It was said to be Cheongmyeong’s sect and homeland.
Ma Gwang-ik’s Cheong-an Divine Sword was openly regarded as the foremost blue-ranked swordsman.
He always seemed cheerful, yet at times exuded a sharp, frosty air. A mysterious master, widely respected both for his achievements and his reputation. And yet, despite that, he never sought to compete with Jeong Yeon-shin for the Black Rank Ascendancy.
Not even a hint of regret. It meant he was someone of a different caliber.
“Nothing’s changed. It’s always been like this.”
As he returned to his homeland, Cheongmyeong gazed upward with a slightly reluctant expression. Such visible discomfort was a rare sight from him.
Jeong Yeon-shin followed his gaze, looking toward the entrance—one that seemed far too mysterious to belong to an ordinary sect.
A sect of the noble clans.
The entrance was flanked by towering, jagged rock formations, their sheer scale making them seem like natural fortifications. Sunlight trickled down through the gaps, scattering in a leaf-green shimmer.
Thick vines wove together like fortress walls, forming a structure at least five jang tall—an astonishing height, yet it blended into nature so seamlessly that it felt sacred rather than artificial.
Without Cheongmyeong’s guidance, one wouldn’t even recognize it as an entrance.
It was more akin to a formation than a gate—something that wouldn’t be easily discovered by just anyone.
“To think I’d actually set foot in Cheonju Gate in this lifetime. Even with Heaven’s Web deployed, I might have passed it by without noticing.”
“So this is what they call a natural stronghold.”
Tae Yeom-ryong and Hyeon Won-chang spoke as they carried a small, two-person palanquin at the front and back.
Inside, the Singeom Danju sat in meditation. Tae Yeom-ryong, however, looked somewhat displeased as he followed the Great Lord’s orders.
They were standing in for the recuperating Singeom Corps.
The corps had suffered at the hands of Amya War Archery, a combat style that pushed the concept of ambush warfare to its very limits. Under normal circumstances, the Singeom Corps would have accompanied their commander.
However, the Great Lord had prioritized Ma Gwang-ik’s recovery over their presence, and besides, Cheonju Gate was not a sect that permitted the entry of many.
“And so.”
Tae Yeom-ryong glanced at Cheongmyeong.
“How do we get in?”
“They have to open it from inside.”
Cheongmyeong replied casually before turning to Jeong Yeon-shin.
“My sect was arrogant from birth. They might act quite discourteously...”
The Singeom Danju was present, so formal speech naturally slipped into his tone.
Jeong Yeon-shin nodded calmly.
“The slow-witted learn patience and wit. Did you think I wouldn’t know that? The mighty of this world have the right to be arrogant. Besides, aren’t we the ones seeking aid from Cheonju Gate?”
Cheongmyeong chuckled.
His expression was the same as in the past—when Yeon-shin was still White Rank and he would playfully tap his younger brother-in-arms on the shoulder. Now, he was looking at him as if watching an odd phase pass by.
“Well then, let’s call them.”
“Go ahead.”
The Great Lord gave his permission.
Cheongmyeong pursed his lips and whistled. A clear, melodic note spread outward, carrying traces of internal energy.
It was a specialized mantra technique.
As the wave of qi brushed against the verdant walls, the leaves began to dance.
By Jeong Yeon-shin’s side, Shin So-bin let out a quiet gasp.
Then, after waiting for about a moment—
“Cheongmyeong, expelled disciple.”
A dignified, old-fashioned voice rang out.
Atop the fortress of ancient tree trunks stood a man, gazing down at them.
With a bow slung across his back and a sword fastened at his waist, his stance looked effortlessly natural. His deep green hair, flowing down to his sides, complemented his pale complexion.
He spoke.
“What brings you back to this sacred pillar?”
His tone carried the lilt of an old dialect—melodic, almost like a song.
Unlike the widely standardized speech from the early Ming dynasty, this was clearly a dialect unique to their people.
“Expelled disciple?”
Hyeon Won-chang murmured blankly.
Ahead of him, Tae Yeom-ryong, who had been idly toying with the palanquin’s handle, slightly raised an eyebrow.
“Senior Divine Sword was expelled?”
By the Great Lord’s side, Shin So-bin’s mouth parted slightly.
Among Ma Gwang-ik’s warriors, she seemed the most shocked, while the only one who remained unperturbed was Jeong Yeon-shin.
As if it was nothing.
A faintly mischievous smile played on Cheongmyeong’s lips.
“Jeong Sache, your tongue has gotten rough.”
“You are not my sahyung. You left the sect for good. What face do you have to return here with?”
“Jeong Nan-song.”
“You’d best answer properly. There are shadows creeping through our mountain, digging into the land. You abandoned your duty to protect the Thousand-Year Wood, so for all I know, you might already be a dog of Amya War Archery. Who can say what’s true?”
“Asking about truth, is it? That’s not something our clan has the right to speak of—unless you’ve grown lax in your bloodline’s sacred laws.”
“I have nothing more to say! You are right!”
And that was the end of the conversation.
Jeong Nan-song stated that he would have to consult with the elders before making any decisions.
Then, turning swiftly, he descended the wooden fortress wall in a motion that was both breathtakingly smooth and icily indifferent.
Such behavior was rare in the martial world. Even Ma Gwang-ik’s warriors were left momentarily speechless.
“Well, that was... curt.”
Hyeon Won-chang muttered, looking somewhat dazed.
Cheongmyeong shrugged.
“I did warn you—they wouldn’t be friendly. As you can see, I’m practically a traitor to my sect.”
“A traitor? But your meridians are intact. Even Shaolin, known for its fairness and compassion, cripples expelled disciples by severing their danjeon and meridians.”
Shin So-bin asked, rubbing her wrist absentmindedly.
Even among sects that emphasized virtue, expelled disciples were rarely let off without some form of punishment.
Cheongmyeong reached back to touch the scarf wrapped around his head.
“Looks like they erased my name from the records after I left. It’s a little bittersweet.”
“They expelled you without telling you? Then that means you didn’t commit some grave crime, doesn’t it?”
Shin So-bin frowned, seemingly incredulous.
She tossed her long braid over her shoulder, her irritation toward Cheonju Gate evident.
“Well, that’s true... but I still deserved it.”
“Why?”
“They are a sect dedicated to guarding the Thousand-Year Wood. They consider it their sacred duty. Their entire identity as a clan and a people is tied to that tradition. They even look down on the imperial family for mixing their bloodline with the Han. They’re not even particularly warm toward Ipwang Fortress. White Qilin, you must have heard something about this since you’re from the Shin clan.”
“Ah...”
“Since they belong to the martial world, there are always those who seek the pinnacle of martial arts through experience in battle. They don’t stop people from leaving... but they don’t welcome them back either. Because that would be betraying their oath. That massive village is more closed off than you’d think.”
“Then wasn’t it pointless bringing Senior Divine Sword here?”
Tae Yeom-ryong interjected suddenly, his expression one of mild annoyance.
“All this just to interrupt the Great Lord’s recuperation?”
“If I weren’t here, you wouldn’t have even gotten to see the gatekeeper’s face. The Great Lord must have already sensed it—the formation along the mountain path was gradually being lifted.”
“Hm.”
Cheongmyeong’s indifferent reply made Jeong Yeon-shin nod, disregarding the restless energy emanating from the Singeom Danju.
Ma Gwang-ik’s direct superior remained inside the palanquin, sitting cross-legged, snoring softly. It seemed his vitality had been drained to an extreme degree.
Shin So-bin, looking intrigued, spoke up.
“The Danju must trust the Great Lord immensely. I never thought he was the type to let his guard down like this.”
“They’ve only met once.”
Jeong Yeon-shin responded, his expression betraying his disagreement.
The Singeom Danju’s condition was worse than expected.
At times, he even coughed up blood—a heavy price for piercing through the combined assault of two Thirteen Heavens Lords and even dealing them critical wounds.
Even for this short journey, they had to be extremely cautious with his movement.
And then—
Saaah—
The vine-covered wall before them split apart. It was an uncanny sight, almost mystical.
As though it possessed a will of its own, the wall parted, allowing sunlight to spill through. It was reminiscent of the inner sanctum of Ipwang Fortress’s Lord.
For a while, only the sound of rustling foliage filled the mountain air.
“A guest from the secular world has arrived.”
A voice, aged and slightly raspy, rang out. Its tone was peculiar. The choice of words implied that this guest was only considered significant in the secular world.
“Young supreme master, I am Cheonju Gate’s Cheong Bohwa. I act as the sect leader here.”
Through the widening gap in the wall, bright shafts of white sunlight beamed down.
Jeong Yeon-shin gazed steadily at the figure walking out from within the radiance.
His mastery of Heaven-Sighted Eyes rendered such brightness inconsequential.
A sword master, her back straight, silver-white hair flowing freely—every movement bore the weightlessness of someone unburdened by gravity.
Her deep blue eyes, the simple green martial robe she wore—everything about her presence radiated an indescribable strength.
Powerful. Incredibly powerful.
How old could she be?
Her internal energy was unfathomable.
Even the faintest movement of her limbs distorted the air itself, as though she had spent countless years refining her qi to the utmost limits.
Her energy reserves had likely reached the threshold of human capacity. And if she could control such power as effortlessly as a breeze, then her refinement techniques must be extraordinary.
Slowly, he opened his mouth.
“...I am Ma Gwang-ik’s Jeong Yeon-shin.”
“The superior of my great-grandson, then. And that enormous, unstable man must be the Singeom Danju.”
Cheong Bohwa stepped closer to Jeong Yeon-shin as she spoke.
Her voice carried the same melodic cadence as Jeong Nan-song’s, but it resonated even deeper.
So she’s Senior Cheongmyeong’s great-grandmother.
Jeong Yeon-shin alternated his gaze between the two relatives, both wearing equally impassive expressions.
There was no emotion between them.
The weight of unresolved grievances was clear.
Cheong Bohwa, however, studied Jeong Yeon-shin far more intently.
“This sort of thing has happened before, across generations. This time, it seems you have brought a martial art unknown to the Central Plains. A new branch of martial study that has taken root outside Ming’s established order.”
“They say all martial arts stem from Mount Song’s Shaolin. Perhaps it is not as new as you assume.”
“In that case, I cannot allow you entry into the lake. That is the rule of this sect.”
“Then I will observe the wisdom of your sect instead.”
“A response befitting a Great Master. I understand.”
Even Ipwang Fortress’s Lord would not recklessly defy these rules.
It was a matter of principle, tied to the pride of noble bloodlines.
Her words were firm. Even as she spoke, the slight wrinkles at the corners of her eyes did not waver in the slightest.
Only her piercing blue gaze continued to glow unwaveringly.
Jeong Yeon-shin met her stare calmly.
“Will proving the completeness of my martial art through three bouts suffice?”
“Yes. We strengthen our martial arts by distancing ourselves from the knowledge of the outside world. Our sect’s disciples still bear the scars of the atrocities committed by the Yuan, Song, and early Ming dynasties. Even if this approach makes us frogs in a well, there is no alternative.”
Cheonju Gate’s leader continued speaking at an unhurried pace.
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“If your unique martial art surpasses the boundaries of our lineage, then we shall reward you accordingly. Entry into the lake is only one part of that. We will offer you experiences you have not yet encountered.”
“So be it.”
Jeong Yeon-shin prepared to adopt the formal posture of a challenger—
But Cheong Bohwa shook her head.
“You are Black Rank of Ipwang Fortress, are you not? We are well aware of such things. It is an ill-fitting match.”
“What do you mean by ill-fitting?”
“Your rank is too high. If an adult were to enter a children’s contest, it would distort the purpose of the exchange.
“The ones you have brought with you carry a similar qi to your own. The completion of a martial art should be judged not by a Great Master, but by those still walking the path of cultivation.”
“Children and adults...”
Jeong Yeon-shin nodded and stepped back.
By his side, Shin So-bin gave him an incredulous look, but Ma Gwang-ik remained indifferent to her reaction.
If it is the martial arts of Cheonju Gate...
The Linked Dao Celestial Sword, Moonlit Step, and Threefold Verdant Steps were their most renowned techniques.
Each was so refined that they were often compared to the supreme arts of the Nine Great Sects.
Now that he thought about it, their reputation must have been built upon the accomplishments of disciples who chose to leave.
Then what about the martial arts of those who remained, dedicating themselves solely to refinement?
For the first time, Jeong Yeon-shin’s unique martial art was being evaluated against something other than sheer force.
“This will begin now.”
Ma Gwang-ik’s Great Lord, arms folded beneath his black sleeves, declared.