Black and White Martial Emperor

“It has been a while.”

“It has. Since Henan, in fact.”

“So it seems.”

“I didn’t expect we’d meet again like this. I suppose fate is fate.”

Is it? Whether that fate was a simple thread—or a bloody ill-starred knot—no one could say.

“By the way, this lady is...?”

Startled, Mookbi looked up at Mo Yong Yeonhwa.

“Ah, I...”

She felt she ought to introduce herself, but how? Though she’d grown close with the Yeon household, dealing with outsiders still felt awkward.

Yeon Hojeong said,

“A friend.”

“A friend?”

A curious shade crossed Mo Yong Yeonhwa’s face.

“...I see. A friend.”

Given his temperament, she hadn’t thought Yeon Hojeong would have many friends. Hearing him introduce someone as a friend piqued her interest all the more.

“In any case, what a strange coincidence. Do you also have business in Zhejiang, Young Master Yeon?”

Zhejiang.

From the word she chose—not Hangzhou but Zhejiang—Yeon Hojeong realized something.

Not just passing through Hangzhou. Which means she’ll be leaving soon.

At a hot-blooded age, it was hard to pry oneself from Hangzhou’s charms.

But Mo Yong Yeonhwa was not most people. For all that she lacked deep years in the rivers and lakes, she was sharp. Sharp enough that Mo Yonggun entrusted her with clan affairs.

What, exactly, was her aim?

...So much for a good rest. That won’t do now.

He nodded.

“I came to look around.”

“Hehe, sightseeing... Sightseeing is good. Zhejiang has many famed sights.”

In the stark black and white of Mo Yong Yeonhwa’s eyes, a glimmer of appraisal flickered.

She did not think Yeon Hojeong was the sort to come all the way to Zhejiang merely to “look around.” That was a separate matter from acknowledging him.

He was not a man who moved without cause. That was how she read him.

“Then enjoy your meal. I have company as well.”

“Very well.”

“If fate allows, let’s meet again.”

With that, she returned to her party. Knowing how keen he was, she judged it hard to pry anything out of him.

Her judgment was right.

Right—but too slow.

“What do you want to eat?”

“Eh? Dishes? I’m not sure. There are so many...”

“Then we’ll order three or four.”

“Isn’t that expensive?”

“So what? When else will we try it? And...”

He looked at Mo Yong Yeonhwa.

From amidst the young men and women, Mo Yong Yeonhwa, smiling prettily, happened to glance his way.

Their eyes met midway, sparks snapping in the air.

“...if we eat our fill now, we won’t regret it later.”

“Pardon?”

“Finish eating and rest. I have somewhere to go. It’ll take about a day.”

Mookbi was taken aback.

“You’re not taking me?”

“Better I go alone this time. Besides, you need rest too, don’t you?”

“That’s true but... if it’s better alone, then it is.”

“See to your meals yourself.”

“I’m not a kid.”

“If you were, I’d at least have someone to leave you with.”

“Che.”

He looked out the window.

Raising his inner force and focusing his vision, he spotted, far to the south of West Lake, a few shambling beggars.

That night—

Back at their quarters, he threw on a rather elegant long robe and took up the axe.

Let’s go.

WHOOSH!

His foot seemed merely to set upon the window frame—yet his body was already cutting through the air.

Smooth and silent. And within that silence, a veiled dignity. The gentleman’s scent blossoming out of stillness—Heaven-Bestowed Transit Flight displayed the Yeon Clan’s martial character perfectly.

In a blink, he reached the area near West Lake.

Then—

They’re on me.

Jade Wave True Qi sharpened his senses a degree further.

One, two, three. Three of them.

Their body methods were covert and quick.

Standing by a broad willow by the lake, he stared out over the still water and heightened his senses to the utmost.

Distance, twenty jang. Good. That’s more than enough.

His pupils slowly bled blue.

Within the qi that had quieted during his training with the household warriors, the Dark Emperor’s frenzied killing intent slipped free.

Mo Yong Yeonhwa... you shouldn’t set people to tail others so lightly.

He circled ’round to the willow’s lakeward side—a blind spot from the watchers’ angle.

Moments later—

SRA-BAK.

A masked man crept carefully toward the tree.

Just then, his eyes wavered.

The man who ought to have been there was gone. Panic flared; he swept his gaze about.

Still no target. Not even a hint of a presence.

At that instant—

“Nice view, isn’t it?”

Startled out of his wits, the masked man whirled and threw a punch on reflex.

PAK!

Yeon Hojeong’s hand caught the man’s fist.

CRRRACK!

“Ghk!”

The masked man dropped to his knees. Using the flow of force, he applied a reverse-joint lock—a suppression technique hard to slip even with a supple body.

The man looked up, eyes trembling.

“—!”

A breath sucked in unbidden.

Backlit by a full, brilliant moon, the figure before him was a jet-black shadow. And within that dark shadow, a pair of blue eyes pressed down on him.

A specter’s gaze.

“Your friends went ahead to the River of Three Crossings.”

“......!!”

“Wild Wind Pavilion, isn’t it?”

His eyes shook.

His mind had already scattered. That shaken gaze was answer enough.

Yeon Hojeong smiled.

Even covert qi had its own color. He had felt this color more than once.

“Didn’t the girl tell you? If you’re caught, you could die.”

“...Kuh.”

“Well, she doesn’t have her father’s eyes yet. That’s why you’re this reckless.”

THUNK!

Leaning the Mad Dragon Axe against the willow, he raised his index and middle fingers.

TUK!

The masked man’s eyes flushed red.

True qi pierced the Mute Gate Point, severing the flow linked to the tongue’s root.

DRIP.

Slaver wet his lips and chin. Saliva gushed without warning; his mouth wouldn’t close. Even swallowing was hard.

The inner-force control was exquisitely fine. Had he rammed the qi in hard, the man would already be witless—or dead.

PUH-UK!

The masked man spat blood. His Sea of Qi Point had been shattered.

The internal damage was so severe his mind reeled. His legs would not hold him.

Yeon Hojeong tapped his back.

“Go to your master.”

FLINCH.

A shiver swept the man’s whole body.

In an instant, his head went cold and hard. Yeon Hojeong’s words became a coercive command that swallowed his reason.

“Kh—cough!”

He tore off his mask in his distress and, coughing blood, stagger-sprinted toward the Lake Delicacies Grand Joy Pavilion. His steps reeled, but the run was desperate.

Drops of blood spattered the ground.

Where the most blood was spilled, there was no sign of Yeon Hojeong.

****

“Branch Chief. We’ve sent a letter to the Zhejiang Merchants’ Alliance.”

“Well done.”

Lee Geon let out a sigh.

“They say they’ll send a representative delegation by midday tomorrow.”

“I see. You should turn in and rest as well.”

He looked as if to say more—then bowed instead.

“Then I’ll take my leave.”

Once Lee Geon had gone, Mo Yong-woo laid down his brush.

THUD!

He slapped the table and rose, anger and grief of unknown shape flaring up. He tried to calm his roughening breath, but it would not settle.

He looked out the window.

In the dark night, the canal flowed in the distance. Its quiet course seemed to know his feelings, its lonely murmur easing him a little.

He sighed.

“Whom could I blame? It’s only that my ability is lacking.”

He meant it. He had talent for martial arts and for trade, but he could not spread his wings.

The reason was simple.

He belonged to the Mo Yong Clan. No matter how the clan pressed down on him, how could he openly rebel?

Even if he did, it would be perilous. He was stronger than any ordinary postnatal master—but Mo Yonggun’s martial attainment was on another plane.

And the clan power gathered under Mo Yonggun’s cold-blooded rule was immense. Two elders dispatched, and his life would be in doubt.

Brother... Brother.

He groaned within.

How did you become such a monster?

He remembered Mo Yonggun of his childhood, the elder who had been kind to him.

But around the time he turned ten—after confirming the boy had reached seven-tenths in the clan’s foundational arts—Mo Yonggun’s kindness vanished.

And a few years later, Mo Yonggun killed or drew in their siblings and became the clan’s new master.

His intent was plain.

He did not forgive anyone who might threaten his authority and seat. In that murderous world, you either fled—or became his man.

Mo Yong-woo was neither. He neither fled his much-older brother nor became his man.

That he had survived to this day was due to his talent.

Mo Yonggun recognized his commercial gift and shipped him to the Zhejiang Branch. Serve the clan in Zhejiang, and you keep your life—that was the meaning.

He could not stop his brother, nor take his own life. When he realized the clan’s ruthless house-law had to be broken, it was already too late.

So he was appointed branch chief at a young age and, over the next few years, greatly expanded the clan’s business. In the end, he lived just as Mo Yonggun wanted.

This won’t do. If the main house won’t abandon this tyrant’s path... someday it will bring great calamity.

Someday, it would. Even if the Mo Yong Clan weathered it, countless people would bleed for it.

And yet...

“I’m a Mo Yong, all the same.”

The corners of his eyes reddened.

“Even now, when things have come to this, I’m a wretch who worries for blood before the peace of the world.”

To care for one’s kin was right and proper. But if that kin chose a road that could plunge the world into misery—what then?

Should he face it with tears and opposition? Or submit and live on?

Stake his life to stop it? Or hide and live helping the blameless?

Just then, Lee Geon’s voice came from beyond the door.

“Branch Chief.”

He mastered his breathing.

“What is it?”

“A letter from the Beggars’ Union.”

“The Beggars’ Union? For me?”

“Yes.”

“Come in.”

Lee Geon handed him the letter.

Puzzlement crossed Mo Yong-woo’s face as he read.

“What is it, sir?”

“...”

“Branch Chief?”

“Hm?”

He folded the letter.

“It’s nothing. You may go.”

“Ah—yes.”

When Lee Geon left, he unfolded the letter again.

‘I will send someone, so please refrain ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) from expelling the guest...?’

It was from the Beggars’ Union’s Hangzhou branch chief.

He remembered the man. They had met a few times, but not closely enough to exchange personal letters.

Who exactly is he sending?

It ended with a note that the guest would arrive before dawn.

Which was to say: give up sleep. An all-nighter was nothing to him—but was there need for such discourtesy?

He’s not the sort to press an unreasonable favor...

Something felt off. At the very least, this did not feel like a letter to ignore.

So he sat in his office and worked through the stacks of papers. Even without the Hangzhou branch chief’s note, the work rose like a mountain.

How long had it been?

Midnight had long passed, and somewhere near the end of the Tiger Hour—

WHOOOM.

At the strange presence riding in on the cold wind, Mo Yong-woo’s face hardened.

“Who’s there?”

From the right-hand window came a voice—surprisingly, that of a young man.

“A guest.”

He turned his head slowly.

There stood a scholarly young man with a dragon-headed great axe in hand.

Mo Yong-woo swallowed his surprise and said, evenly,

“Were you sent by the Hangzhou branch chief?”

“That’s right.”

The young man—Yeon Hojeong—smiled.

“An honor. I am Yeon Hojeong.”