On the Road to Shaolin Temple (3)
The Black Spot's information had been spot on.
After riding for three days, Seo Baek's group arrived at the dock on the Yangtze River.
A single large junk ship was moored in the river.
"That's the junk ship, huh."
"Damn, it's huge."
Having lived his life in the rugged mountains of Sichuan, Seo Baek felt a fresh wave of awe upon first laying eyes on a Yangtze junk ship as he ventured into the Central Plains.
Even the lead ship of the Long River Three Gorges Waterway Gang had boasted impressive size, but it paled in comparison to these vessels that plied the Yangtze back and forth.
The junk was so massive that one had to crane their neck straight up just to see the top. It didn't look like a boat at all—more like a gigantic building planted in the water.
"A square box isn't just some crude metaphor, is it?"
As Seo Baek observed, the junk truly resembled a rectangular box.
The Three Gorges of the Long River flowed through Sichuan's treacherous valleys, where fierce currents and rapids lurked everywhere, posing constant risks of shipwreck.
That was why the Waterway Gang's boats prioritized safety in their design.
In contrast, the junks that traveled the Yangtze and the Grand Canal were built for capacity, meant to haul massive loads of cargo and passengers.
Once the tributaries converged into the mighty Yangtze proper—with its wide expanse and deep waters—there was no issue accommodating even the largest vessels.
Seo Baek's group urged their horses down to the riverbank.
But the moment they reached the dock, Wang Yi Sam muttered in a tense voice.
"This feels even more cutthroat than that Sacheon Tang Clan business."
He was right. Dozens of martial artists crowded the dock, the air thick with tension like a biting north wind.
Some had swords or sabers at their waists, while others carried bizarre weapons whose uses were anyone's guess.
Their attire varied wildly—blue robes, black garb, yellow tunics—marking them not as members of any righteous sect, but as lone wolves wandering the jianghu.
Above all, it was their eyes!
They gleamed with ferocious intensity, like thunderbolt bombs on the verge of exploding at the slightest touch.
Not a few wore blank, impassive expressions, though.
But Wang Yi Sam knew all too well that such types could be the most terrifying.
His own companions, Seo Baek and Song Hyeon, were prime examples.
The boat hands preparing for the voyage had the same killer glint in their eyes.
Wang Yi Sam clicked his tongue at the realization.
"Worse than the Three Gorges Waterway Gang, even. Back then, they at least treated us like paying customers. These bastards look at us like easy marks to fleece."
The Tang Clan had been tense out of competitive necessity for their trials.
Riding the junk, though? Just pay the fare, and you're good.
Yet the dock's atmosphere was beyond chilly—it was downright murderous. No one could fathom why.
"Why's everyone glaring like their eyes are about to pop out?"
"They're heading north to the heart of the revenant outbreak. Of course their nerves are on edge."
"Tch, right. Forgot about that."
Wang Yi Sam shut his mouth, realizing he'd asked a stupid question.
"Everyone here's got their reasons for marching into death's domain. Stakes high enough to risk their lives for."
"……."
Wang Yi Sam swallowed hard, grasping the weight in Seo Baek's words.
At that moment, the junk's captain bellowed.
"Anyone boarding the junk, come forward!"
The captain was a towering brute, a full head taller than Seo Baek, with a long scar slicing across one cheek— the perfect picture of a tough river man.
"One room per guest. Use it solo or share with your group, up to you. But it's ten silver taels per head."
A steep price for passage.
Sure enough, one martial artist piped up in protest.
"What the hell? Why so damn expensive?"
"Don't like it? Don't board."
The captain didn't even glance his way, cutting him off cold.
The martial artist clammed up. In the Central Plains jianghu, there was a saying: "Do as the Hangzhou folk do in Hangzhou." To ride the junk, you followed the Waterway Gang's rules.
Others grumbled about the fare too.
Wang Yi Sam included.
"Three of us means thirty silvers, right?"
He snuck a glance at Song Hyeon—clearly scheming that if he covered the eyepatch man's share too, it'd be his loss.
"I'll cover it. Deduct it from my share."
"Oh yeah? Then we'll do that, junior."
Wang Yi Sam jumped on Seo Baek's offer before he could change his mind.
"Still, giving us separate rooms instead of bunking us in dorms? That's generous."
"Revenants have scared off most passengers. They're hurting for riders."
"Tch. Charging a premium to ferry fools to hell, huh."
The martial artists each paid their silvers to the boat hands and boarded. Seo Baek's group followed suit when their turn came.
Spotting two martial artists who looked like master and disciple as the last ones, the captain called out.
"Two rooms left. You're the cutoff—cabins are closed after you."
"Talk about good luck."
"Sure is, senior brother."
Then, from beyond the hill, a man came striding toward the dock.
"Hold up!"
He took massive steps, seeming far off at first, but suddenly he was right there at the dock, in front of the junk.
The martial artists and boat hands alike flashed sharp glares.
—A peak expert in lightness martial arts.
But the man's face was bizarre.
The riverbank was humid and sweltering—hardly weather for heavy makeup, even on a courtesan.
Yet this guy had slathered his face with powder and thick pink blush around his eyes?
The jianghu teemed with all sorts of eccentrics, but this took the cake.
The master-disciple duo, smug with their secured rooms, sneered at him.
"What a shame. Ship's full."
"Wasted trip. Catch the next one."
"What? No room?"
"Yeah. Deaf, bitch?"
"Senior, makeup doesn't make him a girl. He's got a dick, so let's call him a bitch-ass instead."
"Good call, junior. Heh heh heh!"
As the pair laughed mockingly, the man shrugged.
"Then I'll make some room."
"……?"
Fwsh. A flash of light streaked across the riverbank.
The master's head slowly tilted sideways, then lolled off and plopped into the water.
Splash.
The disciple gaped in shock at his fallen senior.
The man had no sword at his waist. The disciple couldn't fathom how he'd decapitated his master.
Seo Baek, Song Hyeon, and a few other experts saw through it, though.
—Blade hidden in his sleeve.
A mechanism at his elbow launched the blade for a surprise strike.
"Senior! You bastard... die!"
The disciple yanked his sword from his belt.
But as he swung, the man just stood there, arms crossed.
"Wh-what?"
"Your sword's still at your waist."
The man pointed lazily at the disciple's belt.
Startled, the disciple looked down. His right hand gripped the hilt—severed clean at the wrist.
"My hand! Aaaagh...!"
Before the scream finished, the man whipped his arm, slicing off the disciple's head.
Splash. It landed right where the master's had fallen.
"What devoted brothers."
The man grinned, his pink-shadowed eyes stretching long.
"Room's open now, right?"
The already tense dock turned outright sinister with his arrival.
He approached the captain.
"You the Waterway Gang boss?"
"That's me."
"Room's free. Take the customer."
The captain frowned.
"Two rooms were left. If those brothers shared, one would've gone to you—no need for the bloodshed."
Calling out the man's rashness.
But he just pouted like it was no big deal.
"I thought your gang doesn't care who kills who, as long as it doesn't mess with the voyage."
The captain paused, then nodded.
"Fair point."
"No worries, then."
The man tossed silvers from his pouch to the captain and boarded with a swagger.
As he passed close, the boat hands' eyes sharpened.
His smile reeked of thick killing intent—potent enough for even non-martial folk to sense.
"Haha, relax. Who'd sail the ship if I slaughtered you all? I'm no idiot, hahahaha!"
He sauntered casually among the martial artists.
The boat hands—and even the artists—pointedly ignored him.
The brothers' deaths barely registered. In the jianghu, self-preservation trumped all.
Watching it unfold, Song Hyeon muttered.
"Back in the jianghu."
"Indeed."
Song Hyeon's words rippled faintly in Seo Baek's chest.
A merciless world where others' deaths were just background noise, and only your own path mattered. That was the jianghu.
In the frigid tension, the boat hands readied for departure.
Yet among the two dozen figures on deck, a dozen exchanged subtle glances.
The assassins from Black Spot Inn, who'd shared intel on Seo Baek.
Disguised among the passengers, they conversed discreetly.
"Who's that made-up freak? Anyone know him?"
"No clue. Wasn't at the inn."
"Wait. Heard rumors. Assassin who cakes his face like a woman."
"Who?"
"Probably Dohwa Gwang."
Dohwa Gwang. "Peach Blossom Maniac."
A grotesque moniker fitting for a man with feminine pink makeup.
"Why the hell the makeup?"
"Beats me."
"What's he doing on the junk? No reason for him to head north in this mess."
"Same as us? Heard the rumors about that kid heading to Shaolin."
"Bad vibe. He'll break the pact and go for the kid first. Hell, he never even agreed."
"Take him out together when the chance comes?"
"Agreed."
The hidden assassins resolved to kill this Dohwa Gwang at the right moment and ended their talk.
"Weigh anchor."
The captain ordered the voyage.
Then, from beyond the hill, another figure waved frantically, sprinting to the dock.
"Wait! I'm here for the junk!"
The unexpected intruder briefly eased the deck's menace.
Normally, the captain would've set sail regardless—Waterway Gang rule: no waiting for latecomers.
But with the brothers dead, a room stood empty.
Revenants had already strained operations; wasting a cabin was out of the question.
Grudgingly, the captain crossed his arms and waited.
The figure finally staggered onto the dock, hands on knees, gasping.
"I'll pay any amount... can I board? Huff... huff..."
"Twenty silvers for a room."
"Here."
As he climbed aboard, all eyes locked on him.
But martial artists and boat hands alike soon smirked.
He cut a refined figure in a spotless white robe and black gat—yet screamed "bookish scholar," the type who'd never touched martial arts, holing up with scrolls his whole life.
The assassins tensed, thinking another rival, then snorted at the scholar.
—Panting after that short sprint? Never trained a day.
—Pathetic, kekeke.
While everyone mocked him, Dohwa Gwang scowled at the captain.
"Sailing with some untrained bookworm?"
"Junks don't discriminate customers."
"Just take the money?"
"Exactly. One room left—no reason to refuse."
"Tch. Should've let one brother live to fill it."
Dohwa Gwang grumbled and retreated aft.
Soon, the junk pulled away from the dock, riding the river's central current.
The journey to the Grand Canal had begun.