The Three Concessions
For several days they fled.
Driven at last into open country with not so much as a wall to put their backs against, they had no choice but to tear through forests and splash through ditches, running until their lungs burned. Their pursuers never gave them a moment's rest. It was as if the enemy knew every path they would take — the instant their pace faltered, figures burst from the trees and tore into the softest flesh first.
By the time they understood they were being herded, it was already too late.
A last stand? Fight to the death?
They had few able fighters left among them — and after coming this far, after fleeing all this way… the Yangtze was just ahead…
Escape itself became the only goal, and with every scrap of strength they possessed they reached the great river.
And there, at that very moment, they had no choice but to stop.
The waterway stretched before their eyes in the distance, yet they could go no farther.
Along the ridge of the mountain, a wall more massive than any that had barred their way until now waited in a long, unbroken line.
An expressionless face. Eyes so empty of feeling they seemed almost indifferent.
Clad in pale yellow martial robes whose collars had been starched stiff with paste, Jegal Do-myeong stood blocking the path, both hands resting on the hilt of his greatsword.
Opposite him, Mok Ja-un — clothes limp and dark with sweat — stared back with a shadowed look.
"Fuck…"
That single curse said everything.
There was no turning back, no changing course. The rear was already sealed by the warriors of the Blood Shadow Hall.
Your opponent is the Jegal Family. Strength alone will not be enough — you must watch them carefully in every respect.
The worried counsel of the man from the Sorok Sect flashed through his mind.
He should have listened…
But what good was regret now?
Mok Ja-un looked back, but the man was nowhere to be seen. His wounds had been severe; he must have been abandoned somewhere along the flight. Captured, or dead.
"…Damn it all."
He was still grimacing when—
Boom!
Jegal Do-myeong stepped forward and drove his greatsword into the earth with a force that seized every eye and ear.
"I am Jegal Do-myeong, Commander of the Jegal Family's Hyeonhodan. Who is in command here?"
The heavy voice rolled across the ridge. Perhaps because his face never changed, the weight of it seemed to press down on every skull present.
It was natural that neither side recognized the other. The great houses had long since stopped exchanging visits. The Jegal Family in particular — all but sealed away on Yungjung Mountain by outside powers — had heard of other clans' warriors only through rumor, never face to face.
"I am. Mok Ja-un, Head of the Namgung Family's Gangmu Pavilion."
"I see."
Jegal Do-myeong inclined his head a fraction in acknowledgment, then spoke toward him.
"The fighting is over. I advise you to surrender."
"Surrender?"
"Yes."
"Puh-huh… I've heard some mad things in my time, but this. You want me to bow my head to the likes of Jegal? I'd sooner die where I stand than cling to life through that kind of humiliation."
His eyes glittered with pure venom, all thought of yielding abandoned. Jegal Do-myeong answered without heat.
"Mok Ja-un. How is that humiliation? If setting aside your pride can save the men under you, you should feel pride instead."
"What did you say?"
"Are their lives worth less than an elder's pride? Were I in your place, I would accept the censure of defeat if it meant bringing my subordinates home alive. That is a commander's duty. So surrender. Let them return to their families."
Spoken in that same flat, quiet voice, the words forced Mok Ja-un to glance at the men around him.
They were wavering. Exhausted. Ready to end this fight this very moment if they could.
Do-myeong had driven a blade straight into that raw nerve.
Damn it… To be played like this.
But he could not drop to his knees without even a proper fight, without having achieved a single thing. Accept censure for defeat? That was the talk of a man who did not understand the Namgung Family. A defeated general was never forgiven — elder or not. If he meant to keep even a scrap of his standing, surrender was the one thing he must never do.
He needed another way. A way to preserve his pride and still walk away alive…
"Jegal Do-myeong."
"Speak."
"I acknowledge defeat."
"…"
"But I will not kneel so emptily as this."
"What is it you want?"
"You are a martial artist of the Orthodox Path. I trust you understand propriety. As a commander, grant me the Courtesy of Three Concessions."
"Hm…"
There was an old phrase: the Courtesy of Three Yieldings. Born of the idea that a throne should be thrice declined, it had come to mean showing forbearance and humility toward those beneath you. In the murim it was used when a weaker man sought to force his will upon a stronger one — most often in the form of a long-standing Orthodox custom: If you can withstand three of my strikes, I will grant your request.
"If I endure three of your attacks, let us go free. Have you not already claimed victory? Have you not already proven to the world that the Jegal Family still stands?"
"…"
Jegal Do-myeong fell silent for a time.
Mok Ja-un was trying to salvage the last shred of his pride.
Accept? Or refuse?
The long deliberation stretched on.
Behind the lines, listening to every word, Jegal Mun-Hyeon nearly laughed out loud.
Oh, you slippery bastard.
Three Concessions, my ass.
He'd heard this routine plenty of times. Even on his old tour of the Central Plains for sparring matches, the Orthodox types always pulled this stunt the moment they started losing. And he could read the man's nasty little scheme as clearly as if it were written on his face.
He had no intention of losing cleanly.
Once a defeated commander invoked the Courtesy of Three Concessions, refusal would only invite the world's ridicule upon the Jegal Family. Rumors would spread — that their victory had been bought with the help of unorthodox forces and underhanded strategy. That was unacceptable.
Better to use those same Three Concessions to crush them even more thoroughly.
Jegal Mun-Hyeon broke ranks and walked toward Jegal Do-myeong.
"M-Mun-Hyeon? What are you doing? Where are you going now?"
"What's he cooking up this time…"
"Shouldn't someone stop him?"
"Who? How?"
Jegal Mun-ho and Gwan Hwi-pyeong could only stamp their feet, helpless, as—
"Uncle."
"Mun-Hyeon?"
"Nephew though I am, may I speak a word without overstepping?"
He bowed first, requesting permission in a voice pitched to carry across the entire ridge — to every ear among the Jegal, the Blood Shadow Hall, the Beggars' Guild, and the Namgung Family alike.
Because Do-myeong was the one in command.
"Speak."
"Grant it, Uncle. The Courtesy of Three Concessions."
"Why?"
"Is it not said — a gentleman cherishes virtue; a petty man cherishes gain?"
The gentleman thinks of virtue; the small man thinks of profit.
See? I've read a book or two. When the moment calls for it, I can spit out the hard words just fine.
Meaning: this is not a man who leads with his fists.
"It is also said — a gentleman stands firm even in hardship; a petty man, once hard-pressed, turns base."
A gentleman remains steadfast in adversity; a petty man, when cornered, becomes contemptible.
Jegal Do-myeong could not fail to grasp the meaning. Even Mok Ja-un — an elder, after all — seemed to understand enough for his face to flush scarlet.
The Namgung Family, chasing nothing but profit, had invaded Hubei and attacked the Jegal Family's allies — an act beyond all sense. The Jegal, unwilling to stand by, had won through pure strategy to avoid needless slaughter… and still these people, blind to their own wrongdoing, were already scheming to escape under cover of the Three Concessions.
But if the petty men of Namgung behaved so, how could the gentlemen of Jegal stoop to answer in kind?
…All of that, compressed into a few elegant phrases.
Mun-Hyeon felt thoroughly pleased with himself. Quite the worthy descendant of the Jegal line.
Jegal Do-myeong seemed equally pleased by his nephew's silver tongue; a faint look of satisfaction crossed his face.
Ah — no, wait. When he forces a smile it just looks like he's furious.
Anyway!
"Though the strong, shamelessly and without mercy, butchered the weakest of minor sects, our house still showed them clemency — and still they plead for their lives like this. Hear them out, Uncle. Even the dead get their last wishes granted, they say."
The words poured out smooth as running water.
Jegal Do-myeong nodded slowly.
Good. The board is set…
"But! How can the Courtesy of Three Concessions be properly observed in their present state? That is what has given you pause, is it not?"
At that, Jegal Do-myeong's face said something like Huh? Me? — but Mun-Hyeon pressed straight on.
"As expected of you, Uncle. A true gentleman would find it unfair to strike down an opponent so thoroughly exhausted."
"…"
"Of course they must be given time to prepare. And once they have recovered — I will face him myself."
"You…?"
Jegal Do-myeong looked at him in mild surprise. Mun-Hyeon let the corner of his mouth curl and gave a little wink.
Do-myeong knew his nephew's true strength. Young as he was, there might no longer be anyone left in the Jegal Family who could match him. And that nephew's eyes were asking a clear question.
Leave this to me, won't you? I'm the one who tied this knot of grudges in the first place.
Do-myeong answered with his eyes alone.
Are you sure of yourself?
Words that never left their lips passed back and forth in a single shared look.
Sure of myself? Did you just ask me if I was sure of myself? Me — a man who has lived his entire life on nothing but certainty?
Mun-Hyeon grinned and raised his voice until it rang off the mountain ridge.
"Furthermore! It is said — why use an ox-cleaver to kill a chicken?"
You don't need a butcher's knife for poultry.
Even the village children tossed that line around; it was practically a catchphrase. Now and then some fool used it wrong and ruined himself, but in the mouth of someone who actually held power, it was the perfect instrument of contempt.
"Why should my uncle — who stands as proxy for our Family Head — step forward against a defeated general? If you entrust this matter to your nephew, I will give it everything I have, however insufficient that may prove."
The line of Jegal Do-myeong's mouth twisted oddly and twitched.
Seriously, Uncle — you look angry. Please stop smiling. Your nephew is being perfectly earnest here.
I've laid out the whole board. All you have to do is ride the wave.
At the look Mun-Hyeon flicked upward, Do-myeong put on an expression that gave nothing away and spoke in that same flat tone.
"Mun-Hyeon."
"Yes."
"You have only just come of age. A fledgling. Your skill, as yet, can hardly be called remarkable."
…Excuse me?
Come on. I set the whole stage for you and this is what I get?
His uncle could act, too. That blank face made every word sound like pure conviction.
"I understand your desire to earn merit. But I worry that putting forward someone as lacking as yourself might be taken as an insult to our opponent."
"I-I will do my utmost."
"Mm. Very well. Do as you wish."
"…Yes."
Permission was granted — with great difficulty (?).
Mun-Hyeon bowed once more to Jegal Do-myeong, then turned toward Mok Ja-un, whose face had gone red and purple with the long wait.
"And so… I will be the one to observe the Courtesy of Three Concessions. But to demand such a rite of a man already exhausted would be improper. You will have time to recover."
"…"
Mok Ja-un's face looked ready to burst.
He already knew this boy was the one who had brought down Gu Byeok-geom and the Sorok Sect… and yet with three inches of tongue the brat had twisted the entire atmosphere out of shape.
By lowering himself, he had elevated the Jegal Family. The Jegal would be seen as having fulfilled every demand of propriety. If they somehow lost, the world would blame the recklessness of a sixteen-year-old. If they won, the world would marvel that a sixteen-year-old had done it. Either way, the fight would gain Mok Ja-un nothing at all.
Grrrind.
He had been the one to request it. There was no taking it back now.
But you have underestimated me far too much, boy.
An elder of the Namgung Family…
"…My thanks. I am grateful for your house's consideration."
"Not at all…"
Jegal Mun-Hyeon smiled, the picture of radiant courtesy — and pure, deliberate irritation.
Namgung. Go on. Struggle all you like.
The rumor that will spread through the Central Plains on the back of your defeat is only going to grow larger.
That the Jegal have risen again.
And that they have grown strong enough that they need never bow and scrape beneath anyone else again.
Ah — but I won't kill you. Sorry.
A commander's head is almost certainly the most valuable of the lot.