NOVEL NEXT chapter 61 - First Young Master of Green Mountain (1)
“Clan Lord. A guest from the Beggars’ Union has arrived.”
“Show him in.”
A moment later, the Iron Cudgel Beggar stepped into the Clan Lord’s hall.
Even he—famed for his glib, slippery tongue—didn’t dare play coy before the Yeon Clan’s lord.
“Iron Cudgel Beggar. I don’t believe we’ve met face-to-face before.”
He’d apparently gone so long without a proper wash that grime all but streamed down his cheeks. Even so, Yeon Wi’s expression did not change.
“I am Yeon Wi. Welcome.”
The short greeting carried a commanding gravitas.
The Iron Cudgel Beggar felt his throat prickle for no reason.
“Formidable, aren’t you.”
It was like looking at a divine sword. The pressure rolling off him was tremendous.
“Judge’s Sword. They say in ten years you’ll be fit to sit among the Saintly Heaven Thirteen Seats—seems the world wasn’t exaggerating after all.”
One shout splits the sea; a sword of iron drives out evil.
The sayings referred to Yeon Wi, Lord of the Yeon Clan. Seeing him today, there was no hint of overstatement in those fearsome epithets.
“I have matters to attend to, so I’ll give you only what I’ve already dug up.”
Yeon Wi’s eyes flashed.
It hadn’t even been half a month, let alone a full month. Yet the Iron Cudgel Beggar looked to have turned up something.
“Go on.”
“Please take a look at this.”
From the rags of his robe he drew a neatly folded letter and offered it up with both hands.
His appearance was that of a vagrant, yet the letter he brought was of very fine make.
Yeon Wi unfolded it, and his eyes lit.
“I had intended to include Zhejiang as well, but time felt tight, so I pulled only Jiangsu and brought it first.”
“These names here—these forces?”
“Yes. All of them have joined hands with the Ming Clan. The farther to the right I’ve written them, the deeper their connection to the Ming.”
As Yeon Wi skimmed the letter, a sharp light crossed his gaze.
“The Old Sword Workshop?!”
“Familiar, isn’t it?”
“Don’t tell me they’ve joined hands with the Ming as well?”
“Strictly speaking, rather than joining hands, it looks like they’ve taken a great deal of money from the Ming. There are signs they’ve been reporting the Yeon Clan’s movements.”
Yeon Wi felt a hollow weariness inside.
The Old Sword Workshop was one of the Yeon Clan’s trading partners. More than half of the weapons used by the clan’s household guards were made there.
“So the main house has already been quietly rotting like this.”
The Iron Cudgel Beggar spoke up.
“Which is why I came to ask you directly.”
“What do you mean?”
“There will certainly be Ming-linked cat’s paws in Zhejiang. But I don’t think there’s much point investigating them.”
“Why do you think so?”
“Because the Mo Yong Clan reached into Zhejiang first.”
“……”
“In fact, their Zhejiang branch is raking in enormous profits from maritime trade. Even the Ming won’t be keen to stir up trouble in Zhejiang.”
“I see.”
“Yes. So rather than chase them as well, I thought it better to sort the Jiangsu forces at once and dig deeper. That’s why I came in person.”
Yeon Wi nodded.
“Your thinking is sound.”
“Then shall we begin right away?”
“Before that.”
Yeon Wi drew out a letter from his robe.
“Deliver this to my son.”
“Ah, to the First Young Master?”
“That’s right. Sorry to trouble you.”
“Ha! It’s fine. It’s not like I’m the one doing the work.”
Shoving the letter into his clothes, the Iron Cudgel Beggar suddenly asked as if remembering something.
“Uh… by any chance…”
“If it’s about a meal, I’ve already given word. Head to the Guest Hall and they’ll show you in.”
The Iron Cudgel Beggar smacked his lips. Does this man really take me for a beggar?
“That’s not it. Have you perhaps received any separate letter from the First Young Master?”
“Nothing beyond that he reached Henan.”
“Ah…”
He was honestly flustered. So he didn’t tell his own father? Isn’t that a bit much?
Yeon Wi’s eyes flashed.
“Has something happened to him?”
“Eh? Ah, no, that’s not it…”
“……”
“…No helping it. I’ll tell you.”
With a series of dry coughs, the Iron Cudgel Beggar relayed Yeon Hojeong’s present situation.
“The Ming?!”
“Yes. Which is why he’s even pulled in the Mo Yong Clan.”
Yeon Wi felt speechless.
That the boy hadn’t told him—he could let that pass. The child had to be stretched thin.
But the idea itself was absurd. Join hands with the Mo Yong to strike the Ming? What kind of outlandish strategy was that?
“Damn.”
When he thought it through, it was a grave matter. Mishandled, it could spiral into ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) open war between clans.
“If he needlessly provokes the Mo Yong Clan Lord…”
“Yeah, I had that worry too.”
“Hm?”
“He’s actually coming.”
“…?!”
“Mo Yonggun, Lord of the Mo Yong Clan—he truly departed Hunan.”
The Iron Cudgel Beggar fleshed it out in more detail.
Everything Yeon Hojeong had gone through to date had long since been passed to the Beggars’ Union. Understandable, since the one moving with him was a Rear Beggar.
“Hm.”
A gleam returned to Yeon Wi’s eyes.
“All right. Hearing it laid out like this, I can see what Hojeong is aiming for.”
Not in precise detail, of course.
At present he didn’t even know how the boy had learned the Ming were behind it. Now that boy had gone and captured the Ming’s intelligence outfit.
At that point in the story, his vision had swam for an instant. He’d thought that hot temper had finally blown something up.
But after hearing the sequence, he could tell how Yeon Hojeong meant to handle the Ming.
What troubled him was—
“He’s drawing the Ming in?”
“Yes. And that will probably… be very dangerous.”
The Iron Cudgel Beggar hurried to add:
“Of course, the Beggars’ Union has dispatched experts to ring the area, so there should be no major problem.”
“I see.”
“Eh?”
“I said I see.”
“Ah… yes.”
“Good work. Stop by the Guest Hall and have a bowl before you go.”
The Iron Cudgel Beggar scratched his head, sheepish. He’d said he would be quick, but with a meal laid out, there was no reason to refuse.
“Th-then I’ll shamelessly accept a plate. Ahem!”
With that, he took his leave.
Yeon Wi immediately summoned Shin Mo.
“You called for me, Clan Lord.”
“How many Azure Hawk units are currently outside the compound?”
“All Azure Hawk units are in-house.”
“Are they.”
“Yes.”
Shin Mo asked, puzzled.
“May I ask what this is about…?”
“Go to Henan.”
A chill sharpened Yeon Wi’s eyes.
“Take the entire Azure Hawk Squad to Henan and protect Hojeong. If necessary, you may lift your seal.”
****
Murmur, murmur.
Kaifeng in Henan was an ancient, historic capital.
Being close to the prefectural city of Zhengzhou, its foot traffic was enormous. Crowded by day, crowded by night.
So even as people strolled and laughed through the marketplace, their eyes kept darting toward one spot.
“How much for this?”
“…T-two taels.”
“Two taels? For this?”
“Y-yes!”
“That cheap? That can’t be right.”
“Ah…”
“If you sell it too cheap, you won’t make a margin. Here—five taels. Give me that much.”
“Wha—! Th-thank you!”
Smiling, the young man bought food and walked on.
His hair hung loose and free. His clothes were neat and striking. Tall, but built and dressed like a scholar—a handsome youth.
What hung over his shoulder, however, was anything but ordinary.
“That’s an axe, isn’t it?!”
“Sure is. An axe, but…”
“Good grief, I’ve never seen an axe that big! You couldn’t use that even on a battlefield.”
“Can a man even lift it?”
“His face isn’t even changing color. How strong is he?”
What he bore openly on his shoulder was a colossal axe.
Not a saber. Not a spear. An axe. And a massive one.
The haft was as long as a spear shaft—about six feet—and thick besides. The axe head was the showstopper: easily twice the shoulder width of a grown man.
Nearly the size of a man’s upper torso. Overwhelming in scale and presence. The fact that a man who didn’t look the type carried it only made him seem more commanding.
Kaifeng’s heavy foot traffic meant many martial artists as well. People there didn’t startle or think it remarkable to see one.
This youth was different. His appearance dragged eyes whether he wanted it or not.
Yeon Hojeong looked around.
As he suspected, he stood out—loudly.
“Different from the demonic-path quarters.”
In the demonic back alleys, men carried every sort of weapon under the sun. Some lugged gigantic shears; others, madmen, wore a dozen swords.
Of course the demonic path and the orthodox spread across the Central Plains both, but Henan held Shaolin and the Ming Clan. There was no corner for demonic-path wanderers to set foot.
Perhaps for that reason, the looks felt fresh again.
“I’ve taken a fair look. Time to slip away.”
Three days after leaving Shangqiu, he reached Kaifeng. He then spent four days circling its markets. Naturally, the Ming picked him up.
“One, two… six.”
Since yesterday he’d felt the presence of “eyes” on him.
One, then two, then more—now six. And from six, the count no longer rose.
“The pot’s good and hot.”
Food in hand, he left Kaifeng’s main thoroughfare and wandered into a quiet bamboo grove.
If you wanted a place people didn’t come and go, a forest was it. At least the bamboo made for fine scenery.
Rustle.
Yeon Hojeong’s eyes sparked.
From far behind came the sound of bamboo leaves brushing. A sound ambiguous—wind against leaves, or a body ghosting through.
“They’re on me.”
Measured steps. A ripeness of trained economy. Quite different from the Shadow-Death Division, yet oddly similar in places.
“Shadow-Death…”
He thought of Ming Onji.
The adamantine strongman’s art that had smashed his clan’s gate—the art Ming Onji had learned.
“Will one of them have learned it too?”
A martial art that hardened the whole body. Steel-plating the frame until it was ironclad, drawing out stout defense and divine strength.
“If possible, one more time… hm?”
At a sudden thought, Yeon Hojeong tilted his head.
“Strange, though.”
When Ming Onji had drawn out that art, his vision had gone red. He’d opened the killing hand without hesitation because he was that angry.
So why—
Now that his heart was calm, recalling Ming Onji’s art gave him a peculiar sense of déjà vu.
Because it was the same art used by the adamantine strongman who came to annihilate his clan?
Not exactly. It felt… off.
The more he chased the memory, the more it slipped away like a dream upon waking.
Something about Ming Onji’s martial art felt inexplicably familiar, and that unsettled him.
“…”
Lost in thought, Yeon Hojeong let out a faint laugh.
“Enemy’s at the nose—what leisure is this?”
He stepped deeper into the bamboo and found a large boulder.
Thump!
He set the axe down, took a seat on the rock, and started on a rice ball.
It was a well-made rice ball. Perfectly seasoned—very easy eating.
The rice ball brought Yeon Jipyeong to mind.
“You’re hungry, right? Eat a lot. I’ll bring more tomorrow.”
Yeon Hojeong couldn’t help a brief smile.
“You brat. Your brother’s in a strange land, tangling with wastrel ruffians, and you’ve got the appetite of a king?”
He wanted to say it in that teasing tone. If Jipyeong heard it, he’d probably go gloomy and nudge the dirt with the toe of his boot.
Thinking of his younger brother brought his father’s face as well.
Stern features, and beneath them, a deep, felt affection.
“If the world dares call my son a demon, I will set that world beneath my sword.”
“Father.”
His mood rose for no reason.
It was a feeling he had never known as the Dark Emperor. He’d had comrades-in-arms then, but no family.
Now it was different. Not the demonic back alleys, but the clan he had yearned for over decades. With a place to return to, his heart felt solid.
Smiling at the thought of family, Yeon Hojeong spoke in a level voice:
“This is my first meal today. Wait until I finish.”
Thoooom! Thunk!
Before he knew it, the rice ball in his hand vanished. An arrow had whistled in and knocked it away.
Yeon Hojeong grumbled.
“My poor rice balls are forever persecuted.”
He stepped down from the rock and faced forward. At some point, ten men had formed up there.
A middle-aged man at their center asked,
“Are you Yeon Hojeong?”
Yeon Hojeong smiled.
“I am. I am Yeon Hojeong, First Young Master of the Yeon Clan of Green Mountain.”