Black and White Martial Emperor (Wuxia Novel)

Ming Holim closed his fist.
Puff!
The shattered cup turned to powder.

That wasn’t something you do by hardening the hand with external training. Turning glass shards to dust by releasing internal energy was a feat in itself.
“An accident, you say?”
Yeon Hojeong nodded.

Interest stirred across Ming Holim’s face.
“And you are?”
“Focus on the man you were facing.”

“What was that?”
Ming Holim burst out laughing.
“Amusing. Are you, by chance, from Green Mountain in Jiangsu?”
Without answering, Hojeong fetched a fresh cup, poured, and drank—slowly. He even propped one leg up, the picture of a libertine who treated pleasure houses like his own front gate.

Ming Holim’s eyes brightened.
Then Tang Yangseon spoke without even turning.
“Trash. Do one more useless thing and I kill you first.”

Hojeong still didn’t answer.
Tang wasn’t expecting a reply. The only person who mattered to him was Ming Holim.
He took a step.

Fssss.
A faint heat-haze rose at his feet.
It was the Tang Clan’s Three Yang Skill. Brought to great consummation, it was said to awaken on its own their secret, the Guiding Reversal Three Yang Returning-to-Origin Skill—a high-difficulty art.

Even Ming Holim couldn’t stay at ease forever. Beyond pure skill, the very nature of poison meant he couldn’t dismiss Tang.
Tang ground his teeth.
“I’ll take a handful of blood and—”

Another whistle split the air.
Fweee! Pop!
The powdered cup scattered in every direction.

Unlike before, Ming Holim’s fist had shot out. The cup struck by that fist had turned to powder.
His gaze deepened.
Formidable.
The fist that broke the cup was faintly trembling. There was no pain, which meant the force had been enough to jar the Ming Clan’s internal energy.

Relaxing his hand, Ming Holim laughed.
“Another accident, friend?”
Hojeong showed his empty hand.

“Accident.”
“Haha! A friend who has a lot of accidents. That aside—”
“…”

“I wonder if you haven’t poked the jackal’s temper for nothing.”
Vmmmmm!!
Murderous intent leaked from Tang Yangseon, head bowed.

Not poison-qi—killing will. And it was aimed not at Ming Holim, but at Yeon Hojeong.
“Yeon Clan trash.”
“…”

“Do I amuse you?”
“…”
“Do I look like the kind of man who lets garbage like you insult him and walks away?”

Hojeong still didn’t answer. Finding no empty cup nearby, he had picked up Je Gal Ahyeon’s and was filling it.
Namgung Hyun, just back from calming the guards, caught that sight and grimaced.
Han Homyeong shouted:

“Young Master! Restrain your anger!”
Tang turned.
Ahyeon flinched. The eyes he leveled on Hojeong were filmed with mania.

“I’ll ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) make you pay for ignoring me.”
Ahyeon moved.
“Don’t—!”

Thunk!
At the vicious sound, everyone’s eyes went wide.
Hojeong flicked his hand. The cup was gone; only a few drops of wine wet his fingers.

Tang’s face went blank.
Drip.
Blood coursed down from his split forehead.

Thud!
He toppled straight back. Struck by the cup Hojeong had snapped out, he’d blacked out on his feet.
Ming Holim’s face hardened.

Hojeong, shaking off his hand, rose from his seat—unhurried.
“Spreading poison at a drinking table isn’t manners.”
Silence fell.

The suddenness of it left everyone gaping. Han Homyeong, Tang’s bodyguard, was more shocked than anyone.
Tang Yangseon had fainted—from a wine cup.
The Tang Clan’s mainstays were poison and hidden weapons. For their heir to fail to block a mere cup staggered them all.

Ahyeon’s eyes wavered.
“Are—are you all right?”
Hojeong still didn’t answer. More precisely, it wasn’t a moment to answer anyone.

Similar? Or not? I still can’t tell. But…
From Ming Holim’s refined qi emanated a nasty battle-hunger.
An off note he couldn’t pin down.

The stable orthodoxy of the Orthodox martial world on the surface, and beneath it a singular temperament. And the release of force.
The way he’d shattered the cup—this release of force followed a method Hojeong had never seen before.
It wasn’t the internal energy or release of force of the ones who attacked the Yeon house. It was a color he’d never encountered.

But one thing was certain.
Different as their hues were, Ming Holim and the assailants shared the same undertone—darkness. A contact point the Je Gal and the Peng lacked.
Flash. Flash.

As the Jade Wave True Formula began to run, Hojeong’s pupils washed a pale blue.
Bzzzz! Bzzzzzz!
It was like meshed gears turning in a corner of his mind.

His concentration spiked savagely. His qi slid along Ming Holim’s current and, in a breath, punched down toward the man’s dantian.
…?!
Tension gathered at Ming Holim’s throat.

He’s reading me?
The other’s keen gaze felt like hundreds of vipers loosed to coil around his body.
Hup.

Ming Holim unconsciously held his breath. As the breath stopped, qi fixed; his internal energy bound tight.
Shhhh!
The vipers feeling along his body lifted their heads, tongues flicking.

The reaction was immediate. Forcing his flow to still made the probing qi hesitate.
Hojeong’s face tightened.
Tssss.

The rolling Jade Wave True Qi heaved. He disliked the counter.
“H—!”
Ahyeon held her breath without meaning to. Of everyone, she felt Hojeong’s shift the clearest.

“Brother!”
Yeon Jipyeong came running from afar.
Ahyeon hurried to bar him.

“Sis?”
“Wait.”
Eyes trembling, she stared at Hojeong’s back.

“Don’t go near him.”
“B-but my brother—!”
She knew it by instinct. They couldn’t stop Hojeong now.

Jipyeong knew it too. Something about his brother was different.
With our strength now, neither I nor Jipyeong can stop him. In that case…
Do we leave it because we can’t stop it?

No. A single misstep and this gathering of the Seven Great Clans would carry a stain forever. It wasn’t just a matter of who got hurt—this touched the face of the Orthodox martial world.
Of course, what worried her most was Hojeong. A scuffle was one thing; making an enemy of the Tang of Sichuan was never wise.
Ahyeon called to Je Gal Jun:

“Tell Brother Namgung to halt the banquet! Have each house’s guards take their young masters back to their lodgings!”
“Yes, Sister!”
Just then, a groan sounded.

Amazingly, it was Tang Yangseon. One strike had put him out, but he woke quickly. If nothing else, his recovery was strong.
Whap!
Han Homyeong darted to his side.

“Young Master! Are you all right?”
Bewilderment clouded Tang’s face. He didn’t even know what had happened to him.
“What is this? Where’d that bastard go?”

“Young Master, this is no time—!”
“Let go!”
As he scanned about, Tang’s eyes fixed on Hojeong’s back.

Fire leapt in them.
“You trash. I’ll kill you!”
Whap!

Shoving Han Homyeong aside, Tang lunged and drove a fist for Hojeong’s back.
Mad as he was, striking a man from behind wasn’t a warrior’s way. Those rushing in to stop him gasped again at his lack of discipline.
His fist, charged with Three Yang Qi, sped to within a breath of Hojeong’s Mingmen Acupoint.

A cruel smile tugged at Tang’s lips.
I’ll make you die in pain.
Then Hojeong moved.

Tak!
“Huh?”
Tang’s eyes widened.

His body stopped exactly as he’d thrown the punch. Hojeong’s hand clamped his forearm.
Yet Hojeong’s eyes stayed on Ming Holim. He’d only answered the murderous intent; he had no interest in Tang to begin with.
His instincts disagreed.

The minimum decorum he’d held to as the Yeon Clan’s firstborn gave way before the Dark Emperor’s instincts—the man called the worst grandmaster in the history of the Demonic Path.
Crack!!
“Aaagh!”

Tang folded where he stood. Under brutal pressure, the bones of his arm snapped.
He’d crushed a man’s forearm with grip strength alone. Monstrous power.
But he couldn’t let him drift off like before. Hojeong still had hold of the broken arm.

“Ghh—! L-let… go!”
Cra-ack!
“Uwaaaah!”

Tang writhed in hideous pain.
He couldn’t even think to raise his poison arts. The first bone-break of his life was caving his mind in.
But he was the Tang heir. The pain was new, but ten years of training didn’t vanish.

Sssss!
Violet smoke rose off him. His body realized on its own: the only way out of this pain was to shake the man off.
“Yiii!”

With his good left, Tang smashed at Hojeong’s shoulder.
Thud! Crack!
“Gaaah!!”

Astonishingly, Hojeong took the blow without the slightest injury.
It was Tang’s left hand that broke. Rebound crushed him; his right shoulder even popped forward out of its socket. Hojeong hadn’t let go.
Vmmmm.

The crowd held its breath.
Around Hojeong, a translucent, hex-patterned carapace rose into view.
An unconscious manifestation of the Four Spirit Arts—the Black Tortoise’s famed absolute defense, the Northern Heaven Twelve Walls.

“Uh—uhh—”
Mucus leaked from Tang’s eyes and nose.
Flash!

Hojeong’s gaze flared again. With the source of killing intent faltering, the brutality he’d kept shuttered was prodded awake.
He looked down at Tang.
“Huk!”

Tang, shuddering, went stiff as if lightning had struck.
Meeting Hojeong’s glass-clear eyes, his heart rate doubled in a blink. His hands and feet went cold; heat flared along both sides of his uvula.
It felt like his entire nervous system was coming apart. Parts of him burned; parts went cold. His pores opened and shut of their own accord.

Dribble—
Wet spread down his trousers. His bladder let go.
A savage killing aura edged Hojeong’s smile.

It was the Dark Emperor’s true killing will, shown for the first time since his return. With Tang’s level, there was no counter to it.
“Grrrk—!”
At last Tang foamed at the mouth and passed out. This time, he wouldn’t be waking soon.

Hojeong’s gaze grew darker still. At this pace, he meant to crush the other’s mind outright.
And then—
No.

Beyond the predator’s instinct, a cold reason returned.
This isn’t the boy to worry about.
Hojeong’s eyes wavered.

Flash.
The glare of killing will cleared to his usual sharpness.
Slip—

Only then did Tang’s body regain its freedom. His pulverized arm hung in a grotesque curve, like a dead snake’s body.
“Y-Young Master!”
Han Homyeong wanted to sprint to Tang. To check his safety—and to swing the iron whip at the man who’d done this.

But all he could do was hover at a distance. A spillover of that uncontrolled killing aura had reached him too.
“Ruined my taste.”
Crack.

Hojeong rolled his shoulder out of habit.
Ming Holim flinched.
“You called yourself the Third Young Master of the Ming Clan of the Nine Provinces, didn’t you?”

“…?!”
“Would you keep me company for a little while?”