I'll Pay for It
It happened right around the time Jin Seongun had come tumbling back out of the Realm of Martial Gods.
Shinmok had come to visit the inn.
“Ah, Elder.”
Behind Shinmok stood a crowd of people Jin Seongun had never seen before. Curiously enough, they all shared remarkably similar features.
Every one of them was dark-skinned and sunbaked, small of stature — yet the sharpness in their eyes outstripped even the seasoned masters of the murim.
Anyone could tell at a glance that they were Shinmok's disciples.
“Greet him, all of you. These are my disciples. Names aren't important, so we'll skip those.”
“……Pleasure to meet you.”
Were names ever not important?
The question flickered through his mind, but Shinmok delivered the line with such supreme confidence that Jin Seongun lost his moment to point it out.
“A good while more of them are still on their way, but I mean to start early and save whatever time I can. We won't be able to run the inn for a while — will that sit well with you?”
“Of course, Elder. As it happens, I have somewhere to be for a short while myself.”
“Is that so? Then it works out nicely. Feels like things are lining up from the very start.”
Shinmok looked thoroughly pleased with himself.
His disciples were gathering for the first time in ages, after all.
Jin Seongun, too, had learned much and shared many hours with his own masters, so he was gradually coming to understand what made the bond between master and disciple so special.
Before long, Jin Seongun told Shinmok and his disciples to drink as much Yanghe Daqu as they liked, then gathered the members of the inn.
Han Seongchun, Seo Yugyeom, and even Seomun Ak.
Jin Seongun set three very plump money pouches down on the table.
“What's this?”
Seo Yugyeom asked with listless indifference.
He obviously knew it was money.
The real question was why he was being handed it.
“A form of bonhwasu, if you will.”
Bonhwasu — profit sharing.
Just as the name implied, it meant granting a sum beyond the monthly wage to reward those who had labored well, in the hope of encouraging the others to reach further. Now and then people also called it a bonus or merit pay.
“For one thing, we caught the thief and collected the bounty on him. And for the past several days we've been selling stock as fast as our eyes and hands could move, haven't we?”
In other words, the inn had earned considerably more than originally planned, and he meant to split the surplus among its members.
Seo Yugyeom remained just as indifferent. He had no particular interest in money, and nowhere he needed to spend it.
Han Seongchun, for some reason, wore an awkward expression. He had been working from the start to repay a debt of gratitude.
But Seomun Ak was another matter entirely. On his face lay an emotion beyond all describing.
“……This is money I earned? Truly?”
To Seomun Ak, that heavy pouch meant something profoundly different.
He had lived his whole life without ever earning a single coin — only spending them.
The Seomun Clan was one of the great noble houses of the Central Plains. No matter how stern Patriarch Seomun Jeok might be, he had never put his son to work demanding he bring home money.
It flew in the face of everything warriors of the murim considered normal, for that matter.
“Th-this is…….”
Seomun Ak picked up the pouch and, a moment later, hugged it to his chest with a tenderness one might show a newborn babe.
The weight and feel of the money pressing through the thin fabric set his heart surging.
So earning money by my own labor could be this moving.
Certainly, Jin Seongun had paid him a waiter's monthly wage all this time. But to Seomun Ak that money had been as good as no money at all, and it had never stirred him.
This time was different. Receiving a genuinely sizable sum all at once made him feel, anew, that the cold, hard coins before his eyes were the wage of honest work.
Before long, even loyalty had begun to gleam in the eyes Seomun Ak fixed on Jin Seongun.
Meanwhile, Shinmok, Seo Yugyeom, and Han Seongchun looked at him with expressions of pure pity.
How did the precious young master of the Seomun Clan ever come to this? Tsk, tsk.
That was the look on every face.
After Jin Seongun pressed them several more times, Han Seongchun and Seo Yugyeom finally accepted their pouches as well.
Soon Han Seongchun spoke, still looking sheepish.
“Then I'll be off to my hometown for a while.”
“Will you truly be all right?”
His hometown was the very place where he had lost his son to Sikmugaek.
Han Seongchun gave a wry smile.
“How could a father, of all people, fail to visit his son's grave just because his heart aches?”
Jin Seongun nodded.
No words could fully fathom the weight of Han Seongchun's grief. He could only be thankful that the man's face looked far lighter than it once had.
“And what will you do, Young Master Seomun?”
He was curious, given the man's earlier passionate display.
Where on earth would Seomun Ak spend that precious money, now that freedom had been granted him?
Before long, Seomun Ak answered without a moment's deliberation.
“I'm going to roam every pleasure house and tavern in sight, just like the old days. Actually, a regular told me the new courtesan at Dangyangru is…….”
“A magnificent plan indeed. And you, Master Seo? Do you have plans as well?”
Jin Seongun moved straight on.
“I intend to sleep off every bit of sleep I've missed lately.”
“The inn's under construction. Where would you sleep?”
“I keep a few safehouses around the area.”
Jin Seongun's face went blank with bewilderment.
I'm sorry — safehouses? For the inn's head cook?
“Don't ask. Call it an occupational habit that never quite wore off.”
Back in his days as a special-grade assassin of Salmak, he had kept more than fifty safehouses scattered across the whole country.
Jin Seongun gave a vague nod. This inn really did seem to have no ordinary people in it.
“Well, everyone has their plans, and it's good to see. Then I'll be off with an easy mind.”
“Speaking of which — where exactly are you going?”
At Seo Yugyeom's question, everyone turned with curious expressions. This was the first time Jin Seongun had ever announced he was going somewhere alone.
Jin Seongun faltered for a moment. He couldn't exactly tell them about Master Shin Tu.
Then Seomun Ak put on a leering grin.
“You're going to see that pretty young lady, aren't you? Hoo, you really are a man among men.”
“…….”
Astoundingly, he was right.
Though it was a little different from what they were imagining.
“Want me to come along?”
Seomun Ak turned suddenly, aggressively helpful.
For some reason, Shinmok nodded along with the contented look of a grandfather watching his grandson play.
Jin Seongun spent a while racking his brain for something to explain himself with, and when nothing came to mind, he simply bolted.
Everyone could only blink after him, dumbfounded, staring at the empty space where he'd been.
Nakhwajeong was said to sit in Xi'an, the capital of Shaanxi.
Jin Seongun ran for Shaanxi without a single rest.
A carriage was unnecessary when traveling alone, and this was hardly a matter to drag out over days besides.
Training Shin Tu's footwork along the way was a bonus.
If even Master failed at it, then this won't be an ordinary errand.
Of course, he couldn't say that with complete certainty.
Decades upon decades were enough time for almost anything to change.
After a long stretch of hard running, an unusual sight came into view.
A great mountain rose there — and right at its foot sprawled a marketplace far too grand to compare with Yichang.
Usually no market like this forms at the foot of a mountain…….
There was exactly one exception to that rule.
When the mountain in question was the home of one of the Nine Great Sects — the Zhongnan Sect.
All of the Nine Great Sects, save for the Beggar's Union, were rooted in mountains, and their sheer scale meant that great market towns often grew up at their feet.
Jin Seongun slowed his pace to take in the market.
Then an inn that looked steeped in long history caught his eye.
As a waiter, and as an innkeeper, visiting traditional inns of other regions was not a hobby — it was a duty.
Before long Jin Seongun took a seat and ordered a bottle of bamboo-leaf wine and dumplings. The foundation of any respectable inn was, after all, noodles and dumplings.
The reason he ordered dumplings in particular was simple: the Daoists of Zhongnan did not eat meat.
He was genuinely curious what kind of dumplings an inn sitting under Zhongnan Sect's influence would make.
He was still waiting on the food when a group of men walked into the inn.
Jin Seongun watched them with wide, fascinated eyes. They were, quite literally, the very image of what a Daoist ought to be.
Now that's a first.
Certainly, Hyeon Un, Oh Jeongsan, Baek Sang, and Baek Seol were all Daoists too.
But they had all packed somewhat comfortable clothing for long journeys. Here, by contrast — being right at the foot of Mount Zhongnan — the men who looked to be Zhongnan Sect Daoists wore their full Daoist robes complete with their crowns.
It struck him, once again, how much their bearing resembled Elder Sword Immortal.
The Daoists swept in, their azure robes billowing in somber, mysterious folds, took their seats, and promptly declared:
“Fucking hell, this is such bullshit.”
“?”
Jin Seongun spat the wine he'd been drinking back into his cup.
The Daoists all turned to look at him.
“Ah.”
Jin Seongun gave a polite bow of his head.
The young Daoists shot him a single glance — who the hell is that guy? — then went right back to their own conversation.
He had forgotten for a moment.
Seomun Ak was trash of the orthodox world, and so was Sama Hui.
When the dumplings finally arrived, he took one bite and — to his regret — found them packed full of meat.
Just an ordinary dumpling.
The real problem was that dumplings had been set on the Zhongnan Daoists' table as well.
Meat juice dribbling down their chins, they ate those dumplings with obvious relish.
He'd forgotten once again.
Hyeon Un, the man who lived for wine and meat, was an elder of the Wudang Sect.
So the world does not run on the way it's supposed to.
Having received this sudden enlightenment, Jin Seongun nodded to himself.
All the while, the Zhongnan Daoists' voices carried over.
“I hear the Ohae Sword you got this time shattered too.”
Ohae Sword?
Zhongnan's signature sword was usually called the Six Harmonies Sword.
Like Wudang's Taichi Sword, the Southern Palace's Blue Heaven Sword, or Mount Hua's Plum Blossom Sword, it was the blade that symbolized the sect.
Jin Seongun found these Daoists entertaining in any number of ways, so he kept listening.
“That's what you get for swinging it around like a brute, you bastard.”
“No, seriously, this is an injustice. When did I ever swing it around like a brute? I've only had it for two months.”
Jin Seongun already knew a fair bit about this, having heard the complaints of countless second-generation disciples around his own inn lately.
An ordinary iron sword simply couldn't withstand a murim warrior's training. That went double for the sects wielding fierce, powerful energies, like the Five Great Clans or the Nine Great Sects and One Union.
Jin Seongun himself had already blown through three or four iron swords, after all.
Given that, lasting two months was actually fairly respectable — assuming the Daoist hadn't been lazy.
Just as his curiosity was sharpening further—
The Daoists dropped their voices very low. Unstable as it was, they even spread a qi veil to block most of the sound.
“That thing was made at Nakhwajeong, wasn't it?”
Naturally, every word reached Jin Seongun's ears perfectly.
This time he held his wine down without spitting. Being caught eavesdropping promised nothing but trouble.
“It was. Calling it an Ohae Sword is being generous. It's a Three Harmonies Sword at best. Why do the elders even bother ordering blades from Nakhwajeong? They could just get everything from Cheonghae Iron Pavilion.”
“The Sect Leader must have his reasons.”
At that, another Daoist nearby cut in, playing the wise man.
“Seems there was a time, long before we were born, when Nakhwajeong was still thriving. I half remember hearing it was because of some old pact from back then. The elders seem awfully bothered by it too.”
“Pact or not, it's a stale old agreement. The times have changed, and Cheonghae Iron Pavilion has been the best for decades now. Why on earth—”
“Beats me. Maybe the sect's got some dirt buried over at Nakhwajeong.”
“……The manor's young lady was pretty, though.”
“You insane bastard? Wait, the manor lord? Or his daughter?”
Soon the Daoists were snickering shamelessly among themselves.
Jin Seongun's brow creased. That remark had crossed well beyond mere grumbling about a sword, hadn't it?
Just then—
Daoists who appeared to be their seniors walked into the inn.
At once the rowdy young men fell silent and launched into refined, dignified conversation.
Though the dumplings had long since been devoured to the last crumb.
“The enlightenment I attained today was…….”
“Yesterday, as I slept, the Grand Primordial Celestial Worthy appeared in my dream and…….”
Jin Seongun set his disbelief aside and recalled what the Daoists had said earlier.
Nakhwajeong and Cheonghae Iron Pavilion.
By strange coincidence, the names of two blacksmith houses tied to Master Shin Tu's death had appeared side by side.
Judging by the talk, Nakhwajeong seemed to be a blacksmith clan that had once flourished and then fallen into decline.
But why would a thief come out of a family like that…….
Its predecessor had been a thief skilled enough to cross blades with Master Shin Tu himself, and Chae Seoryeong, the descendant, was carrying on that legacy in turn.
A strange family, whichever way you sliced it, thought Jin Seongun as he rose from his seat.
He paid for what he had eaten, then said:
“Ah — I'll pay for those Daoists' dumplings over there as well. I've always respected the Zhongnan Sect.”
And in that very instant—
The faces of the young Daoists who had been snickering only moments before drained bone-white.
And their seniors leapt from their seats, eyes blazing with fire.