Chapter 150

Chapter 150
# Chapter 150: The Strategist’s Resolve

There was one matter he had to attend to before he could rest.

“Ugh… I feel like I’m about to drop dead.”

He had suffered grievous injuries during his confrontation with the Hyeong Mountain Yin Blood. The harm hadn’t come from a direct blow, but from forcibly drawing upon his middle dantian to unleash a surge of dormant power.

Put simply, Yang-hui’s internal systems were in utter disarray. He wouldn’t have been at all surprised if he collapsed right where he stood. In fact, those around him had all but insisted he stay in bed rather than attend the meeting.

“Still… the effects of Pure Qi are nothing short of astonishing.”

His condition remained critical. It wasn’t as though sheer willpower alone was carrying him through—without that extra support, he could have lost consciousness at any moment, and no one would have found it strange. Yet he remained lucid, sustained entirely by the grace of Pure Qi and its ability to guide his body back toward proper functioning.

The fusion of Pure Qi with Heavenly Flame Qi—forming Heavenly Pure Qi—was even now coursing through his frame, pushed to the very limits of his endurance, seeping into the damaged meridians and acupoints that had borne the brunt of the strain.

“Normally, this would take at least half a year of focused recuperation… but with Pure Qi, I can shake it off and be back on my feet after just a few days of unbroken cultivation.”

That meant recovery dozens of times faster than usual—clear proof of Pure Qi’s overwhelming superiority.

Be that as it may.

“Ugh, I’m truly at my limit. I need to get back to my quarters and start cultivating without delay.”

The decision to launch the expedition had been made, but preparations would take a minimum of three days. With the urgent assembly concluded, he was free to attend to himself for the time being.

Except—

“Young Master. I must speak with you.”

“Now? Does it absolutely have to be now?”

“Now, and it must.”

The young scholar frowned and stuck close to Yang-hui’s heels, refusing to be shaken off. And he wasn’t the only one.

“Yang-hui, when do I get my rice cakes? The ones filled with red bean paste, remember?”

A-du, who had been promised two geun of rice cakes as a reward for fighting well, clung to him as tenaciously as sticky taffy.

“Senior Brother, is the meeting finished? I have something I need to tell you.”

Zhuge Seol-ha, who had not taken part in the elders’ gathering, appeared out of nowhere and stepped toward him. Her arrival drew a sharp, startled intake of breath from one of the others.

“Ah—!”

“Oh my, if it isn’t the young master. Greetings to you.”

“H-h-h-hello…!”

The young scholar, seeing Zhuge Seol-ha for the first time, froze as if struck by lightning and began to stammer. Come to think of it, the two had never crossed paths while in Namchang.

“The lad has excellent taste.”

Even with her face covered, that was his reaction—what might happen if he saw her features unmasked? It seemed faintly absurd to watch a boy who bantered so freely with adults turn as rigid as a carved wooden post.

At any rate, cultivating immediately was clearly out of the question.

Still, a short delay wouldn’t cause lasting harm, so it was hardly a catastrophe.

“It still hurts, you know. I’m exhausted.”

“Hurt or tired, duties must still be fulfilled. You worked this young scholar to the bone, yet you intend to rest fully while others carry on?”

“That’s our Yang-hui—such a fine fellow!”

“Senior Brother is in pain? Tired? Truly? Wow, that’s amazing!”

Yang-hui heaved a long, deep sigh and waved them all along.

“Fine, then come with me. But save your chatter for inside—let’s head to my room.”

Yang-hui’s quarters were spacious, as befitted the eldest young master, with more than enough room for three additional people. He flopped onto his bed and gestured toward the stools and chairs nearby.

“I’m too worn out to brew tea. Help yourselves to whatever snacks are out and eat up.”

“Whoa—sweets!”

“Do you speak to me as though I were your beloved?”

“Senior Brother! Sitting on the bed in those soiled clothes?”

“I’ll have the maids change the linens later.”

“Making free with your privileges as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world?”

He shifted his position and sank down onto the floor beside the bed.

“Goodness, this is miserable. Well then—what has everyone come about? You first, Young Scholar.”

The young scholar, his mouth full, chewed hurriedly and swallowed, looking taken aback. *You little rascal—didn’t you just say not to eat while speaking?*

“What I have to say is straightforward… or perhaps it is rather complicated.”

“Go on.”

“What are your plans from here on? Will you continue to act as you did today?”

Yang-hui noticed the clear look of vexation etched across the young scholar’s face. Naturally—viewed through a strategist’s eyes, that meeting must have seemed baffling and deeply frustrating.

“You’re speaking of Father’s decision?”

“I am. Frankly, I believe it was a foolish choice.”

“Foolish, is it?”

Baek Mu-ryang had chosen to march on the capital pass from two available courses of action. Holding back rather than committing fully would have maximized the Baek Clan’s gains—yet he had chosen otherwise.

“You dare call the Clan Lord’s decision foolish?”

Yang-hui’s expression grew stern as he pressed the point. The young scholar tensed, but he did not shrink back.

“I do. It was a foolish call—an incomprehensible one. Because the Lord acts first as head of his clan, and only second as an ally.”

“And?”

“You summoned me to serve as your strategist, Young Master. As such, I demand an explanation for what transpired today.”

Yang-hui held the young scholar’s gaze in silence, his look piercing. The young scholar flinched, but he did not look away.

“Pass.”

“…Pardon?”

“That is exactly how a strategist should conduct himself. To speak up when those above make a misjudgment.”

To raise the matter not in the meeting itself, but afterward with the clan’s de facto second-in-command—that, too, was worthy of approval. A strategist must exercise prudence, guided by the principles of the Three Caves of Strategy.

“Are you still testing me? After everything I have accomplished? At this age, I have single-handedly managed all of Namchang’s far-reaching affairs.”

“Young you may be—a child, in fact.”

“Eek—do not call me a child!”

Claiming youth when it suited him, yet resenting being called young—typical of the boy.

“To pass the imperial examinations, one must advance through successive levels, beginning locally and proceeding to the highest court. Life itself is a sequence of such tests. Do you understand?”

“Hmph. Then I shall pass every single one—just as I did today.”

Confident, are we? May you continue to grow in that spirit.

“Young Scholar, to put your grievance in the simplest terms—”

“It is not precisely a grievance.”

“Do not split hairs, lad. You are concerned that the Clan Lord’s decisions, which seem to prioritize alliance, will hamper the clan’s growth?”

“I am.”

Any other clan leader would have chosen the opposite course. A clan head must place his family’s interests above personal sentiment.

“So has my father, in times past.”

“Pardon?”

“Father has always made decisions that put the Baek Clan first.”

“…Truly?”

Yang-hui’s thoughts turned to his past life. Baek Mu-ryang, known as the Peerless Righteous Helper, had poured so much of the clan’s limited resources into relief efforts that Han, the steward, had been driven nearly to distraction. A striking example was the day he took Yang-hui in—adopting an orphaned beggar not merely as a retainer, but granting him lands and status as a son, purely out of compassion.

And what had the outcome been for the clan?

“Our house was founded by the greatest martial artist of the age. Once numbered among the Five Great Clans, we have since fallen to ruin. Tell me, Young Scholar—why has the Baek Clan endured through all this decline?”

The young scholar fell silent, looking toward Yang-hui. He knew the answer, yet his expression said he could not fully accept it. It was time to make things clear.

“Young Scholar—when do you believe a title is truly earned?”

“When one demonstrates excellence that sets them apart.”

“Precisely. And Father bore the title ‘Peerless Righteous Helper’ even before I came to the clan.”

In those days, Baek Mu-ryang was head of only a third-rate house, yet the world had bestowed that name upon him of its own accord. He had not claimed it himself.

“The Baek Clan was an inviting target. Weak enough that subduing us would bring great prestige to whoever did so—a prize to be boasted of. ‘I have brought low the line of the greatest warrior of the age; they serve me now.'”

“Father was Clan Lord. And a genius who, with only third-rate clan arts, broke through the limits of second-rank cultivation.”

Who had pondered the clan’s survival and restoration more deeply than Baek Mu-ryang? No one, Yang-hui knew with absolute certainty.

“By acting as he did—appearing generous beyond his station—he earned renown for righteousness, and through that reputation forged a sworn brotherhood with the young heir of the Zhuge Clan. Here in Jiangxi, amid so many competing sects, that alone was enough to make others think twice before laying hands on us.”

“Surely not… was every move calculated? Did he shape the world around him so that even moving against the Baek Clan would require justification? All of it intentional?”

A look of profound admiration began to dawn on the young scholar’s face—earning a title through conspicuous virtue that seemed out of keeping with his station, then turning it to advantage. Enduring any slight or loss if it served his purpose. It reminded Yang-hui of Han Xin, who had knelt to crawl beneath a bully’s stride…

“Then again, who can truly say?”

His voice trailed off.

“How would I know? I never asked Father what lay behind his thoughts in those days.”

“Then all of this is merely conjecture!”

“Yet consider—you did not know until I told you. That means you failed to keep other possibilities in mind and reason them through.”

“That is…”

“One question. You, who came to question the Clan Lord’s judgment—can your mind account for every variable in this vast world?”

“It must. That is what a strategist does. One thinks until one’s mind is stretched to its limit, and finds reasons that hold together.”

That is the role. That is what I expect of you, Young Scholar.

The young scholar’s eyes brightened, as though a light had been kindled within them.

“Well answered.”

Despite the pain still churning in his gut, Yang-hui rose to his feet and gathered his aura.

“I shall raise the Baek Clan to stand greatest beneath the heavens.”

If one aspires to lead the foremost clan in all the realm, one must first become the greatest person within it.

“I, Baek Yang-hui, will stand foremost among all warriors. I shall look down upon every last one from the heights.”

It was not a boast, but a vow—one spoken with the talent to make it real.

“And so I ask you, Young Scholar.”

“Command me.”

“You recognize your own gifts, yet you have sought me out. Do you have it in you to become the greatest strategist the world has ever known?”

Strength flooded the young scholar’s small frame. His fingers curled tight, hard as stone. He stood straight, unshaken as an ancient tree rather than bending like a reed in the wind, and lifted his chin.

“I do. I shall.”

To the boy, the ambition declared by the young master—scarcely two or three years his senior—struck a chord deep within. At fifteen, an age when purpose begins to take root, he had found his.

“Young Scholar, let me define your task clearly. You will ensure that every decision Father makes yields the greatest possible benefit to this clan.”

“That is exactly what a strategist does.”

“It is. And you are equal to it.”

The young scholar stood tall and offered a formal bow with hands clasped.

“I shall. I will become the world’s greatest strategist.”

A boy who had known his own brilliance, yet had lacked a grander purpose—this was the moment he chose his path and pledged himself to it.