Creative Economy (1)
The Wall Mountain Stronghold loomed enormous as they drew near. Perched midway up a sheer cliff on a jutting plateau were eight buildings of varying sizes. Roughly hewn from whole logs for their pillars, they exuded a crude yet majestic grandeur, large enough to house over a hundred people. In front of the buildings stood a weapon rack brimming with all manner of arms—perfect for arming up in times of crisis. This could pass for an army camp, not bandits, Jin Yeo-rip thought. But is that okay? There have to be at least fifty of them up there...
"Welcome!"
As they crossed the final mountain path onto the stronghold's plateau, a burly man with a hearty voice greeted Jin Ha-seong. This was Beksan Chae's leader, the Red-Faced Ghost Sim Jong-san, third adopted son of the Green Forest Commandery.
Ever since cultivating martial arts, Jin Yeo-rip had grown attuned to others' auras. He grimaced. The man was human, sure, but facing him felt like confronting a mountain.
Gulp. Was it that obvious his breath had caught? Im Pilsaeng whispered from behind, "It's your first time facing someone with such overwhelming presence. Circulate your inner energy, Young Master—it'll make it easier."
Following the advice, Jin Yeo-rip activated the Twelve Flows and finally exhaled steadily.
Meanwhile, Jin Ha-seong approached Sim Jong-san with a gentle tone. "Bandit Chief of Beksan Chae, it's an honor to meet you. I am Jin Ha-seong of Cheongeumbang."
"Ha ha! Who do we have here? To think the Paegum himself would grace us—truly an honor!"
"You're too kind. How could a mere merchant clan's name compare to that of a great martial powerhouse? I'm embarrassed by the title."
"Embarrassed? You who hold Shandong in the palm of your hand? Come, sit here. I wasn't expecting the Paegum in person, so our preparations are humble."
"Nonsense. Where else could I receive such a welcome? Don't be modest, Chief."
It was all empty flattery. Bandits and merchants getting along so chummily—who'd have thought? Jin Yeo-rip had started to get used to this world, but it still felt bizarre.
Yet why was his father so unfazed by Sim Jong-san's aura? He'd nearly choked just looking at the man, but Father seemed perfectly at ease. It was baffling.
And one more thing. As Jin Ha-seong took his seat where Sim Jong-san guided him, Wang Seok stood at his side, while the Biwangdae formed a long line behind them, guarding his back. Was it the Twelve Flows? Jin Yeo-rip noticed things about them he'd never seen before—like an impregnable fortress.
"It's a formation."
"A formation?"
"A kind of bodyguard array. In case something happens, it'll protect the Family Head."
"Ah."
The Biwangdae were clearly on duty. Even Im Pilsaeng's gaze, when Jin Yeo-rip glanced back, was sharp. His eyes were narrowed, but up close, Jin Yeo-rip could see his eyeballs darting busily left and right.
"Young Master."
"Yes?"
"If anything unexpected happens, run straight to the third stronghold without hesitation."
"The third one?"
"There's a small cave behind it."
Jin Yeo-rip nodded at Im Pilsaeng's words. Sure enough, he spotted the cave mouth.
"Don't know what it's for, but block the entrance and it's easy to defend."
"Ah..."
Jin Yeo-rip could only nod in agreement. His own bodyguard was doing his job. Scanning the surroundings in preparation for any crisis where he might need to protect him. Inspired, Jin Yeo-rip surveyed the terrain around the stronghold.
Only one path in. Cliffs at the rear, a sheer drop ahead. No escape routes. But would they choose a spot so vulnerable to siege?
"Any secret passages, maybe?" he whispered.
Im Pilsaeng looked surprised. "Secret passages?"
"Yeah. No way there's just one entrance, right? If it's blocked, they'd be stuck in a siege. Supplies run out, they starve."
Im Pilsaeng smiled approvingly. "Well done. Warrior or merchant, in the murim, danger can strike anytime. Never slack on observing your surroundings, like you're doing now."
"Yes, sir."
Halfwit at times, but when serious, Im Pilsaeng had an aura that commanded respect—a true teacher.
"By the way, Uncle Pilsaeng."
"Yes?"
"Why 'Red-Faced'?"
"Not from his natural complexion. It's from the blood of his victims—he got the name looking like that."
"I see."
As rumored, a terrifying figure. How often did he bathe in blood for his nickname to be Red-Faced Ghost? It spoke to the lives he'd taken, his brutality.
While Jin Yeo-rip and Im Pilsaeng whispered in the back, the central group exchanged cups in warm camaraderie.
And soon after.
"That said, Chief, where are our caravan folk?"
With the mood fully relaxed, Jin Ha-seong broached the real purpose.
"Ah, right. The caravan."
Sim Jong-san nodded. "They're fine, don't worry. Hand over the money, and they'll be released safely."
"Heh, as if."
"..."
"In a deal, you confirm the goods and people are safe first."
It was a sharp standoff, smiles masking the tension.
But Sim Jong-san's face suddenly turned icy. "You saying you don't trust me?"
No overt killing intent, yet the air chilled. The bandits glared fiercely at the Biwangdae.
"Heh! Perish the thought. How could I doubt you, Chief? I'm just a merchant—never paid without seeing the goods."
Jin Ha-seong deflected the chill with a smile.
Sim Jong-san, who had been glaring, suddenly chuckled. "Kuhahaha!"
A booming laugh. What a weirdo. Bipolar or something? Mood swings like that...
"As expected of the Paegum. Facing me without flinching."
"Don't mention it. I barely held it together back there."
"Ha ha! No sign of it."
"Thank you. So, where's the caravan?"
"Safe. As you know, couldn't bring their wagons here. Pay up, I'll send a messenger bird, and they'll continue as planned."
Thief smarter than the thief. Keeping the caravan elsewhere made sense. But trust them to pay first?
"Very well. I'll trust your reputation, Chief."
"Eh?"
Trust? Him? Why? Jin Yeo-rip squinted at his father.
"But I need confirmation. Will you stake the name of your foster father, the Great Mountain King?"
"What?"
"Swear on the Great Mountain King's name that your words are true, and I'll pay immediately."
Sim Jong-san eyed Jin Ha-seong, then nodded. "Using the Commandery Chief's name—you're cautious indeed."
"Flattery."
"Fine. I swear on my foster father, the Great Mountain King—no falsehood in my words."
"Thank you."
Jin Ha-seong rose and bowed deeply at the ready agreement.
What the hell? Just a name, and he believes it? Jin Yeo-rip couldn't fathom it.
"No need to wonder."
"..."
"Murim folk value pride, name, and sometimes honor above their lives."
"Really?"
"Won't make sense yet. But with the Great Mountain King's name on it, it's true."
"How can you be sure?"
"Because it's the Great Mountain King's name."
Still didn't click. What made it so special?
"Sigh. Tense up now. The real negotiation starts."
Im Pilsaeng's smile vanished. The Biwangdae tensed too. Only Jin Ha-seong remained relaxed.
"Biwangdae Leader, hand the chief the chest."
"Yes, sir!"
Wang Seok set the chest before Sim Jong-san. Thud!
The lid opened, bathing his face in yellowish gold. Sim Jong-san tilted his head. "Hm. Paegum."
"Yes."
"Bit light, no? Not even enough for the Jinhyang Caravan's ransom. Should be at least a hundred taels."
His expression soured; nearby bandits bristled again.
But Jin Ha-seong smiled unperturbed. "A hundred taels, Chief? Merchants don't joke about money."
Bang! Sim Jong-san slammed the table, enraged by the slippery grin. "No joke? Then why only fifty?!"
"Best I can offer."
"What? You bastard!"
Paegum became "bastard." Killing intent swirled like blades; Biwangdae hands gripped sword hilts.
Jin Ha-seong met Sim Jong-san's eyes calmly. "The Jinhyang Caravan's goods total three hundred taels. Wagons, horses, nineteen people—Cheongeumbang estimates four hundred fifty overall."
"So?"
"Your detention delayed them, causing twenty taels in losses."
"Losses?!"
Sim Jong-san's eyes twitched.
"On time, they'd earn nine hundred fifty taels total, five hundred profit."
"Playing number games?!"
He bellowed, but Jin Ha-seong continued evenly. "Delayed, we bear the loss and resend the caravan—same scale, four hundred fifty taels."
"..."
"Our profit? Barely fifty. Not counting penalties, medical fees, compensations."
The once-warm mood had turned frigid, yet Jin Ha-seong stayed composed.
Goods three hundred, wagons/horses/people one hundred fifty? Jin Yeo-rip frowned. Human lives that cheap?
"Thus, fifty taels is my offer."
"You... Jin Ha-seong!"
"Refuse, and we abandon the caravan."
Drawing the line, Sim Jong-san glared, eyes trembling. "You dare haggle with me?!"
"Merchants haggle over anything—even lives."
His soft, steady voice felt cruel to Jin Yeo-rip. A total shift from the approach.
Meaning: he'd calculated losses and profits before even arriving—not weighing the captives' lives.
"Kuhuhu, Jin Ha-seong."
"Speak."
"You underestimate me."
"..."
"Fine, say you can only pay fifty. But..."
Sim Jong-san's eyes gleamed murderously. "What's the ransom for you and your attendants? Calculated Cheongeumbang's losses from that?"
With the killing intent, his sword finally drew. Biwangdae and bandits leveled blades in sharp standoff.
...Negotiations had broken down.