SDG 35

Chapter 35

After smoothly concluding the contract,
before parting ways, I asked Yeonhwa:

“What did you agree to give the Divine Doctor as payment for the treatment?”

It was just a casual question.
I was curious if she, like the others treated by Jegal Myeong, had offered up her entire fortune.

At first, the answer was just what I had expected.

“I said I would give him all my wealth in exchange for treatment.”
“I see.”
“But… he refused.”

For a moment, I thought I had misheard.
That Golden Divine Doctor turned down money?

“Then you mean he treated you for nothing?”
“Not exactly. He asked for something else instead.”

She paused, staring straight at me,
as if wrestling with whether or not to say more.

I didn’t press her.
If she wanted to speak, she would. If not, she wouldn’t.
But if what she withheld concerned me,
then she would have to take responsibility for her choice.

And so, Yeonhwa made the wise decision.

“The Divine Doctor said he wanted to know more about you, young master. About what kind of person you are, and even about your plans for the future.”

She had chosen to be struck now rather than later—
knowing the blow would hurt far less this way.
And indeed, her judgment wasn’t wrong.

“Since you got away cheaply thanks to me, you can treat me later.”

One person had tried to sell me,
and another had tried to secretly pry into me.
But I accepted it without much fuss.

I even tossed out a lighthearted joke laced with permission.

If I had found out later, perhaps I would have felt unpleasant.
But right now, it didn’t feel like betrayal—
more like an unavoidable choice.
And truthfully, I could understand.

‘From Yeonhwa’s perspective, she had to cling to life no matter what.’

As for Jegal Myeong’s motive, it wasn’t hard to guess.

‘He agreed to help me, but he knew little about me. Naturally, he would be curious.’

To know whether I was worth helping or not—
a perfectly reasonable reaction from his standpoint.

Though a physician, he was also a martial man of the jianghu.
And no martial wanderer as seasoned as Jegal Myeong would be ignorant of the fact that one wrong tie could lead to disaster.

This, I decided, was simply a precaution on his part.

‘Of course, I can’t completely rule out other intentions…’

Variables always exist.
So does the possibility of betrayal.
But since I was the one who brought Jegal Myeong into this,
that was a risk I had to bear.

If I didn’t doubt him and was wrong, it meant I misjudged him.
If I did doubt him and still got stabbed in the back,
it meant my preparations had been lacking.

For now, my judgment was that this wasn’t the time for suspicion.
So I would act on that.

Yeonhwa, who had been watching me nervously,
sighed in relief when she saw I wasn’t angry.

Toward her, I laid down a condition.

“If you learn anything about me, you may tell the Divine Doctor. But—”

Leaving it there would’ve been boring.

“—only on the condition that you give me the same information as well.”

That would be interesting.

How much would Hao Sect manage to find out about me?
What kind of assessment would they make?

At the very least, it would give me a chance to see how others viewed me.
That wasn’t such a bad thing.

“May I take this to mean you permit an investigation into you, young master?”

Yeonhwa asked cautiously.

Even if I said no, they would still do it.
So it was better to embrace it within limits.

“As long as you don’t dig into deeply personal matters. For example—my underwear color?”

It was my little trump card of humor.
But Yeonhwa didn’t laugh.

“Young master… you truly are impossible to read.”

With that, she took Little Sword and left.

I scratched my chin—not out of embarrassment,
but to think about my next move.

“Guess I should start planning alone for now.”

Though Hao Sect had given me intel on the Central Prince’s residence,
if I could get Sahun’s help, it would be invaluable.

But Sahun was already away on my behalf, infiltrating Tianwen Monastery.
I had no idea when he’d return.

So until then, I had to devise a plan by myself, working backwards from the information Yeonhwa had provided.

“There are more masters than I thought.”

Confirmed peak masters alone numbered five.

[No telling how many hidden ones remain.]

So said one of Yeonhwa’s notes.

Even Hao Sect had only accounted for the resident peak masters, not those among the Central Prince’s personal retainers.

It wasn’t just an issue of information gathering.

“If they serve the prince directly, odds are they’re military men.”

And collecting intel on the imperial military was strictly forbidden by law.
Even the mere suspicion could brand one a traitor.

Not even the most powerful sects could afford to defy the emperor’s sword.
That was why Hao Sect hadn’t dug deeper.

“Still, it’s a pity to have no intel at all.”

After all, striking at a prince’s household was already unforgivable.
Not daring to gather any military intel out of fear—that seemed contradictory.

“Then again, if I could understand everything, Hao Sect wouldn’t be Hao Sect.”

The jianghu was always riddled with contradictions anyway.

“No choice but to move forward with what I’ve got.”

No matter how many masters there were,
as long as I didn’t get caught, it didn’t matter.
I had planned to move in secret from the start.

But one troubling piece of intel concerned the residence’s mechanical formations.

“That’s… a tough problem.”

Mechanical traps—intricate devices set as snares.

I was nearly ignorant in this field.
Mount Hua had trained me in martial arts, not mechanical arts.
I knew a bit about formations, like sword arrays or group tactics,
but mechanical arrays were rare even in the jianghu.

They cost vast sums and manpower,
yet were not very efficient.

After all, their targets were martial artists.
Even a first-rate master could catch arrows mid-flight
or leap to safety if the ground gave way beneath them.

But arrays installed by true experts were said to be dangerous even to peak masters.

“And apparently such an expert was hired to install them at the prince’s mansion.”

Honestly, I didn’t think passing through them would be impossible.
A trap is still made by human hands, after all.
I had confidence I could make it through.

But doing so without alerting anyone was a different story.

Once triggered, traps would surely make noise or leave traces.
That was something I couldn’t completely avoid.

“So the key is to prevent them from triggering at all…”

But with my lack of knowledge, that was impossible.

Yeonhwa had provided information on the craftsman who made them,
but relying on him felt dangerous.

The more people who knew my plan, the less it remained a secret.
Already Yeonhwa and Little Sword suspected something.
Adding more was unwise.

“Still… I doubt it’s hopeless.”

As I sketched scenarios in my mind,
several possible solutions began to emerge.
So I decided against hiring anyone for now.

“Guess teaming up with Hao Sect wasn’t such a bad idea.”

At first, I wondered if they’d be useful at all,
especially since I already had Sahun.

But I realized that separating, filtering, and interpreting useful intel
was something only an organization like Hao Sect could do.

Sahun couldn’t match that—not without ten years, more manpower,
and essentially creating a whole new spy network.
So it was better to use Hao Sect.

“Not that this means Sahun’s value has diminished.”

Far from it.

As an information gatherer, Sahun was destined to be the best in the world.
Who else could slip over walls more silently than the Underworld Envoy himself?

Of course, things might not go as I wanted.
He could refuse to help me altogether.

“I’ve never heard of an Underworld Envoy stooping to theft, after all.”

If he did help, he’d be the first of his kind to walk the path of a thief.

So it was best not to assume he’d always side with me.
Though called heartless, the Envoys I’d met were not devoid of feeling.

If Sahun didn’t wish to help,
he could leave me at any time.

Still, it did no harm to be prepared for such outcomes.

‘If I care about him, he’ll care about me in turn.’

So I decided not to just ask favors of him.

“He wanted something from me too.”

I nodded to myself.
If he helped me this time,
I would give him a suitable reward.

Whether that would be the Zaha Divine Art he desired—
that remained to be seen.

“Well, I should get going.”

I rose and stepped out of the guest room.

Outside, my eyes naturally drifted toward Tianwen Monastery.

Even now, I couldn’t see any solution in Jincho Mountain.
By now, they must be struggling greatly.

“Or maybe they’ve already given up and fled.”

That wouldn’t really be a problem.
If the Underworld Envoy had discovered Jincho Mountain’s existence,
then even the afterlife’s registry would know of it by now.

They would be hunted down soon enough.
And when caught, their time in the underworld would be harsh indeed.

The officials of hell would never look kindly upon a hundred-year-old specter.

If they failed my trial instead,
at least I could ask Sahun to intercede with King Yama on their behalf.
Who knew how much good that would do,
but it would be better than the worst outcome.

“So please… don’t make the worst choice.”

Just as I thought that and took a few steps toward my quarters—

“Hm?”

I noticed something unusual.

“Wow, free money!”

A child picking up coins in a flowerbed.

“Damn husband! No wonder I couldn’t find your stash—you hid it here in the stove!”

A woman discovering her husband’s secret savings in the hearth.

“You brat, how dare you touch the family heirloom!”
“H-how did you know, Father?!”
“That doesn’t matter—hand it over now!”
“O-okay…”

A father recovering an heirloom stolen by his son.

At first glance, it all seemed like ordinary scenes.
But I noticed a common detail.

“Were they… just asleep?”