liuzhou—that was Neung Je-gang’s target.
“A boat? Ugh, more boring time on the water?”
“If you’ll get bored, go buy a few books.”
“Ugh! Books sound even worse.”
At least, unlike his master Bibun, Majil didn’t fear water—that was a mercy.
After eating, they even visited a bookshop. They weren’t going to study; they wanted people to see they really meant to board a boat.
Neung Je-gang’s senses had already brushed against the eyes tracking them from behind.
“Let’s go.”
From the south rim to Haji, the official road was fastest—but that meant crossing a river. If they curved through the hills, they could avoid river crossings entirely.
This time they chose to move a little more slowly. They needed to give Yang time: time for reports to reach him and time for him to draw a curtain of men across the routes. Waiting for him would raise the danger later—but they would settle it all then.
“Boss, walking like this is nice. You can enjoy the view.”
Most of the chatter was Majil’s.
Bae Ji-sang only spoke when he had questions.
Jo Gwang-yeong said little. Ever since losing to Neung Je-gang in their match—or perhaps since witnessing Neung’s martial might—he’d changed. For whatever reason, he was trying to change himself, and effort was never bad.
Go So-jeong, since that scolding in the jungle, had retreated back into a quiet self. Peaceful, yes—but a part of Neung wondered if Go Won-gi would raise a fuss about “breaking” his daughter.
Or maybe he’d say it was for the best?
Compared to before, the odds were higher he’d approve. Of course, her “true nature” could flare up again at any time. Everyone here had seen it, so no matter how meek she acted, they were wary—one misstep and you could get skinned alive.
The problem was Cheong Yeon. Since leaving the jungle, Neung could barely recall him speaking.
Maybe he’s still wrestling with Yang Wi-ryeong.
If Neung’s plan worked, Yang would die. For Cheong Yeon—who owed him a life-debt—no one knew how he’d stand before Yang’s death.
‘I can’t spare him just to spare Cheong Yeon… what a mess.’
Bringing Cheong Yeon wholly back to himself might be harder than expected.
“Halt!”
Impatient clowns. Every organization had men like this, greedy for credit—overconfident in their skill or praying for a cheap break.
“Perfect timing.”
Neung had actually been waiting for a squad like this. A little bloodshed here would whip Yang Wi-ryeong into a frenzy and draw him charging.
About thirty men blocked the road. Numbers alone made them look threatening, but in skill they couldn’t handle even one of the party.
“I’ll do it.”
Neung stepped forward—but someone cut him off.
Jo Gwang-yeong. He drew twin sabers and lifted them before his face.
“Surrender.”
Neung couldn’t help a crooked smile. They’d paled at the killing aura Jo shook off him, yet he told them to surrender. They should have run. Then at least they wouldn’t die here and now.
“Come.”
Jo shouted first. He was ready—and waited, oddly courteous, for all thirty of Yang’s thugs to be ready too.
“F-fine! Come on!”
Weapons rasped out. They edged forward. Jo didn’t budge.
Stalled, the tableau shattered thanks to Majil.
“Hey-yah!”
Thump.
Whoomph.
Bored stiff, Majil stamped, kicking up a blooming puff of dust midway between the lines.
“Uwaaa!”
As if it were a signal, the thirty charged with their best opening moves. Some lost nerve and slipped back; some simply couldn’t squeeze in. Still, a good dozen came in at once ready to carve Jo into ribbons.
Wuuung—
A bursting roar answered from Jo Gwang-yeong’s blades. Everyone but Majil showed the same look: surprise—and a tremor of awe.
Blade-resonance—the saber’s hum.
That didn’t manifest until one’s inner energy passed a threshold.
Saber-shadows wrote themselves into the air. One became two, two became four, four eight—multiplying in a heartbeat until a wide mesh hung in the air, a net of steel that left not a breath of wind to slip through.
“A Saber Canopy?”
Bae Ji-sang breathed the name.
“Saber Canopy? What’s that?”
Majil glanced back, but Bae Ji-sang stood slack-jawed, lost in his own world.
Saber Canopy, a thing he’d only heard of, never seen.
“Boss, what is it?”
“In short: he spread saber-qi into a broad curtain. When you’re attacked from all sides, it’s a way to ward them all at once. Not exactly the most efficient, but… it works.”
To most, the legendary technique was a myth. To Neung, it was merely “serviceable.”
“Boss, can you do that too?”
Neung nodded.
“What about me?”
Majil wanted to try everything he saw. Lately that itch had only grown.
“Imagine you make a shield out of fire. Useful?”
“No.”
“Exactly—so you can’t. But you can harden your body like iron. So train that. Do-mak isn’t something just anyone can do.”
“Figures. Another thing I can’t do.”
He grumbled.
In that moment, the battle flipped. Jo spun, sabers flashing.
Flash—!
“Oh? That…?”
A detonation of light—and Neung’s low note of admiration.
“Aaagh!”
“Ghk!”
Screams burst almost in unison, red arcs stitching the air and veiling sight with spray.
“Boss, what was that?”
Majil hadn’t seen a thing—only the flash. It drove him crazy that Neung was impressed and wouldn’t say why. Instead, Neung vaulted to Jo, tapped a few acupoints, and passed him to Bae Ji-sang—who was still standing with his mouth open.
“He’s drained.”
“Ah—y-yes…!”
Bae caught Jo in his arms.
He hadn’t really seen it either—only the light. But one thing was clear: whatever Jo had done was a tier above the technique, strong enough to empty his core in a breath.
Bae gazed down at Jo with envy. Another peerless young master had stepped into the world.
Neung strode toward the rest, who stood stunned. Then another blocker stepped up.
“My turn.”
Cheong Yeon, silent until now.
Inspired by Jo, Neung thought.
He was right. Jo Gwang-yeong’s surge had spurred Cheong Yeon. Jo had once stood a step behind him—now he’d slipped three or four steps ahead.
While I chewed on useless doubts, the world moved on. Everyone but me kept climbing.
So Cheong thought, glancing at Jo. While he remained chained to Yang Wi-ryeong’s “favor,” he alone had stood still.
Good chance.
Neung stepped back. Better to let Cheong pour himself into the sword and let his heart unknot with it.
Save a few who fled, the rest died under Cheong’s blade. Against Jo’s explosive saber-art, his work looked understated—but the refined sharpness of Cheong’s sword had reached a high plane of its own.
If Cheong learned the Quick-Sword, it would fit him perfectly…
Watching, Neung couldn’t help the thought. The current, more florid style didn’t suit Cheong’s nature.
They moved on, then camped in a hidden spot and slept rough that night.
“Boss, why were you impressed earlier?”
Majil, dogged as ever, hadn’t let it go.
“You remember when I sparred Jo?”
“The five-on-one?”
“Right. He copied exactly what I used then.”
“What? He pulled that off just from watching—without learning it?”
“Some people can. We call them ‘geniuses.’”
“So you’re saying Jo is a genius? Doesn’t look like one.”
Neung chuckled.
“He isn’t. He just worked. After losing that match, he’s been studying and chasing it without letup. Without noticing, his saber-realm deepened.”
“Ah—so he trained like mad.”
“Exactly. By the way—how far have you gotten? Can your fire-blade reach one jang yet?”
Shff.
Faced with a question he didn’t like, Majil simply shut his eyes and pretended to sleep.
Neung grinned. He knew Majil trained harder than anyone. But until his True Fire Energy rose much higher, a one-jang fire-blade was a dream.
“I have something to say.”
Go So-jeong, quiet all day, came to Neung.
He tensed. What now…?
She led him aside and held something out.
“Hm?”
The Ice Essence Crystal.
“Why so soon…? You don’t need it anymore?”
“That’s not it. But in the fights ahead, if something happens to me, I could lose it.”
“Mm. So you do worry about useless things.”
He tucked the crystal away. Somewhere on Mount Kuaiji, Je So-yeon’s life depended on it.
“I have a favor.”
“Go on.”
“Show me your face once.”
“…Sorry?”
“Your real face. The one I saw back at Huaqing Pool.”
“Why…?”
He grimaced. His true face was best forgotten by the world.
“Come on. I’ve already seen it once. Don’t act so precious.”
With her temper starting to flicker, Neung relented.
He released the Hidden Shadows and Extreme Secrecy Method and let his features settle back. Then he touched his cheeks, a little dazed.
‘Feels strange. This doesn’t feel like my ‘real’ face anymore… side effect of living too long behind another mask?’
Still feeling his own face, he asked,
“Satisfied?”
Her eyes sparkled as she studied him.
“Weird. Something’s off. Feels wrong somehow.”
She peered up, then down, then back at him and smirked.
“It’s not that face… So why is my heart racing?”
Whatever she muttered, Neung shifted back to Secret Shadow’s face.
“If that’s all, let’s get some sleep.”
Even when he called, she drifted in small circles like someone not quite present.
“Lady Go!”
He called again. No answer.
“Lady Go! Are you listening?”
Now he was worried. Go Won-gi might storm down from Kuaiji claiming he’d driven his only daughter insane.
“Lady Go! Now—”
“Oh, stuff it, will you? You go sleep.”
At last her temper popped.
Neung ran out of words—but he felt relieved. She wasn’t crazy; the temper was intact.
Back at camp, the mood was odd. Majil was “asleep” and crying. Bae Ji-sang, the recovered Jo Gwang-yeong, even Cheong Yeon—every face looked fit to burst.
“Pff—Boss, did you ask Lady Go to ‘sleep’?”
“Huh? And?”
“Good grief, Boss! You say that in a nice mood at a clean inn or something, not in a bleak hole like this.”
“Snrk!”
“Bwahaha!”
“Heh.”
At that, the three men burst into laughter.
Neung finally understood.
Thunk.
He flicked Majil on the head.
“Stop the dumb fantasies and sleep.”
A clear conscience felt no blush.
“Now it’s embarrassing…”
Majil grumbled and fell quiet.
The night ebbed away like that.
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