The Silent Door-Kicker
There were only two kinds of people who kicked open someone else's business doors in broad daylight.
Foolish troublemakers who didn't know their place and ended up getting skinned alive.
Or rivals from the same line of work, suddenly left sucking their thumbs overnight because of us.
But judging from the fluttering hem of that coat, it was probably the latter rather than the former.
Hmm, looks like a disciple from some Daoist sect... Kicking down a door we just barely fixed. What a hot-tempered bastard.
A sturdy build, steady gait, and calluses thickly etched into his right hand from endless sword grips. Topped off with the blatant hostility radiating straight at me.
His face was hard to make out under that deeply pressed bamboo hat, but from what was visible, he seemed like a solid expert with a firm foundation.
"Oh? Who's this? Coming in with such an ominous aura right from the start—looks like he's on par with the Thousand-Mile Lone Wolf."
In the drowsy afternoon after lunch, this mystery master's arrival piqued my interest.
But Wang Mun-gi clearly took issue with the intruder's antics and exploded without warning.
"Hey! You could've just opened the damn door! Why kick it down? Who's gonna fix that blasted gate again...!"
Who else? You'd have to do it yourself, obviously.
In fact, whether we had money or not, gate maintenance always fell to Wang Mun-gi.
Maybe that's why he was more pissed about the shattered door than the bold entrance, hopping mad right there on the spot.
"Mun-gi, calm down first."
"Senior Brother! Look at that! The new gate I just fixed—it's smashed to pieces again!"
"Kid, a broken gate's just something to fix again, right? We've got a solemn test underway in the training yard. How can you make such a fuss over a silly door?"
Not only did I not back him up, but I scolded him instead, which clearly hurt his feelings. Wang Mun-gi shot me a resentful glare, his lips jutting out in a pout.
With that fierce face and massive bulk, he looked half-man, half-bear for sure. But his temperament was no different from a seven-year-old kid. Sheesh.
I placated him with an empty promise: if we ever moved the branch headquarters, I'd make the gate out of solid steel.
"You really mean it, right? A real man doesn't go back on his word."
"......"
"A man's word is worth a fortune in gold. If you renege later, I won't let it slide."
After getting one-sidedly sweet-talked by me for over a decade, even Mun-gi had grown a bit venomous now.
Time flies. When did this guy, who used to believe even my wildest bullshit like red beans making soybean paste, turn so sharp-tongued...?
Pretending I couldn't withstand the pressure, I nodded and said fine.
Only then did he relax, smoothing out his crumpled face before heading off to tidy up the mess.
So what now for me?
Explain the test rules to the mystery master, guide him to the training yard, and subtly probe his identity.
More precisely, figure out what this guy's after and prep for damage control afterward.
Why bother probing and prepping?
Simple.
To keep the business running smoothly.
Think about it.
One Sword Six Strikes. No, it used to be One Sword Three Strikes.
A first-rate swordsman might fall just short of the criteria, while a second-rate one could pass depending on luck and feel that day.
An absolute peak expert could breeze through after a couple practices, even if they didn't specialize in quick-draw styles—just get a sense for it.
Then we'd have to hand over Jeomchang Sect techniques as per the rules. And if we did, I'd be beaten to death by my master before the year was out, cursed out as the lunatic who sold off our sacred manuals.
To avert that nightmare, I personally managed promising talents among the participants, negotiating win-win solutions through smooth talk whenever possible.
Not just local sword users around Luoyang—even famed Henan experts like Whirlwind One Sword, Night Rain Swordsman, and Thousand-Mile Lone Wolf had all been settled amicably through dialogue.
Sure, a bit of 'persuasion' was needed sometimes, but we'd handled everything without major incidents so far.
So I figured the same with this bamboo-hatted Daoist—no problem, just find a mutually beneficial path...
"Welcome."
"......"
"I'm Jang So-cheon of the Jeomchang Sect. An undeserved nickname, but they call me Splitting Light Sword around Luoyang."
"......"
Was the bamboo-hatted Daoist doing a silent vow like some Shaolin monk? Ever since kicking in the door, he hadn't uttered a word, no matter what I said—just stood there mute as a fish.
Ha? This hat-headed prick won't even respond when spoken to?
A flicker of irritation rose, but I didn't let it show.
Having dealt with every kind of scumbag at gambling dens, I was confident I could break this guy's resolve, whatever his mindset.
Mountaineer hermits who shun the secular world are never free of greed.
I curled my lips into a sly grin, eyes gleaming meaningfully.
Then, under the pretext of explaining test rules and registration, I stuck right by his side, escorting him to the training yard.
"First, the participation fee is fifty taels..."
Clink!
"If you want a retest, register again—but at half price..."
Clink!
"Hmm, judging by the weight of that pouch, about a hundred taels, I'd say."
Flinch!
"I do this all the time, so now I can gauge it without counting. You know I handled big money back in my gambling days, right?"
"......"
"Hahaha, no worries. Everyone who matters knows the story. Denying it won't erase my wild past anyway."
"......"
"Oops, I've said too much. No more chit-chat unrelated to the test from here on."
Nod.
Annoyed by my yapping, perhaps, the bamboo-hatter nodded vigorously to show his intent.
Then he strode to the wooden dummy and gestured for me to demonstrate first.
At that moment, Yeo Chu-sam—who'd been eyeing the bamboo-hatter suspiciously from the training yard center—blew up.
"Hey, you."
"......"
"Can't see who you are under that hat, but ignoring people when they talk? And waving your hand like we're your underlings? Is that any way to act?"
Yeo Chu-sam had a point.
Ignoring speech and just nodding was straight-up rude.
But I wasn't snapping like Chu-sam over the impoliteness, just smiling calmly. Simple reason.
I had a hunch about the bamboo-hatter's identity, and seeing his swordplay would confirm it.
So I whispered to Chu-sam that it was fine, no need to get heated.
But he wouldn't let it go, raising his voice louder.
"Still, Senior Brother, this guy's going too far. No reply to your words, just nodding like a damn puppet—ridiculous!"
"Chu-sam. Enough. There are ears everywhere."
"Let 'em hear! We're not doing anything shady—we don't deserve this disrespect!"
Yeo Chu-sam bellowed, glaring daggers at the bamboo-hatter.
I appreciated his loyalty, trying to save my face as senior brother in front of everyone.
But if I didn't plan to chase the guy out right then, it was time to rein it in.
"Chu-sam, I'm really fine. Stand down now."
"Senior Brother, but he's still holding his head high..."
"Tch, I said stop. You ignoring me too?"
"...Sorry, Senior Brother."
He must've realized pushing further would undermine my authority instead.
Face flushed beet red, Yeo Chu-sam bowed hastily and apologized.
"Got too emotional for a second... My thinking was shortsighted."
Tap tap.
I said nothing, just patted his shoulder lightly to comfort him.
Then I approached the bamboo-hatter, apologizing for the unpleasantness as if it were no big deal.
"Hmm..."
He was the rude one, yet my bowing first seemed to fluster him—he let out a faint grunt for the first time.
Glancing at me sheepishly, he timidly bowed his head in return.
Hmm, not completely mannerless, then.
I gave a faint smile and nodded, accepting his apology.
Then I gripped a training wooden sword, took position before the wooden dummy.
"Pass criteria: One Sword Six Strikes. Thrust one strike hitting the dummy's six vital points and acupoints—slash, strike, or pierce, whatever."
"......"
"I'll demonstrate simply, so watch closely."
Nod.
Confirming his response, I steadied my breath, then barked a short, sharp kiai and thrust the wooden sword forward.
Or rather, shot it like an arrow—that's more accurate.
Whiiiiiish!
The sword sliced through the air with a razor-sharp whistle, and instantly—Crack-crack-crack-crack-crack-crack!—six precise impacts exploded from the dummy in unison.
Embarrassing to say myself, but it was flawless, no wasted motion—the kind that drew involuntary awe from onlookers.
With dozens requesting demos daily like this bamboo-hatter, my proficiency had naturally peaked without extra practice.
But I played it cool, as if this was just my standard.
"Replicate this exactly, and you pass."
"Hmm."
Was he surprised the criteria were tougher than expected? Or that my skills exceeded rumors of a washed-up has-been?
From his low grunt and appraising glance, probably the latter.
But who cares about that.
The real key is confirming if this hat-head's from where I suspect.
Because that would drastically change how I handled him going forward.
Come on, hat-head. Let's see your skills.
As I slyly stepped back, the bamboo-hatter advanced, calmly regulating his breath.
Then he focused his mind, slowly assuming a stance... but oddly, it looked crude compared to his sharp aura. Like someone deliberately hiding their true form.
Hmm, won't fool my eyes. That's a familiar stance...
As I narrowed my eyes, scrutinizing his posture intently—
"Hah!"
The bamboo-hatter shouted a curt kiai and unleashed his full power.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Swoosh-swoosh!
The sword bore down heavily on the air, surging forward. The dummy couldn't withstand the force—Crunch!—and shattered.
"Hmm."
He eyed the dummy regretfully, having failed to pierce all six before it broke.
Me? I stared at the lingering afterimages of his strikes in the air, a meaningful smile creeping across my face.
You hat-headed bastard—you're a spy from the Gongmu Sect, just as I thought.