Hey, Comrade Faction Boys—Won't You Join the Treasure Path Faction? -3
The Comrade Faction was aggressive.
Whenever they edged past the line—dropping hints about commissions, trying to introduce Tang Do-gyeong to a broker—the Treasure Path Faction would counter with idle small talk or questions about Tang Do-gyeong's personal life, steering the mood elsewhere. A fierce little war was underway.
The rivalry between the two factions was starting to overheat.
"So the bastard turns tail and runs for his life, doesn't he? Hahaha."
"Wahahahahaha!!"
"Oohahahahaha!!"
What the hell was this. Tang Do-gyeong had simply shared one reminiscence about thrashing some street thugs over a meal, and now Jeong Sam and Yeo Jinsang were locked in a competition over who could react harder.
"Ahahahahaha! I'm gonna lose my belly button!"
"Puhahahahaha! What a joke—what a joke!"
Late to the party, the other nangin piled in and burst out laughing too.
It was a horrific sight: the nangin split into two camps with Tang Do-gyeong at the center, abandoning their food to wage a laughter war. They pounded the tables, toppled backward, rolled on the floor—pure chaos.
"Ugh... uuugh..."
And I watched the whole scene trembling with dread.
This was... this was...
"The Laughter Bell..."
"Senior, what did you just say?"
"Aaaagh! Begone, foul demon! Get out of my past-life memories!"
"What is it all of a sudden—Senior, are you okay?"
While Heuk-myo fretted over me, Tang Do-gyeong opened his mouth in a faintly awkward tone.
"Ha, ha. Seems I struck some chord that resonates with you nangin gentlemen."
Even Tang Do-gyeong was wearing a stiff smile at the Sichuan nangin's extreme reaction. Of course it would feel weird—people suddenly rolling on the floor and falling over backward mid-meal.
Only then did the nangin realize they'd crossed a line. They cleared their throats and went back to shoveling rice.
"Heh heh, well, the thugs' faces just painted themselves so vividly in my mind that I..."
While Jeong Sam tossed out a face-saving line, I shot Heuk-myo a signal. This awkward, delicate atmosphere was exactly the moment for our little chat to sink in deep.
I'd felt a twinge of conscience about attacking a former comrade—but Jeong Sam's stunt just now had blown that hesitation clean away. The laugh he'd forced out to score points with Tang Do-gyeong had set off a butterfly effect and summoned my olive-drab memories.
You made me remember those lost two years? You're getting the death penalty. Extreme penalty.
"Senior, have you ever worked jobs with other people?"
"Sure. Took plenty of commissions with my old batchmates... haah. Jeong Sam and Yeo Jinsang put me through a lot."
Trapped in an irreversible awkwardness with their faces buried in their rice bowls, Tang Do-gyeong and the nangin of both factions had no choice but to soak up the conversation between Heuk-myo and me.
Especially since I'd just named Jeong Sam and Yeo Jinsang—the de facto heads of one faction—their internal energy naturally pricked up toward their ears.
I made a show of being conscious of the surroundings, called Heuk-myo in close, and dropped my voice.
Of course, I lowered the volume so it would carry better to anyone circulating their internal energy—but I kept the articulation crystal clear.
"Jeong Sam—didn't that bastard step in dog shit and wipe out on a job once?"
Pfft. Puhhfft!
Jeong Sam spat out the fried rice he'd been chewing, and someone else cracked up.
Heuk-myo pressed even closer. That unidentifiable fragrance dug into my nose again, and the something that changed shape against the arm she'd pressed tight drew my eyes.
Wow. This girl really does scramble a guy's brains the second she gets a little close.
My heart went wild and my precious lower half tried to hijack my brain again—but the olive-drab memories still lingering in my skull refused the invasion of impure things. That bell the promotion-crazed regiment commander had seen while watching the military broadcast...
"So who was it again... anyway, I remember three men surrounding one woman, trying to talk her into a cup of tea. It wasn't that dangerous a situation... one of the martial artists was mid-passionate confession, and the young lady didn't seem interested, so she was a bit stuck... but that young lady's looks were no joke."
"Hmm. And then?"
"So Jeong Sam comes charging out—‘You bastards! Harassing a woman in broad daylight, what do you think you're—'—and wouldn't you know it, right there on the spot was a pile of dog shit? He plants his foot in it at full sprint, his foot goes sliding out, and he does the splits straight into the shit-smeared ground, pants and all..."
"Khrrk..."
"Jeong Sam ends up in the splits with shit all over his pants, topples sideways. The three guys jump out of their skins when a black-hatted nangin suddenly bursts in, then freeze solid with their eyes rolling when he goes down reeking of shit. The young lady goes pale at the nangin who just appeared and started doing weird things, and hides behind the three of them... whew. Really."
From there I kept spinning Jeong Sam's failure stories. Jeong Sam's face went red as he tried to interrupt with a string of ahems and coughs and throat-clearings—but even though every nangin was listening and laughing, the conversation was technically a private whisper between Heuk-myo and me, so he had no clean pretext to cut in.
Jeong Sam's reflexes were sharp. Even now, hadn't he been the fastest to react to Tang Do-gyeong's story? Of course, his judgment didn't quite match his reflexes, which was why incidents like that one kept happening. Classic all-or-nothing type.
I didn't think hearing a few stories like this would collapse the Comrade Faction. But if they absorbed enough of them, at least the fact that Jeong Sam has made a lot of rash calls would lodge in their heads—and today's tales could serve as a speed bump the next time Jeong Sam pushed something hard and they were about to fall in line.
I laid out a measured helping of Jeong Sam's failures and made my escape.
Today Tang Do-gyeong had requested a one-on-one match with no spectators, so we ran the yabawi in his room.
"Hey, hyung."
"Speak."
"Do the Sichuan nangin have factions too? I'm a bit concerned I might be making the rift worse."
Tang Do-gyeong had finally started watching my hands. Even when I deliberately slowed my hands to show him a technique, he'd only flinch for a moment and never shout [There!]—which suggested he'd developed the will to learn the gambling craft himself.
"Where people live, how could everyone's thoughts be the same? I don't believe it's something Great Hero Tang needs to worry over."
"...True enough."
These past two days I'd had no choice but to trail after Tang Do-gyeong and watch both factions' nonsense all day long.
Tang Do-gyeong was, well, a likable guy. Strip away the obsession with this contest and you could practically give him the title of Certified Likable. At first I'd written him off as an open-book idiot—the type who never registered other people's eyes and just chased whatever he felt like chasing.
I'd figured he was that type, only pretending to be a chivalrous hero because he was a little more aware of how he looked. But surprisingly he had common sense, could read a room as well as anyone, and at the Wanderer Inn he didn't make a spectacle of himself except when training—so he had some tact too.
I'd thought he was a complete lunatic. Turns out he was a proper member of society.
Which made it even harder to understand.
He had the senses to notice his presence was churning the currents at the Wanderer Inn, and the brains to understand it—so why was he still doing this here?
He had to know full well what kind of storm the Tang Clan would raise. So why was he still hanging around the Wanderer Inn like this...
"Great Hero Tang. Is this Blood Jade Tablet a precious object to you?"
"Hm? Well, it's a rare piece, but... it doesn't hold any special meaning. Even if I swapped it for some other treasure, I doubt I'd feel much of anything."
I unfolded a technique slowly, deliberately. A hand trick that exploited blind spots in the field of vision—the kind of motion that would see plenty of use in hidden-weapon arts as well.
When I showed the technique so blatantly, Tang Do-gyeong's brow furrowed. Gauging the limits of his psychology, I sped my hands back up, and his expression settled into something ordinary again.
If the Blood Jade Tablet wasn't that precious, why was Tang Do-gyeong going this far to stand against the Tang Clan?
To call it simple obsession with winning—the way Tang Do-gyeong carried himself was far too rational.
"There's something I'd like to ask."
This time Tang Do-gyeong came at me with a question.
"Why do you want to return the Blood Jade Tablet to me? Wouldn't it be more profitable for you, hyung, if I never won this contest for the rest of my life?"
As if. Please just take the Blood Jade Tablet and vanish already.
I still hadn't even found a lead on a realm breakthrough. It hadn't been a full week since I'd joined hands with Heuk-myo. Was the Central Plains Murim a little large, maybe? Even basic inquiries normally took months—so it was far too early to scold anyone for a lack of results.
The problem was that in that short span, things kept happening like I'd been sucked into a storm.
"I simply wanted to stop the fight that was about to break out there. And since I stopped the fight, the collateral ought to be returned."
"...Is that so."
"I'll just hand it back—will you take it and go?"
"Hahahahaha! Is that how this Tang Do-gyeong looked to you?"
I'd poked him on the off chance. No sale.
The mood had been good enough that I'd thought it might work—but apparently not a chance.
Inwardly smacking my lips, I laughed along with Tang Do-gyeong, who was roaring as if he'd just heard a tremendously witty joke.
"TANG DO-GYEOOOOOONG!"
And that was the last conversation between Tang Do-gyeong and me.
A Six Harmonies Full Voice thick with deep fury echoed through the Wanderer Inn.
Far earlier than I'd expected.
The Tang Clan's masters had arrived.