Black and White Martial Emperor

The Ming Clan of the Nine Provinces.

A house that, three hundred years ago—the Martial World’s worst chaos and its highest golden age—assisted the legendary “Four Martial Emperors of the Four Directions” and rendered decisive service in the destruction of the Blood Sect.

Thereafter, they brought in distinctive arts from beyond the passes, fused them with Central Plains disciplines, and invented proprietary techniques of their own; within two centuries they came to be called the greatest household under heaven. That is the Ming Clan of the Nine Provinces’ history.

The reason they were called the greatest under heaven was simple.

Because they were strong.

Their power rivaled the combined reach of two of the Seven Great Clans, and the new arts they developed were judged superior to the secret manuals of those clans. Their funds, too, were enough to contest first place among any single power—hardly an undeserved title.

Yeon Hojeong was provoking the Third Young Master of that great house.

Ming Holim’s eyes deepened.

“You’re the First Young Master of the Yeon Clan, aren’t you?”

He knows quite well.

“First, as the eldest at this gathering, allow me to offer thanks—for catching a rampaging colt. A bit rough, but still.”

Yeon Hojeong smiled before he knew it.

A fellow who couldn’t be more than mid-twenties was prattling about being an elder. The sight was almost funny.

Ming Holim acted as though he hadn’t seen the smile.

“I also see your martial skill is impressive. To subdue the Tang heir in a single breath—now I know just how exaggerated the rumors about you were.”

Rumors about Yeon Hojeong were famous among those who knew.

A tiger for ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) a father, a dog for a son.

The Yeon Clan’s current Lord, Yeon Wi, was called the Judge’s Sword and received the world’s respect. But his eldest, Yeon Hojeong, was said to lack the talent and character to inherit the house.

What Yeon Hojeong showed today was far, far from rumor.

“However.”

Ming Holim spoke in a deliberately scolding tone.

“No matter how much one wishes to prove oneself, it is right to distinguish public from private. This is a gathering hall, not a dueling ring.”

“......”

“See to clearing the surroundings first. When the mood settles, I’ll come have you pour me a drink.”

“So.”

“Hm?”

“You won’t keep me company?”

Faces around the seats turned aghast toward Yeon Hojeong.

Ming Holim burst out laughing.

“Keeping you company isn’t hard. I simply meant with wine and laughter. Ah! And you needn’t worry about the cup you threw at me. As you said yourself—it was an accident, wasn’t it?”

Yeon Hojeong nodded.

Satisfied, Ming Holim went on.

“Good, good. First, move that Tang scion and—”

“If you won’t come, I’ll go.”

“What?”

Whoom.

Yeon Hojeong walked toward Ming Holim.

He did not unfold a body art, nor did he even bother to run.

He walked. Utterly natural.

But as he moved, it felt as if the heavy air rolled back in waves.

The mood was so weighty and close that even those who had meant to stop him hesitated. The instant Yeon Hojeong moved, the air of the banquet seemed to soak, damp and chill.

Ming Holim’s eyes widened.

What is this?

Not far to go.

He wasn’t cautious. Strolling up as if out for a walk, one could doubt he meant to fight at all.

Yet Ming Holim felt every nerve in his body stand on end. He wanted to say something, but a strange pressure sealed his mouth.

Yeon Hojeong came right up under Ming Holim’s nose.

...!

A step closer and a fist would land. Yeon Hojeong stopped right there.

The two men glared at each other.

Sssss—

Murderous intent, serpent-like, climbed Ming Holim’s neck.

Subtle yet supple. But venomous. A cruel will to kill that seemed ready to sink fangs into his throat at once.

What kind of killing aura is this bastard...?!

Then Yeon Hojeong smiled, just a touch.

Ming Holim’s body answered before he knew it.

Bang!

His fist whipped straight for Yeon Hojeong’s face.

It was a punch without any preparatory motion. That made it fast and sharp.

Thooom!

The fist he’d thrown ricocheted straight upward.

But Ming Holim did not stop attacking. The killing aura coiling his neck urged on a follow-up.

Both his fists moved with crisp speed.

Papatatat!

Linked-chain punches ripped the air of the narrow space. It was the Iron Chain Pounce, a close-quarters method the Ming Clan prided itself on.

Not quite a peer technique, but a martial art of great utility in in-fighting and slugging range. He had reacted to killing aura on instinct, but even so he seemed to be restraining himself.

Yeon Hojeong answered at once.

Thud! Thud-thud! Thoom! Smaaack!

Fists, palms, and elbows crashed, pounding like drums.

Yeon Jipyeong’s eyes went round.

That fist method...?

The fistwork Yeon Hojeong used to meet Ming Holim’s Iron Chain Pounce was a martial art even Jipyeong knew.

The Yeon Clan’s Thirteen Fists?!

Yes.

That springy fistwork was the Yeon Clan’s foundational set, the Yeon Clan’s Thirteen Fists. But it was far too different from the set Yeon Jipyeong knew.

Like that—he’s using it like that?

The Thirteen Fists were originally meant more to subdue than to slay.

But no one used the Yeon Clan’s fists as a restraining art. Yeon warriors learned them to build flexibility and a rock-solid lower body, not to fight foes.

In short, it was a form ill-suited to combat. Yet his brother was using a routine close to calisthenics to exquisitely smother the Ming Clan’s in-fighting technique.

No—that’s beyond smothering...

He was pressing forward.

Papatatat!

Ming Holim took a step back. At the same time, Yeon Hojeong drove in hard.

Pff! Thud-thud-thud!

A short three-beat chain, then a forceful Long Fist that shoved through.

Yeon Jipyeong’s gaze trembled.

Single Pour over a Clear Slope!

Whooom!

“Mm.”

Ming Holim gave ground two more steps.

In truth he hadn’t yielded—he’d been driven. After sweeping aside every tight strike of the Iron Chain Pounce, that Long Fist that followed had the ferocity to rattle bone.

Ming Holim looked down at his forearm.

A well-trained forearm was flushed and swelling. Blocked poorly, it would have snapped.

Strong!

To have nearly broken an arm with fist-and-body strikes that weren’t fully loaded with inner strength.

Impossible.

At a glance, it wasn’t some exalted fist art. Yet with such a routine he had been driven this far.

The handling of the moves was terrifyingly delicate. It would not be excessive to call it a consummate master’s operation.

“Hey.”

Startled, Ming Holim looked at Yeon Hojeong.

At some point Yeon Hojeong had folded his hands behind his back, a faint look of displeasure on his face.

“Are you planning to end it with this kind of hand play?”

“......”

“So I have to press you with the intent to kill to make the real thing come out?”

Ming Holim’s cheek twitched.

He was not the Ming Clan’s eldest. Even so, wherever he went he lived as one who represented the Ming. And here was a boy easily six or eight years his junior saying such things to his face.

A memory he wanted to forget flashed up.

A young man looking down on him with a wooden practice sword stained in blood. A face so like his own, laden with thick derision and contempt.

“You little whelp...!”

Then—

“Enough!!”

A vast inner power cut the sky and shook the entire banquet hall. Those who had been staring, entranced, at the clash turned toward the sound.

There stood Namgung Hyun and the Namgung Clan’s warriors in formation.

“What in heaven’s name are you doing! Exchanging such fierce techniques at the Seven Great Clans’ gathering—are you out of your minds?!”

The tone was hard.

Ming Holim flinched without meaning to. Swept by Yeon Hojeong’s killing aura, he had thrown his fists on instinct. He could hardly help a pang.

Namgung Hyun fixed cold eyes on Ming Holim.

“Brother Ming. You are the eldest at this gathering.”

“......”

“Our younger generation’s meeting is an honorable social hall with decades of history. I understand your anger, but you should have held your hand.”

It was artful speech.

Words addressed to Ming Holim that also rebuked Yeon Hojeong’s discourtesy.

Namgung Hyun looked to Yeon Hojeong.

“And you, Young Master Yeon.”

Yeon Hojeong didn’t even look at him.

Namgung Hyun felt a surge of anger.

He had already planned to settle accounts over what had happened to his sister. That this fellow was close with Je Gal Ahyeon displeased him as well.

And now, at a gathering hosted by the Namgung Clan, he made this kind of mess?

His temper boiled up of itself.

“Are you in your right mind? Picking a fight with the scion of another house—what shamelessness! In the history of the younger generation’s gatherings there has never been one like you!”

Yeon Hojeong still did not look at Namgung Hyun.

That only needled him further. He could see the other had no real interest in his words at all.

“So the Namgung Clan is that laughable to you!”

At that moment, Je Gal Ahyeon stepped forward.

“You should not be speaking like that, Young Master Namgung.”

Namgung Hyun’s eyes shook.

“Ahyeon?”

“The banquet has been suspended. This is not a private setting. Mind your form of address, Young Master Namgung.”

“...!”

“And further—your words are unfair. I can understand the host house’s anger, but how can you take a side and utter partial words?”

“Unfair? What nonsense...!”

Je Gal Ahyeon spoke, cold.

“The one who ruined this gathering was not Young Master Yeon but Young Master Tang.”

“...!”

“Young Master Yeon was only trying to stop him.”

“Ahyeon—no, Lady Je Gal. You saw it yourself. He wasn’t trying to stop Young Master Tang, he—”

“Did Young Master Yeon not say it himself? It was an accident.”

“...?!”

“And Young Master Ming likewise acknowledged it was an accident. To my knowledge the Yeon Clan of Green Mountain has no hidden-weapons art. He only tried to stop Young Master Tang by throwing a cup and the throw went astray.”

She turned to Ming Holim.

“Am I right?”

Ming Holim, who had been staring at Je Gal Ahyeon, sighed.

“You are.”

A single sentence to bury the incident. Namgung Hyun’s face twisted.

Je Gal Ahyeon looked to Yeon Hojeong.

“Young Master Yeon. I also think there is clearly fault on your part. But to bring this to a close, I should say why I stepped in.”

Yeon Hojeong, who had been glaring at Ming Holim, looked to Je Gal Ahyeon.

Her expression was resolute. Yet in her eyes he read a frank earnestness.

He felt a hand catch his sleeve.

“Brother.”

He turned. Yeon Jipyeong stood there.

Surprisingly, there was no timidity or panic in Jipyeong’s face. Eyes open clear and steady on him, the set of his features showed backbone.

Not only his. Every gaze in the place was on Yeon Hojeong.

Yeon Hojeong sighed inwardly.

Fine. There’s time.

In his last life he hadn’t even glimpsed the murderer’s lapel; now he felt as if he’d found a shadow. That was why he hadn’t controlled the killing will that surged.

When Tang Yangseon made a scene, part of him had thought: good. In a mess like this, nothing would be strange no matter what happened.

But in a situation like this, it was better to hold back for now.

He was the First Young Master of the Yeon Clan of Green Mountain, not the Lord of the Black Emperor’s Citadel.

He cast his eyes back to Ming Holim.

Ming Holim flinched.

“The Ming Clan’s arts are worthy of their name.”

“......”

“The force that rattled the seats was impressive. My fault is greater for failing to check an upwelling fighting spirit.”

Ming Holim smiled. A bit forced, but still.

“I understand.”

“I never permitted that tone.”

“...!”

“Do we have some friendship between us?”

Ming Holim’s face hardened of itself.

Yeon Hojeong smiled. His smile, unlike Ming Holim’s, was not awkward.

“My discourtesy. If an opportunity comes later, may I ask to learn one more time?”

“...Let’s.”

“Thank you.”

Before everyone’s eyes, Yeon Hojeong cupped his fists in salute with crisp propriety.

“I apologize for spoiling the occasion because of this inadequate fellow here. As you can see, I’m not just a little lacking in self-cultivation. My father, too, says he lacks patience with his ill-tempered son and puts me in Horse Stance.”

It was sudden self-mockery. Coming from the last person one would expect, it actually softened the air. A few people even chuckled.

Yeon Hojeong caught the change at once.

Though he had failed to rein in his killing will, he was the self-made man who built the Black Emperor’s Citadel with his bare hands. When needed, he could show just enough sociability.

“At tomorrow’s gathering, as an apology, I’ll pour a drink for each of you in turn. I ask you to forgive this boor’s discourtesy with that.”

At that, Peng Daeho shouted.

“Don’t talk nonsense!”

The eyes that had been on Yeon Hojeong swung to Peng Daeho.

Peng Daeho cried out, face feigning anger.

“One drink? Look at this body! You’d have me forgive you with a single cup?”

“Then what should I do?”

“Drink until your nose goes crooked! If you can stay upright until we’re all drunk, then I’ll forgive you!”

Yeon Hojeong smiled.

“I’ll brace myself for tomorrow, then.”

At that, Peng Daeho couldn’t help himself and burst out laughing.

“Khah-hah! Bold—right to my taste! Good! A man’s word is worth its weight in gold, so keep that promise.”

“Whatever happens, I’ll be sure to topple you.”

“Khahaha!”

Thanks to Peng Daeho’s sudden entrance the mood came alive, and thanks to Yeon Hojeong’s deft return, the grim air vanished entirely.

Je Gal Ahyeon let out a breath of relief. Yeon Jipyeong, too, wore an easy smile. Namgung Hyun’s face was locked stiff, and Ming Holim could not quite hide his sour look.

Thus the incident was laid to rest for now.

In the end, the day’s greatest loser was the Tang Clan. Serves them right.