Chapter 616

Becoming a successful merchant in Murim meant surviving fierce competition.

The map the horse caravans had reportedly made while traveling between the Outer Lands and the Central Plains was proof enough of how they had amassed such wealth.

“This is the place. The marker’s faint, but it’s definitely one of the horse caravans’.”

“Huh. Who would’ve thought there was a road through here?”

Secret shortcuts hidden throughout the Central Plains, swift and accurate despite their concealment.

Some had vanished over the years, and those that remained could be treacherous precisely because they were hidden. But that wasn’t much of a problem for us.

“Captain, isn’t this slope too steep?”

“It is. The road’s narrow, too. But we have to go.”

“Then I’m afraid we’ll have to leave the horses behind.”

“Why would we do that? We can carry them.”

“Pardon?”

Correction. It wasn’t much of a problem for me.

Everyone who heard me stared wide-eyed.

“What did you say?”

“They’re not big warhorses. They came from the grasslands, so they’re fairly light, aren’t they?”

“……Light or not, they’re horses. Can you really carry them?”

As it turned out, I could. More easily than I’d expected, in fact.

My strength had long since surpassed human limits. I slung two horses over my shoulders and strode uphill, while Taishan—who wasn’t as strong as me but was a natural strongman with the build to match—could manage three.

“Pavilion Master. Taishan. Heavy. No choice. Eat one horse here. No, leave one here.”

“……Swallow your spit and try saying that again.”

His appetite was a bigger problem than the weight.

And as the shortcuts cut down our travel time and distance, greater obstacles waited for us.

“According to the map, there should be a road ahead. But…”

“It’s gone. Or rather, blocked.”

“Escort Song is right. I heard there was a landslide nearby a month or two ago. That must have blocked it.”

“Then we’ll have to go around. The map says this road runs for at least ten li.¹ If only a few dozen jang² were buried, perhaps, but clearing a road like this is out of the question…… Pavilion Master, what are you doing?”

“Getting ready to clear the road.”

“What?”

“It’s not like we have to tunnel through the mountain. Clear some dirt, move a few rocks and boulders, and we should be able to get through. You said the landslide was only a month or two ago, right?”

“Well, yes, but…”

“As they say, when the body is weak, the head has to work harder.”

“……That sounds wrong. Isn’t it usually the other way around?”

“Usually.”

For days, we carried horses up mountains, dug through buried roads, and walked and ran until we crossed Hubei and reached Sichuan at a ridiculous pace.

We owed it all to Ju Hwaran. She knew the shortcuts once shared by only a handful of horse caravans, and she remembered everything her maternal grandfather—the Escort King—had left behind.

I can’t believe we got here so quickly.

We’d made this kind of time without even taking the waterways.

Granted, I’d played no small part in making the impossible possible. But Hwaran had more than fulfilled the role she’d promised to take on before joining the Fire Dragon Pavilion. She’d exceeded my expectations.

Martial arts really aren’t everything.

No matter how much of a Supreme Peak master I became, I couldn’t do anything like this. I gave Ju Hwaran a heartfelt exclamation of admiration.

“You’re incredible. There’s no one like you, Young Lady Ju.”

“I-I’ll go feed the horses some hay.”

“What? Why? They aren’t Taishan. How long has it even been since they ate hay…… Young Lady Ju? Young Lady Ju?”

What the hell was going on?

At this point, I couldn’t tell whether she couldn’t hear me or had decided not to listen.

As I watched Ju Hwaran hurry away using a movement technique, I turned my head at the gaze I felt from beside me.

Swish!

The movement was quick as lightning, but not quick enough to escape my notice. I eyed the culprit.

“Hey.”

He flinched.

“I saw you. Don’t pretend you weren’t looking.”

Song Ilseom, seated by the water, glanced around awkwardly.

“Hmm. Are you speaking to me?”

“You’re the only one here. And you know you look awkward as hell, right?”

“……I have no idea what you mean.”

“If you were watching, you were watching. Why hide it? And do you sharpen that willow-leaf saber every chance you get? It’ll be a needle by the time we reach Nanman.”

Splash.

Song Ilseom poured water over the blade, polished so carefully it gleamed like a mirror. His face hardened.

“Watch what you say. This weapon means something to me.”

He wasn’t particularly expressive to begin with, but he’d gone so serious that there had to be a story behind it.

Then again, he’s been through a lot.

There was no excuse for reopening someone else’s wounds. Thinking I’d made a careless mistake, I spoke cautiously.

“Is it a treasured blade passed down through your family?”

“Hardly. I was told they couldn’t bring out so much as a single martial arts manual. My grandmother never learned martial arts in her life. The fact that she survived that war was a miracle.”

“Right. It did look pretty worn for a treasured blade. Something your father left you, then?”

“No.”

A wistful smile touched Song Ilseom’s lips, as if he were remembering better days. He ran a hand along the blade.

“I received this willow-leaf saber when I was young, while serving as a sword boy for a Third Rate wandering martial artist. I cut a person with it for the first time in my life. I was probably twelve.”

“……Oh. Right.”

Wounds, my ass.

My budding guilt melted away like spring snow.

He’d been a martial artist from the start. Watching Song Ilseom fondly recall his first killing, I could only think he was…… out of his mind.

Yeah. He’s not right in the head either.

Murim had all kinds of people, but lunatics made up a good share of them. Maybe you had to be one to survive here.

You could die over a meal. You could die in a fight. You could survive the fight, only to die when your wounds got worse. You could endure enough hardship to become a master, then die from qi deviation during training.

What was that novel called? I read one where a martial artist retired peacefully with golden-basin handwashing.³

It took coming to Murim to realize that a novel was just a novel.

I’d once asked Jeok Cheongang about golden-basin handwashing.³ His answer had gone like this:

“Golden-basin handwashing?³ Easy.”

“Oh. It is?”

“Of course. First, buy a basin made of gold and invite plenty of close acquaintances.”

“It already reeks of social butterflies and capitalism, but all right. What next?”

“Wash your hands without a care. Of course, the moment you take your hand off your weapon, an assassin hidden among your acquaintances will throw a hidden weapon at you.”

“Ah…….”

“And one more thing. The person you thought was an acquaintance might be an assassin, too. What do you think? Isn’t it easy?”

As my dear Fire-Rice Grandpa had so wisely put it, that was fucking Murim for you.

Golden-basin handwashing,³ my ass. Most martial artists should be grateful just to wake up in the morning and wash their faces with ice water.

After all, the next day they might have to bathe and purify themselves in the waters of the Sanzu River⁴ instead of ice water.

I supposed that counted as retirement, too. The only difference was whether you were still breathing.

What is this, Murim Escape Number One?⁵

The old show had been canceled, but a Murim edition would be a smash hit. Assuming television caught on here, it might pull a 107 percent viewership rating, like turnout in a Russian presidential election.

They could hire a master of demonic, heterodox arts as their experiment expert. He’d smile warmly and run the demonstration himself.

“All right, fellow martial artists. What happens if you dodge this form like so?”

Stab.

“See? Dead. Heh heh.”

They’d run out of experimenters in no time……

It was only my imagination, but Murim was the kind of place where it could become reality as soon as someone brought in a TV.

And in this insane world, I had to travel with lunatics and fight more lunatics.

“……Whew.”

I was staring silently at the river, feeling sorry for myself, when Song Ilseom spoke.

“I was watching.”

“Hm? Watching what?”

“What happened earlier. I never answered you.”

So that was what he meant. I shrugged.

“I knew you were watching. Why were you staring?”

“I heard something, so I looked.”

“Try being honest.”

“Your words and actions looked so stupid that I couldn’t help staring.”

“……Wow. That’s a little too honest.”

“But it’s true. Isn’t that why Young Lady Ju keeps leaving whenever you say things like that?”

For some reason, I felt wronged.

“What did I do? I was impressed, so I gave her an honest compliment.”

“Even a passing dog wouldn’t believe that.”

“It’s true.”

“Enough. It isn’t funny.”

“I haven’t found any of this funny.”

“Fine. Let’s say it’s true.”

Song Ilseom let out a quiet laugh, as though I’d made a joke. Then he saw my expression, and his own turned uncertain.

“Is it true?”

“I keep telling you it is.”

“You’re saying that, in all honesty, you have no idea what your words and actions mean? No idea why Young Lady Ju leaves every time?”

“I swear to heaven. I’ll stake my balls on it.”

“Huh. You’re staking your own balls instead of Hyuk Mujin’s…… Then it must be true.”

The verification process seemed odd, but he believed me now, so I let it pass.

Song Ilseom stared at me as if he’d seen a unicorn.

“How can anyone be this clueless?”

“What?”

“Wasn’t your old sobriquet the Night King? You’d think you would at least know the basics.”

“……”

How long would I have to clean up the shit that promiscuous predecessor had left behind? If they’d called him the Porn King, I could have admitted there was some truth to it. But the Night King?

“……It’s a long story.”

Song Ilseom nodded at my weary reply.

“Of course. You must have spent many long nights.”

“You son of a bitch. Draw your sword. You’re fucking dead today.”

“Unfortunately, we’ll have to put that off until later. Thanks to you, I have to find an employer who still hasn’t appeared even after fifteen minutes.”

“You seem to have forgotten I’m the Fire Dragon Pavilion Master. Your direct superior.”

“But my employer is the one who pays me silver nyang.⁶ Protecting her is my job.”

Song Ilseom sheathed his freshly polished willow-leaf saber and rose from the water’s edge.

Crunch. Crunch.

He turned away without another word, his feet pressing into sand and gravel. Then he stopped.

“If you don’t know why Young Lady Ju acts that way, think about it carefully with that nonexistent sense of tact you have. You have to find the answer yourself.”

“What?”

“She may look strong, but she’s suffered a great deal. I hope she doesn’t get hurt—or die for nothing.”

That was all.

I watched him walk on as though nothing had happened, and a thought came to me.

Is silver nyang⁶ really why he’s stayed by Ju Hwaran’s side all this time?

Before I could find an answer, a sound rang across the surging waters of the Yangtze in Sichuan.

Boom. Ba-boom. Boom!

Drums beat hard. Ship prows cut swiftly and forcefully through the current.

A dozen or so swift ships emerged from the fog, flags of the Water Dragon Stronghold fluttering above them.

“Our taxi’s here,” I muttered.