Chapter 5
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 5
Chapter Title: 02. The Eve Festival (2)
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“If the money's right, does that mean you'd take on any job without hesitation?”
“Yes.”
“Even breaking your usual rules?”
“That's right.”
“Hmm. How long do you need that money for?”
The Flying Tiger gauged the timeline.
Since he'd made up his mind, the sooner the better—even by a single day. But preparations alone would take time, and handling a job worth that much wouldn't be quick either.
“Three months. Is that possible?”
“It won't be easy. But as you said, these are chaotic times. I've got a couple of high-paying jobs under discussion right now. If they firm up, I'll prioritize you for one.”
“Thank you.”
“No need. If you handle it properly, it'll be a relief for me. We've been short on decent swordsmen lately with all the ronin bailing out. Tsk! What a headache.”
“That Martial Qin Alliance? I heard they're recruiting warriors to represent Shaanxi Province. Is that the cause?”
The Flying Tiger recalled the rowdy ronin he'd seen on the way here. And Pung-i of the Fufeng Four Heroes too.
Hidden Moon replied with a cynical snort.
“Spot on. They all think they'll come back war heroes if they step up. Fools who don't even know what war is... Most'll end up as cannon fodder.”
“Is the Fufeng Four Heroes joining too?”
“Hm? How'd you know?”
“I ran into Pung-i on the way here. He asked me to pass on his regards—he's heading off on a long trip soon.”
“To me?”
“No. To my woman.”
“...”
Hidden Moon stroked his chin, scrutinizing the Flying Tiger. There was no emotion in his eyes now—nothing to read.
But that's exactly how he knew. Those eyes lacked what should have been there: displeasure, anger, worry, concern—none of it.
He's already made up his mind. Tsk tsk!
“Listen, Flying Tiger.”
“Yes?”
“A bit of old-man advice: steer clear of the Fufeng Four Heroes if you can. Let it slide nicely.”
“You misunderstand. I have no intention of fighting them.”
“Is that so?”
“Of course.”
“Ha! My mistake then. But you know? Their sword skills are undeniable—no one in this trade disputes that. Especially the eldest, Pung-il. He's the real deal, even more than rumored. They say, 'Hide thirty percent of your skill in the jianghu.' He lives by that adage.”
Even as Hidden Moon claimed it was a misunderstanding, he listed reasons why they shouldn't clash.
“One more thing. They're not volunteering as grunts like the other ronin. The Six Jia Gate paid top coin and formally invited them as honored guests. Touch them, and you're picking a fight with the Six Jia Gate too. And the Six Jia Gate dominates Shaanxi's martial world as a pillar of the Martial Qin Alliance. You get what I'm saying?”
“...”
Hidden Moon met the Flying Tiger's eyes, as if to say he knew exactly what he was thinking.
“Think of it as a small gift. Or an investment. At least this way, you'll know what Pung-i's banking on when he struts around—and maybe hold back once or twice.”
“I'll keep that in mind.”
“Good. That settles it. So, are we done here?”
“One more thing.”
“...?”
The Flying Tiger pulled ornaments from his bosom and set them on the table. Trophies from commissions in Uga Mountain Village—one from a Sama Family woman, one from an elder.
“Finely crafted pieces. What are these?”
“Spoils from my latest jobs.”
“Want me to fence them?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“Their previous owners claimed they were from the Sama Family. Ever heard of them?”
“The Sama Family from Hubei Province?”
“Yes.”
“They wielded real influence up north. But they backed the wrong horse in the power struggle over all of Hubei and got swallowed by Red Cloud Hall. Red Cloud Hall had been allies at first, then switched sides when they saw the tide turning. Stabbed in the back by yesterday's comrades. Tsk tsk! I heard the Sama line was wiped out back then, but looks like some remnants washed up here.”
The Flying Tiger paused to think.
Shaanxi Province had seen its own bloodbath recently. And apparently, Hubei had a similar hegemony war, with the Sama Family as the sacrificial lamb.
“Sounds like the Zhao Family Manor on Ye Mountain, who held out against Lion Hall to the bitter end here in Shaanxi.”
“If you want to split hairs. In the end, they all got swept up in the 'martial world unification' gale blowing across the jianghu. Anyway, why show me these?”
“What other reason? Money.”
“Want me to check if there's a bounty on their heads?”
“Exactly.”
“Could be. Even without, flashing these at Red Cloud Hall might get you a payout. Good news for them.”
“Think it'll work?”
“No guarantees, but worth a shot. My cut's fifty percent. Fine?”
“Deal.”
“Got it. But to move on this, I'll have to say you finished off the last of the Sama survivors. Okay with your name spreading in the jianghu?”
Looking at his record, the Flying Tiger had never sold bodies for extra cash beyond standard commissions (not entirely true—say, targeting wanted fugitives from the start).
He hated drawing noisy attention, and it felt disrespectful to the dead.
The Flying Tiger had lines he wouldn't cross. That's what set him apart from most money-grubbing bounty hunters.
Now, he answered bitterly.
“Doesn't matter anymore.”
What do you think?
We should upgrade his classification to 'Grade A'. The Sama Family aren't nobodies, and he sliced through over ten warriors like it was nothing.
Do you see potential?
Overflowing. I wasn't even half that good at his age. Especially... it's so nonchalant? Killing that many alone without a flicker of emotion. He's no bloodthirsty demon either.
That intrigues me too. What asura field did that kid crawl out of?
Shall I look into it?
Hmm...
The Flying Tiger clearly showed promise.
Hidden Moon thought so.
But was the jianghu ordinary? They say it's not the strong who survive, but the survivors who prove strong.
Let's watch a little longer. Anyway, run an errand for me.
Understood.
The sky darkened, and the market streets lit up like daylight with lanterns of every color. Bustling by day, it now overflowed with crowds, turning into a chaotic thief's paradise.
A true eve festival.
The Flying Tiger loved this rowdy vibe. It swept him up, letting him pretend he was part of the world.
Gong Won-yeong hated the noisy spectacles. Faded now, but lingering disgust from her past—a noble childhood shattered, blooming youth crushed as a lowly slave at rock bottom.
So they compromised.
They wove through the throng for about fifteen minutes, shoving and shoved, peeking at stalls. They bought a roasted chicken, a bottle of thick, fragrant millet wine, dried grapes, then headed home.
A quick gander, then a cozy meal for two.
On the way, Gong Won-yeong said,
“Sorry.”
Self-loathing. She felt like she was rotting this young man's life. But she'd let go soon. Just a bit longer together first.
The Flying Tiger matched her pace and gently took her hand.
“No. I'm sorry. I should've shown you better things sooner, let you enjoy more... I was a fool.”
Gong Won-yeong nearly stopped, stared into his eyes, and screamed.
Don't say that.
I was happy. You were always there.
But such words would only make parting harder. She squeezed his hand tighter, whispering it to herself.
The night deepened with wine.
Outside the tavern, drunks bellowed vulgar songs, hotheads drew blades over bumped shoulders—every sort of rabble rousing base instincts.
The mood was high, the air thick with booze.
Pung-i, second of the Fufeng Four Heroes, chugged straight from the bottle and smashed the empty on the floor.
Crash!
“Kaaah~ Good stuff! So, bro, ready to head out? Loosen up, then another round?”
The four had claimed a tavern corner, boozing ahead of tomorrow's battlefield debut as Six Jia Gate guests. They'd planned this separately.
Pung-i's words were the signal: time for round two. To the Flying Tiger's place—to kill him and rape his woman.
Long-legged Pung-sam grimaced unwittingly. He loved women and approved punishing the cocky Flying Tiger. Just not tonight.
Pung-i sneered at reluctant Pung-sam, eyes red with drink.
“What, scared? You bastard?”
“Who'd fear some punk kid? Just... Hidden Moon asked us to behave, and you're set on trouble tonight. Makes me uneasy.”
“He did? Listen to this bootlicker. Worships the guy? Is Hidden Moon your daddy? Might lick his ass next.”
“What? You bastard! That's it?”
“Enough!”
Pung-i and fuming Pung-sam glared and rose—until eldest Pung-il's command froze them mid-motion.
Rowdy dogs all, they groveled to Pung-il. Others called them Four Heroes, but they knew: 'Pung-il and his three lackeys.'
Pung-il chided the third calmly.
“Second's words irk you, but he has a point.”
“Bro...”
“Respect Hidden Moon's face on commissions—he's no pushover, our rice bowl. But we're no longer wandering ronin. We're Six Jia Gate men! Proud martial clan members! Should I still cringe like a tadpole under his gaze?”
“Sorry. Old habit. I'll drop it!”
“Fine. And if you're uneasy, third, sit this out.”
“No way. If big bro goes, I go. Ahem!”
“Good. Second's plan's set—shall we loosen up?”
“Yes, big bro.”
The three bowed in unison. Pung-il rose, eyes chilling—not for fun, but proper mayhem.
Cocky bastards, time to fuck you up good!