Chapter 2
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Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: A Pitiful Meal and Bickering Juniors
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Bean barley porridge.
Broth simmered from chicken bones without a scrap of meat.
Twisted clumps of grass so dried out you could barely tell what they were.
It was a meal so abysmal that even the beggars of the Beggar Clan would turn up their noses and refuse to touch it with a spoon.
'Damn. Facing a spread like this kills my appetite dead.'
But.
My junior brothers were wolfing it down—this slop worse than stray dog chow on Luoyang's streets—like it was the height of gourmet cuisine.
Crunch crunch!
Slurp, smack!
"Grrruuuh! Whew, this broth is the stuff!"
"They poured in water and simmered it for days... the flavor's pure nectar. Nectar, I tell ya."
"Senior brother, try a spoonful quick. When your gut's empty, you need that belly filled solid."
"Leave him be. It's not like this is the first day he's moped at the table."
"Mm, true enough."
"Forcing food down someone with a heavy heart just makes 'em choke."
Smooth.
Yeo Chu-sam pulled my untouched meal over to his side.
"Senior brother, if you're not gonna eat, mind if I do?"
"......"
"Alright, taking that as a yes. Dig in!"
Smack smack.
Yeo Chu-sam poured the chicken-fat-flecked broth over the barley porridge, then scraped the bowl clean, not leaving a single grain behind.
A truly wondrous appetite.
"Mm."
Meanwhile, Wang Mun-gi stole a glance at Yeo Chu-sam chowing down, smacked his lips, then noticed my endless sigh—like the ground might cave in—and looked away.
"Senior brother, you carrying the world's worries on your shoulders alone? Why the sighs in broad daylight?"
"Feels stuffy, that's why. Stuffy."
Wang Mun-gi scowled fiercely at the world-weary reply, his already fierce face twisting in irritation.
A truly menacing mug.
"Senior brother, please—for once—answer the damn question straight. Every time I try talking to you, I feel like my gut's gonna burst."
As Wang Mun-gi latched onto me with his complaints, Yeo Chu-sam patted his now-bulging belly and let out a belch.
"Grrruuuh! Good eats."
"Chu-sam, how many times—dozens—I gotta tell you not to belch in people's faces?"
"Yeah, about sixty-seven times? Pretty sure we ain't hit seventy yet."
Yeo Chu-sam interrupted with his nonsense, and Wang Mun-gi clenched a fist as threatening as his ugly face.
With his natural build and oversized hands, that fist was the size of a kid's head.
"Figures. You've never listened, from snot-nosed brat days till now."
"Hmph! And you? Still just brute strength and nothing else? Look, mid-sentence and you're already balling your fist. Think you're still the alley boss or what?"
Yeo Chu-sam tapped the low table with his spoon, acting all cocky.
"You little...!"
Wang Mun-gi, hit right in the sore spot, couldn't retort and just snorted like an angry bull.
Hard to believe these two were days shy of thirty—they bickered like kids.
Normally, I'd let them squabble and even throw punches like it was life-or-death; no need to intervene.
True to Piercing Sword Sect disciples: free-range, self-reliant, survival of the fittest.
But not today.
"Enough. Both of you, cut it out."
I eyed them both—big bodies, but minds stuck in Yunnan village alley games.
"You know we gotta repay that three thousand taels, using the estate as collateral, by month's end?"
"......"
"Fail again, and we'll be out on the streets with the young disciples."
"......"
"Senior Uncle Yu Gwang's been scrambling everywhere in Luoyang for five days straight, no word, to scrape up emergency funds."
"......"
"Branch in crisis, and you two just shove food down your gullets? Wanna waste time on empty banter?"
Gurgle.
My stomach grumbled, oblivious to the mood, begging for real food.
I ignored it, glaring them down with stern reproach.
"You idiots, quit stuffing your faces pointlessly and figure out how to turn this crisis around. Please."
"......"
"......"
Did my earnest plea get through?
Yeo Chu-sam and Wang Mun-gi wiped the grins off their faces, turning grave.
After a moment's thought, they glanced at me cautiously and spoke up.
"Senior brother."
"......"
"Not the best topic for this heavy mood, but... gotta correct something you said earlier."
"Correct? What?"
"Well, that..."
Wang Mun-gi hemmed and hawed, so Yeo Chu-sam cut in coldly.
"The branch disciples—the kids paying five taels a month to learn basics from us."
"The kids? You mean Jong-bo, Ja-ha, and So-hye, future pillars of Piercing Sword Sect Luoyang Branch?"
"Yeah, those fine saplings... ain't coming anymore."
"Huh? Not coming? What do you mean?"
"What else? Literal. They ain't learning our blockhead Piercing Sword Sect arts anymore. Gonna pick up Mount Hua Sect stuff instead—one day in, and it'll flow like elegant forms."
"What the—?"
I choked on air in disbelief, and Yeo Chu-sam thumped his chest in frustration.
"See, senior brother? I keep saying! Ditch the damn horse stance and hopping drills. Teach flashy moves instead."
"......"
"Senior brother, world's changed. These kids ain't like us. They don't blindly follow master's orders. Gotta appeal to 'em first. No patience for grind—they try a day or two, don't like it, switch sects on a whim!"
Wang Mun-gi shot Yeo Chu-sam a wild-eyed glare—what kinda rude talk in front of senior brother?
Whatever.
Yeo Chu-sam snorted indifferently and spilled his pent-up gripes.
"Senior brother, these Luoyang brats? Sharp as hell. Not like us clueless Yunnan village kids bowing to Nine Great Righteous Sects and Eight Schools on reflex."
"......"
"To make it in Luoyang, scrap the old ways. Run the branch flexible, like Mount Hua or Wudang."
"......"
"Argh, so frustrating. Talking to you makes my gut explode. Explode!"
Thud! Thud!
Yeo Chu-sam pounded his chest in vain, then shoved back his seat and stormed out.
Wang Mun-gi jumped up to grab him, but I waved him off with a wry smile.
"Let him go. He's the one handling disciple training, keeping the branch afloat."
"True, but..."
"Months of effort, and the kids jump ship? Can't blame him for being sore."
"Senior brother."
"Just leave him be today. Tell him to cool off somewhere."
I watched Yeo Chu-sam vanish quickly into the distance. Wang Mun-gi quietly cleared the trays.
Thus ended lunch without me touching a single spoonful.
Gurgle.
The empty branch training ground.
Normally, past noon, young disciples would gather, squeaking like chicks as they did laps and drills.
Today, not a soul visited the estate. The vast yard felt not just quiet, but desolate.
Step step.
I circled the grounds, replaying Yeo Chu-sam's words in my head.
"......"
Truth be told, the guy had a point.
Luoyang was Central Plains' top city hands down.
Wealth and crowds flocked there; righteous and unorthodox sects alike eyed the profits and poured in.
Competition? Fierce as hell.
Just flashing Nine Great Righteous Sects and Eight Schools credentials wouldn't cut it anymore.
Made sense to adapt disciple training like Mount Hua or Wudang, bending to the times.
That way, we might scrape by in Luoyang's web of schemes and backstabbing.
I knew it full well.
But disciple training was a sect's century-long plan. Without headquarter approval, us branch folks couldn't overhaul it on a whim.
"If we had a main branch nearby like Mount Hua or Wudang, we'd tailor countermeasures to Luoyang's fast shifts..."
Regret gnawed, but lay disciple training was just a stopgap to cover branch costs.
Not a full commitment like those sects.
"Tch, scraping snot-money with a broom? How much we gonna make?"
Piercing Sword Sect didn't chase pocket change.
Life's about the big score.
Fastest wins, slowest dies.
True to our creed. We aimed for that one massive jackpot.
"Just weather this storm. Grovel at Gold Money House, push the deadline back a month."
No more, no less. Exactly one month.
That'd give our senior uncles—stripping silk in Xi'an, hauling to Yunnan—time to return to Luoyang with bulging moneybags.
Then, wipe out the three thousand taels on the estate collateral, plus the King Yama Debt from Black Society, in one go.
Squeeze!
"Yeah, life's one big hit. Nail that one, and everything falls into place smooth."
Like true Piercing Sword Sect disciples, we went all-in, no retreat, straight charge.
Ignoring tales of predecessors who tried the same, failed, and slunk home penniless.
"Fifteen days till end of month, so oil up Gold Money House Luoyang manager's throat next week. Black Society debt..."
Ugh.
"No quick fix there. Buy a bit more time, like always..."
As I paced, steadying my nerves—
Screeech! Bang!
The branch gate—creaky from skipped oiling—shattered violently.
Wang Mun-gi had hacked logs from the back hills for that crude thing.
One kick from a Black Society third-rate thug, and it splintered pathetically.
"Jang So-cheon! Here for our money!"
"Better show your face quick. Run like last time, we'll torch this beggar hovel flat!"
"No more Gold Money House excuses! They're tearing their hair out over you lot too!"
"Today's the endgame, no matter what. Pay up, or work it off with your hides. Pick one—best for your health!"
A dozen Black Society debt collectors swaggered in, faces twisted ugly.