Go Buy Some Dumplings
Rumors traveled through the martial world faster than anything else.
For those living the same day after day, there was always a need for something to chew over with their wine, and few things proved as entertaining as tales from the Jianghu. And so, passed from the lips of idle gossips, beggars, and singing girls, a single rumor spread across the whole of the Central Plains.
A first-rate Public Enemy of the Martial World, a man who had killed more people than anyone could count, met his end inside a single inn.
The name of that inn was Seongun Inn.
As the story went, the wicked fiend had made the mistake of walking into an inn crowded with warriors of the Tang Clan, the Wudang Sect, the Seomun Clan, and the Seok Manor, where they had struck him down together.
On its face, it was an ordinary tale. But an ordinary tale makes poor drinking fare, and the detail that the inn's cook and waiter had joined the fight lit a fire in the gossips' hearts.
Most people didn't believe a word of it, of course. One claimed the waiter had flung a tablecloth to blind the fiend in his moment of desperation. Another insisted the cook had hurled the very ladle he'd been stir-frying pork with. Still, it made for excellent talk.
But right now, at this very moment, Do Won-hyeok, Hall Master of the White Sword Hall of the Martial Alliance, was calmly reporting not rumor, but what he had confirmed with his own eyes.
"Neither a tablecloth nor a ladle, and by strict measure, it wasn't even a joint assault. A waiter. A young man named Jin Seongun killed Sikmugaek alone."
At Do Won-hyeok's report, Chief Strategist Sama Baek's face twisted into an expression of acute discomfort. The report was delivered with such grave sincerity that it was hard to know what to believe.
"Let us suppose half of what you say is true. Even a quarter of that quarter would strain belief, but..."
"Not half, sir. All of it is true."
Ordinarily, Do Won-hyeok was a man fond of jokes and theatrics, and so Sama Baek had assumed this was more of the same.
It was not.
The moment he registered the gravity in Do Won-hyeok's face, Sama Baek's eyes flashed.
"Then the White Cloud Sword—Hyeon Un was in Yichang as well?"
"He was. Elder Hyeon Un has been coveting Jin Seongun. When I showed interest myself, he warned me off with nothing more than a look."
Sama Baek rested his chin on his hand and closed his eyes, a habit of his whenever he was deep in thought.
Do Won-hyeok waited in silence. After a short while, Sama Baek opened his eyes and spoke.
"Impossible. Even if every word you've said is true, we cannot admit a warrior barely past twenty into one of the Alliance's halls. At most a corps member—or, if we were feeling generous, a unit member."
The Martial Alliance's structure was divided into three broad tiers.
At the top stood the halls, like the White Sword Hall—organizations entrusted with specific missions, whose members answered to no one but the Alliance Leader and the Chief Strategist. Beneath them came the corps and the units. There were smaller cells as well, though these tended to be reorganized as circumstances demanded.
To place a warrior barely twenty years old directly into a hall would throw the entire order of the Alliance into disarray. More than that, Chief Strategist Sama Baek still knew precious little about this man called Jin Seongun.
What sort of character he had. What he looked toward as he lived his life. Where his hometown was, whether he had a master or family. The Martial Alliance was not an organization that judged men by strength alone.
"But I will look into him separately. If what you say is true, then it won't only be the Orthodox sects—there will be no shortage of others seeking him out from now on."
Sama Baek called to mind the supreme masters of the age.
Among them were the Ten Great Orthodox Masters, including the Alliance Leader himself, alongside the finest experts of the Unorthodox factions and the Demonic Cult. Of all those called the pinnacle of the era, had a single one shown such talent at so young an age?
He considered it for a moment. Not one. If the White Sword Hall Master's words were true, then this was something Sama Baek could not afford to ignore.
Do Won-hyeok was inwardly exasperated. No, sir—it isn't just Wudang. The Tang Clan, the Seomun Clan, and the Seok Manor are all after the boy this very instant.
The words rose to his throat, but once the Chief Strategist had closed his eyes again, there was nothing for it but to withdraw.
It was only natural that the two men saw things differently. Do Won-hyeok was the head of a single organization, the White Sword Hall, while Chief Strategist Sama Baek was the second-in-command of a vast alliance.
Wudang, the Tang Clan, the Seomun Clan, the Seok Manor—to Sama Baek, it hardly mattered which of them took the young man in. So long as he did not fall into the Demonic path, he would become a strength for the Orthodox world in the end.
Jin Seongun stopped wiping a table and rubbed his ear.
It had been itching frequently lately.
Watching him, Seo Yugyeom clicked his tongue. "Could be an ear infection. Go see a physician. Actually, why not just go? It's a quick visit. Why insist on letting it fester?"
"...I'm fine."
Seo Yugyeom thumped his own chest in frustration.
But Jin Seongun had no intention of visiting a physician. He had grown up poor, and from the day he began working as a waiter, he had pinched every coin for the sake of opening his own inn.
For that reason, he had never once set foot in a physician's office in his life. Perhaps it was the lack of experience—he imagined a physician's clinic as a place where iron needles were jabbed into your flesh and foul-tasting black concoctions were forced down your throat.
"Aigoo. If you go deaf one of these days, is that when you'll finally drag yourself there? Isn't that right, Seomun Ak?"
"..."
Seomun Ak, who was wiping another table in equal silence, merely nodded.
Baek Sang and Baek Seol had gone home. To be precise, after having the Taiji Sword returned to them by Hyeon Un, they had returned to the Wudang Sect, declaring that they wished to devote themselves to training.
They had even declined the banquet for the Tang Clan Leader's birthday. Ever since witnessing the martial prowess of Jin Seongun and Seo Yugyeom, the two of them had had room in their heads for nothing but training.
Tang Soyeon and Seok Won-sang were much the same. Tang Soyeon in particular—who had considered herself nearly unmatched among warriors her own age—announced that the moment she returned to her clan, she would shut herself away in closed-door cultivation.
Seomun Ak felt much the same urge himself.
But he had nowhere to return to. After his friends had all departed, he had wandered the streets of Yichang for a while, and in the end, his feet had carried him to Seongun Inn.
Shin Mok had told him to look after himself from now on. The Seomun Clan Patriarch had already learned the whole story of what had happened by the time he came to Yichang, so Seomun Ak had gone to Shin Mok himself to apologize and make restitution.
"So how long are you planning to work here, anyway?"
Seo Yugyeom asked. Seomun Ak flinched mid-wipe. If he got thrown out of here too, where on earth was he supposed to go?
He thought about it for a while, but the only places that came to mind were taverns and pleasure houses—not exactly suitable destinations for a man kicked out of his own home.
"...I don't know," Seomun Ak answered weakly.
He assumed he would be thrown out of Seongun Inn soon enough. Fair enough, really, given how their first meeting had gone. The fact that they'd taken him back at all, as they had, was already an act of tremendous mercy.
"Just asking, you wastrel."
Seo Yugyeom clicked his tongue and disappeared into the kitchen.
Seomun Ak, meanwhile, wanted to smack something. He wanted to beat the daylights out of the rampaging madman he used to be—and, in another sense, he wanted to do the same to his own glum, sulking present self.
Jin Seongun glanced over at him.
Seomun Ak flinched hard for no reason. The image of Jin Seongun fighting Sikmugaek was still vivid in his mind.
"Give the entrance outside a light sweeping as well."
"R-right away."
Seomun Ak took a broom outside and swept the ground with practiced ease. Waiting tables was old work to him by now, in his hands long since.
He had been cleaning for some time when a middle-aged man stopped in front of the inn. He was staring at the building—and at Seomun Ak—with a look of grim resolve.
No matter how Seomun Ak looked at him, nothing about his bearing said customer. So Seomun Ak met his stare and asked flatly, "What is it?"
"Is this the inn where Sikmugaek died?"
Seomun Ak tensed inwardly.
Don't tell me—a companion of Sikmugaek's?
He nodded while entertaining the thought. "That's right, but—"
At that, a fierce emotion flashed through the middle-aged man's eyes.
The moment the man slipped a hand into his robe, Seomun Ak instinctively took a step back.
But contrary to his fears, what emerged was not a blade. It was a thick bundle of papers.
The man studied the papers intently, then looked up and fixed his gaze squarely on Seomun Ak's face.
"You would be Great Hero Seomun."
"...That's right. But who exactly are you?"
Seomun Ak stole a glance at the papers in the man's hand.
They bore painted portraits of faces—the faces of Jin Seongun, Seo Yugyeom, and everyone else who had been present during the battle with Sikmugaek.
What kind of lunatic is this?
He was just quietly drawing up his inner power when the middle-aged man suddenly bowed at the waist. And not a shallow bow—he bent so deeply it looked as though his forehead might touch the ground.
"...Thank you. Thank you, truly."
Seomun Ak stared, eyes gone wide.
Looking closer, he could see tears falling at the man's feet.
"Who are you?" Seomun Ak asked, his tone softening despite himself.
The man explained that he was the owner of the Hwawollu.
Seomun Ak had frequented so many pleasure houses and wine pavilions in his life that he couldn't quite place the name Hwawollu. The man continued.
"I am also a father who lost his son to that wretch Sikmugaek."
"Ah..."
Seomun Ak let out a low, involuntary sigh.
The man told them why he had come, and how. After losing his son, he had lived like a broken man for a long stretch of time—until one day, on a sudden impulse, he had sold the entire Hwawollu.
Combining the proceeds with everything he had saved over a lifetime, he had intended to hire Salmak to kill Sikmugaek—only to receive the reply that the man was already dead.
And so, he said, he had commissioned an inquiry to learn who had killed him and how, and had come all this way to offer his gratitude to those who had avenged his son.
By the time the man's account drew to a close, Jin Seongun and Seo Yugyeom had emerged at the inn's entrance as well.
The owner of the Hwawollu, poring once more over papers creased and soaked and dried again and again, soon bowed deeply to the two of them as well.
"Thank you. Thank you so very much."
"Please, come inside."
Jin Seongun ushered the man indoors.
Jin Seongun, Seo Yugyeom, and the owner of the Hwawollu all entered the inn together.
Seomun Ak could not bring himself to follow.
Left alone outside after the three had gone in, he bit down hard on his lip.
He bit so fiercely that it nearly drew blood.
"This damned..."
The words were spat at no one but himself. In this moment, Seomun Ak was feeling the greatest shame of his entire life.
As it happened, Noh Sang-won was returning to his fabric shop with dumplings in hand just in time to witness the scene.
His shop sat flush against the inn, and he had heard every word of the Seomun Clan Patriarch's fury that day—he knew exactly why Seomun Ak was wearing that expression.
Noh Sang-won stood in place for a moment, pondering with a grave look on his face, then apparently reached some kind of decision, because he came trudging over step by step.
He held out a single dumpling to Seomun Ak.
Seomun Ak took it.
"Ran all the way here so they wouldn't go cold, you see. There's only three, mind you, and you're getting one of them."
The dumpling was, in fact, still warm.
Feeling its warmth in his hand, Seomun Ak asked, "Couldn't you have just eaten them there?"
"Dumplings taste better after a good run."
With that, Noh Sang-won trundled back to his shop.
Seomun Ak stared at the dumpling in his hand for a moment, then took a large bite.
It was delicious. Delicious enough to explain why the notoriously lazy Noh Sang-won had bothered to run to a shop all the way across town.
Just then, Seo Yugyeom's voice rang out from inside the inn.
"You gonna hog them all yourself?"
"..."
Seomun Ak smacked his lips.
A moment later, a silver coin came whizzing out of the inn. He moved to catch it, fumbled, and the coin smacked him squarely on the forehead.
Seo Yugyeom's laughter rolled on and on.
"Hahaha! Look at that! Quit moping around out there and go buy some more dumplings. We'll share."
"Young Hero Seo, why are you always so desperate to torment Young Hero Seomun?"
"I'm not tormenting him. I'm helping him."
"What on earth is that supposed to mean?"
"What would you know about it? About the depths of my heart."
The banter between Jin Seongun and Seo Yugyeom carried on.
Seomun Ak, who had been staring inside with a dumbfounded expression for a while, finally moved his feet. Errands were, after all, part of a waiter's job.