Chapter 2
“Alright. Speak.”
Even Cheongjindo, Cheongun’s father, sometimes felt his knees tremble under that gaze.
After all, his father was the man who built Cheongeumjang into what it was — a living legend.
“Cheongun seems to have a bit of talent for martial arts.”
“A bit, you say?”
“The Three Great Masters said his talent isn’t ordinary.”
“Do you remember what I’ve always told you, my son?”
“…Yes. I remember.”
“In an extraordinary family, mediocrity is poison.”
A special family must carry something special — a strength to protect what they have.
“Good that you remember. But know this — a talent that cannot reach greatness becomes a curse.”
Cheongjin never forgot that line.
Cheongeumjang was not a place where just any talent could shine.
Especially not in martial arts.
You can hire skill, if you have the wealth.
But you cannot buy the ability to create wealth.
Why? Because that requires trust.
Even if someone embezzles a bit of money here and there, without wisdom or understanding, they can do nothing — they won’t even realize what’s happening.
“I don’t know for sure yet. He’s only five years old.”
“Can he read?”
The former head of Cheongeumjang — though retired — was still an extremely busy man.
“He learned to read at three.”
“Hmm… good.”
That was a surprisingly positive reaction — for him, anyway.
At that moment, a gentle voice called from outside.
“Father, may we come in?”
“Come in.”
The door — so tall it could have been a fortress gate — opened, and Sowol entered with Cheongwol.
First impressions always mattered more than people thought.
The boy’s expression was blank, his gaze direct.
He was staring straight at his grandfather.
‘Oh? Not bad…’
It wasn’t affection — it was evaluation.
A child trying to understand the man before him.
Only blood can look upon blood this way — not with reverence, but with awareness.
“Greetings to the former head,” Sowol said politely.
And Cheongwol followed.
“Greetings to the former head.”
His tone and words were mature for his age, but his movements still had a child’s softness.
Ironically, that balance pleased the old man.
One was born of temperament, the other of innocence — both genuine.
‘Former head,’ he said.
He knew he was speaking to his grandfather, yet chose to use the formal title.
That meant no one had instructed him — he simply understood the situation.
“Come here, my grandson.”
“Yes, Grandfather.”
The title changed the moment he made it personal.
Which meant the boy knew exactly when the conversation turned from formal to familial.
It wasn’t about the nature of the meeting — it was about the judgment of the one in power.
Since the former head had said “my grandson,” the setting shifted from official to private.
“They say you’re five this year.”
“Yes.”
“Show me your hand.”
Normally, this visit would’ve ended after a quick look.
But when Cheongun obediently extended his small hand, the old man placed his fingers on the boy’s wrist — and channeled internal energy.
“Hm…”
Cheongin, the former head of Cheongeumjang, was not only a supreme martial artist — his true genius lay elsewhere.
In wealth.
He had an innate gift for creating and growing it.
“Ho…”
As he sent his energy into the boy, he felt it immediately.
‘So pure…’
A clean, refined flow of energy rested in the child’s dantian.
Small, yes — but the fact that he had already formed one at age five was astonishing.
To possess a dantian at that age meant divine talent.
‘So it isn’t a mediocre gift after all,’ he thought.
Because in this vast land, an unexceptional gift is worse than none.
Cheongun, who had spent a lifetime doubting his own limits while amassing power and wealth, knew this truth too well.
Just look at Hwang Injang, his successor, and the state of things now…
“What is it you wish to do, Cheongun?”
Without hesitation, the boy replied.
“I want to do everything.”
“Everything, you say?”
How many people in this world could do everything they wished?
Even Cheongun couldn’t.
“Then let me ask you this — what do you wish to become?”
At that question, Cheongun’s expression changed slightly.
There was something childish about it — yet confident.
Not an ounce of deceit.
“I want to become the strongest under heaven.”
“The strongest under heaven, is it?”
Was it childish arrogance?
A dream born of ignorance?
Cheongin didn’t think so.
When combined with his earlier words, it became something else entirely.
He wanted to do everything — and become the strongest in the world.
In this land, power comes in three forms: strength (力), wealth (財), and influence (勢).
To hold one of them costs a lifetime — and even then, it’s one in a million.
But to hold all three?
Not once in all of recorded history had such a person existed.
“I see. I understand. You may go now.”
“Yes, Grandfather.”
With a graceful bow, Cheongun left the room alongside Sowol —
his small steps steady, his eyes still unwavering.
