Just Humoring Him
Hwawollu, the restaurant run by a wealthy couple.
Renowned for its superb cuisine, the place had never once wanted for customers — yet now it lay in ruins, a scene of utter carnage.
A dozen or more martial artists sprawled across the floor, various parts of their bodies crudely hacked away. In their midst, the middle-aged owner of the establishment cradled his dead son and wept without end.
The people who had gathered murmured their laments one after another. A father wailing over his son's death, and so many corpses besides — sights one rarely encountered in a small town like this.
Before long, a company of warriors descended upon the scene, and the crowd shrank back in alarm. The aura these men carried was unsettling even to those who knew nothing of the martial arts. On the chests of their white martial uniforms, the character for Alliance was embroidered in thread.
The White Sword Hall — founded to hunt down and exterminate the Public Enemies of the Martial World. It was one of the Murim Alliance's most elite organizations.
Do Won-hyeok, Master of the White Sword Hall, frowned.
He had ascended to the Transcendental Realm before turning forty, felling countless Public Enemies along the way and becoming the youngest hall master in the Alliance's history before he reached fifty.
Gazing at the devastation around Hwawollu, the White Sword Hall Master spoke. "This is clearly Sikmugaek's doing."
Sikmugaek was a devil managed by the Murim Alliance itself as a First-Class Public Enemy.
Even those of the lowest classification, Third-Class, were capable of wiping out an entire mid-sized sect single-handedly. And the First-Class Public Enemies — the highest tier below Special-Class — were men whose very existence was akin to a plague upon the land.
While his subordinates methodically examined the bodies and the surrounding area, the White Sword Hall Master approached the father who had lost his son.
If one asked what was hardest about this line of work, it was never facing down a powerful devil, nor chasing a cunning one when it fled. It was moments like this — standing before the victims right after those devilish scum had unleashed their slaughter.
Each such moment washed over the hall master with a crushing sense of helplessness. The devils were like weeds; no matter how many you pulled, they only grew back. His mind knew that no one could hunt down and kill every devil in the world — and yet, witnessing carnage like this, he could not help feeling useless.
The White Sword Hall Master bowed his head to the owner of Hwawollu. "I am Do Won-hyeok, Master of the White Sword Hall of the Murim Alliance. We failed to arrive in time, and this tragedy befell you. I am sorry."
The grieving father stared back at him with hollow eyes. Those eyes. Every time Do Won-hyeok met that particular gaze, it felt as though his chest were being sliced open.
"I cannot promise you vengeance, but I will track Sikmugaek down and kill him as swiftly as possible. On the name of the White Sword Hall. So I ask for your cooperation."
The hall master skillfully drew out the man's testimony. Sustained by the promise of the Alliance's high command, the father forced down his grief and recounted what had happened. It was emotional and rambling, but the hall master did not hurry him, listening patiently and organizing the details as they came.
In summary, it went like this.
A man had come to Hwawollu alone. He ordered a lavish spread of dishes, then savored them one by one. He distinguished between the food of the father — a seasoned cook — and that of the son, who was still unpolished. He declared that the son lacked the qualifications of a true chef, hurled insults, and then, without warning, drew his blade.
"Hm — was it a round blade, the kind used for chopping chickens?"
The butcher's cleaver commonly called a chicken knife. Thick and blunt-edged, it was designed to cleave through bone with ease.
When the owner of Hwawollu nodded, the White Sword Hall Master confirmed it once more: this was Sikmugaek's work. The devil, peculiarly, favored chicken knives and square kitchen cleavers above all weapons.
"Thank you. I will catch that creature and kill him — I swear it."
It was the only thing a White Sword Hall Master could say to a man who had lost his family.
As the investigation wound down and the White Sword Hall made ready to depart, the owner of Hwawollu approached and spoke. "He mentioned a place — Seongun Inn, in Yichang."
"Seongun Inn?"
At the familiar-sounding name, the hall master searched his memory. There were far too many wicked men in the world, and information poured in by the hour; names blurred. According to the owner, around the time Sikmugaek had finished his bloodbath and was leaving, a certain man had come to him and recommended Seongun Inn in Yichang — and as he said this, he gestured toward one of the corpses. The man who had recommended the inn to Sikmugaek, it seemed, had not escaped death either.
Just then, one of the subordinates searching the body's effects discovered something and started violently. "It's a wooden tablet engraved with the emblem of the South Black League!"
"The South Black League!"
Only then did the White Sword Hall Master recall where he had heard the name Seongun Inn. It was while he had been investigating the death of the Prosperity Society Leader — second son of the Southern Black Lotus Lord. Strange incidents kept swirling around that one little inn, which was why it had stuck in his memory.
And now, once again, a First-Class Public Enemy — Sikmugaek — was reportedly heading there at the South Black League's behest. In other words, the League believed that inn to be deeply connected to the Prosperity Society Leader's death.
"We depart for Yichang at once. Send a letter to the Alliance requesting reinforcements — masters of at least Unit Leader rank, as many as they can spare."
Sikmugaek was a Transcendental master. The White Sword Hall Master was confident he could face him one-on-one. But Public Enemies did not fight fair. Taking hostages, scattering poison, burning an entire village before fleeing — such ploys were routine for them. To safely handle a single Transcendental devil required at least three to four times his force. And with the South Black League entangled in this as well, all the more caution was needed.
"By your orders!"
The command fell, and the White Sword Hall scattered like the wind, resolved that this time — this time — they would not be late.
CRASH—!
A porcelain bottle carved through the air of the inn and shattered against the wall.
The diners at Seongun Inn stared at the broken bottle with wide eyes. Spilled liquor was soaking the wooden floor.
"That little bastard…"
Seomun Ak's face twisted as he started forward.
The one who had thrown the bottle was a man of about forty. From the moment he first entered the inn, something about his swaggering manner had rubbed everyone the wrong way. Judging by the looks of him, he'd scraped up a bit of martial arts somewhere and was throwing his weight around the neighborhood — but at best he was Third-Rate, hardly worth the noise.
The average martial standing of those who worked at Seongun Inn was Peak Realm or above — a fact utterly beyond his imagination.
Baek Sang's hand clamped down on Seomun Ak's shoulder, stopping him mid-stride. When Seomun Ak looked over in confusion, Baek Sang gave a single nod and moved forward in his place.
How dare he cause a ruckus in whose inn, exactly?
Glaring at the bottle-thrower, Baek Sang advanced. If this man might yet become his master, he intended to earn some points while he was at it.
"You there!"
Baek Sang raised his voice at the man — who promptly glared back, eyes hardening. A mere waiter dared to confront him in front of all these people? With the Prosperity Society gone, there was no one in these parts who would dare treat him carelessly.
"What d'you want, huh?"
The man shot back with perfect brazenness, the slight flush of drink emboldening his rudeness.
Baek Sang's expression said, this one can't be salvaged, and he reached out — intending to drag the fellow outside by the collar so as not to disturb the other patrons.
Faster than he could.
Tap. Jin Seongun caught Baek Sang by the wrist.
Baek Sang looked at him, baffled — and then something happened that, as a disciple of Wudang, he simply could not comprehend.
"Our deepest apologies, great hero. You're a martial artist, I see."
"A martial artist? Thaaat's right."
In truth, the man had never once thought of himself that way. He'd simply bought and learned a few techniques off the street; he had never done anything in the martial world proper.
Jin Seongun continued in a voice loud enough for the whole room to hear. "As it happens, the body and spirit of a true martial artist are like a tiger's — even the strongest liquor goes down like water. I was discourteous and served you something ordinary, so of course it tasted like water to a great hero such as yourself. No wonder you were offended."
From his corner, Noh Sang-won clapped his hands together in theatrical agreement. "My goodness, that lethal stuff tasting like water — amazing!"
A flicker of smugness crossed the man's face.
Jin Seongun promptly brought out an even stronger liquor. "This one is my gift, as an apology for my discourtesy."
"Ahem — I'll accept it."
Drunk men ride their emotions hard. Flattered before a crowd of strangers, his mood turned sunny in an instant — and all the more so because his martial arts were half-learned, neither one thing nor the other.
Having set the fresh bottle on the table, Jin Seongun immediately moved to sweep up the broken one and wipe the floor.
Baek Sang and Seomun Ak could not make sense of it. With Jin Seongun's prowess, he could have floored such men effortlessly and tossed them out the door.
But their puzzlement did not last long — before it turned instead into sheer admiration. The man, mellowed in mood and further fortified by the stronger liquor, was now ordering dish after dish, round after round.
Noh Sang-won played no small part in it either.
"Again — he's ordering again! So it's true, then — martial artists truly cannot get drunk!"
For a man so desperate to posture, there was no statement he could not walk back from. Watching this, Baek Sang decided Noh Sang-won ought to give up the fabric trade and become a professional flatterer.
The end result: Seongun Inn earned several times more money than the bottle the man had first thrown had cost.
Business was winding down for the evening. The only customers left were Noh Sang-won and a few of his close acquaintances.
Baek Sang approached Jin Seongun, who was quietly clearing tables, and spoke with careful hesitation. "I trust that didn't wound your pride?"
He had been using honorifics ever since hearing the man might become his master — but Jin Seongun found it unbearably awkward, so Baek Sang had eased back into comfortable speech.
Jin Seongun answered as if it were nothing. "When you sell liquor, these things happen. If I threw out everyone like that man, I'd have to be a martial artist instead of a waiter."
"Ohh!"
"Pride doesn't put food on the table."
With that, Jin Seongun went back to clearing tables in silence. Watching him, Baek Sang was struck by a sudden thought.
Taiji!
Beating down a man like that and dragging him out by the heels — that much was easy. They simply possessed greater force. But to do as Jin Seongun had done — to lift the man's spirits instead, and open his purse while he was at it — that was hard. Impossible, even, for a man of Seomun Ak's temperament. And the more he thought of it, the more extraordinary the earlier scene appeared.
"The soft overcomes the hard!"
Yieldingness subduing hardness — the single value most cherished by the Wudang Sect, whose every discipline pursued the principle of Taiji. He was beginning to understand, little by little, why the Elder coveted Jin Seongun so.
At that, Jin Seongun gave him an odd look. "It's just humoring him, you know."
"Ohh!"
Yes. That's it exactly.
Humoring. Yielding. The sword of Wudang does not meet the opponent's attack head-on — it deflects, coaxes, soothes. However fierce and tyrannical the strike, before Wudang's softness it dissolves into nothing. Just as the bottle thrown in malice to ruin his business had, in the end, only opened his purse wider.
With the face of a man who had glimpsed some great truth, Baek Sang nodded deeply toward Jin Seongun.
Beside them, Seomun Ak, who was sweeping the floor, regarded him with an expression that plainly read, what the hell is this nonsense. Clearly, the Wudang siblings had gotten into something strange last night.
Just then, two drunks burst through the doors of the inn. A wave of wine-stink rolled in with them — they had clearly been at it for hours already.
"Seongun, my boy! Is business done for the day?"
Hyeon Un and Shinmok. The two of them had been washing days of reunion down with wine and talk, and now they staggered in arm in arm, chuckling as they looked at Jin Seongun.
"…Not quite finished, sirs."
"Is thaaat so?"
Hyeon Un beamed. At first he had been so wary of the boy, but once his heart had opened, the mere sight of him now set him at ease.
"There is a place you must come with us. Right now."
"…Where might that be?"
"Jangho Lake, in Hyeongju."
A great lake near Hyeongju. Not terribly far, but hardly around the corner either — Jin Seongun's face clouded with embarrassment. "As you can see, we are still open for business, elders."
His words seemed to pass right through them. The two old men had already made up their minds.
"Wonderful! Let's be off!"
"Come along! I'll teach you how to care for an inn's timber properly — knowledge you won't hear anywhere else in the world!"
At that, a spark of interest crossed Jin Seongun's eyes. A chance to learn anything from one of the most acclaimed master craftsmen under heaven did not come often. Maintaining and repairing the inn was part of the business, after all.
The trouble was that closing time was still a full hour away.
As Jin Seongun hesitated, Seo Yugyeom's voice drifted out from the kitchen. "Go on, have some fun. There are two waiters and two cooks in this place — what's there to worry about?"
Seo Yugyeom figured the man deserved an occasional outing. And since Baek Sang, Baek Seol, and Seomun Ak weren't people who'd be working here their whole lives, now was as good a time as any.
With Seo Yugyeom nudging him along, Baek Sang chimed in as well — he already knew about the Elder's plans, after all. And once everyone had joined the chorus, even Noh Sang-won and his drinking companion, half-lit at their table, began urging him to hurry back safe and sound.
Jin Seongun scratched the base of his jaw with an index finger and considered the inn for a moment. Truthfully, Baek Sang and Seomun Ak had been working so diligently lately that there was little left for him to do. The only customer left was Noh Sang-won, a trusted friend. Seo Yugyeom was in the kitchen; nothing could go wrong. And yet, as the proprietor, leaving his post still left him faintly uneasy.
Care or no care, the two old men were already heading for the door, as if the answer had been decided before the question was ever asked. "Come along! Let's go!"
They had clearly steeled themselves for this. Hyeon Un wanted to drink with Jin Seongun, and Shinmok had grown curious about the boy whom Hyeon Un treasured so dearly.
It would have been awkward to keep snubbing two of the most celebrated elders of the age. With a small sigh, Jin Seongun rose to follow — but not before giving Seo Yugyeom, Baek Sang, Baek Seol, and Seomun Ak their instructions.
"Don't worry about a thing. Go enjoy yourself."
Baek Sang nodded with a dependable smile. Wasn't this precisely why he was at this inn — to push along the Elder's designs with all his might?
And so Jin Seongun walked out with the two old men. Fortunately, business was nearly done, and no new customers arrived for a good while. Noh Sang-won, the final patron of the evening, settled his bill thoroughly drunk and wobbled out the door.
They were just about to close up.
"Is the kitchen still open?"
A man stepped into the inn. Seomun Ak and Baek Sang exchanged a glance. A customer arriving at the exact moment of closing was, to any waiter, a most unwelcome creature.
Seomun Ak shot him a look that said just send him away. But Baek Sang, who had grandly boasted that all was in hand, could not so easily do it.
After a heartbeat's deliberation, Baek Sang spoke. "We are. Please, have a seat."
Seomun Ak cursed at him with his eyes alone.
Oblivious, Baek Sang guided the man to a table. The fellow was fairly large — about Seomun Ak's size, or a touch smaller. The encouraging part, in Baek Sang's judgment, was that he was no martial artist; not the slightest aura of qi came off him. Granted, he could conceivably be an overwhelming master whose depth Baek Sang and Seomun Ak were simply incapable of reading — but the odds were negligible. This was Yichang, after all. A town that bred no such monsters.
"What shall I prepare for you?"
At Baek Sang's question, the man looked him up and down as if he were something interesting, then answered. "Everything."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Every dish you can manage, right now."
Baek Sang faltered. Seomun Ak shot him a reproachful glare — this is why I said don't take him — for the troublemaker reeked strongly off this one.
"What, worried I can't pay?"
Baek Sang offered an awkward smile — and the man burst out laughing, dropping a money pouch onto the table. The hefty thud made Baek Sang's eyes go round.
"Fear not. I'm merely a man who roams the world in search of good food."
Baek Sang nodded. He had heard of such people. Just as martial artists wandered the rivers and lakes, wealthy gourmets made pilgrimages of the palate. Though usually those men traveled with a full retinue of bodyguards.
"I'll bring everything shortly. Please wait just a moment."
As Baek Sang turned toward the kitchen, the man's voice drifted after him, threaded with laughter. "That's right — I take food seriously, so pass the word along to your chef. Tell him to cook with his life on the line."
Baek Sang paused mid-step. What an exacting customer we've taken on. Still — with an order like this piled so high, Jin Seongun would be overjoyed when he returned.