The training worked for Cheon Woo too, though not as dramatically as for Sama Hyeon, whose growth was strikingly rapid.

Several reasons for that.

Innate talent, upbringing, the type of martial arts learned—various factors. But Cheon Woo’s will was growing stronger than anyone’s.

It’s an adaptation issue.

Raised in the Wudang Sect, mastering its divine arts, Cheon Woo had walked an elite path in the martial world. Jin Cheonhee’s methods were off the beaten track so it was unimaginable to other warriors. For a Wudang swordsman, proud of his honed blade, adapting slowly was only natural.

Still, Cheon Woo trusts me more than I expected.

It could’ve been a waste of time, painful and effort-intensive. Yet Cheon Woo followed without a single complaint, slowly but surely keeping pace with hyung.

He’s got grit.

Thus, days of struggle and growth continued. The pavilion’s time flowed alongside, with Jin Cheonhee training his brothers while juggling research and Minor Pavilion Master duties.

“Any errors in the last ledger?” Zhuge Rin asked.

“Two cases,” Jin Cheonhee replied.

“Mistakes or embezzlement? What’s your take, Hee-ya?”

“…”

A clear test, part of the study of rulership[1] to lead the pavilion one day.

Hah, Master’s probably got fifty more years of vigorous leadership in him.

Master wasn’t ill or facing calamity. This wasn’t succession training born of impending death, like before. It was… standard education.

“If it was ledger manipulation, they’d have tampered with raw material costs too. The costs are untouched, but usage is overstated. Covering the herb shortfall themselves would’ve been needed, but they didn’t, so embezzlement’s unlikely.”

“Is that your only reasoning?” Zhuge Rin pressed.

Jin Cheonhee shook his head. “Not just that. The accounting recruit is reportedly slow at arithmetic, a newbie. Mistakes likely happened during training.”

“How would you handle it?”

Jin Cheonhee pondered. “Firing them isn’t right. They’ve only been trained three months. Another six months should get them competent, so we should monitor them. But a salary reduction is in order.”

“You’d settle with a pay cut?”

“Yes. Though the amount’s small, it could lead to embezzlement. No penalty risks abuse.”

Like overlooking a company newbie’s minor blunder—everyone expects rookies to mess up, and organizations brace for it. Same in this martial world. Eras and tech differ, but humans don’t.

Master grinned. “Correct. I knew you’d find the answer, but not so smoothly, Hee-ya.”

He reached out, ruffling Jin Cheonhee’s hair. Grown as he was, Master still saw him as a child.

No wonder they call him doting.

But leniency? None. Master placed another document before him. Jin Cheonhee swiftly read and summarized.

“The Mixed Five Elements Returning to Origin Energy is spreading smoothly.”

“It’s an excellent technique, isn’t it? Honestly, your creation could be called near-divine,” Zhuge Rin praised.

Divine or not, adding “near” to hype it was pure doting.

It’s not that great. If I say so, he’ll call it false modesty… better let it slide. Ugh.

Embarrassed, he changed the topic. “Still, it’s frustrating it’ll take a year for everyone to switch to it.”

“No helping it. Converting internal energy via a new cultivation technique takes at least a month to adapt. Combat gaps mean staggered shifts,” Zhuge Rin explained.

“Ugh, true, but still…”

Master eyed his disciple’s profile, then jabbed, “You’re too impatient sometimes.”

Ouch.

A simple remark, yet it stung. He couldn’t admit it was the K-Blood’s call—hating public certificates and wanting to nuke slow internet. “Uh, the faster I go, the… better the overall efficiency.”

“Let’s call it that,” Master humored.

“With the new medicine, we’ll save more lives too.”

“You’re already doing that with White Dragon Elixir. No need to rush. If you collapse, that’s the real problem.”

“Ugh…”

“Do it moderately.”

Rest moderately, play moderately. Since returning, Jin Cheonhee had been researching, treating, training brothers, and managing pavilion affairs.

But resting feels like someone’s chasing me.

No one was literally pursuing, and Jin Cheonhee, Master, or Yoo Ho could handle any threat. It wasn’t physical—a nagging sense of being chased. War PTSD? Korean societal pressure? Without expertise, he couldn’t tell. Korea’s cutthroat exams, insane medical study loads, and grueling hospital work—then professorship? Near superhuman. An orphan battling prejudice and poverty to become a doctor, even by martial world standards, was “Yikes, what’s that! Scary!” territory.

Whatever.

Professor Jin, taking it as normal, found doing something—anything—more comforting than idling. “Understood, Master. I’ll take it easy.”

As a disciple, easing Master’s worries came first.

“Good. By the way, with the Hao Sect alliance, check the new business ventures,” Zhuge Rin said.

“Me?”

“You’ll run the pavilion someday, no? That’s what being Minor Pavilion Master and heir means.”

Master’s about to rejuvenate and ride the Bloodborne Elder Eccentric tech…

He couldn’t say it. Incidentally, the Bloodborne Elder Eccentric had no successor. Past ones died before her—of natural causes. She just lived eons. Whether she reached Profound Realm was unclear, but her tenacious grip on life, especially her new jiangshi hobby, suggested she was savoring every day, per rumors.

No professional managers in this era? I’d love to hire one. Sigh, not in the martial world.

He wished to focus on medicine, leaving management to others, but knew it was impossible. In this Gangho world (도산검림), trusting others with your business risked a midnight stab and waking to ancestors beckoning from the underworld.

Makes me wanna sigh.

As time passed, the pavilion grew. Absorbing unaffiliated warriors through Martial Training City, retraining and strengthening them, it used newfound wealth to control Jiangsu’s logistics. Beyond White Dragon Pellet and Elixir, it produced tonics and minor remedies. Outbound logistics were massive, inbound equally so. Expanding its martial forces, the pavilion began transporting internally, cutting escort agency costs, boosting net profits.

This logistics network enabled other merchants’ goods to flow alongside, naturally turning the pavilion into an escort agency. To avoid clashing with existing agencies, it prioritized herbs, medicines, pavilion specialties (soap, water purifiers), and finally jade and ondol systems.

This is your plan, Jin Cheonhee, rooting and dominating commerce, Zhuge Rin thought, smiling at his disciple’s profile.

It didn’t stop there. Patients were transported via this network. Branch bases developed specialties. If a patient’s illness couldn’t be treated locally, a letter queried other branches. If one replied, “Our physicians have treated it! Send the patient, and we’ll schedule urgent care,” the patient traveled the pavilion’s logistics route, bypassing complex escort agency procedures.

Unlike modern asphalt roads, these journeys crossed mountains and rivers, but lightness-skilled warriors eased the challenge. For immobile patients, medicines were sent, or, if staffing allowed, senior physicians traveled for a fee—rare, reserved for royalty risking war (as in Wan-nong) or massive bloodbaths demanding urgent aid. Physicians stayed put due to local patient responsibilities, and even hefty donations from major sects couldn’t sway this.

Still, this system boosted patient survival rates. The pavilion, as a standalone force, had grown over twice its original size.

With expansion came the need to hire for external affairs, leading Jin Cheonhee to a new report.

“A recruitment investigation report… Master, you’re hiring?”