I Became the Owner of the Heavenly Flower Palace-Chapter 66: Repayment

A shockwave tore through the Iron Gate Sect.

The Ghost-Slaying Sword, Jang Cheok, was dead. Thirty of their elite disciples returned with severe internal injuries.

But the true scandal—the part that rattled the foundation—was where it had happened.

It had all occurred during an assault on none other than the Soaring Willow Sword Sect.

A sect long thought dead. A ruin kept standing on name alone.

Bang!

Sect Master Ban Mushim slammed open the door.

On the bed lay his younger brother, Ban Mu-ryang. The Outer Hall Lord opened his eyes.

The attendants at his side backed away quickly, filing out of the room.

Click.

As the door shut behind them, Ban Mushim stepped forward and examined his brother's face.

There were no major visible injuries, but his complexion was grim.

“You alive?” he asked.

“Brother...”

Ban Mu-ryang’s voice sounded like it had been dragged up from his lungs with a rusty hook.

Ban Mushim tried to push down the storm in his chest.

“What the hell happened out there?”

“The guests... were experts. Real masters,” Mu-ryang croaked.

Ban Mushim’s brow furrowed deep.

So the Soaring Willow, that fallen house, had somehow taken in a Wudang Taoist and martial masters as guests? Unbelievable luck.

“They killed the Ghost-Slaying Sword?”

“Yes. And I think they might also be...” cough “...the ones who attacked Junggwan.”

Ban Mushim’s gaze flared with fury.

His youngest son, Ban Junggwan, still hadn’t regained consciousness.

“What did you say?”

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“You heard the same, didn’t you?” Mu-ryang wheezed. “The monsters were a man and two women...”

That description alone wasn’t enough to identify someone.

That’s why they’d been searching for a distinctive red carriage.

“It’s them. I’m sure of it.”

If those people were the same ones from Soaring Willow, then the implications were different.

This wasn’t just an accidental clash—it was a setup.

They’d been lured into a trap.

Grit.

Ban Mushim ground his teeth.

Mu-ryang shrank under the look in his brother’s eyes.

“B-Brother...”

“Don’t worry about anything else,” Ban Mushim said, his voice quiet but firm. “Focus on recovering.”

But the colder his voice, the more Mu-ryang feared.

“I’ll deal with them myself.”

“But... Brother! They’re masters. You can’t attack them carelessly—”

The gap was just too wide.

Who else could take down Jang Cheok with beads?

Who could flatten thirty elite disciples with a gesture?

Even remembering it now sent cold chills through him.

“Mu-ryang.”

Ban Mushim stared straight into his eyes.

“I’m no idiot who just lets people hit me without hitting back.”

He turned away.

There was no stopping him now.

Mu-ryang knew it.

“Rest,” Ban Mushim said softly.

And then he left.

Click.

His eyes, as he passed through the doorway, burned with hatred and bloodlust.

That day, a single disciple of the Iron Gate Sect rode toward Kaifeng at full gallop.

In his cloak was a personal letter, handwritten by Ban Mu-ryang.

****

Soaring Willow Sword Sect

Ji Yeongryeong knelt before Jincheon, one knee to the ground, head bowed low.

“I deeply apologize for acting on my own without your permission during the confrontation.”

Her voice remained quiet as she continued.

“And I can’t express the depth of my gratitude for your help in saving my sect. We owe you a debt beyond words.”

“There’s no need for that,” Jincheon replied. “If anything, I worry that we overstepped.”

It wasn’t the kind of answer she expected from a martial artist.

No arrogance. No veiled pride.

And suddenly, Ji Yeongryeong understood why even Wudang’s old Taoist, Cheongyang, had spoken well of this man.

“Thank you,” she said, still with her head bowed.

But she wasn’t finished.

“Still, I can’t allow your presence to endanger you further. Please, I must ask that you leave the Soaring Willow.”

A sudden request to leave.

Jincheon wasn’t offended—just puzzled.

“...Will you be all right?”

The Iron Gate Sect wouldn’t stop.

He knew it, and she surely did too.

It wasn’t really his place to say it, but could Soaring Willow resist them alone?

“This is our matter.”

Her voice was firm.

In truth, it was a gesture of kindness.

In the martial world, grudges were poison. The less entangled one became, the better.

Especially for someone like Jincheon, who had much to keep hidden.

Huh.

Jincheon sighed internally.

He finally understood why the dying Jang Cheok had accused Ji Yeongryeong of clinging to pride.

But sometimes, pride is everything. Especially for a warrior.

“...I see. Very well,” he said softly.

He didn’t have the luxury to linger here anyway.

Ji Yeongryeong bowed deeply again—but Jincheon hadn’t finished speaking.

“It’s already late. We’ll leave tomorrow.”

He paused, then added, “As for the damage caused during the attack, I’d like to compensate—no, settle the matter properly. Is that acceptable?”

He meant the shattered buildings and structures.

“There’s no need—”

Jincheon gently cut her off.

“Is that acceptable?”

Swish.

Ji Yeongryeong slowly raised her head.

Her deep eyes met his in silence.

There was something in her gaze—graceful, dignified, and quietly striking.

Jincheon coughed and looked away.

Hrmm.

She kept looking at him for a moment longer, as if committing his face to memory.

Then she bowed once more.

“Yes. That will suffice.”

It was a strange answer, but she said it with sincerity, and Jincheon responded in kind.

Evening fell upon the Soaring Willow Sword Sect, drawing a chaotic day to its close.

****

Night had fallen.

Jincheon sat in his room, slowly savoring a cup of tea.

Commander of the North Wind, Neung Gayeon, sat across from him with a teacup before her. Behind him, standing as always, was Ilyo—black cord still wrapped around her wrist.

There was no need for it tonight, not with Neung Gayeon present. But unless physically forced to part from him, Ilyo kept the cord on at all times.

“Commander Neung,” Jincheon said.

“Yes, Young Lord.”

“What do you think will come of this?”

It was a question without context, but Gayeon understood at once.

“For now, there are many ways it could unfold... but in the end, unless one side gives up, it won’t stop.”

“Truly?”

“Yes.”

Power does not tolerate rivals.

The struggle between martial factions for control over Luoyang would continue until one emerged victorious.

“Soaring Willow never seemed particularly interested in Luoyang.”

“But the Iron Gate Sect is. And they’ve already chosen to fight.”

Ji Yeongryeong’s sword made that clear. So did the death of the Ghost-Slaying Sword, Jang Cheok.

Jincheon nodded. He couldn’t deny her logic.

“Ilyo,” he said. “What’s the best way to repay the harm they suffered because of me?”

There was no doubt the attackers had come for him.

Just yesterday, he’d been considering leaving behind a modest repair fund.

But things had escalated beyond that. The servants were even being sent away for safety. At this point, Soaring Willow stood on the edge of a cliff. What good would a few coins do?

“They’ve already said they don’t blame you, Young Lord. There’s no need to worry,” Ilyo replied.

“But I can’t accept that in good conscience.”

Strictly speaking, just having driven off the Iron Gate Sect could be called repayment enough.

But that wasn’t his doing. It was Neung Gayeon’s. And Ilyo’s.

To let it end there, for Jincheon, felt shameless.

“May I make a suggestion?” Gayeon asked suddenly.

“You may.”

“May I be the one to repay the debt?”

“You, Commander?”

“Yes.”

Gayeon was a master.

Whatever method she’d used today, it had proven beyond doubt that her strength was exceptional.

And Ilyo too—he had known she was talented, but he hadn’t imagined she could throw beads like that.

“What do you have in mind?”

If Gayeon had a plan, it was worth hearing. But then again, her sense of normalcy didn’t always match the world’s.

He couldn’t blindly hand over the reins.

“To answer that,” she said, “I must first ask—what do you believe, Young Lord?”

“Believe?”

“Yes. Do you think trials only have meaning if one overcomes them alone?”

Jincheon thought for a moment. The answer came easily.

“It’s not wrong... but I don’t think that’s always true,” he said, his voice calm.

“There’s nothing more foolish than being obsessed with ‘meaning.’ If that were the case, why would teachers exist? Why would we care for children? Why not just abandon them and say, ‘figure it out yourself’?”

As he spoke, his tone grew firmer.

“In my view, what matters is choosing one’s own path—and walking it. Sometimes you run, sometimes you hide, and when necessary, you accept help. That, too, is wisdom.”

Neung Gayeon bowed respectfully.

“I understand. In that case... I do have a way.”

“What is it?”

“I’ve observed the young lady of this house. She has talent. Her internal foundation isn’t bad. But she seems to linger at the threshold, unsure of her next step. Perhaps I could offer her a bit of guidance.”

‘The young lady’—she meant Ji Yeongryeong.

Jincheon raised an eyebrow. “You? A teacher?”

Gayeon lifted her head and smiled.

“Yes. She’ll reach it eventually. There’s no harm in helping her arrive a little sooner.”

That, Jincheon had no objection to.

He didn’t know the martial world well—but even he understood the value of being taught by a master.

“Very well. Go ahead.”

“Thank you.”

Gayeon smiled with graceful elegance.

Jincheon raised his teacup.

He still felt uneasy about the situation at Soaring Willow, but he had done everything within his power.

Ji Yeongryeong’s brilliant eyes surfaced in his memory.

And with that came the thought of two others.

Gi Seoran and Po Eunryeong... I wonder if they’re doing well.

If he’d known things would turn out like this—if he’d known he wouldn’t be able to slip away—perhaps he should have brought them along.

A twinge of regret pricked at his chest.

****

The night wind brushed against the city wall.

Above, torches burned. A few guards stood watch—but only for show. There was no real threat in this region.

Two women stood atop the wall, cloaked in shadow, gazing down at the glowing sprawl of the great city of Taiyuan.

“It’s beautiful,” said Po Eunryeong, her silver hair shimmering faintly. “Don’t you think it’s amazing?”

Gi Seoran stood beside her.

“It’s no different from Nanzhou.”

“Pfft. That’s because you’re always in Nanzhou. I’ve barely even seen Jucheon more than a few times.”

“Pointless,” Gi Seoran muttered. “It won’t make you stronger.”

Her voice was cool, and her gaze sharper as she looked out across the night-lit city.

“...Still. The Red Dragon is something else.”

Po Eunryeong’s voice carried a kind of reverence.

Gi Seoran turned toward her.

“We’re just Heavenly Blossoms. Yet he let us accompany him on a martial journey normally reserved for the Twelve Zodiac Generals.”

“You’re /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ supposed to call him Palace Master when you’re outside,” Seoran corrected.

“And this isn’t a journey. It’s a search—for our predecessors. Don’t forget that.”

“Ugh, same thing,” Po Eunryeong said, sticking her tongue out.

“Heavenly Blossoms do have the right to make autonomous decisions in the field, you know? So technically, this is a martial journey. Right, Lady Gi?”

Gi Seoran didn’t answer.

But she knew most of their guards probably thought the same thing.

“What about Lady Huimun?”

“She’s resting. Collapsed after just a few days of travel. Fragile.”

“No word from the other search units?”

“Not yet. It’s just beginning. So for now, I guess this city’s our command center for the north.”

Po Eunryeong looked over the city, eyes gleaming with anticipation.

Gi Seoran found it absurd—but she, too, couldn’t deny the spark of excitement growing in her chest.

This place—Zhongyuan—was where true masters, the Twelve Zodiac Generals, came to refine their martial paths.

Maybe...

Maybe she could find something here. A revelation. A spark.

Maybe then, she could finally sharpen the blade that had always felt too dull.

The sword that wasn’t chosen.

The sword too weak to protect the Red Dragon.

Whhhrrr.

The night wind stirred around them.

But neither of them felt the cold.