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Chapter:09
Kang Yu and Bi Gwang dashed through the treetops like the wind.
While running, Bi Gwang scattered dozens of pebbles into the air.
Each pebble had tiny characters engraved on it — barely the size of grains of rice.
The pebbles whistled past Kang Yu’s ear in an instant.
While running, Bi Gwang asked,
“What characters were written on the third, twenty-fourth, and forty-seventh stones?”
“The character gak (覺) meaning ‘to awaken,’ hwe (噦) meaning ‘birdsong,’ and dong (銅) meaning ‘copper,’” Kang Yu replied.
“Three shijin (roughly six hours) ago, during the hour of the dragon, a flock of migratory birds passed overhead. Which direction were they flying?”
The second question had nothing to do with the pebbles, but Kang Yu didn’t panic.
Instead of recalling the memory, he pictured it.
“From northeast to southwest,” he answered.
“How many birds?”
“Thirty-six.”
“Their colors?”
“Twenty-four black, six brown, three navy, two white, and one with a black body but a white head.”
Bi Gwang continued running silently along the branches.
It had been only one day.
“…Accurate,” he muttered.
At Kang Yu’s perfect answer, a chill ran down Bi Gwang’s spine.
He had just been teaching the secret art of Muyeong Shintu — the Shadowless Divine Stealth — specifically, its hidden technique called Ilgyeon Naphwa (一見納畵):
“To take in everything you see as a painting.”
Literally meaning “to receive what one sees as a picture,” it was a way to maximize instantaneous perception by accepting what one’s eyes saw not as information to be understood, but as an image to be absorbed.
For over fifty years, Bi Gwang had lived as a great thief, crossing between the orthodox and unorthodox sects alike.
In countless moments of life and death, the thing that saved him wasn’t his peerless agility or stealth, but this very Ilgyeon Naphwa.
With just a glance, he could later recall an entire room’s layout, the ceiling’s material, or which of the hundreds of doors was a possible escape route.
The key to mastering Ilgyeon Naphwa lay, paradoxically, in removing perception.
Normally, humans perceive and then understand before storing what they’ve seen.
But Ilgyeon Naphwa skips that middle step — you simply receive the scene as a picture and only later interpret it.
It was the reverse of instinct — a feat that took Bi Gwang seven full years to master.
Yet this new disciple of his, Kang Yu, had grasped the perceptual shift in just one day.
A truly heaven-defying talent, equal to any divine prodigy.
“Turns out that fool’s act was just the face,” Bi Gwang thought, hiding a grin.
No master in the world would be unhappy with a brilliant disciple,
but Bi Gwang concealed his pride — not wanting to disrupt the mysterious plans of the reclusive sages who had arranged this meeting.
“Next, we’ll learn how to read the stars.”
“The stars?”
“At night, the constellations are the quickest and simplest way to find your bearings. Didn’t you say you once lost your way and ended up in Liaodong?”
“Ah, that’s right! Yes, please teach me!”
Running atop the trees, Bi Gwang pointed at the night sky.
“See the brightest star there?”
“Yes.”
“That’s the North Star, the fixed point of direction. To its left you’ll see the ladle-shaped Big Dipper — that’s west.
And to its right, the five-star shape of Wangliang (Cassiopeia) — that’s east.
From now on, if you use the North Star as your guide, you’ll never lose your way again. Understood?”
“Yes!”
“And that star behind it…”
They continued their lesson among the trees.
After two nights of travel, they reached Panjin (盤錦), the border between Hebei and Liaoning.
“I’ll be off now, Master.”
Kang Yu bowed deeply among the thick foliage.
Bi Gwang looked at him with regret.
All he had truly taught the boy were trivial skills — aside from straightening his warped idea of marriage.
“If the divination of the Heaven-Chart Scripture is true,” the fortune-teller had said,
“Then within half a year, what you set out to do will alter the fate of the world. Remember my words.”
To think the fate of the world could change over something so small — fortune-tellers really were dramatic.
“Then as you said, please come see me within a year!”
Kang Yu bowed once more and shot into the sky.
Bi Gwang waved until he was out of sight.
Originally, Bi Gwang had sought a successor so that his art — the Shadowless Divine Stealth — wouldn’t die with him.
But now that he had found a disciple, there was nothing left to teach.
The boy’s skill already surpassed his own.
So though his goal of passing on his art had failed,
he felt no disappointment — only guilt that he’d given his first and last disciple so little.
“Still, a master should give something of worth.”
Bi Gwang reached into his robe and pulled out an old book.
《The Three Lantern Tales (剪燈三話)》
It was the trail of another lifelong pursuit — a mystery he’d chased his entire life,
and now, in old age, had finally found a small clue to.
If all went as planned, it would one day aid his disciple too.
He slipped the book back into his robe and was about to leave when—
“Ah, Master!”
The disciple who had flown away moments ago returned.
“Give it back.”
“Hm? Give what back?”
“What do you mean ‘what’? You pretended to be a beggar when we first met and took my money!”
Kang Yu smiled and held out his hand.
“Surely you’re not going to steal from your own disciple, right?”
“…”
Moments later—
“Then, see you in a year!”
After getting his money back, Kang Yu shot into the sky again,
and Bi Gwang stood there for a while, then burst into laughter.
He’d worried that the boy, naïve as he was, might get swindled in the world —
but no, that temper would protect him well.
* * *
Anhui had always been the transport hub of the Central Plains.
The Yellow River flowed to the north, the Yangtze through its center;
to the east were Jiangsu and Zhejiang, to the west Hubei and Henan —
a natural crossroads, bustling with trade.
Its capital, Hefei, was especially prosperous.
And when Kang Yu entered the city, his jaw dropped.
He’d thought Jilin was the largest province in the world —
but he’d been wrong.
The people, the pavilions, the streets, the walls —
everything here was on a different scale.
But one thing hadn’t changed:
“Hey, young hero! How about you give it a try?”
The generosity of the great masters.
Just like before, these masters — moved by pity — showered him with pocket money whenever he passed.
Even at inns, it was the same.
“R-right this way, to the top floor!”
Just flashing his coin pouch made innkeepers treat him like nobility.
They even brought food unasked.
“Truly, such generous people,” Kang Yu said, touched by the kindness of masters everywhere.
“Your food, sir.”
Yet one thing bothered him.
Crunch.
He chewed silently.
Every inn he’d visited since leaving Jilin — the food was bland.
Not a single dish compared to that first inn back home.
When it came to flavor, Jilin was still number one.
“Ugh, boring,” he muttered.
Food should make your mouth tingle and your nose flare,
or at least sting your tongue a little — but this? Nothing.
“Guess I’ll finish this and go buy some candy.”
Just then—
Bang!
A shout erupted from the corner of the inn — a woman’s voice.
“Damn those executors! How dare they assign me to the Guardian Division!?”
She upended an entire bottle of wine in one gulp.
Two men at her table tried to calm her.
“P-please, Lady Namgung, calm yourself. The Guardian Division answers directly to the Elders.
If it’s the Namgung Guardian Division, anyone in the world would envy that post.”
“He’s right, my lady. Surely those above you had deep reasons—”
“Deep reasons, my ass!”
Namgung Sahwa spat curses unfit for a lady.
“I told them! After graduating from the Academy, I was promised the deputy leader position in Azure Sky Unbound Corps!
Not some kennel full of dogs guarding decrepit old men!”
One of the men sighed.
He was an outsider to the Namgung clan but could easily guess the reason.
Anyone who’d attended the Martial Academy with her would know.
Bang!
“Damn it all!”
Namgung Sahwa’s temper was infamous.
Since her academy days, she’d relied on her noble blood as a daughter of one of the Five Great Clans to bully others.
Had she not been of Namgung blood, she would have long since been expelled.
Assigning her to the Guardian Division was no accident —
the Namgung clan, famed for its swordsmanship and chivalry,
simply couldn’t let such a disgrace roam free.
Better to hide her away, guarding elders behind closed doors.
“Damn it allllll!!”
Perhaps furious that she alone didn’t understand this,
she gulped another bottle of wine, then suddenly stared toward the window.
“Hey. What are you looking at?”
She was glaring toward Kang Yu.
“Hey! I said, what are you staring at?”
When their eyes met, Kang Yu quickly looked away.
“Hey.”
“…”
“Hey!”
Realizing she was calling him, Kang Yu cautiously looked up.
“M-me?”
“Yeah, you. What’s with the staring?”
“S-staring? I just looked because you were… making a bit of a scene.”
“A scene?”
“Well, you slammed the table and shouted, so…”
Namgung Sahwa burst into laughter — the mad kind.
A ragged beggar-looking boy daring to call her noisy?
Perfect. She needed someone to vent on.
“Don’t lie to me! You were ogling my chest — you think I didn’t notice, you little pervert!”
“Huh!?”
Kang Yu’s face turned red.
“N-no! I wasn’t! I just looked because— really, it’s a misunderstanding!”
“Shut up!”
She slammed the table again.
Dishes and bottles flew; the entire inn froze.
But Namgung Sahwa didn’t care.
She rose, sword drawn, and strode toward the window.
“To show such lust in broad daylight — you filthy dog in heat!”
“Huh?”
“No doubt you do this to other women, too. As a righteous cultivator, I can’t let that slide.”
She leveled her sword at his face.
The men behind her leapt up.
“M-my lady! That’s too much — he’s just a boy!”
But to her, their voices were noise.
The sword’s tip reached Kang Yu’s eye.
“Apologize. Depending on how sincere you are, I’ll decide your punishment.”
Kang Yu scratched his head.
Clearly, she was misunderstanding something —
but if his actions had offended her, then he was at fault.
So he stood and bowed deeply.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, but if I made you uncomfortable, I apologize. Please forgive me.”
It was a perfectly polite apology —
yet Namgung Sahwa didn’t lower her sword.
She’d never intended to end it with an apology.
As always, her noble house would cover for her.
“Kneel.”
“Pardon?”
“You think a few words will fix this? Hardly.
Kneel and beg, or I’ll pluck out your lustful eyes and feed them to a dog.”
Kang Yu stared blankly.
Pulling a sword and threatening to gouge out someone’s eyes —
that was excessive.
And now, he could feel it —
this wasn’t about justice.
She was picking a fight.
“Excuse me,” he said slowly, “but are you… trying to start a fight with me?”
Namgung Sahwa smirked. Her lips curled with venom.
“How clever. Took you long enough.”
Kang Yu looked at her quietly.
He found it oddly fascinating —
why were martial artists always so weak, yet so eager to act tough?
“Ah, I see.”
He rose from his seat,
and met Namgung Sahwa’s eyes beyond the tip of her sword.
