Black and White Martial Emperor (Wuxia Novel)

Clatter!
To everyone’s surprise, the one who sprang up from his seat was none other than Yeon Jipyeong.

“I’ve held my tongue long enough, but don’t you think you’ve gone too far?”
“What?!”
“No matter if you are a daughter of the Namgung Clan, there are words one ought to say, and words one ought not!”

Jipyeong’s voice rang out like a scolding thunder.
“Apologize to Yang Wu!”
Namgung Sanghwa, ready to spit another string of curses, tilted her head in momentary confusion.

Apologize… to her? That’s what she expected. But no—he told her to apologize to that worthless insect sprawled on the floor.
What was this nonsense?
“To strike the cheek of one who did no wrong—do you call that the law of a prestigious household? Is that the etiquette taught to the scions of the Namgung Clan?”
“…What?”

“Improper words and unprovoked violence! It is plainly your fault, Young Lady! Apologize to Yang Wu at once!”
He stood tall and firm, his voice ringing with dignity.
Though a little unpolished, Yeon Jipyeong resembled a young bamboo stalk—straight, unyielding, and brimming with life.

Yang Wu looked up at him, eyes trembling. Even Lee Jeonghak’s gaze toward Jipyeong had shifted strangely.
Namgung Sanghwa muttered in disbelief.
“What is that idiot blabbering about?”

To her, Yang Wu was no different from the countless common riffraff of the martial world.
Even a dog she raised at least wagged its tail. This brat not only failed to wag but had the audacity to bark.
She’d shown generosity just by not breaking his legs outright.

“If you do not apologize, you will only disgrace yourself. I’ll say it one last time. Apologize.”
“Disgrace?”
Namgung Sanghwa burst into shrill laughter.

The high, piercing sound dripped with mockery. It didn’t mean her anger had subsided.
“You think because people praise your Yeon Clan as one of the Seven Great Clans that you can bare your guts before me?”
“Even if I were the son of a declining martial hall, if my learning was sound, I would act as I do now. Because I was taught this was what is right.”

There was no hesitation in Jipyeong’s eyes.
“It seems you were not taught rightly.”
Namgung Sanghwa’s laughter ceased.

Wuuuum!
“You insolent wretch!”
Killing intent rippled in her gaze.
The atmosphere of the fourth floor turned twice as frigid as before.

Words exchanged in heated argument could perhaps be overlooked. But once killing intent was unleashed, matters were altogether different.
Jipyeong’s face hardened.
“Pitiful creature.”

“Shut your mouth!”
To argue further would only stoke rage.
Breathing harshly, Namgung Sanghwa shouted at Lee Jeonghak.

“Bring that brat to his knees before me, now!”
“M-me?”
Lee Jeonghak’s eyes widened.

Sanghwa’s cheek twitched.
“Shall I see to it that your family cannot even set foot in Anhui?”
This time, Lee Jeonghak was genuinely shaken.

He had tried to deflect her fury toward the Yeon brothers, not imagining matters would spiral like this.
“What are you waiting for? Move!”
“Y-young Lady! Even so, forcing the heir of the Yeon Clan—!”

Smack!
Blood trickled from Lee Jeonghak’s lips. The slap was fiercer than the one she had given Yang Wu.
“Cross me once more, and both you and your clan will taste hell.”
“….”

“Kneel him.”
Shock crossed Yang Wu’s face.
Even if Lee Jeonghak sometimes bent his back, Yang Wu never expected him to be humiliated this way. The Lee Family of Anhui was no Namgung Clan, but it was still a prestigious house.

And yet, here he stood—slapped silent.
Lee Jeonghak turned.
His eyes, twisted with shame and fury, locked on Yeon Jipyeong.

Step. Step.
He walked slowly toward him.
Jipyeong sighed.

There was much he wanted to say, but he too closed his mouth.
Namgung Sanghwa’s voice cracked out again.
“Stop dawdling! Bring him to me!”

It was then—
“This wine tastes foul now.”
Yeon Hojeong rose from his seat.

Sanghwa snarled.
“Oh, I was going to deal with you too—!”
Thud!

Everyone’s eyes widened.
“Urgh!”
Lee Jeonghak staggered back.

A sudden punch to the gut—delivered without warning. His stomach churned, his legs gave way.
Hojeong’s left hand shot up, seizing his hair.
Crunch!

“Ghhk!”
He was grabbed by the scalp.
It was the sort of move street thugs would make in back-alley brawls, not the conduct of a martial artist trained in the orthodox path.

Panicked, Lee Jeonghak clawed at Hojeong’s wrist.
“L-let go, damn you—!”
But Hojeong twisted.

Wham!
Lee Jeonghak spun through the air and crashed onto his back.
Thud! Slam!

“Gahhh!”
Hojeong coldly raised his foot.
Disbelief crossed Jeonghak’s pained face.

Crunch!
“AAAGHHH!”
He screamed, rolling on the floor, his nose broken and teeth shattered.

Shaking blood from his trouser leg, Hojeong said flatly:
“Don’t ever think to shift the burden of your mistakes onto me.”
“Cough! Ghhkk!”

“Consider this payment for your offense.”
Everyone’s faces twisted in shock.
Even Jipyeong was aghast. He had watched with his own eyes—yet still could not understand how his brother had done it.

For the first time, he saw martial principles carried out before him and could not grasp their workings. It frightened him. More than that, the sheer ruthlessness shook him.
“B-brother!”
“Jipyeong.”

“Yes?”
“In the future, if something like this happens again—unless there is no other choice—do not waste time with needless talk.”
“…?”

“You think men like these would restrain themselves in public? They’re already rotten. If you truly want to correct or lecture them, do it after you’ve put them down.”
His words were harsh.
Hojeong’s eyes gleamed.

He strode toward Namgung Sanghwa.
Yang Wu flinched as their eyes met midway. But Hojeong’s cold glance made it clear—Yang Wu was beneath his concern.
Sanghwa’s face twisted.

“You… what have you done?”
Hojeong said nothing. His pace, his stride—unchanging. As if out for a casual stroll.
A deliberate disregard. It drove Sanghwa mad.

“You bastard! Daring to ignore me?!”
Hiss!
A fierce energy flared from her body.

Different in quality from Lee Jeonghak’s power—it was deeper, sharper.
Hojeong’s eyes glinted.
Sky-Bound Qi.

One of the Namgung Clan’s prized inner methods—the Sky-Bound True Method. A first-class art that encompassed all their sword techniques.
She truly had talent. At barely eighteen, to radiate such refined energy—she deserved ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) to be called first-rate.
But Sanghwa had a critical flaw.

“Kneel now! Do that, and for your sincerity I may spare you disgrace—”
Whoosh!
“Wha—?!”

She gasped.
Hojeong, walking at a steady pace, suddenly accelerated. To an unprepared foe, such a shift was a shock.
Instinctively, her right hand lashed out.

Rrrrip!
Her palm strike tore through the air—ferocious and sharp. Arrogant though she was, she had trained well.
Hojeong’s hand moved to meet it.

A confident smirk tugged at Sanghwa’s lips.
“Fool!”
To meet her Heavenly Wind Palm bare-handed? Absurd. That strike could split timber like firewood.

Surely his arm would shatter from hand to shoulder.
Sanghwa poured even more Sky-Bound Qi into her strike.
And then—

Whisssh!
“…What?!”
Hojeong’s hand twisted like a snake, coiling up her arm. It had no joints, no resistance.

Too precise, too timely—she couldn’t pull back.
His fingers pressed hard into the crook of her elbow.
Crack!

“AAAHHH!”
Her scream tore out as sensation vanished from her entire right arm. The Sky-Bound Qi in her strike broke apart instantly.
“Wh-what trickery—?!”

Snap!
“…Wha—?”
She stared down in shock.

Her left leg bent inward at an impossible angle.
Only then did she realize—it was broken.
“AAAAHHHH!”

Clatter!
She collapsed, unable to balance.
This was no mere carelessness. She could have dodged, yet she hadn’t—because she thought retreat would mean a pause in the fight, as in every duel she had ever known.

But Hojeong’s battle was not soft.
Once engaged, it ended only when one side conceded—or died. Such was the way of the Demonic Path.
“You bastard! You broke my leg?! Your whole clan will die for this!”

Crack!
“GYAAHHH!”
Another scream. Her left arm snapped.

She opened her mouth to curse again, but froze.
Cold, soulless eyes stared down at her. No trace of human feeling—only the gaze one cast upon an object.
That was how Yeon Hojeong looked at Namgung Sanghwa.

“What will you do, then?”
“Wh-what?”
“How will you kill me and my clan?”

He smiled.
That smile alone made Sanghwa and Yang Wu shiver.
“Will you haunt me as a ghost? Is that your plan?”

His words chilled more than his smile.
To become a ghost? It meant he was ready to kill her.
At last Sanghwa understood—she had provoked something beyond her ability to endure.

“T-the Namgung Clan will never forgive you if this becomes known!”
“Is that so?”
“Yes! So let me go—!”

Crash!
Hojeong kicked apart a chair, seizing a broken leg.
“Then I’d better kill you and bury you. That way, Namgung will never know.”

Her face turned pale.
“You—!”
Thud!

The club struck her head.
She toppled sideways.
It should have knocked her out. Instead, her mind grew sharper—making the pain unbearable.

Fear washed over her features.
She realized—this lunatic might truly kill her.
A dark, suffocating aura seeped from behind Hojeong—the killing intent of the Dark Emperor himself.

Smile once, and he smiled back.
Strike him once, and he tore you apart.
It didn’t matter if it was a push or a stab—once harmed, he would hound you until you were shredded to nothing.

That was the Dark Emperor, the Lord of the Black Emperor’s Citadel, the Grandmaster of the Demonic Path whom all the unorthodox bowed to.
“Now stop saying what you want, and start saying what I want to hear.”
Hojeong smiled, hefting the broken chair leg.

And swung it without mercy.
Whack! Whack! Whack!