Was it because of what she said that Seol Yeong suddenly recalled Namgung Chumyeong’s composed face?
He quickly turned away, covering his mouth with a fist, and gagged.
“I’m sorry, noona. My stomach just…”
“So naïve.”
“I’m not naïve…”
“Anyone seeing that for the first time would be shocked. No need to be embarrassed.”
Yes—truthfully, even Yeo Il had been quite shocked. It had been a long time since she last saw a face mask.
Only a rare few could craft such masks. Their number was scarce, and their whereabouts elusive. Even assassin sects specializing in contract killings found them difficult to obtain.
Which could only mean one thing:
A formidable force has infiltrated the Namgung clan.
Who is the one impersonating Namgung Chumyeong with that mask? Where are they from? What is their purpose?
All signs pointed Yeo Il to suspect Salmak.
But the Salmak were supposed to have vanished without a trace.
Over the past six months traveling the martial world, Yeo Il had seen it for herself—Salmak was gone.
She had scoured rumors tied to them out of caution, but nothing useful surfaced. Only wildly exaggerated nonsense.
Thus, she didn’t believe the imposter Chumyeong was Salmak. More importantly, this kind of brazen infiltration wasn’t their style.
Then does Namgung Jeokmyeong know the current Chumyeong is a fake?
Things are getting more complicated than I expected.
It was too early to be sure.
But one thing was certain:
A calm but massive storm was brewing inside the Namgung clan.
A few days later, Namgung Jeokmyeong sent someone to Yeo Il.
“We’ve tracked down one of her relatives in a village near Hubei Province. The Young Lord says he’ll be sending people there shortly, and asks that you wait just a little longer.”
Not only did he get results quickly, but he even informed her directly. It was unexpected.
I thought he’d stall for time and drag his feet.
But for Yeo Il, it was welcome news.
“Tell Lord Jeokmyeong that I’ll be joining them as well.”
Surprised, the servant repeated with disbelief.
“You, Lady Soyou… personally?”
“Yes, I wish to see my mother’s relatives with my own eyes.”
“Understood.”
He bowed respectfully and left, but returned in less than two hours.
“The Young Lord understands your feelings, but he says it’s impossible for you to travel such a distance—more than four days—while still unwell. He asks that you remain here in the estate.”
At those words, tears began to stream from Yeo Il’s eyes.
Startled, the servant bowed low in a panic. After a while of silent weeping, Yeo Il began to breathe heavily, cough, and eventually collapsed.
“L-Lady! Lady Soyou!”
Chang-a rushed in and caught her, helping her to the bed with the flustered servant’s help. Eyes brimming with tears, she began fanning her weak mistress.
“Oh no, my lady… Her heart is so delicate that once she starts suffering inside, it lasts an entire season…”
With tears in her eyes, Chang-a pleaded with the servant.
“Couldn’t you please—please convey this to him kindly? She was driven from the clan as a child, lived in exile, and after returning to Anhui, she’s done nothing but pray for news of her mother! That’s all she’s ever wanted—not riches, not status, just that!”
“…”
“And now we’ve finally found a lead. What if she gets worse from heartbreak…”
“…Haa. Very well. I’ll report that the young lady collapsed.”
That night, Yeo Il cried well past sundown.
“Hrk… sob…”
Of course, half the weeping was Chang-a’s.
Snacking on treats and browsing through illustrated books Yeo Il gave her, she sobbed until the hour of the pig, when she finally fell asleep.
Was it because word spread that Soyou collapsed from sorrow?
That night, for the fourth time in three days, an assassin came.
“If you surrender your neck quietly, this will end painlessly—urk.”
Naturally, the assassin was subdued effortlessly.
And as always, Yeo Il was about to ask, “Who sent you?”
But then, she noticed something odd about the man’s gaze as he looked up at her.
He was clearly flustered—but also calm. There was no desperation, no sign that he was fighting for his life.
It was as if he knew she wouldn’t kill him.
Yeo Il’s expression turned cold.
“Who are you?”
“…”
“Who told you I’d let you live?”
The man’s eyes widened and Yeo Il struck his pressure point, knocking him out.
Seol Yeong, approaching lazily through the dark, clicked his tongue when he saw the unconscious assassin.
“What now? Should I just throw him into the garden like before?”
Yeo Il shook her head slowly as she looked down at the man.
“No. I’m thinking.”
“Tch. Persistent little pests, aren’t they? That makes four now. After all that, they still send assassins? Do they really want to kill you?”
“There’s only one explanation. Either all the failed assassins were intercepted before they could report back—or like you said, someone’s sending them without really wanting to kill me.”
Seol Yeong blinked, fully awake now.
“You believe it’s the latter?”
“This one… he knew I’d let him live.”
“So what, someone’s sending assassins not to kill you—but just to send them? And that someone is Namgung Jeokmyeong?”
“Perhaps.”
After a moment’s thought, Yeo Il pulled out brush and paper and began to write something.
“Attach this to his chest and throw him in the garden as usual. But this time, watch to see if anyone comes to collect him.”
“And if someone does? Should I snatch them by the scruff and bring them in?”
She shook her head gently at the suggestion and explained the next steps.
Near dawn, with a pale full moon hidden behind clouds…
An ear-splitting scream echoed through the Namgung estate.
“Intruder! There’s an intruder! A very suspicious one killed someone and fled!”
It was loud enough to wake the dead, certainly enough to rouse anyone sleeping. Yeo Il’s lips curled into a faint smile where she lay in bed. Indeed, no one grabbed attention better than Seol Yeong.
The assassins I let go… they really were being retrieved secretly until now.
But not this time.
Surely the other side was flustered by the slip. One by one, lights flicked on across the dark estate, and voices and footsteps began to stir. But unlike the others, Yeo Il didn’t rush out. She merely sat in her chair and waited.
How much time passed?
The hurried footsteps she heard from the corridor flowed toward her like wind, drawing ever closer.
As she listened, she recalled the message she had attached to the assassin’s chest
“I killed your target.”
A sentence no one would understand.
A loud bang echoed and the sliding door slammed open.
