Black and White Martial Emperor (Wuxia Novel)

A man in his thirties wore a pained look.

“You must have suffered terribly. A house with such history, well kept since your forebears.”
The Pavilion Master of Choseong Pavilion let out a heavy, stifled sigh.
“I’ve no face to show my ancestors. I thought I’d tended the place well, and then this...”

“Hey now, how is that your fault? In life, disasters fall out of a clear sky. Frankly, it’s a blessing you weren’t hurt.”
“Heh.”
He didn’t realize how much strength simple consolation could give. On top of that, this man—whom he was seeing for the first time—had mobilized a crowd of laborers to push the repairs in the damaged areas.

Younger than himself, yet clearly no ordinary person.
“Here. Please take this.”
“What is it?”

“Not a large sum, but it should help with the work.”
“Oh! Please, don’t. I have an emergency fund put aside—”
“Come on, you know how the world works. Goodwill springs from a full granary. Fixing all this will cost serious money, and you’ll need top-quality ingredients again, won’t you?”
“Huh...”

“Choseong Pavilion is one of Anhui’s representative taverns. People won’t want its palate to change. Please, keep being a landmark of Anhui.”
Emotion rose on the Pavilion Master’s face.
He’d said he had savings, but truthfully, those savings would vanish if he used them to rebuild.

Worse, once word spread that there’d been arson, customers would thin for a while. The business might fail outright.
How would he endure that barren stretch of time? And then—this help.
“Since you put it that way, I won’t refuse.”

“Of course you won’t. But don’t think you’re getting off that easy. When I come by later, one meal on the house, all right?”
“How could I treat a benefactor so shabbily? Come anytime. I’ll serve a dish made from the very best ingredients that day.”
“Hah, I’m not so shameless as that.”

The man slipped in a gentle probe.
“By the way, isn’t your true benefactor someone else?”
“Pardon?”

“The heroes who saved Choseong Pavilion.”
“Ah... yes. That’s true.”
A sparkle lit the man’s eyes.

“Fear?”
From the Pavilion Master’s face, he sensed fear before gratitude.
“Why? Did they do something to you?”
“N-no! Had it not been for them, even our annexes would have burned. I’ve lived more than forty years and never seen such men of chivalry.”

“Oh? High praise.”
He chuckled.
“I hear they contained the fire. Before that, they evacuated people along the safest routes.”

“Yes.”
“And young, by the sound of it?”
“Ah! There were warriors about the age of the Rear Beggar, too. I haven’t trained in martial arts, but ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) they looked like formidable experts.”

“Formidable experts...”
The man—Ga Deoksang, Rear Beggar of the Beggars’ Union—had eyes that glittered like morning stars.
“Likely the Azure Hawk Squad.”

The Azure Hawk Squad was one arm of the Yeon Clan of Green Mountain, one of the Seven Great Clans. Their reputation was such that this assessment wasn’t surprising.
“But...”
Ga Deoksang glanced toward the southwest gate.

“The fire was big, yet the damage is smaller than expected. With a blaze this size, the central hall should have burned, but only the outer wall and a few warehouses were hit. And the Azure Hawk Squad contained this?”
It was astonishing.
No matter how strong, martial artists panic when a fire breaks out. Stronger and faster than commoners, yes—but before disaster, they’re still human.

Yet from scorch marks, damage spread, and testimony combined, it looked as if they’d secured an escape route in an instant, minimized casualties, and knocked the fire down fast.
Not something just anyone could do. Even properly trained regulars would struggle to suppress a blaze this quickly.
And then there was Hall Lord Ma Bang of Thunderfire Hall.

“Ma Bang was once counted among the Thirteen Geniuses of the Demonic Path. Ten years ago he vanished, then reemerged last year. His exact level is unclear, but word was even the younger generation’s elites would struggle against him.”

Though the Demonic Path had lost its former prime, those Thirteen were still its apex younger talents. Ten more years of growth meant he wouldn’t fall to middling skill.
Eyewitnesses said even the Je Gal siblings had been on the back foot throughout. Je Gal Ahyeon had fought hard, but never took the upper hand.

And someone beat that master one-on-one.
“Have you spoken with the Yeon Clan’s First Young Master?”
The Pavilion Master flinched.

Ga Deoksang cocked his head.
“Why so startled?”
“I... it’s nothing.”

He plainly didn’t want to say more on that point.
Ga Deoksang dipped his head with a light smile.
“Seems I’ve muddled your thoughts with idle chatter. My apologies.”

“Ah! No need! Don’t say that!”
“It’ll take some time to restore the pavilion. If anything’s difficult, tell the Beggars’ Union men anytime. Then—I’ll take my leave.”
Ga Deoksang wrapped up the greetings and stepped out of Choseong Pavilion. He felt the Pavilion Master’s complicated gaze on his back, but didn’t think much of it.

“Yeon Hojeong, First Young Master of the Yeon Clan of Green Mountain...?”
He stroked his chin.
“So not the elder son who supposedly crumpled—eclipsed by his younger brother’s talent?”

Intriguing.
As heir to the Beggars’ Union—keystone of the orthodox martial world and its intelligence pinnacle—he hadn’t felt this entertained in years.
“Hm. A gathering of the younger generation’s elites, is it? Well, who says you must be one of the Seven Great Clans to attend? I’m a beggar. I can panhandle anywhere I like.”

 
****
Whoom.

The iron cudgel’s movement had grown smoother, steadier.
Gripping the shaft with both hands, Yeon Hojeong drove a fierce thrust.
THUD!

A fairly thick tree shivered.
The cudgel burrowed seven inches deep. The marvel lay in the pierced surface.
Normally the bark around the hole would split and crack. It hadn’t. The cudgel’s force had focused at the tip, giving it awl-like penetration.

“Tighter.”
Yeon Hojeong withdrew the cudgel, a faint dissatisfaction on his face.
“Tighter—but still a ways to go. Needs work.”

He dropped where he stood.
His hands were still raw with blood; his whole body was drenched in sweat.
Cross-legged, he finished a cycle with the Jade Wave True Formula and drew up the Black Tortoise Qi.

Tss, tss, tss.
A soft moisture rose from his body.
Strangely, there was nothing clammy about it—rather, it felt fresh and sacral. The Four Spirit Arts are an undefeated battle art, yet the qi that composes them is upright to the core.

“Even so, it came back vivid. Feels like ages, though it’s been no time.”
The Black Tortoise.
Among the Four Spirits, the Black Tortoise is the Water God of the Gui-Hai stem, symbol of winter.

Of the organs, it governs the kidneys—the body’s final filter for waste—so when Black Tortoise Qi stands tall, turbidity doesn’t cling to the flesh.
Its martial art is called an iron wall. The stoutest of the Four, starting with the Black Tortoise raises the overall finesse of one’s skills.
It was why the iron cudgel now punched through wood so cleanly. Much remained to improve, but even this erased many of his former gaps in offense and defense.

Yeon Hojeong opened his eyes.
He murmured low.
“Maybe I woke it too fast—but I don’t have time. I need my old arts back as quickly as possible.”

No time to whine about a long to-do list. At this pace, he had to rouse the remaining three spirits quickly.
Training done, he headed for the grove where the party rested.
“You’re here, First Young Master.”

“Mm.”
Shin Mo bowed with polished respect.
Yeon Hojeong glanced around.

“Where’s Jipyeong?”

“He wished to be alone for a time...”
“Did he?”

Well, that happens.
He was at the age when emotions pitch and roll. Nothing strange about it.
Nodding, Yeon Hojeong happened to look over the Azure Hawk men.

The moment their eyes met his, each man ducked his head. It looked courteous, but there was also a certain wariness of Yeon Hojeong.
He tilted his head.
“What’s with them?”

Did they wrong me somehow?
Before, they’d only give a brief nod when they crossed paths. Today, they were acting oddly.
“Um, First Young Master.”

“Hm?”
“Are you all right? Your hands—they’re bleeding...”
“Oh, I’m fine. Training must’ve opened the wounds. They’ll heal fast.”

“Ah, yes.”
Then—
“Excuse me...”

Yeon Hojeong turned.
Je Gal Ahyeon stood there, face drawn and pale.
“This is our first formal greeting, I think. I’m Je Gal Ahyeon of the Je Gal Clan.”

“Yeon Hojeong.”
Shin Mo’s face tightened.
Unlike Ahyeon, Hojeong’s tone was supremely arrogant—like addressing a much younger junior.

But Ahyeon didn’t seem to mind.
“Where are we?”
She’d blacked out from internal injuries and only just woken. Je Gal Jun was still unconscious.

Shin Mo answered.
“A woods some way off from Hanshan. We meant to find a physician immediately, but it wasn’t simple. Luckily, neither of your internal injuries proved severe, so we judged it better to head for Hefei.”
At first blush, that made little sense.

If someone’s hurt, you find a physician first, skill aside. But—to Hefei?
“Wait—‘not severe’?”
Ahyeon shut her eyes and probed inward.

Her eyes went wide.
“...Huh?”
Shin Mo had told the truth.

She’d taken significant internal damage from overextending the Profound Origin Sandalwood Divine Art and the enemy’s attacks. Yet now, most of it had been set right.
“When did this heal?”
She looked to Je Gal Jun.

“My brother—his condition?!”
“Do not worry. The poison was removed. I did not know the Je Gal Clan’s inner method was so exceptional.”
“Ah!”

Ahyeon checked Jun’s pulse herself.
“It’s true.”
His pulse was steady. He still bore internal injury from the toxin, but once he regained consciousness, it was damage he could clear on his own.

Shin Mo spoke, a touch abashed.
“My apologies. Whatever your states, it would have been best to find a physician first. After what happened, I grew hasty. I judged it safer for all to get to Hefei as soon as possible.”
“N-no! You’re all our lifesavers. Don’t say that.”

“Heh. You flatter me.”
Then Yeon Hojeong said,
“Je Gal Ahyeon, was it?”

“Yes? Ah—yes!”
“Walk with me. We need to talk.”
He said only that and started toward the darker trees.

Flustered, Ahyeon looked to Shin Mo.
He said, reluctant,
“It’s nothing serious, I’m sure.”

“...”
“...Probably.”