Two days had passed since their feet stepped into the city of Jeong-Do.
Two days of hiding, of silent glances, of survival stripped of dignity.
Jang Hun spent his days in forgotten corners of the market, offering help in exchange for scraps of food, returning each evening to the same alley where the two children waited for him.
---
> On the third day, the sky rained fine ash.
The air was stifling, its scent a mix of burnt incense and rot.
Ash fell on the shoulders of passersby like a slow shroud, and yet the merchants acted as if nothing was happening.
"It's the temples in the south burning," said one of the vendors.
"Zhu Jin and Long Wei clashed again — this time over herb stores in the southern corridor. Thirty dead, including children."
One man laughed and said:
– "At least the market will be cheaper tomorrow."
In this city, everything was measured in loss.
How much blood must be spilled to make rice cheaper?
How many corpses for a quiet day?
---
Jang Hun walked into a narrow alley behind a deserted temple, searching for any chance of work.
There, on an old grey wall, was a poster:
> "Laborers Wanted – East Market – Supervised by the Bai Xuan Sect"
He read the name and froze for a moment.
That name… just the first character alone was enough to make his chest burn.
Bai Xuan…
The same name seared into his memory with blood.
The same name that had scarred his chest with fire and shame.
But hunger has no mercy.
It leaves no room for sentiment.
He tore the poster quietly and hid it in his robe.
---
He returned to the alley that had become their "home" and found the two children waiting.
They didn't ask, and he didn't speak.
He only gestured for silence.
Night was falling, and with it came cold—and danger.
He said calmly:
– "Tomorrow… I go to work. I'll be back before dusk."
Bai Su whispered:
– "Is it… good work?"
He didn't answer.
---
In the East Market, the sects ruled its corners like emperors ruled kingdoms.
Each sect had its own color, its own accent, its own violence.
Zhu Jin controlled the trade of gold and jewels.
Long Wei surrounded the market with mercenaries—not hunting for wealth, but for new blood to throw into their next war.
Lan Hu distributed water and medicinal herbs.
Hua Lin sold poisons with smiling faces.
And Bai Xuan?
They ruled from the shadows.
They didn't have the most people, nor the most wealth… but no one dared challenge them.
They said those who defied Bai Xuan weren't killed.
They were erased.
As if the city itself refused to remember their names.
---
The next day, under a pale sunrise, Jang Hun went to the gathering point.
The workers' eyes were lifeless, their faces like the ash falling from the sky.
They were all ghosts walking on two legs, driven only by hunger… and held from collapse only by fear.
One of the supervisors appeared — black robe, silver thread. The mark of Bai Xuan.
He said in a cold voice:
– "The cargo is heavy. If you fall, you don't return."
Then pointed to the wooden carts:
– "Start."
---
The work wasn't just physically hard.
> It was meant to be humiliating.
The guards threw food like bones to dogs and laughed.
When one worker dared raise his head, a short staff struck him from behind.
He fell to the ground, and no one looked back.
Even Jang Hun didn't move. He only clenched his fist in silence.
And yet, Jang Hun did not fall.
He was silent, cautious, observant.
He wasn't just looking for food…
He was searching for a map of power within the city.
---
> In one corner of the market, he saw men in dark clothes speaking to a weapons dealer.
Their clothes bore none of the five sects' symbols, but their wary eyes and poisoned tongues were enough to know—they weren't strangers to the world of power.
Brokers? Spies?
In Jeong-Do, there was no difference between a merchant and a killer.
Elsewhere, one of the Lan Hu elders treated a sick child… not out of kindness, but in exchange for information about the child's father.
The city was a web of deals, where every breath had a price.
---
At sunset, Jang Hun returned to the children.
He gave them bread and water, then sat in silence.
Bai An, nibbling a small piece of bread, asked:
– "Did we find a place to live?"
Jang Hun didn't answer right away.
He stared at the alley walls, at the two children in front of him, at the bread crumbs, as if his eyes saw only what lay behind the things.
> The silence was choking him, more than hunger.
Something inside him was shifting, forming — as if the city itself was carving its map into his mind.
Inside, a map was forming… not of streets, but of threads.
Threads of influence, sects, human weakness, and fear.
He thought:
"This city isn't a home… It's a trap.
But if I understand the shape of the trap—maybe I can control it."
Finally, he said slowly:
– "No… but I found something else."
– "What?"
He gave a faint smile, like someone who just recognized the face of the monster:
– "A map of hell."
---
And within him, a thought began to grow.
Maybe—just maybe—if he could understand how these sects controlled people…
He would know how to break them.
Not just for revenge,
But to give those two children something more than bread and water.
Something that resembled hope.