TSBIRBV Ch 329

Chapter 329. My Name is Mun Yegyeol (4)

“W–White Lotus? You came seeking the White Lotus?”

“My wife. My… wife is ill.”

The words barely left his lips before his mouth felt dry. Haryang gave a faint, self-deprecating smile — for the briefest moment, he had thought of Yegyeol.

“She’s gravely ill,” he continued softly. “But I heard that the White Lotus Cult possesses a miraculous elixir — a panacea that can cure any illness overnight. I followed that rumor all the way to Wuhan… only to run into some ruffians along the way.”

His shoulders trembled faintly as he spoke — not dramatically, but enough to make him look fragile, pitiful even.

“I see… what misfortune.”

Youngho clicked his tongue, thoroughly convinced by the man’s expertly worn expression of despair. It wasn’t an impossible story.

After all, rumors of the White Lotus possessing a cure-all medicine were infamous. So infamous, in fact, that countless impostors had taken advantage of it — asking for “introduction fees” from desperate souls before vanishing with their money. Even among actual White Lotus followers, that deceitful practice was condemned.

The branch leader of the Wuhan chapter — a man they called the Vanguard — often reminded them:

“One cannot meet the true White Lotus unless destined by fate. The world is still in chaos, and it grieves us that we cannot yet embrace all our brothers. Until the day the Lotus fully blooms, let us each cultivate ourselves with sincerity.”

Those words had resonated deeply with everyone — Youngho included.

He had not yet learned all of the White Lotus teachings, but what he had learned stirred something profound within him. It made him believe that he, a mere errand boy, had been chosen by the Lotus.

Every day, Youngho felt a little more special. That feeling gave him strength — and, inevitably, a hunger to prove himself. To achieve something remarkable for the cult.

And now, before him stood a man who looked both pitiful and well-off enough to be of use.

They said… you can climb ranks not only with money, but also by bringing in worthy new believers. That’s right.

He remembered the words clearly. Perhaps the White Lotus had guided this poor soul to him — so that he could be the one to save him.

“You’re not yet one of our brothers,” Youngho said solemnly, “but the White Lotus embraces all who truly believe. Let’s go somewhere quieter to talk.”

Haryang inclined his head slightly. He did not find this moment humiliating — far from it.

“Thank you.”

He staggered as though in pain, and Youngho instinctively reached out to support him.

“There’s no need,” Haryang murmured. In truth, he simply didn’t wish to be touched. Resting a hand against the wall, he forced a few ragged breaths, then straightened up like a man barely clinging to his strength.

“I’m fine now. Let’s go.”

“You’ll collapse if you keep pushing yourself like that,” Youngho muttered, but then shrugged. “Well, if you insist.”

As he followed the boy down the dim street, Haryang’s thoughts turned inward — to the chain of events that had led him here.

It had begun on the day Namgung Un came to see him — the day he learned of the Huayeon Pavilion owner’s murder.

Haryang had conducted his own investigation. It was true that the Namgung patriarch had been at the pavilion that night, but there was neither evidence nor motive to tie him to the crime.

So Yegyeol had looked into the man who accused him — and discovered that the accuser was the son of a high-ranking official under Wuhan’s governor. That same man had also been a guest at the Huayeon Pavilion that evening.

He had reportedly flown into a drunken rage after not being given a courtesan to sit beside him, kicking over a table and smashing bottles against the wall. The pavilion mistress herself had intervened, and when he refused to calm down, it was Namgung Akcheon who stepped in to restrain him.

And yet that very same troublemaker returned home that night… only to reappear later as the key witness in the murder case.

Anyone could see it — it reeked of resentment.

What should have ended as a tantrum had spiraled into a storm — because someone had chosen to take his accusation seriously.

…The constable, Jang Hoyang.

A man reputed for his uprightness and integrity. Known for taking no bribes, bowing to no power. The kind of man an ordinary official’s son shouldn’t have been able to influence — not without some hidden leverage.

And yet, this paragon of justice had moved to imprison Namgung Akcheon.

Haryang dug deeper. He learned that the constable’s elderly mother had fallen gravely ill some months ago. Physicians had given up on her, urging her son to prepare for the worst.

But then, a miracle.

One month later, she was seen out in the market — buying groceries, playing with her grandson, even carrying heavy baskets as she laughed. Her recovery had stunned everyone.

People credited Jang Hoyang’s devotion as a son, his tender care.

But Haryang focused on something else — the miracle itself.

Shortly after that, the constable began attending a certain gathering.

Its public image was harmless — a group that taught simple breathing exercises and healthy routines. But its name… was the White Lotus Cult.

And Haryang could not ignore that.

It’s almost identical to the training halls in Yegok Village, he thought grimly.

A benign façade — health practices, fellowship, self-improvement — concealing something deeper.

Outwardly, Jang Hoyang’s life remained unchanged. Still diligent, still righteous. Still a loving son and father.

But that was exactly what drew Haryang’s attention. For a man so upright to arrest someone so clearly innocent — that was no coincidence.

At first, Haryang had intended to plant an undercover agent. But he quickly reconsidered.

If the White Lotus truly was a front established by survivors of the Wi Clan, then any agent worth their salt might already know the infiltrator’s identity.

In the Heavenly Demon Cult, spies were cultivated for decades — twenty, thirty years — living ordinary lives, making friends, building families, holding jobs. By the time they were deployed, their very existence vouched for their authenticity.

But the Wi Clan’s downfall was only twenty years ago. In Wuhan, the Martial Alliance’s territory, every spy had been carefully screened and deeply embedded. If the Wi survivors had rebuilt under the White Lotus name, they would certainly know those faces.

After weighing it all, Haryang made his decision.

He would go himself.

Samrang is busy, he thought. She was neck-deep in weaving rumors about the Kunlun Dragon and the Heavenly Thunder Dragon.

Hongye won’t do, either.

Though free, Hongye’s towering build and limited mastery of Bone Compression made it impossible to disguise his height. His foreign features and accent would stand out even more.

And Jinyoung… no.

Jinyoung was currently handling correspondence and operations between Wuhan and Xinjiang. Even if he could be summoned, Haryang would never risk sending him into something like this. His ties to the Wi Clan ran too deep.

There was, of course, one perfect candidate left.

Yegyeol.

But Haryang hadn’t even considered it.

Yegyeol has become too famous after winning the Dragon and Phoenix Assembly.

It was a flimsy excuse — one that even Beambeam wouldn’t buy. The White Lotus had been recruiting local elites and well-known figures to boost their reputation.

Which left only one viable option: himself.

As the Black Ghost who moved between the shadows, Haryang possessed more than one identity.

This particular persona had nothing to do with the Heavenly Demon Cult. Even after becoming its leader, Haryang had kept the Black Ghost network independent — using the Qinghai Trading Company as an intermediary for all financial dealings.

No one from the Wi Clan could possibly have traced the false identity he had built there.

Even when the Eight Demon Families still stood, no one ever discovered me.

A humorless smile curved his lips.

He had created the Black Ghost network himself, long ago — back when solitude had still ruled him.

And he had ample experience in such things.

In his earlier years, still under the Demon Sect’s command, he had often infiltrated the Central Plains as a spy. Born and raised among them, he spoke their language flawlessly, understood their customs, their habits — he knew how to blend in.

Haryang could thrive anywhere he was placed. It was his greatest strength — and his greatest curse.

“This is it,” Youngho said suddenly, stopping before a building.

It looked ordinary enough — except for the carved lotus around the frame, its petals still unopened.

How intriguing.

The lotus was a common motif, but this one, with its flame-like shape, was clearly symbolic.

“This is the place everyone passes through before joining the White Lotus,” Youngho said proudly. “Only those who pass a certain test can become true brothers.”

There was a note of pride in his voice — he had passed that test himself.

Haryang could tell the boy hadn’t been a member for long. The cult had its ways — psychological hooks designed to forge belonging quickly. That “test” was likely one of them.

As Youngho reached for the door, he paused and turned back.

For a moment, Haryang tensed, thinking the boy had noticed something off.

If he were refused entry now, he’d have to start over — find another recruit, rebuild trust. A tedious process.

“Ah,” Youngho said sheepishly, scratching his head. “I just realized — I never asked your name. I’ll need to introduce you inside.”

Haryang lowered his gaze.

“…My name,” he said quietly, “is Mun Yegyeol.”