Sunlight cut through the threshold of the Shaolin abbot’s chamber like the edge of a blade. Beneath it, the old monk’s voice gently descended.

“When do you plan to wed? Is there no one in your heart?”

It was a question passed from Abbot Beomheo to Jeong Yeon-shin, as they exchanged parting words in the unusually cozy room—far too quaint for a high monk’s quarters.

Jeong Yeon-shin responded with a short question of his own.

“Sorry?”

“It’s been a while since you became Seomye, hasn’t it? Isn’t it time to start a family? I hear rumors from the North that the young lady of the Hwangbo Clan has already found a match...”

“What’s that got to do with me?”

“Doesn’t Ipwang Fortress place great importance on succession?”

Beomheo lifted the teacup wrapped in his robe sleeve and took a sip.

“It’s a well-known tradition. The households under Ipwang Fortress only intermarry amongst themselves. If the person in question is the new Lord of Ipwang Fortress, well, then it goes without saying. You're not like the noble families, doomed to live endlessly tangled in worries.”

The frayed hem of his monk’s robe concealed a sly smile. Mischief crept across his lips.

The new Lord of Ipwang Fortress.

Jeong Yeon-shin felt his lips stiffen but didn’t bother to deny it.

It was still a bitter subject. He feared that if his maddened master ever returned to her senses, she would no longer have a place to come back to. That the life she lived would be overwritten.

Even so, the Divine Sword Corps of Songshan had already begun treating Jeong Yeon-shin as their new Lord. Such was the force of an imperial decree. It was the tide of an era that no one could resist, crashing and curving with each wave of righteousness and necessity.

If Jeong Yeon-shin, the man at the center of it all, continued to avoid the Lord’s seat, it would only be seen as childish defiance. The moment he returned to his nature, he was the Lord of Ipwang Fortress.

‘...Therefore.’

He needed to think differently.

There was only one place she would ever return to. They had transcended time—master and disciple. Where else would she be, if not at her disciple’s side?

Thus, it was as the Lord of Ipwang Fortress that Jeong Yeon-shin faced the Shaolin abbot. Despite the heavy weight inside him, he maintained a look of puzzled inquiry.

“Why is Your Eminence concerned about my heirs...?”

“The head monk of a grand temple is sometimes called the Old Man Under the Moon. It’s because we constantly interact with people. Sometimes we even help them find partners.”

The old monk smiled faintly, and added softly:

“Especially in a place like Shaolin, wouldn’t you think?”

“With all due respect...”

Jeong Yeon-shin slowly shook his head. All throughout Beomheo’s words, a crimson eye flickered through his thoughts—a mad, single eye that refused to leave his mind. He shook it off like brushing away a ghost.

“What I really wanted to ask was about Shaolin’s future stance.”

“You already sound like a proper Lord.”

“Don’t our territories border Hanam and Hokwang? Many factions have been forming and dissolving alliances in this age of chaos, but no two are better suited to act together than Shaolin and Ipwang Fortress.”

Even as he said it, he felt as if he’d called for a natural disaster. He had experienced even a fraction of the power of the Hundred and Eight Arhats formation—that was enough.

“That sounds interesting.”

It was Beom-ryeol, seated to one side, brushing back his tousled hair and grinning. It came across with notable weight. After all, it was his brutal executions as Mugok of the Six Original Star Lords that had made the name "Hell Stream" resound across the world.

‘A tremendous asset.’

Jeong Yeon-shin even felt an odd sense of warmth. Had his maternal grandfather, Ma Yeon-jeok, become a monk, he’d likely have turned out like Beom-ryeol. They were of similar age.

“Shaolin’s stance, is it.”

Beomheo shook his head.

“That’s not something an old monk like me plans. It’s the circumstances of those below the mountain—the laypeople and wandering pilgrims—that decide. Though if it were up to me, I’d happily pick up the entire Hundred and Eight Arhats and deliver them to Ipwang Fortress...”

“Ah.”

“A warrior monk exists to drive back the worldly afflictions with arms and action. Those afflictions can be belligerent neighbors or unwanted guests in remote villages—sometimes it’s rogue factions, wandering masters, or even prestigious sect warriors. Not so different from Ipwang Fortress.”

He meant that unlike the military, they didn’t rely on civilian sacrifices. Much like how Ipwang Fortress once operated before the Seventeenth Division of the Divine Sword Corps had assembled. It was a commitment to safeguarding the people amidst chaos.

Suddenly, Jeong Yeon-shin recalled missions from when he was about fifteen. The blood ghouls of Jinpyeong County, the Tanglang Sect that, despite being unorthodox, had colluded with the local authorities to build an opulent manor, the brutal post-rank disciples from Simmuryun who saw commoners as nothing but insects...

They were tiny scraps of land in the vast Central Plains. Even now, as Lord of Ipwang Fortress, there remained countless cities he’d never set foot in.

Jeong Yeon-shin slowly spoke.

“...Even so, there will come a time when we must act together. When that time comes, please answer the call.”

Beomheo smiled gently.

“That much is only natural. We owe you a debt, after all.”

“Even if the abbot tells us not to go, we’ll still go.”

It came from beside him. A monk of the Ming lineage, who had somehow sat there like a blade of grass, now spoke up. Jeong Yeon-shin bowed in silent respect to Master Wonjeok, one of the Four Vajra Guardians.

The corners of Wonjeok’s lips curled like the tip of a leaf.

“Is there anyone now who knows your heart better than this monk? How could I not respond to that call?”

“You say ‘my heart,’ but...”

“Did I not also experience the time you spent with the former Lord of Ipwang Fortress? Though I have no concept of eons... I can at least guess how deep your affection for your master has grown.”

Jeong Yeon-shin didn’t answer, and Beomheo murmured with a solemn expression.

“Eons, indeed.”

“...That won’t stop me from doing what I’ve set out to do.”

Jeong Yeon-shin’s words were met with a shake of Beomheo’s head.

“Having stood through the Trial Gates yourself, who would dare doubt your resolve? A person’s suffering is only as deep as their heart is vast. But it’s something else I’m worried about.”

“What is that?”

“When it’s all over... will your heart still be whole?”

“......”

“Get married.”

“How did we end up back at that?”

“Those who start a family reach a new realm of life. Without any particular training, they glimpse the Diamond the Buddha spoke of. Anyone can.”

Beomheo continued, serene as ever.

“Think back. When you saw the Hwangbo girl with her husband, what passed through your mind?”

“...That he’s insane.”

“There it is.”

For a moment, the ever-fluid words of Abbot Beomheo stopped. But as always, the old monk’s story never truly ended.

“Weren’t there many people in the welcoming hall who seemed to have settled down?”

“There were.”

“Their bundles are light, but they carry heavy stones in their hearts. That’s why they don’t drift, even when tossed around by the waves of life.”

“Tae Yeom-ryong is different. He may seem like he’s turned over a new leaf, but if he loses his wife, he’ll go back to nibbling poppy petals again.”

“And who is he eating that flower for?”

Beomheo asked quietly.

The water in Jeong Yeon-shin’s teacup rippled faintly. His voice caught in his throat, and the old monk’s hushed question followed:

“Are you truly prepared to bear all of this? When your life nears its end... will you be able to find peace, in truth?”

“Is this really something to dwell on right now?”

Jeong Yeon-shin replied slowly.

“I need to become stronger. Whether as a martial artist or as the head of a house. The mountain of unresolved matters looms too high.”

“Such grand goals in life...”

Beomheo began, slowly shaking his head.

“They’re like this teacup, for instance. The steam clouds it, swirling aimlessly. Even if you reach for it, all you feel is the heat—you can’t quite grasp it. New troubles constantly arise. But...”

From his cup, a dense white steam was still rising. It was thanks to a mystical technique so refined it brought the tea to full boil with just the brush of a sleeve. Yet in the next moment, the old monk blew gently upon it—and the steam vanished without a trace.

Only the jade-colored tea remained.

“This is what it means to be human.”

“......”

“As long as the tea remains, the steam can always rise again. That’s why I ask you...”

Beomheo continued.

“Don’t neglect your martial path in life.”

For a moment, it felt as if a voice never before heard—perhaps that of Bodhidharma himself—had overlapped with Beomheo’s. A sensation rang through his upper danjeon like a temple bell. This wasn’t like the legendary Sambong Zhenren or the First Heavenly Demon who had no clear successor. This was a moment where the living embodiment of the Dharma handed down wisdom directly.

A fragrant silence flowed.

Jeong Yeon-shin stared into the tea. His reflection wavered faintly within it.

“...So you’re bestowing me with guidance.”

“No need to call it something so grand. But even so...”

Beomheo sipped from the empty sleeve of his robe and added:

“You may end up forging your own Ultimate Martial Way. You’ve already lived quite the life, haven’t you?”

“......!”

Jeong Yeon-shin’s eyes widened, and the old monk’s words flowed forth like the fierce declarations of Bodhidharma himself.

“The day your life’s depth surpasses the brilliance of your natural talent—the day it matures like the steeped tea... Live so that day may come.”

“So you knew I didn’t have Ultimate Martial Way of my own.”

Was it the insight of Celestial Vision?

But Beomheo only shrugged with a cryptic expression.

“I, too, was born a martial man. I’m simply curious what will emerge from within your body. You see, the moment a martial artist weaves their Ultimate Martial Way, the physical body naturally evolves in step with that ultimate ideal. The effect scales with one’s mastery of the fundamentals... and I’m just curious to see how much stronger your body can grow.”

“Master.”

“Sometimes, look into your tea. That’s enough for us mortals.”

With that, Beomheo set his cup down with a light clink.

A graceful, wordless dismissal.

“......”

Jeong Yeon-shin gazed down at the teacup for a moment.

At the edge of the ripples, the shadow of So Cheonmujuk flickered. She was perched in reverse atop the roof’s edge, peering into the room through a crack in the paper window.

Her silhouette printed against the paper wall. Her hair spilled long like the night sky.

Creak.

After offering his farewells to the monks, he stepped out of the abbot’s chamber.

So Cheonmujuk stood upright on the roof, as if she had never been upside down. Jeong Yeon-shin sensed her presence through his ki. She remained a mirage.

Without turning to look, he addressed her.

“You’re giving off the air of departure.”

“Just planning to enjoy some sights I haven’t seen before.”

That was her reply. Jeong Yeon-shin walked forward and spoke.

“You once wished the world would end.”

“That was back when I thought my skills would allow it. I changed my mind too late.”

“When are you going to die?”

“I had an insight in the last fight. My resolve is firm enough now to reinforce my forbidden arts. I’ll probably live about three more months.”

“Enough time to see the Central Plains.”

“Will you let me go? You once insisted I stay by your side.”

Her voice had a faint metallic scrape, but Jeong Yeon-shin didn’t stop walking. He had already received too much from her. How could he use someone who /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ was soon to die?

Soon, her voice took on a mischievous tone again.

“Your little brother's mood swings are as wild as mine. So—won’t you whisper to me who you’ll marry? I think it’s something I’d want to know before I die.”

Jeong Yeon-shin spoke slowly.

“If you come to me without having committed a single wicked deed, right before you close your eyes, I’ll prepare a tea table for you. I’ll warm the cup... then cool it again.”

“What?”

“Our faces will be reflected in the tea. And on that day, I’ll apologize for likening you to a broken mirror.”

“......”

Even as Jeong Yeon-shin quietly made his way down the path, So Cheonmujuk’s presence didn’t follow.

No answer came. She remained still, like a stone monkey turned to granite.

And so, Jeong Yeon-shin gently swept away a wisp of steam from the teacup of his heart.

It wasn’t over. Something else lingered.

Tap.

A faint footstep echoed.

Far away, a blind man in a straw hat was passing beyond the mountain gate. He leaned slowly on his old Dongmong Sword, using it like a cane—tap—tap— with each step.

Without any phantom slashes, without even a second leg to brace him, he descended the sloping path relying solely on his sword. There was nothing about him that resembled the so-called “First Demon Blade.”

Only solitude.

From the back of the blind man, Jeong Yeon-shin saw a pale wisp of steam.

It looked like there was no tea left in that cup.