The Return of the Namgoong Clan's Granddaughter-Chapter 20

The moment he saw the child, Namgoong Cheongun knew.

“Seolhwa...”

Eight years had passed since he’d lost his daughter, but within the youthful face, he could still see the unmistakable traces of the girl he remembered so vividly.

He had once vowed that if he ever found her again, he’d run to her and hold her tight without hesitation—yet now that she stood before him, his steps slowed to a crawl.

“Seolhwa...”

Tears welled in Namgoong Cheongun’s eyes.

By the time he reached the glow of the pavilion’s lanterns, those tears were already falling.

“You’re such a disgrace, crying like that. What kind of man are you?”

Even his father Namgoong Mucheon’s gruff scolding didn’t register.

Cheongun knelt on one knee before the girl and met her gaze.

As Ilhwa looked into his clear, kind eyes, an odd tickle rose in her chest, and without realizing it, her fingers curled atop her own hand.

She found it strange—so she clenched her fist and lowered it.

“The last Namgoong sword I killed before I died...”

The man who, just before her execution, had called her by the name Seolhwa.

“Namgoong Cheongun.”

My... father...

And with that thought, something within her dropped—thud—like a stone hitting the bottom.

Her body kept echoing with that strange pounding, and Ilhwa furrowed her brows slightly in confusion.

Namgoong Cheongun’s hand reached out toward her.

But just before it touched her shoulder, it hesitated... and remained suspended in the air.

“Confirm it first.”

At Mucheon’s words, Cheongun lowered his hand and nodded.

He turned to Ilhwa with a gentle smile.

“I’d like to check your body, just a bit. Would that be alright?”

Ilhwa nodded.

Cheongun nodded in return, and his eyes took on a quiet solemnity.

“When Seolhwa was born, I personally engraved a mark onto her body.”

He spoke not only to her but to everyone present.

“To others, it appears as five ordinary dots. But if you connect them, they form the shape of a dragon.”

In great martial clans, it was not uncommon for a father to leave a secret mark on his child at birth.

The more powerful and renowned a clan, the more enemies it tended to attract. And such enemies often resorted to petty methods—like kidnapping a child or even switching them out as infants.

That was why secret markings on newborns were quietly practiced among the major families.

“Behind the left ear. Right collarbone. Under the left index fingernail. Right knee. And the back of the left heel.”

Cheongun listed the five points and, just as he said, began to carefully examine each part of Ilhwa’s body.

His hands were visibly trembling.

With each tiny dot he uncovered—each perfectly aligned with his memory—a hush of disbelief escaped the lips of those watching.

Individually, they looked like nothing more than faint moles. But their exactness, their subtle placement, made it clear—they were no coincidence. Only someone who knew exactly where to look would find them.

Finally, when his hand reached behind her small foot, a heavy silence fell over the entire pavilion.

Lowering her foot with care, Cheongun slowly raised his eyes to look at her again.

Tears now streamed endlessly down his face.

“This is my daughter. Seolhwa.”

Namgoong... Seolhwa...

In that moment—when she, who had once been Ilhwa, was recognized as Seolhwa—she found herself caught in something strange as she gazed into his tear-drenched, gentle eyes.

It felt like being bound, unable to look away.

A knot formed in her throat, making it hard to breathe.

“Is it because I remember killing my own father with my own hands?”

Unconsciously, her clenched fist grew tighter.

“Seolhwa... It’s me, your father...”

Namgoong Cheongun lifted a trembling hand and gently stroked Seolhwa’s cheek.

“I’m your father...”

His voice cracked, thick with emotion, as if he were struggling just to let the words out.

Eight years.

Eight long years.

That’s how long he had searched for his daughter.

He had met countless children over those years—but never had one filled him with such certainty the instant he laid eyes on them.

And that was what overwhelmed him.

The more the memories of his daughter faded, the more anxious he had grown, fearing that he might forget her entirely, that he’d be letting her go.

But this moment—this child—felt like proof that he had been right not to give up.

That clinging to hope had not been a mistake.

“You’ve grown... so much...”

“Daddy! Don’t go! Don’t leave me behind! Wahhh—!”

He could still see her, sobbing, clinging to him as he left the house for work that day.

She used to fit perfectly in his arms.

She was much taller now—but that image hadn’t disappeared from his memory.

And so, Namgoong Cheongun finally pulled his daughter into a fierce embrace.

Seolhwa’s eyes widened in shock.

Over Cheongun’s shoulder, she could see Chief Steward Namgoong Mun, Seop Mugwang, Choryeon, and even the maidservants watching.

All of them were in tears.

Even Mugwang was sniffling, his nose red.

“Why... is everyone crying?”

Seolhwa couldn’t understand it.

Aren’t people supposed to smile when they’re happy?

Why were they all crying instead?

But what she understood even less was the way her chest ached.

Even if she had understood emotions, she didn’t think she’d be smiling either.

“Strange.”

He’d found his daughter again—after eight long years—and all he could do was cry.

She, of course, had reason to feel conflicted. In her past life, she had committed grave sins.

But still.

“It’s all so strange...”

As Namgoong Cheongun’s soft sobs drifted to her ears, Seolhwa lowered her gaze.

Inside the warmth of his embrace, her body stiffened, fists clenched tightly.

It had been thirty years since anyone had held her like this.

She had no idea how to respond.

And so she stood there—frozen—until the weeping subsided.

It was the moment she was finally accepted as a child of the Namgoong Clan.

****

After finishing their meal, Seolhwa returned to the Celestial Guest Courtyard with Namgoong Cheongun.

Though both Namgoong Mucheon and Cheongun had told her to move into Cheongun’s residence within the Inner Hall, Seolhwa had insisted on staying in the Celestial Guest Courtyard until her position was officially acknowledged.

While Cheongun remained behind to speak with Mucheon for a while, Seolhwa returned first to the guest courtyard. Once there, she sat cross-legged on the bed and began circulating her internal energy.

She hadn’t yet formally learned Namgoong’s cultivation method, but she needed to examine the state of her meridians.

“Just a little. That should be fine.”

Fortunately, remnants of the energy Mucheon had used earlier still lingered in her body. It gave her a plausible excuse—no one would question it.

Seolhwa cautiously guided her inner energy.

“....”

From her dantian, a faint, pale-white energy rippled outward.

It was the pure inner energy from the Great Return Pill, not yet fully settled within her body.

This colorless, formless energy would, through Namgoong’s cultivation method, gradually transform into a clear, sky-blue aura—one that mirrored the clarity of open skies.

“Just a little more.”

The energy began at her dantian and moved slowly, tracing the meridian flow through her perineum, circulating upward through her spine, gate of life, central pillar, and up to the hundred convergences point at the crown of her head.

From there, it descended along the front of her body back to the navel.

After completing a full Small Heavenly Cycle, Seolhwa opened her eyes.

A blue light flickered briefly in her pupils, then slowly faded.

“It’s... filthier than I thought.”

She had believed she had purged all the Blood Energy, but now that she’d circulated her qi again for the first time in a while, she could tell.

Remnants of the Blood Energy still clung to the walls of her meridians, like leeches. They were eating away at her flow from the inside.

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“I really thought I had driven it out completely...”

No wonder she was still being treated like a patient.

“So it’s true. You’ve trained in martial arts.”

The door opened, and Namgoong Cheongun stepped inside.

In his hands, he carried a basin of water and a towel.

He approached her bed without hesitation, setting the basin on the floor. Then, with a beaming expression, he rolled up his sleeves.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to wash your feet.”

Seolhwa’s eyebrows lifted in confusion.

“Why my feet?”

“No reason. I just want to. Will you give them to me?”

She didn’t really understand why he was suddenly offering to wash her feet, but she extended them willingly.

Cheongun sat in front of her, grinning playfully as he gently took her small feet in his hands and gave them a little shake.

After the small, shy gesture, Cheongun began carefully removing her silk socks.

“Your feet are still so small. When you were little, both of them fit into one of my hands...”

But as he pulled off the sock, Cheongun’s face abruptly stiffened.

Though her feet still fit easily in his palms, smaller even than those of an average thirteen-year-old, they were marred with calluses and healed-over scars.

The kind of feet one might expect on a seasoned warrior who had seen many battles.

Even if she had trained in martial arts, the damage to her feet was far too deep, far too severe.

What kind of brutal journey had she endured over the ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) past eight years? These were the feet of a child who had suffered injuries without proper care.

Cheongun couldn’t bring himself to smile.

“Why?” she asked.

“No... it’s nothing.”

Her innocent voice caught him off guard, and he forced himself to keep moving.

He dipped his hand in the warm water and slowly poured it over her feet.

Whether he was washing them or merely wetting them was unclear—his motions lacked purpose, hesitant.

And eventually, Cheongun bowed his head.

His hands—so clean and unscarred—were stroking a child’s feet that were battered and rough.

They didn’t match.

His hands were soft. Her feet were worn and broken.

“Hngh...”

Tears fell, one by one, into the basin of water.

The ripples they made lapped gently against Seolhwa’s leg.

“I’m sorry... I’m so sorry...”

Cheongun pulled her feet into his chest and held them there.

Even as the damp fabric of his robe clung to his skin, he didn’t care.

“I’m truly sorry, my daughter...”

His tears rolled down the tops of her feet.

Seolhwa stared at Namgoong Cheongun’s trembling shoulders for a long time—an incredibly long time.