Chapter 13: The Golden Plum
by fnovelpia
**In episode 12, the expression “secular disciple” has been revised to simply “disciple”!**
“…Master?”
Cheongun alternated his gaze between Namgung Yul and the Red Night Sword Saint.
Huh? Master?
Did I hear that wrong?
Cheongun frantically rubbed his ears.
Since he could still hear things like, “Master, what brings you here?” it seemed his ears weren’t the problem.
Well, that’s a relief.
The issue clearly lay with those two.
Noble families like the Namgung Clan rarely learned martial arts from outsiders, given their pride.
Those from the Five Great Families had sky-high pride in their own martial traditions—especially Namgung Yul, a direct descendant.
But what if the outsider in question was the Red Night Sword Saint?
A peerless master whose martial arts were said to reach the heavens, a free-roaming figure unbound by factional politics—even the lofty Namgung Clan would reconsider, wouldn’t they?
Moreover, from what Cheongun recalled, the Red Night Sword Saint was quite close to Namgung Cheonhu, the current head of the Namgung Clan.
Sworn brothers? Childhood friends? Something like that.
Well, pride is something you adjust depending on the person.
When faced with the opportunity to learn from an absolute master like the Red Night Sword Saint, pride becomes irrelevant.
Even the head of the Namgung Clan would have to concede in pure martial prowess compared to that old man.
Cheongun’s eyes sparkled.
At the same time, realization struck him like lightning.
The Red Night Sword Saint had only ever taken one disciple.
And because that disciple died, the Sword Saint became a demon, staining his blade with blood as he walked the path of slaughter.
Damn it, that disciple was Namgung Yul!
It wasn’t impossible.
In fact, when Cheongun first met Namgung Yul, she was already on the verge of death—and it was Cheongun who had saved her.
What if he hadn’t stepped in?
Namgung Yul would have died right then and there.
Whether Cheongun was stunned or not, Jin Museong continued exchanging words with Namgung Yul, his expression kindly.
“Master, how long have you known Sir Cheong?”
“We met by chance today.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“You weren’t pestering him to become your disciple again, were you?”
“Hey! What nonsense! Our paths simply crossed.”
Jin Museong feigned irritation, but his voice trembled slightly, as if flustered.
“Hoho, the world is truly small. Who would’ve thought you’d form a bond with this young man, Yul? Fate arrives without warning at times. A curious thing indeed.”
Jin Museong spoke with dignified composure while subtly glancing aside, curious about how Cheongun would react.
By now, he hoped Cheongun would accept that becoming his disciple was part of destiny.
But Cheongun was already gone.
Jin Museong watched as Cheongun lazily trudged ahead and was left speechless.
“Where are you going?”
“To sleep.”
“Hold on a moment.”
“Why now?”
“You brat! At least answer before leaving!”
Cheongun rolled his eyes.
What benefits or drawbacks would this situation bring me?
The Red Night Sword Saint was a wandering figure, unbound by any faction. Becoming his disciple wouldn’t tie him to any sect or complicate his allegiances.
Sure, it’d add another lifelong master to his list, but considering the old man’s nature, he’d likely just pass down the necessary skills and then go his own way.
Besides, with Namgung Yul alive, the old man wouldn’t turn into a demon.
But Cheongun was being deliberately difficult for a reason.
Human relationships were inherently unbalanced.
The one who cared more would always try to please, while the recipient would take the kindness for granted.
Thus, the most crucial thing was establishing dominance.
That way, even if he acted out later, the other party wouldn’t be in a position to complain.
Look at him, fidgeting like that!
Wander the martial world all you want—will you ever find a talent as young and fresh as me?
Who else could dump 20,000 stat points like I did?!
Cheongun took a step and spoke.
“I’ll go ahead.”
“Hey! Stop right there!”
“I’ll give my answer after receiving the Gold Yuanbao.”
“What? Gold Yuanbao?”
With that, Cheongun returned to his room.
Left alone, Jin Museong blinked in bewilderment.
“Disciple.”
“Yes, Master.”
“I’d like to know how you came to form a bond with that young man.”
“Ah! Well, it happened like this…”
Namgung Yul explained everything to her master.
From being pursued by the Black Forest Sect, to standing at the brink of life and death, and finally, how Cheongun had saved her.
“Hah!”
After hearing everything, Jin Museong let out a strange sigh.
A boy not even twenty years old shouldn’t be capable of such feats.
Even if he had trained in the womb, it’d still be impossible, no?
“Remarkable. Truly remarkable.”
To witness such talent again…
Perhaps it was just a fleeting encounter, but his genuine desire grew stronger.
He wanted to see the Red Night Heaven-Slaying Sword perfected in the boy’s hands.
Jin Museong stroked his beard and spoke.
“Disciple.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Is Hui currently here?”
Namgung Yul nodded.
Jin Museong clasped his hands behind his back and gestured with his chin.
“Lead the way.”
****
The next day.
Jin Museong visited Cheongun’s room.
“……”
“…”
An odd silence settled between the Red Night Sword Saint, Jin Museong, and his guest(?), Cheongun.
Jin Museong had long surpassed the realm of ordinary masters, appearing at a glance like an unassuming old man.
Yet, the intangible aura radiating from him pressed down on the entire space.
His mere presence was overwhelming.
And now, all of Jin Museong’s attention was focused on Cheongun.
From the moment he first saw him until now, his interest had been solely on Cheongun.
As Jin Museong’s energy gradually dominated the space, Cheongun’s internal energy instinctively began circulating in response.
The clash of their auras froze the air between them, sharp enough to ring in the ears.
This was the unspoken battle of wills between martial artists.
The friction grew intense, but both remained perfectly composed.
Finally—
“Hoho.”
Jin Museong withdrew his energy, his expression unchanged.
His gaze at Cheongun held a hint of mischief.
A boy not even twenty years old had matched his spiritual pressure—absurd, yet impressive.
“I heard the story. You saved Yul, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you. Without your help, I might have lost my only disciple.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Cheongun barely held back his true thoughts (Like hell I wouldn’t!).
“Yul promised you a Gold Yuanbao as a reward, correct?”
“Right.”
“Indeed. But since this isn’t the main estate, I heard the reward’s delivery has been delayed. Is that accurate?”
“Spot on.”
“Man proposes, Heaven disposes. Plans are made by men, but their success lies in Heaven’s hands.”
Cheongun narrowed his eyes, looking annoyed.
But soon, they widened in shock.
Jin Museong had pulled out a pouch and placed it on the table.
“And I am that Heaven.”
Had senility finally set in?
But Cheongun’s eyes were already locked onto the pouch.
Palm-sized, exquisitely embroidered with gold threads depicting dragons and phoenixes.
Most importantly, Cheongun heard it.
The clinking of coins as Jin Museong pulled it from his robes.
“Open it.”
With trembling hands, Cheongun undid the pouch’s drawstring.
Fifty thumb-sized circular gold coins, intricately linked by red silk threads.
Each coin had a square hole in the center, with the characters “Tian Xia Tong Bao” (Universal Currency of the Realm) and delicate dragon motifs engraved on the surface.
Gold Yuan!
My lifeline!
“This is the reward you should’ve received long ago. No matter the circumstances, debts of gratitude and grudges must be settled clearly. I’ve already spoken to the young master, so you needn’t worry further.”
All that whining about how long it’d take—
And with just one word from Jin Museong, a Gold Yuanbao materialized instantly.
He might as well have had a halo behind him.
“Now, let’s hear your answer.”
“Answer?”
“Yes. Have you considered becoming my disciple?”
Cheongun clicked his tongue inwardly.
This again?
Giving the Gold Yuanbao in advance was appreciated, but this was a separate matter.
Of course, becoming a disciple meant learning martial arts—great.
His abilities were more suited for dealing with the Demon Cult anyway.
The martial world was vast, and trash was plentiful—and by trash, he didn’t just mean demons.
Since when were rotten martial artists limited to demons alone?
Building a foundation and raising his realm early would prevent him from dying like a nobody later.
But Cheongun delayed his answer.
He wanted to gauge things further.
“Your answer?”
“I need a little more time to think.”
“Why?”
“When I first decided to learn martial arts, I vowed to face my limits on my own terms.”
It was a flimsy excuse.
But so what if that’s what he wanted?
An unassailable, invincible logic.
Hearing this, Jin Museong smirked, as if expecting it, and smoothly slid something else forward.
Cheongun slowly opened the case.
Inside was a golden plum branch.
Five blossoms adorned the branch, each petal engraved with delicate patterns and a red gem embedded at the center.
The dazzling gold and crimson harmony was blinding.
“The Golden Plum crafted by the Western artisan Yang Zhihua, presented to the late emperor for his sixtieth birthday. Only ten exist in the world.”
Cheongun was certain.
An undeniable genuine artifact. Pure gold.
The craftsmanship, the material—all top-tier.
His jaw slackened.
Cheongun was already drooling, utterly entranced by the Golden Plum.
“What a shame. I was going to give this to you if you became my disciple.”
At those words, Cheongun’s mouth moved reflexively.
“Your unworthy disciple greets his master.”
“Oh? Didn’t you just say you wanted to face your limits on your own?”
“I just did it.”
And so, for the first time in his life, Cheongun gained a master.
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