Wudang Sacred Scriptures

“It’s one silver tael per night, but that includes three full meals, so it’s not all that expensive. Plus, you can call on an errand-runner whenever you please...”

Before the inn servant could even finish, Kwak Yeon readily took out six silver taels and handed them over.

“I’ll pay for five days in advance. The sixth is for you.”

“Oh! This is...”

“I tend to be wary of strangers. Consider this my request for you to personally take care of my meals and lodging. If that feels too burdensome, you’re free to hand it over to someone else.”

The old servant straightened his back and gave a humble bow.

“I’ve been with this inn longer than anyone. Rest assured, sir—I’ll see to your comfort myself.”

“Then I’d appreciate it if you could bring the meal to my room.”

“I’ll deliver it right away.”

Once the aged servant bustled out, Kwak Yeon stood by the window and carefully studied the Seongha Sangbang compound across the street.

When the meal arrived, Kwak Yeon asked casually as he accepted the tray.

“That estate across the way—what is it?”

“You mean Seongha Sangbang? Why do you ask...?”

Setting down his chopsticks, Kwak Yeon answered calmly.

“I’ll be honest with you. After descending the mountain, I passed by my hometown for the first time in years, only to find my cousin had vanished. They say he left to work at Seongha Sangbang, but he hasn’t been heard from since. His family is sick with worry. On my way back to the mountains, I promised to look into it. But when I stopped by, Seongha Sangbang claimed they didn’t know where he’d gone. So I decided to stay nearby for a few days—on the off chance I might run into him.”

“Ah... I see.”

The old servant, Mo Osam, nodded along. To him, a Daoist with silver and time to spare lingering for a few days was hardly anything worth fussing over.

And yet, something about that one silver tael he’d been handed sat uncomfortably in his pocket.

“If I may... why give me a whole tael as a gratuity?”

Kwak Yeon read the unease in his eyes and spoke softly.

“Because there are things I wish to hear—things not meant for all ears.”

Mo Osam’s face twisted with hesitation.

“I do understand your concern for your cousin, truly I do. But talking freely about Seongha Sangbang, especially when it’s just across the way... that could be risky.”

A reputation as strong as Seongha Sangbang’s didn’t come from goodwill. In Shimjeong-hyeon, no one dared cross them. If word got out, Mo Osam could lose the job that had sustained him for years.

“You can keep the silver.”

Mo Osam hesitated, but eventually drew the tael from his sleeve. Kwak Yeon gently stopped him.

“There’s no need to say anything.”

“...?”

“I just keep thinking of my cousin’s wife. Of the small children crying for their father. We may not know where he is, but even just knowing why he disappeared... wouldn’t that ease their worry, even a little?”

Some hearts can’t be moved with gold alone. Sometimes, only compassion opens the door.

Kwak Yeon waited silently to see whether this old servant’s heart might open.

Mo Osam pondered for a moment before speaking at last.

“The truth is... I don’t know much about Seongha Sangbang.”

“Even a little is enough. Do you think I paid for this room just to rest?”

He had deliberately chosen a discreet space and asked Mo Osam to tend to him personally—an unspoken invitation to speak freely.

Still, the old man hesitated. So Kwak Yeon opened the gate himself.

“Earlier, while looking out the window, I saw quite a few laborers going in and out of Seongha Sangbang. I may not know much of the world, but I’ve never seen a merchant operation employ that many people.”

That observation finally nudged the man’s lips open.

“Yes, Seongha Sangbang does hire more hands than most trading houses. And even then, they’re always short-staffed—recruiting again and again.”

“And where do all those workers go?”

“Well... once they head out on a trade run, only a handful ever return. They say the contracts are written that way—the laborers are only hired to travel to the destination.”

“That makes little business sense. A merchant house should profit more by bringing goods back as well, shouldn’t they?”

“I’m just a servant—what would I know of their dealings? People whisper about it, but no one speaks too loud. And truth be told, you’re not the first to come looking for a family member. It happens now and then. But most of them are from far-off places, and they don’t last more than a few days before giving up and leaving.”

Kwak Yeon’s suspicions deepened. It wasn’t locals being hired—outsiders were brought in and vanished.

Mo Osam looked regretful as he added, “I wish I could tell you more, but that’s all I know.”

“You’ve already helped more than you think.”

Kwak Yeon could see clearly that the old man’s silence came from fear of losing what little he had. Even so, he pulled out another silver tael and offered it.

“Sir... what you gave earlier was more than generous. And I wouldn’t dare repeat this tale to anyone else.”

“I know.”

“Then why...?”

“You have a family, don’t you?”

“...How did you—?”

Kwak Yeon glanced at the man’s sleeve—frayed at the edge, but neatly sewn with care.

“The stitching gave it away. It’s full of love.”

In truth, that sleeve was the reason he’d spoken to the old man in the first place.

“Please. Take this. It’s from the heart.”

“...Then I’ll accept it, with humility. And if I hear anything more, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

Mo Osam kept that promise.

The next day, with lunch, he brought news.

“Seongha Sangbang’s caravan departs tomorrow. Destination’s the same as last time—Wuhan.”

It was clear the man had asked around quietly, perhaps even at risk to himself.

“Thank you, truly.”

Thanks to him, Kwak Yeon had gained vital information without drawing suspicion.

But he was certain of one thing—Wuhan wasn’t the real destination.

“I’d like to spend the coming days quietly. Please don’t open the door unless I call for you. I’ll pay for the privilege.”

After handing over the silver and sending the old man off, Kwak Yeon rose to his feet.

He stopped by a stall in the marketplace to buy a black traveling outfit and some preserved rations. Then he slipped away into the mountains.

There, in the quiet of the forest, he changed clothes.

But the moment he removed his robes and began to untie his Daoist crown, a weight settled over his chest.

A parting with more than just garments.

He had promised himself he would cast them off the moment he entered Hunan Province—yet day after day, he kept putting it off.

“If your heart remains with Wudang, then wherever you walk, you are still a disciple of Wudang.”

It was almost as if he could hear Master Hyeonhae’s reproach echoing in his mind.

Yes... garments are but a husk.

There had been Master Unseon, who cast away even the cultivation of a lifetime for the sake of the greater Dao. What meaning did a mere robe hold in comparison?

Kwak Yeon lit a small campfire and fed his Daoist robes and crown to the flames.

From this point on, he would no longer live as a lay Daoist. He would live simply as Kwak Yeon.

As night deepened, he scattered the ashes of the fire and rose to his feet.

There was still one thing left to verify before trailing the caravan from Seongha Sangbang.

****

In the pitch black of night, shadows flickered—dozens of figures with eyes gleaming like cold steel.

All of them were clad in black nightcloaks, their weapons lacquered black as well. Blades, staffs, axes—all camouflaged in darkness. They blended with the night itself.

These black-clad shadows were watching Zhengwuguan across the road, where lights still burned bright and festivities ran loud.

Inside, Zhengwuguan’s men were reveling in celebration, holding a feast to mark their triumph over Geyang-hyeon.

From among the hidden shadows, the Chief Overseer of the Black Snake Gang, Yi Gwal, watched the brilliant lights of the hall. A cold smile played on his lips.

Enjoy this last feast of yours. It will be the final joy you ever taste in this world.

These bastards from Zhengwuguan had always boasted of their ties to the great Wudang Sect. But soon, they would learn the true horror of the Demonic Alliance.

They would come to know, too late, the price of violating their pact with the Demonic Alliance—the price of betrayal.

Yi Gwal had already sent a detailed report to the Alliance, chronicling exactly how the Black Snake Gang had been forced to disband.

He began the report with how Wudang had sent an unmatched master disguised as a lowly cave-dwelling Daoist to provoke the young sub-leader Sa Duyeong. How their leader, Sagungjin, had fallen for the ruse completely and, in desperation, contracted the infamous assassin known as the Divine Night Killer.

As anyone could’ve predicted, the assassin had been slain in a single blow, ambushed by Wudang’s hidden master.

And with that as leverage, Wudang’s agent had coerced Sagungjin into dismantling the entire Black Snake Gang. Zhengwuguan had then stepped in, feigning ignorance, and devoured all of the gang’s enterprises.

Yi Gwal’s report ended with that bitter conclusion.

The Demonic Alliance’s fury at Wudang’s manipulation was absolute—burning high and unrestrained.

It was only natural, then, that the Alliance responded by dispatching the Black Execution Unit.

Their first target had not been Zhengwuguan, but Sagungjin himself—the one who had voluntarily disbanded the gang and tarnished the Alliance’s dignity.

But Sagungjin had anticipated this and vanished without a trace.

Even so, Yi Gwal knew his former leader wouldn’t survive long. The assassins of the Demonic Alliance never stopped once blood was marked.

He might not live to witness Sagungjin’s demise, but there was one thing Yi Gwal would see with his own eyes—the ruin of Zhengwuguan.

He would watch those pompous bastards, who flaunted their Wudang affiliations like a badge of honor, be cut down in the vengeance that followed.

“Prepare yourselves,” came the calm command at last.

It was Jeong Seopbo, the Crimson Frenzy Blade—leader of the Black Execution Unit.

The revelry at Zhengwuguan had quieted by now. The drunken laughter was fading. Silence returned.

“Orders from the top are clear,” Jeong Seopbo said, voice like steel. “Not one life within Zhengwuguan is to remain breathing. Cut every corpse in half, at the very least.”

None of the assassins replied.

That, too, was protocol. During operations, the Black Execution Unit did not speak.

There was no need to. A command like that was unnecessary anyway.

In all their years, there had never once been a survivor left in their wake.

Still, the commander gave the order aloud, if only to underscore the depth of the Alliance’s fury.

The Demonic Alliance didn’t even bother wondering how Wudang might respond to this attack. It was irrelevant.

For the Alliance, retribution was an inviolable principle. Absolute. Ruthless. Inevitable.

It didn’t matter who stood in their way.

“We begin.”

Jeong Seopbo vaulted over the wall of Zhengwuguan.

Dozens of assassins followed, moving like shadows over the ramparts.

Yi Gwal remained in the alley alone, concealed in darkness.

He strained his ears.

For a while, there was nothing. No noise. No screams.

The silence was so complete, he began to wonder if they had even entered at all.

Then, at last, a scream pierced the night.

“Aaaargh!”

And with it, the certainty that this was no dream—this was reality.