TSBIRBV Ch 322

Chapter 322. The White Lotus Cult (5)

Crimson light shimmered along the streets, flowing like molten silk. It rippled across the faces of passersby, brushed against the hems of fluttering garments, and settled in soft layers over laughter and conversation. It felt as though the glow itself was blooming across the night.

“I brought you here to drink and relax a little, not to sulk in silence. You’re at Wuhan’s finest tower, and all you can do is stare at people?”

At the sound of his father’s voice from behind him, Namgung Un turned. The elder man, cup in hand, was gazing at him.

Scanning the table laden so heavily with dishes and liquor that it seemed ready to collapse, Un sighed softly.

“I don’t really feel like it.”

“Hmph.”

The head of the Namgung Clan downed his cup in one go.

“Well, I can’t complain. It gives your father an excuse to enjoy some good wine.”

“Mother wouldn’t like that much,” Un replied mildly.

“That was back when her arm was bad. She used to say drinking dulled the medicine’s effect.”

Un’s expression made it clear he didn’t understand why anyone would drink while sick. Namgung Akcheon smacked his lips and set his cup down.

“You’re no fun.”

He clicked his tongue. He’d raised the boy to be upright, but perhaps a little too upright. There was no middle ground between them—no easy understanding. Still, he felt a touch of pride that his son hadn’t inherited his flaws.

“To think I gave you such good looks, only for you to waste them by moping like that…”

“…Excuse me?” Un asked, but color rose sharply to his cheeks.

“Nothing.”

The middle-aged man chuckled to himself, murmuring something about youth being a good time, and poured another drink.

Un turned away, determined to ignore his father, when a loud voice rose from the bustling center of the street.

“Ahem! Tonight, I’ll tell you all the story of Je Haryang—the one everyone’s been talking about lately!”

At that name, Un’s heart jolted despite himself.

Even in a lively street full of chatter, somehow that name found its way straight into his ears.

“The Thunder Dragon of Heaven?” someone called.

“No, no, not that one!” The storyteller flapped his fan. “I mean the older Je Haryang!”

As laughter rippled through the crowd, he cleared his throat and opened his fan with a dramatic snap.

“Twenty years ago, there were three dogs in Henan,” he began. “They barked day and night, never letting anyone rest.”

His expression turned mischievous as he mimicked barking.

“They were called the Three Dogs of Henan. The people of the region feared them so much they wouldn’t walk the streets even in daylight. These three brothers—mid-ranking thugs of the Black Chamber—roamed about harassing women, robbing old men, breaking workers’ arms, and even stealing children’s sweets to wash down their wine.”

Every vile act under the sun—they’d done them all.

The storyteller lowered his voice.

“One day, after a night of drinking, the youngest of the three began to harass a young woman. The people nearby wanted to help, but no one dared. Everyone feared the Three Dogs and their backers in the Black Chamber.”

Once he had everyone’s full attention, the storyteller closed his fan and raised his voice.

“And that was when—the Kunlun Dragon appeared!”

His shoulders shook with excitement as he described the hero’s entrance.

In his tale, Je Haryang of Kunlun used divine martial arts, passed down from celestial masters, to defeat the youngest of the Three Dogs.

The second brother came rushing in, but even under their combined assault, the young hero never faltered.

At last, Je Haryang defeated all three brothers—and even their gang of lackeys—then delivered them to the magistrate himself. For his deed, the king rewarded him personally.

When the story ended, the crowd erupted into thunderous applause and cheers.

“Where’s the beauty?” someone called out.

“The what?” The storyteller blinked rapidly.

“The beauty! A hero always has a fair maiden, doesn’t he?”

The storyteller looked affronted.

“Preposterous! Je Haryang was the finest hero under Heaven, not some lecherous fool. He accepted his reward with modesty and returned to Kunlun Mountain, abode of the immortals.”

He straightened, voice full of awe as he praised Je Haryang’s noble virtue. People pressed coins into his hands, begging for more tales, and he sat down grinning from ear to ear.

Leaning on the railing above, Namgung Un watched, his expression unreadable.

From where he sat, Akcheon could only see his son’s back—but he could tell Un was listening intently, almost unnervingly so.

“The tale of Je Haryang, the Kunlun Dragon,” he murmured.

Un turned to look at his father.

Apparently, Akcheon had been listening too.

“That story—that business about him defeating the Three Dogs of Henan—is it true?”

“Of course not.”

Relief washed over Un before he could stop it. The realization that he’d felt relieved shamed him deeply.

So much for righteous competition…

Still, curiosity got the better of him.

“Then what really happened?”

“Other young heroes banded together to attack the Three Dogs first. Je Haryang only arrived later.”

Naturally, not every legend about Kunlun’s Dragon could be true. Un knew that. A street performer wasn’t there to tell truths—only to sell excitement.

“Later, you say…”

Yet, hearing that the story had been false from the start made an odd emptiness settle in his chest.

Un’s disappointment went unnoticed as Akcheon went on.

“Yes. He didn’t need to involve himself at all, but when he learned the young ones had fallen into a trap, he went straight into danger to rescue them.”

“A trap?”

“The master of the Black Chamber, the Poison Cloud Demon, wanted to become the ruler of Henan. To cripple the righteous sects, he used the Three Dogs as bait. He waited patiently for those naive fledglings to come—eager to harvest their lives.”

“You mean the young heroes walked right into it?” Un asked in disbelief.

“They acted before telling their clans. Foolish.”

“But why?”

“Because some half-witted idiot wanted to outshine a certain man.”

Akcheon chuckled darkly, eyes clouded with the memory.

Un exhaled softly. Jealousy of heroes was as old as time itself.

“It was… a dreadful day,” Akcheon said quietly.

“The young ones had just finished gathering the severed heads of the so-called Three Dogs. They were elated, thinking they’d finally surpassed that damned Dragon. That they’d proven their worth without their families’ help. But the moment they turned to leave, they realized the area was surrounded.”

Whether loosened by drink or drawn by the memory, Akcheon spoke on.

“Then the thing appeared. I can’t even call him human. He radiated black energy, smiling as he said he’d flay us and carve our bones to make gravestones for his parents.”

Akcheon shuddered, his face pale. Even after all these years, he could still feel the suffocating aura of that day.

He had faced many life-and-death battles since, but one never forgets their first taste of true terror.

“The Poison Cloud Demon had brought about forty of his men from the Black Chamber,” Akcheon muttered, wrinkling his nose. “Though maybe my memory’s off—I was too terrified to count properly. Still, when the dust settled, more than twenty corpses lay around us. Many others fled, wounded. So it can’t be far off.”

Un held his breath, unable to look away.

“He toyed with us. With me. With the heir of the Namgung Clan.”

Akcheon fell silent. There were depths of humiliation he still couldn’t voice, even to his son.

The Poison Cloud Demon had warned him exactly where he would strike, every time. Yet Akcheon hadn’t blocked even a single blow. Not once.

He had lived only because the demon chose not to kill him outright—only to flay his flesh.

“For all his petty ambitions, that wretch of Henan frightened me more than the Master of the Heavenly Demon Cult himself. I was young, arrogant, and when fear gripped me, I nearly turned and ran. I, Namgung Akcheon.”

He struck his chest twice and drained his cup before setting it down. Un silently refilled it.

“And then… the last person I wanted to see appeared.”

Akcheon sighed heavily.

Even now, the memory of Je Haryang’s beautiful, infuriating face appearing at that moment of utter disgrace made him want to bite through his tongue and die.

To think that the man who saved him—his so-called ‘hero’—was Je Haryang of all people. It had tormented the younger Akcheon for years.

“Word had been sent to nearby sects, but by the time reinforcements arrived, everyone would have been dead. So he came alone—to buy us time.”

Akcheon let out a booming laugh.

“If it were me, I’d have thought my own life too precious to waste saving a pack of arrogant fools. Wouldn’t you?”

It wasn’t a question that needed answering.

“In any case, Je Haryang challenged the Poison Cloud Demon to a duel. Claimed the right as host of the Dragon and Phoenix Assembly or something of the sort. The Demon accepted—and even after a hundred exchanges, he couldn’t land a killing blow. In the end, he fell for a trap Je Haryang had set and was slain.”

Akcheon chuckled bitterly.

“Infuriating, isn’t it? The bastard who toyed with us never managed to toy with him. I suppose he realized too late.”

“When the reinforcements arrived, Je Haryang was half-dead himself. His body was in shreds. But even so, he cut down the real Three Dogs of Henan as well as the Demon himself.”

He shook his head.

Even now, remembering how he’d followed Je Haryang around afterward, demanding to know why he’d saved him, made him cringe.

“…How did you end up there in the first place, Father?” Un asked softly.

The man he knew was no fool to walk into such madness.

Akcheon looked oddly pleased by his son’s rapt attention. He hesitated only a moment before confessing, with a wry grin—

“Well… that half-witted idiot who wanted to look better than the Kunlun Dragon?”

He tapped his chest.

“That was your father.”