The Heavenly Flower Pavilion
The first to react was Lady Sang.
"You madman!! Do you have any idea what you've just done?! Such an unteachable little wretch—how dare you kill the Chief Manager, you fool—"
"You."
It was not I who cut her off, but the Clan Patriarch, Yi Se-geuk.
He was every bit as flustered as Lady Sang, but his shock ran in an entirely different direction.
"...You've reached the Heavenly Circulation Realm."
"Yes. Thanks to that elixir chest, I did. Had Head Manager Jeong made off with it as he tried, I might have remained stuck in the Qi Entry Realm for quite some time yet."
Yi Se-geuk shot up from his seat. Then he sat back down again. It was a rather comical sight.
In all my life, I had never once seen the Patriarch like this. I was not alone—neither had anyone else present.
"How can a boy of seventeen have climbed to the Heavenly Circulation Realm? This is surely the blessing of the Yi Clan upon us. I see now how wrongly I have judged you all this while."
I saw no reason to dignify that with a response.
"Heheheheh."
Lady Sang must have found the Patriarch's chuckling intolerable, because she hurriedly interjected.
"Gaga, that boy has just killed the Chief Manager. When his hand is that heavy, how can you sit there smiling? He is bound to become a menace in the future—he must be punished. That is only proper."
Quite a few voices murmured agreement. Even a cursory glance made it plain: the four old fogey elders tucked into that corner, the seven managers seated here, and Lady Un as well.
Put another way—everyone except the Patriarch and me.
Yi Se-geuk's expression turned glacial in an instant.
"Did you not hear what the youngest just said?"
"...Pardon?"
"I have been buried in the affairs of the Martial Alliance and the family's business, with no attention to spare for anything else—and it seems I have neglected my duties grievously. How has the hierarchy of this clan been allowed to rot into such disgrace?"
"What is that supposed to—"
"You set the example by raising your voice before the Patriarch himself—is it any wonder those beneath you cannot tell their place?!"
Lady Sang sucked in her breath as though struck.
"His hand is heavy? Have you ever set foot in the gangho and lived as a martial artist yourself? A hand that heavy is not called heavy. It is called decisive. More than anything, this affair has opened my eyes to the people in this room."
The Patriarch's gaze swept across the hall.
"To think the only sane minds left in this clan are the youngest there and the second son. How does a mere manager dare covet the belongings of the Yi Clan's own blood? For Head Manager Jeong's conduct, the Chief Manager was rightly obligated to bear responsibility—and conveniently enough, he did. Punishing the youngest who carved out this clan's rotten flesh, instead of rewarding him? Short of outright madness, what law in what world demands such a thing?"
I kept my face blank, but inside, I was laughing.
He was speaking in dead earnest, and yet I had never seen the Patriarch this way.
Well, then again.
I was seventeen now, and those who reached the Heavenly Circulation Realm at this age were vanishingly rare.
The Heavenly Circulation Realm was where a martial artist took his first true step. Any warrior who climbed to it could, roughly speaking, serve as a vice-captain of a strike force even among the great clans.
That went for the mid- and minor clans, of course. At one of the great sects, one would be considered something like a first-generation disciple.
By no means a lowly realm.
But what mattered here was how much training this version of me had actually put in.
I had entered martial arts at the age of ten.
A first gift of a foundation manual at seven? I never even dreamed of it. What concubine-born son gets such a thing? Proper elixirs and spiritual medicines to support my cultivation? None existed.
Though I'd begun at ten, I only began learning in earnest around fifteen.
In other words, to everyone watching, I was a so-called prodigy of the blade who had reached the Heavenly Circulation Realm in a mere two years of true practice.
Before anyone realized it, the tribunal that had been convened to punish me had transformed into something else entirely.
"Forgive this worthless father for neglecting you all this time."
"It's quite all right. People get busy. These things happen."
"Yes—thank you for saying so. And yet I cannot help but feel sorry. If there is anything you desire, name it. Anything at all."
Naturally, no one around the hall moved to dissuade him.
Whatever else might be said, the master of the Yi Clan was Yi Se-geuk. His word was law, and the road he walked was order itself.
What did I want?
Exactly one thing.
"I need a spiritual medicine."
"A spiritual medicine?"
"Yes. Not some common pill from the apothecary—a proper spiritual medicine."
"I shall see what can be found. Is there a particular one you have in mind?"
There was.
"A Hundred-Year Ginseng. One of the finest grade, undeteriorated."
Yi Se-geuk flinched for a moment.
A Hundred-Year Ginseng was anything but cheap. It was rather funny, honestly—I had been told to name my desire and gave the most realistic answer I could, and this was the face he made.
"...A Hundred-Year Ginseng runs roughly three thousand taels of silver, as I understand it... Very well. I shall find you one."
"Thank you."
It seemed the matter would end there—but it didn't.
Our dear Patriarch apparently had more to say.
"Now that I think of it, you have only ever accompanied the merchant caravans. I don't believe you have ever taken part in the family's affairs directly."
And how could I have? A boy with nothing to his name, standing against the backing of Lady Sang and Lady Un? That would have been strange indeed.
"From now on, you will take part in the clan's affairs as well."
That was when it happened.
Lady Un, who had clearly been waiting for this very moment, pounced.
"Gaga, in that case—what about entrusting him with that matter?"
"That matter?"
"Yes."
"...Surely you don't mean the Heavenly Flower Pavilion."
"Yes, gaga. The debt they owe, interest included, has already reached eight thousand seven hundred taels of silver, and they show not the slightest intention of repaying it. Would it not be fitting to entrust the matter to the youngest and see what he does with it?"
I simply kept quiet.
After a moment's thought, Yi Se-geuk turned to me.
"Will you take it on?"
Hm.
"Then could you procure me one more Hundred-Year Ginseng?"
"...Very well. Settle this matter properly, and I shall grant you the ginseng—and a fine sword besides. So give it your bes—"
Lady Sang, who had been listening as quietly as her crimson face allowed, finally exploded.
"Gaga! One is already too much—how can you grant two?! And a sword on top of that! This will not do! When you command as Patriarch of the Yi Clan, and he demands payment for it—this truly will not do!"
It meant nothing.
"Madam, the Patriarch is speaking before the Patriarch's seat. How dare you cut him off?"
"...But—"
"Once would be bad enough, but twice? Do I amuse you so?"
"That's not what I—"
"Then I am glad to hear it. But interrupt me one more time, and you had best steel yourself. And since I have made my decision, hold your grievances and voice them at your leisure. Assuming you're confident you can persuade me."
Lady Sang sank back into her seat. The fury on her face was plain enough, but I couldn't have cared less.
And however fine a sword this "fine sword" might turn out to be, I intended to take it either way.
"Understood. Then I'll give it a try."
Then a question occurred to me.
"Patriarch. May I ask one thing?"
"Of course. Speak."
"Must that eight thousand seven hundred be brought back as coin?"
Yi Se-geuk answered without hesitation.
"Anything of commensurate value will suffice."
"Understood. I won't be long. I'll return presently."
I turned and made for the door.
As I moved to leave, the Patriarch called after me.
"Surely you're not going alone."
I answered plainly.
"I am."
"...Very well. Go."
The Patriarch had said it plainly:
It did not have to be money.
And so I set my course for the Heavenly Flower Pavilion, at the heart of Jangryeong Commandery.
Jangryeong Commandery was by no means a small region.
Merchants flowed through it in droves, and sects of every stripe kept their halls there. Its night market in particular was renowned for its brilliance.
Four entertainment houses presided over that night market, and foremost among them was the Heavenly Flower Pavilion, Cheonhwaru.
Even its kitchen was extraordinary. Every dish was overseen by a chef who had trained in the royal kitchens of the Kingdom of Jeok—second seat in the imperial line no less—and many people had questioned it.
Why would a chef of the imperial household come down to a backwater like Jangryeong?
Frankly, with credentials like his, he could have angled for an even higher post in the palace, or failing that, attached himself to some grand and famous establishment near the capital. Instead he had cast it all aside for Jangryeong.
The reason was simple. He was Jangryeong-born.
And it followed naturally that he would join whichever house in Jangryeong paid the most.
But Cheonhwaru did not reign simply because its food was delicious.
The caliber of its resident courtesans was overwhelming—rival or superior to anything found for a hundred ri in any direction.
People traveled from every corner of the country just to lay eyes on a woman named Yeon Hwa, celebrated as the Fairest Flower of Jangryeong.
At the moment, however, the sun hung high in the sky.
No courtesans were to be found. They had all gone to sleep.
At this hour, they weren't even selling food.
Preparation hours.
That was precisely the right word for it.
Into that utterly deserted Cheonhwaru, Yi Do stepped inside.
A floor attendant in the middle of sweeping came over.
"What business brings you, sir? We're still in our preparation hours, so..."
"Is the Pavilion Master in?"
"The Pavilion... Master?"
"Yes, the master. Jeok... Gae-san, was it? I only heard it in passing, so the name's a bit fuzzy. That right?"
"Yes, that's correct—that is our Pavilion Master's name. Do you have an appointment with him, perhaps?"
"No."
"...Then whom shall I say is calling?"
Yi Do smiled faintly.
"Tell him someone has come from the great Yi Clan."
"...Very well, sir."
Just as the attendant turned to head upstairs, a man walked out from the direction of the kitchen and spoke.
"That's enough. No need."
The voice was thick and heavy.
The attendant's face clouded with awkwardness.
"Ah—Vice Pavilion Master, sir."
That's right. This man was Cheong Heon, vice pavilion master of Cheonhwaru.
He strode toward Yi Do.
He was enormous. Yi Do himself stood a lanky six cheok, but this man had him beat—a full head taller.
"Says he's from the Yi Clan, does he?"
"That's right. I trust I don't need to spell out why I've come."
"Hm. Perhaps you'd better tell me anyway, because I honestly can't imagine what would bring the Yi Clan to my door."
Yi Do lifted his head and met Cheong Heon's eyes dead on.
"You don't?"
Cheong Heon's brow twitched.
"Truly, you don't?"
"...Can't say I do."
"Fine. Ignorance is no crime, so allow me to explain. The principal owed to the Yi Clan is 7,840 taels of silver. The interest, 948. Together, 8,788 taels—I've come to collect it all. And if you interrupt me one more time, I will tear your throat out where you stand, so choose your words with care."
Ordinarily, Cheong Heon would have burst out laughing at those words.
But this time he could not.
That strange, unsettling presence. That bearing. And a killing intent that pricked at every inch of his skin.
He forced out a smile.
"...Heheh. It seems the Third Young Master of the Yi Clan finds my manner rather disagreeable. Allow me to apologize, albeit belatedly."
"Accepted. Now let's get straight to business."
"...Very well. Though it's a pity, truly—you finally begin attending to family affairs, and your very first task is destined to end in failure."
"A pity?"
"Yes. We of course wish to repay what we borrowed from the Yi Clan. But the Pavilion's circumstances are... not so rosy as they may appear. We are doing everything we can to raise the funds, so I must ask you to return another day."
"Don't care. Bring the 8,788 taels. All of it."
"...Young Master. How can you behave this way? No one is saying we refuse to repay—we are only asking for a little more time. As you know, the economy is poor of late. The courtesans' stipends, the cost of ingredients—our expenses have grown larger than ever, and these days it's simply... difficult."
There was no one in Jangryeong who didn't know that Cheonhwaru swept the region's silver into its own coffers. As Cheong Heon recited excuses not even worth the spit in his mouth, he finally registered the cold weight of Yi Do's presence. Yi Do spoke.
"I came here for money. Why would I need to know any of that?"
"..."
"Then here's a proposal."
"...I'm listening."
"Either bring the 8,788 taels before me, or give me something of value equal to it."
Cheong Heon tilted his head.
"Of equal... value?"
"Yes. Equal value."
Yi Do looked around the hall in silence.
Cheonhwaru was a five-story building.
Its location was excellent. Business? It thrived.
Everyone knew that this talk of hard times was pure nonsense.
It was a very fine building indeed.
Fine enough to want for one's own.
"The Heavenly Flower Pavilion. That should just about count as equal value, don't you think?"
"........I'm sorry?"
"I'm taking this Cheonhwaru for myself. That's what I mean."
"...Are you out of your mind?"
"Do I look mad?"
"Mad doesn't begin to cover it—who spouts nonsense like that? I never thought the Yi Clan would stoop to common banditry. You are, right now—"
"What did I say before?"
"...What?"
"I said that if you interrupted me one more time, I'd tear your throat out. Already forgotten?"
Cheong Heon opened his mouth to say something—but it was far too late.
He had been given every chance.
Yi Do's left hand shot out and closed around the right side of Cheong Heon's throat.
Power flooded into the grip.
And he tore.
"Kkuhak—!"
His right hand lashed out and ripped away the other side as well.
Blood erupted in every direction. clutching what remained of his throat—little more than bared vertebrae—Cheong Heon collapsed where he stood.
His eyes met Yi Do's, staring down at him in silence.
A shadow fell across Cheong Heon's ruined face.
Yi Do's foot.
CRUNCH—!!
He ground the man's face to pulp.
The corpse crumpling to the floor no longer interested him in the slightest.
Yi Do's gaze turned to the floor attendant, who sat slumped where he stood, face frozen in blank shock.
"What are you doing?"
"Ye... yes?"
"Go fetch the Pavilion Master."