Chapter 4
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 4
Chapter Title: 02. Eve of the Festival (1)
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Flying Tiger drifted off into a deep, languid sleep. The job was done, and he'd confirmed she was safe and sound—his tension had finally melted away.
When he opened his eyes again, his body and mind felt unusually light, a rare sensation these days. Judging by the sunlight streaming through the paper window, it was somewhere in the afternoon.
A drowsy afternoon.
It felt almost dreamlike because Gong Won-yeong, apron tied around her waist, had greeted him with such lively energy.
"You're awake? I made a meal for the first time in ages. Let's eat."
"Uh..."
There were plain white steamed buns without any filling, pork ribs blanched once then fried crisp, and a plate of vegetables stir-fried with pine nuts.
It was simple but neatly prepared. And infused with Gong Won-yeong's personal touch.
Crunch crunch.
Flying Tiger devoured it like his mother's home cooking back in his hometown, while Gong Won-yeong watched him fondly, nibbling at the corner of a bun.
"Was it okay?"
It was after the meal, as they sipped tea to freshen their mouths.
Gong Won-yeong asked out of genuine curiosity. She'd lost her sense of taste long ago and had been seasoning by feel alone.
Flying Tiger slurped his tea and patted his belly with one hand—a gesture that said he'd eaten well. And indeed, he'd scraped every last bit from the heaping plates.
But no matter how salty, bitter, or sour it might have been, he would have polished it off anyway.
"Hey now. When a woman puts her heart into cooking for you, you ought to show some sincerity in describing the taste."
"...?"
"Words matter! Tell me how delicious it was, and how much."
"Hmm... heart-fluttering?"
"Heart-fluttering?"
"Yeah. Like the first snow falling from the sky, or the day the first sprouts push through the earth. The more I chewed, the fresher and more exciting it got."
Gong Won-yeong burst into laughter at the unexpected compliment.
It felt like just yesterday that shy boy who could barely speak had been a child... Now he'd grown into a man before she knew it. She regretted not watching those years pass more closely, even though she'd been by his side the whole time.
Gong Won-yeong fiddled absently with her empty teacup, then flashed a bright smile. She secretly hoped it looked pretty.
"You pass. That's good enough."
"Sounded okay?"
"Yeah. I'm relieved. I was worried you'd be too awkward and tongue-tied around other women."
"Won-yeong, what are you talking about? I've got you. I don't need anyone else."
Flying Tiger declared it firmly, without a second thought. Across from him, Gong Won-yeong felt a bittersweet mix of sweetness and sorrow.
A moment passed like that, then she spoke.
"Let's end this now."
"No!"
"No, we should."
"I..."
"Are you only thinking about yourself?"
"...!"
"The fact that I'm dying isn't going to change. At best, I'll linger in bed for another year or two, wasting away."
"There has to be a way to save you. I'll find it somehow..."
"Stop. Let's face reality. I don't want to wither away in bed, accomplishing nothing before I die!"
Flying Tiger almost snapped back, What about me? What am I supposed to do? but he caught himself. Was she right—had he really been thinking only of himself, not her illness?
At some point, he'd accepted she was going to die. And yet he'd swung his blade day after day, scraping by. Not to cure her, but just to afford medicine that slowed her symptoms.
And he'd justified it to himself. Today's over. That's enough...
What the hell have I even been doing?
It felt like the last frayed thread he'd been clinging to had snapped.
Flying Tiger floundered, unsure what to do, and Gong Won-yeong waited patiently.
Finally, he asked in a hoarse voice,
"What do you want to do?"
"I'll stop the medicine."
"Okay. And then?"
"I want to travel before winter hits. While I'm not too far gone, I want to take in all the beautiful things I can. Will you... come with me?"
"Let's do it. And after that?"
"We part ways. No more interfering in each other's lives. We live them on our own terms."
Live my ass. You planning to kill yourself after? After surviving so harshly?
Flying Tiger swallowed the bitter words. They burned going down.
Sigh—
"That's it?"
"That's it. We break up. We become strangers. Like every couple in the world, what could be more dramatic between you and me?"
"Fair enough."
Flying Tiger and Gong Won-yeong looked at each other.
Sixteen years ago, they'd met for the first time. Flying Tiger had been seven, Gong Won-yeong eleven.
The early years had been livable, even good at times. But that was the end of it.
Afterward, they'd endured agonies and despairs that ordinary people might not face in a lifetime. And after twists and turns, they'd reunited and leaned on each other alone for five years now.
And now they were reaching the end. Their fervent, desperate bond had burned like firewood, fading to gray ash.
Afternoon in the marketplace.
The back alleys were bustling with rowdy crowds even though it was still midday. Thugs to martial artists. Every kind of criminal and potential criminal, swords at their hips, swarmed the streets. They gathered in groups, laughing uproariously as they ate and drank with abandon.
It was their own kind of festival.
The mobilization was imminent.
Three months prior, forces led by Lion Hall of Chang'an City had crushed the opposing coalition centered on Zhao Family Manor of Ye Mountain, unifying Shaanxi Province in one fell swoop. Thus was born the "Martial Qin Alliance."
But this was not the end—it was the beginning.
Lion Hall, lord of the Martial Qin Alliance, immediately rallied warriors from Shaanxi alongside alliance heads from neighboring provinces—Gansu, Shanxi, Hebei—to unify the Central Plains martial world.
Three thousand strong.
This wasn't a war between nations, just rivers-and-lakes business, making it an unprecedented mass conscription.
Rumor had it each faction in the alliance was bringing two thousand warriors apiece, totaling five thousand. And this was just the first wave—second and third could follow depending on the situation.
Soon, the entire jianghu would plunge into full-scale strife over heaven's rule.
It was an era of cataclysm.
Anyway, the core forces led by Lion Hall had flooded the area with riches, and the vagrant warriors of the jianghu, barely scraping by day-to-day, were now guzzling every drop of liquor in the world in a frenzy.
Perhaps that frenzy burned hotter because beneath the revelry lurked anxiety and impatience over what tomorrow might bring.
Of course, it had nothing to do with Flying Tiger, who was heading to Seogukdang—Hidden Moon's inn-cum-bounty exchange—to handle some business. At least, that's what he thought.
"Hey, dog-spawn."
Flying Tiger was pushing through a crowd of flushed faces when someone called him with an insult bordering on profanity. He ignored it and tried to hurry past. He didn't want to tangle with the local drunks, especially not today when his mood was so foul.
But the other guy had different ideas. He bellowed loud enough to shake the alley, forcing Flying Tiger to stop.
"Hey, you mangy mutt! Can't you hear the grown-up calling? Bark for me—woof woof!"
A hush fell for a moment.
All eyes turned their way, eager for a brawl to liven up the fun.
Flying Tiger tilted his head and saw a familiar face from the trade.
The man's name was Pung-i.
Early thirties? Short and dark-skinned, his head shaved nearly bald, revealing a snake tattoo on the back of his skull. Maybe that's why he'd cut it so short. Anyway, his bulging eyes were striking, gleaming as if screaming, I'm dangerous!
He was the second of the Fufeng Four Heroes: Pung-il, Pung-i, Pung-sam, and Pung-sa. Real names aside, everyone knew and called them that. Common in this line of work.
Come to think of it, "Flying Tiger" wasn't his birth name either.
Their naming was laughable, but no one mocked it. Their blade work and cruelty were top-tier even among Chang'an's rough bounty hunters.
In this world where skill and fame equated to gold, they were "A-listers"—their fees matched their worth.
"Why'd you call?"
Flying Tiger trotted over and asked. It might've looked like a obedient dog, but his expression and tone showed no tension, discomfort, or irritation.
Just, You called, so here I am. That casual air might've provoked the other man.
Pung-i narrowed his eyes, slithering a cold gaze over him. His face was ruddy—he'd clearly had a few. He muttered something like, Dog-spawn acting all familiar, still talking down to me. (Pung-i always looked pissed off anyway.)
Flying Tiger pretended not to hear. He really didn't want to deal with anything else today.
"Get to the point. Why'd you call me?"
"How's your girl doing?"
"..."
"Heh heh heh! Don't get all serious. Just big bro wishing you good luck watching her while I'm away on the expedition!"
"That all?"
"Yeah. Go handle your business."
"Lame."
Flying Tiger turned away curtly. Behind him, he heard Pung-i snickering with his buddies.
Something about how tasty and tender the girl Flying Tiger kept looked, and how he'd sample her someday. Crude talk like that.
Nothing new upon reflection. That scumbag always ran his mouth like that.
But...
He knows damn well why they call me Dog-spawn, yet he dares mock her to my face? Craving a public challenge?
Flying Tiger's eyes darkened.
His heart was heavy today—he wanted to let it slide. But his instincts caught a whiff of malice.
He shook his head and hurried toward Seogukdang, grumbling.
"Tch! Day started off too good—first sign, and it's a dogshit omen."
Seogukdang was a shabby three-story building in the market's back alleys.
The first floor sold simple dishes and liquor—overpriced and tasteless. Strictly for suckers wanting to overpay, or clients commissioning bounties, or brokers like the owner fleecing them.
The second floor was for travelers to sleep in—management was a joke, maybe nonexistent. "Pigsty" fit perfectly.
Yet Seogukdang was always packed.
Why?
Safe zone.
Here, you wouldn't get stabbed eating or sleeping. Owner Hidden Moon enforced a strict no-fighting rule for everyone, and it'd held so far. He'd put in massive effort to keep it that way.
The third floor was his private office and meeting room. There, he met clients, selected bounty hunters, and sealed deals.
"Heard the news. You wrapped up Uga Village nice and clean?"
"Thanks to you."
Flying Tiger spoke casually to most, but used respect with a few exceptions—like Hidden Moon right now.
"So, what's up? Normally you'd rest a couple days."
"Hidden Moon, I need money fast."
"...!"
"Ten gold nyang. Possible?"
"Not asking for a loan, I hope..."
"World's noisy, isn't it? Places desperate enough to pay that for my blade must exist, so here I am begging."
"Hm..."