28. Education (4)
The deputy manager calmed his boiling anger and vowed to take responsibility. But the branch's dealings were handled entirely by the outer manager. A failure wouldn't free him completely from blame.
"Have them memorize the basics first, then bring them to the reception room. Watching the outer manager's masterful rhetoric should give the young master some insights."
"True enough. Just observing would be helpful. An excellent lesson."
It was the classic: my success is mine, your failure is yours. They say no one who gilds their own face is truly decent, but the deputy manager did acknowledge the outer manager's one talent—his eloquence. Annoying as hell, but damn good at it.
Cheon-woo joined the outer manager in the reception room to greet guests. As the heir to the merchant group, handling clients personally wasn't odd. If anything, it showed proper courtesy.
Cheon-woo stayed back. The outer manager led the negotiations, achieving decent results overall. Not every deal succeeded, though. The issue stemmed from Shaanxi Province, not Sacheon.
It was the difference between home turf and enemy territory. To read intentions, you needed intel first. Unlike in Sacheon, gathering information in Shaanxi was tough. No other merchant group wanted them expanding their influence in the inner courtyard either.
Beyond intel shortages and interference from Chang'an merchants, there were plenty of scammers. Filtering them out completely wasn't easy. Probing too deeply risked tarnishing their reputation in Chang'an.
Eloquence mattered for successful deals, but sharp insight into the opponent's true nature was essential.
"So, nephew, how was your uncle's hosting?"
"Insufficient."
"Right, it must've seemed impressive... What?"
"There were chaff among them."
The outer manager, eager to showcase his greatness firsthand, bristled at Cheon-woo's blunt words. Even with his recent changes, this was an insolent remark devoid of humility.
He's my nephew, but damn cheeky!
Martial artists and merchants operated in different realms. Entertaining people required experience and savvy that couldn't be grasped from mere observation. You had to do it yourself to understand the difficulty.
"If you know so well, it's an uncle's duty to give you a shot. Got the guts?"
"Set a target, and I'll handle it."
The outer manager barely suppressed a scoff at Cheon-woo's casual bravado. It stemmed more from youthful arrogance than confidence. A harsh wall of reality would fix that.
"I won't interfere—go wild. But fail, and you'll answer for it."
"Naturally."
The outer manager hesitated upon checking the next client. It wasn't a merchant group, but a martial sect. Taeryong Hall belonged to the Chang'an Five Gates, wielding no small influence.
Will this be okay?
He worried about the martial artist's temperament, but having laid out the challenge, backing down now would look bad. Cheon-woo wasn't just a shut-in heir anymore, and martial folk shared common ground. If he learned humility through failure as the heir, it was a gain, not a loss.
Deals with sects were sporadic, not ongoing, so a flop wouldn't hurt much. Success, though, would spread the merchant group's name.
The chief steward of Taeryong Hall arrived. Merchant groups and sects weren't equals, even at similar scales. Martial artists tended to look down on merchants. Compared to a dominant force like the Jeokgeum Merchant Group, Taeryong Hall would yield, but the underlying warrior bias remained.
Sending their chief steward showed some respect.
"I'm Gu Cheon-woo, acting deputy leader."
"Jin Jong-san."
With the visitor being a chief steward, Cheon-woo temporarily elevated his title to acting deputy leader. "Young master" only worked internally; Taeryong Hall wouldn't recognize it.
"State your business."
"We're replacing the hall's furniture ahead of the sect leader's birthday banquet in two months."
Taeryong Hall planned to discard old pieces for new ones—a decision driven by the sect leader's wife, not him. They wanted Jeokgeum's finest lacquerware.
Cheon-woo tallied the items and quantities.
"Total of 300 nyang."
The outer manager and deputy manager barely stifled their snorts at the quoted price.
He doesn't get it yet.
Too honest.
No discount from the list price. Selling at full would profit Jeokgeum, sure. But against Taeryong Hall's chief steward—who'd scouted prices—they could've haggled down to 200 nyang, settling at 250 without loss.
Quoting full price without bargaining? No way they'd accept.
"Understood."
Yeah, rejection expected... Huh?
As Chief Steward Jin accepted without rage or pushback, the outer manager and deputy nearly bit their tongues.
"Understood"?
Why?
Such a half-hearted deal? Was he a general, not a steward?
Their eyes nearly popped out. No lesson from failure—he succeeded instantly. Unbelievable, they muttered unconsciously.
"You accept?"
"...I do."
Chief Steward Jin was equally stunned. He'd come to gauge the rumored young master and build ties if worthwhile, but accepting without haggle? Felt possessed.
They'd budgeted up to 300 nyang max, confident in shaving 50. No lowball here—just list price. Backing out now would be absurd. Committed.
"Stamp the document here."
Sighing inwardly, Jin Steward stamped it. Too late for debate.
Rumors of sorcery weren't baseless. Whatever it was, he had a hypnotic charm.
Impressive.
This made him a natural merchant.
Cheon-woo bowed politely.
"We'll ship the lacquerware from headquarters as soon as it arrives. Pleasure doing business."
"Likewise."
"We're done. You may go."
"I'll be off."
Like a puppet on strings, Jin Steward rose and left the reception room.
Having closed the deal effortlessly, Cheon-woo turned to the dazed outer manager and deputy.
"Where to next?"
"...Manhu Mountain Lodge."
"This one's no pushover!"
Dismissing it as beginner's luck, they steadied themselves. Some days, everything clicked. But as the saying went, a hot streak in gambling could lead to ruin if you bet big assuming it'd last.
Be wary in good times; end strong.
Lucky bastard. Next one's doomed!
Great outcome, but why so irritating?
Their hopes dashed. Manhu Mountain Lodge signed at full price too—no haggle, no sob story. Business stated. Stamped. Dismissed. Identical.
Does this even make sense?
Why'd they haggle with us?
They recalled their youth, groveling to close sales. A little kindness back then might've spared their cynicism.
Deals sailed smoothly. Next day, the day after.
Until.
"I'm a con artist. My real name's Wan Gu-go, not Lee Ji-ryong. Heard Jeokgeum was booming, so I faked my identity for a big score."
The occasional scammer didn't hide—answered every question truthfully, leaving the outer manager and deputy speechless.
These bastards are real cons!
Why's a con so honest?
Bold enough to walk in and scam, yet confessing like self-reflection. Shave your head and join a temple!
More infuriating: Cheon-woo's nonchalant attitude, as if routine.
Some slaved endlessly; others erased 1,000 nyang debts with a word.
"...You're good."
"Nothing special."
You smug bastard!
The outer manager and deputy wallowed in self-doubt. What had their decades amounted to? Washed away overnight.
We're lacking.
It was the polite authority of the Evil-Destroying Heavenly Insight Eyes. In the Paewang era, confessions led to suicide from guilt. Once called Corpse Mountain Blood Sea Eyes—all died upon sight.
Now, it stopped at truth-telling. No full Mireok Paedo infusion helped.
Mastered the basics of Susin Jegah.
Wealth preserved families. No poor happy clans in 101 regressions. Riches were the foundation.
"Merchant life seems worthwhile."
"...Lucky you!"
Fuck!
They swallowed curses. Too smooth a start. Their hardship-filled pasts bred envy.
Growth came from breaking, failing, shattering.
Cheon-woo grew flawlessly. Too flawlessly—threatening their positions, especially the outer manager's indispensability.
"No need for me," wouldn't fly anymore.
As Cheon-woo eyed the deputy amid success, the outer manager glared.
"I'm off."
Work done, Cheon-woo left precisely on time.
The pair clicked their tongues, alone now. In their day, tasks dragged indefinitely until seniors finished. Cheon-woo's abrupt exit soured their moods.
"Not like my time."
"Quibbling over hours these days gets you called old."
"If he'd botched it, we could've disciplined him. Special training somewhere?"
"What training?"
Nothing special in his deals. No secret technique to learn—just empty.
"Deputy, what now?"
"Why me?"
"You pushed for it!"
"Didn't expect this!"
"Ignorance ends careers."
...Damn it! Why splash on me?
Cheon-woo's brilliance threatened jobs.
Cheon-woo's hosting stint ended with the deputy's intervention. Too easy deals risked sorcery rumors—really the outer manager's pressure over his rice bowl, but the deputy bore it.
What could they do? Orders from above.
Cheon-woo's return to headquarters loomed too. No lingering at the branch forever.
Scammers exposed, no-price-haggles spread rumors.
"Dodged that one."
"Why's the young master judging?"
Post-deputy's "training," Cheon-woo honed Ga-bok's evasion.
It improved with each hit.
Thwack!
Ga-bok, gut-punched, nearly vomited breakfast. He crumpled, waist buckling.
"Up."
"I'm gonna puke for real!"
"Adjusted power. Fine."
"I'm not!"
"No choice then."
"...Urk!"
Dodge or get stomped. He whipped his head aside frantically. Pupils shaking, he gulped at the clear bootprint. A split-second late, and he'd be watermelon pulp.
"...Young master, I nearly died!"
"Impressive."
Don't compliment there!
Expecting "adjusted" again, Ga-bok shivered cold.
"That was splendid."
"...Not grateful at all!"
Instinct for survival, not skill. Continued like this, he'd need spares to live.
"You should be."
"I nearly died!"
"Training ends here today."
"Thanks for the mercy... to live... damn it!"
Half a shichen early. No usual extra beating—Ga-bok felt wronged anyway.
Shouldn't be grateful. Yet his body was.
What's with the young master?
Before doubt settled, shadows flooded the inner quarters. Eyes sharpened by training missed them.
Whoooosh!
Chasing silhouettes, collision hit post-impact.
BOOM!