Black and White Martial Emperor

“It has been a long time, Senior Brother.”

“...”

“It seems you are not happy to see me.”

“...You have grown stronger.”

“Haha. That is just like you, Senior Brother. It is rather stiff for a greeting to a junior brother you have not seen in seven years.”

“I do not know. I find you difficult to approach now.”

“Me?”

“You were the most gifted of Shaolin’s lay disciples, a prodigy said to rank among the three greatest talents even among all the martial monks at the main temple. And now you lead a sect of your own.”

“You praise me too highly. I have merely been fortunate.”

“The Vajra Fist Gate, was it? The sect you lead.”

“That is correct.”

“I hear it is now counted among the foremost sects in Henan, aside from Shaolin itself.”

“That is entirely thanks to Shaolin’s support. Without it, how could my gate have grown this much?”

That faintly roguish air of his had not changed.

But Beomo did not take Lee Cheolgyeong lightly. His skill was one thing, but beneath that outward manner lay a careful, sharp mind.

Moreover, his pride in Shaolin was immense. Their personalities did not quite suit one another, making him somewhat difficult to deal with, but Beomo did not dislike his junior brother.

“Leaving your gate behind to roam about like this after becoming its master—is that really all right? The Lee Cheolgyeong known throughout the realm is considered one of the greatest talents of the younger generation.”

“Haha. That is all talk from the past now. Besides, I have never once heard anyone call me the greatest of the younger generation, not even back then.”

A light entered Beomo’s eyes.

“Yeon Hojeong...”

“Yes. And there is Commander of the Demon-Sweeping Corps Mo Yong-woo as well.”

For an instant, Beomo felt a dull ache in one arm and across the top of one foot.

Green Mountain Tiger Commander.

Before Venerable Gonggong, Shaolin’s abbot and one of the great elders of the main temple, he had suffered an overwhelming defeat at the hands of a younger-generation master far younger than himself.

The shock of that day had been beyond words. He had believed that, through seclusion and years of meditation, he had refined Shaolin’s martial arts to a lofty realm.

Yet a young man barely into his twenties had shattered him in only a few exchanges.

At first, he had been furious.

No—he could not accept the defeat.

At the time, Beomo had believed that Yeon Hojeong had fought using methods too underhanded to deserve recognition.

That was not the way of the Orthodox Path. It had not been an honorable martial contest. Not only had Yeon ambushed him, he had stomped on his instep and used tricks that muddled his senses. Such methods could never be called the martial arts of the Orthodox Path.

That was what Beomo had once believed.

The one who had given him clarity when he had been so enraged he felt ready to collapse was Venerable Gonggong.

“You are immature. In a martial contest, there are times when you win and times when you lose. Yet after suffering a single defeat, you cannot even regain your composure. Were your five years in seclusion all for nothing?”

“Abbot Martial Uncle! That man’s martial arts are not of the Orthodox Path!”

“And? Are you claiming they are the arts of an unorthodox faction? I saw no evil qi in his True Qi, nor had he cultivated demonic arts. On the contrary, he carried within him an orthodox divine art whose sacred presence rivaled Shaolin’s own.”

“That is not the point! An ambush? In an honorable martial contest, he ambushed me and stomped on my instep! That is the sort of thing Dark Path scum would do!”

“Then are Shaolin’s martial arts so flimsy that they cannot answer even a Dark Path trick?”

“...!”

“A defeat is a defeat. Had it been a life-and-death battle, you would not be here complaining to me now. You would be dead.”

“B-but...!”

“You called his methods cowardly. Then do you believe you would have won if Commander Yeon had faced you head-on without using cowardly tactics? He defeated you with ease without even revealing all his ability. If he had displayed his full strength, how many exchanges do you think you would have lasted?”

“...!”

“Do you think locking yourself in a room and throwing punches will make you stronger? You may come to understand martial principles, but martial arts that cannot embody those principles through the body are only half-formed. That is what your martial arts are now.”

“...”

“Accept defeat with humility. As a monk, you ought to regard excessive competitiveness as a failing. Yet here you are, showing me such a pathetic sight. Perhaps the position of next Arhat Hall Master was too heavy for you after all.”

“A-Abbot Martial Uncle!”

“The Arhat Hall Master is Shaolin’s martial arts made manifest. A high realm of martial arts alone is not enough to bear that weight. Shaolin’s martial arts are like an iron fortress. And those martial arts include a fighting art approaching perfection—one that does not collapse before any method an opponent may use.”

“...”

“Setting your temperament aside, your ability itself is unfit for the position of Arhat Hall Master. If your skill is lacking, then at least you should be humble. How can you show such a disgraceful side of yourself? Looking at you now, I see the shadow of a third-rate lout from the martial world.”

“...Abbot Martial Uncle?”

“I am deeply disappointed in you today. What exactly did you learn over those five years? Were you merely one of the countless old trees that strutted about trusting in talent, only to snap after a single defeat?”

“...”

“Start again from the beginning. Whether you remain at the Martial Alliance, return to Shaolin, or travel the world, I will not stop you. Think about what you lack. And do not come knocking at my door until you have faith in your own transformation.”

They had been ruthless words.

Beomo had never seen Venerable Gonggong express such disappointment in anyone.

Yet he himself had become the target of it.

How disappointed must the abbot have been to say such things? Drowned in defeat, Beomo had felt as though Venerable Gonggong’s cold words had torn his soul from him.

Several months passed.

During those months, Beomo did not train in martial arts. He occasionally threw a few punches, but that was no more than venting his frustration. It could not be called training.

He had not even properly practiced regulating his breathing and circulating power, something he had never skipped for a single day since first learning martial arts. Perhaps that was why his body felt heavy, and his joints seemed thick with rust.

And now—

After hearing the Shaolin monks within the Martial Alliance talk, Beomo had come to find Lee Cheolgyeong.

“I heard you are heading for Guangdong Province.”

“That is correct. I have orders from Abbot Martial Uncle.”

“Are you going to support a Martial Alliance field-force unit?”

“Yes. There are people connected to our gate living in seclusion in Guangdong Province. Abbot Martial Uncle ordered me to join them in setting the southern martial world straight. Of course, that will be after the field force has dealt with the situation.”

A questioning look appeared in Lee Cheolgyeong’s eyes.

“But are you going as well, Senior Brother?”

“...”

Beomo could not answer easily.

He had shut himself away and immersed himself in thought, but his mind had not calmed. If anything, it had only grown more tangled.

Still, there was one thing he had realized.

He had been far too arrogant.

And that arrogance could be summed up in a single phrase: a frog at the bottom of a well.

Of course, realization and acceptance were different matters.

“...If you do not mind.”

“Yes?”

“If you agree to let me accompany you, I would like to go with you this time.”

A flicker of surprise crossed Lee Cheolgyeong’s face.

The Senior Brother Beomo he remembered was not someone who spoke like this. That did not mean he had been arrogant, but neither had he been a man especially careful with courtesy toward others.

Yet now his senior brother was asking something of him, his junior brother.

With a confused expression and weary eyes.

To Lee Cheolgyeong, the change felt strangely new.

“I may lead a sect, but you are still my senior. How could I refuse when an elder of our sect asks to come with me?”

Beomo shook his head.

“I have no intention of making you uncomfortable. If it does not sit well with you, I will act separately, so do not feel burdened. Your mission must be important in its own right. I have no desire to hinder you merely because I am your senior brother.”

“...!”

Lee Cheolgyeong’s gaze upon Beomo changed.

Was this what Abbot Martial Uncle meant?

He recalled his conversation with Venerable Gonggong.

“Someone may ask to accompany you. I have passed by that boy’s quarters from time to time. His True Qi has grown dull, but there is gradually a trace of clarity in the aura that once burned like fire. Still, knowing his temperament, he will not simply sit still and devote himself to cultivation.”

“Yes?”

“He is the sort who acts before he thinks. If he wishes to go with you, take good care of him. Of course, he may not move at all. I am merely telling you to keep the possibility in mind, so do not concern yourself too much.”

Only now did Lee Cheolgyeong understand.

The “boy” Abbot Martial Uncle had mentioned was his own senior brother, Beomo.

Senior Brother is changing too.

Something must have happened.

Something Lee Cheolgyeong did not know about.

Lee Cheolgyeong smiled.

“If you come with me, Senior Brother, it will be as though I have gained an army at my back. I could not ask for more. I am simply grateful.”

“I do not know whether I will be of help. But I will do my best not to become a burden.”

“Haha, why would you say that? I should be the one asking for your guidance.”

“Very well.”

“But may I ask you one thing?”

“...?”

“Do you have separate business in the south? I was wondering why you wished to go with me.”

Beomo’s eyes deepened.

“There is someone I want to see for myself. That is all.”

*****

SNORT!

Red Wind snorted sharply.

Yeon Hojeong soothed Red Wind and looked out over the broad expanse of Guangdong Province.

It’s vast.

Guangdong was known for its hot climate. Even its winters were as warm as, if not warmer than, autumn in the northern Central Plains.

It was spring now, and Guangdong’s spring was more humid and stifling than Yeon Hojeong had expected. It was not enough to trouble the Inner Qi masters of the Righteous Justice Corps, but it could still gradually wear away at their stamina.

Whatever happens, I cannot drag the Righteous Justice Corps around carelessly. Unless the moment comes to sweep them all away at once, I cannot rashly send them into a city.

The current Yin God, Yayul Jeok, had established himself in Guangdong Province.

As a major figure in the underworld, he was sure to wield influence comparable to Ink Dragon Manor’s in Hunan Province. Naturally, he would have intelligence agents stationed everywhere. Once the Righteous Justice Corps began moving, word would reach Yayul Jeok in less than half a day.

The Perverse Lust Cult.

Yeon Hojeong took a deep breath.

Yayul Jeok was said to be a master from the Perverse Lust Cult. When Yangcheon had told him that, his heart had pounded wildly.

Though they were gathered under the name of the Three Creeds, the main enemy he had clashed with most often in his days as the Dark Emperor had been the Perverse Lust Cult. Naturally, this did not feel the same as the battle against the Divine Flame Cult’s Warrior-Generals.

Yeon Hojeong steadied himself.

He could not allow his emotions to rise and fall whenever he faced a fated enemy. He needed to be calmer than ever.

Soothing Vermilion Bird Qi, Yeon Hojeong sank into thought.

He may come from the Perverse Lust Cult, but to become the Yin God, he must have perfectly mastered his predecessor’s assassination arts. And the Yin God’s assassination arts, as I know them, are unquestionably the greatest under heaven. In other words, Yayul Jeok has the Perverse Lust Cult’s martial arts in one hand and the greatest assassination arts under heaven in the other.

He was a troublesome opponent even to imagine.

Yeon Hojeong knew well how terrifying the martial arts of one who bore the title Yin God could be, and the thought left him tense.

Still.

A gleam flashed through Yeon Hojeong’s eyes.

His vision, magnified to its limit with Inner Qi, caught sight of a hazy mountain far in the distance.

At least I know where he is.

Yeon Hojeong spoke to Mo Yong-woo.

“The Demon-Sweeping Corps will wait on the low mountain to the left ahead. I will deploy the Evil-Smiting Corps at intervals of thirty li, so information can be relayed easily.”

“Understood.”

“All right, then.”

CLATTER!

Yeon Hojeong hoisted the Flood Dragon Chain and Mad Dragon, which had been secured to Red Wind’s saddle, onto his shoulders. Then he planted both feet on Red Wind’s back.

“Let’s not waste time. We’ll finish this quickly.”

PAAAAANG!

Yeon Hojeong shot forward, and the Evil-Smiting Corps followed behind him.

The battle against the Yin God—the coming showdown with the underworld of the southern Central Plains—had begun.