The formation was impressive, too… I still don’t really understand the principle, but the moment I saw it, I had this certainty: it was real, proper formation work.
The ability to twist the very laws of cause and effect, casually rewriting the fundamental rules of the world (a concept Cho Yoon admittedly still barely understood), was nothing short of miraculous.
To realize that such a feat had been accomplished by a child not yet fifteen was profoundly staggering.
Standing before Zhuge Seol-rin’s quarters, Cho Yoon had spent a long moment simply marveling at the suffocating density of the arrays encasing the annex.
Bypassing them felt distinctly like kicking down the locked bedroom door of a teenager who had hung a massive “KEEP OUT” sign on the handle.
He knew exactly why Seol-rin was so obsessively paranoid—he had read the original novel—but barging in uninvited was still undeniably rude.
Normally, Cho Yoon deeply respected the privacy and autonomy of others and would never resort to such a drastic intrusion. He had compromised his own principles and chosen this reckless path for one singular reason.
We need to get out of Tongguan. As fast as humanly possible!
There was someone currently residing in Tongguan City whom he absolutely, unequivocally refused to cross paths with: Moyong Seo, the very boy whose misunderstanding Cho Yoon had just cleared up.
Whenever a regressor protagonist runs into either me or Cheon-oh, the plot instantly twists into an unrecognizable mess, Cho Yoon agonized. Cheon-oh is already starting to shed his childhood softness; he looks too much like an adult now. It’s incredibly dangerous. The protagonist saw the Sovereign of the Underworld, Joo Cheon-oh, in his past life. He might actually recognize him.
It was tempting to adopt a lackadaisical attitude—Tongguan is a massive city, what are the odds we actually bump into him?—but Cho Yoon knew better.
Preparing for the absolute worst-case scenario was infinitely smarter than gambling on blind luck.
From the exact moment his boots hit the cobblestones of Tongguan, Cho Yoon’s senses had flared with the hyper-vigilance of a hunted rabbit. He continuously swept the perimeter, terrified that Moyong Seo, his older brother Moyong Dan, or any of their associated entourage might be lingering nearby.
The reason Cheon-oh—who was already living a life completely divorced from the original timeline—absolutely could not meet the protagonist’s party was deceptively simple, yet utterly critical.
I already revived the supposedly dead patriarch, Moyong Jeong, so the ‘original plot’ is effectively shattered, Cho Yoon reasoned. But the protagonist’s core trajectory remains unchanged. Imagine if Joo Cheon-oh suddenly waltzes into his life right now, acting like a sweet, obedient fifteen-year-old kid. The protagonist’s future movements would become completely impossible to predict.
Before his regression, Moyong Seo had witnessed the supreme leader of the demonic forces. Having lost his loved ones and the world itself, the protagonist had spent his entire second life meticulously sharpening his blade, vowing never to be subjugated again.
Armed with the ultimate cheat code of future knowledge, he was currently growing at a terrifying, unstoppable pace, his entire existence laser-focused on a single goal: amassing the power to obliterate the Demonic Cult.
How would such a person react if the future supreme leader of that very Cult suddenly appeared before him?
What if he saw Seomun Cheon-oh—currently lacking any divine swords or heaven-defying artifacts, armed with nothing but his master’s old blade?
Given the protagonist’s ruthless pragmatism regarding future threats, it would end in bloodshed at the very least, Cho Yoon concluded grimly. And that blade, meant for the Demonic Cult, might pivot directly toward me. He could associate me with the Cult, or worse, suspect that I’m a fellow regressor.
Either outcome guaranteed a catastrophic headache.
Escaping Tongguan immediately was their only viable option.
Furthermore, there was a second, equally pressing reason to hasten their return to the Point of No Return Mountain Range.
A nagging question had blossomed in Cho Yoon’s mind during his conversation with Zhuge Seol-rin regarding the mastermind.
If someone deliberately submerged the Zhenniao in the upper currents of the Point of No Return Mountain Range… who extracted it to resolve the crisis in the original novel?
In the Zhenniao Poison arc of The Returned Hero, the protagonist’s sole contribution was handing the Purification Stones to Zhuge Seol-rin and offering a cryptic warning.
Acting on that advice, Seol-rin planted the stones across Shaanxi, waited a fortnight, and retrieved artifacts that had turned pitch-black from absorbing the lethal toxin.
Crucially, if the Zhenniao corpse had remained sunken in the Yeonpa River, the water would have instantly re-contaminated the moment Seol-rin removed the stones.
The fact that Shaanxi didn’t immediately fall to a secondary plague proved someone had eventually removed the Zhenniao from the Human-Faced Water Snake’s belly.
And that person was absolutely not the original ‘Cho Yoon.’
If Cho Yoon had known about it, he would have dealt with it immediately, he deduced. Which means it was someone else. Someone definitively infiltrated the Point of No Return Mountain Range and retrieved the corpse. There are only two possibilities: either the mastermind achieved their goal and recalled the beast, or a third party who knew about the plot quietly stole it.
Once again, either possibility guaranteed a massive, impending headache. Simply confirming the existence of a deliberate, highly capable antagonist sent Cho Yoon’s anxiety spiraling. The deeper he analyzed the situation, the more tangled the web became, prompting a heavy, involuntary sigh.
Masking his mounting depression, Cho Yoon kicked off the ground with practiced lightness.
I’ll think about this after I get Cheon-oh out of here, he decided. I can’t do anything until we return to the Point of No Return Mountain Range anyway. I’m going to have to turn that entire mountain range upside down. I really hope the original ‘Cho Yoon’ possessed some talent for tracking or deduction…
Hoping to keep his activities in Tongguan completely off Hui’s radar, Cho Yoon had ordered Cheon-oh to wait at the guest house. It didn’t take long to reach the bustling commercial district and blend seamlessly into the surging crowd.
Adjusting his bamboo hat, Cho Yoon wove through the throng with absolute silence, leaving not a single ripple in his wake.
However, as he approached the guest house, Cho Yoon’s expression suddenly hardened.
More accurately, it was the absence of a presence that triggered his alarm. The room they had rented on the third floor was completely empty. Given his transcendent perception—capable of casually tracking the aura of ordinary civilians wandering the halls—it was impossible for him to miss his disciple’s presence.
Instantly draining of color, Cho Yoon frantically scanned his surroundings.
An invisible, rippling wave of pure sensory qi exploded outward from his position.
Oblivious to the pedestrians looking up at the sudden, unnatural gust of wind, Cho Yoon poured his absolute concentration into locating the boy.
Fortunately, Cheon-oh’s aura—which shared a distinct resonance with his own—was not far away.
He was stationary, and the immediate vicinity appeared deserted.
…With one glaring exception.
Cho Yoon sensed a single individual standing beside Cheon-oh in a secluded alleyway.
At a superficial glance, the stranger projected the mundane, feeble vitality of a complete novice who had barely begun cultivating. However, ‘Cho Yoon’s’ transcendent instincts instantly screamed in warning. As he wrapped his sensory qi around the small figure to verify Cheon-oh’s safety, the resonance exposed a terrifying, suppressed reservoir of pure Yang energy hidden deep within the stranger’s core.
It felt exactly as if the person had swallowed a brilliant, blindingly radiant miniature sun.
Recalling exactly which specific character in the novel was associated with that exact, iconic description, Cho Yoon’s face turned the color of bone ash.
Launching himself forward so violently that the resulting shockwave resembled a localized hurricane, Cho Yoon genuinely wanted to burst into tears.
Why do my absolute worst-case scenarios always manifest in the most unimaginably catastrophic ways possible?!
***
To understand why Seomun Cheon-oh—a disciple who treated his master’s word as absolute gospel—was disobeying orders and standing outside the guest house, one had to rewind to the day they departed Xi’an for Tongguan.
Following the deeply humiliating nocturnal emission incident, Cheon-oh had managed a fitful sleep before boarding the carriage to accompany his master on his errands. The journey was relatively short, allowing them to reach Tongguan by nightfall. Upon arriving, his master had immediately secured a room at a guest house to unpack.
That was when the crisis began.
His master, who had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the journey aside from necessary instruction, suddenly dropped a bombshell.
“When we return to Estate of Deep Mists, you will sleep in your own room.”
“…Excuse me?”
When he was eleven, Cheon-oh had attempted to sleep alone for the first time.
Ultimately defeated by the suffocating silence of the night, he had dragged his blankets to Cho Yoon’s door.
After a brief conversation over drinks with his master, he had laid down in Cho Yoon’s room. Since then, his master had never explicitly forbidden it, and Cheon-oh naturally fell into the habit of sharing the space.
The faint, flickering amber glow of the oil lamp and the subtle sounds of his master’s presence were Cheon-oh’s ultimate sleeping aids—his personal, infallible sedatives.
To suddenly be banished from that sanctuary left him utterly reeling.
“Did I commit some grave discourtesy while sleeping?” Cheon-oh asked frantically. “I am deeply sorry, Master. Please forgive my transgression.”
“That is not the reason.”
As his master’s perfectly sculpted brow furrowed slightly, Cheon-oh instinctively snapped his mouth shut. However, he couldn’t simply surrender. Despite Cho Yoon’s previous assurances, the guilt still gnawed at him, forcing him to stammer out his deepest fear.
“Is it… is it because of the nocturnal emission? Did my actions disgust you? I swear I will never allow myself to lose control in my sleep again. Please, Master, do not cast me out.”
“I have already told you that is not the case,” Cho Yoon sighed. “You are not listening to my words.”
Yet, a catalyst for this sudden exile absolutely had to exist, and within the narrow window of recent events, only that single, humiliating incident fit the criteria. Furthermore, Cheon-oh couldn’t deny that despite his master’s repeated reassurances, he still found the entire ordeal deeply disturbing.
He simply could not accept that harboring such explicit, consuming fantasies about his own master was ‘natural.’ Every time he tried to rationalize it, a new wave of contradictions and guilt flooded his mind.
Just as the aggressively suppressed turmoil began to slither back to the surface, threatening to fully consume his thoughts, his master’s hand gently settled on his shoulder, anchoring him before he could drown in the gloom.
As always, that simple warmth effortlessly lifted his spirits, filling him with an easy, desperate adoration.
He swore to the heavens, he never could have imagined that the very next sentence out of his master’s mouth would send him plummeting straight back to hell.