"What exactly are you trying to do? It looks like you’re planning to stay here for a while—have you given up your wanderings through the martial world? Or did you get so disillusioned with it in that short time that you’re planning to go into seclusion?"
From Ju Yeoryeong’s perspective, it was something she simply couldn’t understand.
Suddenly moving into a rural backwater and saying he would help the displaced people with their labor.
Especially when she knew just how busy and relentless his movements had been until now—it was all the more baffling.
And above all else...
Now she herself was completely stuck here too.
“Don’t try to weasel out of it anymore. Be honest with me. And don’t try to sweep it under the rug with another half-hearted ‘I’m sorry.’”
“I understand. To be honest, I haven’t felt good about deceiving you either, Miss Ju.”
“There’s something I must do here.”
“What is it? Are you saying some notorious villain is going to show up here or something?”
“I intend to heal So-cheong’s wounded spirit.”
Ju Yeoryeong looked utterly dumbfounded.
“You—you’re saying you’re going to play doctor now too?”
“Are there physicians who treat wounded spirits?”
“Never heard of one. But still, it’s an injury, so a physician... whatever. Do you even have that kind of skill?”
Kwak Yeon shook his head.
“Then how do you intend to treat her?”
“I thought... perhaps it’s possible. When training in Daoism, one studies the heart as well.”
“But you said you have almost no Dao power.”
“Why not just bring in a good shaman and have a ritual done instead?”
“Miss Ju, I’m being serious.”
Ju Yeoryeong glared at him, then let out a long sigh.
“Then that means there’s no telling when you’ll be leaving this place, right?”
“I’ll do everything I can, so I ask that you help me.”
“And just what can I possibly help with?”
“So-cheong is quite attached to you, isn’t she?”
“And you don’t exactly have anywhere else to go.”
“...Did you have to say that?”
Ju Yeoryeong suddenly raised her voice. At that moment, she was struck by the undeniable truth that she had been completely caught in the cave Daoist’s trap.
“You fox-faced cave hermit!”
When the Strategist Jo Haseok of the Sangguan Clan set down the sealed letter, the Clan Head, Sangguan Eung, asked,
“What do you think of Jin-ho’s plan?”
Since he hadn’t yet grasped the Clan Head’s intentions, Strategist Jo Haseok replied with caution.
“If we’re looking only at the end result, it’s quite an attractive proposition. Recently, demand for silk bound for the Western Regions has skyrocketed, and prices have surged beyond measure. Most importantly, it ensures a stable supply, which would greatly benefit our merchant fleets.”
It was a deliberately reserved answer—true to a seasoned strategist.
Sangguan Eung narrowed his eyes.
“Strategist, you’re hedging your words. Seems like there’s something that bothers you.”
Pressed subtly to speak his true opinion, Jo Haseok opened up.
“It’s just that the counterpart happens to be Daijehak Seol Junghyu of Sangjeon Village. His reputation is so widely known. That’s precisely why even black path scoundrels don’t dare step into Sangjeon Village.”
“That’s only because those black path bastards are mindful of our Sangguan Clan.”
“That may be so, but there’s no denying the Daijehak’s high esteem among the people serves as a shield.”
“Hmph. It’s true that Sangjeon Village benefits from our clan’s protection.”
“You’ve already made your decision, haven’t you, Clan Head?”
Sangguan Eung gave a slight nod.
“It’s not as though we’re using any illegal methods—if anything, we’re extending a favor. There’s nothing here that would bring disgrace to our clan.”
“If we look at the surface alone, yes. But there are troubling rumors.”
“What kind of rumors?”
“There’s word that multiple Flame Altar agents have gathered in Deokseong-hyeon. If the Chief of Cheongu Hall is doing business in coordination with them, that could be problematic.”
Though he phrased it hypothetically, the strategist already knew it was true.
He only spoke cautiously because it involved the Clan Head’s son-in-law.
Sangguan Eung spoke again.
“Jin-ho’s always been ambitious. But you know the saying: ‘If a box stinks, best not to open it—just bury it.’”
“I’m asking your opinion as strategist: is there anyone who might try to pry open that box?”
Now that the Clan Head had revealed his intention, Jo Haseok had no choice but to comply.
He knew well that the Clan Head’s nickname, Iron Dragon Sangguan Cheollyong, wasn’t just due to martial strength.
Once the man made a decision, he would never take a step back—that was why he was called Iron Dragon.
“In my judgment, the likelihood is minimal. While the trading firms under Namgung Clan have made inroads with the Sangjeon silk workshop, they wouldn’t dare move recklessly in our domain.”
“Then that settles it.”
A sharp glint flashed in Sangguan Eung’s eyes.
“If we leave things as they are, the Namgung Clan will eventually start eyeing it. The number of refugees settling in Sangjeon continues to rise, and their mulberry trees are growing steadily—the silk output is bound to increase. That means now is the perfect time.”
“The Chief of Cheongu Hall is pushing for independence as a separate branch.”
“If he pulls this off, I see no reason not to grant it.”
“You plan to attend the Daijehak’s birthday celebration, don’t you?”
“My son-in-law’s still family. If he’s asking me to help drive in the final nail, I can hardly refuse.”
Jo Haseok bowed respectfully.
“Understood. I will relay the message to Cheongu Hall accordingly.”
"Master Kwak, why don’t you take a short rest?"
Wiping the sweat beading on his brow with his sleeve, Wang Cheol-go spoke up.
They had just finished erecting the final post that would form the frame of the shed and had packed its base solidly.
When Kwak Yeon turned toward the pile of timber set aside for the rafters, Wang Cheol-go quickly cut in.
"Aigo, truth is, I’m not fine at all."
Only then did Kwak Yeon notice that Wang Cheol-go’s clothing was soaked with sweat.
Feeling a little sheepish, Kwak Yeon said,
“In that case, Brother Wang, please take a break for a while.”
Wang Cheol-go waved his hands urgently.
“That won’t do. How could the host rest while the guest is working?”
Kwak Yeon gave an awkward smile.
His eagerness had kept him from considering the position of the man who owned the home.
“That’s true. Then I shall rest too.”
At Kwak Yeon’s words, Wang Cheol-go looked relieved and gestured toward a seat.
It was a stone brought over to use as the foundation for the shed wall.
Kwak Yeon sat down on the stone, and Wang Cheol-go practically collapsed into place beside him.
“Master Daoist, you’ve got remarkable stamina! I expected as much since you train in martial arts, but I honestly felt like I was getting in the way.”
“You’re the impressive one, Brother Wang. I was just following instructions and lifting things. It’s amazing how this is already starting to take the shape of a shed. How do you know how to do all this?”
Wang Cheol-go smiled bashfully.
"It’s just building a shed. Not sure it’s anything worth calling a skill...”
“Still, it’s a house. From design to stonework to carpentry—that’s no ordinary talent.”
Wang Cheol-go gave a dry laugh and replied,
“It’s all thanks to working whatever jobs I could find to survive. Honestly, everyone lives like that. Look—every household around here is building their own silkworm rooms with their own hands.”
Around the village, families were diligently constructing sheds to raise silkworms.
“Everyone lives like that... I see.”
A subtle ache pierced one corner of Kwak Yeon’s heart at the realization that he stood apart from that “everyone.”
Looking at Wang Cheol-go’s sweat-soaked back, he suddenly thought of his father.
His father, who did not drink, had worked the slash-and-burn fields, soaked in sweat just like Wang Cheol-go.
When he dug up thick kudzu roots, he would always give the first one to the youngest—him.
“Go eat this over there. Your brothers will snatch it away if they see it. Chew it slowly.”
Just like his father had said, the longer he chewed, the sweeter that root became—despite the smell of soil clinging to it.
“You must not have had much experience with this sort of work, living in the Daoist temple, right, Master Daoist?”
“Thanks to you, Brother Wang, I’m having a meaningful experience.”
“Aigo, it’s just hard labor—what’s meaningful about it? I’m the one who feels bad.”
As Wang Cheol-go continued to fluster, Kwak Yeon steered the topic elsewhere.
“Still, isn’t this shed a bit too large for its purpose?”
“That’s because it’s going to be a jamsil—a silkworm room. Ah, you’ve never seen a jamsil, have you, Master Daoist?”
The homes in Hwa-jeon Village were simple two-room cottages, meant to be relocated once the soil was exhausted. So of course, he had never seen a silkworm room, nor even a silkworm.
“Jamsils need to be this big?”
“The room itself doesn’t have to be so large. But you have to let the silkworms ‘sleep’ four or five times before they spin their cocoons. Each time they sleep, you have to move them to a new room—so it needs to be large.”
Kwak Yeon knew at least that silkworms were insects, which made the idea of them ‘sleeping’ sound strange.
“It’s not actual sleep like with humans—it’s just the term. When silkworms eat and grow to a certain point, they stop eating and moving altogether. That’s what we call sleep. Afterward, they get noticeably bigger. After repeating that four or five times, they finally spin their cocoons to become moths. That transformation is called metamorphosis.”
Wang Cheol-go had simply meant to explain why the shed had to be so big—but to Kwak Yeon, it sounded like the process of advancing through stages of martial cultivation.
“There comes a moment when you leap through a stage—but the longer you linger in stasis, the greater your eventual breakthrough will be.”
He recalled those words spoken by Seokjangsan back in his academy days.
‘I too... am like a silkworm. Trying to spin a cocoon and take flight.’
Suddenly, he found himself reflecting on his own path.
‘How many more times must I climb before I can grow the wings of Mugeuk-gyeong?’
It was something no one could know. Not even Grandmaster Jang Sam-bong, who had first devised the Mugeuk martial realm.
The moment one chose that path, it became a waking dream one could never escape. There was no turning back.
If he let ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) up, even for a moment, the darkness of that dream would press down on his entire spirit.
These past few days—this brief peace he had shared with Wang Cheol-go’s family—made the sense of longing all the deeper.
If you fail to achieve it, the dream-unrealized (未夢) will torment you. If you succeed, the hope-lost will still bring you grief. For one who walks this path, it becomes a punishment from the heavens.
Grandmaster Jang Sam-bong’s warning weighed heavily on Kwak Yeon’s chest.
But it was a dream of Mugeuk he had chosen himself. There was no one he could blame.
These days of peace were permitted only because they served a purpose—he was trying to heal So-cheong’s injured spirit. It was part of the process to cleanse the blackened qi that had accumulated along the child’s energy pathways.
‘You could say it’s like the silkworm’s sleep.’
Each night, for a full si-jin (two hours), Kwak Yeon would place his palm over the sleeping So-cheong’s chest and circulate the Primordial Harmonious Art.
It was to replenish the child’s disrupted original vital energy.
Drawing in the natural essence of the world through the priceless artifact hanging around his neck, he would guide that energy gently into the child’s body.
The first time he placed his hand on the child’s chest, he had been truly shocked.
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Her heart beat so fiercely and so fast, it felt as if it might shatter her delicate chest and burst right out.
‘So it was this hard for you...’