Cigarettes Flood the Murim (Part 2)
In Wuhan City, located in Hubei Province, the grand market was in full swing. It was a special day when merchant caravans from Shaanxi, Sichuan, Hunan, Anhui, and even Henan poured in by the masses. As a result, more people than ever flooded into Hubei Province.
"Buy these top-grade silk clothes!"
"This doesn't come around every day! They call it Cheonju Dan because one bite sends you flying a thousand ri! But at night? Forget a thousand ri—your mind's already whisked off to some foreign land in the blink of an eye!!"
"Get these delicious fruits imported from the Western Regions!"
The merchants hustled to draw in customers, while the shoppers wandered from stall to stall, gawking at all the novel and wondrous goods.
However.
Just as a coin has two sides, even the lively market bustle had its darker face. Away from the bright, cheerful main streets lurked shadowy back alleys where rough men had gathered.
Acrid smoke swirled through the air. Each man clutched a pipe, puffing away contentedly.
"Did you see this year's martial arts conference? Man, if he'd just twisted his wrist a bit more like this, it'd have been an instant win!"
"You rooting for Huashan Sect's Im I-gyeom too?"
"Of course! Didn't he take first place at last year's conference? I bet on him again this time!"
"Even I, who doesn't know the first thing about martial arts, could've done better! Why the hell did he keep his wrist straight like that? Huh? You gotta snap it at a fifteen-degree angle, aiming for the throat—that's how you do it!"
"And don't get me started on his footwork. Last year, everyone said he was elusive as a ghost, but this time? Every move got blocked by Wudang's Seo Jin-ryong. If he'd just stretched his foot one step farther—like this?—would that be so hard?"
To Murim folk, the inter-sect conferences were like modern folks chatting about soccer or baseball—a kind of sport.
The two men vented passionately, then simultaneously drew on their pipes. The mingled taste of tobacco and charred leaf scattered into the air.
"Looks like you lost a bundle."
"You too, huh."
"Serves you right for cheering on a nobody like Im I-gyeom."
Just then, a newcomer appeared. The two glared at him with narrowed, axe-like eyes.
"Seo Jin-ryong's gonna win. Haven't you heard? Wudang's undergone a total overhaul. Their weak old sect leader got the boot, and they picked a new one. That's why Seo Jin-ryong's grown leaps and bounds from last year."
"Ha! Leaps and bounds my ass. If he'd lifted his wrist just a smidge, Seo Jin-ryong would've lost that match!"
"So who did win?"
"Argh!!"
"Tch, people who don't know martial arts from a hole in the ground, flapping their gums."
The latest arrival in the smokers' alley was a white-haired elder. The pipe-puffing men eyed the empty-handed old man with clear annoyance.
"Who the hell are you to butt in?"
"A new later-generation expert shows up, and instead of cheering him on, you clowns are hyping those losers."
"Ahem, hmm!"
"Well, when money's on the line, folks get like that..."
Elder Gu Yang-geom pulled something different from his robes—not a pipe. Squiggly script and vibrant embroidery made it a standout item, though no one could read the letters.
The men puffed their pipes while eyeing the rectangular pack in his hand. What the heck was that thing he was cradling like a baby?
Soon, Gu Yang-geom opened the pack and drew out a slim, long white stick. He popped the filter in his mouth and lit it from the brazier in the corner.
Thick, acrid yet profoundly rich smoke soon filled the air.
It didn't take long for the pipe smokers to catch the scent.
"Sniff sniff—what's that smell?"
"Yeah, something sharp poking at my nose. Smells like tobacco, but no char at all?"
All eyes locked on the cigarette dangling from the elder's lips.
"This here's a cigarette."
"Ci—cigarette?"
No way.
To Murim people, a pipe was tobacco. Chop the leaves, stuff 'em in, light up. It didn't taste great, but inhaling the smoke gave an unparalleled rush. Stressed out? Got chewed out by the wife? One puff delivered pure liberation.
But that tiny thing? A cigarette? No pipe needed?
"What even is that? Call it a cigarette? Bet it tastes like crap."
The Seo Jin-ryong fan smirked and puffed his pipe. His lips burned hot. He dumped the ash on the ground—and there was the old man, still savoring his cigarette. For a good long time.
Pipes didn't last. You burned the leaves raw, so once they were gone, no more smoke. Dry tobacco lasted maybe fifteen seconds max. Suck it down fast—but there was a catch: the mouthpiece got scorching hot. Murim smokers topped out at ten to fifteen seconds.
Plus, tobacco wasn't cheap. Skimp to save coin, and your smoke time shrank even more.
But that burned forever? Had to have advantages.
The issue was taste.
The man figured it'd suck, but the elder's face was pure bliss. He swallowed hard. Was that really tobacco? Had he ever smelled anything this good?
Catching the man's look, Gu Yang-geom offered a cigarette from his pack.
"Wanna try one?"
The man took it gingerly. The old guy hadn't said a word about the taste—just smoked it like heaven.
Is this really tobacco?
Mimicking the elder, he lit up at the brazier, bit the filter, and inhaled.
Orange glow crept along the tip.
"Hm?"
Standard tobacco taste. He pulled the smoke into his lungs.
That instant—!!!
"Gah! P—poison?!"
A fiery punch slammed his throat. He clutched it, doubling over.
"H-Hey! You okay?!"
"What the hell is this?!"
The other smokers rushed over, propping him up.
The elder's expression didn't change.
Soon, the man shot back up.
"Y-You alright?"
"......"
"Say something!"
"Insane."
One word from the guy who'd collapsed thinking it poison.
"Fuck, it's delicious."
His helpers stared, dumbfounded.
He snatched the dropped cigarette and puffed away. As smoke wafted, the others caught the deep, refreshing aroma.
"Th-that good, huh?"
"Insane. This is a revolution!!"
They passed cigarettes around, everyone trying one.
"Ooh! No char taste at all!"
"Kyaah! This is tobacco! Everything before was just weeds!"
"Whoa! Lips aren't burning!"
"N-No way! It's still going after that long?!"
And one by one: "Hey, old timer! Where do we get these?!"
The elder just pointed silently.
Their gazes followed—to the lush, overgrown Ghost Soul Great Forest.
***
What the hell is going on?
"Boss! Gimme a Marlboro!"
"Me too!"
"Never smoked anything this rich in my life!"
Did that old guy do this? I was training the bandits when customers suddenly swarmed. Some didn't even look local. How far did he spread the word?
"Uh, folks? Calm down a sec? We're clean out of Marlboros right now..."
That only made it worse.
"What?! No Marlboros?! Oh, the tragedy!"
"I-I'll pay extra—just sell to me, yeah?"
"Hey! You got money to burn? I'll top him by one nyang—please, sell to me!"
"What're you on about? I was first!"
"I was first!"
Tobacco addiction was no joke. The mob yelled and shoved.
"ENOUGH!!"
My irritated roar halted them.
"We got more than just Marlboros."
"What?"
"Pall Mall, Esse too."
They'd gotten used to the Hanja pronunciations.
"Walk to the tower. Eight villages brimming with earth. And the wrathful age. Sounds downright poetic."
"Ahh. Beautiful."
"Pall Mall for me!"
"Gimme an Esse!"
"Then Esse for me!"
Stock dwindling fast...
Yoo Hwa-yeon dropped the bandit training and came to help at the counter.
Four nyang and fifty coppers per pack. By the time we'd raked in nearly fifty silver ingots, dusk fell and the crowd thinned.
The rowdy bazaar vibe died in a flash, dumping all my fatigue at once.
Still, worth it. Staring at the ingots felt like being rich already.
Cigarette stock is low.
Please place an order to restock.
The POS blinked its warning.
Gotta reorder quick if I wanna sell tomorrow.
Humming, I hit the button.
Sudden customer rush. Cigarettes more popular than expected.
Caught up in the thrill of sudden luck, I didn't notice the winds of change blowing in.