“You?”

While Seolhwa had been momentarily lost in thought over how much Yugang had changed, he spoke again.

Seolhwa looked at him.

Now she had to lift her head to meet his gaze.

Yugang smiled faintly and asked again.

“Have you been well?”

Seolhwa nodded.

“Yeah. But...”

“Yeah?”

“That.”

Seolhwa pointed behind him.

It was the sesame porridge he had been stirring so diligently a moment ago.

Yugang turned his head to look at the pot, from which steam was still billowing—and then—

“...Agh!”

With a loud yelp, he dashed over in a panic.

“My porridge! My sesame porridge...! Do you know how much work that took?!”

Flailing beside the log he had dropped on the ground earlier, now dirty with soil, he panicked for a second before rushing back to the pot, flustered.

“No! Don’t burn! You can’t burn! You can’t stick to the bottom!”

He then quickly grabbed a bucket of water from somewhere and poured it over the firewood.

‘Ah. He put it out.’

She wondered if that was a good thing, but Yugang just stood frozen in front of the extinguished fire, completely dismayed.

“It’s over... When am I supposed to get this fire going again...?”

Even though he was the one who put it out himself.

Watching his dejected back, slumped in utter defeat, Seolhwa quietly approached.

She was curious if the sesame porridge was still okay.

Peeking into the pot over his shoulder, she saw that, thankfully, it didn’t seem ruined.

Now that the initial shock of meeting Yugang had passed, the rich, nutty aroma of the porridge once again stirred her hunger.

Unconsciously, she licked her lips, and just then—grrrgle—her stomach let out a loud growl.

Yugang turned his head sharply toward the sound.

Their eyes locked—his startled gaze meeting her wide-eyed expression.

...Grrrgle?

Yugang blinked.

“...Could it be...”

“I want some. Is there any left?”

Yugang blinked again.

He stood dumbfounded for a moment—then jumped in surprise and nodded furiously.

“Y-Yeah! There’s plenty! Hold on!”

Yugang immediately darted off.

He disappeared behind the hermitage and returned with a small table, three wooden bowls, two spoons, and a ladle.

“Just a second.”

“Okay.”

With care, Yugang filled the first bowl and placed it neatly on the table along with a spoon, then covered it with a clean cloth.

Then he went inside the hermitage, returning shortly afterward empty-handed.

“I have to serve the monk’s portion first.”

“Is he inside?”

“No. He’s out.”

There hadn’t been any presence felt inside the hermitage anyway—it seemed its master was away.

Yugang came back, scooped a second bowl, stuck a spoon in it, and handed it to Seolhwa.

“There’s only one table. Is that alright?”

“Yeah.”

“If you sit over there, it shouldn’t be too uncomfortable.”

As Seolhwa took the bowl with both hands, Yugang quickly wiped off a bit of porridge that had dripped down the side with his finger.

“Thank y—”

Just as she was turning away to thank him, Yugang suddenly grabbed her hand.

“...?”

“Enjoy.”

A cheerful smile spread across his face.

“...Thanks. I will.”

Seolhwa sat on the wooden porch with the bowl of porridge.

Stirring it with the wooden spoon Yugang had provided, she brought a bite to her mouth.

“!”

Her eyes lit up.

Seolhwa stared at the porridge with a surprised look.

‘It’s... delicious.’

The sesame porridge tasted as amazing as its rich smell had promised.

At first glance, it didn’t seem like much had gone into it—it looked simple and plain. And yet the flavor was remarkably deep.

Holding her bowl, Seolhwa glanced over at Yugang, who was tidying things up.

‘Unexpected.’

He could cook.

When Yugang finished covering the pot with the lid and looked her way, their eyes met—and he approached with a bright smile.

“How is it?”

“It’s good.”

He plopped down beside her with a thud.

“That’s a relief.”

Her gaze naturally shifted to his empty hands.

“You don’t have a spoon?”

“I only made two. But I’m fine! The porridge is thin enough to drink straight.”

As he spoke, Yugang lifted the bowl and drank directly from it.

‘It must be hot.’

Worried he’d burn his whole mouth, she watched—but Yugang gulped it down surprisingly easily.

Seolhwa turned her focus back to the porridge.

‘He made the utensils himself?’

As she chewed the porridge, the shapes of the bowl and spoon caught her eye.

There were uneven marks where they had been roughly carved.

Still, the surfaces were smooth, free of splinters—impressive for handmade tools.

“You made these?”

“Yeah. I made them when I first got here. There was nothing here at the time.”

“Right... You’ve always been good with your hands.”

“How’d you know?”

It was something she’d blurted out without thinking—remembering the ancestral tablet he’d carved himself in her previous life.

Realizing her slip, Seolhwa quickly tried to cover.

“When... you were in Surrochae, Hwarin tied your hair up, remember? I saw that...”

“Ahh, yeah, I remember that.”

Fortunately, Yugang didn’t press further.

Relieved, Seolhwa scooped up a big spoonful and shoved it in her mouth.

‘That was close.’

Why did she keep slipping up around him?

It felt like her guard just naturally dropped around Yugang—maybe because of his unguarded demeanor.

It was strangely comforting.

In her past life, she wouldn’t even have touched food he offered.

Chomp.

Taking another big bite, she chewed thoughtfully.

Yugang’s porridge really was delicious.

As she continued eating, absorbed in the taste, she suddenly felt someone’s gaze.

She turned her head—and saw Yugang staring at her.

The moment their eyes met, he jumped up in surprise.

“Ah, I’m full!”

Just then, seeing that she had emptied her bowl, Yugang asked.

“Want more?”

When Seolhwa shook her head, he took her empty bowl and walked away.

She rested her chin in her hand, watching him clean up the dishes.

Then her eyes drifted—and landed on the large blade propped up beside the porch.

Seolhwa stared at it for a while.

“Is that yours?”

Yugang, who had just finished washing the bowls, noticed her gaze and nodded.

“Yeah.”

“It’s not a sword.”

A bitter smile spread across his face.

“Yeah. I guess not.”

He couldn’t use a sword anymore. Not anymore.

“You learned to use the blade?”

“Yeah.”

“From who?”

“My master.”

Seolhwa turned to look at him.

Master.

She tried to think of anyone she knew who used a blade and might be called Yugang’s master—but no one came to mind.

Yugang, using a blade.

It was hard to picture.

“The master of this hermitage—is he your master?”

“No. The one who lives here is the former Abbot of Shaolin.”

“...!”

Seolhwa straightened, removing her hand from her chin.

“The... former Abbot?”

Just as she suspected, the recipient of the letter was indeed the former Abbot of Shaolin.

However—

‘So the former Abbot of Shaolin has reached the realm of Hyeongyeong.’

That was something no one in the world knew.

It had likely been kept secret on purpose.

‘Even in my previous life, was he already at Hyeongyeong during this time? If so...’

Then the method by which Shaolin discovered the infiltrators from the Blood Demon Cult became clear.

Just like with the Imugi’s detection abilities, the taint of blood qi couldn’t escape the eyes of a Hyeongyeong master.

‘So this letter... it really was the answer to my question.’

And sending her here to deliver it in person was a way to show the former Abbot she bore no trace of blood qi.

‘That line about “as long as I hadn’t absorbed blood qi, there would be no danger”... now it makes sense.’

It was an easier task than she’d expected.

All she had to do was deliver the letter and return.

Seolhwa felt a weight lift from her shoulders.

She asked Yugang,

“Then why are you here?”

“My master told me to wait here. Said someone would come to get me, and that I should look after the monk in the meantime.”

“Who’s your master?”

“Guyangdo, Elder of Neungjisan.”

Guyangdo?

Seolhwa tilted her head.

That was a name she had never once heard—not even in her past life.

“So you don’t know him.”

Yugang laughed softly.

“It’s okay. Not everyone does.”

“Is he strong?”

“Very.”

“How strong?”

“Hmm...”

Yugang glanced around the hermitage and said,

“In my opinion, he’s about as strong as Monk Gwangcheon. Though that’s just my humble judgment.”

“Who’s Monk Gwangcheon?”

“He’s the master of this hermitage.”

“...!”

Seolhwa’s eyes widened slightly.

If he was as strong as this hermitage’s owner, then Yugang’s master—Guyangdo—was also at the level of Hyeongyeong.

‘The Hyeongyeong master the /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ Imugi mentioned...’

Could it have been Guyangdo?

“Where did you meet your master?”

“At Mount Hua. I was shocked when I first met him. I thought Elder Guyangdo had passed away. Ah, and your grandfather helped me meet him!”

Seolhwa was stunned once more.

If they met at Mount Hua, then the master the Imugi sensed was definitely Guyangdo—but what shocked her more was something else.

“My... grandfather knows Elder Guyangdo too?”

“Yeah. They seemed pretty close.”

“....”

A shadow passed over Seolhwa’s face.

‘Something’s not right.’

The more she talked with Yugang, the more she sensed something was off.

Both Guyangdo and the former Shaolin Abbot, Gwangcheon.

If they were truly Hyeongyeong-level masters as Yugang claimed, and already renowned—

‘Then why have I never heard of them before?’

In both her lives, not once had their names come up.

The only thing commonly known was that the previous Shaolin Abbot had been a Hwagyeong master—but even his Dharma name was a complete mystery.

Let alone Guyangdo.

She hadn’t even known such a person existed.

‘Why...’

Just then.

Step, step.

Footsteps approached from the direction of the main hall.