Murim School Record - Chapter 38

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Episode 38: Love at First Sight (2)

Yi Mobaek’s response meant unconditional acceptance of all circumstances.
“Man Biong!”
“Y-yes, my lord!”
“Say nothing of this. Nothing happened here.”
“I-I shall remember, my lord.”
Yang Wubi approached slowly.
The porters, who had been exchanging idle talk, quietly straightened their posture.
Snore!
Snore!
Yi Mobaek, whom they had assumed was conscious behind his mask, had already begun to snore.
“Who is the head porter in charge?”
Yang Wubi asked politely.
“Master Yi is our head porter.”
Suk Jiyun, seated beside the sleeping Yi Mobaek, gave him a shake.
“Master, Master!”
Yi Mobaek furrowed his brow and opened his eyes, then followed Suk Jiyun’s gaze.
He spotted Yang Wubi watching him from a distance.
Yi Mobaek rose from his seat, placed the Bamboo Hat he had set aside upon his head, and offered a Fist Salute.
“Surely you are Master Yang Wubi of the Yang Clan.”
“Heh heh heh! You know of me?”
“How could any person fail to recognize the sun of day or overlook the moonlight of night?”
A flash crossed his eyes.
Yang Wubi’s eyes widened.
The man had just compared him to both the sun of day and the moon of night.
There could be no greater compliment than this.
Many men do not hesitate to lavish praise upon themselves when standing before him.
If one were to reckon by the power and prestige of the Yang household, it certainly falls short of the Nine Sects and the Five Great Families.
He is the Yang Wubi whom none but they acknowledge.
Some have even said that the Yang Clan should now be called the Sixth Great Family.
Though not counted among the Five Great Families, he has never once bowed his head before any of them.
He is confident that his household could stand against any one of those families alone without defeat.
The elders of the Martial Alliance number fifteen in total.
They are the masters of the Nine Sects and the Five Great Families.
He had not been without offers to take a seat among them, but he had declined.
To accept would be to prostrate himself.
He held no great aversion to it, but neither did he wish to bind himself so; nor did he wish to overturn the long-standing laws of the Martial Alliance—that elderships were granted only to the sect masters of the Nine Sects and the patriarchs of the Five Great Families.
“Are you pressed for time?”
“The cargo has been safely delivered to its destination, so there is no urgent matter to attend to.”
“Excellent. Since you have time to spare, why not share a cup of wine with me?”
He turned toward Yang Chilgok, the station master.
“Once the unloading is complete, see that you attend to these guests well. I shall take a drink with this head porter here.”
“As you wish, sir.”
Yi Mobaek turned to address his men.
“I shall be away for a moment.”
He smiled faintly as he said it.
Yi Mobaek departed in Yang Wubi’s wake, and Jong Bae, watching them go, murmured softly.
“How could such words slip out in a moment like this?”
Though it appeared as though they were simply resting, the porters’ minds were far from at ease.
If the cargo were damaged or fell short of the ordered quantity, a grave crisis would erupt.
No matter how meticulous the inspection, human work is prone to error.
This is why they remained tense until they departed.
A man’s words become the measure of his emotions.
Depending on one’s emotional state at any given moment, the temperature of each word spoken can vary greatly.
Yi Mobaek had poured forth praise so extraordinary and unforeseen—praise that no one could have anticipated.
From the moment Yang Wubi appeared, he had observed him with great care.
He gazed at the Red-Blooded Cold Iron with evident satisfaction.
Perhaps his contentment was so complete that he offered a few words to those who had brought it.
A simple acknowledgment of their effort, nothing more.
When Yang Wubi stepped forward to ask who the supervisor was, it seemed he was merely preparing to offer his thanks or express his gratitude.
But Yi Mobaek upended the entire situation with words no one had anticipated.
“He’s not the sort to live an ordinary life.”
Bo Haeman spoke up.
“That’s what I see too.”
Na Sulman slipped a word in sideways.
“Let us depart. Since the master has spoken, the chief steward shall attend to him.”
All the escort guards rose and followed Yang Chilgok.

The characteristic rose hue of the Female Aroma Red Wine drifted forth with a subtle fragrance.
When Yi Mobaek kept sniffing the air, Yang Wubi explained that he had added Imperial Consort root to it.
The wine, neither overwhelmingly strong nor faint but gently aromatic, went down smooth and easy.
“Your name is Yi Mobaek?”
“Yes?”
The two men sat facing each other across the wine table.
“Your martial skill doesn’t seem to be low. Which sect is your master?”
“I spent some time at Shaolin Temple as a menial worker. The monks there helped me learn the Hundred Step Divine Fist and several other martial arts, though my abilities remain humble.”
“The Hundred Step Divine Fist is the most troublesome art in Shaolin, isn’t it?”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Aren’t you escorts men of martial standing as well?”
A pause.
Yi Mobaek’s eyes gleamed.
Why was he drawing the escorts into this line of questioning?
Of course they were warriors.
Yet they were a faction that stood back from the affairs of the Martial World, keeping their distance.
“How do you see the current state of the Martial World?”
A deeply uncomfortable question.
Too indifferent a reply would be bad, but offering a sharp analysis might invite suspicion.
“Well, people speak of it as an age of peace.”
“Long ago the Martial Alliance leader was struck down by an assassin and suffered a mortal wound. And recently he declared he would step down at the coming Zhongyang Festival.”
“I have heard that too.”
“That an assassin tried to kill the Alliance leader means one thing.”
“What might that be?”
“There are those who are displeased with the leader.”
Yi Mobaek drained his cup.
“Indeed.”
Then, pouring fresh wine into the empty vessel with his own hand, he nodded slowly.
“He’s sat in that seat for far too long. People and water alike grow foul when stagnant for too many years—how can a man who became leader at thirty-nine and has held that position ever since justify himself?”
Mo Yongcheon was sixty-nine years old this year.
His martial skill was so profound that he appeared middle-aged, but in another year he would reach his seventieth.
Thirty years of rule.
Longer than any previous Alliance leader had held the position.
Ordinarily, the leader accepted challengers once every five years.
Though this was not carved in stone.
Nor did he accept just any challenger.
They had to be the supreme master of a faction or a renowned elder figure of comparable standing in the Martial World.
Mo Yongcheon had received five challenges in total.
To state the conclusion plainly: he had won every single bout.
And for the past fifteen years, no challenger had appeared.
It wasn’t that no one had ever challenged him since.
There had been challengers, but the heads of the Nine Sects and the Five Great Families had not come forward.
They had remained silent.
What did that silence mean?
Three years ago, he had been struck down by the Radiant-Swift Saber.
In any case, thirty years of rule,
he held dominion over an entire generation.
Why do the sect leaders of the Nine Sects and the masters of the Five Great Families no longer challenge?
According to what’s being said, there’s persistent speculation that the Nine Sects and the Five Great Families aren’t stepping forward themselves, but instead sending various proxies through indirect means.
“Isn’t it amusing? A Martial Tournament to select the new Alliance Lord with no restrictions on qualifications or conditions. If you compete, there’s no guarantee you’ll win—and if you lose, you’ll only heap embarrassment upon yourself.”
This is what people say about the Nine Sects and the Five Great Families.
“By now they’re going through fierce cycles of alliance and dissolution. Moving beads on an abacus, as it were. Calculating how, and with whom, they might gain the upper hand.”
“Tell me—does the Yang Clan Estate have thoughts of entering the Martial Tournament to select the Alliance Lord?”
It was an abrupt question.
Yang Wubi’s eyes narrowed.
“What do you think?”
This time it was Yi Mobaek who was taken aback.
His own family head was asking him what his family should do.
What did that mean?
Yi Mobaek smiled inwardly with ambition.

‘The real conversation starts now.’

Something was about to happen.
Yang Wubi drained his cup.
As though waiting for exactly that moment, Yi Mobaek poured more wine into the empty vessel.
“That’s precisely why I ask—”
It was just then that a voice came from outside the door.
“My lord—the Alliance Lord has arrived.”
At the word “Alliance Lord,” Yi Mobaek started in surprise.
There was no reason for Mo Yongcheon to appear at the Yang Clan Estate.
Of course, there was nothing forbidding it, but he had no leisure to visit the Yang Clan Estate at his leisure.
“Show him in.”
A moment later, footsteps sounded.
Almost simultaneously, Yang Wubi also rose from his seat.
For an instant, Yi Mobaek thought that if the master of the Yang Clan Estate would stand to receive a guest, it could only be Mo Yongcheon.

‘Surely not?’

The door creaked open.
A figure stepped through.
It was not Mo Yongcheon.
A broad-shouldered man in a black robe, moving with unmistakable authority.
“Welcome, Alliance Lord.”
“Ha ha ha… How have you been keeping?”
His voice was tremendous.
The first things that struck the eye were his towering frame, massive as a mountain, and a voice that boomed like thunder itself.
Long whiskers that brought to mind Zhang Fei from the Romance of the Three Kingdoms, and slung at his side was a Wolf Fang Saber of equally enormous proportions.
The blade was serrated like a gear, but far sharper.
Wolf’s fangs.
A brutal weapon.
It could cleave a man, pierce a man, or rend a man asunder.
Brightness flashed in Yi Mobaek’s eyes.
A figure had come to mind.

People called him the Dragon of the Yellow River.
Long ago on this continent, there arose powers that banded together and lived as one.

They were also called the Nine Yellow River Factions, and these nine powers had united to form the Yellow River Water Route Alliance.
The figure who represented the nine Yellow River Factions was the Alliance Lord of the Yellow River Water Route Alliance—and it was Sa Gongsan, the Dragon of the Yellow River with the Wolf Fang Saber, who now stood in the room.
The Yellow River Water Route Alliance, which held absolute control over all profits from the water routes of the Yellow River.
“I see you have a guest?”

Sa Gongsan stared at him with widened eyes.
“Hold on! I pay my respects. I am Sa Gongsan, Master of the Yellow River Water Route Alliance.”
Snap!
Yi Mobaek sprang to his feet like a coiled spring released.
Swish!
Bending at the waist, Yi Mobaek cupped his fist in salute and spoke with utmost deference.
“I am Yi Mobaek, a humble student of the Martial World, and I bow before the great River God of the Yellow River.”
Sa Gongsan’s eyes widened further.
The River God of the Yellow River.
For those who made their living fishing in the Yellow River’s waters, there dwelt within their hearts one figure of absolute reverence.

The River God.

The River God was a divine being said to command the Yellow River and hold dominion over the fates of all who made their lives upon those waters.
The River referred to the Yellow River itself, and the God—the sovereign ruler of that domain.
The sovereign of the Yellow River.
He had heard the title “Master” countless times, yet this supreme honorific—the very God of the Yellow River—he had never heard until this moment.
Thrill!
A scorching warmth enveloped Sa Gongsan’s entire body.
It was as though he had been cast into flames, his vision blurring momentarily before settling again, and then—from his dantian—a surging, majestic heat began to flow forth in waves.
He had never experienced anything like this.
Beyond mere emotion—this was a stirring of power itself.
“Ha-ha-ha-ha!”
Sa Gongsan threw back his head and let out a great, unrestrained laugh.
His whole frame trembled with exhilaration that transcended mere contentment.
It was praise beyond praise, honor beyond honor—and finally, he spoke of himself as an object of reverence itself.
“Let us clasp hands, my friend.”
“I am not worthy of such honor.”
“No. You, this gentleman, are the true and faithful friend who understands the heart of Sa Gongsan.”
“Ah!”
Yang Wubi, standing beside him, let out a sound that was almost a gasp.
Though he appeared to be in his mid-fifties, Sa Gongsan’s true age was seventy-one.
Yi Mobaek was his senior in years.
Yi Mobaek had said he was barely twenty.
Two men, separated by fifty years of life, had become companions in a single moment.
Yang Wubi regarded Yi Mobaek.
He himself had taken a liking to the young man.
From the moment they first met, there had been something magnetic about him—a pull that drew others near—and Man Biong’s casual remark about his remarkable bearing had somehow conspired to arrange this very gathering.
How curious.
The more one spoke with him, the more he moved the hearts of those around him.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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