The Hand Selector
The first bell rang. Ding. It was a small sound, yet it carried strangely far. The wooden pillars inside Heoksongru trembled as they caught the note, and the three red lanterns hanging from the second-floor railing swayed gently. Beneath them, the shadows of black pines stretched long across the floor.
The tables that had held wine and meat during the day had been cleared away. The center of Heoksongru stood empty. Emptiness made it seem even larger. With the seats and cups gone, the space no longer looked like a place for eating but rather a platform for displaying something. A stage. The night stage Jo Bi had spoken of. The place Cheolgi had warned might make a person stop looking like a person.
Seoryeong stood before the stairs leading to the second floor. Heukpil waited at the top. By day he had looked like a merchant; now, with night fallen, he seemed slightly different. His collar was neater, and the ring on his finger caught the lantern light with a cold gleam. He smiled more than he had during the day. She did not like that smile. By day it had been the smile of someone weighing value. By night it was the smile of someone who had already written the price down.
“This way,” he said.
Seoryeong held out the cloth marked with the character for heaven. Heukpil examined it again. The black pine seal. The character for heaven. Three red dots. He gave a very small bow.
“The upper seats. Reserved for our most honored guests.”
“I didn’t buy anything.”
“Those who possess are our guests.”
She had heard the same line during the day. Here, those who possessed spoke. Those who possessed entered. Those who possessed looked at people. Yet Seoryeong did not take the words at face value. If those who possessed were guests, then those who took could become guests as well. Those who deceived could become guests. Those who sold people to obtain the token could become guests. This was the kind of place that called such seats honored.
Seoryeong adjusted her grip on the wooden halberd. The cloth wrapped around the handle touched her palm. Elder Ungak’s cloth. Cheongmu’s cord. Hands were poor liars. Right now her hand was tense. And angry. There was no reason to strike yet. But the hand already knew a reason might appear.
Heukpil ascended the stairs. Seoryeong followed. The staircase felt narrower than it had by day. It had been the same stairs, yet with night the walls on either side seemed closer. With each step the sounds below grew fainter and the whispers above grew nearer. The sound of money changing hands. Silk sleeves brushing. Cups being set down. Low laughter. Someone folding a small piece of paper. Fingers tapping a table. Even her own footsteps on the stairs sounded unnaturally loud.
Heoksongru’s night was not quiet. Yet every sound was cautious. Instead of loud voices, people spoke with eyes and gestures. She liked that even less. Loud voices revealed something of what they wanted. Silent gestures required far more watching. And the people here seemed to be waiting for someone with exactly those eyes. That waiting, too, she disliked.
The second floor was wider than it had appeared by day. Seats lined the railing, each with a low table before it. On every table sat wine, fruit, dried meat, and a small incense burner. The scent of incense rose. It was the smell of pretending to be pleasant. Beneath it lay the odors of wine, blood, sweat, and oil. Seoryeong separated them. A place that tried to mask foul smells with pleasant ones. That was Heoksongru at night.
Heukpil guided her to the innermost seat along the railing. From there she could see the empty floor below clearly. The central stage. The stairs. The main entrance. The other guests across the second floor. Even the small door in the corner. Seoryeong did not sit. She looked first.
Across from her sat a middle-aged merchant in silk robes. Rings covered every finger. So many that his hands looked heavy. Yet his face showed he was long accustomed to the weight. The rings were not ornaments but tools. Whenever he moved his hands, metal flashed and people watched. Hands meant to display wealth. Hands that could name a price because they possessed it.
Beside him sat a slender woman. A thin veil covered her face. Her clothing was neat, but the outline of something small and solid showed beneath her sleeve. Not a sword. Perhaps a short awl or a case of needles. Her hands were pale and clean, yet the backs bore many tiny old scars. Not the hands of someone injured once. Hands that had touched sharp things again and again.
Three young martial artists wearing red sashes occupied the next seat. They were the ones who had tried to touch her meat earlier that day. They saw her and smiled. Seoryeong pretended not to notice. Their smiles were familiar. Familiar smiles were not necessarily harmless. She simply had no reason to break them at this moment.
Two men in black hoods sat elsewhere. Only their eyes showed; their mouths were hidden. They did not smile. The old man’s words returned to her. Watch who does not smile. She remembered the two. Even before the stage began, their hands rested beneath the table. Not hands touching weapons. Hands counting. Their fingertips moved in tiny increments. One. Two. Three. It could be a signal. It could be habit. She did not know yet.
And the highest seat. Slightly behind the center of the second-floor railing, a separate space had been prepared with a curtain drawn across it. Thin black silk. A single shadow sat behind it. The figure was not clearly visible. Yet everyone avoided looking directly at that spot. The effort not to look made the attention more obvious. That seat. The character for heaven. The Heaven Society. Seoryeong did not stare long. Not because she feared being noticed. She had probably already been noticed. But if her eyes went there too quickly, her hands might follow. Look first. Do not descend before seeing everything.
Heukpil spoke. “Please be seated.”
Seoryeong sat. A wall lay behind her. The railing was to her right. A small pillar stood to her left. The only exit was the narrow corridor behind. Not bad. Not entirely good either. She could jump down. She would not be injured. But the moment she jumped, she would stand upon the stage. That might be exactly what they wanted.
Seoryeong placed the wooden halberd beside her knee. Within reach. Heukpil set a small wooden plaque on the table. Three red dots were painted on it as well.
“A marker for the guest’s seat.”
“Do I need it?”
“Here, the seat itself is the price.”
“Price again.”
Heukpil smiled. “Most things in Heoksongru work that way.”
“People too?”
“Especially at night.”
His answer was gentle. Too gentle, which made it worse. Seoryeong looked at him.
“Name.”
“My name, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“At Heoksongru they call me Heukpil.”
Heukpil. Black Brush. She could not tell whether it was a real name or a title. Probably a title.
“Your real name?”
Heukpil smiled. “Asking for a real name at night is considered rude.”
“Why?”
“Because a real name can sometimes be more expensive than a life.”
Seoryeong thought of the blank wooden plaque. Here, hiding one’s name was how one survived. Yet when names were hidden, the names others gave walked first. It was difficult. The martial world was a place where even a single name was hard to hold properly.
Heukpil set a small teacup before her. “I heard you do not drink.”
“I don’t.”
“So I prepared tea.”
Seoryeong looked at the cup. The aroma was pleasant. But this was a place that masked foul smells with pleasant ones. Was it safe to drink? It could be poison. She had received medicine from Cheongmyeong for testing poisons, yet there was no need to drink poison on purpose. She left the cup untouched.
Heukpil smiled at the sight. “You are cautious.”
“I’m not thirsty.”
“As you wish.”
He withdrew. Seoryeong looked down at the floor below. At the edge of the empty central space stood a child holding a small bell. The same child she had seen in the rear courtyard during the day. The face was expressionless. The age was perhaps a little older than Seok-a, or about the same. The child held a small brass bell. Ringing it would begin the stage. Behind the child stood a martial artist wearing a red sash. Not guarding the child, but standing so the child could not run.
Seoryeong’s gaze lingered there. Jo Bi’s words returned. Do not touch that child. Not the child alone, but the line behind the child. A line behind the child. Those who used children as bait existed everywhere. Here the child might be a bell rather than bait. Yet the binding was the same.
Seoryeong let out a breath. Not yet. For now she would watch.
The second bell rang. Ding. This time it sounded a little louder. Voices inside Heoksongru diminished. The door on the first floor closed. A thick wooden bar slid into place inside the main entrance. Thud. Several guests laughed with pleasure at the sound. The door had closed. The way out had narrowed. It meant the stage was opening.
Seoryeong looked toward the door. Could she break it and leave? She could. But leaving was not her purpose now. She had to watch. Until she could choose.
A small cough sounded behind the curtain at the center of the second floor. At that single cough the air inside Heoksongru seemed to lower. Heukpil descended to the center of the first floor. The man who had smiled at the accounting desk by day now looked like the one who would speak for the stage. He clasped his hands and bowed toward the guests.
“Since our honored guests have taken their seats, we shall open Heoksongru’s night.”
His voice was not loud, yet it carried well enough for everyone to hear.
“By day Heoksongru sells wine and rice. By night it asks the price.”
Price. Again that word. Seoryeong had come to dislike it.
“What has no price cannot ascend here. What has too low a price cannot remain long. What has a high price is seen by all.”
Heukpil smiled. “Tonight will be no different.”
People laughed quietly. Expectant laughter. At his gesture the child holding the bell stepped forward. The child bowed. The motion was too practiced. It had been done many times. The child lifted the bell.
Ding.
The third bell. The stage opened.
The first item brought out was not a person. It was an old sword. The scabbard was worn, the leather on the hilt frayed. Two martial artists in red sashes carried it forward. Heukpil spoke.
“The first item is a sword recovered from a northwestern mountain path. Its owner is dead and left no name. Yet the blade still carries the taste of blood.”
People laughed. The blade still carries the taste of blood. Seoryeong did not fully understand what it meant, but it was not a good thing.
Heukpil drew the sword. Though old, the blade had been well maintained.
“Bidding begins at three taels.”
Low voices exchanged offers.
“Five.”
“Seven.”
“Ten.”
The sword sold. People found it interesting but were not greatly surprised. Seoryeong looked at the sword. Its owner was dead and left no name. That phrase stayed with her. A blank wooden plaque. Dogyeom’s gift. A sword with no name left behind. The sword was sold and the owner vanished. Here even the weapon of a dead person had a price.
Next came a small medicine bottle. Heukpil held it up and smiled.
“The second item calls sleep. A little brings sleep. A lot brings sleep from which one never wakes.”
Several people showed interest. Seoryeong thought of Cheongmyeong’s cloth pouch. Medicine could save, could put to sleep, could kill. Tools followed the hands that used them. Hands. Tonight she had come to watch hands.
The third item was information. Heukpil lifted a single sheet of paper.
“The third item is the next transport route of the Cheongha Merchant Guild.”
Several merchants leaned forward.
“A road is a life, and a life is money. Bidding begins at twenty taels.”
Seoryeong understood. Roads were sold as well. If someone’s destination became known, that road could be ambushed. Then people could die. Words were not swords. Yet they prepared the place a sword could reach. Cheonghyeonja’s words returned. Rumors prepared the place for blood to flow. Here they sold that preparation for a price.
Strength entered Seoryeong’s hand. Yet there was still no reason to strike. She had seen that everything was filthy, but there was no situation in which she could save someone right now. Both the buyers and sellers of information were smiling. Someone would weep later, but that someone was not present at this seat. That made it harder. She could stop someone being struck before her eyes. But deciding what to break now for the sake of people who would be hurt later was difficult.
Seoryeong let out a breath. Watch. Look below the stage. Who does not smile? Who remains unsurprised even when losing? The two men in black hoods still did not smile. They raised their hands for nothing. The silk-robed merchant showed no interest in the sword yet bid on the information. The veiled woman bought nothing. Yet when the medicine bottle appeared her fingers moved ever so slightly. The three red-sashed martial artists only drank. They looked at Seoryeong more often than at the stage. The shadow behind the Heaven Society curtain did not move. It truly did not move. As though everything on the stage had already been decided. The one who remained unsurprised even when losing. Jo Bi’s words stayed with her.
Items continued for a long while. Swords. Medicine. Information. Seals. Debt documents. Rumors about a certain sect disciple’s weakness. A small ledger with people’s names. When the ledger appeared Seoryeong leaned forward slightly. A ledger. It reminded her of the ledger she had seen at the small shrine in the north. The silver-haired child. Being refined inside Cheongseong. Vessel. Stillness. Children, the weak, those who reacted strongly to rumors. Writing people as characters, reactions as lines, even hearts measured like prices. Was Heoksongru’s ledger the same?
Heukpil did not open the ledger. He merely showed the cover and spoke.
“This ledger records the weaknesses of minor sect disciples traveling the northern Sichuan road. Drinking habits, debts, hidden lovers, mistakes they could not tell their masters.”
People laughed quietly. Seoryeong did not. Weaknesses. A person’s shameful places. Injured places. Those, too, were sold. Then could wounds of the heart be sold as well? They probably could. Even Seok-a’s fear could become a price for someone. The thought made her feel unclean.
Heukpil sold the ledger. The silk-robed merchant bought it. He stroked the ledger with his ring-covered hand as though choosing ripe fruit. Seoryeong remembered that hand.
Next came a blood-stained piece of cloth. Heukpil placed it atop a small wooden box.
“This is evidence.”
Evidence. At that word several people leaned forward.
“A cloth proving where the sect leader of a certain minor sect disappears every night. To those who need it, it is sharper than a sword. To those who do not, it is worse than a rag.”
People laughed. Heukpil continued.
“Bidding begins at ten taels.”
Evidence was sold as well. Seoryeong watched it and slowly exhaled. She had thought evidence existed to reveal wrongdoing. Yet here it was sold to blackmail, to hide, to force someone to their knees. Heoksongru did not sell swords. It sold the places swords could reach. That was worse.
Next, a person’s voice was sold. Heukpil held up a small bundle of papers.
“These are stories left by a wandering storyteller. With only the names changed, one person can be made a hero or a monster.”
Seoryeong’s eyes narrowed. Stories. Stories that could turn a person into a monster or a hero. It resembled what Marenson would later say. What people wanted to believe. A place that sold that.
Seoryeong opened her fingers slightly. Her fist had begun to clench on its own. Not yet. Her hand would not move yet. For now she watched.
After a long while Heukpil raised his hand and quieted the room.
“From here on, the items are alive.”
Seoryeong’s eyes grew cold. Alive items. The words rang too naturally inside Heoksongru. No one seemed greatly surprised. Several people even straightened in their seats. As though they had been waiting.
Seoryeong gripped the wooden halberd. Strength entered her hand. This time a great deal.
Heukpil smiled. “The first living item is labor offered in place of debt.”
The side door opened. A sturdy young man was dragged out. His wrists were bound and his face was bruised. He clenched his teeth. A face that was afraid yet refused to break. Heukpil spoke.
“The body is strong, age twenty-two. He cannot read but possesses good strength. Bidding begins at three months of labor rights.”
Labor rights. Not the word for selling a person, but the word for selling a person’s time. Yet the bound wrists did not lie. This was selling a person.
Seoryeong shifted slightly in her seat. Heukpil’s gaze touched her. As though he had been waiting. Seoryeong stopped. What would happen if she descended right now? She might save the young man. But the stage would break. Marenson could disappear before appearing. The Heaven Society could hide. Then she would not see the hands behind. Was she cutting the line in the middle? Or was she cutting the hand that needed cutting now?
Seoryeong clenched her teeth. Enduring was difficult. Bids for the young man rose.
“Five taels.”
“Seven.”
“Ten.”
The young man’s eyes wavered. He tried not to look at the faces around him. Seoryeong looked at his wrists. The marks where he had been bound. A little blood had welled there.
Then, for the first time, a voice flowed from behind the curtain.
“Take him.”
It was a small voice. Difficult to tell whether it belonged to a man or a woman. Yet at that single phrase Heukpil immediately bowed.
“As the honored guest wishes.”
Those who had been bidding fell silent. Even the silk-robed merchant lowered his hand. The one who remained unsurprised even when losing. No. The one who made everyone stop their hands before losing.
Seoryeong looked at the shadow behind the curtain. The Heaven Society. Probably. The young man was dragged back through the side door. Seoryeong could not release the strength in her hand. She wanted to break that door right now. But Marenson had not appeared yet. Not yet the hand. Not yet. That word caught in her throat.
The next item was a person, yet was not introduced as one. Heukpil flicked his fingers lightly. A middle-aged woman was dragged out from the side door. Her wrists were not bound. Instead two martial artists standing on either side held her shoulders. Her clothing was ordinary. The kind worn by someone selling tofu in a market alley, drawing water each morning, or calling to a child before a jar stand. Far from a martial artist. She looked far too weary to be a merchant either.
The moment she stood beneath Heoksongru’s red lanterns she closed her eyes. Like someone who believed the place would disappear if she closed her eyes.
Heukpil smiled and spoke. “The next item is hand taste.”
Hand taste. Seoryeong did not understand the phrase. Heukpil lifted the woman’s hand. The knuckles were thick. The nails were short and cracked. Hands that had long touched water and fire.
“These are hands that boiled broth for nearly thirty years at a small inn on the northern Sichuan road. There is debt recorded in the ledger, yet her age makes her unsuitable for body price and her strength makes her unsuitable for labor price. Yet the taste remains.”
Several people laughed. The laughter differed from when the young man’s labor rights had been sold. It was a little lighter, a little crueler. Eyes looking at a strong young man saw merchandise. Eyes looking at this woman searched for something usable among the dregs.
Heukpil continued. “We seek someone to purchase this woman’s broth secrets, her method of making soy paste, her hand taste. You need not want the body. You may purchase only the memory.”
Seoryeong drew a slow breath. Memory. That, too, was sold. The time a person had lived. Years spent lighting fires before the same pot every day, pouring water, adding salt, seasoning by hand. Even that became a price at Heoksongru.
The woman spoke in a trembling voice. “That belongs to our house.”
Heukpil nodded kindly. “Of course. That is why it has a price.”
“I intended to pass it to my daughter.”
“Your daughter’s name appears together on the debt document.”
The woman’s face turned white. Seoryeong saw the change. A quieter terror than having a noose around one’s neck. Sometimes a person was bound even without ropes. Names bound them. Debts bound them. Family bound them. The line was invisible. Because it was invisible, it was difficult to cut.
Seoryeong felt strength enter the hand gripping the wooden halberd. Reason. Was there reason to descend? There was. But where should she descend? At the martial artists holding the woman’s shoulders? At Heukpil? At the one holding the debt document? At the guest buying the debt? At the unmoving shadow behind the curtain? There were too many lines. Seoryeong found the fact frustrating. She wished it were a sword instead. With a sword she could block. With a spear she could clash. With a fist she could break. But words and debts and memories showed no place to strike that would stop them.
Bids rose.
“Twenty taels.”
“Thirty.”
“If it is that house’s broth taste, fifty is not a waste.”
The woman clenched her teeth. She did not shed tears. Or rather, she tried not to. Seoryeong looked into those eyes. The warm smell of porridge at the Cheongseong dining hall returned to her. The rice cakes Cheongmyeong had prepared for her. The dried chestnuts and dried meat she had received on the road. Food made by a person’s hands carried the time of those hands. Saying one would sell that time sounded like tearing away part of a person.
The silk-robed merchant raised his hand. “One hundred taels.”
A small stir ran through Heoksongru. One hundred taels. Seoryeong still did not fully understand how large that sum was, yet from everyone’s reaction she knew it was large. The woman’s face grew even whiter. That money was not meant to save her. It was meant to take what belonged to her.
Heukpil smiled. “One hundred taels. Any higher?”
The space behind the curtain did not move. The men in black hoods did not move. The veiled woman folded her fingers ever so slightly. Seoryeong saw it. She had considered buying, then stopped. Why? Because the price had risen too high? Or because she had never intended to buy in the first place?
The silk-robed merchant bought the woman. Or rather, bought her hand taste. How would he take it afterward? He would make her speak the memory. If she refused, he would take the daughter. Or perhaps burn her hands.
When Seoryeong’s thoughts reached that point, something inside her grew hot. The Bulssi. The ember that had lain quiet within the Geureot trembled ever so slightly. Seoryeong let out a breath. Not yet. This was still not Marenson. Yet she had to remember this scene. Heoksongru did not sell only bodies. It sold strength, roads, weaknesses, evidence, stories, names, and hand taste. Then Marenson was not merely the hand that chose children. It was the hand that chose everything that could be sold.
Heukpil tapped lightly with a wooden mallet. Tap.
“One hundred taels. Sold.”
The woman nearly collapsed. A martial artist caught her. As she was dragged away she lifted her head once. She looked toward the second-floor railing. It was not the gaze of someone hoping to be saved. It was the gaze of someone who already knew she could not be saved. That made it harder to endure.
Seoryeong did not miss that gaze. She felt she must not miss it. That gaze lodged in her heart. So that later, when she broke something, she would not forget this gaze.
Even after the woman vanished, Heoksongru moved on to the next item without pause. Here even someone’s despair did not linger long. Perhaps because lingering too long would spoil the taste of the wine. Or because the next price would be delayed.
Heukpil called the next item as though nothing had happened. This time it was a small birdcage. There was no bird inside. Instead thin papers were rolled up within.
“A person’s feet are slow, yet rumors are fast. This cage is a path that carries rumors. A small path that decides which words enter which inn and which names are spoken first in which market.”
Seoryeong narrowed her eyes. A path that carried rumors. A cage that made names move before people. Dogyeom’s words returned again. Outside, many people would try to attach names to you. Here they did not only attach names. They also sold where those names would be carried.
“Bidding begins at fifty taels.”
One of the three red-sashed martial artists laughed and raised his hand. “Can it also carry the name of Cheongseong’s silver-haired monster?”
Quiet laughter spread through Heoksongru. Seoryeong’s eyes turned toward them. That martial artist was one of those who had tried to touch her meat earlier. He shook his cup and laughed.
“Or silver-haired hero? Which one is more expensive?”
Seoryeong did not answer. The more he laughed, the more eyes around her attached themselves to her. Those eyes asked. Monster? Hero? Calamity star? Disaster? Seoryeong slowly opened her hand. Her fist had begun to clench on its own. Marenson had not appeared yet. This was bait. Name bait. She did not swallow it. Yet not swallowing did not make the bitter taste disappear.
Heukpil smiled and spoke. “Names can also be decided after night ends. In whatever form our guests wish to see.”
At those words the shadow behind the curtain moved ever so slightly. It had probably smiled. Seoryeong did not look toward the curtain. If she looked, she would look too long. If she looked too long, she would descend. Not yet. Her hand would not move yet.
The next living item was a young boy. Seoryeong’s breath stopped. He looked a little older than Seok-a. About twelve. His wrists were not bound, yet a thin iron ring circled his neck. A short rope hung from the ring. The end of the rope was held by a red-sashed martial artist. The boy did not cry. He looked as though he lacked the strength to cry.
Heukpil spoke. “The second living item is a child with good memory. He does not forget numbers he has heard once and learns characters quickly. He can be used in the ledger room, the correspondence room, or the medicine room.”
Seoryeong rose almost unconsciously. Heukpil looked at her. Every eye on the second floor turned toward her. Seoryeong gripped the wooden halberd. Child. Iron ring around the neck. Can be used. Words that called a person an item. Words that said a child could be used in the ledger room. Those words pressed against Seoryeong’s chest before the halberd did.
Reason to descend. There was. But she still had to see what she should strike. The martial artist holding the boy? Heukpil? The one behind the curtain? Marenson? The hand that chose hands. Seoryeong let out a breath.
“Why is that child here?”
Heukpil answered gently. “Debt.”
“Whose debt?”
“The parents’, of course.”
“Then bring the parents.”
Several people laughed. Heukpil laughed as well. “The parents are dead.”
“Then the debt died too.”
The laughter stopped. Seoryeong’s voice was not loud, yet it fell strangely clearly inside Heoksongru. Heukpil could not answer immediately. The shadow behind the curtain moved ever so slightly. The boy looked at Seoryeong. A tiny light entered his eyes. Not hope so much as surprise that someone had called him a person.
Seoryeong looked into those eyes. In that moment enduring became even harder. Heukpil smiled again.
“Our young guest does not understand the principles of worldly debt.”
“I don’t,” Seoryeong said. “But I know tying a rope around a child’s neck.”
Her wooden halberd touched the railing. Thud. The wooden railing rang. People swallowed their breath. Heukpil spoke quietly.
“If you disturb the stage, you lose your guest qualifications.”
“Then I lose them.”
Seoryeong took one step forward. Below the second-floor railing the central stage was visible. Jumping would reach it. The martial artist holding the boy’s rope grew tense. Strength entered his hand. The boy’s neck was pulled slightly. The boy swallowed a breath. In that moment Seoryeong’s eyes grew cold. That hand. The hand holding the rope. The hand pulling. That was a hand. It might not be Marenson, yet it was a hand moving in the same direction. A reason to descend had appeared.
The moment Seoryeong was about to move, a voice flowed from behind the curtain.
“Leave that child be.”
Everyone stopped. Heukpil stopped. The red-sashed martial artist’s hand stopped. Seoryeong stopped. The voice behind the curtain continued.
“Tonight’s guest came to see something else.”
Heukpil bowed. “Understood.”
The boy was not dragged back through the side door. Instead another martial artist came and removed the neck ring. He was not completely freed. Yet the iron ring came off his neck. The boy coughed. Seoryeong loosened her grip on the railing slightly. The voice behind the curtain had been directed at her. Tonight’s guest. Came to see something else. They knew. Seoryeong realized what they were testing. Not too late. Yet her anger did not disappear. It only grew heavier. They had brought out a child to test her. That fact was filthy.
Seoryeong looked behind the curtain. “You.”
Everyone inside Heoksongru stiffened. The shadow behind the curtain did not move. Seoryeong spoke.
“Do not test me with children.”
The words were a warning. She had not lowered the halberd, yet they settled colder than any strike. A very small laugh sounded behind the curtain.
“You have good eyes.”
Seoryeong disliked that laugh. She disliked it very much. Heukpil hurriedly raised his hand.
“We shall move to the next item.”
He spoke faster than before. “Before welcoming tonight’s special guest, we shall first present the name everyone has been waiting for.”
The air inside Heoksongru changed. Laughter vanished and expectation rose. Seoryeong slowly sat. No, she did not sit. She remained standing. The halberd was in her hand.
Heukpil spoke. “The hand reported dead yet not dead. The one who chose Heukmokchae’s lower ranks, gathered wanderers, recognized useful children, and selected blood that would become rumor.”
People held their breath.
“Tonight’s Marenson.”
The door opened. A person walked out. At first Seoryeong found him slightly strange. He was too ordinary. Not tall. Not large. Did not look like a martial artist. His clothing was gray. His hands were truly dry. Hands like withered branches. Yet the fingers were long. The nails were cut short and old scars marked the backs of his hands. He was smiling. Like a merchant meeting someone for the first time.
Marenson stood at the center and bowed toward all directions. “It is another fine night.”
His voice was gentle. Too gentle. The moment Seoryeong heard that voice, the ember inside her chest trembled. This was the person. She had not seen everything yet. Yet she felt she knew. The hand that chose children. The hand that turned people into items. The hand that selected blood that would become rumor.
Marenson slowly smiled and spoke. “I heard rumors that I had died.”
Several people laughed. Marenson laughed as well. “Even if one hand is cut off, the hand does not disappear.”
Seoryeong heard those words. Even if one hand is cut off, the hand does not disappear. Those words might be correct. That was why she had to find the wrist. She had to find the arm. She had to find the shoulder. She had to find the face. Seoryeong recalled Jo Bi’s words. Watch which way the hand moves.
Marenson stood at the center of the stage. Yet where was he looking? Seoryeong looked at his eyes. Marenson looked around at the guests. The silk-robed merchant. The veiled woman. The red-sashed martial artists. The men in black hoods. And Seoryeong. When Marenson saw Seoryeong he smiled a little longer. Yet immediately afterward he glanced, very briefly, behind the curtain. It was a truly short moment. The kind one could pretend not to have seen. Yet Seoryeong saw it. The direction the hand moved. Where Marenson’s eyes moved. Behind the curtain. The Heaven Society.
Strength entered Seoryeong’s hand. Marenson spoke.
“What I shall present tonight is special. A new line to replace the lower ranks Heukmokchae lost, and the name whose price has risen most on the northern Sichuan road these days.”
He looked at Seoryeong. “Cheongseong’s silver-haired child.”
All eyes inside Heoksongru turned to Seoryeong at once. Marenson smiled. “The child who broke people, saved children, left Cheongseong, and came all the way to Heoksongru. This name still has many empty spaces. Many empty spaces means many places to attach a price.”
Seoryeong did not move. Marenson continued.
“It can be sold as a monster or as a hero. It can be made a calamity star or raised as a disaster. What matters is not what this child is.”
His smile deepened. “It is what people want to believe.”
Those words entered colder than any sword. Seoryeong thought of Dogyeom’s blank plaque. He had told her not to be dragged by names others attached. Yet now that hand said it would attach a name. Said it would make her into what people wanted to believe.
Seoryeong spoke slowly. “My name is mine.”
Marenson lifted his head. “Of course.”
He smiled politely. “That is why it is more expensive.”
In that moment Seoryeong knew. The reasons to endure were decreasing. Marenson was a hand. Yet not the end. There was the space behind the curtain. Therefore she must not break him right now. Yet if she left him, that hand would choose children and sell names again. How far must she break before the line would not be cut and the hand would stop? That question moved heavily inside her chest.
Marenson clapped. The side door opened again. Two martial artists dragged something out. At first she thought it was a beast. Yet it was a person. A man whose face was covered by a large cloth. His body was bound and a gag was in his mouth.
Marenson spoke. “This man is the remaining witness from Heukmokchae’s lower ranks. One of those who chose the child the silver-haired child of Cheongseong saved.”
Seoryeong’s eyes grew cold. Seok-a. The one who had chosen that child.
Marenson spoke slowly. “Depending on how this man is used, the silver-haired child’s name will change.”
He looked at Seoryeong. “Will you become a hero and save him?”
And smiled. “Or become a monster and break him?”
All eyes inside Heoksongru gathered on Seoryeong. This was a stage. A stage that placed a person and asked the price. Yet this time the price was not money. It was Seoryeong’s reaction. The words written in the ledger. Children, the weak, those who reacted strongly to rumors. They were testing her again. Only this time more openly.
Seoryeong looked at the bound man. He might be a villain. He had chosen children. She might have to break him. Yet right now this man was bait. Bait meant to move her. Marenson was the hand that used people as bait. He even used his own lower ranks as bait. Then the hand was not the bound man. The real hand was smiling. At the center.
Seoryeong slowly climbed onto the railing. A stir ran through Heoksongru. Heukpil spoke urgently.
“Guest, if you leave your seat—”
Seoryeong did not listen. Holding the halberd, she stood atop the railing. The stage below was visible. Marenson. The bound man. The child with the bell. Heukpil. The shadow behind the curtain. The men in black hoods. Those who smiled. Those who did not smile. She saw them all. Not everything, yet as much as she could see now.
Seoryeong spoke. “You intended to make me choose.”
Marenson smiled. “A stage is originally a place for choosing.”
“Yes.”
Seoryeong nodded. “Then I chose too.”
Marenson’s smile stopped for a moment. Seoryeong’s eyes turned toward him.
“Not that man.”
She did not point at the bound man. The tip of the halberd pointed at Marenson.
“You.”
The air froze. Seoryeong spoke.
“I choose the hand.”
And she jumped. From the second-floor railing down to the central stage. Silver hair scattered beneath the red lanterns. The halberd fell. For the first time laughter vanished from Marenson’s face. He stepped back. Fast. He did not look like a martial artist, yet his movement was practiced. Movement that hid behind people. Movement that placed bait before his own body.
The bound man stood before him. Marenson pushed the man forward like a shield. Seoryeong’s halberd stopped a hair’s breadth away. Before the bound man’s face. Wind stirred his hair. With the gag in his mouth his eyes widened. Marenson tried to recover his smile from behind the man.
“As expected, you stop.”
Seoryeong looked at him. “Yes.”
And moved her feet. The halberd had stopped, yet her feet did not. She slipped past the bound man. Marenson’s wrist came into view. A hand like a withered branch. The hand that chose children. The hand that used people as bait. The hand that tried to sell names. Reason to descend. There was. The tip of Seoryeong’s halberd descended onto Marenson’s wrist.
Thud.
The sound of bone breaking rang across the stage. Marenson screamed. That scream was clearer than any scream she had heard during the day. Seoryeong did not stop. The second hand. Marenson reached into his robes with his other hand. A small knife. It could have been a poisoned needle. Seoryeong saw that hand as well. The hand moved. The hand searched for a weapon. The hand tried to choose someone again. The halberd descended once more.
Thud.
The second wrist broke as well. Marenson collapsed to the floor. He screamed and curled his body. Seoryeong did not break his head. She did not press on his neck. She had not broken his legs yet either. She looked down at his two hands. Hands. They had stopped for now.
Everyone on the stage froze. Seoryeong spoke quietly.
“The hands have stopped.”
And she lifted her head. She looked at the shadow behind the curtain.
“Now I will see the arm.”
The moment those words ended, a clear laugh sounded from behind the curtain for the first time. A slow, low laugh. And a voice.
“Good.”
The black curtain slowly parted. The person seated within was a young woman. Black silk robes. Pale hands. A silver bracelet engraved with the character for heaven wrapped around her wrist. She looked down at Seoryeong and spoke.
“You broke the hands, so now the arm will look at you.”
Heoksongru’s night had only now truly begun.