Chapter 4: This is Sane (3)

Morning.

As guests slowly begin to enter the banquet hall, the Sword Saint Moyong Cheon, who could be called the host, heads alone to the deepest part of the Moyong Clan.

A detached residence far from the center.

Though within the estate of one of the Five Great Clans, it resembles a small house brought from some peaceful family and placed here.

The peculiarity is the ‘formation’ surrounding it, making it inaccessible to anyone in the clan.

While the clan has many forbidden areas, setting foot in this small residence would incur Moyong Cheon’s wrath.

This is where Moyong Cheon lived with his late wife, where all traces of her remain.

Another notable detail is that the residence is spotless, as if someone visits daily to clean it.

Step, step.

Breaking through the formation, a man enters the residence.

“I’m here, my love.”

The master of the residence, Moyong Cheon, stands in the courtyard holding a bouquet of white flowers.

“Every night in my dreams, you scold me to stop coming here so often, but today I had to visit.”

He places the bouquet before a stone grave marker under a towering peach tree in the courtyard and sits cross-legged in front of it.

“Seol’s illness is cured.”

No response comes.
He longs for one, but his partner left this world long ago.

“It was an incurable disease. The illness that made you blame yourself countless times for passing it to our daughter, even harming yourself—it’s cured.”

Moyong Cheon takes a single flower from the bouquet, plucks its petals, and places them on the grave marker.

“When Seol first told me, ‘My illness is cured,’ do you know what I thought? I resented you.”

The voice of Moyong Cheon, unshaken before anyone, trembles like petals scattered by the wind.

“Seven years. Why couldn’t you wait just seven years? Instead of blaming yourself for passing a fatal illness to our daughter, why didn’t you grit your teeth and hold on until today?”

Still, no response.

“At least then, you could have seen our healthy, beautiful Seol today. You could have seen her smile, radiant like spring blossoms, as you once did.”

Only the shadow of the peach tree, swaying in the breeze, gently covers Moyong Cheon.

“And about today… as Seol’s parents, I wish I could seek your wisdom to make a wise decision.”

Moyong Cheon lowers his head.

“I don’t know what to do. If swinging my sword could provide an answer, I’d swing it a thousand, ten thousand times. But… how could I wield my sword?”

With trembling hands, the Sword Saint grips the grave marker.

“She looked at him the way you used to look at me, with the same eyes. Her lifesaver, the one who took our Seol’s first.”

His hands, gripping the grave marker, tremble.
A man who could crush stone with a fraction of his strength holds it with only human hands, his body shaking.

“What would you think of our son-in-law? Would you want to kill the man who stole the heart of our precious daughter, or would you joyfully call him son-in-law first for curing her incurable illness?”

Whoosh.
The wind blows, scattering the petals on the grave marker into the sky.

“…I know. Yes. The dead don’t return. I know I mustn’t kill him. How could a human kill their benefactor? So… only before you will I confess this honestly.”

Moyong Cheon lets out a deep sigh.

“The moment I saw our daughter in that man’s room, naked, I was angrier than during my life-and-death duel with the Heavenly Demon. I thought it might be demonic possession.”

Whoosh

“I thought I’d reached a state of no-mind, but I’m still human. I’ve never felt such rage in my life. As much as—no, more than when that Namgoong bastard grabbed your wrist. …Now I understand why your father was so furious.”

The leaves rustle in the breeze, and sunlight glints toward Moyong Cheon.

“Yes. I must cherish him. Embrace him. Just as your father entrusted you to me, I’ll think of him as my son. You would have done the same.”

Moyong Cheon reaches forward, brushing the earth.
Despite the dirt staining his smooth hands, he continues to sweep in front of the grave marker.

“When you were dying, you said, ‘If, by some miracle…’”

Rustle.

“…‘Give this to her.’”

Clearing the dirt reveals a small wooden box, small enough to hold in one hand.
Moyong Cheon carefully lifts it with both hands, unlatches it, and opens it.

“…”

A white jade hairpin, like frozen branches.
After gazing at it for a long moment, Moyong Cheon closes the box, tidies the area, and stands, holding the box carefully in both hands.

“I’ll come back tomorrow. And… I may not be able to visit often from now on.”

Looking up at the sky through the glimmering leaves, the Sword Saint’s face is as stern as usual.

“Because all the jackals of the Central Plains will come after Seol… and him.”

Noon.

While Moyong Seol prepares for the banquet, I change my clothes and head to the banquet hall.

“That’s him…”
“Shh. Quiet. No need to get involved with a ‘failure.’”

Those who recognize me avoid me.
I have neither the reason nor the leisure to converse with others, so I quietly take a cup, slip to a corner of the banquet hall, and lean against the wall.

‘That’s the normal reaction.’

The gaze directed at a failure.
When someone dies of illness, the bereaved and mourners can’t help but cast complex looks at the physician.

Even if it’s an incurable disease.

‘No. Hold it in.’

I mustn’t speak.
Absolutely not.

Ding, ding, diding—
Music fills the air.

Even for a banquet of one of the Five Great Clans, playing music so boldly is unusual, but the musicians are from the ‘Imperial Palace Orchestra.’

“The palace musicians? Did the emperor send them?”
“He’s a hero of the martial world and the Central Plains. I heard the emperor himself ordered it.”

Those holding cups whisper about the musicians.

I already knew the orchestra was from the palace, but those who just arrived at the Moyong Clan are understandably shocked.

‘Officials and martial artists don’t cross paths,’ as they say.
Though they share the same land, officials and martial artists don’t infringe on each other’s domains, but the Moyong Clan is an exception.

“Thanks to the Sword Saint, they suppressed a rebellion within the Embroidered Uniform Guard and prevented a massacre by the Demonic Cult. It’s only natural.”
“Indeed. Despite being from the Moyong Clan, didn’t the emperor try to make him his son-in-law? Even saying he could choose any princess.”
“Did you come here hoping someone from the imperial family would show up?”
“Partly. Why else would an Open Sect beggar dress up in martial robes?”
“I thought you were at least trying to show some manners.”
“That too.”

I know who they are.
The Wudang Sect Leader and the Open Sect Leader.
As a Taoist and a beggar, they usually dress freely, but today they’re in elegant, formal attire for the banquet—or rather, the ‘funeral.’

‘So many famous figures.’

If there’s anyone relatively free in their attire, wearing what they always do…

“Amitabha.”

It would be the monk from Shaolin Temple, dressed in yellow robes, praying to Buddha.
More like an immortal than a monk, a living legend of the martial world.

“Why is the Divine Monk here?”
“Shaolin owes a debt to Moyong. How could he not come?”

The Divine Monk.
One of the Five Great Masters.
The old monk who didn’t leave Shaolin’s main hall when the Demonic Cult invaded Shaanxi and Sichuan has come to the Moyong Clan’s banquet.

“The abbot boasted he could cure her, but instead caused Miss Moyong pain. Even if I can’t heal her, I can pray for her rebirth in paradise.”
“The one called the living Vaisravana praying for her rebirth? Surely Miss Moyong will live peacefully in the next life.”

The Wudang Sect Leader, Shaolin’s greatest master, and the Open Sect Leader set aside their personal histories to pray for one woman’s soul.

‘Shaolin’s debt.’

I know what it is.
And just then, the topic comes up from another side.

“To think this is the only way to resolve the death of someone with severed meridian syndrome. Alliance Leader, must we keep watching young people die so powerlessly?”
“Chief, I understand your heart, but there’s no clear solution.”

The Martial Alliance Leader and the alliance’s chief, the Kunlun Sect Leader and the Namgoong Clan Leader, exchange words.

“Even Shaolin’s Great Restoration Pill and the treatment of the greatest physician were useless.”
“But… then what about Yua…”
“I’m sorry about your niece. …But the budget for curing severed meridian syndrome increases every year, so we can only hope they find a way.”
“Ha. If only. Even the greatest pharmacologist couldn’t find a solution, could he?”

Listening quietly, a chill runs down my spine.

“And his disciple too.”

A glance toward me.
The greatest pharmacologist refers to my master, ‘White Mask,’ the title given to the winner of the physician’s competition arranged by the Alliance Leader for us to enter the Moyong Clan.

“He did his best.”

The Alliance Leader casts a complicated look at me.
He knows my background, but he also knows how sincerely I tried to cure Moyong Seol.

“It’s just… heaven is to blame.”

The only lifeline for someone escaping the Demonic Cult.

Or so I thought.
Until yesterday.

‘Things are different now.’

A lifeline has opened.
No, I opened it myself.
I never imagined that lifeline would be Moyong Seol herself.

‘Once the banquet starts, I’ll slip away quietly.’

To avoid anyone approaching a failed physician—

“Excuse me.”
“…Who are you?”

A tall woman with long black hair approaches me.
The epitome of a cold beauty.

“I am So Yeonjeok, the head disciple of Jeomchang.”

The head disciple of Jeomchang.
The direct disciple of the Jeomchang Sect Leader.

And a familiar face.

“Hey, what do we do now…?”
“It’ll be okay. Don’t cry. Stop.”

One of the children I met in the cave when we were kidnapped at seven.

“…Can we really survive?”
“We have to keep struggling. If it’s unbearable, come back even with a broken ankle. I can at least look after you while you’re bedridden.”
“…I’ll try not to make it hurt.”

Sent to infiltrate the Jeomchang Sect to kill a rising talent, she’s now a core figure of Jeomchang’s future, a latent poison.
Rumor has it she’s already beyond first-rate, aiming for the peak.

“A pleasure to meet you. I’m Seok Muwol.”
“I’ll ask directly. Where will you go after the treatment is done?”
“Well…”

Honestly, I don’t know.
Aside from her being a Demonic Cult spy, I genuinely don’t know what to do.

“Then.”

So Yeonjeok takes a deep breath and steps closer.

“Will you come to Jeomchang?”
“…Pardon?”
“I mean, if it’s Jeomchang… well…”

So Yeonjeok bites her lower lip, trying to choose her words carefully.

“Hmm—”

Amid the murmurs behind us, a low laugh makes her reach for her waist.

“What are you talking about?”

Tap.
So Yeonjeok’s movement to draw her sword is swift, but the force pushing it back into the scabbard is even faster.

“What?”

Behind So Yeonjeok.
A woman presses a single finger on the hilt of So Yeonjeok’s tightly gripped sword, leaning to the side with a beaming smile.

“Taking ‘my physician’ somewhere?”

The banquet’s protagonist, Moyong Seol, appears in radiant white robes.
Clad in attire resembling a burial shroud.