Chapter 111
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 111
Chapter Title: 32. Contact (2)
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Flying Tiger's whereabouts had resurfaced after just a day and a half since vanishing around dusk the evening before last.
No one knew where he'd slipped off to in the meantime, but he was heading steadily north—not too fast, not too slow. His direction matched the initial predictions: straight toward the Zhao Family Manor on Ye Mountain.
Around the mi hour, Flying Tiger stepped into an inn.
He ordered a bowl of noodles and a plate of dumplings. Picking up the steaming bowl, he blew gently on the broth, savoring it like fine wine. Then he slurped the noodles with gusto while dipping bites of dumpling into the soup.
His movements were so deliberate they almost seemed reverent.
By the time he'd polished off the noodles, only one of the two hefty dumplings from the plate remained. He planned to save it for when hunger struck later.
As Flying Tiger finished his meal and moved to wrap up the leftover dumpling...
The errand boy rushed over and deftly packed it into a bag. But inside that bag, steam was rising from not one, but two dumplings.
So Flying Tiger asked,
"One bowl of noodles, one plate of dumplings. I didn't order anything else."
"You were eating so heartily, sir, another guest watched in awe and paid for these on your behalf."
"Who?"
As Flying Tiger glanced around the inn, the boy quickly added,
"He left just a bit ago. Called me over on his way out and gave the order. Oh, and..."
"What?"
"You're Flying Tiger of the Face Pursuit Squad, right, sir?"
Flying Tiger stared him down plainly, and the boy flashed a professional smile as he pulled a note from his pocket and handed it over.
"He said to pass this along too. Promised you'd tip me enough to cover the dumplings. Heh heh heh."
The note read:
<It's the man you're looking for. Heard you want to talk? Once you're done eating, ask the boy for directions to this spot. Oh, and no need to be so tense. This is a friendly invitation.>
The news he'd been waiting for.
Flying Tiger pressed a few copper coins into the boy's hand and left the inn. He headed to the location given, sorting through his thoughts as he walked.
The note hadn't elaborated, but it had to be from the Choeo-jin side. Flying Tiger had left deliberate traces and moved slowly precisely to draw them out.
He'd first stopped by Face Pursuit headquarters to let them know he had business with Jin Ga-yong. Then he'd loitered around Jeongho Manor, where the Songyang Sect's Yin Night Squad was holed up, giving them a hint about the nature of that business.
Connecting those dots, he'd figured they'd bite in some way.
The Choeo-jin crowd had shown unusual interest in Jin Ga-yong from the start.
According to Ban-chung—a Yin Night Squad member and Choeo-jin operative—they'd been keeping close tabs on both him and the Zhao Family Manor on Ye Mountain for some time.
That's why, just the other day, a tail had latched onto Flying Tiger and Ma-yeop as they left the manor and crossed the Ye Mountain range.
When Flying Tiger caught and interrogated the trackers, they'd confessed: they were curious what he'd discussed with Jin Ga-yong. That mere curiosity had driven them to grab unrelated folks, pry for info, and bury them alive.
Given all that, how could his actions not pique their interest?
So what was Flying Tiger scheming by seeking out Choeo-jin first?
He wanted their help with Hidden Moon's commission. His plan was to use them to stir up the Zhao Family Manor.
Rumor had it the manor might hold the Dragon Lake Blood Jade.
He figured even dragging a pack of wolves into the fray would do the trick. Let the two sides tear each other apart, and an opportunity would open up for him.
But what if Choeo-jin never made contact?
Flying Tiger had a backup plan, of course.
He'd disguise himself as one of their own, infiltrate the manor, and cause chaos on their behalf. Meanwhile, he'd approach Jin Ga-yong separately, egging him on to crush the brazen Choeo-jin and sow discord.
Choeo-jin watchers were still lurking around the manor, no doubt. Beat them down, pin the blame, escalate the mess—bound to make some noise.
That's when he'd make his move.
Of course, plan B was messier than A, with slimmer odds of success.
It was the fallback.
'But talk about good fortune lining up. They took the bait right on cue.'
Flying Tiger halted his thoughts there. His destination loomed ahead. Midway up the back mountain behind the inn village stood a shrine, right in front of him.
Creeeak.
As Flying Tiger pushed open the shrine's gate and entered, four sword-bearing men lounged about in relaxed postures, resting wherever.
But they weren't alone.
He'd already sensed two presences hidden nearby before stepping inside.
So, at least six to nine in total?
Flying Tiger betrayed no reaction, merely scanning the men inside before singling one out.
"Yin Night Squad, huh? That all of you here?"
He'd spotted their identities at a glance from the tattoos blanketing their left arms.
The picked man brushed off his rear and sauntered over with a swagger.
The other three stayed seated, eyeing him askance. Far from welcoming. They sat casually, but it was clear they could spring into action any second.
Thud. Thud.
The man stopped before Flying Tiger, crossed his arms with a snap, and snarled like a thug.
"What, need more friends?"
"Nah. Just wondering if Six Directions Sword's coming. Since he's not here."
"Heh heh heh. He's busy. No time for a punk like you. Got it? Someone else who'll meet you is on the way. So shut your trap and sit pretty over there."
Flying Tiger smirked.
Their hotheaded, street-rat threats were laughable. But it confirmed his suspicions on a nagging question.
The Six Directions Sword Flying Tiger mentioned was Na Yul-chan, vice commander of the Yin Night Squad.
With the commander post vacant, Na Yul-chan effectively ran the squad. That's why, on the day Flying Tiger visited Jeongho Manor with Jin Ga-yong, he'd stepped in after the commotion for a private talk.
Yet this man claimed their boss was too busy to show.
Possible, sure.
But for an event spearheaded by Yin Night Squad members, it was odd that their leader wouldn't represent Choeo-jin—instead sending someone else to negotiate.
The overreaction to a casual jab, the flicker in his eyes earlier... everything smelled off.
Maybe not the whole squad—straight under the Songyang Sect master's thumb—but just a disgruntled faction who'd secretly joined Choeo-jin without their superiors knowing?
These guys right here.
Logically, an elite unit under the master's direct oversight would be well-treated and loyal. More plausible a rogue splinter than mass betrayal.
Suspicions called for testing. So Flying Tiger ignored the man's warning to watch his mouth.
"Six Directions Sword's busy? Or maybe you lot don't realize you've gone AWOL from your post?"
"You bastard!"
Killing intent flashed in the man's eyes. The seated watchers' gazes brimmed with unease—shock, wariness, worry.
Unable to hold back, the man uncrossed his arms and reached for his sword hilt.
Not planning to kill a guest outright, maybe just a fierce threat?
No matter.
Like a bowstring snapping loose, Flying Tiger lunged. He slapped his palm against the man's chest just as he drew his blade.
Skitter.
His strike was so lightning-quick, the man only spotted Flying Tiger's hand after being shoved—and that bare hand now clutched a dagger.
Not a shove. A stab!
The man collapsed on his ass amid searing chest agony, howling,
"Aaaagh!"
By then, the dagger was gone from Flying Tiger's hand—he'd hurled it the instant he'd struck.
Straight at one scrambling to his feet. The dagger buried into his thigh, dropping him back down.
Urk.
Another drew his sword and charged, but no need—Flying Tiger had spun and closed in right after the throw.
Drawing his curved sword, he slashed upward in one fluid arc.
Like a serpent flicking its tongue—shick—cleaving the air.
The Yin Night Squad man met it with full kiai, swinging his own blade.
But his grunted "Hup!" twisted into a weird yelp as shock pried his mouth open.
Ha...!
Flying Tiger's curved sword sheared the man's blade clean in half. Stunned, he staggered back clutching the broken hilt, jaw agape.
The severed blade tip spun high into the air before vanishing over the shrine wall.
Flying Tiger's motions were crisp. Blindingly fast.
One man fell on his rear. Another crumpled. A third backed off on his own.
All simultaneous, despite staggered starts.
Without turning, Flying Tiger bellowed,
"Hold it."
Freeze.
Of the four inside, the lone unscathed one halted mid-leap from behind. Not obedience—just dawning realization he was alone now.
Why charge solo with comrades dropping like flies?
Meanwhile, the three hidden backups froze too, aborting their strikes.
One on the roof had risen stealthily to hurl shuriken—only for his eyes to lock with Flying Tiger's.
A predator's gaze.
Ambush ruined.
He awkwardly lowered his shuriken hand.
The two outside froze mid-leap too, as the rooftop man shook his head frantically, sweat beading—signaling,
'Stay out. Come in and we're all dead.'
Thus, Flying Tiger subdued the rest with a shout.
Click.
Sheathing his curved sword, he offered sincere advice.
"Bother me one more time, and I'll kill you all for real."