Seventy Percent Luck, Thirty Percent Skill
Luck is seven parts, skill is three. The booze was sweet. It meant the day had been memorable—and it truly had been. Passing the Mugwa exam in first place, getting invited to Cheong-un-gak, and downing the liquor that Baek Do-yun's punk ass had sent over.
"Kraaaah! Sweet! So damn sweet!"
There was no way I could feel down. Even after Grandpa and Baek Do-yun left, my lips refused to droop.
"Master, have some of this. Aaah~"
"No thanks. I'll eat it myself."
No matter how good my mood, I couldn't betray Eori. I flat-out rejected the steamed carp that Cheong-hyang, the gisaeng sitting beside me, had picked up with her chopsticks.
"Huek!"
Suddenly, she dropped her head like she was heartbroken.
"W-what's wrong? Hey?"
"Huek! How could this girl not be sad when Master rejects her like this?"
Don't call yourself a girl. You look like you're only five or six years older than my mom. She appeared to be in her mid-twenties, playing innocent with me—who was a good ten years younger. But knowing this was her job, I let it slide.
"I'll handle the side dishes myself, so pour me some liquor?"
"Yes! As you wish!"
I held out my empty cup, and Cheong-hyang beamed like she'd never sniffled, pouring with a flourish. Still, she was pretty. If I had to compare to modern times, she was like the least popular member of a hot girl group—or the most popular in a flop group. Pretty, sure, but not standout gorgeous like Jang Won-young or Cardi B levels.
The gisaengs handling Jeong Hyeon-beom and So Ji-hu were similar.
"Oh my! Even the way you drink is so manly!"
"Your poetry, sir, is sharp as a blade yet fragrant as a flower."
But their weapons weren't just looks. Their faces were mere backdrop; they zeroed in on their targets' tastes.
"Krahahat! One more round! The liquor just slides down tonight!"
"My thanks, miss. Your verse is exquisitely refined."
Jeong Hyeon-beom and So Ji-hu seemed totally hooked. Their grins hadn't faded since we arrived.
If I hadn't known there was a beauty here more stunning than these gisaengs—if I hadn't taken the even more beautiful Eori as my wife—I'd have fallen just like them.
Thinking of Eori made me miss her suddenly. What was she doing right now? She'd eaten dinner, right? She wouldn't be crying over me... probably. She was tougher than she let on. Still, she'd miss me too. And here I was, gisaeng on my lap, boozing it up.
"Haaa."
A guilty sigh slipped out on its own. Cheong-hyang, right beside me, cooed in a sultry voice.
"Master? Why such a heavy sigh?"
"Nah, just... Pour me another."
"Master, too much liquor will hurt your stomach."
"That's why I'm eating sides."
"Even sides have limits. How about this liquor instead?"
"What's that?"
"This Cheong-hyang's..."
She referred to herself in third person, leaning in close. Her red lips curved softly as she continued.
"...these lips."
"...Haaa."
"Master?!"
Even so, sighing right in her face was too much.
"Sorry. Just got something on my mind. The liquor."
"Hmph! Here you go."
She pouted her red lips but poured anyway. A true pro. We'd gone through this dance a few times—her subtle advances, my casual deflections—when...
"Hahat! Hey! Little brother Si-jin!"
Jeong Hyeon-beom, sloshed on gisaeng-poured liquor, called out.
"You! Is it really true?"
"You'll see. I'm just that handsome."
"Hahahat! You quip well too, little brother!"
Not a quip. Too drunk to catch my sincerity, he cut to the chase.
"All that—you really did it all?"
"Ah, that."
Not the first time. All my exploits sounded too absurd for any sane person to believe. But no helping it. It was fact.
"At ten, breaking the limbs of fifty bandits, shooting a great tiger from a hundred ri away without a bow, killing five hundred barbarians with one matchlock shot—is that true?"
That's exaggerated rumor.
"Not me."
"Hahat! Just talk, eh?"
I nodded to my fan, setting the record straight. Bandits: five, not fifty. Tiger: point-blank with a bow, not 100 ri. Barbarians: rallied villagers to hold off about a hundred, not solo'd five hundred.
"Puhahat! That makes more sense!"
"Way more than what you said, bro."
Throat dry from talking, I quenched it with cool, sweet liquor.
"Hehehe. Master."
Cheong-hyang topped off my cup, chiming in.
"Truly brave and bold."
"Uh, yeah."
Deadpan.
"Hahat, little brother Si-jin."
Jeong Hyeon-beom, mid-sip, fixed me with a stare. Lips smiling, eyes blazing like the tiger from last year.
"Frankly? I can't believe it. How'd a guy your size pull that off?"
I got it. Folks pictured me as a superhuman who could toss grown men, but up close, I was your average 16-year-old kid.
"Got lucky. Luck seven, skill three."
"Hahahat! You expect me to buy that?!"
"It's the truth. What can I do?"
"Sure. If you say so."
He rose, not buying it.
"Hey! Little brother Si-jin!"
He plopped across from me, elbow on the table, thrusting out a massive pot-lid hand.
"Arm-wrestle me. Win, and I'll believe you."
"W-what? Bro, you're wasted..."
I glanced at So Ji-hu for backup, hoping he'd rein in the bear.
"Heh heh heh. Quite the calligrapher, eh?"
"Your words humble me like a sparrow outpacing a crane."
No dice—he was lost in his gisaeng.
"Ready when you are."
He cleared side dishes with his free hand. No "let's" needed; it was on.
"Bro, wait."
I eyed his paw again before protesting. Bear. Thick-furred knuckles, thumb-thick fingers, palm that'd spin your jaw. My slender hand? He'd crush it without trying.
"Bro... I forfeit. Mercy?"
No stakes but pride. I bowed out.
"Hey! A warrior admits defeat before the fight?!"
"If I'm gonna lose anyway..."
"You don't know till we try!"
I do! I'd dodge a tantrum, but the gisaengs' sparkling eyes made it impossible.
"Hehe. I'll cheer you on, Master."
"Big guy! We believe!"
These jerks! Backtalk to strangers? I glared, peeking at So Ji-hu again.
"Oh my! So shy!"
"Heh heh, your modesty intoxicates me more than this brew."
Still oblivious. Damn it! Should've come solo. Dragged 'em for potential brawls, but one demands arm-wrestling, the other can't keep it in his pants!
"Haaa, fine."
Regret's always too late. End it quick, back to drinks. I raised my arm.
"Huh?"
Then I spotted it. A woman emerging from a building. At first, her face glowed so bright I thought she had a lantern on her head. Brain glitch from sheer beauty.
"Little bro Si-jin. What, hmm?"
"Ho, hooo...!"
Jeong Hyeon-beom followed my gaze; So Ji-hu gasped mid-flirt.
"Kreup...!"
Gisaengs scowled or bit lips in envy. Amid clashing stares, she approached unperturbed—like a rising full moon, impossible to ignore.
"Pardon the intrusion."
She ascended Cheong-un-ru, bowing deeply. Her face shone softly like moonlight.
"I am Cheong-wol."
Cheong-wol. Cheong-un-gak's top gisaeng. The one So Ji-hu pined for.
"Our young master Baek says he caused great offense, so I've come to apologize."
"Y-yeah...!"
Wow. Stunning. In modern times, you'd see her more on screens than streets.
"..."
I glanced at the others. Pretty, but now like everyday girls. (Of course, my Eori's prettiest here!)
"And..."
Handling our dazed stares like pros, she gracefully introduced her companion.
"This is Cheong-yeon, one of the next Cheong-wols."
"Ch-Cheong-yeon... greetings...!"
Cheong-yeon glowed too, but beside Cheong-wol's full moon, she was just a twinkling star.
Cheong-wol chatted briefly then left. Too mesmerized, I barely recalled the words—just her beauty.
Even after she descended, our focus lingered.
"Ha, haha, exquisite."
"Reminds me of Moon in Portrait by Mun Sun-gong."
"Yeah. Really pretty."
Arm-wrestler Jeong Hyeon-beom, flirty So Ji-hu, even me with my beauty Eori—we couldn't look away from departing Cheong-wol.
"Master, may this girl offer a drink?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Thanks."
Only when Cheong-hyang poured did eyes shift. Gisaengs reengaged Jeong Hyeon-beom and So Ji-hu; the pavilion buzzed again.
Not quite the same vibe, though.
"Cheong-wol! You wench! How dare a slut like you ignore me! Where are you? Get out here and kneel in apology!"
And the like.