Chapter 12: In the Jianghu, One's Body is Not One's Own (1)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 12: In the Jianghu, One's Body is Not One's Own (1)
Among the young experts of Xinxing County, there was a trio known as the Three Dogs of Xinxing—three absolute bastards who roamed the county, tormenting its people.
The first was Mad Dog.
He had learned his martial arts from some Black Path thug in the back alleys. Because his origins were the most dubious, he was technically the weakest of the three. However, his temperament was that of a rabid animal, and he was infamous for being the most cruel and lawless.
The second was Smiling Dog.
He was the youngest Squad Leader in the White Dragon Gang. He was almost always high on Dream Soul Powder, a foolish, vacant grin perpetually plastered on his face. While he seemed friendly enough at a glance, he was Xinxing’s number one junkie, constantly pushing and selling Dream Soul Powder to anyone within reach.
Then there was Resentful Dog, Jeon Tae-gwang.
He was the youngest disciple of Shin Ja-eon, the leader of the Severing Sword Sect and one of the three great experts of Xinxing County. With a renowned master backing him, his martial arts were formidable, and he acted as the de facto leader of the Three Dogs.
He had another nickname, as well.
People called the four direct disciples of the Severing Sword Sect’s leader the Four Severing Swords. The first was the Great Severing Sword, while the second and third were the Middle and Small Severing Swords, respectively.
But the youngest, Jeon Tae-gwang, was mockingly called the Weak Severing Sword. He was considered too pathetic to truly be counted among the Four Severing Swords. His resentment toward his master and senior disciples ran deep, and he vented that internal fire by committing all sorts of atrocities outside the sect walls.
One day, as the three of them were out looking for trouble, a certain story reached their ears.
The story of Yeon So-wol.
“That woodcutter from Annam, Yeon So-wol. Have you heard? They say he’s become the adopted son of the Great Hero Lee Yu-baek.”
“Is that true? A woodcutter from Annam really hit the jackpot, eh?”
“I heard it straight from the source. They say Great Hero Lee Yu-baek said it himself: ‘Your talent is so exceptional that I cannot teach you. Instead, I will become your adoptive father and support you! You must go out into the wider world and find a master worthy of you!’ That’s exactly what he said.”
“Great Hero Lee Yu-baek said that? But isn’t he a true expert, recognized even in big cities like Danju or Foshan? And he said he wasn’t good enough?”
“That’s what makes it so shocking.”
“Bullshit. What a load of exaggeration. The guy started at eighteen—you really think that’s how it went down?”
“Who the hell are you to be so rude to someone you just met?”
“What, you got a problem? Huh?”
“You crazy son of a…”
“But doesn’t starting martial arts at eighteen make it even more amazing? You really don’t get it?”
“It’s impressive, sure, but don’t praise him like he’s some kind of god.”
“The hell? If you don’t praise a guy who started at eighteen, got acknowledged by Xinxing’s greatest expert, and became his adopted son, then who the hell are you supposed to praise?”
“What? ‘The hell’? You wanna die?”
“Ah, did you hear that? I was just talking to myself.”
“You toad-faced bastard…”
“Hey, hey. If you’re going to fight, take it somewhere else.”
The voices drifted over to the trio while they were playing dominoes. The first to react was the perpetually angry Resentful Dog, Jeon Tae-gwang.
“What a load of bullshit. A bunch of ignorant peasants who don’t know the first thing about martial arts. What do they expect from a bastard who started at eighteen? Do they even know what internal energy is? Do they know what a mental cultivation method is? What? Lee Yu-baek said he couldn’t teach him because he wasn’t good enough? Fucking hell.”
Smiling Dog giggled, his eyes glazed.
“Still, Lee Yu-baek’s sworn brother… no, his adopted… son? Heh heh. Why’s it so complicated? Anyway, right. The adopted son thing must be true, then? I wonder if he likes Dream Soul Powder?”
Mad Dog took a pinch of Dream Soul Powder from Smiling Dog, snorted it with a sharp, practiced inhale, and sneered.
“Wow. He’s really hit the big time. An Annam barbarian, landing a rich father like Lee Yu-baek.”
At first, it was just a passing interest. But wherever they went, the name Yeon So-wol followed.
“That Yeon So-wol. I heard Great Hero Lee Yu-baek acknowledged him as a second-rate martial artist.”
“Second-rate? Does that even make sense?”
“I couldn’t believe it either, so I asked someone from the Pungryu Martial Arts Hall directly. They said it was true.”
“No, that’s just impossible. My friend started training his ass off at ten. He trained for ten years straight and was still called third-rate before he quit. But a guy who started at eighteen is already second-rate? This soon?”
“Hah. If that’s true, he’s a genius. A once-in-a-century genius. If only he’d started three years earlier!”
Resentful Dog burst out in irritation.
“Second-rate, my ass. When Lee Yu-baek says second-rate, doesn’t he mean the Breath of Smoke and Clouds realm?”
“Right. The Breath of Smoke and Clouds. No, wait. The Breath of Smoke and… Smoke? No… Ugh. I’m so hazy. Anyway, that thing.”
“Does that make any fucking sense? The bastard’s only been at it for half a year. What Breath of Smoke and Clouds? Do they think cultivating internal energy is a fucking joke?”
“Wow. Breath of Smoke and Clouds in half a year? How long did it take me to get there? Like, five years? Whoa. A genius, a true genius. To do that after starting at eighteen… he’s not a once-in-a-century genius, he’s a once-in-a-millennium one.”
Mad Dog slowly began to share in Resentful Dog’s irritation. His eyes flashed with malice.
And still, they kept hearing about Yeon So-wol. In the inns, at the cockfighting pits, and in the pavilions. At the market and by the well.
“So, is he going to become one of the Four Gentlemen of Pungryu now?”
“Then what do we call him? That Yeon So-wol?”
“Let’s see. The first is Pungryu-rang, the second is Jilpung-rang, the third is Cheongpung-rang… so Yeon So-wol would be…”
“He’s the new guy, so how about Shin-rang?”
“Doesn’t that mean ‘groom’?”
“Ah.”
“Did you offer your brain as a sacrifice to Gugeunsa Temple?”
“…That was harsh. You’ve wounded my heart.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“……”
“But does he even need a nickname? Can’t we just call him the woodcutter from Annam?”
“That seems right.”
“‘The woodcutter from Annam’ is too long. Let’s just shorten it to ‘the Annam guy.’”
“You people are too much.”
Resentful Dog’s hands trembled.
“A nickname? They’re actually thinking of a nickname for him? For a bastard who just started learning martial arts?”
Resentful Dog felt like he was going to die of jealousy. Thankfully, a proper nickname hadn’t stuck yet, but the mere fact that people were even considering it was enough to make his blood boil.
It was the same for Mad Dog.
“Wow. Fuck. Seriously. I’m so damn jealous. I crawled through the gutter just to survive, and all they gave me was a nickname like ‘Mad Dog.’”
Smiling Dog still didn’t seem to care much.
“What if that Annam guy really likes Dream Soul Powder? That’d be great. We could call him Monghon-rang. Hehe.”
In their own ways, the three dog-bastards of Xinxing County took the name Yeon So-wol to heart.
*
Lee Yu-baek said, “So-wol, resting is also a form of cultivation. In less than half a year, your essence, qi, and spirit have undergone a transformation greater than a caterpillar becoming a butterfly. Can you imagine the strain your body is under? Even steel must be cooled after being heated to become strong. For the next month, let’s just rest and focus on basic conditioning. It would be best to take the elixir I gave you after another month, once you’ve begun your lightness technique training.”
And so, Yeon So-wol’s period of rest began.
He spent his time at the Pungryu Martial Arts Hall with Lee Yu-baek, building their bond as father and son. To Yeon So-wol’s pleasant surprise, the two of them got along splendidly.
“So-wol, try this on.”
One day, Lee Yu-baek brought him a single-layered white dopo. [T/N:Martial Robe]
Yeon So-wol donned a light-blue knight-errant’s robe with sleek sleeves and a perfect fit, and over it, he draped the thin, white dopo. A very faint hint of blue bled through from underneath, creating an incredibly refined, ethereal look.
“And how about this with it?”
Lee Yu-baek held out a thin, long, red knotted cord.
“This is called a Sajo cord. Here. You tie it like this on the inside before putting on the dopo, and you hang your sword from it. The sword is then subtly hidden by the hem of the dopo. However, since you don’t know how to wield a sword yet, I’ll give you a wooden one. I carved it myself from ebony.”
Once fully dressed, Yeon So-wol examined his reflection in a polished bronze mirror.
The white dopo shimmered with a hint of blue as it draped over his shoulders, and the open front revealed the light-blue robe beneath. Over it, the dark red cord was tied, drawing the eye. A jet-black wooden sword, concealed by the dopo’s hem, hung from the Sajo cord, swinging just in and out of view with every movement.
His hair, which had grown quite long, was styled up with a bamboo coronet. Everything had been meticulously prepared by Lee Yu-baek.
Wow.
Yeon So-wol turned this way and that, marveling at his appearance.
This is silk, right? I never even got to wear stuff like this back in Korea.
Here, the word myeongju was more common than silk. It was also called gyeon. Among them, such a thin, delicate weave was called sa. Clothes made of sa were as light as paper. The texture was crisp yet soft against his skin, and the color had a subtle elegance he had never seen before.
Is this the life of the rich?
Yeon So-wol felt a wave of satisfaction rise in his chest. Even in the Republic of Korea, he had dreamed of working hard and living a successful life. He thought that dream was lost forever when he fell into this barbaric martial world…
It’s not bad.
Fine clothes. A fine house. A clean, fragrant environment. It was quite decent. With this, he felt he could live a pretty good life.
“Sir, ahem. No. Father.”
“Yes, So-wol.”
The word “Father” still didn’t come naturally, but Yeon So-wol had grown quite fond of Lee Yu-baek. Lee Yu-baek, too, was more relaxed around him than before. People with similar tastes quickly grow close.
“Father, you’ve gifted me clothes, medicinal ingredients for washing, and oils and balms to smooth my skin and hair. You’ve taught me how to dress properly and how to care for myself.”
“I have.”
“I am truly grateful. But there is one thing I am curious about.”
“Don’t beat around the bush. Just say it.”
“The incense. The incense you burn, the sachets you carry, the fragrances you apply. I’ve always been curious. What kind of scent do you use? That is the one thing you haven’t taught me.”
Yeon So-wol’s eyes shone.
Scent. It was the one thing he had become most obsessed with since falling into the martial world. This was a world full of foul odors. Here, Yeon So-wol had come to realize just how fragrantly surrounded daily life in the 21st century had been.
Shampoo, detergent, fabric softener, dish soap, air fresheners, floor wax—even the tap water had its own unique scent. Everything had a deodorizing effect. Even excluding dedicated perfumes, the modern world was overflowing with pleasant scents.
That was why, ever since he’d arrived, Yeon So-wol had become obsessed with fragrance. The incense he burned in his room and the sachets he carried were a kind of ward—a fragrant barrier that protected him from the stench of the outside world.
He had been impressed from the very first time he met Lee Yu-baek by that unique, faintly sweet lemon scent. Yeon So-wol wanted a signature scent like that for himself.
At that, Lee Yu-baek smiled.
“So-wol.”
“Yes.”
“You already have a pleasant scent. It’s thanks to your excellent Breath of Smoke and Clouds.”
“But that has trouble pushing back the surrounding stench.”
“So-wol.”
“Yes.”
“A proper scent is truly expensive. More expensive than its weight in gold. That means it’s so expensive I’d hesitate to give it away, even to my own son.”
The words were blunt, but Yeon So-wol wasn’t the least bit flustered. He had no intention of shamelessly asking for it in the first place.
“If you could just give me the information. I have money of my own.”
Lee Yu-baek smiled again.
“A scent is a person’s unique trace. Two people cannot have the same trace. I would sooner teach you my secret martial arts than tell you my scent.”
Yeon So-wol was a little disappointed but didn’t let it show.
Right. It would be more meaningful to find my own scent. I should visit Elder Jo Man-seok soon and ask for his advice on fragrances.
He steeled his resolve.
“I see. In that case, I will find a scent of my own. One that will not lose to yours, Father.”
“Good. That’s how it should be.”
Yeon So-wol’s and Lee Yu-baek’s gazes met in mid-air, clashing with a strange, competitive heat.
*
The streets of Xinxing County.
A young man walked down the road. He had an uncommonly tall stature and an uncommonly handsome face. His dopo billowed grandly along his long limbs, its hem and sleeves dancing in the wind.
Through the opening of the overcoat, a thin red Sajo cord could be seen tied over a light-blue robe, and hanging from it, a black wooden sword was barely visible. His hair was styled up with a bamboo coronet—an attire that common folk wouldn’t even dare to dream of wearing.
And with every sway of his robes, a fragrant scent—one that could never be found on these dusty streets—wafted out.
“Whoa…”
“What in the world?”
“He’s so handsome.”
“That’s him, right? The one who became Great Hero Lee Yu-baek’s adopted son.”
“Yes. Yeon So-wol from Annam.”
“His stride is so confident. His eyes are so sharp. He seems like a truly well-bred gentleman.”
“Wow. He lives in a different world from us.”
The women were mesmerized, and the men watched in awe. One of them burst out in admiration.
“Young Hero Arang. He’s so magnificent.”
“Arang? Hah. That nickname fits him perfectly.”
They took the “rang” from Pungryu Sarang—a suffix for a young, handsome man—and added “A” from the word for “elegant” or “refined,” calling him Arang. As if they liked the sound of it, the name “Arang, Arang,” began to spread through the crowd.
And by pure chance, one of Xinxing’s three dog-bastards, the resentful Jeon Tae-gwang, happened to be passing by and saw it all.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. A martial artist should be judged by his skills. ‘Arang,’ my ass.”
Grind.
Watching Yeon So-wol’s leisurely, elegant approach, Jeon Tae-gwang’s face crumpled into a furious, jealous scowl.