“...Shall we pursue?”
The eldest son of the Tang Clan of Sichuan, Dang Jiwoon, asked cautiously.
His gaze stretched toward the silhouette of Dang Jeokcheon, quietly bathed in moonlight, swaying faintly.
Dang Jeokcheon was deep in torment.
Just moments ago, the words delivered by Dang Soran’s maid.
‘The young lady has brought a man into the annex.’
That brief message had stirred quiet ripples in Dang Jeokcheon’s heart.
He was conflicted.
Was it truly right to monitor his daughter’s every move?
Dang Jeokcheon thought not.
He remembered the past.
In his own youth, the Tang Clan of Sichuan’s rules had been shackles that choked the breath from him.
Every posture, every word was measured by an unyielding standard, and a single errant glance brought the whip.
More than anyone, he did not wish such fetters imposed upon his daughter once more.
That was why.
He had granted Dang Soran so much freedom.
Even behaviors deemed rude, he had forcibly restrained himself with an inner boundary.
At times, it felt less like freedom and more like indulgence, to the point of avoiding interference.
However... perhaps that had been an act worse than strict upbringing.
A heart demon had come to Dang Soran.
It was already too late to extend a hand.
Dang Soran had refused to take his.
Instead, she turned her back, stubbornly insisting on standing alone.
Dang Jeokcheon found it bittersweet yet admirable.
Yet at the same time, his sense of powerlessness as a father only deepened.
Such a child had brought in a man.
After allowing her freedom her whole life, what meaning would interference now hold?
Would it not rather be a betrayal?
The agonizing lasted long.
Even in that not-so-long silence, Dang Jeokcheon flipped his heart dozens of times.
Yet in the end, he chose to move.
Not because he had found the right answer.
Because he was her father.
Before weighing what was more proper, simply because he worried for his daughter.
In that moment, neither the dignity of the clan leader nor the face of a famed murim family’s patriarch mattered.
She had been the size of his palm.
That tiny life, tottering on unsteady steps to throw herself into his arms.
Weeping because a little tooth had fallen out, then beaming broadly when given candy.
The child who had chattered endlessly about her wants and clung to him that day.
The admirable daughter who had thrown hidden weapons hundreds of times, hands blistered, vowing to serve the clan...
What feelings drove her now, to bring in such a person?
All those memories crashed like waves, and he quietly set his feet in motion.
Soran would surely dislike it.
But worry came first.
Was she standing on a path to further ruin, or still fighting her own battle?
Before the annex.
In the slanted moonlight, the maid was already waiting.
“She has not come out yet.”
Dang Jeokcheon nodded and dismissed the maid.
He let out a long sigh.
It was no issue if his daughter took a man to heart.
She was at that age. He had no desire to judge it.
But crossing that line before marriage changed everything.
It went against the Tang Clan’s teachings and his own values.
...Yet again, was it right to smash through the door and invade his daughter’s time like some judge?
All these thoughts made his own figure seem utterly pathetic.
A father, lost in such spying torment before his daughter’s room.
Had he reined her in strictly from the start, shackling her, would this anguish be absent?
He let out a wry chuckle.
...No. In the past, he had admired his daughter soaring like a free bird.
That was why he had been proud of the Thousand-Year Flower living as a proud heroine, esteemed even among the righteous faction’s juniors.
Dang Jeokcheon soon steeled his resolve.
He cared not for anything else. He just wanted to know his daughter was safe.
Dang Jeokcheon closed his eyes and opened his qi sense.
Sounds normally inaudible began flooding his ears.
The crawl of ants, the fall of dead leaves, even the snoring of the servants.
And from that room.
‘Hic... sob’
A familiar sound of weeping.
His daughter’s tears.
Dang Jeokcheon’s breath caught.
Over the past year, that cry had gouged his chest like a blade.
His dantian vibrated in response for an instant.
Should he burst through the door now? His mind went blank.
But then.
‘It’s alright. Cry as much as you need. I know how hard you’ve tried.’
A gentle male voice followed.
Low and careful, laced with sincerity.
At those words, Dang Jeokcheon froze in a daze.
‘Sniff... hic... sob...’
Regaining his reason to listen, Dang Soran’s tears sounded different from usual.
Not just crushed by pain.
Emotions easing, spilling out, a relieving catharsis.
Rather, like finally setting down a burden tightly packed in her heart for so long.
The man’s consolations interspersed.
Warm words, neither rude nor forced.
...It was not the scene he had imagined.
He quietly withdrew his qi and closed his senses.
The world fell silent once more.
“...Haa.”
And this moment arrived.
Dang Jeokcheon’s mind clearly recalled the shabby man’s retreating back from the annex just before.
Had something happened before he arrived? He had even asked if they had shared a bed.
He himself deemed it a pathetic question.
Yet the man’s words heard through qi sense, and the intimate air beyond Dang Soran’s sobs, revealed they were not mere acquaintances.
That was why he had asked.
The man had recoiled in horror, insisting how could someone like him have relations with Dang Soran.
From that awkward demeanor and posture, Dang Jeokcheon clearly realized the man lacked the nerve to embrace her.
That was why he had let him go.
As atonement for the strange misunderstanding.
To begin with, detaining him for merely sharing a meal with Dang Soran would have been excessive.
“...Let him go.”
In the end, Dang Jeokcheon said to Dang Jiwoon.
Dang Jiwoon nodded as well.
He could hardly be someone who would harm his daughter.
Moreover, if he truly were close to Dang Soran, they would meet again someday.
Dang Jeokcheon still wanted to trust his daughter.
Monitoring her every move was his own greed, a restraint.
“...Let us return.”
Dang Jeokcheon sighed one last time and turned his steps.
Come morning, what meaning would this night hold for Dang Soran?
What face would she greet the dawn with?
For a moment, Dang Jeokcheon grew curious.
****
Cheongwol was running breathlessly amid her master Soun and the fellow first-generation disciples.
Their destination was Qingcheng Mountain, the deep, secluded valley where the Qingcheng Sect had taken root.
They had barely caught their breath upon returning to Mount Emei before setting out again.
The day she set foot in the sect, shocking news had crashed over her.
Hye-yul and Baekhui, her second-generation senior sisters with whom she had often clashed—had been kidnapped.
Originally, when the sect leader sent a letter to Chengdu, there had only been radio silence.
But while Cheongwol returned to Mount Emei, one piece of news arrived.
An unknown figure had captured Hye-yul and Baekhui, demanding that to get them back, the Emei Sect’s Thousand-Year Flower, Cheongwol, come to Hye Ryeong Valley on Qingcheng Mountain.
With no other recourse, the Emei Sect had set off straight for Qingcheng Mountain with Cheongwol.
It had already been three days of running.
Cheongwol could feel the strain building in her body.
From Mount Emei to Chengdu. Then back from Chengdu to Mount Emei.
And now straight to Qingcheng Mountain.
No proper rest, pushing her body to the limit.
Moreover, the fact that this unknown person sought her... honestly, it was a bit frightening.
Why me, over and over?
Resentment and injustice welled up.
She was reminded anew how harsh her world truly was.
“It will be fine, Cheongwol.”
Soun comforted her as they ran.
“I will protect you. Fear not.”
“...”
But Cheongwol was no longer a child.
She could read the worry hidden behind her master’s voice.
Soun was just pretending to be strong.
They knew nothing.
Unknown masters were always like that.
No way to gauge what level of expert might appear.
Of course, even scouring the Central Plains, finding a master like Cheongwol was no easy task.
There were not a few, but top mid-tier martial artists were not simple to find either.
And finding someone of Soun’s caliber was harder still.
Soun was pushing toward the wall of peak realm.
So it should be fine.
...But did the opponent not know this?
The fact that they had openly named her despite knowing weighed heavily.
Why must she take on such danger for senior sisters whose relations were already irreparably soured?
Cheongwol truly could not understand.
Thus they arrived at Hye Ryeong Valley on Qingcheng Mountain.
Soun commanded the six Emei Sect nuns who had come along.
“All of you, cover your ears.”
Cheongwol obediently plugged her ears.
Soun then drew a deep breath, chest swelling, qi gathered in her dantian exploding upward in an instant.
Followed by a heaven-shaking roar, the Demon-Subduing Cry.
Originally a peak sonic art for confronting demonic paths, now merely a signal.
The clear, refined resonance echoed across Qingcheng Mountain.
Soun’s desperation to rescue her disciples filled every corner.
Soun unleashed the Demon-Subduing Cry several times in succession.
Dead leaves fell like a shower, forest beasts fleeing in terror every which way.
“He’s coming.”
Onbin, another first-generation disciple of the Emei Sect beside Soun, whispered.
Cheongwol looked up as well.
Not hiding himself, but fully enveloping his qi to reveal his presence.
“...Ah.”
At the sight of the appearing man, all let out sighs.
No one present did not know that man’s name.
The difference was his once jet-black hair now snow-white, and calm eyes now roiling with red bloodlust.
The man lightly ascended a tree and cupped his fists in salute.
“It’s been a while, Emei Sect nuns.”
Soun whispered.
“...You.”
He gazed straight at the Emei Sect.
Neither side drew weapons first.
Yet, whether hallucination or not, the scent of blood was rising from somewhere.
“Yeongcheon of the Wudang Sect. Greetings.”