When Jung Yeonshin had spotted Namgoong Mi, the Lord of Changling Blossoms, from a distance, he had told Namgoong Hwashin ten moves would suffice. Although his assigned opponent was the Namgoong young clan head, he had gauged how he would fare against Mi. They had already crossed paths, after all. He had wondered whether he could break her spirit beforehand.

The situation had changed. Just as they were about to carry out the duels as originally assigned, Namgoong Mi had branded even the Profound Truth Sect's servants as members of the unorthodox faction and bolstered her reputation. She had turned the situation to her advantage, winning over the people of Wuchang. Now they could not simply cut her down in a life-and-death match between the Desolate Fortress and the Namgoong clan. The fortress's warriors needed to retain the people's support at all times.

That was why he had brought out the pure-blood robe and mentioned a mask. Jung Yeonshin gazed quietly at Namgoong Hwashin.

“Mercy in your strikes...”

Hwashin trailed off, seemingly lost in thought for a moment.

“... But we are getting ahead of ourselves.”

He raised his head. Sunlight streaming in from afar played over his handsome features. As he spoke, his face worthy of the praise embodied in the name White Qilin, his gaze remained steadfastly fixed on Jung Yeonshin. His expression held sincere concern for his companion.

“Namgoong Mi is a rising talent of the direct line. Judging by her qi fluctuations, she seems to have recently consumed an extraordinary spirit medicine. Calling her the best among her juniors may not be much of an exaggeration. Cold yin qi, icy qi—there are various names for it, but yin-based internal energy is exceedingly difficult to deal with,” Hwashin said.

“Its emanations freeze your meridians first. They rapidly impede the circulation of qi through your pressure points. You become markedly slower at releasing and withdrawing internal energy, and your muscles lose their explosive strength. They say the longer you trade blows, the more sluggish your body becomes. Core energy specialized in the properties of yin, yang, and the five elements is truly fearsome.”

His tone was as grave as his expression. He was speaking of compatibility before even considering their respective levels of martial prowess.

Jung Yeonshin nodded.

“She gained that sort of internal energy through spirit medicine... If that is what the clan can accomplish, I can understand the fortress's scheme. Removing only the Namgoong leadership, then using the rest of the clan against the unorthodox factions.”

“They likely procured a mental cultivation method suited to assimilating the spirit medicine that fell into the Lord of Changling Blossoms' hands. Or perhaps they invited a trustworthy master of internal arts. The family has the means.”

Influence, wealth, or force. They must have used every means available to nurture the Namgoong clan's only two direct-line children.

“Bypassing qi accumulation with spirit medicine...” Jung Yeonshin murmured.

Qi accumulation. Building up energy. The martial world was full of people who spent long years accumulating core energy through internal martial arts, such as qi circulation and controlled breathing. It was common to hear people speak of a full sixty-year cycle of cultivation. When a martial artist gained insight into internal martial arts, it meant they had discovered a mental focus better suited to absorbing energy than before.

'I'm always left wanting when it comes to qi accumulation.'

That remained true even after consuming the spirit pill he had been issued, supposedly a high-grade one. Namgoong Hwashin, standing right before him, had deeper reserves of internal energy than he did. The gap stemmed from the limitations he had been born with. That was why he was now striving to create an internal art that accumulated qi quickly.

“It does more than bypass the process. It grants even greater power.”

Hwashin turned his head aside, bitterness on his face. He continued.

“That is the advantage of a noble clan that exists solely for its direct-line nobility. The Desolate Fortress is different. The extraordinary spirit medicines passing through our fortress inevitably go to those of Imperial blood. In utmost secrecy, of course.”

“... The spirit pill I received was no small gift, either.”

“They would receive more than that. Naturally.”

Hwashin's lips began trembling again. Had he thought of facing his half sister?

“The Lord of Changling Blossoms and the Blue Qilin are like world trees nurtured by the towering mountain that is the Namgoong clan. I do not mean to belittle you, Young Master Jung. Some martial arts are difficult to counter even when both practitioners are equally accomplished. I am no exception. I volunteered for this mission to overcome my inner demon, but I do not know whether I can conquer it in time.”

He clasped his trembling hand with the other and smiled awkwardly.

'This mission means something different to everyone,' Jung Yeonshin thought.

The Desolate Fortress had issued the mission to bring the martial world under control. Jung Yeonshin, whose life hung in the balance, had volunteered to earn merit. And Namgoong Hwashin, who had endured contempt, had come to cast off his past and avenge his mother.

'During the selection tournament, he wanted to beat me so he could fight the young clan head. Does he have debts and grudges with the Blue Qilin, too?'

The boy regarded Hwashin quietly. After watching him for a while, he slowly began to speak.

“I cannot lift your spirits for you, Young Master Namgoong...”

“Ha ha. I would not ask that of you, Young Master Jung.”

As Hwashin's soft laughter faded, Jung Yeonshin continued.

“But I believe I can bring Namgoong Mi down.”

* * *

A woman with snow-white skin slowly bit into a peach. Her grand armchair was adorned with luxurious tiger fur, and the way she draped a hand over its armrest like a sovereign suited her perfectly.

Working her small mouth at a leisurely pace, she spoke.

“Proceed.”

Namgoong Mi had given her command. To some, it heralded the end.

Those left at Wuchang's Profound Truth Sect shook with uncontrollable terror. The servants had already been crippled. Now it was their turn—the attendants.

The Namgoong clan's Changling Blossoms warriors approached, qi fluctuations spreading around their bare hands. Their eyes were utterly indifferent as they looked down at the attendants. Those were not gazes directed at fellow human beings.

“Spare us! Please spare us!”

“I was brought here against my will!”

Ming law did not permit private torture. In the Great Ming, the common people were the emperor's property. No one was permitted to violate that principle. Yet the Central Plains were vast, a land too broad for the imperial household to oversee in every detail.

At this moment, Namgoong Mi's command stood above the Great Ming Code. All the more so with the Namgoong clan nearby.

“We will not kill you.”

She smiled faintly. There was even elegance in that smile.

“We will merely destroy your energy cores. You learned wicked unorthodox cultivation methods, did you not? Having served as this vile Profound Truth Sect's loyal hounds, who knows what atrocities you might inflict on the common folk outside once you leave your ruined sect behind?”

“I've never learned martial arts... Aaargh!”

The moment the Changling Blossoms warriors' hands moved, screams erupted throughout the hall.

The agony of having one's energy core destroyed was no trivial thing. It meant having the Sea of Qi point in the lower abdomen ripped apart by an internal heavy-strike technique. How could anyone endure the sensation of blood vessels being severed outright? They could never be whole again.

More than a dozen attendants writhed on the floor, coughing up blood as it also poured from their lower bodies. Bloodstains began to spread across the floor of the Profound Truth Sect's central hall.

Some of the sect's workers had been fortunate enough to be selected as Namgoong Mi's servants. They stood to one side without daring to speak, their faces rigid. They could scarcely even breathe.

“Clear this away and invite the people in. We will use this worthless unorthodox sect's wealth to hold a feast,” Namgoong Mi said.

As noted, within the Namgoong clan, her orders stood above the Great Ming Code. Her words were carried out at once.

It was dusk. The early-summer sun cast long stretches of orange twilight and lengthened the people's shadows. Under the watch of a single Changling Blossoms warrior, the attendants dared not make a rash move. Before long, the Profound Truth Sect's training ground had become a banquet venue for the people of Wuchang.

Namgoong masters had annihilated the Profound Truth Sect. It was momentous news. Local notables gathered of their own accord, without even waiting for invitations.

“What a relief!”

“Those Profound Truth Sect bastards got what they deserved!”

“A fairy maiden from the snowy mountains has descended in the Namgoong name. Just look at that white-jade skin. She's nothing like us ordinary mortals.”

“And her martial arts are sublime. We truly have much to be grateful for.”

The table hauled out from inside the sect was enormous. Dozens of people sat around it, eating and drinking. Most were proprietors of Wuchang's merchant companies, escort agencies, and martial schools. The head of the prefectural academy, where Wuchang's students pursued their studies, also sat among them, gravely stroking his beard.

“Then, are you saying a branch of the Namgoong clan will be established here?”

The question came from a bald, middle-aged man. Although said to head a medium-sized escort agency, he spoke and behaved as though addressing a superior.

Namgoong Mi slowly inclined her head.

“I have witnessed the Profound Truth Sect's appalling conduct. In my own modest way, I hope to maintain order in Wuchang's martial community...”

The corners of her mouth curved gently upward.

“But I wonder whether I might be imposing on you all.”

“Not in the slightest.”

“On the contrary, we are grateful.”

Many of those present waved away her concern. This was the doing of the Namgoong clan's precious daughter. Even if they truly disliked it, they had to answer that way.

“Oh, how kind of you.”

The smile on Namgoong Mi's lips deepened. A young martial artist who had been staring at her in a daze raised his hand.

“Lady Namgoong! I hear you will be fighting a warrior of the Desolate Fortress!”

“Oh my, are you worried about me?”

When she smiled at him as though delighted, he blushed. It was a reaction she never tired of. Such was the martial world Namgoong Mi had known.

The imperial princes and princesses of the imperial household, with noble-race blood in their veins, were said to be exalted. Yet she, raised among regional nobility whose standing in the free martial world rivaled royalty, did not envy them. She considered herself cultured enough to be content with her lot. She merely wished to protect what she possessed.

Namgoong Mi tilted her head slightly, letting her glossy hair fall to one side. The movement was deliberate.

“Why did the Desolate Fortress leave the Profound Truth Sect alone? So many common people were suffering.”

Those present immediately showed signs of understanding. Anyone could tell what she wanted to hear.

“They can hardly wait to tighten their grip on the martial world. Who can fathom their motives?”

“They must have been pleased to leave it be! Those unorthodox bastards kept Wuchang's orthodox factions from holding their heads high! Aren't the Desolate Fortress merely martial artists oppressing the rest of the martial world? Just look at what happened to the Hwangbo clan...”

“They sent a challenge to a life-and-death duel to the Namgoong clan after its fierce battle against the Blood Flame Cult. They trample the principles of the martial world underfoot.”

Their denunciations were vehement. They appeared to genuinely believe what they were saying.

Namgoong Mi watched them quietly. Martial artists were no different from commoners. They curried favor with those stronger than themselves. Some of them probably held different views in truth.

It did not matter. This was her martial world. No one challenged the life she led. The world stretched smoothly before her like a fine carpet. That was why she wanted to protect it.

That was why the family elders had stood by when the Desolate Fortress's young talent appeared wielding an astonishing sound technique. Had he been a rising disciple of the Nine Great Sects, matters would have been different. The strong preyed on the weak.

To a clan expanding its influence by the martial world's own rules, the Desolate Fortress was an outrageous bunch. With nothing but the people's welfare as their justification, they meddled in every affair of Murim.

'We must nip that bud. This time for certain.'

She had easily won the contest over justification and seized Wuchang's popular support in an instant. The Desolate Fortress, which had demanded life-and-death duels, was beholden to public opinion. Even in a straightforward match, Namgoong Mi could not possibly lose, but as a member of a great martial faction, she had done everything at her disposal.

'In this world, the strong are those who plan for everything.'

Smiling prettily, she was reaching for a peach at one side of the table when it happened.

“Who...”

Everyone briefly froze. This was no voice they could ignore. The force of spirit within it was tremendous.

“...dared speak of our Cult?”

A clear, boyish voice rang out, fused with the harsh crackle of core energy. Internal energy seemed to have been channeled into the Lianquan point just above the vocal cords.

With a flutter of robes, a crimson figure swept across the wall. The movement technique displayed extraordinary mastery.

TAP.

The figure landed in the banquet grounds with a faint footfall. Not a speck of dust stirred.

Namgoong Mi swiftly activated her eye technique and looked up. Her eyes shone sky-blue with the Namgoong clan's secret Flourishing Heaven Eye Art as they swept down from the intruder's head. She was confident she could detect even the slightest tremor of his body.

The uninvited guest who had spoken of “our Cult” wore a demon mask, grinning like a dragon with its jaws open. His scarlet robe hung all the way to his wrists, and qi fluctuations swirled around him like wind. His appearance alone was overwhelming.

“The Blood... Flame Cult?”

Someone's stunned murmur reached her ears.

Namgoong Mi did not look away. Those sinister fluctuations were no ordinary thing. The current brushing her skin like ripples spoke of exquisitely delicate core-energy manipulation. His control was frightening. There was no conceivable way he was revealing all of his internal energy.

“You.”

The red-robed figure in the demon mask spoke.

“Are you the Namgoong wretch?”

For a moment, no one said a word. It was a truly shocking entrance.