Why Are the Wudang Even Here?
While Soyul and the youngsters came bounding down toward a tavern in Hwa-eum in high spirits, Cho Youngbin was once again making his way to the Gaebang's Shaanxi branch. The hour he had promised had arrived.
"Welcome, Great Hero."
"How did it go?"
"Well... we did find her, but... whether you'd call what we found..."
"If you found her, then you found her. What, is there a problem?"
Jin Churyang scratched at the back of his head. "The name is different."
Cho Youngbin's brow twitched. "What do you mean, the name is different?"
"In Qinghai there is a county called Damsu, and in it a courtesan house called the Fragrant Moon Pavilion. One of their girls fled the place not long ago. A month or two back, I'm told."
Two months. Reckoning back to the day he had met Soyul, the dates seemed to line up well enough. And yet?
"What do you mean the name is different? You're telling me it isn't Kang Soyul?"
"Yes... we couldn't turn up the name Kang Soyul anywhere, so we searched every courtesan house that had lost a runaway girl. There were exactly three. I bring up the Fragrant Moon Pavilion only because the surname matches. The courtesan who fled from there is called Kang Yehyang."
Cho Youngbin gave it a moment's thought. Kang Soyul being an alias was entirely plausible. Had he not been unable to give his own name, styling himself Cho Jawoon instead? A woman running from a courtesan house would have had every reason to change hers as well. Even if she could never bring herself to change the surname.
"Then she is likely the one."
"Ah, so that's how it is?"
Jin Churyang's face brightened. This was a commission worth a full nyang of gold, placed by a master of the Hwagyeong realm. Botch it, and wouldn't word spread that the Gaebang—and its Shaanxi branch above all—was utterly incompetent? The absence of the name Kang Soyul had thrown him at first, but hastily loosing more beggars onto the streets with orders to root out similar-sounding names had proven worth every coin.
"And the ones who stand behind that courtesan house are a small sect called the Azure Moon Sect."
"An orthodox sect?"
"...Yes."
"So the men who traffic in human beings and feed women to courtesan houses are an orthodox sect by the name of the Azure Moon Sect—is that it?"
Jin Churyang shut his mouth. He could feel the fury rolling off Cho Youngbin, who had at some point slid from his measured half-formal speech into blunt, cutting informality.
"So those bastards who deserve to be torn apart limb from limb really do exist? Scum worse than any unorthodox sect, daring to touch... my friend..."
"Y-your... friend?"
Wondering if his ears had deceived him, Jin Churyang repeated the word before he could stop himself, and Cho Youngbin growled.
"That's right. That Kang Soyul—or Kang Yehyang—is my friend. What, is a courtesan not allowed to be my friend?"
"Ah... no. Of course not. Nothing of the sort. It's only..."
The back of Jin Churyang's neck went damp with sweat. He had wondered what relationship the man could have with a courtesan—and it turned out to be friendship. Gods help me. The runaway courtesan was a friend of the Jinsong Sword Emperor, Cho Youngbin?
Faced with something so unbelievable, Jin Churyang honestly wavered over whether to report his next finding. But there was no helping it. He was a man of the Gaebang—dragged before King Yama himself, a beggar still speaks what must be spoken. And besides, none of this was his fault.
Jin Churyang screwed his eyes shut.
"Um—and, Great Hero. That friend of yours, Kang Soyul—no, the young lady Kang Yehyang..."
"The young lady?"
"...She is already... she was caught while fleeing, and killed. By those Azure Moon Sect bastards."
Cho Jawoon's mouth fell open.
Seeing it, Jin Churyang—though none of this was his doing—hunched himself down as small as he could manage, bracing for the firestorm about to land on his head. But—
"BWAHAHAHA!"
Jin Churyang could only stare.
At the sight of Cho Youngbin laughing his head off at the news that a friend had died, a baffled expression settled over Jin Churyang's face. Why? Had the shock driven the man out of his senses? Should he run, then and there? Who was supposed to stop a Hwagyeong master who had lost his mind? Would they need to summon Shaolin's Hundred and Eight Arhats? Just as the thoughts began chasing one another's tails without end, Cho Youngbin's laughter cut off dead.
"So the old saying about the Gaebang's information network being second to none is a thing of the past now, I see."
"...What do you mean by that...?"
Had any other man dared say such a thing, Jin Churyang would have seized him by the collar that very instant—but what could he do when it came from the Jinsong Sword Emperor? Those without power must simply endure.
"Never mind. If Kang Yehyang is dead, then it is done. All the better, in fact."
Jin Churyang could only blink at him, unable to make heads or tails of it, and at the sight Cho Youngbin smirked. He was marveling at Kang Soyul's thoroughness. Just how completely had she covered herself, that those damned Azure Moon Sect bastards—and now even the Gaebang itself—had swallowed the story of her death whole? But there was not the slightest reason to announce here that Kang Soyul was in fact alive, so Cho Youngbin held his tongue on the matter.
"That much is settled, then. Now give me only the Azure Moon Sect's location and whatever your investigation turned up."
"Ah... yes. On this map, this here is the Azure Moon Sect. And this is the Fragrant Moon Pavilion. And this is the sect leader and vice-leader, along with the current roster of men..."
Cho Youngbin tucked the documents Jin Churyang handed over into his robe and rose from his seat.
"My thanks."
"Not at all—thank you for honoring us with your visit, Great Hero. Should you call on us again, we will serve you to the utmost of our ability."
"That I shall. Until next time."
Out the door of the Shaanxi branch, Cho Youngbin spread his qinggong and shot straight off toward Qinghai. Jin Churyang, staring blankly after the dwindling figure, hollered out toward the street: "Hey! Get on his tail, right now!"
"Order up—your food's here!" With Jeom Soyi's spirited cry, dish after dish arrived at the table where Soyul and her party sat.
"Wow..."
"It looks delicious."
"How long has it been since any of us ate something this rich?"
The ones cheering over the yu-xiang shredded pork, the Dongpo pork, the kung pao chicken, and the roast duck were, as it turned out, not Soyul but the Mount Hua disciples. Soyul, after all, had been eating whatever she pleased on Cho Jawoon's coin until only days ago, whereas the Mount Hua disciples—Daoists, in the end—had kept to meals suited to their path, which is to say, fare built mostly on fresh greens.
"What shall we have to drink?"
"Hmm... wouldn't some plain hwaju rice wine do just fine?" At Pungjin's question, Myeongji—who balked at the thought of drinking expensive liquor—glanced around furtively and named the cheapest rice wine on the menu.
"No."
Seeing Soyul cut in without warning, Myeongji promptly handed the choice off to her. "Ah. Then shall Miss Kang choose for us?"
Soyul clicked her tongue. "This is exactly the problem—exactly. If you can't even read the Sect Leader's intentions like this, whatever are we to do, Taoist Masters?"
"The Sect Leader's intentions? What do you mean by that...?"
"Now then, Taoist Master Pungjin?"
"...Yes..."
Pungjin, who had felt the room's eyes on him from the moment he stepped through the tavern door, answered in a small voice. He could hardly do otherwise.
A crowd of robed Daoists descending on a tavern was one thing—that much he could bear. Hwa-eum was, after all, the village nearest Mount Hua's sphere of influence, and its disciples were long used to such attention. But the moment a courtesan joined the party, the story changed. The impression that Mount Hua's young heroes had merely stopped in to soothe their weariness evaporated, and the table began to look like a gathering convened for the easing of a very different kind of ache.
Pungjin was busy fretting over the watching eyes, but a person utterly unbothered by such things spoke up. "Why do you suppose the Sect Leader went so far as to press money into our hands?"
"...Isn't it simply so we'll eat well on the way home?"
"Wrong!"
"Oh? Then what is it?"
By now it was not only Pungjin listening—Myeonghwa, Myeongji, Myeong-o, and the rest of the disciples had all turned their ears toward Soyul.
"He gave it so we'd come home having drunk good liquor. And by good liquor, I mean the expensive, heady kind."
"...How does one arrive at that interpretation? This humble Daoist really can't..."
"Tsk, tsk. To think the great senior disciple himself is this blind to his superior's wishes!"
The jab nearly made him choke, but Pungjin barely swallowed it down and forced a smile onto his face. Measured against how he had treated Soyul mere days ago, it was an enormous stride forward.
"I would be much obliged if you would explain."
"And who am I?"
"...You are Miss Kang Soyul."
"And?"
"...Um... er..."
At Soyul's counter-question, Pungjin racked his brains for all he was worth, but nothing came. They knew nothing of each other beyond their names—what more was there to say? Ah! Unless— A word flashed through his mind, and out it came before he could catch it.
"Courtesan?"
Silence dropped over the table.
He regretted it the instant he saw the room go still, but it was far too late. The stares that had been crowding onto Soyul since they entered had kept the word circling in his head, and it had simply slipped out. Cold sweat beaded down the back of Pungjin's neck.
"Ah—no, that's not—I only meant..."
"Fourth Uncle. Weren't you the one lecturing us in front of Elder Cheongsu's quarters about not judging by appearances? I'm disappointed in you."
"So am I."
"No! That's not what I meant!"
Pungjin, stung by the looks from Myeongji and Myeonghwa, protested his innocence, but not a soul would hear him out.
Watching him squirm, Soyul snickered and pressed on. "Hmm, it doesn't matter what you take me for, Taoist Master Pungjin. I am Mount Hua's benefactor, am I not?"
Pungjin slapped his forehead and shouted. "That's right! I was just about to say as much, but the words came out all wrong—"
"How do words 'come out wrong' into that? How do you mix up 'courtesan' and 'benefactor'?"
"She's right, Fourth Uncle. It seems you haven't changed one bit."
Beaten down by his juniors' rebukes, Pungjin fell silent.
"Anyway—this is a drinking party with Mount Hua's benefactor. If it got back to the Sect Leader that Taoist Master Pungjin served her nothing but cheap swill, would he be pleased? Of course not. So you must all treat me, Mount Hua's benefactor, with the courtesy I am owed. Now then—shall we order the Geumjoncheong?"
"Ooooh!!"
"As expected of Miss Kang—she sees straight through the Sect Leader's heart!"
For the Daoists now indulging in a brief flight from discipline with fine food and costly wine, whether any of this truly matched Cheonghyeon's intentions had long since ceased to matter.
"Over here! Three bottles of the Geumjoncheong!"
"Right away!"
The liquor came flying out in no time, and soon the whole party was clinking cups. Pungjin, minding everyone's mood, ventured to speak. "Now then—a toast, if I may, to Miss Kang Soyul, who made this precious gathering possible—"
"And what would you like to say this time?"
"That's right. Just drink your wine."
Pungjin drank alone in glum silence.
Paying him no mind whatsoever, Mount Hua's second-generation disciples kept chattering away at Soyul. "Unnie, when will you teach us martial arts?"
"Ah, right—I'd forgotten all about that. When we go up today, shall I take a look at yours for a bit?"
"Hey, why Myeonghwa alone? What about us?"
"That's right. Look at ours too, please."
Myeonghwa quietly glared at her clamoring seniors. Just for this moment, they were not her beloved senior brothers but a horde of villains bent on wrecking this most important occasion.
"I give Soyul Unnie her massages every single day and everything—what have you seniors ever done? Hm? Myeong-o—you?"
"A massage? How are we supposed to manage that? It only works because you're a girl."
"Is... is there nothing else, then? Miss Kang—is there anything you need? My family runs a merchant house, you see, so I'm quite well-off myself! Is there anything you'd like to have?"
Soyul snorted with laughter at Myeong-o's offer. "Oh, come now—where would I find such a thing? I'll simply appraise all of you. Let's have a look at everyone together."
"Aww, Unnie~ you promised it would be just me."
"When did I ever? Besides, it's better to see everyone at once. Are you going to keep whining at me?"
"Hng..."
So the cups kept circling and the table grew merrier—until the tavern door swung open and a group of strangers walked in.
"Welcome, honored guests!"
They returned nothing to Jeom Soyi's booming welcome. And they were wearing the same Daoist robes as Mount Hua—deep indigo, each shoulder emblazoned with the same proud taiji emblem. Disciples of the Wudang Sect.
The Wudang. The sect that sat, unashamed, at the very summit of the Nine Great Sects, rooted on Mount Wudang in Hubei, its founding ancestor the peerless transcendent Zhang Sanfeng the Perfected. Their seamlessly unbroken swordsmanship flowed like running water, never once cutting off, and was said to culminate in the supplest grace under heaven. Setting aside Zhongnan, generally rated a step behind, it was this Wudang that had long contested with Mount Hua for the seat of the foremost Daoist sword sect.
Pungjin's mouth fell open at the sight of them. Why would the Wudang come here?
Hubei might lie near Shaanxi—but why, of all hours, at this table of all places, would Wudang disciples walk in?
The gazes of several among them found Pungjin, and just as they were about to return his greeting in good cheer, their eyes drifted on—and landed on Soyul. What surfaced in them a heartbeat later was contempt. It was as if their voices carried straight to his ears. Daoists sworn to cultivate the Way, guzzling wine with a courtesan on their arm?
The Wudang disciples, fist-and-palm salutes half-formed, let the gesture dissolve, turned their eyes away, and seated themselves at the nearest empty table—as though the snub were a courtesy extended to Pungjin and the Mount Hua disciples.
Pungjin felt an injustice so sharp it could drive a man mad. No. No, it isn't. It is not the scene you are all imagining right now.
If only they had come over and raged—demanded to know what in the world he thought he was doing—he could at least have offered an answer. But by pretending not to see, they left him without even a chance to clear his name. And what then, if they returned to Mount Wudang just so? The tale that Mount Hua's disciples drink themselves stupid with courtesans at their side—false in substance, damning in appearance—would spread across the whole Jianghu.
Goosebumps crawling up his spine, Pungjin whipped around to his juniors and Soyul, desperate for counsel on what in the world to do.
"Oh, look—it's Wudang."
"So it is. What are they doing all the way out here, I wonder?"
"Shouldn't we at least go pay our respects?"
"Leave it. Didn't you see? They looked away from us just now."
"Huh, so they did? Why would they?"
Why would they, you idiots? Are the heads sitting on your shoulders good for nothing but grinding your food? Why do you think? Because they're graciously pretending not to see the table that appears to be out carousing with a courtesan—that's why.
Watching his juniors shrug it all off as nothing, Pungjin wanted to howl his grievance to the heavens—yet all he could do was sit there, stiff and half-risen, able neither to act nor to speak.
Of the five Wudang disciples who had settled in and ordered their food, one cast a sidelong glance toward the Mount Hua table and opened his mouth. "Come to think of it, Mount Hua does seem to have spent its strength these days. Wouldn't you agree, Fourth Uncle?"
"True enough. This makes me doubt whether it's even worth stopping by Mount Hua to pay our respects to the Sect Leader at all."
"The Sect Leader himself will be different, I'm sure. It's hardly the whole sect—just a few disciples straying from the path."
"And this is Hwa-eum, right at Mount Hua's doorstep. Summoning courtesans and drinking in a place like this—surely that reaches the Sect Leader's ears? Heh heh. No doubt they had his blessing for every drop of it."
They were saying it for his ears, and everyone knew it. Pungjin was mad with the injustice of it, yet he could find no word of rebuttal. We did not summon a courtesan to drink. Well—yes, she is a courtesan, granted. And we did have the Sect Leader's permission, though hardly in the way you imagine. The picture of himself saying those words aloud was simply too pathetic to bear.
Looking back at the speechless Pungjin one more time, another Wudang disciple drawled on. "I suppose even Mount Hua's Sect Leader stumbles, fresh to his seat as he is. It can't be helped, can it? The man simply lacks experience."
At that, Pungjin—who had been grinding it all down behind clenched teeth—shot up from his seat.
"What was that, you bastard?!"