Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time

Chapter 163

The duels continued day after day. A steady stream of people visited Unhyangwon, seeking to exchange swords and insights with Ma Gwang-Ik.

Rumors had started to spread discreetly from the headquarters of the Martial Alliance. It was said that the young master of Ipwang Fortress was offering instruction to those who came to challenge him.

Even now, voices could be heard just outside the gate.

“Interesting things are happening even before the Sect Inauguration Ceremony. I’ve heard that people from the Namgung Clan have arrived to meet the White Qilin, and some are setting out to greet the Sword Dragon of Zhongnan. Quite amusing.”

“Isn’t it fascinating how all sorts of figures in Jianghu are gathering here? And if we’re speaking of someone from Ipwang Fortress who has reached the Black Rank, they’re bound to stand out, even among such a crowd.”

“I heard from the Cheong Il-mun Master himself. He said he gained the seeds of enlightenment from just one duel with him… But I can’t make sense of it. How can a master from Ipwang Fortress teach martial artists of the Martial Alliance? If he did it intentionally, he’s no reckless radical but a great hero.”

“Isn’t he too young to be called a hero?”

“Then why are you lingering around here, if you think so little of him?”

Jeong Yeon-shin reflected on the chatter. They’re just as clueless about my intentions as I am about theirs.

No need to hear any more.

He stopped the rotation of the radiant wheel resting in his heart. As his qi subsided, his heightened senses dulled, cutting off the conversations.

The Martial Alliance likely had some understanding of Jeong Yeon-shin, even if incomplete. His record alone was enough to raise eyebrows.

The name Seomye, Jeong Yeon-shin, carried stories of exceeding accomplishments for his rank. He had repeatedly defeated opponents deemed nearly impossible to overcome.

Most notably, during his White Rank days, he had killed an elder of the Blade Specters, wielding the Eight Fiends Rakshasa Sword Technique.

It was after repeated battles with the masters of Zhongnan Sect that Jeong Yeon-shin had faced the elder. Despite teetering on the brink of a qi deviation from exhaustion, he had observed the elder’s habits, techniques, and sword patterns and devised a single counter-strategy.

It was a gamble. If the elder had used a different technique, Jeong Yeon-shin would have been the one to fall.

Such feats could not help but draw attention.

The Martial Alliance’s leadership must regard me with caution. Yet, they make no effort to stop their masters from challenging me…

Perhaps they believed the benefits outweighed the risks.

The current state of affairs reflected this mindset. Many were focusing their attention on Ma Gwang-Ik.

Yet Jeong Yeon-shin only crossed swords with each of them once. Compared to the information revealed by the Martial Alliance, the insights he gained from these duels were shallow at best—a situation akin to being subjected to rotational combat.

This is different from the Azure Qilin. Who is right?

His thoughts drifted to Namgung Se-jin, the Azure Qilin.

"I’ve heard you’re skilled at unraveling and dismantling techniques. You deconstruct them with precision and destroy them entirely. For that reason, I won’t show you my techniques in advance."

Namgung Se-jin had been a remarkable figure. He had obtained intelligence from the Beggars’ Sect regarding the fight between the Zhongnan Sect and the Blade Specters.

After hearing of Jeong Yeon-shin’s feat—beheading the Rakshasa Sword Master—Namgung Se-jin had used that knowledge to conclude that showing his techniques to Seomye was a grave mistake.

The Azure Qilin. Perhaps you were right.

“Move aside,” Jeong Yeon-shin said, nudging Tae Yeom-ryong out of the way as he sat on a nearby rock.

Displaced, Tae Yeom-ryong grumbled, “I wonder what it would feel like to reach the Blue Rank. Is this what ambition feels like?”

Muttering complaints, he wandered to the other side of the lake, clasping his hands behind his head and adopting the air of a carefree drifter. His casual demeanor made him look thoroughly relaxed.

“Our young master is far too indifferent. Ipwang Fortress is fine and all, but a more aggressive sect might have suited you better,” Tae Yeom-ryong teased.

“If you earn some achievements, I’ll reward you differently,” Jeong Yeon-shin replied, gently tapping the rock with his heel as he gazed at the gate ahead.

His expression was as nonchalant as Tae Yeom-ryong had described.

Compiling the Pa-Baek Chongram and refining his swordsmanship were worthwhile pursuits. However, the Unhyangwon was, in truth, deep within enemy territory. He could not afford to overlook the intentions of the Martial Alliance entirely.

“This should be entertaining,” Tae Yeom-ryong said with a grin, still resting his head against his interlaced fingers.

“I’ll take a stroll around the Alliance headquarters. It seems our young master is curious about what those in power are plotting.”

“You want me to entrust reconnaissance to you?”

“Well, compared to the others who’ve gone out first, I’d say I’m better suited. Even orthodox sects are full of humans, after all. Whether they drink extravagantly or bicker over appetizers, or perhaps even perform drunken sword dances—it’s all the same. And besides…”

Tae Yeom-ryong’s grin widened mischievously.

“In Jinan, the name Tae Yeom-ryong of the Hwangbo Clan is rather renowned… They used to call me the Playful Prince of Hwahwa.”

Jeong Yeon-shin paused, contemplating whether to entertain such nonsense.

Just then, a side door near the gate opened. A man in neat green robes stepped inside, hastily approaching with a message in hand.

It was a servant of Unhyangwon, sent by the Martial Alliance. Born and raised in Hanjoong, he had only practiced the Samjae Technique, a basic method distributed by the royal court.

“Young master, a message for you.”

“From whom?” Jeong Yeon-shin asked, descending from the rock to take the letter and open it.

“It’s from the Mo Yong Clan. Master Mo Yong-myeongjun requested that it be delivered to you,” the servant replied respectfully.

Tae Yeom-ryong, peering over Jeong Yeon-shin’s shoulder, glanced at the letter. Jeong Yeon-shin ignored him.

As they read the message together, a brief silence followed. Tae Yeom-ryong’s lips curled slightly.

“An invitation. Seems like they’re making their move before the Sect Inauguration Ceremony. Will you go?”

“I need the information as much as they do. It’s unlikely anyone from their headquarters will come here again.”

“A duty as the young master, is it? Then I’ll accompany you.”

***

Clunk.

The old wooden doors creaked open, revealing a lavish banquet hall lit with amber lanterns. Jeong Yeon-shin, Tae Yeom-ryong, and Hyeon Won-chang stepped inside.

It was an evening just before the Mid-Autumn Festival.

The night breeze was refreshing, but the atmosphere inside the hall was anything but. The qi emitted by the dozens of martial artists in attendance was overwhelming.

“You see? Wasn’t I right?” Tae Yeom-ryong’s earlier words echoed in Jeong Yeon-shin’s mind.

The interior was indeed grandiose. Numerous martial artists, mostly young, filled the space, eating, drinking, and conversing.

The vibrancy of the gathering seemed to outshine even the lanterns. Life and energy radiated from every corner.

The stonework decorations and landscape paintings on the walls were clearly of exceptional value. This hall was built entirely for the purpose of such grand feasts.

But the most striking feature of the hall wasn’t its decor—it was the martial artists themselves.

The air around them spoke of their extraordinary skills. Their composed qi mingled with the fiery vigor of youth.

They were the elite, heirs of renowned clans, whose refined elegance and grandeur matched the splendor of the venue.

Conversations shifted between pleasantries about sects and deep discussions on martial arts. At times, probing questions were exchanged with subtle sharpness, testing the intentions of others.

Eyes darted between young men and women, some exchanging meaningful glances with those they admired.

Step.

The hem of Jeong Yeon-shin’s black trousers moved as he took a step forward. The soft sound of his footfall carried a strange weight.

The Neungbeop Gwangryun-gi, a technique imbued with spiritual energy, gave him an overwhelming presence. Though he walked without intention, his steps commanded attention.

Silence fell as people turned to look.

“…”

The aura of a transcendent master. Though he sought no attention, his presence created an unnatural stillness.

The golden character "Hwang" embroidered on his sleeve gleamed under the lantern light. His jet-black robes resembled the ceremonial attire of Beijing nobles.

His demeanor and striking appearance added to the effect. His long black hair, falling to his shoulders and gleaming as if polished, swayed gently as he moved.

It seemed impossible for anyone to challenge such a figure.

Who in this hall could dare pierce through the black aura of Ma Gwang-Ik to grab his hair in a fight?

“Yellow embroidery on black… Did they really invite Ma Gwang-Ik?”

“Who would have dared?”

Only a few whispered their doubts aloud. Most, however, met Jeong Yeon-shin’s gaze with a calm acceptance.

Tae Yeom-ryong’s earlier warning had been correct: martial artists rarely approached subtly or gracefully. Those unwilling to participate simply weren’t here.

Yu Hyeon of the Mount Hua Sect, for instance, was absent—likely still under house arrest following orders from his sect elders.

Jeong Yeon-shin thought it fitting. Actions have consequences, after all.

I wonder how Yu Hyeon would view this.

Amidst the silence, a swordsman dressed in pale pink martial robes approached. He was a young man with a strikingly refined appearance.

“Ma Gwang-Ik,” he greeted with a polite smile, clasping his hands in salute.

“I didn’t expect you to accept our invitation. Please, enjoy yourself without hesitation.”

There was something subtly off about his tone—as if he were surprised Jeong Yeon-shin had actually shown up. The murmurs of a few others confirmed this impression.

Some frowned at the exchange, though most did not. The hostility Jeong Yeon-shin sensed was more territorial than personal.

Ah, it’s about the Azure Qilin, Jeong Yeon-shin realized. This stems from Namgung Se-jin’s reputation.

He caught Namgung Se-jin’s name mentioned a few times in whispers around him. The question lingered in their eyes: Could someone so young truly possess such martial prowess?

The young man introduced himself:

“I am Mo Yong-myeongjun. The young master of the Mo Yong Clan.”

Jeong Yeon-shin offered a faint smile.

“Thank you for the invitation,” he replied curtly.

The simplicity of the response sent a ripple through the room.

Mo Yong-myeongjun’s composed demeanor faltered for a moment. Though he quickly regained it, the momentary crack was clear to those watching.

The Mo Yong Clan wielded influence akin to royalty in the Liaoning region. It was not a position to be addressed so casually by a boy.

“Is there a problem?” Jeong Yeon-shin asked calmly.

Mo Yong-myeongjun seemed about to respond when Tae Yeom-ryong, standing nearby, let out a lazy chuckle.

“You’re quite transparent, Mo Yong brat,” Tae Yeom-ryong drawled.

“The representative of Ipwang Fortress is not about to show deference to some fledgling. Respect in Jianghu is earned through the blade, not polite words. If you don’t like it, challenge him to a duel. You’ll see just how much respect Ma Gwang-Ik can offer… assuming you survive. Or, if you’re too scared, go break your dantian and live as a commoner instead.”

His casual insolence gave the impression that he was a seasoned warrior of Ipwang Fortress.

Jeong Yeon-shin sighed and nudged Tae Yeom-ryong aside. “I’ll enjoy myself as I see fit,” he said.

Mo Yong-myeongjun nodded silently, though it seemed he had been on the verge of saying something. Jeong Yeon-shin’s intervention defused the moment, and he seated himself at a table.

The banquet resumed.

Mo Yong-myeongjun was the first to pour a drink and step away after a polite farewell.

Tae Yeom-ryong also drifted off, claiming he had old acquaintances from his time as a Hwangbo Clan heir to reconnect with.

Jeong Yeon-shin doubted Tae Yeom-ryong’s intentions but let him be.

Only Hyeon Won-chang remained, pouring water into Jeong Yeon-shin’s cup.

“Mo Yong-myeongjun, the so-called ‘Bright Sword of Commerce,’” Hyeon Won-chang said quietly. “I’ve heard he acts like a scholar but has the soul of a merchant. They say his swordsmanship is decent, but it’s best to either keep him very close or avoid him altogether.”

Their table, noticeably sparse, felt all the more empty in the expansive hall, which was wide enough to seat forty people.

Jeong Yeon-shin didn’t seem to mind the curious glances sent their way.

This is valuable, he thought, observing the martial artists of the Martial Alliance.

None of the elders seemed to have fully retracted their qi. The palpable aura they emitted spoke volumes about their martial attributes.

Even the faint pain in Jeong Yeon-shin’s knee reminded him that his upper dantian had grown stronger.

As he quietly analyzed their qi waves, he formulated countermeasures in his mind. These would soon become the next chapters of Pa-Baek Chongram.

Suddenly, a shadow fell over their table.

Jeong Yeon-shin looked up to see a woman with long, braided hair standing before him, her ebony eyes meeting his.

“I am Ak Ye-rim of the Ak Clan in Shandong,” she said with a smooth smile.

“Ma Gwang-Ik, Jeong Yeon-shin,” he replied.

“I heard you were there when the Azure Qilin met his end,” she continued, her crimson lips curling. “I was his fiancée.”

Her words were sharp, devoid of warmth. Her tone and expression betrayed her true feelings, even as she cloaked them in formality.

“I knew him as a hypocrite,” she said. “Always hiding his family’s disgrace behind a facade of righteousness. What did you think of him, as someone who faced him in a life-and-death duel?”

Her approach was direct but reeked of ulterior motives.

Jeong Yeon-shin, having encountered his share of schemes in Jianghu, could see through her intent. The tremor in her voice and the irregular rhythm of her heartbeat were giveaways.

What are these fools trying to achieve?

“You,” Jeong Yeon-shin said softly, his voice calm but tinged with steel.

“Speak of the Azure Qilin so carelessly.”

The rare edge in his tone silenced her for a moment.

“You tarnish his legacy.”

From within his heart, it felt as though a sword had been drawn.