Black Musician
As the dark night drew near, the moon hanging in the sky had thinned to a sliver, like a needle poised to prick someone, and the chill wind blowing down the road felt like a wandering spirit sweeping across the ground.
A customer cut through that road and stepped inside.
Thunk!
“Miss. I’m here.”
“Young Master Baek-yeon!”
He looked as though he had gained some insight during the day’s battle with the Demonic Cult, satisfaction playing at the corners of his mouth.
“Oh? The very edge of the Peak realm. That is a remarkable achievement at your age.”
Jangro Suksu let out a small sound of admiration as he looked at him.
Inside Yeonhwa, Jangro Suksu’s presence swelled.
You can tell just by looking? Then he must be at least several realms above, right...
Master Jangro Suksu really was like one of those hidden masters who lurked in the wilds.
“Thank you, Chef. Though I can only assume it was thanks to a fortunate coincidence.”
“The ability to seize such a chance is itself a form of destiny, is it not?”
Baek-yeon found an empty seat and ordered his food.
“I’d like one spicy Nam-man-si tomato soup.”
“It will be rather spicy, Young Master.”
“I can handle spice better than you’d expect.”
Well, if he said so.
Yeonhwa went into the kitchen and began preparing the Nam-man-si soup.
Gradually, night settled in completely.
After hurriedly serving the spicy Nam-man-si soup, Yeonhwa glanced up at the moon for a moment. The other assistant chefs and servers were each tidying up the tasks assigned to them, but for some reason, they all looked tired in that way people did when they were convinced they were the only ones suffering the most.
Yeonhwa, too, began scrubbing a large pot.
Splattered grease, stuck-on bits of ingredients, soot from burnt spices.
Wiping it away slowly, stroke by stroke, felt almost like a solemn ritual—but the scream of his arm muscles was anything but sacred.
Finding it hard to keep moving, Yeonhwa stopped, rubbed his forearm, and muttered to himself for no real reason.
“Sigh... if this were modern times, I’d just toss everything into a dishwasher, hit the button, and it’d come out sparkling clean. What is this even? At this rate I’m going to end up with arms that could bench-press 500 kilos—”
“Yeonhwa.”
Jangro Suksu’s voice rumbled low through the kitchen.
“Tonight won’t be quiet. The qi riding on the wind is far too sharp.”
“More customers? The outside looks so gloomy I don’t even want to walk in it.”
“Customers always come. The problem is whether they’re human or ghosts.”
What problem? Jangro Suksu looked perfectly capable of beating up either humans or ghosts on his own. Yeonhwa’s expression said as much without a word.
No sooner had Jangro Suksu finished speaking—and the last of the gentle bonks on Yeonhwa’s head had landed—than a faint sound drifted in from beyond the darkness, along with footsteps.
Step—step—
Twang—
It was the sound of strings being plucked. Clear, heart-stirring, but in a night like this it felt like a horror game, like a jump scare could burst out any second.
Yeonhwa swallowed hard.
Ting—
Cutting thinly through the night air, the sound drew closer and closer. A regular customer, draining the last of his liquor in the corner, set down his cup with a clack and raised his head.
“A musician, is it? Walking around plucking a seven-string zither in the middle of the night—that’s no ordinary madman.”
Creak—
The door opened softly, and a man entered wearing silk garments in black and purple.
He had a pale face and long, downcast eyes. He cradled a seven-string zither in his arms and wore a flute at his waist.
“I’d like a place to rest for a while, and something warm to drink.”
His thin voice filled the tavern. A demon? A ghost? Yeonhwa fought down the urge for the world to go white in front of him.
“What would you like to have?”
“The hottest thing you have. Something that has once warmed blood would be ideal.”
Something that had warmed blood? Was he talking about sun-blood soup or something? But it felt a little different from that.
The regular customer laughed heartily and jumped in, trying to lighten the mood.
“Hey now, musician. This isn’t some bizarre place that mixes human blood into the food.”
“Then make it food that cools blood instead.”
Yep, definitely a demon? Still, if he wasn’t human, Jangro Suksu would probably kick him out... though honestly, if it was Jangro Suksu, maybe he’d even do business with demons and ghosts. Yeonhwa was already bracing himself for a few more bonks on the head.
Carefully, with arms trembling from the effort, Yeonhwa held out the jade menu tablet.
“W-well, we don’t have any dishes made with blood, but please take a look at the menu tablet and order whatever you’d like.”
The musician’s cold eyes locked onto Yeonhwa, seeming to pierce him once before settling on the menu tablet in his hand.
“Hmm. Spicy Nam-man-si soup, and dakgalbi. As for the alcohol, something strong.”
“Spicy Nam-man-si soup, dakgalbi! Strong alcohol!”
Yeonhwa nodded and shouted back before racing into the kitchen. His heart hammered under some strange pressure.
It felt as though every time the strings went ting, his own heart went ting right along with them.
Yeonhwa immediately lit the fire under the Nam-man-si soup pot. The red broth bubbled up, spewing spicy steam. Jangro Suksu’s dakgalbi hissed and flared on the griddle.
Ting-a-ling~
The jade spirit stone on the wall broke the silence and cried out.
Order received: Western Gate Guard Post, Western Xining — 50 pan-fried dumplings for night patrol, extra-large hot soup. Note: Hurry!
“Yeonhwa! While you’re making soup for the musician, steam some dumplings for delivery too! The messenger is at the door!”
Vroom—
Along with Jangro Suksu’s voice, the sound of a Suguta rolling in could be heard from outside at once.
In a flurry, Yeonhwa steamed the dumplings and plated the musician’s food. When he brought the meal out, the musician set the seven-string zither on his knees and lightly plucked a string.
Ting— tiding—
The sound sliced through the surrounding air like a razor-sharp blade. The customers winced, and Yeonhwa’s heart started bobbing up and down on its own.
Even when Yeonhwa tried to keep perfectly still, his fingertips kept trembling faintly.
“Kindly refrain from any playing that interferes with cooking here.”
As the regular customer’s warning fell, the door opened again, drawn open by what must have been a force guided by that ominous sound.
It was Cheol-ya.
His eyes were deeper and darker than before. Cheol-ya cast one glance around and quickly read the mood of the tavern.
“So the Black Musician is here.”
“Black Dragon Blade Cheol-ya... it’s been a while.”
Electricity seemed to snap between the two men. Cheol-ya ordered a bowl of mara somyeon in a brief voice, and Yeonhwa ran back to the stove.
Diring— durung—
The Black Musician’s melody sank low and heavy.
“Stop. That is the sound that summons blades.”
Every time the notes rang out, Yeonhwa’s temper climbed too, but there was no way he could march over and say anything, so he only muttered inwardly.
Does this bastard have to make a sound every time he takes a spoonful...?
Maybe Cheol-ya’s words had become a curse, because soon rhythmic footsteps sounded outside.
Thud-thud-thud.
Thoom-thoom.
One, two, three. Four, five, six... not one or two. There were many.
Men armed in black clothes poured inside.
“A traitor cannot return alive!”
At that moment, Baek-yeon—the Plum Blossom Swordsman of Mount Hua, who had only been stirring the rather spicy Nam-man-si soup—stepped forward.
“Observe the rules of Mugung Hyeoptak.”
“Not today!”
The Black Musician suddenly struck his strings hard. Bang! The explosive sound shook the air.
Bowls trembled and started to topple toward the floor, and the servers and assistant chefs threw themselves forward to catch them.
Baek-yeon’s sword and Cheol-ya’s dao were half-drawn, and the men who had burst in from outside all moved at once.
If this kept up, the tavern would turn into complete chaos.
And in all that chaos, Yeonhwa himself might end up like a dog getting beaten to death—or just plain die.
Then, in that split second, a precious piece of sage wisdom flashed through Yeonhwa’s mind.
Fight fire with fire. Use heat to subdue heat. But the only hot thing I’ve got right now is this Nam-man-si broth? Fine. Let’s go!
His body responded immediately. He grabbed the ladle from the simmering Nam-man-si soup pot, scooped up a bowlful of the seething red broth brimming with scorching spice, and flung it with all the strength in his arm toward the doorway.
“Massive bloodletting service! Unlimited free soup refills!”
At the same time, Yeonhwa met Jangro Suksu’s gaze from right beside him, a look that said, What the hell kind of nonsense is this? He was absolutely scheduled for a bonk on the head later. He’d definitely be scolded, but still—it seemed better to do something and get yelled at than to stand there and be victimized.
The red broth scattered through the air and splashed over the assassins’ faces.
“Aaaagh! My eyes... my eyes are burning!”
“What kind of vile poison technique is this?!”
The spicy, searing heat snatched away their vision in an instant.
Not missing the opening, a black line like lightning cleaved the air, joined by a pale white wind laced with the faint scent of plum blossoms and the Black Musician’s sharp melody. In no time at all, the assassins chose retreat.
The door slammed shut, and the tavern once again regained its silence. Cheol-ya casually sheathed his dao, and the Black Musician stopped the vibration of his strings. Baek-yeon looked a little near tears as he stared at the bowl of Nam-man-si soup that had somehow survived the chaos without being knocked over.
Jangro Suksu looked at Yeonhwa with a stern expression.
“What were you thinking, Yeonhwa? Wasting soup like that.”
Huh, was this the bonk? But rather than a scolding, it sounded more like he was rebuking him for acting recklessly.
Wait, wasting it? If I hadn’t done that, this place would’ve turned into a goddamn wreck, and I’d be the one cleaning it up.
Yeonhwa grumbled internally. Cleaning up the spilled broth was also my job, wasn’t it.
“Still, Jangro Suksu. If it hadn’t been for Miss Yeonhwa, the tavern would have been in far greater disorder.”
Baek-yeon stepped in and mediated for Jangro Suksu. In Yeonhwa’s eyes, he somehow looked even more like a pretty boy than usual today. I’ll keep your weakness to spice a secret.
The Black Musician finished his meal slowly and rose from his seat, looking at Yeonhwa.
“You are Yeonhwa, yes? Today’s Nam-man-si soup... and the dakgalbi. They were excellent. The strong liquor... Moriwito? Since I had no time to drink it, I’ll take it with me.”
The Black Musician laid down a silver coin and a small jade tablet engraved with a black crescent-moon emblem.
“A day will come when this is needed.”
Cheol-ya stared fixedly at the jade tablet before saying in a low voice,
“Don’t accept it. That is a cursed mark.”
Though Cheol-ya warned him not to take it, Yeonhwa hesitated only a moment before picking up the jade tablet.
Its touch was cold and smooth. For some reason, it carried the weight of an unknown connection. The strange qi contained within seemed to send a faint ripple through the air around it.
Cheol-ya rose as well. Before leaving the tavern, he turned back to look at Yeonhwa. In his eyes, there was a flicker of something—truly faint, so faint it was almost impossible to notice—that resembled a smile.
“Yeonhwa.”
“Yes?”
“Your daring way of stepping into the entanglements of the martial world was striking. But next time, it would be better not to throw yourself in so recklessly. And next time... prepare more soup. Blades can be called upon at any time.”
After they had all left, Yeonhwa started scrubbing the seemingly endless pot again. He’d have to clean the floor, too. It was all karmic retribution from the mess he himself had spilled.