“If that person had existed in my childhood memories, perhaps something would’ve been different. But now, when I don’t even know why they vanished without a trace, I feel nothing at all.”

Ah, so that’s what it was. I suppose that makes perfect sense.

The realization slammed into Cho Yoon, instantly followed by a sharp pang of regret.

He had definitely spoken out of turn.

Burying traumatic memories didn’t magically cure them, but a complete amateur like Cho Yoon had no business recklessly digging them up under the guise of “helping.”

Even though he had resolved to communicate openly with Cheon-oh after losing Sa-yeong and Sa-hyeon in his nightmare, this specific topic was completely beyond his depth.

The moment he had decided there was no harm in being careful with his words, he had essentially made a massive misstep.

Yet, he couldn’t just leave his disciple standing there, deeply pondering a question he had thrown out so carelessly. No matter how much cold sweat pooled at the small of his back, Cho Yoon was the master; he had to provide a plausible, comforting answer.

“Even when you were barely seven years old, you were a child who went out of your way to check on the servants doing chores around your clan,” Cho Yoon said, his voice steady. “If you value the bonds you’ve built over the blood you’ve inherited, such a reaction is entirely possible. However…”

The image of his disciple, agonizing for so long over the sudden massacre of his clan, remained vividly etched in Cho Yoon’s memory. And yet, entirely separate from the trauma of losing his family, Cheon-oh had also attempted to murder the Moyong Clan members upon their first meeting without a single shred of guilt.

The deciding factor behind this jarring discrepancy seemed to be the existence of a relationship.

If Cheon-oh had formed an emotional attachment to someone, he cherished them in his own way. But if that bond didn’t exist, did he simply lack the fundamental moral baseline that dictated ‘you shouldn’t kill people’? Thanks to years of strict education under Cho Yoon, the boy now had reasons not to kill. But without those external rules, would Cheon-oh simply feel no internal need to spare a life?

Of course, since the Moyong Clan had aggressively drawn their swords and attacked Cheon-oh first, Cho Yoon couldn’t definitively prove anything based on that incident alone. He was merely constructing multiple hypotheses and treading very, very carefully.

We’ve lived under the same roof for eight solid years, and somehow I feel like I know less about him as time goes on… Or maybe kids just naturally mutate as they grow up.

“I was concerned you would become restless upon hearing this news,” Cho Yoon admitted smoothly. “Having experienced the pain of losing those you cherish, I feared the knowledge of a living blood relative would leave you constantly burning with anxiety.”

“…Listening to your words, I suppose a few questions about him do come to mind,” Cheon-oh replied evenly. “But it is not a desperate curiosity. Please do not worry, Master.”

“If that is the case, then it is fine.”

Clearly, Cho Yoon’s disciple was not the type of protagonist who would embark on an epic quest to track down biological parents he had never even met. Blood ties often forge the easiest and most resilient bonds, but sometimes they devolve into inescapable curses that offer nothing but misery. It was probably a blessing that Cheon-oh wasn’t obsessed with his lineage.

Having delivered his concise reply, Cho Yoon stepped lightly onto a moss-covered rock, feeling significantly lighter. Perhaps because Cho Yoon so rarely voiced his personal feelings aloud, Cheon-oh’s low, quiet voice—drifting like mountain mist—followed him from behind, as if attempting to reassure him.

“You alone are sufficient for me, Master. Since the day you took me in, I have never felt a void severe enough to make me crave a man I share no connection with. I will never allow my emotions to dictate rash actions for any reason other than you, so please, you truly do not need to worry.”

“You must not use me as an excuse, either,” Cho Yoon retorted, turning his head to shoot the boy a stern sidelong glance. “If I become the catalyst for you to act recklessly, I would have no face left to call myself your master.”

Cheon-oh immediately snapped his mouth shut.

Cho Yoon had inadvertently ended up scolding him, but he wasn’t actually upset. On the contrary, he felt a subtle, deeply satisfying warmth, as if he had finally received a definitive answer to a question that had plagued him for years.

He really is an undeservedly admirable disciple. 

Occasional headaches were unavoidable; one couldn’t expect raising a child to be a completely effortless endeavor. Just as Cho Yoon poured his heart into caring for Cheon-oh, Cheon-oh provided Cho Yoon with countless forms of support in return. In this terrifying, unfamiliar world, Cheon-oh was the anchor that allowed Cho Yoon to stand firm and grow.

Why am I still agonizing over how to steer the future? Cho Yoon reasoned. I just need to focus on paving a path of flowers for my kids, exactly like I did four years ago. Worrying about the original plot now is completely pointless. The ‘original route’ died the moment I brought Cheon-oh home.

Buoyed by his newly lightened steps, Cho Yoon arrived at a highly biased and delightfully irresponsible conclusion.

Such blissful ignorance was possible only because he was completely unaware that his “admiring” disciple had inadvertently unleashed a torrent of sword qi, transforming their courtyard into a disaster zone.

He would be forced into a miserable week of unplanned DIY repairs, and this seemingly trivial mishap would eventually pale in comparison to a genuinely massive shock that awaited him in the future.

***

“There is no lie quite as efficient as a first impression that brands itself into a person’s mind. It is especially easy to deceive the arrogant—those brilliant fools who fancy they can read an opponent from the very first meeting. Once they form a judgment based on their five senses, they will twist every subsequent piece of information to fit their initial conclusion.”

The soft, sickly-sweet voice methodically slid its cunning logic into Sa-yeong’s ears. Sitting completely still with a frigid, expressionless face, Sa-yeong slowly lifted her gaze to stare blankly at the objects laid out before her.

A jewelry box intricately inlaid with mother-of-pearl peonies, and a tin-backed bronze mirror. The reflection staring back at her was violently at odds with the extravagant luxuries suffocating the room.

Despising anything cumbersome, she wore nothing on her wrists, ankles, or fingers. While she had worn masks, she had never once dabbed her face with powder or rouge.

Instead of the sheer, flowing silks of a celestial maiden, she wore practical, unrestrictive martial robes.

Were it not for the single hairpin holding it up, she would have brutally hacked off her hair long ago.

Furthermore, her expression was entirely raw, making zero effort to conceal her blatant displeasure. Sa-yeong was the sole, glaring anomaly in this opulent chamber.

As she engaged in a staring contest with her own reflection, a delicate fingertip touched her chin. It was Hui—the Hao Sect Leader, and the very person who had summoned her here and forced her in front of this mirror.

“And elegance is an intensely powerful first impression that yields a profit one hundred times out of a hundred. Noble dignity, lofty grace… what do you suppose are the elements required to fabricate such an atmosphere?”

Sa-yeong flinched, her neck breaking out in goosebumps as the ornate nail guard traced her jawline, and she jerked her head away.

The man whispering treacherous lessons right beside her chuckled softly at her hyper-sensitive reaction. Even though she had been learning from and working under him for nearly four years, Sa-yeong could never grow accustomed to his presence.

Existing in his orbit felt like living alongside a serpent slithering on its belly across a damp floor, or a fox concealing its tails beneath exquisite silk robes.

Despite her deep scowl, Sa-yeong answered dutifully. Regardless of his inscrutable behavior, the deeply cynical knowledge Hui imparted was ruthlessly practical and grounded in reality.

“Posture and speech, isn’t it? The vocabulary used, the precise movements of the eyes and hands, an unwavering head and shoulders, a measured gait, and a calm voice. Precisely what you have been drilling into me for the past several months.”

“Correct. Concepts like ‘innate elegance’ are complete illusions. Those are words reserved for people fortunate enough to be born into environments where such traits are naturally cultivated. Elegance is merely a discipline that can be physically memorized through education, and once you learn this final piece, your training will be complete.”

With that, Hui pulled open the drawers of the jewelry box one by one, displaying their contents before her.

An array of ornaments crafted from precious metals, jewels, pearls, and ivory revealed themselves in categorized splendor. Had it been anyone else’s collection, she might have been surprised, but these belonged to Hui. Having resided in the Hao Sect’s main headquarters in Guangdong for four years, she was more than accustomed to his lavish lifestyle.

Yet, she couldn’t fathom his ulterior motive for bringing them out now.

He wasn’t the type to suddenly demand she play dress-up. Tearing her eyes away from the glittering accessories, Sa-yeong looked directly at Hui. If she possessed a mind weak enough to be swayed by a peerless beauty flashing a gentle smile, she never would have survived this long.

“Elegance is composure. Wealth, power, intellect, martial prowess—any of them will suffice. True elegance is the attitude that bleeds from the absolute certainty that I am the best at this. It isn’t about looking down on others; it’s about possessing unshakeable faith in yourself.”

Humans are far closer to beasts than they appear… if they sense their opponent is superior, their instincts immediately force them to cower, Hui added, speaking as though he himself were exempt from humanity.

For a man who had been born into the Imperial Family to casually discuss supremacy and superiority felt like the pinnacle of hypocrisy. Sa-yeong’s fiercely rebellious nature sneered internally, though she kept her face carefully blank.

Unbothered by her obvious dissatisfaction, Hui continued, “You have an excellent reference point in the great Immortal Healer. It is rare to have the opportunity to observe someone of his caliber at such close quarters for an extended period. Of course, you shouldn’t attempt to mimic the Immortal Healer’s utterly transcendent, detached aura just yet, but since you are excessively lacking in composure, aiming for his level of stability is the perfect starting point.”

The Immortal Healer.

The only master Sa-yeong truly acknowledged and followed. A man who felt distinctly un-human, though in a completely different manner than Hui.

Thinking of him habitually resurrected memories etched deeply into her five senses.

The cool, damp air of the forest, the pungent scent of the medicinal baths she soaked in every evening, the clean taste of their simple meals, and the unwavering image of the immortal himself.

The time she spent with Cho Yoon was the only period in her life where she hadn’t needed to fight tooth and nail just to survive. She had been allowed to trust and rely on an adult, living day by day without a care in the world, just like any ordinary child who had never known misfortune.

Without realizing it, her bristling hostility softened. She felt she could somewhat grasp the composure and elegance Hui was describing. She finally understood why mastering it was so profitable, and exactly what kind of first impression branded itself into a person’s mind.

However, Sa-yeong possessed no outstanding abilities to flaunt.

She knew this well, having constantly evaluated her own limits in accordance with her master’s advice to strictly understand her capabilities and only bite off what she could chew.

She hadn’t mastered anything to the degree of her master’s martial arts or medical expertise, nor did she possess extraordinary talents like Hui’s vast wealth or Machiavellian scheming.

At best, her innate intellect and reflexes were sharper and more tenacious than average.

She was honing those traits diligently, but she was still a long way from seeing true results.

What on earth was she supposed to have “unshakeable faith” in?