Repaying Ugeom's Grace
A band of outsiders roamed the villages devastated by the beast stampede, claiming they were repaying a favor received from Ugeom. In this era, where communication was severely limited, the fact that outsiders knew about a specific village meant the damage there was spectacular enough to spread far and wide. And any village hit that hard would naturally report up to the prefectural governor.
That's why we obtained a list of the hardest-hit villages from the prefect and checked with the local officials in charge: "Has any group of outsiders providing relief come through?" No point going to places where aid had already been delivered.
"This seems like the next one. Let's wait here."
"Yes, Grandfather."
Fortunately, the screening process wrapped up quickly. There weren't as many severely damaged villages as expected, and the outsiders' relief efforts had progressed faster than anticipated, leaving only a handful of candidates. So we decided to stake out the most likely village along their route and wait.
"You farmers would know better than us, but famine crops aren't exactly tasty, yield much, or keep for long, to be honest. But in times like these, when the harvest fails, quick-growing famine crops are what keep you from starving."
It seemed this band of outsiders had beaten us to the punch. The officials had sworn no outsiders had come by, but when we arrived at the village, there they were—plain as day—handing out supplies to the farmers.
"Hm. My instincts are still sharp!"
No need to wait; we'd run straight into our targets. Grandfather nodded, pleased with his own judgment and intuition. I was impressed too. Even with only a few candidates left—not quite countable on one hand—pinpointing the right one among them? That was the power of experience and gut feeling.
Not much yield, huh.
In the midst of it, I picked up a bit of trivia. Famine crops always sounded like miracle plants, but they were mediocre in taste, yield, and shelf life. They were a last resort, only useful when regular farming failed. Makes sense—if they yielded well or kept long, the government would've pushed them hard. Taste was a luxury complaint in this era anyway. Quantity and storability were what mattered.
"We'll do what we can to fix up the ruined fields—"
"Young man."
"Yes?"
Having locked onto our target, Grandfather approached the young man who was chatting with the farmers. He looked barely thirty at most. Unless he was a high-level martial artist suppressing his aging, he couldn't have met Grandmother in person. And if he were that strong, Grandfather—a Hwagyeong master—would recognize him, and the young man would sense Grandfather too. No, he was exactly as he appeared: that age, no connection to Grandmother.
"Ex, excuse me, but who might you be, sir?"
The young man turned at Grandfather's call, his expression stiffening as he cupped his hands in respect. This wasn't an intelligence-gathering trip, so we weren't disguised as vagrants. Dressed in our usual attire, even the dimmest person would sense Grandfather was someone important. Kki-ing-i was with us too, her fur pure white. A sturdy old man with a refined youth and a snowy deer—didn't we look like immortals?
"Aigoo! An honored guest!"
"El, elder! What brings you to this humble place...!"
The farmers, who had been nodding along with the young man, now prostrated themselves one after another. In remote Gansu—a frontier even within Daesong's frontiers—these simple folk might mistake Grandfather for an immortal.
"Heh heh, up you get, everyone. Just an old traveler passing by for a look."
No, you're not.
I flinched at Grandfather's line. Spoken like a true immortal descending from the mountains.
"Come on, everyone, rise. His lordship will be uncomfortable like this."
The young man, keeping his wits amid the chaos, soothed the prostrating farmers and helped them up. He saw Grandfather not as some ethereal immortal, but as a high-status passerby—that allowed it. If he knew Grandfather wasn't just lofty, but the One-Strike King, how would he react? He might've bowed too.
After excusing himself to the farmers, the young man joined us at a quiet spot outside the village.
"I'm Sihyowon. Originally from Sichuan, but I moved to Gansu recently. Now I'm doing relief work with like-minded comrades."
He gave a brief introduction and cupped his hands again.
Sichuan, huh.
His age ruled out any direct link to Grandmother, but his Sichuan origins nagged at me. Grandmother was from Sichuan too, in my memory. Of course, Sichuan was prosperous and peaceful in the Central Plains, with a huge population—Sichuan natives weren't rare. Just coincidental that someone invoking Ugeom hailed from there.
"Truly admirable. Pouring out your wealth for strangers you've never met, even helping with the backbreaking farm work. Weren't the old xiajie of legend just like you?"
"Y-You're too kind. How could a nobody like me claim the name of xiajie?"
"Hm, true. Xiajie wouldn't pick up a hoe themselves. You're better than xiajie."
Sihyowon bobbed his head repeatedly at Grandfather's praise. Heartwarming, in a way, but I stroked Kki-ing-i's neck and stayed silent. Grandfather rarely used the word "xiajie."
In his memory, xiajie meant self-proclaimed heroes who stayed silent before great causes... or Grandmother, who gave her life for one. Nothing else.
"But young man, this old xiajie has a question."
"Ask freely, sir. I'll answer anything I can."
"Truth is, I heard about you and your friends' good deeds in other villages. Noble as your selfless aid is, I wondered what sparked such fine hearts."
Grandfather paused, then continued with a faint smile.
"You said it was to repay a favor from Ugeom, didn't you?"
I sensed it instinctively in that smile. Depending on Sihyowon's answer, it could become an angel's benevolent grin... or a demon's smirk cracking down with an iron fist. From Grandfather's view, Ugeom's name wasn't to be tossed around lightly. Mention it for the wrong reasons, and who knew how he'd turn.
Personally, I hoped for the former. A tale of do-gooders with dark ulterior motives felt off, and for Grandfather's mental health, it had to be pure. He'd been subtly excited since Ugeom's name dropped. I'd watched him closely. I didn't want to see him disappointed.
If it's the latter...
Even so, if it was? I didn't know how I'd react. Daring to peddle a deceased hero's name for ill ends? I'd show them how vicious a Central Plains censor could be. That's what power was for.
"Ah, Ugeom. Yes, that's what we said."
Sihyowon answered Grandfather's question without flinching or fumbling. Good start. Guilt would've shown here.
"Truth is, I never met Ugeom myself. My father saw him when he was even younger than I am now."
"That figures. Ugeom lived before Daesong was founded."
"But his deeds and righteousness saved our family. Thanks to him, Father survived—and because Father lived, so do I. Doesn't that mean I owe Ugeom a debt too?"
"Hmmm."
Grandfather didn't hide his satisfaction. We didn't know the specifics of what Ugeom did for Sihyowon's family, but "deeds and righteousness" erased all doubts. Especially since Grandmother pulled off heroic feats at second-rate level.
"No wonder you're unfazed when others call me an immortal. Your family already saw a fairy."
Oh...
I inwardly admired Grandfather playing dumb, elevating Grandmother to fairy status. Fitting for the One-Strike King—bold and shameless. Though, given the old murim's antics, she deserved the title.
"Haha, the one who saved our family was an immortal. Tall and bold, Father said."
"What."
I glanced at Grandfather without thinking. Sounded like this Ugeom wasn't Grandmother.
By the time our chat with young Sihyowon ended and he returned to the farmers, my mind was blank. Ugeom was a man. A tall, bold immortal.
That was me.
Back when my wife passed and I took the name Ugeom. Must've been then—I helped his family by chance.
"Congratulations, Grandfather."
As I stroked my beard over this exquisite coincidence, Un's words made me turn.
"You've carried on Grandmother's will, and the legacy you spread has borne new shoots. Sihyowon and his comrades—they're sprouts grown from Ugeom, aren't they?"
"Sprouts from Ugeom..."
"If Grandmother's the soil, you're the fertilizer."
"Khuh."
Laughter burst out. This rascal. If I'm fertilizer and your grandmother soil, your father was the sprout. Calling a stranger a sprout? But I couldn't deny it. Un's words pleased me deeply.
"Un-a."
"Yes, Ugeom."
"You little—"
I lightly smacked Un's back; he rolled on the ground flailing. Good kid. Pulling pranks to cheer up this old man.
"Prepare an express messenger. I can't sit idle now."
"Ah, yes..."
And so, we sent a letter back to Giwangjeo. To aid Ugeom's sprouts, a certain sturdy young tree ought to send gifts.
Soon after, the Ten Thunders raced from Kaepyeong, striking lightning into ruined soil and spreading oxen to till the fertile earth across Gansu. To spread Ugeom's name even wider.