The Sichuan Tang Clan's Commission (2)
But then, someone voiced their dissatisfaction with the list of passers.
"I'm the third young master of the Jang family! Why the hell was I rejected? What makes me worse than those rags-for-brains?"
The one causing the commotion was Jang Wu Myeong.
"The list of successful applicants was carefully selected by the Tang Clan."
The steward explained, but Jang Wu Myeong ignored him and bellowed.
"Get someone from the Tang Clan out here, not you!"
At that moment, a young man in his mid-twenties appeared smoothly from behind the steward, as if he'd been there all along.
"And who the hell are you?"
In response to Jang Wu Myeong's shout, the young man replied.
"You asked for someone from the Tang Clan, didn't you?"
"……!"
He was Dang Jo Jeong, who had been watching the martial hall from the third-floor room alongside his aunt, Dang Hong.
With a Tang Clan member present, Jang Wu Myeong quickly changed his expression and offered a cupped-fist salute.
"My apologies for the rudeness. I am Jang Wu Myeong, third young master of the Jang family."
"Dang Jo Jeong."
Dang Jo Jeong's greeting was curt and haughty.
He knew exactly how to handle types like Jang Wu Myeong. Those who bullied the weak were always soft against the strong.
Sure enough, the man who had been pointing and yelling at the steward now simpered ingratiatingly before Dang Jo Jeong.
"Hear me out. I demonstrated my family's secret sword technique, but this steward doesn't know martial arts, so he rejected me……."
"The passers were selected personally by me and my aunt."
"……."
At those words, Jang Wu Myeong shut his mouth like a mute.
Dang Jo Jeong's aunt was also a key figure in the Sichuan Tang Clan.
The Tang Clan had always been dominated by women. Without sons, daughters inherited the line and took sons-in-law to bear children.
In other words, any woman from the Sichuan Tang Clan was no mere figurehead—she was core to the clan.
He had come to build connections with the Tang Clan; picking a fight with one of their own was out of the question. Jang Wu Myeong stamped his feet in frustration, caught between a rock and a hard place.
Once Jang Wu Myeong quieted down, Dang Jo Jeong addressed the martial artists.
"Thank you for coming to take on the Sichuan Tang Clan's task. We need a small elite group, so we couldn't select more—please understand. Apply again next time."
His clear voice echoed through the martial hall.
For the notoriously arrogant Sichuan Tang Clan of the Central Plains, it was a surprisingly polite farewell.
But his words belied the razor-sharp glint in his eyes. Casually, he lifted the hem of his robe to reveal the sword at his waist.
A declaration: if they didn't leave peacefully, he'd demonstrate the Tang Clan's martial prowess!
The disgruntled martial artists scattered, turning to leave the hall.
Push further, and the Tang Clan might unleash their hidden blades. Why refuse a cup of wine for a cup of poison?
As the martial artists filed out one by one, even Jang Wu Myeong couldn't persist.
"Damn it all… Let's go!"
He stormed out of the manor with his entourage in tow.
"That stray dog thought the Central Plains martial world was easy pickings. Serves him right."
Wang Yi Sam chuckled.
"Anyway, how should we kill time till midnight?"
"Let's grab a bowl of noodles at the inn."
"Sounds good. I'll have mine with a drink."
"We're starting work tonight—planning to drink?"
"Just one cup, one! Gotta oil the gut now and then, like oiling my pakdo."
"Your gut's gonna cost more to oil than that dao."
Seo Baek and Wang Yi Sam bantered warmly as they left the manor.
The village was quite a distance from the Tang Clan stronghold, so it took a while to arrive. The pair found an inn and went inside.
They sat, ordering noodles and baijiu.
The inn was packed with martial artists carrying swords and blades. He couldn't remember every face, but they were all applicants for the Tang Clan job.
Most, of course, had been rejected. They drowned their gripes in drink.
"They shut the door in our faces for just twenty spots?"
"That's the Tang Clan for you. Even among the righteous sects, they're infamous for their arrogance."
"Shh! Watch your mouth. Heard they plant spies even in backwater holes like this."
At that, they glanced around and lowered their voices.
Others drank in silence.
The passers of the qualification test.
From the glint in their eyes, they stood apart from the rest—saying nothing unnecessary, just quietly sipping or slurping noodles.
Then, one martial artist whispered low.
"Failing the test might've been a blessing in disguise."
"What? Why?"
"Heard the job's destination is Shu Dao Pass."
"What? That's where a revenant horde could swarm any moment!"
The mood among the martial artists turned uneasy in an instant.
Seo Baek overheard and thought.
So that's it.
His master's words surfaced in his mind.
—When the snake coils, it waits for an opening to strike. Never let your guard down.
The Tang Clan's commission was, as he'd suspected, a matter of life and death.
Sichuan was ringed by layered mountains on all sides—east, west, south, north.
Crossing endless cliffs and precipices would exhaust ten lives.
To enter Sichuan from the Central Plains without scaling the peaks, there were two paths: through the northern Hanzhong checkpoint or the eastern Shu Dao Pass.
Shu Dao Pass.
The gateway linking Sichuan and the Central Plains.
Revenants were appearing sporadically across Sichuan now.
But the Central Plains? Infested beyond compare.
Its population was vast as grains of sand on the shore. Rumors swirled of Central Plains revenants roaming in packs of dozens to hundreds—thousands or tens of thousands at worst.
If a horde of tens of thousands breached Shu Dao Pass?
Sichuan turning into revenant hell was inevitable.
He didn't know the exact nature of the Tang Clan's request, but one thing was clear.
They were hiring skilled martial artists to transport something to Shu Dao Pass.
Weapons to hold back the revenants? Whatever it was, it screamed danger.
And the road to Shu Dao Pass was riddled with revenant hotspots.
Realizing this, the martial artists sighed in relief.
"Failing was a stroke of luck!"
"Sending us into Shu Dao Pass on our own feet? Might as well jump into fire with faggots on our backs."
"You know the Tang Clan—they'll use those twenty as sword fodder, plain as day!"
Grateful for their lives, the martial artists toasted.
Wang Yi Sam turned to Seo Baek.
"Dragging you to a death trap—got any complaints?"
"Not at all."
Seo Baek slurped a mouthful of freshly arrived noodles and said.
"I have no intention of rotting away griping about the world."
"Couldn't agree more."
Seo Baek and Wang Yi Sam blew on their steaming noodles and ate.
But a group was eyeing them stealthily.
Jang Wu Myeong and his gang, huddled in the inn's corner.
"That guy's the kid from the martial hall earlier, right?"
"Looks like it."
"Rejected me but picked that runt? The Tang bastards—I'll have revenge for this!"
"Hold it in, young master. Aren't the Tang Clan a bit underhanded?"
When his swordsman tried to restrain him, Jang Wu Myeong downed his cup in fury. Then, as if struck by an idea, he said.
"Wait. This job's headed to Shu Dao Pass, right?"
He pondered briefly, then smirked, curling his lip.
"Everyone, gather 'round."
The three swordsmen huddled over the table, and Jang Wu Myeong outlined his scheme.
Midnight arrived.
Seo Baek and Wang Yi Sam had already returned to the manor.
Soon, the eighteen other passers trickled in.
But the manor's atmosphere was oddly tense. Deep into the night, not a torch or candle flickered.
In pitch-black darkness, only the eyes of the twenty martial artists gleamed under the moonlight.
Dang Jo Jeong appeared with the steward in tow—the latter carrying a small lantern, the only light.
The steward called roll from the roster. All twenty were present; no passers absent.
Once confirmed, carriages began rolling out from inside the manor in a line.
The martial artists watched with keen interest.
But Seo Baek eyed elsewhere. As the carriages emerged, the steward had turned and vanished somewhere, plunging the manor back into darkness.
Each carriage was pulled by two donkeys.
The issue was the cargo.
By eye, several large crates seemed loaded aboard. But black cloth draped the entire vehicles, hiding the contents.
The martial artists wondered briefly, then dismissed it.
No need to know what it was. A sect's commission—complete the task, claim the reward. That was it.
"Now for the job details. Pair up, two per carriage."
Dang Jo Jeong began.
"Destination: Shu Dao Pass."
Words that would have stirred rejected applicants at the inn.
But these twenty didn't blink.
"Three strict rules. One: Do not remove or peek under the cloth covering the carriages."
Human nature—tell people not to, and they itch to.
The martial artists instinctively glanced at the carriages. Just how valuable was the cargo?
"Two: No fires. No smoking."
Even the steely martial artists cocked their heads.
Travel this pitch-black night without light?
Shu Dao Pass was three days and nights nonstop—meaning at least three treks through darkness.
"Three: Protect only your own carriage. Don't help others."
Every man for himself. Focus on your duty. Classic Tang Clan ruthlessness.
"Follow these three rules."
But Dang Jo Jeong added one more line.
"If you break them and lose your life, don't blame the Sichuan Tang Clan."
"……."
Mystifying rules with no clear reason.
But one truth shone: the cargo was deadly enough to decide life or death!
Dang Jo Jeong continued.
"Payment upon arrival at Shu Dao Pass. Two silver taels per carriage."
"……!"
The martial artists' eyes, chilled by the rules, now sparkled with greed.
One silver tael equaled fifty nyang of silver.
Fifty nyang was what a commoner scrimped for years. A hundred nyang? What a sword-for-hire scraped a lifetime.
A staggering sum that lit even the coolest eyes!
Wang Yi Sam said excitedly.
"What'd I tell ya? Big score, right?"
But Seo Baek replied flatly.
"The harder the job, the higher the pay. A hundred nyang is our life price."
"…You're right."
"It's dangerous, so some'll bolt midway. But with a hundred nyang dangling, running's tough. The Tang Clan chained our ankles with silver."
"…Spot on again."
Wang Yi Sam marveled at Seo Baek's cool analysis.
He was right.
A hundred nyang—a sword-for-hire's lifetime dream. The Tang Clan wouldn't offer it lightly.
Unknown peril lurked in this job!
"Depart."
Dang Jo Jeong commanded.
The martial artists formed pairs, starting from the front—the lead duos pulling their carriages out of the manor.