Let's Live Well Among Ourselves - 1
Ever since I passed on the news of the ginseng monopoly supply, Dong-gu Wang's expression had brightened dramatically. When he first heard about the one-tenth kickback on the ginseng shipment, he'd looked like the universe itself was out to get him, but it seemed the pain inflicted by ginseng could be healed by ginseng as well. And not just Dong-gu Wang—his officials' faces had subtly lightened too, suggesting things hadn't ended with a mere verbal agreement but had progressed to a written contract.
No matter how ruthless Goryeo merchants could be, they were still merchants at heart. Once something was put down on paper, they wouldn't dare play games. Sure, they might pull out all sorts of bizarre interpretations if there were any ambiguously worded clauses, but the bureaucrats would have ironed those out.
"Five roots, huh?"
With Dong-gu Wang pleased, his officials happy, and even the old man who'd slipped me that not-quite-request satisfied, the deal wrapped up nicely. When I checked the pouch he'd given me, I couldn't help but let out a gasp of admiration. It wasn't just one or two roots for show—they'd packed in a full five. And they were solid-sized too, with a subtle, enticing aroma wafting up; clearly top-grade stuff.
This is worth getting played a little.
A smile crept onto my face unbidden. Passing on the Goryeo merchants' words to Dong-gu Wang in exchange for five top-grade ginseng roots? Folks from all over the Central Plains would soon be begging to be used by me like this. It was more than enough compensation to wash away any lingering annoyance at being manipulated.
Satisfying indeed. Merchants really knew their give-and-take, their debts of gratitude.
"One for Yi Yeon-i, one for Wi-cheo."
Caressing the ginseng roots contentedly, I handed one to Ak I-yeon and one to Jo Wi-cheo. Ginseng was fine enough to use as an elixir ingredient. To maximize its effects, you'd ideally process it into a pill, but even raw, it delivered solid benefits—perfect for us wanderers to pop on the spot.
"Should send one each to Giwangga and Akwangga too, right?"
"This is a gift to you, Gag-a. You should keep them all."
Ak I-yeon gently shook her head at my words and tried to hand back the root I'd given her.
"It's mine now, so I'll do what I want with it."
Of course, I refused to take it back. If it was my possession, gifting it to others was my call. Besides, with five roots—not just one—hogging them all to myself would be conscienceless. And I wasn't exactly desperate to advance my cultivation anyway. Better to give these rarities to people who could make proper use of them.
"I must humbly recommend that you keep them, my lord."
But Jo Wi-cheo followed Ak I-yeon's lead and returned his root too.
"Thanks to your grace, my lord, I've reached a realm I could only dream of. For someone like me, ginseng won't make a meaningful difference. It's more beneficial if you use it."
"The Inspector Escort is right. I've already received an immeasurable favor from you with the Clear Spirit Oil—taking ginseng on top would leave me unable to lift my head."
Ak I-yeon nodded vigorously at Jo Wi-cheo's words and pushed the root back again. Tricky. Declining their refusals this forcefully would be rude.
"...Fine. I'll hold onto them then."
In the end, I gave up persuading them and slipped the roots back into the pouch.
Once we're in Kaepyeong, I'll turn them into elixirs.
Jo Wi-cheo claimed he wouldn't get meaningful benefits from raw ginseng, but processed into an elixir, it would affect even him. I could use that as an excuse to shove one into his mouth. And once he had his, Ak I-yeon would run out of reasons to refuse.
Just hold out until Kaepyeong.
A gentleman endures a decade for revenge. Waiting a few weeks or months to give a gift? No problem at all.
The Goryeo merchants, who'd been at the center of all the chaos, wrapped up their deal with Dong-gu Wang and swiftly headed home. Well, only the mad caravan that had turned ginseng into a campfire spectacle had left—the smaller outfits stayed in Hangzhou. Still, Hangzhou breathed a huge sigh of relief with that massive headache gone.
"Spices from Tianzhu! A stimulating flavor to shake up your bland routine!"
"End your weary day with a cup of coffee!"
"Gems only seen in the Western Regions! Sailed across the seas just for you!"
The air, once filled with the stench of burning ginseng and the desperate yells of wild-eyed Song merchants, now buzzed with hawkers from around the world. Yes, this was a true international trade hub—the beautiful scene Grandfather and Dong-gu Wang had worked so hard to create.
"It's amazing."
Watching it all, Ak I-yeon giggled softly as she spoke.
"They're all so different, from different places... but they're all speaking the Central Plains tongue."
"If you come to the Central Plains to do business, you learn the language. You could hire a translator, but who knows what they'd pull in the middle."
"Hehe, true enough."
Ak I-yeon nodded lightly, her eyes darting everywhere as she drank in the Hangzhou market. Southeast Asian and Indian spice sellers. Middle Eastern merchants displaying coffee and jewels. Even the occasional European who'd drifted all the way here. A true melting pot of races—no wonder Ak I-yeon, who'd spent her life cooped up in Akwangjeo, was fascinated.
Truth be told, even I found it novel. Despite my 21st-century memories, I'd never visited a city like this.
"Impossible to imagine just a few decades ago, right?"
As we wandered, peering at the spots Ak I-yeon pointed out, she spoke up casually.
"I heard the entire Central Plains groaned under Mongol rule back then, but south of the Yangtze suffered especially harshly."
She was right. The Mongols were never known for mercy, but the Southern Song—the region south of the Yangtze that resisted for decades—got hit extra hard. In the Mongol hierarchy, Yangtze southerners were always at the very bottom.
Hangzhou had suffered under Mongol suspicion and oppression too, but now, with official backing, it had blossomed into a thriving city. A symbol of Daesong's enlightened rule with the brush, free from the Mongol era's reign of the sword.
"How much effort must it have taken to build this city?"
"The toil of tens of millions over decades."
Ak I-yeon's smile deepened at my words. Hangzhou wasn't just a well-built city—it was proof the world had changed.
- Kki-ing!
- Kki-ong~
Meanwhile, Kki-ing-i and Kki-ong-i, carrying us around, started sniffing the air and fixed their sparkling eyes on me. They'd caught a whiff of something appetite-tingling.
"Shall we grab some food first?"
"Sounds good. These two must be tired too."
I patted Kki-ing-i's head, then headed in the direction their noses led. Tourism's best on a full stomach, after all.
The scent Kki-ing-i and Kki-ong-i had picked up was kebab. Which meant a rare chance to taste kebab in 14th-century Central Plains.
Not a trade city—a foodie paradise, huh.
I couldn't help chuckling. Central Plains cuisine was already diverse, but now flooded with global flavors, the city itself felt like one giant restaurant.
Not that I minded. Even with variety, you fall into routines. Foreign dishes added that spark of excitement—welcome indeed.
Yes, definitely a good thing...
"How dare you sheep-fuckers wreak havoc on Daesong soil?!"
To me, foreign cuisine meant hometown flavors for outsiders. That drew crowds of foreigners to eateries, and mixed nationalities naturally led to scuffles.
But a Central Plains man quelling it with force made for a slightly awkward sight.
"If you're here to trade, trade quietly and get lost, you rude bastards!"
A nun gleefully bashing foreigners with her sword sheath. Normally, I'd arrest both the victims and the one doling out the one-sided beating, but her affiliation was no ordinary one.
That's Botamun.
The small "Botamun (普陀門)" characters near her sleeve. No one in Zhejiang would dare impersonate Botamun, so this had to be one of their nuns out and about.
"Enough! What is this commotion in broad daylight?!"
A scuffle started by a veteran sect nun in daylight. My mind blanked for a second, but I snapped to and moved to apprehend the scene. Veteran sect or not, assaulting civilians—no, foreigners—was unacceptable. There had to be a reason, but martial artists suppressing people privately was frowned upon.
"These guys—!"
The nun whirled at my shout, scanned me quickly, realized I was official, and took a few steps back. Impressive situational awareness. With that kind of street smarts, she probably hadn't started trouble for no reason.
"This one is a true disciple of Botamun. And who might you be, my lord?"
Anyway, she sheathed her sword and spoke politely. Though she still glared at the foreigners she'd been whacking, clearly not over it yet.
What the hell is going on?
Confusing. Botamun nuns lived quietly on islands, not beating foreigners in Hangzhou. How was I supposed to make sense of this?
"Left Vice Inspector General Han Un."
Looks like I'd be having quite the conversation with this nun.