Shandong's Greatest Martial Clan (1)
Father had rented out the entire rear garden wing of Wolseong Tower. It was luxuriously extravagant.
"What do you think?"
"Looks expensive."
"Huh? That's all you've got to say?"
"What else should I say?"
"This is the only four-story wooden building in all of Shandong. Building that high isn't easy—it took a full five years just to construct."
"I see."
Jin Yeo-rip's indifferent expression made Jin Ha-seong fall silent. He seemed a bit disappointed. Guessing what his father had hoped for, Jin Yeo-rip quickly switched to an awestruck face and let out an exclamation.
"Whoa! This is seriously impressive. Four stories! And what's this rear garden? Wow…."
Too late. Father had already seen through the act and reverted to his stern demeanor.
"Ahem! The Geumhyang Merchant Group leader won't arrive until evening, so unpack and rest."
"…Yes, sir."
Jin Yeo-rip gave a wry smile at his father's curt words and retreating back as he headed to his quarters. The man only spoke when necessary, but he'd been trying to show off his wealth to his son. Should've played along better. Damn, there goes that twenty-nyang tip.
"Young master."
"Yes?"
Im Pilsaeng approached with an uncharacteristically sly grin. He wanted something.
"We've got plenty of time until dinner. How about we tour Je-nam City?"
"Sightseeing the streets?"
"Yeah. It's been over a decade since I was last here."
"Hm."
Fair enough. As a former Ak family retainer, what business would he have had in Je-nam City, the Hwangbo family's stronghold? And after being branded a traitor, he'd spent his days on the run.
"Sure. No luggage to unpack anyway."
After getting permission from his father, Jin Yeo-rip left Wolseong Tower with Im Pilsaeng.
To Jin Yeo-rip, who remembered the skyscrapers of his past life, the ancient city felt like a vivid historical diorama. But not for Im Pilsaeng. He gawked around the bustling streets, clearly thrilled.
"Uncle Pilsaeng, anywhere you wanna check out? It's a rare tourist outing."
"Hmm, tourist spot… Well, Cheonbul Mountain's famous, but it's outside the city walls, so that's tricky. Let's see… Ah, that's it! Young master, wanna see some opera?"
"Opera?"
"Yeah, there's a famous troupe here."
Opera troupe? That piqued his interest.
"Sounds good! Let's go."
"I'll lead the way!"
Im Pilsaeng strode ahead with a booming laugh. Yeah, time for some culture now and then. In his past life, life had been too hectic for that… Don't think about it. Gets me down. Who cares about that? This life's what matters. This life!
"Uncle Pilsaeng, wait up!"
"Come on!"
Shaking off the thoughts, Jin Yeo-rip hurried to his side.
"By the way, Father told me. You're a real master, huh? Should've said so yourself."
"I did say!"
"Thought you were bluffing."
"What? Who do you think I am?!"
"You get offended so ea…."
Seeing Im Pilsaeng's brows furrow and lips pout, Jin Yeo-rip quickly corrected himself.
"You're just really introverted."
"Tch!"
Im Pilsaeng whipped his head away, acting all prim—totally at odds with his rugged looks. Who'd believe a guy like that was a master?
"Heard you massacred three hundred on Mount Tai back then?"
"Ha, massacre?"
"That's what Father said. You stormed in alone, killed all three hundred, and rescued Mother."
"Sheesh. Calling it a massacre? Precisely three hundred twenty-two."
Jin Yeo-rip stared in disbelief as Im Pilsaeng shook his head with a sigh.
"Why the face?"
"No reason…."
"It was exactly three hundred twenty-two. Don't believe me?"
"I believe you, I do."
"Then why the look?"
It was just funny that he'd bother correcting it. Bragging about killing people? This world was beyond comprehension.
"How was it? Tell me more. You never shared stories like this before."
"Well… I think I was about twenty-five then."
His reminiscence unfolded like an epic saga, vividly gripping. Jin Yeo-rip hung on every word, sweating palms and all. Now he understood kids glued to grandpa's tales. Screw the opera—should we just hit a teahouse?
The opera was fun. Refreshing, even, with the actors' stellar performances. A tale of two heroes clashing over Je-nam City… Whatever. Jin Yeo-rip's mind was elsewhere.
"So? Keep going from where you left off."
"Huh? You want more?"
"Duh. Didn't get the ending. Feels like I got blue-balled."
"Young master… Fine."
Im Pilsaeng looked annoyed but spoke with even more gusto.
"So anyway, that bastard starts trash-talking me. I say, 'Hand over the lady. No one gets hurt.'"
Im Pilsaeng mimicked his past self, continuing the Mount Tai bloodbath tale. Sure, he exaggerated himself as some heaven-sent hero, but the story was entertaining enough.
Then, a grating noise made Jin Yeo-rip frown. Thwack!
"Hm?"
Pummeling sounds, groans, curses. Ever since cultivating martial arts, his other senses had sharpened too. Even faint noises perked his ears. Like a damn dog. Ugh, right at the good part. Annoying. He tried ignoring it, but it nagged. Sounded like a group robbing one guy.
Fine, just check it out quick and get back. Jin Yeo-rip headed toward the noise, face scrunched.
"So I must've snapped like a hundred necks? Anyway, that's when—Huh? Young master! Young master?"
Im Pilsaeng, gesturing wildly in excitement, belatedly noticed his audience gone. Passersby eyed him oddly. Looked like a lunatic, raving to himself with full-body theatrics.
"Sheesh, seriously! Listens then ditches."
He'd chased a nearby racket, no doubt. Common in back alleys, even in Hwangbo territory. Poison mushrooms thrive in shadows, away from eyes. The Hwangbo family ignored them knowingly—they posed no threat, and their presence made the family's light shine brighter. Righteous sects strutted precisely because they overlooked petty thugs in their turf. They culled them occasionally, like saving snacks.
Im Pilsaeng hadn't worried much, but Jin Yeo-rip couldn't resist investigating.
"Sigh, off to play hero again."
Im Pilsaeng pouted but followed into the alley, prime spot for shady dealings. No real concern— he knew his young master's skills best.
"Eh, about time he wanted some hero fun."
Im Pilsaeng chuckled. Probably spurred by the Wall Mountain Bandits. First taste of the murim world for him, and newfound confidence after staring down the infamous Red-Faced Ghost.
His eyes sparkled more during the bloodbath tale than the opera. Typical at that age—young xias dream of heroism. He'd been the same once.
He'd watch from afar. No way trash like that hurt his lord.
"Ah, that spot's good."
Im Pilsaeng gauged the noise, leaped to a high vantage for a clear view.
Thud!
"Oof."
The old man slammed into the wall from a punch, groaning.
"Sigh, old timer. Why provoke him?"
The puncher loomed casually, scowling.
"L-Look, Chil-seong. I didn't mean to."
"Then why not pay up?"
The old man bowed his wrinkled head at Yi Chil-seong's words.
"Sigh, whatever. That pouch jingled earlier—hand it over."
"Huh?"
Mentioning the money pouch startled the old man; he clutched his pants.
"Ha! Knew you hid it."
Yi Chil-seong smirked, nodding to Meoksoe, who snickered and approached.
"Th-This money's no good. Please, not this."
"Nothing's off-limits."
"P-Please, I beg you."
"Shut it! Hands off? Old man's got surprising grip."
The old man clung desperately; the burly thug yanked viciously at the pouch.
"It's for my grandson's medicine. Please, anything but this…."
"Shut your trap! Shouldn't have borrowed if you can't pay."
"I paid back what I borrowed!"
"Bull. That was interest. Principal's untouched."
"What kind of law is that?"
"The contract says so! Ah, damn! Starved old coot's got strength. Let go!"
Meoksoe lifted and dropped him bodily, but the old man held fast.
"You bastard!"
Riiip!
How tough could a poor old man's pants be? They tore under his irritation, exposing bare skin as the old man flew back into the wall.
"Ouch…."
Painful and humiliating, yet he stared at Meoksoe's hand—the pouch was there.
"Damn geezer must've eaten dog shit for tonic. Strong as hell. Let's see."
Meoksoe cackled mockingly, opening the pouch.
"You thieves! Give it back! Grandson's medicine! Please!"
The old man lunged, clutching Meoksoe's hem, begging. He got a kick instead.
Thud!
Slammed into the wall again, limp and unmoving—something broken.
"Thieves… Please, it's for my grandson's medicine."
Just feeble mutters. Meoksoe peered inside, baffled.
"Boss, just iron coins. Not even twenty."
"What? Twenty? Unbelievable."
Yi Chil-seong scratched his head, snatched the pouch, and squatted before the old man.
"Hey, old timer. For real?"
"Ugh…."
"Twenty iron coins doesn't cover this month's interest. You're two months late already. Know what compound interest means?"
"How can interest on…."
"Contract says so. Got it?"
Yi Chil-seong patted the limp old man's cheek.
"Vicious bastards, worth tearing apart…."
"You know it. I'm Yi Chil-seong, meanest in Je-nam's alleys."
Instead of anger, he grinned delightedly at the curse.
"I'll be back soon. Have the money ready. Got it?"
"I have none! That was scraped together by force."
"Then hand over that sick brat grandson. He could work as a errand boy—pay off in years."
"W-What?"
The old man's eyes bulged.
"Yeah, better than squeezing a dying geezer. Faster payout."
Yi Chil-seong snickered; the old man felt the sky spin.
"You scum! No fear of heaven? Think the Hwangbo family will let you be?"
"Hwangbo? Heh, clueless fool."
"What?"
"Think those big shots care about trash like you?"
"What?"
"Know your place."
Yi Chil-seong pocketed the pouch, sneering down.
"Don't wanna lose the kid? Figure out how to pay. Neither Hwangbo nor heaven helps your kind. Got it?"
"Ah…."
Despair clouded the old man's face.
Then—
"Hey! Assholes!"
"…?"
"These punks got no grandpas at home?!"
A booming voice echoed from the alley mouth—salvation, not from Hwangbo or heaven, but Jin Yeo-rip.