Chapter 5
Chapter 2. A Bond on Bukhyang Road
Bukhyang Road was a famous bustling street in Cheonsan.
Every corner was crowded with peddlers selling all kinds of goods, and people who had come out for dinner in the evening.
Blending into the crowd, I headed toward Sohyeongru.
The building itself was old, but the interior was spacious—a place where one could drink while listening to the soft sound of a gisaeng’s pipa.
As I entered, I saw people sharing drinks and conversation.
“Welcome. Are you meeting someone?”
A sharp-eyed attendant appeared in front of me.
“Yes.”
I pressed my index and middle fingers together and tapped twice on the back of my other hand, careful not to draw attention. The attendant’s eyes flashed, and he led me to a private space on the second floor.
With a meaningful expression, he ushered me inside.
“Please enjoy your time.”
The moment the door closed, a suffocating silence pressed down on me.
The air was steeped in the smell of alcohol, like the lingering scent of old medicinal herbs.
At the table in the center sat a man.
He did not even turn his head toward me.
That very stillness felt more oppressive than anything else.
The man appeared to be in his mid-to-late twenties.
Though seated, his build was large enough that our gazes met at eye level. He wore black robes, his face fully revealed.
His refined jawline and high-bridged nose evoked the northern tribes, while his dark eyes felt like mirrors reflecting everything about me.
His face alone gave an intellectual impression, yet his roughly tied hair and solid physique marked him unmistakably as a martial artist.
I was startled.
He looked nothing like the man I remembered.
Well… I’ve changed even more, I thought wryly, suppressing a bitter laugh as I stood before him.
Everything had changed—but some things remained the same.
“Eleventh Form (Sipilhyeong).”
At that name, he set his cup down.
Slowly. Very quietly.
“Jeok Heerin.”
He knew who this body belonged to as well.
“A direct descendant of the Jeok Clan of Seolsan. Twenty-two years old. A crippled martial artist. A hidden fiancée kept out of sight within the Yeomhwa Clan.”
I nodded instead of answering.
“You shouldn’t even have freedom of movement after ten years like that. How do you know our cipher and my name?”
His gaze brimmed with hostility. One wrong answer, and he would kill me.
“I came to deliver a promise Cheongrin left behind.”
Sipilhyeong’s eyes wavered. A brief silence passed as he steadied his breath.
“…Cheongrin.”
He repeated the name as if tasting it. His gaze nearly crumbled, then sharpened once more.
“I never thought I’d hear that name again.”
He twisted his lips into a shallow smile.
“What is your relationship with Cheongrin?”
Those pitch-black eyes searched for my true identity.
“…I’m the same as you.”
At that moment, he inhaled sharply.
“I learned the cipher from her. And she advised me to faithfully play the role of a powerless fiancée.”
His gaze shook.
It was the same look he’d had thirteen years ago—when he was a fifteen-year-old boy.
“The Demonic Cult is my enemy. I will infiltrate them and obtain the information needed to bring them down. Please trust me.”
With that calm, resolute declaration, the boy had downed a cup of poisoned liquor himself.
He hadn’t hesitated at all, despite knowing that without the antidote every three months, he would suffer unbearable pain.
That was when I realized he truly hated the Demonic Cult.
Because of that, Sangcheondang granted him the name Eleventh Form and sent him to Cheonsan.
In truth, it was practically a death sentence.
I didn’t want that boy to die meaninglessly.
So I taught him the cipher I had devised.
“This cipher is a signal only you and I share. One day, I’ll bring you a perfect antidote.”
I had always hated Sangcheondang’s rule of forcing spies to drink poison. Someday, I wanted to free him from it.
My life as Cheongrin had ended, but that promise still lived within me.
And now, the fully grown Sipilhyeong stood before my eyes.
“Did Cheongrin send you?” he asked.
“Yes.”
It was a lie—but also the truth.
“Cheongrin disappeared long ago. Jeok Heerin. How did you meet her?”
“Before I came to the Yeomhwa Clan. In Seolsan.”
The Jeok Clan of Seolsan was a mysterious family that rarely appeared in the martial world.
It wouldn’t have been strange for Cheongrin, wandering after losing her martial arts, to meet Heerin there.
At that moment, Sipilhyeong rose to his feet.
The next instant, he moved.
Cloud Shadow Step (Unyeongbo)!
The footwork used by Sangcheondang’s spies. He closed the distance in a flash.
A dagger in his hand radiated killing intent.
An assassination technique meant to subdue opponents with minimal inner energy.
Sipilhyeong was executing Sangcheondang’s techniques flawlessly.
Under normal circumstances, the dagger’s tip would have pierced my throat—
But somehow, my body had already retreated.
Avoiding that technique was as natural to me as breathing.
When I moved far more deftly than he expected, Sipilhyeong raised an eyebrow.
“It seems you truly did learn from Cheongrin.”
Like a true Sangcheondang agent, he was testing me.
Despite thirteen years passing, the fact that he hadn’t forgotten my teachings made me feel oddly proud.
But passing his test alone wasn’t enough.
So I lightly kicked off the floor.
Without using much inner energy, I employed a movement technique—Sangcheon Seong—and flew straight toward him.
Sipilhyeong reflexively gripped his dagger.
The blade traced a sharp arc through the air, lunging toward my neck.
I twisted my body instinctively, slipping out of the attack’s trajectory.
His movements were meticulous and razor-sharp, befitting a Sangcheondang spy.
But I could predict every one of them.
In the next moment, I executed the movement technique again, my fingertips landing precisely on his arm.
As his dagger swung wide, I struck his wrist.
I snatched the dagger as it flew loose and turned it back on him.
The blade stopped just before his chest.
There was no killing intent in it—so it wasn’t a threat.
But the mere possibility that I could stab him tipped the scales in my favor.
It had been a long time since I’d held the upper hand.
His chest rose. He’d inhaled without realizing it.
“How…?”
His brows trembled, disbelief clear in his eyes.
Sipilhyeong had a small habit.
One I knew well, having personally trained him.
I had simply exploited that opening.
I couldn’t actually pierce him with this dagger—but persuasion, not subjugation, was my goal.
“I just did it the way Cheongrin would.”
“…Yes. Cheongrin was like that.”
He murmured, his expression conflicted.
Had he not used Sangcheondang’s martial arts, achieving this result would have been far more difficult.
Still holding the dagger, I stepped closer to him.
Then I picked up the purple clay teapot on the table and filled an empty cup.
“Do I now have the right to receive your information?”
“…About half, perhaps. Not completely.”
As expected—Sipilhyeong was deeply suspicious.
“Then I’ll just have to earn the other half.”
I sat across from him, set the dagger down briefly, dipped my finger into the tea, and wrote words in cipher on the tabletop.
[Sipilhyeong is from Cheonsan and met Cheongrin at age thirteen.]
[He underwent four months of special training and was then dispatched to the Demonic Cult.]
Seeing the cipher, Sipilhyeong let out a short laugh.
“Fine. I’ll accept your deal. But what will you give me? Payment for information must always be made in advance.”
His eyes sharpened. By deliberately citing the rules of information trade I’d taught him as Cheongrin, it was clear his test of me wasn’t over.
“Cheongrin asked me to. She told me to keep the promise you made together.”
When I wandered the martial world as a crippled artist, I continuously researched antidote formulas.
“I know the complete formula to remove the poison in your body. If you provide the information I want, I’ll share the ingredients and methods step by step.”
If taken over the course of a year, the antidote would free him completely from the poison.
“Hm. I don’t see what meaning such an antidote has for someone like me, who entered Sangcheondang of his own will.”
Sipilhyeong glared at me, clearly uninterested in the antidote.
“And I also have a duty to report that you’re suspicious.”
He meant reporting me to Sangcheondang.
And if he deemed me dangerous, killing me was implied.
It was the model answer of a Sangcheondang agent—but unfortunately for him, his opponent was me.
“No. You can’t report me. And you’ll come to want that antidote.”
As I said that, I picked up the dagger lying on the table.
Seeing Sipilhyeong flinch and try to retreat, I slashed the dagger across the tabletop.
The tea-written letters vanished, leaving only the characters carved by the blade.
The moment he recognized them, Sipilhyeong froze.
His throat bobbed as if his breath had tangled.
