The crisp sound of teeth biting into a sweet cake broke the silence. Zhang Mingyin, a middle-aged man with a scar below his left eye, sat on the porch, gazing towards the main hall. The corridor leading to the main building, usually guarded by warriors, was conspicuously empty.
"Is this really alright?" he pondered.
Zhang Mingyin held the position of internal chief steward, responsible for overseeing security at the Yeonmok Sword Hall's headquarters. In his youth, he had been a renowned master of Taoist arts near Shaoxing in Zhejiang province. Nineteen years ago, during a pirate suppression campaign in the Haiyan region, he had formed a connection with the clan leader and joined the Yeonmok Sword Hall.
His thoughts drifted to the clan leader of his younger days - a true hero he had admired and believed in completely. How had things come to this?
The words of the clan leader's wife, Madam Seok, echoed in his mind: "Internal Chief Steward... surely you don't wish for that lowborn courtesan's son to inherit leadership of the great Yeonmok Sword Clan?"
She had continued, "Think carefully about what's best for the Yeonmok Sword Clan."
At first, Zhang Mingyin had been reluctant to get involved. But Madam Seok's words had swayed him. Even if the youngest son, Mok Yu-cheon, possessed overwhelming martial talent, his lack of connections within the clan would lead to division if he were to inherit leadership.
"Yes, this is the right thing to do," Zhang Mingyin reassured himself.
The eldest son, Mok Yeong-ho, may be somewhat tyrannical, but he was still the firstborn. With the backing of his maternal family, the powerful Jin Hua SeokClan, he would have ample support. All things considered, it was most appropriate for the eldest to succeed.
Still, something nagged at Zhang Mingyin's conscience. Madam Seok's plan involved bringing in a Taoist priest(shaman) to extract information about the clan leader's seal from the gravely ill man, when even skilled physicians had been unable to help. The seal was crucial - whoever possessed it could legitimately claim leadership and prevent division among the clan's retainers.
"Is this even possible?" Zhang Mingyin wondered. It seemed far-fetched that a mere priest could accomplish such a feat in the span of an hour.
"Surely they don't intend to use drugs or coercion to force the information from the weakened clan leader?" he thought with growing unease. Even if they wished for the eldest son to inherit, such methods would be an unconscionable affront to the man he had sworn loyalty to.
Zhang Mingyin's fist clenched involuntarily. "No, they wouldn't go that far," he told himself. Even so, he felt compelled to check, just in case. He had been instructed not to interfere, but surely a quick look wouldn't hurt. With that, the internal chief steward made his way towards the main hall.
Inside the clan leader's chambers, a young man named Mok Gyeong-un stood over the lifeless body of the shaman Myosin. He checked for a pulse, confirming that the man was indeed dead. Mok Gyeong-un's face remained expressionless as he surveyed the scene.
"Good," he thought. There were no obvious signs that the shaman had died by another's hand. It would appear to be a mysterious, inexplicable death.
As Mok Gyeong-un contemplated this, a massive, pale-skinned monk materialized above the dead priest's body. A necklace of clattering skulls hung around the monk's neck. When Mok Gyeong-un reached out to touch the necklace, the monk's lifeless white eyes flickered ominously.
"What an interesting accessory you're wearing," Mok Gyeong-un remarked casually. He could interact with this spectral being due to his unique abilities. "You said you'd be my loyal servant. What should I call you?"
The ghostly monk mumbled something inaudible to normal human ears, but Mok Gyeong-un heard it clearly.
"Demonic Monk? That's more of a title than a name, but I suppose it will do," Mok Gyeong-un said with a shrug. He turned his attention to the unconscious clan leader, whose arm had been severed.
Mok Gyeong-un stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm, should I kill him too, or let him live?" The deliberation didn't last long. Killing the clan leader immediately would only complicate matters. It was better to keep him alive for now.
"We'll need to rearrange things a bit," Mok Gyeong-un mused. "Demonic Monk, can you move that body in front of the clan leader?"
The spectral monk shook his head, much to Mu Jingyu's disappointment. "You can't? How unexpected." He had assumed the entity capable of physical manipulation after killing the priest, but apparently not.
Just then, the Demonic Monk's corporeal form began to dissipate where sunlight touched it, fading like a shadow. Mok Gyeong-un found this phenomenon intriguing but difficult to understand.
His gaze fell upon the shaman's bag, which contained various books on mystical arts. He wondered if studying those might help him better understand the nature of this spectral being.
Footsteps approached from outside. Go Chan called out, "Is it done yet?"
"Come in," Mok Gyeong-un replied.
Go Chan entered, his eyes widening in shock at the sight of the dead shaman. "What... what happened here?"
Mok Gyeong-un calmly instructed Go Chan to move the shaman's body in front of the clan leader, positioning it as though the man had collapsed there on his own. When Go Chan questioned the purpose of this, Mok Gyeong-un explained his fabricated scenario:
"We'll say the priest became possessed by some evil spirit while attempting to heal the clan leader with mystical arts. He cut off the clan leader's arm and tried to kill him, but we intervened just in time."
Mok Gyeong-un then picked up a fallen sword and began slashing it around the room, creating a scene of struggle. He explained, "This will make it look more believable."
Go Chan was impressed by Mok Gyeong-un's quick thinking, but voiced his concerns: "Young master, I'm not sure the Madam will easily believe such a convenient story..."
"You're right, we need to make it more convincing," Mok Gyeong-un agreed. Without hesitation, he plunged his own sword into his thigh.
Go Chan was stunned by this act of self-mutilation. Even more shocking was Mok Gyeong-un's complete lack of reaction to what must have been excruciating pain. The young man's face remained impassive as blood flowed from the wound.
"This should add some authenticity to our tale," Mok Gyeong-un said calmly. "Let the blood flow a bit more. I need to look pale."
Before Go Chan could respond, the door burst open. Zhang Mingyin, the internal chief steward, rushed in with his sword drawn. "What's going on here?" he demanded.
As Go Chan fumbled for an explanation, Mok Gyeong-un swayed on his feet. "The clan leader... please, tend to him first..." he managed to say before collapsing to the floor in an apparent faint.
Go Chan was left speechless, marveling at Mok Gyeong-un's commitment to the deception. The young master had prioritized the clan leader's well-being even as he feigned unconsciousness, lending credibility to their contrived scenario.