A Teacher Who Taught, Not Learned
It was the opposite.
Jin Seongun crossed his arms and watched the assassin work.
Every single motion carried the confidence of a man who had spent his whole life as a cook.
With a few brisk stirs of his hand, he coaxed a banked ember into a roaring flame in an instant. He heated an iron wok with a long handle and gave it a light coating of bean oil.
Just watching him tilt and turn that handle to season the wok told you the man had real internal power.
Soon he glanced around the kitchen, clicked his tongue at how few ingredients there were.
"Would be nice if there was some meat."
With that, the man began trimming the vegetables. Curiously, he pulled a short saber from his coat and used it instead.
"Isn't that the blade you kill people with?"
"I wiped it down, so don't worry. It's not even touching the food."
True to his word, a faint blade aura shimmered along the saber, keeping the steel from ever meeting the vegetables. And yet the cutting board showed not so much as a bruise—proof of just how skilled the man was, both as assassin and as cook.
In no time he tossed the trimmed vegetables into the wok and stir-fried them. Each time he added a spice, flame leapt up from the pan.
It reminded Jin Seongun of the Fire Dragon Escaping Sword he'd learned from Sword Immortal.
Of course, the old man would clutch the back of his neck in horror if he ever found out.
While he was lost in that thought, the man fetched a plate and filled it with practiced ease. Not a speck of sauce touched the rim—it was clearly no first-timer's handiwork.
"That's no assassin's skill."
"You spend enough time as an assassin, you end up in every disguise imaginable. You craft a dozen faces to get close to your mark and wait for the moment. I've worked as a cook before too, so call me an experienced hire."
"……"
It was absurd enough, the way he slyly flaunted his résumé. But even more absurd was the aroma and appearance of the vegetable stir-fry he'd whipped up in the space of a breath—nothing about it was ordinary.
Gulp.
Jin Seongun, swallowing without meaning to, glared at the stir-fry for a long moment. The man, seeing this, grinned confidently and handed him a pair of chopsticks. No explanation needed—just try it.
Jin Seongun picked up a piece of bok choy.
The doneness he felt through the chopsticks was nothing short of fantastic. But the true fantasy only unfolded once the food reached his mouth.
"……!!"
Jin Seongun's pupils trembled faintly.
He even felt wronged. It took him far longer than this just to boil a single bowl of noodles. And yet this man had conjured a flavor like this in moments, from whatever scraps happened to be lying around.
This, surely, was how a martial artist felt upon facing a wall he would never surmount in his lifetime.
"Well? How is it?"
At the man's question, Jin Seongun took another bite. One, two, three times….
By the time half the plate was gone, his expression had grown desperately grave. Then, clack—he set down his chopsticks and fell into deep, troubled thought.
"I really do have to open for business now."
It was a mutter to himself, but the man nodded along.
"That's right. An inn that doesn't do business is nothing but a warehouse with chairs and tables laid out."
"……"
The words cut to the bone.
Jin Seongun asked, his voice edged with a sigh.
"You look to me like a man being hunted."
"Don't worry. I have no intention of setting foot outside the kitchen. No one could imagine I'm here."
"Hunted by whom, exactly?"
Jin Seongun judged the man's skill to be above even the strongest of the Red Tiger Seven Ghosts. Just look at how he handled his blade aura—was there anyone, aside from the Martial Gods, who wielded it with such delicacy and finesse?
"If I tell you, you'll probably throw me out."
"Tell me anyway. Given the circumstances, I can't very well take in someone with a bounty or a Public Enemy designation."
"It's nothing like that. I walked out of, well… a small social gathering, after a disagreement. We didn't exactly see eye to eye."
"Answer me straight."
When Jin Seongun pressed again, the man scratched his head awkwardly, then said it in a tone as if it truly didn't matter.
"It doesn't have a formal name. Though folks out there do call it Salmak."
"……"
Jin Seongun was, for the first time in a long while, at a loss for words.
Salmak. The finest, the largest assassin organization in all the Central Plains.
"Guess that's a bit much, huh?"
The man smiled bitterly, as if he'd expected the reaction. No soul in all the world would be glad to hear the name Salmak.
Meanwhile, Jin Seongun sank into his own deliberation.
By any reasonable standard, the right thing was to throw the man out. He himself was no ordinary waiter, and if the cook, too, turned out to be an assassin from Salmak, wouldn't the inn take on a rather strange character?
But the lingering impression of that vegetable stir-fry, still on his tongue, made him hesitate.
In over ten years as a waiter, he had never eaten anything this delicious. And above all—
He had cooked hundreds upon hundreds of bowls of noodles, yet never once had anyone finished the broth clean to the last drop and told him it was good.
"……Come to work starting tomorrow."
In the end, Jin Seongun lost the battle against his own heart.
It was a decision made possible only because, Salmak or not, there was nothing in this world that frightened him.
The man smiled with deep satisfaction at Jin Seongun's magnanimous verdict and nodded.
"You won't regret it. First I'll look for a room nearby, but until then, I'll eat and sleep here at the inn. That suit you?"
"Do as you like."
It had been a decision born of no small agonizing, but now that he'd actually secured a cook, Jin Seongun felt a weight lift off his chest.
"Seo Yugyeom. I look forward to working with you. Don't ever short my wages."
"Jin Seongun. I'll entrust the flavor of Seongun Inn to you."
The two men bowed their heads to each other, faces oddly resolute. It was the moment the inn finally possessed its two essential elements: a cook and a waiter.
Seo Yugyeom said he would sleep outside for tonight only. He had shaken off Salmak completely, or believed he had, but he wanted to be ready for anything.
Broke chairs and tables to fix first thing tomorrow morning. The floor and the door too. This place—it's all battle scars. Did I buy an inn that got wrecked because martial artists couldn't stop fighting? Well, with me here now, nothing to worry about.
It seemed he had no idea that the waiter-turned-innkeeper had personally killed six of the Red Tiger Seven Ghosts.
After Seo Yugyeom left the inn, Jin Seongun, too, went straight to see the merchant guild leader.
"Guild Leader, I have a favor to ask."
Oh Jeong-san, the head of the merchant guild, nodded heartily and filled Jin Seongun's cup to the brim.
"Speak freely, whatever it is. Companions of the Dao help each other—that's how it goes."
"An assassin has come to my inn."
"……What did you say?"
Oh Jeong-san's eyebrows shot up.
Uichang was merchant guild territory now. What insolent assassin would dare stir up trouble here without permission?
"Could it be the Prosperity Guild leader's doing?"
"I imagine so. They called themselves the Red Tiger Seven Ghosts."
Oh Jeong-san's eyes went wide. He knew the name well enough himself.
"The most notorious killers in all of Hubei. Are you hurt anywhere? From what I hear, even Il-gwi's skill rivals a first-grade assassin of Salmak…."
Hearing Salmak's name brought up again made Jin Seongun feel oddly strange.
"All seven came, so Il-gwi was likely among them."
"Well said. I'll gather my men and we'll go together. Assassins are cunning creatures—we can't judge this by martial prowess alone."
"They're all already dead."
"I see. All dead…."
Oh Jeong-san, who had looked ready to march his men straight to the inn that very moment, froze mid-motion. Then he turned to Jin Seongun and asked:
"Really?"
"Yes. I laid them in the backyard. I imagine there are bounties on their heads."
"……Probably so."
"It would be difficult to explain if I went to the authorities myself, so that's why I've come to you."
Oh Jeong-san burst out laughing in disbelief.
So it wasn't a request to fight alongside him—it was a request to dispose of the bodies. And not of some nameless rabble, but of the Red Tiger Seven Ghosts.
"The newly appointed constable is an old friend of mine. Don't worry about that part."
"Thank you. Take two of the seven as the guild's share."
"……Ahem. I'll put it toward the guild fund. I can hardly spend your share for my own personal use."
Once again, the merchant guild leader proved a different breed entirely from the Prosperity Guild leader.
When Jin Seongun nodded, Oh Jeong-san's tone turned careful.
"But say—just what realm have you reached, exactly?"
"Honestly, I don't know myself. My masters say realm means very little."
"Ha!"
Oh Jeong-san let out a breath of awe. It sounded as though Jin Seongun's masters were absolute masters who had transcended the very concept of realm.
Which, in a sense, was not far from the truth.
"If you happen to see your masters again, ask them whether they have any connection to the Wudang Sect. Your sword is unmistakably a Daoist-lineage style. Honestly, it feels remarkably close to the Wudang blade. But no matter how many times I trace it back, there's no such sword art in the Wudang canon."
"Understood."
It was no difficult request, so Jin Seongun readily agreed.
Oh Jeong-san came to Seongun Inn with Jin Seongun and inspected the bodies of the Red Tiger Seven Ghosts. Even hearing about it secondhand had astonished him—seeing them laid out so neatly gave him a stranger feeling still.
"I'll handle it properly."
"Thank you."
Oh Jeong-san gripped the collars of three corpses in his right hand and four in his left, lifting all seven at once. His frame was so massive that it didn't even look strenuous.
"If any other trouble comes up, come to me anytime, day or night."
"I will. And I'm opening for business starting tomorrow."
"Oh! Now that's good news. So you finally found a cook?"
Jin Seongun nodded with satisfaction. Oh Jeong-san smiled back, promised to come by for a meal soon, and vanished in a flash.
Once he was gone, Jin Seongun stepped inside the inn. Looking at the empty main hall quieted his heart.
"Repairs first thing at dawn, then."
The fight with the Red Tiger Seven Ghosts had broken quite a lot of odds and ends. Thankfully, aside from the chairs, nothing was too badly wrecked—he'd likely finish by morning.
He glanced around absently. Confirmed that no one was there….
"Heh heh heh."
He laughed with truly sinister delight. Not on purpose—it was simply that he'd so rarely laughed out loud in his life.
Showing emotion in front of others had always felt, somehow, embarrassing and unpracticed.
But now that he could finally run the inn, the laughter came bubbling up on its own.
Looking forward to tomorrow, Jin Seongun made his way to the shed where the Martial Gods dwelt. He felt he owed Sword Immortal an acknowledgment—that the old man had been right.
The Martial Gods looked as peaceful as ever. Sword Immortal and Daji played baduk; Sangwang and Shintu had each other by the collar. The Blood Demon, naturally, lay sprawled out staring at the sky.
"You told me to hire a cook, and an assassin shows up. Of course, I've decided to keep him on as a cook, but still…."
At that, Sword Immortal answered with a dismissive chuckle.
"Assassin or cook, both are masters of the blade. What difference does it make?"
"That's true enough."
The image of Seo Yugyeom raising his blade aura to trim vegetables was still vivid in his mind. Jin Seongun mused to himself, smiled alone, and then suddenly spoke up.
Elder Sword Immortal. I have something to ask you."
"If you come seeking again to pry loose heaven's secrets, the answer is no. Even I am not entirely free of heaven's watching eye."
"It's not that. I'm curious about you, Elder."
"Wait a moment."
Sword Immortal stared at the baduk board for a long while. Then, realizing he could find no way to beat Daji no matter how he pondered, he slammed his palm down on the board.
A nearly won game evaporated in an instant, and Daji leapt up in outrage.
"Wh-what do you think you're doing!"
"A lovely junior has a question for me. What is a trifling game of baduk next to that?"
"……"
Daji pressed her lips shut, visibly fuming. Apparently, of all the Martial Gods, Daji feared Sword Immortal the most.
Leaving her to her indignation, Sword Immortal turned to Jin Seongun.
"So then, what is it you wish to know?"
"The merchant guild leader asked me. He wondered whether the one who taught me the sword has some connection to the Wudang Sect."
"That child—he said he was Wudang, did he?"
"Yes. A secular disciple, Oh Jeong-san. Have you heard of him?"
Sword Immortal laughed as though it were absurd.
After all, the man had no idea what era Sword Immortal was from.
"So he recognized the principle within your blade. Though I'd wager he only felt it faintly."
"He said the style felt remarkably similar to Wudang's sword arts, but that no such sword art exists in the Wudang Sect today. Of course, you needn't tell me if you'd rather not…."
Truthfully, Jin Seongun was curious as well. Aside from Sangwang, he knew nothing of who the Martial Gods had been or what stories they carried.
"That child Oh Jeong-san speaks the truth."
"Did you really learn the Wudang Sect's martial arts?"
Come to think of it, given the title Sword Immortal, it shouldn't have surprised him. The name was said to belong to the greatest Daoist of an age—surely no one less than a Wudang sect leader.
"Did I learn the Wudang Sect's arts, you ask?"
Sword Immortal smiled slyly, then rose abruptly to his feet and rested a hand squarely on his hip.
The very picture of unshakable pride.
"Is there a teacher anywhere who learns martial arts from his own disciple? I did not learn from the Wudang Sect. It is quite the opposite, I tell you."
"What?"