Chapter 81

Cheon-oh had a tendency to do sudden, unthinkable things, so Cho Yoon had to plant a bit of groundwork in advance. Obvious truths that wuxia characters oddly forgot—like ‘you mustn’t smash up other people’s homes’ or ‘you mustn’t treat your subordinates and comrades as disposable resources’…

His recent encounter with those foolish martial artists had only served to deepen his anxieties.

As he walked, Cho Yoon found his thoughts drifting back to The Returned Hero, the martial arts novel he had read nearly a decade ago in his previous life. He mentally cataloged the myriad of depraved, amoral, and utterly apathetic atrocities committed by its characters—a grim reminder of the brutal reality he now inhabited.

Gradually, the narrow alleys widened into well-paved avenues, and the garments of the passersby took on a distinctly affluent sheen. By asking around for the most ostentatiously wealthy architecture, master and disciple finally arrived at Xi’an’s prestigious upper-class district.

The Hao Sect Leader had once claimed to own a property in every respectable downtown district, casually mentioning that the gates were secured with locks crafted to match Cho Yoon’s specific key.

If that were true… Cho Yoon scanned the grand thoroughfare.

As if conjured by his very thoughts, a magnificent mansion came into view. Its towering gate was secured by a heavy wooden lock, while sprawling pomegranate trees stretched their fruit-laden branches over the perimeter wall.

No presence lingered within the courtyard.

Still, fearing a blunder, Cho Yoon manipulated the mechanism with exaggerated caution. Cheon-oh stood by in silence, unquestioning even as his master brazenly picked at the gate of a stranger’s home.

With a heavy clack, the lock disengaged and dropped into Cho Yoon’s palm.

Swallowing his trepidation, he eased the massive doors open.

Much like the crimson birch estate they had visited in Sichuan, a meticulously curated garden lined the stone path leading to the main residence. Stepping inside with his disciple, Cho Yoon immediately barred the gate from the interior. He pocketed the key, his senses dialed to their absolute peak, fully prepared to flee the moment he detected any signs of current occupancy.

Fortunately, the estate was pristine yet entirely devoid of life.

The promised servant clearly managed the landscaping and upkeep without residing on the premises.

It was only after inspecting a flawless, dust-free red coral ornament in the main hall that Cho Yoon finally released a heavy sigh of relief.

“You might have deduced this already, but this is the Hao Sect Leader’s private villa,” Cho Yoon explained, his voice low in the cavernous room. “The guest-house district will be a cacophony all day, so we shall spend the night here. Keep to yourself and touch nothing.”

“Yes, Master. But…”

Cheon-oh’s voice trailed into silence.

It was a rare display of hesitation from the usually resolute boy. When Cho Yoon met his gaze, silently prompting the unspoken question, the boy hastily shook his head. Muttering a flimsy excuse about storing their luggage, he scurried away toward the guest quarters.

Cho Yoon debated pulling him back for a thorough interrogation but ultimately let the matter slide.

Fifteen is the age when thoughts tangle and secrets bloom, he reasoned, watching the boy’s retreating back.

***

He had painstakingly coaxed the boy, who had desperately wanted to share a room just as they did at Estate of Deep Mists, into sleeping alone. Retreating to the opposite chamber, Cho Yoon lit a solitary oil lamp. A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he recalled his disciple’s shifting moods.

One moment, Cheon-oh was eager to assist with chores; the next, he looked utterly crestfallen when ordered to sleep independently.

The boy was remarkably precocious in all other matters, making his sudden inability to sleep alone at fifteen entirely baffling. Yet, considering the child’s past trauma, it wasn’t completely unfathomable. Cheon-oh had never explicitly linked his nocturnal fears to that specific incident, leaving Cho Yoon to navigate this delicate psychological minefield entirely in the dark.

Cho Yoon sat motionless on his bedding, bathed in the lamp’s amber glow. By the time the moon crested its zenith, the anticipated presence finally materialized.

An intruder slipped seamlessly through the rear entrance, gliding into the estate without a whisper of fabric or the scuff of a footstep.

Bypassing Cheon-oh’s quarters entirely, the shadow drifted straight to Cho Yoon’s flickering doorway.

An ingratiating, honeyed voice slipped through the wooden slats. “Greetings, honored guest. Forgive the late-night intrusion, but might I beg a moment of your time?”

“Enter,” Cho Yoon commanded, his tone flat.

An unattended home rapidly breeds an air of desolation; even a single day of neglected chores leaves a visible blight.

The immaculate interior proved that a Hao Sect operative visited daily.

Cho Yoon had anticipated this, choosing to remain awake to avoid the indignity of receiving an underworld envoy from his bedroll. Yet, the sheer, terrifying efficiency of it left a sour taste in his mouth.

They certainly didn’t clean at midnight.

Their arrival at this exact hour meant they already knew he had breached Xi’an, and more unsettlingly, they knew he suffered from insomnia.

It’s terrifying, really, Cho Yoon mused. The intelligence disparity in this martial world is staggering.

A courier pigeon to Guangdong would take a full month, yet the Hao Sect and the Beggars’ Sect trafficked secrets with supernatural speed. With half the commoners moonlighting as Hao Sect informants and every street vagrant reporting to the Beggars’ Sect, a renowned martial artist possessed absolutely zero privacy.

A recluse could merely step off his secluded mountain, and the entire continent would instantly whisper, ‘So-and-so has descended into the mortal realm!’

It’s not like I’m a wanted fugitive…

Swallowing his distaste, Cho Yoon silently circulated his qi, weaving a soundproofing barrier around the room to shield the sleeping boy from their conversation.

The door slid open, admitting a short, middle-aged man. Clad in the ostentatious silks of a nouveau riche merchant, the man wore a permanently plastered smile as he bowed deeply at the waist.

“This humble one is Wang Jeong, honored guest,” the man simpered, rubbing his hands together. “I serve as the caretaker of this villa. For years, we have hosted neither the Sect Leader nor a single outsider. It is a profound privilege to finally fulfill my duties.”

“…I intended to rest quietly and depart, yet you sniffed me out with remarkable ease.”

“Oh, please, judge me favorably! I seek no favors. As this appeared to be your inaugural visit to the Sect Leader’s estate, I merely came to offer my guidance. If my presence offends, I beg your deepest forgiveness.”

Sensing the icy displeasure beneath Cho Yoon’s clipped tone, Wang Jeong doubled over, his tongue slick with practiced apologies. Uninterested in prolonged groveling, Cho Yoon offered a stiff shake of his head. Wang Jeong instantly straightened, closing the distance to deliver his pitch with machine-gun precision.

“You need only relax, honored guest. Simply relax. From the calligraphy brushes to the silk bedding, everything is at your disposal. Should you require a servant for menial tasks, simply chime the silver bell beneath the eaves.”

“I only sought refuge here to escape the chaotic streets,” Cho Yoon interrupted, his patience thinning. “I shall depart at first light. Cease this excessive fuss.”

“Shaanxi Province has been rather turbulent these past few years.” Wang Jeong pivoted smoothly, his face an unreadable mask of affability. “Our Sect Leader has been monitoring the regional shifts. The Mount Hua Sect, previously running rampant with newfound power, has abruptly quieted. Now, the Zhongnan Sect stirs the pot. I believe you witnessed their little scuffle at the guest house today.”

Despite his initial irritation, Cho Yoon found himself hooked by the sudden shift in topic.

Mount Hua’s sudden docility is undoubtedly the Sichuan Tang Clan exploiting their leverage. But Mount Hua isn’t the type to cower in the shadows forever; a storm is brewing there. But the Zhongnan Sect? Did the original novel even mention them?

Situated on Mount Zhongnan in the south, the Zhongnan Sect shared Shaanxi Province with the Zhuge Clan and the Mount Hua Sect. They were an orthodox Daoist faction renowned for their Flowing Cloud Sword Art, favoring massive, heavy blades unlike their agile Wudang or Mount Hua cousins.

Yet, aside from their unconventional weaponry, they possessed zero narrative weight. They were perpetual background extras in Korean martial arts literature, a fate faithfully mirrored in The Returned Hero. The very fact that Cho Yoon knew about their Flowing Cloud Sword Art stemmed entirely from ‘Cho Yoon’s’ inherent memories, not Jeong Hayoon’s knowledge of the novel.

The only orthodox factions explicitly painted as villains were the Namgung Clan and Mount Hua… the rest were either decent allies or low-tier fodder. So why are they acting up? Has the plot twisted again?

Anxiety gnawed at his insides. He had actively derailed the original plotlines to secure his disciple’s future, but he loathed the idea of entangling himself in factional politics. He intended to offer Cheon-oh subtle backing when the boy eventually sought his revenge. However, once the children matured and claimed their independence, Cho Yoon planned to seek a passage back to his original world. The endless, bloody politics of the Murim were not his problem.

Speaking of which, I really do need to return home once the kids are settled and Cheon-oh achieves his goals.

Was child-rearing simply too exhausting, or had this pseudo-peaceful existence dulled his survival instincts? Returning to modern Earth was his paramount objective, yet he treated it with baffling nonchalance. He hadn’t the faintest clue how to cross dimensions, let alone dedicated time to researching the phenomenon. What if he was marooned here forever?

Just as a wave of existential dread threatened to swallow him whole, the eternally grinning Wang Jeong retrieved a parchment from his inner robes.

“Truthfully, this lowly one moonlights as the branch manager of a minor escort agency, and a missive arrived for you this very morning. Had you not graced this villa, I would have dispatched it with the utmost urgency. It is an honor to place it directly into your hands.”

Offering the sealed letter with both hands, Wang Jeong bowed reverently.

A crimson string, tied in a luxurious peony knot, rested vividly against the pristine paper.