Daoist Hyeonin narrowed his eyes as he asked the question.
Master Myung just grinned sheepishly and replied, “Well, when the load gets heavier, it’s only natural for the porter’s fee to go up too, don’t you think?”
“...Fine. I’ll raise it by five mun.”
“Ten would be fairer, no?”
“Hmm, I might be persuaded to settle at nine.”
“Shall we call it eight?”
“You’ll need my help sooner or later when you leave the mountain anyway, won’t you? Even if it’s just old junk, I doubt you’ll want to leave it all behind. If you send it ahead to my warehouse, I can rent a cart to haul it down for you when the time comes. Wouldn’t that be more convenient?”
“...Alright. Eight mun.”
“Wise decision, sir.”
“By the way, do you know any good booksellers?”
At that, Kwak Yeon’s heart jumped.
“Booksellers? Oh no, Master, surely not.”
Hearing Master Myung’s shocked tone, Kwak Yeon realized he wasn’t the only one who thought that.
“What are you talking about? You think I’m trying to sell Daoist scriptures or something?”
Kwak Yeon let out a breath. At least it wasn’t that level of disgrace.
“Oh, heavens, forgive me. I let my imagination get the better of me. Of course not, sir. Even if you’ve grown disillusioned, you're still of the Daoist path. So... why the bookseller?”
“I’ve got some handwritten copies I made just to pass the time.”
“Copies of the scriptures from Three Spirits Palace—those fetch a good price, don’t they? And since they were copied by a Daoist myself, they’ll carry the spiritual aura of ‘dispelling evil and drawing in blessings.’”
“You’re saying they include your personal seal?”
“Well, then, as long as your name still holds weight on Mount Wudang, they’ll sell like hotcakes.”
“Exactly. So find me someone. I’ll make sure you’re compensated generously.”
“Consider it done, sir.”
Kwak Yeon wanted to plug his ears.
But ears don’t shut themselves—and he couldn’t unhear what had already been said.
Of all times and places, why would those two have this conversation here and now?
He started piecing it together. Now it made sense why Daoist Hyeonin had dumped overnight work on him and sent Cheongmu to do meditation.
So they wouldn’t be around to overhear business talk.
He’d just happened to step outside for fresh air—and landed in the middle of something he wasn’t meant to hear.
Daoist Hyeonin really was up to something. He was amassing a small fortune in secret—clearly planning to abandon Three Spirits Palace.
He must’ve been holed up in his room copying books all day.
It was a midnight escape plan, sure—but what could Kwak Yeon do? It was the man’s choice.
He’d heard that Daoists who never trained in martial arts sometimes left their posts and returned to secular life.
Still, forcing Cheongmu into grueling labor just to line his pockets—that was despicable.
What worried Kwak Yeon most was what would happen if Daoist Hyeonin found out he’d overheard everything.
People tend to resent those who know their dirty secrets.
Please... just walk past. Don’t notice me.
And perhaps his plea was heard, because Daoist Hyeonin walked straight past where Kwak Yeon was sitting.
But just as he was about to enter his room, he stopped.
His eyes had caught the glow leaking through the kitchen doorframe.
He must’ve thought: If that boy’s dozing off in there, I’ll give him a proper scolding.
Whatever the reason, it spelled trouble for Kwak Yeon.
Daoist Hyeonin peeked into the kitchen.
Then, suspiciously scanning the area, he silently turned around and disappeared into his room, shutting the door behind him.
Kwak Yeon felt his heart sink into his stomach.
It’s fine. He probably just thought I went to the outhouse or something.
He tried to think positively.
It was still the tail end of winter, and the ground beneath the pine forest was frozen solid.
It might as well have been a sheet of steel—but Cheongmu’s iron digging rod pierced it with ease.
By contrast, Kwak Yeon’s rod barely scratched the surface. His palms blistered and burned.
Truthfully, the only reason he managed that much was because Cheongmu had taught him the proper technique.
He didn’t know the exact name, but it was clearly a kind of body method.
Since Cheongmu couldn’t recall any energy control formulas, he simply went around pressing on various parts of Kwak Yeon’s body—his palms, the backs of his hands, his wrists, his forearms—and said:
“When you feel that itch start moving from here, it’ll pass through in this order. If you do it like that, you’ll be able to do it like me.”
Cheongmu had completely forgotten that Kwak Yeon couldn’t generate internal energy at all.
No matter how many times Kwak Yeon explained it, he just didn’t get it.
To him, it was obvious that internal energy flowed through the human body—just as natural as blood.
Still, by pressing on his acupoints and explaining the energy paths, Cheongmu was helping more than he realized.
Kwak Yeon already had a deep understanding of meridians and pressure points, so this unorthodox method was even more instructive than a memorized energy formula.
At first, when Cheongmu said he’d fix his posture, Kwak Yeon had assumed he just ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ meant smoothing out the stiffness of his Moving Meditation.
But no—Cheongmu was serious.
“You’re not sweeping all day, are you? I’ll show you how to move properly when you’re walking—and when you’re running too.”
To Cheongmu, the line between Moving Meditation and actual martial arts forms seemed blurred.
Either way, Kwak Yeon’s movements became noticeably more fluid once he followed Cheongmu’s guidance.
When Kwak Yeon began keeping up well, Cheongmu beamed.
“Hey! You’re gonna start feeling the itch inside soon, I swear!”
Kwak Yeon couldn’t help getting his hopes up a little too.
Now that his Moving Meditation had improved, he could incorporate it into his daily routine alongside Taiji Internal Arts.
But nothing was happening.
No signs. No stirring. No itch.
This body... it really is defective. I can’t build internal energy.
Still, Kwak Yeon couldn’t turn down Cheongmu’s lessons.
Because it made Cheongmu happy.
He was thrilled just to have someone to teach, someone to run through the mountains and gather herbs with.
Cheongmu, with uncanny precision, kept finding tuckahoe buried deep underground.
“If you focus on your nose, you can smell it.”
He must’ve learned a martial art that sharpened his senses—or maybe he’d naturally reached the realm where they open on their own.
How could someone so gifted fall apart overnight?
But by the fourth day, even Cheongmu’s pace began to slow.
They combed through the pine forest all day, and barely filled half a basket.
“Heh... not much again today.”
Cheongmu jabbed around the pine roots with his iron rod and muttered, “I picked a ton last year. Wonder where they all went?”
“You mean... you gathered tuckahoe last year too?”
“Yup. The year before that, too.”
Tuckahoe grows on the roots of pine trees over a hundred years old. It takes decades to develop.
Now Kwak Yeon understood why the ones in their basket were so small.
They’d been overharvesting them for years.
“If we come back again... Master’s going to be furious.”
Kwak Yeon looked down at Cheongmu’s worn-out robes and shoes, patched and torn.
Seeing him look so anxious in those tattered clothes made his chest tighten with emotion.
“Cheongmu... let’s call it a day and head back.”
“Can’t we check just a little further? The pine trees down in that valley are pretty big.”
“Didn’t we go there last year too?”
“Yeah. We gathered quite a lot from down there. Come on, let’s just check that spot.”
Cheongmu still couldn’t accept the idea that tuckahoe wasn’t something that grew like weeds. No—he refused to believe it.
All he could focus on was not making Daoist Hyeonin angry.
That blind, innocent fear infuriated Kwak Yeon—because someone was exploiting it to work this man like a mule.
“The sun’s almost down. You’re afraid of the dark, remember?”
“Are you scared he’ll lock you in the Immortal’s Room again?”
Cheongmu’s face went pale.
“Uugh—don’t say that!”
He dropped to the ground, clutching his head.
Kwak Yeon rushed to his side and gently patted his back.
“Cheongmu, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought that up.”
“Don’t ever say it again.”
“I won’t. And I’ll make sure it never happens again.”
He stayed like that, quietly patting Cheongmu’s trembling back for a long time.
“I have something to say.”
Daoist Hyeonin waved aside the tea table, noting the resolve in Kwak Yeon’s face.
“Well then. Let’s hear it.”
“Starting tomorrow, I won’t be gathering herbs anymore.”
Daoist Hyeonin’s eyes turned cold.
“So you did hear that conversation.”
“I suspected as much. But I didn’t think you’d come strutting in here trying to play smart. Sharp little brat.”
“Fine. You don’t have to leave.”
“Daoist Cheongmu isn’t leaving either.”
“You insolent little runt!”
Hyeonin’s hand trembled as it gripped the edge of the table.
“You dare threaten your elder? I could toss you off this mountain right now!”
But when Kwak Yeon stood silent, expression unchanged, Hyeonin’s fingers uncurled from the table.
“How much did you hear?”
“So you plan to use it to blackmail me?”
“I don’t have the slightest intention of doing that.”
“All I ask is that while you remain in this palace, you treat us as fellow members of the sect—with the dignity that position deserves.”
Kwak Yeon stood, bowed low, and said:
“I’m sincerely asking you—please.”
That day, he didn’t try to reason with Daoist Hyeonin.
There was no point. Any appeal would only backfire.
Hyeonin had already made up his mind to leave.
And Kwak Yeon believed the best thing was to let him go—with as little pain inflicted on the people left behind as possible.
Even if his actions were bold to the point of reckless, he believed they were the best he could do for everyone involved.
If Hyeonin understood that, great. If not—so be it.
What mattered was that Kwak Yeon wouldn’t be left with regrets. He had wrestled with this decision long enough.
The next day, Daoist Hyeonin said nothing about it.
His gaze toward Kwak Yeon was icy, yes—but there were no more demands to gather herbs.
He still nitpicked over every little daily chore in the palace, but that was nothing new.
Cheongmu, of course, had no idea what had happened. For days, he glanced anxiously at Hyeonin, worry in his eyes.
“I wonder what big job Master’s planning. He keeps watching us like that. Kwak Yeon, maybe we should start gathering herbs again when we have time?”
“If we do something he didn’t ask for, we might get in trouble,” Kwak Yeon answered.
But as the days went by without incident, his anxiety slowly eased.
“Kwak Yeon! Look—Master gave me new robes! And new shoes, too! How do I look?”
He beamed in his clean robes and fresh footwear, his whole face glowing with joy.
Kwak Yeon smiled, but there was a shadow behind it.
Because if Daoist Hyeonin disappeared without a word, the wound it would leave in Cheongmu’s heart might be enormous.
Kwak Yeon had come to understand something: every goodbye leaves a scar.
Was my father really just happy to sell me off?
He couldn’t have been. Sometimes—surely—he must’ve remembered the youngest son he’d sent away.
Kwak Yeon chose to believe that.
He had to believe it.