Creative Economy (2)
A chill wind seemed to sweep through the mountain stronghold. The sum demanded by those who wanted money and the amount offered by those willing to pay simply didn't match, so swords were drawn with no thought of compromise.
"Young master."
Im Pilsaeng focused solely on him. He planned to send him safely along a secure route to the eastern cave behind the distant third stronghold. Avoid it. Avoiding is the right choice. But it grated on him terribly. He understood the impulse to force one's will through strength now that negotiations had broken down. No questions asked, was it? Fine, this damn world worked that way. Cheongeumbang might win this fight, no matter how many died. Im Pilsaeng had boasted of his own strength, so he'd be safe enough. But if things went that way, what about the merchants held captive here? The fight's outcome would be secondary—why was everyone fixated on money and ignoring their lives?
No matter how lawless this world claimed to be, someone had to consider those lives, right? Damn it! To him, there had to be a better way.
"Young master, hurry..."
Just as Im Pilsaeng urged him on, a brilliant idea flashed into Jin Yeo-rip's mind after long deliberation. Negotiations, damages, tolls. Yes, it might work for both sides.
"Hey, wait a second."
Jin Yeo-rip slipped unthinkingly into the taut tension between them.
"Y-Young master!"
Im Pilsaeng's eyes bulged at the sudden move, his hand shooting out from his sleeve.
"Ah, let go! Come on!"
"......"
Im Pilsaeng grabbed at empty air, his face stunned. How? He should have caught that wrist easily. Wasn't that peak-level Qin Na Hand in his grip? Yet Jin Yeo-rip had slipped away so naturally, with just a subtle wrist twist and flip—a Fan Shou motion. Pure Baji technique.
"Heh!"
Body movements evolved into spear forms? And so casually familiar? Im Pilsaeng couldn't help but gasp in awe at Jin Yeo-rip's unforeseen progress.
But he couldn't just stand there gawking. Jin Yeo-rip, having escaped his grasp, was marching toward Shim Jong-san and Jin Ha-seong with a furrowed brow.
"Young master!"
Wang Seok, part of the escort formation, scowled, while Bi Hwang-dae flinched in surprise. The intruder had punched a hole in Jin's guard like a stray rock.
Jin Ha-seong was just as flustered. Why was this kid stepping in? He'd told him to stay back and watch...
"Ho? Young master? Your son, I take it?"
Shim Jong-san eyed him with amusement, but Jin Ha-seong stared at his son in bewilderment.
"Y-Yeo-rip."
Ignoring the reactions around him, Jin Yeo-rip stood boldly before Shim Jong-san's glaring eyes. With his inner energy flowing, it no longer felt intimidating or suffocating. Shim Jong-san's eyes narrowed at the confident demeanor. Quite the gutsy kid. Slipping into that intense standoff amid Jin Ha-seong's escorts, the killing intent from his subordinates, and his own presence wasn't easy. And this fresh-faced youth who wasn't even twenty? Yet his expression was relaxed and assured. That meant he had the inner energy to withstand the clashing auras and the boldness to match. As expected of Paegum's son.
"Wall Mountain Stronghold Chief."
Intrigued by the seemingly reckless attitude, Shim Jong-san smirked faintly.
"Jin family lad. I don't know what you're thinking, stepping up like this, but when addressing your elders, you should at least give your name first, no?"
"Oh, right. I'm Jin Yeo-rip."
A quick nod and introduction. From behind, Jin Ha-seong watched his son with mounting anxiety.
"Yeo-rip! Step back! This isn't your place!"
Jin Ha-seong's voice tensed sharply, unlike before. His son's life hung in the balance. He was within arm's reach of the Wall Mountain Chief. Too close. If the chief harbored killing intent, his son would be in peril that instant.
"Family head, just wait a moment."
"What?"
Jin Yeo-rip silenced Jin Ha-seong. It was already too late to back out, and though the negotiation had nothing to do with him, his heart wouldn't allow it. How much was a human life worth? These people! If they died, what about the families left behind? Some things didn't change with the era. And he knew all too well how bitter it was to lose family—from past life and this one, experienced twice over.
"For now, why don't both of you sit down."
"Huh?"
"Eh?"
"Come on, I said sit. You're both seasoned elders—why negotiate without any decorum? If opinions clash, discuss and persuade each other."
Jin Ha-seong couldn't hide his embarrassment, nor Shim Jong-san his bafflement.
"You lot, sheathe those swords too. People are vicious enough as it is."
His irritated words toward the bandits and Bi Hwang-dae on both sides left everyone glancing awkwardly.
"Hah, what a brazen punk."
Shim Jong-san's gaze sharpened as he sized up Jin Yeo-rip.
"Paegum's son or not, how can you not know when to butt in and when not? Is that how your father raised you?"
Infusing his bellow with energy, Shim Jong-san hurled a blast of sonic force at Jin Yeo-rip. It wouldn't kill, but enough to rattle the mind... Huh? The faint anger in Shim Jong-san's eyes turned to absurdity. He... parried it? His energy-laced sonic attack?
"Why yell when you can just talk? And I only stepped in because it was worth it, right?"
Even picking his ear and arguing back? This brat! Irritated, Shim Jong-san pressed harder with more energy.
"Red-Faced Ghost, this punk!"
Sensing the rising pressure, Im Pilsaeng shouted and lunged, but Jin Ha-seong raised a hand to stop him.
"Family head!"
"Pilsaeng! Wait."
"Pardon?"
Ignoring Im Pilsaeng's retort, Jin Ha-seong stared grimly at his son. Why did trust gleam in those eyes? Of course, Jin Yeo-rip wasn't one to act rashly. He'd watched him closely since reuniting at Shaolin—he knew better than anyone. There must be a reason. But the opponent was Red-Faced Ghost Shim Jong-san. No pushover.
"Pilsaeng."
"......"
"I know your skills, but if the chief wanted him dead, he'd be gone already."
"But."
"Wait and see. That kid's up to something."
Blocked by the family head, Im Pilsaeng ground his teeth, glaring at Shim Jong-san. As Jin Ha-seong said, for now... it was fine. Shim Jong-san pressed with energy, but Jin Yeo-rip handled it with ease. A test. Like bullying a cute kid for fun. But if it turned lethal?
"Heh, what a mess. Has the name Red-Faced Ghost become a joke? The brat with cradle cap and the guard itching to jump in."
Despite his words, Shim Jong-san suppressed his shock. Jin Ha-seong's son was deflecting his pressure effortlessly. Even without full power, it wasn't something to shrug off with a mere grimace.
"Tch! Cheongeumbang turning martial clan now? Since when was the son's skill this good?"
Deflated, Shim Jong-san dispersed his pressure. Curiosity about Jin Yeo-rip stirred within.
"Tch! Stand down."
With an annoyed flick of his hand, the bandits sheathed their swords and retreated. Plopping down, Shim Jong-san eyed Jin Yeo-rip.
"Fine. You said it's worth it? Let's hear what you have to say. But if it's useless drivel, you'll answer for your actions."
"Go ahead."
Jin Yeo-rip pulled up a chair and sat. The real reason for his boldness? The Twelve Flows. As they achieved forward circulation, his body brimmed with energy, surging his confidence. He'd lost all fear— even battling Shim Jong-san tempted him fiercely, and it took effort to rein it in.
"Family head, sit here too?"
"Mm."
Jin Ha-seong nodded and sat beside him. What was the kid thinking?
"So, what is it you want to say?"
Jin Yeo-rip exhaled lightly at Shim Jong-san's question and met his gaze.
"Why do bandits rob goods?"
"Huh?"
The question came out of nowhere. Obviously...
"To make money. Gotta eat and live."
"Right."
"But do you earn enough every time?"
"What?"
"Say you snag a hundred taels this time. Does that hundred come steadily every day, or every month?"
"No."
"So your stronghold's income isn't stable."
"You could... say that."
"Big problem. And if someone gets hurt robbing, treatment costs pile up. Looks like you're all in beast pelts."
"Winter, you know?"
"But they're a mess, not even functional. And if it's the cold, wouldn't cotton clothes be warmer?"
"......"
"Income's unstable, so you're scrimping, right?"
Shim Jong-san couldn't reply easily. As Jin Yeo-rip said, banditry didn't guarantee plenty. Some months were dry.
"And the food you served us was all meat and wild herbs."
"Mountain stuff..."
"Proves unstable income again. Why? Rumors scare travelers off those paths. They take safer detours, so unless it's a desperate caravan like this, no big hauls. Holding us without tolls means things have been tight lately."
He questioned and answered himself. Feeling patronized, Shim Jong-san scowled but clamped his mouth shut, listening. The kid spoke like he knew their plight. Infuriating, but spot on. No matter the martial prowess, bandits starved without good hits.
"Now, to Cheongeumbang's family head."
Jin Yeo-rip turned to Jin Ha-seong. In this moment, not his father, but the family head. Official business.
"How much do your caravans lose to bandits yearly, total?"
"Mm, around five hundred taels."
"In gold?"
"Yes."
"Extra transport costs from detours around bandit paths?"
"Huh?"
"Roughly."
"Haven't calculated, but not trivial."
"Plus compensation for injured? Losses mount."
"Well..."
"That settles it."
"Huh?"
Jin Ha-seong looked puzzled as Jin Yeo-rip nodded. What was settled? How did that relate to negotiations... Wait. Replaying the words, Jin Ha-seong's eyes widened. Probing Wall Mountain's straits. Asking Cheongeumbang's annual bandit losses and detour costs.
"You don't mean...?"
Jin Ha-seong's shocked expression drew Jin Yeo-rip's grin. He'd caught on. As expected of a lifetime merchant—instincts unmatched.
Alright, let's all dive into creative economy. A concept this era's never seen.