Chapter 27. Feeling Nervous?
Hugong walked behind Baeknoe, letting the man's words go in one ear and out the other. As he did, he occasionally furrowed his brows.
Baeknoe, sharp-eyed, noticed the shift immediately. His mind lived up to his title as the "Man of a Hundred Brains"—a reputation hardly earned for nothing.
“Could it be that the Young Master is nervous?”
Even geniuses had racing hearts. Fear was not so easily tamed. Hugong recognized the mockery thinly veiled beneath the faux-solicitous tone.
What nonsense is this fool spouting now?
Hugong halted and fixed Baeknoe with a glare.
Blink. Blink.
The sunlight glaring off Baeknoe’s bald scalp had been stinging Hugong’s eyes since they’d stepped outside. He should’ve worn a hat. Who goes about in broad daylight with a head polished like a mirror?
“Do I seem like someone with reason to be nervous?”
“My mistake, perhaps. You’ve been scowling since earlier, you see.”
“The sun is relentless today. It’s as if there are two of it in the sky.”
“Haha! Your wit remains sharp as ever.”
You’re fortunate there’s only one.
The martial world did, however, have a man who rivaled the sun’s glare: Wongwangja.
Once blessed with lush hair, he’d shaved it all off, leaving a scalp that gleamed day and night. His peerless lightness technique made him a living messenger hawk. A flash of light on the horizon? Undoubtedly Wongwangja.
Hugong had once asked, “Why not grow your hair out?” The reply had been absurd: A bald head commands respect. Makes me look unapproachable.
Hugong had nearly cracked that shiny skull open on the spot. Who in the martial world dared look down on Wongwangja? Yet the man clung to his baldness like a badge of honor.
Soon, Baeknoe bowed and opened the study door.
“After you.”
Inside, Seomunung rose to greet Hugong. They exchanged formalities before sitting, the air thick with the pine scent of freshly brewed tea. Hollow inquiries about family and weather passed between them, punctuated by stiff smiles.
Slowly, Seomunung’s face hardened, his gaze turning frosty.
Here it comes.
Hugong nodded inwardly. The script was predictable:
Outrage.
A tarnished family reputation.
Accusations against Cheonhwaseogo.
Unforgivable transgressions.
Seomunung’s practiced glare almost convinced—whether honed before mirrors or through years of repetition. But Hugong had no intention of enduring this charade.
A single sentence, delivered with a smile, shattered the act.
Seomunung’s eyes bulged. All icy pretense melted away.
“You’ll hand over the Inspector?”
“Naturally. His loose tongue damaged your family’s honor. Let the Seomun Clan mete out justice. Unless this poses… difficulties?”
“N-No! Merely unexpected.”
The shock was genuine. Seomunung’s lips twitched uncontrollably, his earlier plans of intimidation upended. For him, this surprise was a gift.
The Inspector—a thorn in the Seomun Clan’s side. The sole witness. A man whose elimination would bring immeasurable relief.
How terrified must Cheonhwaseogo be to offer him up?
This was no mere peace offering. It was groveling, wrapped in the pretense of respecting Seomun pride. A plea for survival.
“We interrogated him but learned nothing. The Seomun Clan, however, will surely break him.” Hugong sighed theatrically. “We burden you with our failure.”
“A burden? Cheonhwaseogo honors us!” Seomunung’s laughter boomed. “Our elders demanded his head regardless!”
Both knew the truth: Cheonhwaseogo could’ve cracked the Inspector open like a nut. The farce delighted Seomunung, sending thrills down his spine.
Pathetic worms. Even geniuses kneel when desperate.
“I’ll dispatch the Inspector within two days of returning.”
“So soon?”
“Best remove a thorn quickly.”
“Hahaha! An… inventive use of that proverb.”
Seomunung leaned forward, smile saccharine. “Let this incident bond our families closer. What say you to becoming sworn brothers, Brother Beom?”
Hugong froze.
Sworn brothers?
This man who’d schemed to drown Cheonhwaseogo in blood? After mere hours of acquaintance?
“An honor beyond my station,” Hugong demurred.
“Nonsense! Your humility wounds me.” Seomunung fluttered his lashes like a coquette.
Kill him.
The impulse surged before Hugong quashed it.
“Your eyes are red, Brother Beom.”
“A side effect of sudden joy.”
“Then I’ll take that as approval! We’ll formalize our bond after the Inspector’s matter. But know this—” Seomunung pressed a hand to his chest. “In my heart, we’re already brothers.”
“Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha.”
“A toast to this glorious day!”
“Hear, hear!”
“Will the young ladies join us?”
“Gladly.”
“Two cups? Three?”
The banquet hall buzzed with relief. Earlier, Mokgung of Ogumun had prophesied disaster: The Cheonhwaseogo genius will crawl out like a corpse! Yet Seomunung had emerged radiant, clasping Hugong’s shoulder like a dear friend.
Mokgung’s face now resembled rotting fish as wine flowed and laughter soared.
“Silence!”
Wang Sohan’s roar cut through the merriment. The Continental Battlefield’s heir clicked his tongue.
“Tsk. Martial heroes reduced to mindless cheers? Where’s the flair?”
“Enlighten us, Brother Wang,” said Jangye of Yeonhwagak.
Wang Sohan struck a pompous pose. “Each shall showcase a skill to astonish! Martial arts, music, dance—even prized treasures!”
Jangye went first. From nine meters away, he spun a wine bottle and flicked his wrist. A stream arced through the air, landing perfectly in Myogaryeong’s cup.
Cheers erupted.
“The Flying Blade Technique’s master!”
“Not a drop spilled!”
Hugong smiled. Myogaryeong deserved equal praise—her subtle qi had contained the spray, though none noticed.
Mokgung’s turn proved underwhelming: heating wine with internal energy. Polite applause followed.
Ban Gyoin of Qingyue Sect stole the show. Tapping the bottle’s pressure points, she sent three wine streams skyward. They exploded midair like daylight fireworks.
“Acupressure wine art!”
“Magnificent!”
Wang Sohan’s booming laughter drowned Ban Gyoin’s blushes. “Miss Myo knows I live for spectacle!”
The crowd’s attention shifted—next was Seomunung.
