The Spring Festival and the Prince's Descent

Didn't I tell you to come out and play? It's the Spring Festival!

To Cheong, the day was far more familiar as Seol. It was, without question, the greatest holiday of the entire Chinese people. Of course, even beyond the Chinese, there wasn't a single ethnicity that didn't celebrate the turning of the old year and the arrival of the new. In the distant past, they said, a monster with massive horns called the Nian would crawl into the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠human world on the day the years changed and devour people. But the creature feared nothing more than the color red, bright lanterns, and loud explosions. So on New Year's Day, the Chinese would paste red paper on their gates, fill the village with lanterns, and beat bamboo stalks together to create explosive sounds, all to drive the beast away. And once gunpowder was invented? The powder created light, and the light roared like thunder to chase the monster off. This was even depicted in the Water Margin.

That was why, on the eve of the first day of the new year, thousands of lanterns lit up the streets of Nanning until the entire city glowed. It was one of the few nights a year when staying out late was not only legal but encouraged. Drunkards were already staggering about and shouting, children ran around giggling, beggars finally filled their bellies and sprawled out in contentment, lovers walked hand in hand, and married men strolled with their wives and concubines. Even lonely men and women grew bold enough to reach out to one another. It was a night overflowing with abundance, joy, and fertility upon the cold earth.

Yet there were people whose rotten personalities found this single perfect day of the year absolutely unbearable. People who, without saying it aloud, radiated the clear intent that anyone who dared enjoy themselves would die. They were the warriors of the Yo Family Salt Gang.

These sons of bitches. Some people are about to lose their lives on the first day of the first lunar month.

The little brats running around, the couples holding hands who would soon be rolling in the sheets, the laughing bastards, the drunkards guzzling liquor—every last one of them should burn in hell. Of course, the Yo Family warriors had always been a bit lacking in the humanity department. Still, it was understandable. They were about to serve as the vanguard—no, the sacrificial lambs—in the coming battle. Their nerves were naturally stretched tight as they steeled themselves with grim resolve: Will I survive this perfect First Day? I will live to see the morning sun.

That was how the lower-ranked warriors felt. The three combat units belonging to the Sadoryeon followed behind the Yo Family fighters, joking that seeing blood right after the new year must mean it would be a year of great fortune. Whether they were serious or just putting on a brave front was anyone's guess.

This was the advance of the Yo Family Salt Gang. It was exactly the sort of atrocity one would expect from those unorthodox bastards. Logically speaking, just because the deadline had been set for this year didn't mean they had to attack the moment the year changed. But surpassing common sense was the very essence of military strategy—or so claimed Jo Gwang-ang, leader of the Baek-ung-dan under the Sadoryeon, also known as Baekryeon Cheolkwon and Pilpae Byeongbeop. There had been objections, of course. Jo Gwang-ang had sunk every one of them with a single phrase.

'Are you scared, by any chance?'

In Cheong's hometown terms, it was the ultimate male provocation of "What, you chicken?"—the root cause of countless incidents ranging from minor injuries to full-blown disasters.

And so Yo Hwan-cheol, leader of the Yo Family Salt Gang, marched at the front alongside the Sadoryeon's experts. Behind them came the ordinary members of the Yo Family with deathly pale faces, followed by the Sadoryeon's combat units glaring at anyone who might try to run. This was the scene on the eve of battle. No—on the very night of battle itself!

Yo Hwan-cheol advanced toward the grounds of the Gyerim Sword Sect, which he intended to claim as the Yo Family's new territory in Nanning. The Gyerim Sword Sect bastards couldn't possibly have imagined such a swift assault. If word had reached them, they would have hurriedly closed the gates and gathered their disciples, but by then it would be too late. They would be swept away before they could lift a finger against the elite warriors of the Yo Family (or so their leader claimed) and the Sadoryeon's reinforcements.

"Hmm?"

But what was this? Instead of battle preparations, the massive main gate of the grounds stood wide open. Lanterns hung everywhere, brilliantly illuminating the area. Through the open entrance, banquet tables were fully set, and everyone was laughing brightly with cheerful expressions.

Yo Hwan-cheol, Jo Gwang-ang, Bo-yeol of the Sasa-ui, and the other experts exchanged glances.

What is going on?

Don't ask me.

They hadn't even posted a single guard at the wide-open gate. Leaving a banquet hall completely unguarded was practically an invitation for anyone to enter without hesitation. At this point, the situation was so absurd and bewildering that it left them speechless, stunned, and utterly at a loss.

These people who were about to be driven out should have been gloomy, or already fled under cover of night, or at the very least been bristling with the intent to fight to the death. Instead, they had thrown a whole feast.

"As expected, one cannot spit on a smiling face! It seems the Gyerim Sword Sect bastards have resorted to schemes!"

Jo Gwang-ang, who called himself a master of military strategy, reached this conclusion all by himself and nodded in admiration.

"They must have thought that by laughing and enjoying themselves on this auspicious day while appearing defenseless, we would hesitate to attack. But how naive! The path of the unorthodox is the path of tyranny. Mercy is a luxury. We walk ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the path of asuras!"

The leader of the Baek-ung-dan shouted whatever he pleased. The leaders of the Heuk-ung-dan and Baekho-dan—Sa Heun, the Black Tiger of Hyeju, and Mun Jeong-yeok, the First Sword of Bokju—had never agreed to any "path of asuras." Nevertheless, the experts from the Sadoryeon, along with the Yo Family's leader, vice-leader, the two unit leaders, three vice-unit leaders, and other notable fighters, rushed through the gate after Jo Gwang-ang as he strode forward on his self-appointed path of asuras.

Inside the spacious outer courtyard, at the head table set facing the entrance, Kang Su-yang, sect leader of the Gyerim Sword Sect, looked up with a surprised expression.

"Oh? If it isn't the salt-selling Yo bastard. What brings you here?"

The casual tone and the casual insult of "salt-selling Yo bastard." As if asking what business a mere lowly salt merchant had showing up. Kang Su-yang had flipped Yo Hwan-cheol's insides from the very first sentence. This was the way of the righteous path. Direct curses were vulgar, so they always looked for roundabout ways to deliver them. In that sense, Cheong was closer to the unorthodox faction—or rather, even unorthodox experts would consider her a viciously malicious poison-tongued witch.

"Ah, you've come to pay your New Year's greetings as well. Since you've come all this way, I should at least offer you a drink. Yes, that would be proper."

"Who! Who said anything about paying greetings?!"

"Hm? You're saying you didn't come to pay respects? I saw you bringing all your warriors, so I naturally assumed you'd come to offer greetings."

"Enough with your nonsense—"

"Stop!"

Suddenly Jo Gwang-ang cut off the salt gang leader. Yo Hwan-cheol's face flushed with rage. No matter how great a master from the Sadoryeon he might be, Yo Hwan-cheol was still the leader of an entire faction. To be interrupted so rudely—what was left of his dignity?

The salt gang leader's pride was deeply wounded, but if Jo Gwang-ang had been the sort of person to consider such things, he wouldn't have interrupted in the first place.

"Haha! It seems the sect leader is trying to avoid disaster with clever tricks, but you clearly need to read more military texts. As everyone knows, clever tricks are helpless before proper strategy. As Master Sun emphasized the importance of preparation, the greatest defense lies in readiness. A force that is always prepared for battle—that is true defense."

Kang Su-yang stared at Jo Gwang-ang with an expression that said he had no idea what the man was talking about but was willing to listen anyway.

"Haha. Are you flustered that your desperate scheme, staked on the fate of your entire sect, has been seen through? But there's no need to be too discouraged. There's no shame in being outmatched by this Baekryeon Cheolkwon Jo Gwang-ang, whose ingenious strategies are known far and wide."

At that moment, Cheong's eyes sparkled. One, two.

"Baekryeon Cheolkwon!"

Cheong suddenly shouted the name at the top of her lungs. And it wasn't a quiet shout, either. When everyone's puzzled gazes turned toward her, Cheong broke into a cold sweat.

Damn it. Is there some kind of local custom for repeating titles like that? I guess this wasn't the right time.

"Uh, um... I just thought I'd heard it somewhere before. Please, continue your conversation. Oh, this looks good. I've been wanting to try this. It's my favorite... um, some kind of soup. Yeah, soup. It looks delicious."

"Brother? That's not soup, that's the oil they skimmed off the hotpot for later—"

"Shh. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Read the room."

With that awkward remark, Cheong scooped up a spoonful of the oil that had been set aside for cooking and ate it, muttering nonsense like "Mmm, this really is the best. It's so oily because it's oil," in a desperate attempt to restore a natural atmosphere.

Jo Gwang-ang thought to himself, Is she a bit slow? before moving on.

"Ahem. In any case, Sect Leader. A trick is nothing but a trick. Once a man draws his blade, there is no turning back. Rather than leave behind the foolish record of being attacked while enjoying a banquet, why don't you—"

Jo Gwang-ang was busy showing off when a clear, resonant voice filled with profound inner energy suddenly shook the entire gathering.

At the signal, the disciples of the Gyerim Sword Sect, who had clearly rehearsed this, instantly stopped their feast. They dropped to their knees in a display of perfect deference. Since they had already bowed when the prince first arrived, the rule against bowing twice to a living person in one sitting meant simply kneeling respectfully was sufficient.

The salt gang leader and the other experts were thrown into complete disarray. A prince? A royal prince? Out of nowhere? What in the world was this bolt from the blue?

At that moment, Jayu emerged from the main hall and took a seat behind Kang Su-yang. It turned out there was a platform one level higher behind the head table, prepared as the highest seat of honor. He planted his elbows on the table, rested his chin on his hands, and spoke.

"Hmm? What is this? What sort of wretches are these, daring to stand straight with their backs unbowed upon seeing the bloodline of the Son of Heaven?"

"Your Highness. The fellow standing at the front is from the salt-selling Yo family. It seems they heard of Your Highness's arrival and came to pay their respects."

"Oh, is that so? Earlier I thought I heard someone angrily asking who was paying respects?"

Only then did Yo Hwan-cheol's face turn deathly pale.

These insane bastards! I told them to clear out the grounds, and they invited a prince instead?! These cowardly pieces of trash who don't even understand the principle of non-interference between the court and the martial world!

The bell announcing midnight had not even rung yet. This was the thought of someone who had launched an attack before the old year had even passed. But survival came before pride.

"Not at all! We came specifically to pay our respects to the royal prince we have always admired most! Your Highness, may you receive boundless blessings in the new year!"

Yo Hwan-cheol moved to bow but froze. Kang Su-yang, the Gyerim Sword Sect leader, had planted himself firmly in front of the mysterious prince who sat with a lukewarm expression. If he bowed now, it would look as though he were bowing to Kang Su-yang as well.

"Hmm, Sect Leader. Are the greetings of martial artists always this disrespectful? Even though he is of the imperial clan, you cannot bend the knee?"

"Not at all! Ten thousand years! Ten thousand years! Ten thousand times ten thousand years!"

Yo Hwan-cheol practically threw his body forward, thrusting both arms into the air as he shouted the traditional blessing. Jayu's gaze turned toward the Sadoryeon experts, who still stood frozen, unsure what to do.

"This humble one, Bo from the rivers and lakes, pays his respects to Your Highness! May you enjoy eternal life and boundless health!"

"This one, Hwa from Bokju, pays his respects!"

"This one, Sa from Hyeju, offers his greetings!"

"This one is Jo Gwang-ang from Hyangyang! May you enjoy peace and health!"

With Bo-yeol taking the lead, the Sadoryeon experts hurriedly threw themselves to the ground. Taking over the grounds? That was irrelevant. The place where a prince resided was a sacred sanctuary in the Central Plains.

"Very well. The new year is still a bit away, but I wish you all boundless blessings in the coming year as well. Hmm. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠But why does it seem there are so many people gathered outside?"

Kang Su-yang immediately answered with deep reverence.

"Are they not all people who have gathered on this fine night to pay their respects to Your Highness?"

"Is that so? They are truly commendable. However, receiving each of them one by one would cause this rare, fine evening of the First Day to pass entirely. In that case, I am in a generous mood. I shall go out myself to receive their greetings."

And so the benevolent Prince Deokhyun personally went out the gate to greet the gathered visitors.

Moved by the sight, the martial artists of the rivers and lakes all pressed their knees, elbows, and foreheads to the ground, shouting the noble royal title until the heavens themselves seemed ready to split. The sound rang out so thunderously that all of Nanning trembled with the roar.