Black and White Martial Emperor

“Clan Lord, the First Young Master has arrived.”

“Let him in.”

The doors opened, and Yeon Hojeong entered with Yeon Jipyeong.

As the two stepped inside, the air in the Clan Lord’s chamber seemed to grow warmer. A fierce heat radiated off Hojeong’s body.

“Father.”

“Sit.”

Two cups of steaming tea were already placed on the table. The rising fragrance was rich and soothing.

Yeon Wi cast a glance at Jipyeong, a look that said plainly: I summoned your elder brother, not you. Why are you here?

Jipyeong scratched his head awkwardly.

“I... didn’t come by to pay my respects earlier today.”

A feeble excuse.

“Sit as well.”

Jipyeong exhaled in relief and quickly sat beside his brother.

Yeon Wi pushed one teacup toward Jipyeong. But flustered, Jipyeong didn’t even notice.

Studying Hojeong up and down, Yeon Wi gave a small nod.

“You did it properly.”

“My legs are still trembling.”

The words were half in jest, but Yeon Wi’s expression didn’t change.

“When you one day attain a mastery that unites essence, energy, and spirit, you will be able to hold Horse Stance for three days and nights.”

“If I ever reach that height, I doubt I’ll be wasting my time on Horse Stance.”

From the side, Jipyeong elbowed Hojeong in the ribs. He thought it far too impudent to speak so before their father.

But Yeon Wi did not rebuke him.

“Then why did you call me, Father? Was it to check my homework?”

“To be clear—it was not homework. It was punishment. I thought you would reflect, yet it seems all you did was torment your body.”

“Even if I die, my temperament won’t change.”

The words were heavy with sincerity. And indeed—they were the words of one who had already died once.

Punishment only carried meaning when it provoked repentance. But once given, punishment could not simply be rescinded, so Yeon Wi let it rest.

“Because of the incident with Namgung, I was delayed in asking you what I must. You said you wished to cultivate the Veil-Rending True Art?”

“Yes.”

Jipyeong turned his head, startled, staring at his brother. He hadn’t known Hojeong had spoken of that to their father.

But he quickly understood. Having mastered the Flying Swallow Heart Method, it was time for his brother to train in the clan’s true martial arts.

Yeon Wi’s tone turned firm.

“The Veil-Rending True Art is one of our clan’s Five Divine Arts. But without a foundation to support it, it is meaningless to practice. You understand that?”

“Of course.”

From Hojeong’s answer, Yeon Wi sensed unshakable confidence.

“You have mastered the Flying Swallow Heart Method to the ninth stage?”

Hojeong silently extended his wrist. It was better to show than to speak.

Placing his hand on his son’s pulse, Yeon Wi examined carefully.

“...Hm?”

His eyes shifted slightly.

The vital energy coursed vigorously. The meridians of the head and limbs were mostly open.

“When did this happen?”

“The morning after I left the Ancestral Hall.”

Yeon Wi examined again, more closely. And realized something.

“Your flow of energy is unusual. You didn’t gradually adjust to it—you grasped it in one stroke.”

This time Hojeong’s eyes gleamed.

As expected of him.

From the flow of qi, from the trace in the meridians, he had discerned exactly how the Heart Method had been mastered.

Not an easy feat. Even a seasoned master might have overlooked such faint traces without extraordinary sensitivity.

Hojeong stole a glance at Jipyeong.

His younger brother looked confused, wondering why their father had gone so far as to personally check a pulse to confirm what he surely already knew.

So that sharp perception Jipyeong has—it came from Father.

Compared to them, his own talent was lacking. His sensitivity had only bloomed after countless brushes with death, forged in blood and survival.

“I see you’ve freed yourself from the chaos that qi can cause. Did you approach the Heart Method academically?”

“I simply... analyzed it, and it became clear.”

“To dig persistently at one path is important. But when that fails, seeking another approach is also wisdom. Well done.”

“...!”

Hojeong’s eyes went wide as lanterns. Jipyeong’s mouth dropped open as well.

Never before had either of them heard such words from their father.

Even Jipyeong, hailed as the clan’s greatest prodigy in its history, had never been praised. Yeon Wi was a man sparing with compliments, lavish only with criticism.

That single phrase carried immense weight for both brothers.

“Good. I permit you to cultivate one of the Five Divine Arts.”

“Thank you.”

“But why, of all of them, choose the Veil-Rending True Art?”

“Because it feels best suited to me.”

Each of the Five had its own qualities. All were equal in level and difficulty.

The choice always lay with the practitioner.

After silently observing his son, Yeon Wi asked again.

“There is something I must ask. Only now have I granted you permission. Unless I permit it, none in this household may touch the Five Divine Arts.”

“I understand.”

“And yet you told the Twin Guardians beforehand that you would begin training in the Veil-Rending True Art.”

Yeon Wi’s question was not to chastise arrogance.

“Did you know the mnemonic formulas for it?”

Indeed—without the Clan Lord’s leave, no one, not even blood kin, could practice the Five. Which meant the formulas had never leaked.

Yet his son had declared he would practice it.

After a pause, Hojeong spoke.

“Not just the Veil-Rending True Art.”

“...Hm?”

“I know the formulas for all Five Divine Arts.”

Even Yeon Wi could not hide his surprise. His eyes widened slightly, betraying his thoughts.

As for Jipyeong, he looked ready to faint.

“You know the formulas for all five?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

Because you taught them to me, Father.

Back then—when the clan was under siege, when warriors shed blood on the front lines, Yeon Wi had entrusted the formulas to both sons: the originals to Hojeong, the copies to Jipyeong, intending to send them to safety.

But Jipyeong had died, cut down while trying to break through the enemy cordon.

Hojeong had fled in tears, burning with vengeance, yet bound by helplessness and the burden of reviving the clan.

Three months later, he met his teacher, and in time conquered the Demonic Path.

“Did you enter the Martial Repository?”

That was where the Yeon Clan stored its martial classics, guarded by their best warriors.

“I never entered without permission.”

“Then?”

Hojeong gazed straight at his father.

“You showed them to me.”

“...What?”

How he longed to tell him everything—that he had returned from the future, that he knew what was to come, the life he had lived.

But he clenched his fists.

Not yet.

Even if his father believed him, now was not the time.

“You claim I showed you the Five Divine Arts? When?”

“When I was young. You took me to the Repository several times.”

Yeon Wi furrowed his brows.

“When you had just begun martial training?”

“Yes.”

“And you still remember the formulas you saw then?”

“I do.”

It was the only excuse he could give.

In truth, his memory was far sharper now than in childhood. With his upper dantian refined, it was inevitable.

He hated lying to his father—but there was no other choice.

For the sake of what’s to come, this is best.

The greatest art of the Yeon Clan was not the Five Divine Arts themselves.

But only by mastering all five could one grasp it.

Declaring that he knew them all was laying the groundwork for the future. For once he mastered the Veil-Rending True Art, he meant to reach even that hidden supreme art.

To reach the peak, he had to.

“You still recall formulas you glimpsed more than ten years ago...”

Yeon Wi shook his head.

“Why have you never spoken of this?”

“What use is the Five Divine Arts to someone struggling with basics?”

“And now that you’ve mastered the Heart Method, it’s worth saying?”

“Yes.”

“...It is troubling.”

“The formulas of one Divine Art already exceed twelve hundred characters.”

He shook his head slowly.

“Your memory is remarkable.”

What surprised Hojeong was that his father did not demand proof.

“So you know all five. Even so, was there any need to rush? Unless you meant to boast of your memory, what urgency ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ was there?”

There is.

He could only scream it inwardly.

But aloud he said:

“I only wish to learn as quickly as possible.”

“When practicing Divine Arts, calm and caution are vital. Do not forget this.”

“Yes.”

Yeon Wi leaned back in his chair.

“Very well. I grant you permission to train the Veil-Rending True Art.”

“Thank you.”

“Come here tomorrow morning before breakfast. I will instruct you in the foundation, and guide your Flying Swallow Qi into the True Qi of the Veil-Rending Art.”

“Yes.”

It would be faster to cultivate alone, but this time too, he chose to follow his father’s lead.

No matter how urgent, there were bonds one must honor. For him, that was family and affection.

I’ll take his guidance for the beginning. The rest, I’ll handle myself.

If such a small step meant one more word shared with his father, that was enough.

Step by step, slowly, they would draw closer. At least in this life, he would leave no regrets toward his kin.

“You may go now.”

“Father—one thing.”

“What is it?”

“Has there been word from Namgung?”

He asked just in case—but the answer startled him.

“There has.”

His brows furrowed.

“A message? Already? Surely not an apology?”

“Not from the Clan Lord.”

“Of course not. With the distance to Anhui, that would be impossible so soon.”

“Only from the Outer Compound Master. A letter apologizing for the incident and for his niece’s rudeness.”

A personal apology from Daesan in a single night?

Hojeong’s eyes turned cold.

This is bad.

A man so hot-tempered, yet so quick to apologize?

Perhaps. But Namgung Daesan was not only an Outer Compound Master, he was the Clan Lord’s brother. No matter how lacking in justification, he would not have humbled himself so swiftly.

What is he scheming?

Hojeong muttered unconsciously.

Watching him, Yeon Wi’s eyes no longer held only sternness.

“This matter—I will handle it. You two may withdraw.”

“Yes.”

Hojeong and Jipyeong bowed deeply and departed.

Yeon Wi looked at the cold tea, then drained Hojeong’s cup as well.

Leaning back in his chair, his expression remained as blunt as ever.

“...It didn’t take twenty years after all.”