Chapter 12: Operation of Protective Techniques
After finishing his walk, Hugong went to the family head to convey his intentions.
The family head’s eyes widened the moment he heard.
“The elixir?”
Joy overshadowed surprise as the family head’s pupils quivered with excitement. Hugong nodded decisively.
“Yes. Now that both my body and mind have strengthened, I wish to press forward.”
“Very well, very well! Don’t fret—I’ll spare no effort to aid you. For now, take the century-old ginseng and polygonum stored in the vault. They’re decent.”
“Understood.”
Satisfied with the family head’s unreserved support, Hugong withdrew.
Upon returning to his quarters, he summoned Yun and Bumong.
It was time to restore Cheonhwaseogo, which had decayed unnoticed over the years.
First, he addressed Yun.
“Yun.”
“Yes, Brother.”
“Starting today, spend three days documenting every detail of the main library’s current state and report to me. Include internal affairs, external businesses, and nearby prominent families and sects.”
Yun laughed dismissively.
“Haha, no need! The chief administrator will resolve everything when he arrives.”
“Hmm...”
Hugong knew of Chief Administrator Gwak Do.
According to Beomhang’s memories, Gwak Do had sustained Cheonhwaseogo while the family head and direct lineage faltered. He was deemed trustworthy—within the limits of Beomhang’s recollections.
Yun continued,
“The chief administrator is managing external affairs but will return to the library in ten days. Once he arrives, all will become clear.”
“...”
“By the way, Brother, may I spar with you using Geumnasu? I’m curious how far your visualization training has progressed—”
“Yun.”
“Yes?”
“On your knees.”
“Huh?”
Before Yun could react, Songhwa—ever perceptive—handed Hugong a club.
Thwack! Thwack!
Yun, who had just regained mobility, resumed limping.
“Who rules Cheonhwaseogo? You or the chief administrator? Have drink-clouded wits made you forget your place?”
“I-I’ll report everything myself!”
“Pathetic. Get out.”
Next was Bumong.
Bumong stood rigid, eyes wide with tension.
“You showed exceptional talent in formations as a child,” Hugong said coldly. “How many are installed in our estate?”
“Huh?”
“How many?”
“Including mechanisms... perhaps over a hundred...?”
Bumong’s voice wavered, pupils shaking.
As expected—
“Bumong.”
“Yes.”
“On your knees.”
Instead of complying, Bumong knelt and begged.
“Brother, forgive me this once! I’ll improve!”
“Our youngest has been too busy twirling batons. Kneel.”
Crack! Crack!
Bumong writhed like a worm.
“There are 124 formations. Even as the youngest, such negligence is unforgivable. What do you use that clever head for? I’ll give you three days to inspect all formations and mechanisms. Repair what’s needed and report any anomalies.”
“Yes, Elder Brother.”
After Bumong crawled out, Songhwa stepped forward eagerly.
“Young Master! Assign me any task—I’ll excel!”
“Songhwa.”
“Yes!”
“Bring Dragon Well tea. We’ll talk afterward.”
“Yes!”
When she returned, Hugong sipped the tea and pointed to a brush.
“Write as I dictate.”
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Didn’t you say ‘assign me anything’? Or should I say... kneel—”
“Ah! Right!”
Songhwa giggled and took the brush.
“Since you’re pretty, let’s see if your handwriting matches.”
“It’ll be the prettiest, Young Master!”
“Begin: ‘To Juyang...’”
“Juyang?!”
Songhwa’s eyes bulged.
“Yes.”
“Shouldn’t you write it? He might doubt a different handwriting!”
My handwriting already differs from Beomhang’s, Hugong thought. Imitation had proven futile—subtle discrepancies always remained. Explaining this would waste time, especially since Songhwa would report the letter to the family head first.
“I said I wanted to see your handwriting.”
“But...”
“It’s fine. The letter merely invites him here.”
“Really?! Ah, seeing Lord Juyang again... it’s like a dream!”
“You admire him?”
“Of course! He’s the epitome of masculinity and loyalty—not just because he’s your friend!”
“The phrase ‘a man’s word is worth a thousand gold’ might as well have been coined for him.”
“Exactly! Dictate quickly—I’ll make it beautiful!”
As Songhwa hummed and left, Hugong frowned.
Handsome?
Outwardly, perhaps. But Juyang’s letters revealed a deranged mind. Those privy to his madness would never call him “admirable.”
And the chief administrator arrives in ten days? How dare he dawdle.
Elsewhere, an orchid graced a windowsill.
A middle-aged man with gentle eyes tenderly wiped its leaves with a damp cloth, as if caressing a lover. Two martial artists stood behind him.
One reported:
“The Grand Duke has changed. After recovering from the Blood Rain Poison, he launched restoration efforts. Cheonhwaseogo regains vitality.”
“Splendid.”
“Will you let this continue, Chief Administrator?”
Gwak Do smiled at the orchid, his voice rich and clear.
“Of course not.”
“But how...?”
“You cannot fathom the Grand Duke’s depravity. Even if the world changes, he remains constant. I’ve always supported him.”
“So even these reforms are an act?”
“Naturally. He’s that sort of man.”
Gwak Do’s chuckle brimmed with ease.
“With all respect—how do you explain his rejection of the Blood Rain Poison?”
“How could this humble one comprehend his profundity?”
“...”
“Perhaps taking only the family head to the underworld felt lacking.”
Gwak Do admired the orchid before turning.
“This is ideal. If the Grand Duke dies now, Cheonhwaseogo plummets to ruin. Hahaha!”
“Will you wait for his suicide?”
Gwak Do shook his head.
“We’ve delayed too long. Each ‘he’ll die tomorrow’ has brought us here. Waiting further bores me. When the family head chose mutual suicide, I wept so convincingly... It angers me they still breathe, yet rushing feels discourteous. However—”
He lifted the cherished orchid pot.
As the martial artists stared, he dropped it.
Crash!
The plant shattered into an ugly mess.
“We must kill him. Assist his suicide.”
“One concern remains.”
“There are many.”
Gwak Do’s sharp gaze made the men flinch.
“Speak.”
“The Grand Duke mentioned something odd—that he hadn’t been trained, but had learned martial arts himself.”
“Curious.”
“Yes, most peculiar.”
“No—you’re curious for mentioning it. Could he possibly hinder you two, the guard captains?”
The martial artists stiffened.
“N-no!”
“Good. That you believe him changed is perfect—his guards will lower their vigilance. Though Songhwa remains problematic... Haha!”
“We’ll handle her.”
“Wait—remember: his death must be suicide. Arrange a private meeting. Offer a blade first. He’ll comply. If he resists, slit his throat. Then announce it as self-inflicted.”
“Understood.”
“Simple, yes?”
Gwak Do smirked.
At dawn, Hugong grimaced.
This stench—what is it?
For three days, as his brothers worked and Cheonhwaseogo revived, he’d consumed ginseng and polygonum while cultivating. Now, a revolting odor assaulted him—bearable at first, but now suffocating.
It surpassed even the “Stench God” of Kaifang Sect, whose breath could knock men unconscious. Once, Hugong had nearly killed the man on impulse.
No—this was worse than the reek of Black Killer Sect’s 7th Unit, who’d died stewing in a latrine for three days.
He abandoned meditation.
Having confirmed mastery of his third protective technique—Meridian Shift—Hugong ceased energy circulation.
Meridian Shift: literal movement of acupoints.
As he activated it, his eyes transformed—whites vanishing, entire orbs blackening like ink.
A precursor to the technique.
His meridians churned, acupoints relocating.
