Chapter 632

The Inner Palace.

Our quarters were technically part of the Inner Palace too, but I knew at once that wasn’t what Yayul Mok meant.

“Great Hero Yayul is summoning us?”

“Yes. To be precise, he told me to bring only you and that old man.”

Good news. After all this time without a word, the Beast Miao King had finally agreed to my request for a private audience.

But why call for Namho and me alone, rather than the whole Fire Dragon Pavilion?

A thought struck me.

“Do we need to keep out of sight?”

Yayul Mok stared at me in surprise, then gave a small nod.

“You’re quicker on the uptake than I expected. Try not to draw attention on the way.”

“Because the Tribal Grand Council is tomorrow?”

“No. Because most of the tribal chiefs hate you people.”

“……”

“It’s true.”

Was he a guillotine in a past life? He’d cut me off before I even got the words out.

I couldn’t deny it, though. I smacked my lips bitterly.

“I get the picture. Great Hero Yayul’s getting pressure from all sides, isn’t he?”

Yayul Mok’s lips moved as if he meant to answer, but his expression hardened and he closed his mouth.

Just as I couldn’t deny what he’d said, he couldn’t deny what I’d said.

Some things had to be acknowledged. Nanman wasn’t the barbaric land people in the Central Plains imagined, and the Beast Miao King wasn’t truly a king. He was one of the great chieftains who represented its people.

If I know that much, there’s no way Mok doesn’t.

Yayul Mok was a decent enough guy, but he was also young and hadn’t entirely outgrown his immaturity.

Then, still looking wounded in his pride, he muttered, “You’re right. Even my father can’t handle all of them alone.”

“……?”

“What’s that look for?”

“I’m surprised, that’s all. Didn’t think you’d admit it so readily. Have you grown up a little?”

Did our talk two days ago get through to him?

He still snapped at me like a middle schooler going through puberty, but he was much friendlier than when we’d first met. He even went out of his way to catch wild boar for us.

That’s good. The problem is, in this whole enormous land, we’ve got about a millet grain’s worth of people on our side.

I opened my mouth a moment before Yayul Mok could glare at me.

“When and where?”

“Insi. I’ll come get you then.”

“Good. Oh, and while you’re coming…”

“While I’m coming, what?”

“Catch a deer or a roe deer for us. Not another wild boar.”

“……!”

A day in Murim was divided into twelve shichen, each about two hours long. Insi was the period from three to five in the morning.

Yayul Mok kept his word. While everyone slept, a White Tiger covered head to tail in snow-white fur cut through the darkness and landed outside our quarters.

Thump.

Alongside it lay a dead animal that looked all too familiar.

“Fuck, another wild boar. You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

“Found it on the way.”

“You keep finding them. What, do you have a wild-boar farm somewhere? Do you water them, let them grow nice and big, then sneak over and seori¹ them?”

Namho looked puzzled. “What is seori? I’ve never heard that word before.”

“It’s a thing. And don’t worry, Old Man Namho. You won’t hear it a second time in this lifetime.”

“So that’s how you Han Chinese talk…”

“Please stop hating Han Chinese people.”

Having politely asked Namho to stop grumbling, I saw Yayul Mok jerk his chin toward the space behind him.

“Get on.”

“The tiger?”

“……Would you rather ride on my shoulders?”

“He looks bad-tempered.”

“That’s prejudice. I’ve been with him since he was a cub. He’s as gentle as can be. Test him if you don’t believe me.”

“Oh. Really?”

I reached out to stroke the White Tiger’s chin—and snatched my hand back like lightning.

Clack!

Its large, sharp teeth snapped shut through empty air. I looked to Yayul Mok for an explanation, and he smacked his lips.

“What a shame.”

“You bastard.”

“I told you to test him if you didn’t believe me. I never said he wouldn’t bite.”

Having spouted nonsense not even a dog would believe, Yayul Mok gently scratched the White Tiger between the eyes.

“Yaho. Yaho, don’t be angry.”

For a moment, I thought he was doing an impression of a hiker on Bukhansan.² Then it hit me.

“Wait. Is that his name?”

Yayul Mok nodded proudly.

“Muyaho.³ Tiger of the mighty wilds.”

“……”

“A magnificent name, isn’t it?”

Grrr. Prrr.

Apparently determined to prove it belonged to the cat family, the White Tiger purred. Yayul Mok gazed at it as if he might die from how adorable it was.

“That means he’s in a good mood. You can get on now.”

“……Uh. Sure.”

“Why the look? Is something wrong?”

There is. A little problem only I know about. But I can’t say it here.

I swallowed the words on the tip of my tongue and climbed quietly onto the White Tiger’s back. Namho followed, his face slightly flushed with excitement.

“To think I’d ride a tiger at my age! They say only warriors are allowed to ride them—and this one’s a sacred White Tiger!”

Nothing makes a parent happier than hearing someone praise their child. Yayul Mok, proud mother of Yaho, nodded.

“You know your tigers, old man. Do you like White Tigers?”

“Of course. I’ve always liked them very much.”⁴

“……”

No. Stop there. Any further and you’re pushing it.

Just as I waited for the next line with equal parts anticipation and dread, the White Tiger stretched leisurely, seemingly unaffected by carrying three people, then kicked off the ground and raced away.

Papat!

Under the bright moon, the three of us rode the tiger through the dark jungle like a streak of light. We stopped before an old shrine that was falling to pieces.

The air inside the shrine was hot and humid as a steam sauna.

Dust coated the floor. Insects had eaten into the pillars. An oil lamp wavered as though it might go out at any moment, casting a dim light through the room.

At the center of it all, someone was waiting for us.

“I hadn’t been back in so long, I found the place a mess. Then again, it wasn’t in very good shape back then either.”

The Beast Miao King, Yayul Cheok, turned toward us. Unlike when we’d first met, his expression was as faint as the lamplight, though the weariness in it was plain to see.

Perhaps that was why none of us asked why he’d chosen to meet us in an old shrine rather than the Inner Palace’s main hall. Instead, I took up the thread of his wandering thoughts.

“When was that?”

“When I was young. No, younger than young. We were children. Whenever we caused a disaster too big to put right, we hid here from the adults.”

“We?”

“You’ve met him. I imagine you’ve already guessed.”

“Baeksang. Great chieftain of the Bai people.”

The Beast Miao King nodded. “That’s right. Him.”

“I know you’ve been together a long time.”

“Even ‘a long time’ isn’t enough to describe it. We spent our entire lives together. In the grasslands, the swamps, the mountains and fields, and even on the battlefield—we were always together.”

He gazed silently at the wavering lamp for a moment, as though looking back on those days, then gave a small nod.

“Yes. We did.”

“I heard you were inseparable childhood friends and sworn brothers.”

His eyes moved to me. I met his gaze and went on.

“Are you still?”

“Hmm.”

“……Jin Taekyung. Watch your mouth.”

Grrrr.

The crouching White Tiger let out a low growl. The Beast Miao King waved a hand at his son, who had stepped forward to warn me, and studied my face.

“You think we aren’t?”

“It occurred to me that Great Chieftain Baeksang might not see things the way you do, Palace Lord.”

“……”

“I don’t know how much you’ve heard, but all sorts of things are happening in the Central Plains. It started in Shanxi Province, where the Jin Family of Taiyuan is.”

I remembered it vividly.

The Shaolin Bloodshed and the Sichuan Blood Tragedy had since overshadowed it, but Dark Heaven had first made its appearance in the Central Plains in Shanxi Province. They manipulated the Mount Heng Sword Sect and its Head Elder into starting a war, and some thousand people lost their lives.

If the Hidden Shadow Pavilion has been keeping him informed, he has to know.

As though he’d read my mind, the Beast Miao King nodded.

“I’ve heard. I’d met the Blade of Flowers, Jin Baekyang, myself.”

“No one saw it coming. It might have been different if he’d been an outsider with no ties to the family. But the Head Elder was our blood kin, one of the Jin Family of Taiyuan’s most senior members.”

That was why Jin Wikyung had trusted the Head Elder to the end despite his suspicions. The Beast Miao King was sharp enough to understand what I was getting at.

“Baeksang… No. It can’t be. He’s not like the Blade of Flowers.”

“No one knows that.”

Namho, who had been watching in silence, spoke up.

“Long ago, I had a subordinate I cherished like family. He was the last descendant of a fallen martial family. The Demonic Cult had killed his parents. Later, when a hundred thousand followers of the Demonic Path rose like wildfire in the west, he joined the Murim Alliance. He never feared death on a mission, and the information he brought back won us more than ten small victories.”

I’d never heard of this Hidden Shadow Pavilion agent. Neither had the rest of the world.

Namho’s face darkened, and so did the story.

“Even after it happened, I couldn’t believe he was a traitor. One day, he sacrificed an arm to bring us information. That information sent more than five thousand Alliance members into the jaws of death.”

“……!”

“When everything was revealed, he fled. And several days later, I saw the head of a man brought back by the assassination squad. He was grinning from ear to ear, as though something had made him terribly happy.”

His voice faded into silence. Namho sighed deeply before he spoke again.

“This old man isn’t saying the Bai great chieftain serves Dark Heaven. But this is Murim. We can’t see an inch ahead of us. Baeksang. Yohi. Heugung. Or one of the thirty-two tribal chiefs gathering here tomorrow. I wouldn’t be surprised if any one of them turned out to be a traitor.”

For a long time, the Beast Miao King said nothing. He watched the oil lamp sway and right itself, over and over, before turning back to me.

“Are you certain?”

“Of one thing, at least.”

“What?”

“The Southern Heaven Demon Empress. That fucking bitch won’t leave Nanman alone.”

The Beast Miao King let out a low groan before opening his mouth.

“Nanman is no easy target.”

“Were the Sichuan Tang Clan, Shaolin Temple, Emei Sect, and Qingcheng Sect easy fucking pushovers, then?”

“……!”

“Oh, sorry. I went too far.”

The Beast Miao King let out a hollow laugh at my sudden outburst before answering.

“You really are Old Master Jeok’s disciple.”

“He’d be offended if he heard you say that.”

“He’d secretly love it.”

“……Oh.”

Okay. He knows Old Man Jeok.

I was giving him a mental thumbs-up when a sudden rush of movement came from outside the shrine.

Whoosh, hiss!

A voice followed, held as low as its owner could manage.

“P-Palace Lord!”

At the same moment, a red warning light went off in my head.

And a System alert sounded.

System

Ding.