Black and White Martial Emperor

“Clan Lord. A message from the Wild Wind Pavilion.”

The Wild Wind Pavilion was an intelligence outfit run directly by the Mo Yong Clan. Founded back when the clan operated out of Liaoning, it boasted deep history and fierce loyalty.

“What did they say?”

“They report they can’t get a read on the situation.”

“What?”

“A large-scale information lockdown has gone up across all of Jiangsu. The Pavilion’s agents can’t punch through the wall.”

Mo Yonggun’s eyes deepened.

“A large-scale lockdown? Across all of Jiangsu?”

“Yes.”

“Jiangsu is vast. No matter how formidable the Yeon Clan is, can they really enforce a mass information lockdown? And in so short a time?”

“Judging by the Yeon Clan’s known capacity, it should be impossible.”

“Of course. It would be impossible for any of the Seven Great Clans. Even two allied together would struggle.”

“Agreed.”

“They haven’t reached the Tongcheon Corps either, I take it.”

“Correct. Unless our agents physically enter Jiangsu and leg it on the ground, there is currently no way to make contact.”

“In other words...”

Mo Yong Yeonhwa’s voice went cool.

“...someone’s helping the Yeon Clan. A group that handles information professionally.”

“At this scale, we’re talking one of the very top outfits.”

“In that case...”

“The Beggars’ Union, the Black Gate, or the Mercantile Court. One of the three.”

The Beggars’ Union was the orthodox world’s premier intelligence power; the Black Gate bankrolled the demonic side’s networks. The Mercantile Court dealt in information purely for money—pay the price, get the goods.

“It won’t be the Black Gate.”

“Least likely. Of the three, the Black Gate’s reach is the weakest. And knowing the Yeon Clan Lord’s character, he wouldn’t stretch a hand to the Black Gate.”

He was wrong.

In many respects, the demonic world’s information networks outstripped the orthodox. That edge was how the powerless had survived thus far.

It simply wasn’t widely known. Even Mo Yonggun—lord of all under heaven—couldn’t know what he didn’t care to study.

“Which leaves the Beggars’ Union or the Mercantile Court.”

An unhideable tension drew over Yeonhwa’s face.

“Either one is dangerous.”

“Indeed.”

If the helper was the Beggars’ Union, that alone made this a major affair.

Loose and freewheeling as they seemed, the Beggars’ Union venerated chivalry through the generations. Precisely because they dealt in information, they held rectitude of heart paramount.

Most sects had histories with a bout of corruption somewhere. The Beggars’ Union did not.

Naturally, within the Nine Sects and One Union, their voice contended for primacy. And if they had the loudest voice, they could sway the entire orthodox world.

If the Beggars’ Union was deeply involved in the Mo Yong Clan’s current stratagem, it would be trouble on many fronts.

Would the Mercantile Court be better?

Absolutely not. In some ways, the Court was more dangerous: you could buy information on anyone if you had the coin.

Which meant any group checking the Mo Yong Clan could buy details on this affair too—so long as they poured out astronomical sums.

If it was the Beggars’ Union, the danger was immediate; if it was the Mercantile Court, the headaches would never end.

“How entertaining.”

Even in this urgency, Mo Yonggun didn’t lose his composure. If anything, he stroked his beard with an intrigued look, as if he truly found the crisis amusing.

“Yeonhwa.”

“Yes, Father.”

“I heard the Rear Beggar was at that younger-generation gathering.”

“He was.”

“Did he look to be on friendly terms with the Yeon youths?”

Yeonhwa thought a moment, then shook her head.

“Unlikely. If anything, I’d say he was wary.”

“Wary?”

“Yes. The Yeon Clan’s First Young Master, Yeon Hojeong, was excessively savage and explosive at the gathering. He nearly killed Namgung’s War-Sword Corps captain.”

“Hm. I heard that as well. Quite a lad—for his age.”

“It was the Rear Beggar, Ga Deoksang, who checked that strike. Hojeong seemed to take a liking to him, but knowing the Rear Beggar’s temperament, he would sooner grow a grudge than a fondness.”

Mo Yonggun nodded.

“Which makes an alliance with the Beggars’ Union all the more likely.”

“Yes.”

People instinctively ward off what they deem dangerous. If Ga Deoksang was looking at the Yeon Clan through Hojeong, odds were high the Union had taken the reins of this information lockdown.

“Whatever the case, it’s a problem. Hah. For them to stiffen up so suddenly—it’s vexing.”

“It is.”

Just then—

“New message from the Wild Wind Pavilion!”

“What does it say?”

“The Yeon Clan’s First Young Master has left Jiangsu!”

Mo Yonggun’s eyes lit.

“Where is he headed?”

“Henan.”

“...Henan?!”

The Yeon Clan sat in southern Jiangsu. Henan lay to the northwest.

No one knew when he’d moved, but even counting from when contact with the handler had been lost, the speed was staggering.

“Why Henan, and now? And so quickly?”

Urgency touched Yeonhwa’s face.

“We have to make contact—at once.”

“Of course, but...”

Mo Yonggun knit his brow.

Why Henan, specifically?

Without a read on the other side, even speculation came hard.

After a beat of thought, he spoke.

“Inform the Ming Clan immediately. Lay out our side in full. Tell them contact is mandatory—before the Yeon Clan’s First Young Master does anything rash.”

“Yes!”

****

“Huff—huff—”

“Tired already?”

“D-do you call that a question... cough!”

“Catch your breath. For the Beggars’ Union’s heir apparent, your stamina is sorely lacking.”

Ga Deoksang exploded.

“You maniac! You’re on horseback!”

“That’s why I told you to mount up as well.”

“A beggar in rags riding a horse? Should I go announce myself as Union staff while I’m at it?!”

Yeon Hojeong was, admittedly, too much.

They’d taken a boat up through central Jiangsu, then from there driven by land in one go to the far north.

The killer was time. In five days flat they had run to the northernmost tip of Jiangsu—spending the whole day, every day, running, except for the bare minimum of sleep and rest.

And crossing from Jiangsu into Henan over the last two days, they hadn’t slept at all. Ga Deoksang was not whining.

Yeon Hojeong said blandly,

“Consider it stamina training.”

What kind of madman trained stamina like this?

Ga Deoksang flopped on his back.

“Not going! Kill me, I’m not going! Just end me!”

“Is it that hard?”

“Are you picking a fight?”

“Give me just another half a shichen.”

“Square up, you lunatic! One of us is getting a ferry to hell today—!”

“We’ll rest a few days in Shangqiu. We have to wait anyway.”

“...Shangqiu?”

“Eat as much as you want. My treat.”

Ga Deoksang swallowed. Truth be told, they hadn’t eaten a proper meal since they set out.

“If it’s too much, we can hole up here a few days.”

“...Damn it.”

He sprang to his feet.

“If you’re lying again, I’m planting that axe blade in your teeth. Got it?”

Neigh—!

“Hey—keep up!”

Another half shichen of running brought them to Shangqiu, Henan.

Shangqiu sat near Shandong, Jiangsu, and Anhui. Traffic was heavy to the east within Henan.

The two slipped into a quiet wine house a little off the center of the county seat.

Ga Deoksang ate like a starved ghost the moment he sat. He didn’t care who stared.

Faces around them tightened in discomfort. A grimy beggar scooping food with bare hands—who wouldn’t bristle?

But none of them told the owner to throw him out.

Thump.

“Hey, set that axe somewhere safer. If it falls, someone’s dead.”

“Apologies. Please, finish your meal.”

“Yeah, yeah. Since we’re talking—order me one more of these.”

The young man propped the fallen axe against the wall with a calm face.

A youth barely twenty had set a person-sized axe by his side.

The menace was no joke. That the youth looked a scholar only made it worse—he’d lifted that massive axe one-handed with that slender frame.

The patrons ate with faces tight as drumheads.

“Urrrp. That did it.”

“All done?”

“Feels like my stomach will burst, making up for days.”

“So it wasn’t an exaggeration when they said you could put away twelve catties of pork.”

The serving girls had cleared plates more times than he could count. Yeon Hojeong ate a lot from sheer activity, but Ga Deoksang was on another level.

Only now, sated, did Ga Deoksang glance around.

“You picked a pretty out-of-the-way spot.”

“We don’t know what might break out.”

“True. Still, even out here it’s sneaky-busy.”

“You’ve never been through here?”

“Once, ages ago. Barely stopped, so it’s all a blur.”

“I see.”

His face turned oddly serious.

“So—how long are we staying?”

“Until the other side arrives.”

“Just... indefinitely?”

“It won’t take long—if the Beggars’ Union handled the lockdown well.”

“Don’t you worry about that.”

“I’m not.”

“Right. From the Mo Yong side, who know nothing of what’s going on here, the nerves must be frayed. And with the Yeon Clan’s First Young Master showing up in Henan, they’ll try to make contact no matter what.”

“I still don’t know which of the two will reach first.”

The Mo Yong Clan—and the Ming Clan.

The Mo Yong had their seat in Hunan; the Ming in Xuchang, Henan.

A quiet weight settled in Ga Deoksang’s eyes.

“I still don’t understand.”

“What?”

“I saw enough to know the Mo Yong Clan are involved... but...”

“Why do you think I put you on digging into the Ming Clan?”

“Well, fair.”

He leaned back in the chair, arms folded, regarding Yeon Hojeong with a touch of suspicion.

“Why the look?”

“Still not going to tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“The Ming Clan. Why they’re trying to hit the Yeon Clan—and how you sniffed it out beforehand. Isn’t it about time you let me in?”

Yeon Hojeong smiled.

“In this matter, the result matters more than the process. If we get a result worth satisfaction, I’ll tell you then.”

A chill slid into Ga Deoksang’s eyes.

Yeon Hojeong’s gaze was no warmer. The look they exchanged held no softness.

After staring at him for a long moment, Ga Deoksang stretched.

“Man—after a meal, I’m sleepy. The room?”

“Prepaid. I’ll sit a while longer—go on ahead.”

“Will do.”

“Wash up and sleep.”

“You think I’m a beggar for nothing?”

Ga Deoksang promptly slipped off to the room the wine house provided.

Sipping tea, Yeon Hojeong looked out the window.

‘Peaceful.’

It was full spring now. The wind was mild, the sky clear.

But his eyes were the opposite of the weather—dark and cold.

‘I came with the Rear Beggar on purpose—and forced the pace. If they realize that, the Mo Yong Clan will be feeling pressed.’

And this region sat a long way from Hunan.

‘They could send underlings, but I didn’t give them time to think. Mo Yonggun doesn’t move without at least seventy percent certainty.’

He’d been the Alliance Lord the same way. Because of it, fighting the Cult of Perversity alone had cost the Black Emperor’s Citadel dearly.

Which meant—

‘The Ming Clan are far more likely to approach.’

The corners of his mouth kept wanting to rise.

The Mo Yong were certainly the enemy. But the enemy he wanted to smash first was the Ming Clan.

His raid was aimed not at the Mo Yong Clan, but the Ming. Shake the Ming, and the Mo Yong would panic anyway—six of one, half a dozen of the other.

“...”

Just thinking of the Ming made the killing will rise.

Gripping his thigh and forcing it down, Yeon Hojeong closed his eyes.

Six days later—

“You’re the Yeon Clan’s First Young Master?”

“And you are?”

“So the temper’s as rough as they say.”

A young man in his mid-twenties screwed up his face.

“I’m here from the Ming Clan. Someone wants to see you. Make time.”

Yeon Hojeong smiled brilliantly.

“I’ll carve out time even where there isn’t any.”