Yoo Ho’s workload had lightened somewhat. Until now, as the chief steward, he had managed both internal and external affairs single-handedly. But with Mu-wol stepping in as the external affairs steward, Yoo Ho’s responsibilities were now partially shared. Yoo Ho glanced at Mu-wol, slyly narrowing one eye.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “Why would Young Master entrust such critical duties to someone like you from the Hao Sect?”

“If it means repaying the grace of a life saved, I’m willing to do anything,” Mu-wol replied.

“Hmph, the grace of a life saved? Isn’t that the emptiest phrase in the martial world?” Yoo Ho retorted with a scoff.

It was, indeed, an unconventional personnel decision.

Yoo Ho continued, “Well, in exchange, one of our people will take the role of chief physician in their clan, which isn’t a bad deal.”

If the pavilion placed high value on Mu-wol, the Hao Sect would reciprocate by valuing the pavilion’s appointee in kind. Thus, someone from White Dragon Medical Pavilion would assume the position of chief physician in the Hao Sect, a role of equivalent rank and authority. This was how the mutual cooperation, pledged by the Golden King with the Eight Great Divine Arts, was upheld.

“It hasn’t been decided yet who will go,” Yoo Ho added.

“If I fall short in any way, please let me know. I’ll strive to improve,” Mu-wol said, offering a respectful bow.

Yoo Ho looked at him with a hint of displeasure before speaking again. “Fine, let’s get to work. If my burden lightens even slightly, that’s enough for me. However…”

“Yes?” Mu-wol prompted.

Yoo Ho’s gaze turned icy. “From now on, you’re forbidden from asking ‘why’ when I give orders. No information will be shared with an outsider. Just follow instructions. And…”

“…”

“If you step out of line, you’ll be executed on the spot. Even if the young master tries to intervene, it won’t matter. Eliminating spies falls under mine, the steward’s authority.”

To Mu-wol, Yoo Ho didn’t seem like someone trained in martial arts. Yet, his instincts screamed that Yoo Ho was far from weak. If anything, his inscrutability made him even more terrifying.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Mu-wol said.

“Also, access to the research pavilion is strictly prohibited. It’s the treasure vault where all of White Dragon Medical Pavilion’s research is stored. If you’re caught, I’ll snap your neck without hesitation.”

“You mean…”

“In other words, excuses like ‘I got lost’ will only work in the afterlife.”

“Understood.”

“You’re a clever one, so I assume you know why I’m even telling you about the research pavilion?”

Mu-wol answered honestly. 

“It seems you’re deliberately dangling bait to see if I’ll bite. And, as you’ve said, the moment I approach it, you’ll execute me.”

“It’s guarded by formations. You can’t just stumble in by mistake. But if you’re found… yes, immediate execution.”

There wasn’t a shred of mercy in his cold voice. The only difference would be whether he interrogated before killing or simply killed outright.

How could a pavilion dedicated to saving lives, starting with the White Dragon, be so ruthless? It was a question worth pondering, but Mu-wol held his tongue.

Every clan has its forbidden zones, he thought. Even the Buddhist Shaolin showed no mercy when pushed. The same went for the Taoist sects. Had the prisons of Wudang or Shaolin ever lacked occupants? Had their weapons ever been free of blood? Even escort agencies punished theft from their shipments without hesitation. In the Gangho world, White Dragon Medical Pavilion was no exception. The presence of the White-Robed Divine Dragon had softened it somewhat, but its essence remained unchanged. Beneath the martial world’s razor-sharp blade, no life was inherently precious or equal.

“Are there other places I shouldn’t go?” Mu-wol asked.

“If you approach the training grounds, the master himself will execute you. Martial secrets can’t be allowed to leak.”

“Anything else?”

“The messenger bird station, the herb storage, and the library where the clan’s texts are kept. Other than that, you’re fine.”

For someone treated as a potential spy, these are fairly basic restrictions, Mu-wol mused. It was reasonable enough. This suggested two possibilities: Either they trusted him despite their words, or they were confident they could monitor his every move and eliminate him if necessary. The benefactor likely leaned toward the former, while Yoo Ho, this steward, embodied the latter.

“Especially with the research pavilion. Ignore any sounds you hear from there,” Yoo Ho said.

“Pardon?”

“If a senior physician from the research pavilion grabs your sleeve and starts crying, don’t respond. Bring them quietly to the young master or me.”

Was this to prevent information leaks?

Yoo Ho went on, “If a senior physician is outside the research pavilion during the day, that’s simply impossible. Ignore any greetings they offer.”

Impossible? 

Yoo Ho’s instructions continued, “If a deranged senior physician approaches you with strange medicine and urges you to take it, don’t. Dispose of it immediately.”

Speaking as if reciting a ghost story, Yoo Ho calmly listed the precautions to follow.

“If you find yourself trapped in a formation outside the research pavilion, don’t panic. Close your eyes, brush the bamboo with your left hand, and walk. You’ll return to where you started. Then take three steps back. And don’t tell anyone but me that you were trapped.”

Yoo Ho’s warnings persisted, “If an old woman at the pavilion’s entrance asks about her son in the research pavilion at night, say you don’t know. Night visits are forbidden here, and no outsider can climb the stairs without a guide.”

Who was this old woman, then? 

Yoo Ho further added, “If she takes an interest in your body and tries to abduct you, hurry inside the pavilion. It’s safe there.”

What in the world is happening in the research pavilion? Mu-wol wondered. Even the Dark Palace Medical Pavilion didn’t feel like this.

“If you dawdle and get abducted, the pavilion won’t take responsibility.”

***

After Mu-wol was appointed as the external affairs steward, Yoo Ho offered this assessment:

“He’s quite sharp. Not as overwhelmingly gifted with memory as you or the master, young master, but his judgment and wisdom are exceptional. He’s also skilled at handling people.”

“Oh, really?!” Jin Cheonhee exclaimed.

“He’s useful enough that teaching him the Profound Origin Technique[1], a lower stage of the Profound Origin Heaven and Earth Divine Technique, wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

Jin Cheonhee knew Yoo Ho’s standards for judging people were extraordinarily strict. To earn the label “excellent” from him, one had to rank among the top 1% of humanity. Zhuge Rin, being practically superhuman, was an exception.

On Yoo Ho’s recommendation, Mu-wol was taught the Mixed Five Elements Returning to Origin Energy. There was no concern about it leaking as Zhuge Rin had designed it to require training within a specially encrypted formation, a blessing and a shackle. It ensured loyalty to White Dragon Medical Pavilion while providing a safe, rapid path to strength.

Mu-wol had decent martial arts of his own, but he didn’t hesitate to switch to the Mixed Five Elements Returning to Origin Energy. After mastering it, he could learn a modified version of the Profound Origin Technique, which significantly enhanced cognitive function.

When the Zhuge Clan fell, the Profound Origin Heaven and Earth Divine Technique hadn’t been leaked, but the Profound Origin Technique had, and most major sects now possessed it. Upon learning this, Jin Cheonhee felt a surge of anger toward those sects, but his master remained unfazed.

“When a great tiger dies in the mountains, its corpse is devoured by eagles, flies, and wild dogs. The Zhuge Clan once faced the same fate,” Zhuge Rin had said.

Though not the clan’s essence, the Profound Origin Technique was a stepping stone to the Profound Origin Heaven and Earth Divine Technique, boosting momentary cognition and thought acceleration—the true strength of the Zhuge Clan.

Was his master not resentful? Perhaps he’d already burned out, leaving only white ashes behind. Jin Cheonhee couldn’t fully grasp his master’s heart, but when they met, Zhuge Rin harbored no hatred for the Nine Great Sects or Eight Great Clans, no attachment to his family, not even a sense of duty as the last survivor—just an empty void. He lacked even the survival instinct inherent to living beings.

What unimaginable trials had this generational genius endured to reach such a state? His old title, Blood Scaled Crazed Killer, was now fading, overshadowed by White Dragon, yet he still withheld the clan’s secret history. Jin Cheonhee understood it was to end Zhuge Rin’s grudges with his own generation.

How many techniques were stolen?

If Jin Cheonhee abandoned his orphanage name and formally joined the Zhuge Clan as an adopted son, perhaps his master would share then. But Zhuge Rin never suggested it, and in this blade-eating Confucian society, Jin Cheonhee wasn’t sure if he could propose changing his family name. Besides, the bond of family-like ties differed from true family, making it hard to bring up.

Unaware of his disciple’s inner turmoil, Zhuge Rin added, “Still, the Profound Origin Technique slows internal energy gathering to an excruciating degree, so other sects couldn’t use it. Some tried to refine it, but they all failed.”

Indeed, that was its flaw. While practicing the Profound Origin Technique, internal energy accumulated at a torturously slow pace. The Zhuge Clan mitigated this by meditating within formations compatible with the technique or advancing to the Profound Origin Heaven and Earth Divine Technique with their enhanced intellect. Thus, giving up martial prowess entirely for a half-complete technique was too great a loss, and hearing this naturally eased Jin Cheonhee’s expression.

“Even so, this master didn’t sit idle,” Zhuge Rin said. “All martial arts evolve. As mulberry fields turn to blue seas, any technique improves bit by bit over a decade.”

Having settled his debts as the last of the Zhuge Clan, Zhuge Rin lived moderately thereafter. Yet the heightened intellect from the Profound Origin Heaven and Earth Divine Technique wouldn’t let him rest. His irrevocably blue eyes, never returning to their original hue, ceaselessly stimulated his mind even in stillness. As the Blood Scaled Crazed Killer, he had slashed, torn, stabbed, and crushed—those experiences had crystallized into martial knowledge, methodically organizing itself in a corner of his mind. Even the half-technique pilfered by every sect, the Profound Origin Technique, he mentally dissected and reconstructed, over and over.