Bundle of Good Deeds

Hwang Geolgae's feelings as he looked at Dan Mujin were genuinely complicated.

Any number of thoughts rose up, but if he had to compress them into a few words:

That actually worked……?

An uncharted path no one had ever attempted. Something even he had judged vanishingly unlikely—and this little brat had gone and pulled it off without so much as a second thought.

He had stolen the murderous star's energy and cultivated it into his own internal power.

"Huh."

The Seongun Simbeop's effects hadn't been taking properly, so Hwang Geolgae had only tossed him a purely theoretical notion on the off chance it might help. And yet the boy had turned around and robbed the Heavenly Killing Star itself blind.

Even after seeing it with his own two eyes, he could barely believe it.

Daoist… don't tell me you arranged even this……?

The man who had always said there was no such thing as coincidence in this world—only inevitability. The Daoist who had descended with the starlight. All Hwang Geolgae knew of him was the two characters of his name: Ilwol.

Thump! Thump!

Apparently satisfied with the internal energy he had just pocketed, Dan Mujin was throwing punches packed with power.

That was a full three years' worth of internal energy. Repeat the process ten times and that meant thirty years stacked up, didn't it? Practically a heaven-sent opportunity.

And Hwang Geolgae had a fairly good idea why so much energy had gathered this time.

The Seongun Simbeop tended to maximize its efficacy according to how much one had endured in the course of performing good deeds.

In other words, simply put:

This brat must have loved money something fierce.

There had clearly been some tearful agony over giving up those gold ingots. And that obsession with money had flipped into a blessing, returning to him as this much internal energy.

"Heh heh."

What a strange kid either way. He lit up like a furnace over a single copper coin—so how had he managed to let those gold pieces go?

And on top of that, he had asked to pull his old beggar underlings out of the mire?

Those little beggars he hadn't dared help for fear of the Imperial decree, no less.

All of this, Hwang Geolgae had heard from his conversation with Merchant Leader Eun Hwaran. She must have taken quite a liking to the boy—her voice had been full of goodwill the entire time she spoke of him.

Perhaps under that influence, the look in Hwang Geolgae's eyes as he regarded Dan Mujin had already softened a little.

"You brat."

"What?"

The kid was currently shouting the form name Abyss Sweep while flailing through some footwork Hwang Geolgae had never seen or heard of in his life.

"Merchant Leader Eun Hwaran calls you her little brother. What's the story there?"

For a second Hwang Geolgae wondered if Eun Hwaran had a hidden younger sibling stashed somewhere in addition to her runaway older brother.

"Ah, that? We just kind of ended up going with big sis and little bro."

Not a chance. She was a woman who did not open her heart easily. Even the previous merchant leader had fretted over Eun Hwaran's habit of weighing every relationship on a ledger.

Most likely a scrap-pick of a silk-farming hand who still managed to look after the caravan's affairs—and who even wanted to take care of kids from his beggar days—had struck her as thoroughly endearing.

"Heh heh. So you gave up gold and walked away with internal energy, a longer life, and the merchant leader's trust?"

One sacrifice for three gains—a perfect three birds with one stone. The trust of one of the Ten Great Merchant Leaders of the realm was worth far more than a few lumps of gold.

"But Old Man, what were you planning to do if I'd actually taken that gold?"

Dan Mujin, who had been throwing a bizarre punch he called Boom Fist with his newly enhanced physique, suddenly asked out of nowhere.

Hwang Geolgae had always preached keeping greed at a distance. Leaving the boy free to go collect a massive reward must have struck him as suspicious.

"What else? I was going to thrash you, then snatch it back—to teach you what happens when a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠weakling walks around the Central Plains with a fortune."

A fist shot out like lightning and stopped right in front of Dan Mujin's face. With his free hand, Hwang Geolgae made a snatching motion.

The same gesture he had used the other day when he stole the steaming dumplings.

"Whoa, this is pure……."

The brat swallowed the rest of the sentence, looking thoroughly appalled—as if a vicious demonic villain had just appeared before him.

"That look says you're staring at a piece of trash."

Dan Mujin's eyes twitched at Hwang Geolgae's words.

"Wait—you can tell that kind of thing once you're a master?"

Thwack!

A finger-flick cracked across his forehead for the crime of talking back.

"Aaaargh!"

Clutching his skull, the boy rolled across the training ground floor. Hwang Geolgae used the sight of him writhing in pain as a side dish and guzzled his cloudy rice wine.

"Heh heh. Still a thoroughly insolent brat."

Admirable one moment, utterly exasperating the next. Dan Mujin got back up with a scowl, dusted off his clothes, and opened his mouth.

"Ugh, what did you even contribute? Walking around with a crazy star in your body and turning out like this is normal, if anything."

Even without the Heavenly Killing Star, wasn't this kid already a lunatic from the start? Hwang Geolgae found himself wondering.

"And no matter how strong you are, stealing money from weak people is still trashy, isn't it?"

Look at that attitude—determined to speak his mind even if it killed him.

"You're not wrong. But in the Central Plains, if you want to say that to someone's face, you'd better have the strength to back it up."

To assert something and see it through, you needed the martial power to support it. This was a place where a master's single stroke of the blade held more weight than a hundred words from the weak.

And looking at this kid, he was clearly not destined for a peaceful death of old age.

"So this old man will pass that strength on to you."

Stroking his long beard, Hwang Geolgae spoke with a suddenly serious face.

That rootless flailing of fists and feet from earlier, plus the crude Eight Wall Fist he had half-stolen—for the successor of the Seongun Simbeop to move like that, the Daoist who had once saved Hwang Geolgae's life might well be lamenting somewhere.

"Huh? For real?"

"Yes. Stop that limp noodle thrashing. From now on, train the fist arts this old man teaches you."

The former Dragon Head Sect Leader offering to personally transmit a technique steeped in his own insights—and Dan Mujin looked about as excited as a man being offered leftovers. Had these been disciples of the Beggar Sect proper, they would already be prostrating themselves in tears of gratitude.

Did the boy really just see him as some drunken old bum?

Hwang Geolgae let out a short, dry laugh at the gulf between them.

"But last time you said you wouldn't teach me any techniques for beating people up. Said it might stir up the killing intent."

"……I've changed my mind. Even a brat like you ought to learn at least one self-defense technique to protect himself."

He had deliberately left the boy to face a trial, and the kid had passed it in spectacular fashion. Then a reward was only natural.

"Brat. Do you know what a Xiaohua blade is?"

Perhaps, after Merchant Leader Eun Hwaran, the boy had also earned Hwang Geolgae's trust.

"You mean… those little knives physicians use to cut open skin?"

"That's right. The same blade becomes a tool for saving lives when it rests in a physician's hand. You must use this old man's teachings the same way."

A Heavenly Killing Star who walked the path of chivalry and saved people.

Even as he said it, Hwang Geolgae found himself wondering if this made any sense, and a hollow laugh slipped out.

But it was a path already chosen. Once you draw the blade, you might as well cut something.

"Yeah, well. I'll learn it and put it to good use, but……."

A rare chance to learn. Yet Dan Mujin's face grew thoroughly uneasy, as if the memory of training Seonpungbo had just surfaced.

"Your teaching method isn't going to be beating me half to death again, right……?"

For a Heavenly Killing Star that responded to murderous intent, was there any better training method? The boy had grown at a blistering pace simply to survive.

"Heh heh."

Hwang Geolgae just grinned.

That alone seemed explanation enough—Dan Mujin's face went rapidly pale.

"……Ah, damn it."

The brat tried to unfold Seonpungbo and flee the scene at once. His fierce refusal only deepened Hwang Geolgae's amused smile.

Hwang Geolgae brought his gourd down on the crown of Dan Mujin's head as he spun to run.

Crack!

"Ow, you son of a—! Stop hitting me! What if my intelligence drops—you gonna take responsibility?!"

A pure, ringing impact. Mujin flopped on the ground like a freshly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠caught fish, thrashing and protesting violently.

"It already looks low, you brat."

Trying to escape with Seonpungbo in front of the man who had taught him Seonpungbo. Ridiculous kid.

And how to put it—this satisfying hand-feel, like thrashing a dog on the dog days of summer.

"Then from this moment, this old man will transmit to you the Baekgyeol Singwon."

The thrashing was… no. The teaching was satisfying with this one.

In the Central Plains, several organizations collected, refined, and sold information. Among them, the most mysterious was said to be the Haoman.

If the Beggar Sect was a righteous faction rooted in the ethics of beggary, the Haoman was an organic network woven from the people who seeped into everyday life—shop boys, butchers, coachmen, courtesans.

There was even a saying: birds hear words spoken by day, but the Haoman hears words spoken by night.

In front of those whom martial artists dismissed as lowly, people unconsciously loosened up and ran their mouths with careless ease—idle talk in a carriage, drunken chatter at an inn, pillow-side whispers, and the like.

And when even such scraps were stitched together and compiled, they could transform into information no one could afford to ignore. That was how the Haoman, for all its low-class membership, had amassed enormous wealth as a collective.

But recently, a calamity of the highest order had struck that very Haoman.

A rebellion intent on replacing its leader.

Because of it, the Haoman had lost Gate Leader Hong Gak-jan—a man who had truly cherished those beneath him. And someone else had lost a precious father.

"Heuk Jin-jo……."

A voice that had not yet broken.

A small child growled as he adjusted the human-skin mask twisted askew from the fight moments before. In a corner of the alley, Ilhong quietly spat the name of his mortal enemy.

They said there was no one in this world you could trust. He never imagined the man he had treated like family would stab him in the back.

Thanks to that, Ilhong was now reduced to hiding among beggars. From the outside, he could only watch helplessly as the Haoman that had fallen into that man's hands grew steadily darker.

And as if that weren't enough, even this beggar faction he had taken refuge with to evade pursuit was now on the verge of collapsing entirely. Truly driven into a corner.

"Ohchil hyung, any news of the Boss yet?"

"Nah. Not a single person on the Beijing streets has seen him."

Ohchil answered while patching a scraped elbow with a scrap of cloth.

Had he sunk into the earth, or risen into the sky? He had a fairly handsome face—word should have gotten around by now.

"He was a good Boss. Of all people, that perverted old man had to show up……."

He had looked like a shabby old man, but once the lid was off, he had been an incredible master. At least First-class Realm or higher. Having handled countless pieces of information in the Haoman, Ilhong had sensed the gap in rank the moment he saw that unfathomable movement technique.

Even so, with the Boss gone they had no means of standing against Eom Baek's gang—so Ilhong had risked his life and charged in alongside Ohchil.

"But, well. This is how it turned out."

They had screamed "pervert old man" at the top of their lungs while fighting, so for all they knew he had been dragged off somewhere and was suffering unspeakable things. Of all the luck—to get grabbed by a martial artist with a taste for boys. Ilhong briefly pressed his palms together toward the direction Mujin had vanished and offered a silent prayer.

"Hey. The Boss isn't dead, okay?"

Ohchil said, looking thoroughly bewildered by the gesture.

"Right. He just lost his pure and undefiled body, that's all."

People said martial artists who survived to that age had all faced heart demons at least once or twice, so plenty of them were out of their minds. I must never end up like that. Ilhong quietly swore it to himself.

"Ilhong hyung, Ohchil hyung—we're in big trouble."

"There's no food left at home?"

"We're out of copper coins too."

But their own noses were under water. Things here in the place Dan Mujin had left behind were far from fine either. "A candle in the wind" was probably the right expression.

"Hyungs, what do we do?"

"Ugh. If we go out begging on the main street, Eom Baek's gang is just going to pick a fight again."

For a while after Boss Mujin disappeared, they had been testing the waters carefully. Lately, though, they seemed sure he was gone for good and had started picking fights in earnest. Thanks to that, the little beggars had lost territory bit by bit, like a routed army.

Now they had been driven into this dead-end alley. At this rate they might not even be able to beg like before—and simply starve to death.

"I'm hungry, hyung……."

Unlike before, there wasn't a single scrap of meat in the galjeotang. Just a pot full of musty greens. You could have called it weed porridge without any exaggeration.

Gurgle. The little ones clutched their empty stomachs and mumbled that they were hungry in listless voices.

They had to do something. As the relatively older ones, Ohchil and Ilhong both thought the same thing.

"Ilhong. Let's try something."

"Yeah. We have to."

If you want to claim something, you have to fight for it. Sit still and beg for mercy, and all you get back is mockery.

If you want to live, thrash and struggle with everything you've got—that had been Dan Mujin's teaching. So now was the time to put that teaching into practice. Even if it meant getting beaten while they fought.

Ilhong and Ohchil clenched both fists and stood.

The little beggar gang that had once struck terror into marketplace merchants. The time had come for Mujin's crew—without Mujin—to move forward again.

Muttering the same incomprehensible line the Boss always said whenever they were about to cause trouble:

"Let's go, juvenile delinquents."

I had started from absolute rock bottom, but thanks to accumulating good deeds I had gathered a fair amount of internal energy, and on top of that I had been training fist arts for several weeks now.

And that had been more than enough time to smash the confidence of a me who had once looked down on the world with a lofty four years of internal energy.

"What does it mean… to be strong?"

I muttered, looking up at the blue sky.

A fairly cool line—the kind protagonists in novels liked to say. The difference being that my face was now lumpy and both eye sockets had swollen into night-black plums.

Meaning I looked pretty ugly.

"Someday I'm definitely landing one clean shot on that old man's mug."

I clenched ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my fist tight and made the vow. I would pay back this humiliation and rage. If I returned it during training, it wasn't patricide—it was a counterattack.

But for that, I needed more internal energy. Right now, even fifty seconds of movement technique sent my energy into freefall. Hwang Geolgae had called it the limit of a "three-year model."

Grit.

How hard had I worked to gather that power, only for him to sneer that it was a mere three years' worth?

Internal energy. I needed more internal energy. And for that, I had to accumulate good deeds.

Fortunately, a perfect pretext for building that virtuous merit had presented itself.

Namely, those orphan brats who used to trail after me. Save them, house them, feed them—what better good deeds could there be? Living, breathing merit shuttles.

"Nnngh."

I rubbed my swollen cheek, finished circulating my energy, and sprang to my feet. My body seemed to have put on ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a fair amount of muscle.

Frustrating as it was, Old Man Hwang's training methods were undeniably effective. Flailing to stay alive had burned his movements into my body by instinct, so I picked things up fast.

Maybe because of that, it hadn't taken long for Old Man Hwang to authorize solo outings for this Heavenly Killing Star body. Between the recognition from last time and the martial arts I had built up, he figured I wouldn't get myself pulverized wherever I went, and the permission had fallen into my lap.

"Alright. Time to go see the kids."

Conveniently, there was a gleaming gold coin in my pocket. Travel money that Eun Hwaran—who had recently been upgraded from mere guanxi to a full "big sis and little bro" sibling relationship—had pressed on me.

I had tried to refuse, saying, "Boss, you really shouldn't," but she told me that wasn't the kind of thing you said to your big sister and just shoved it in. Luckily, with a decent amount of demon-suppressing internal energy already built up, and given how insistently she pushed it, the Heavenly Killing Star didn't seem to have room to run wild.

So I just took it.

"Free money."

On top of that, she had said she couldn't stand to see her precious little brother walking around in scrap-picker rags and given me a decent set of cotton clothes. It felt like she was going to keep taking care of me like this for a long time—looking back now, refusing those gold ingots might actually have been the right call.

"The kids are going to lose it when they see me."

There's a saying: return home in brocade. Coming back dressed in silk is basically proof of success in these parts. But I was in cotton, so call it a return in silver, more or less.

"Heh heh."

Imagining the looks on Ilhong and Ohchil's faces, I was sidling out the merchant group's main gate with a little swagger when I spotted two familiar faces.

"Huh?"

"You… that bull-headed little brat?"

The two escorts who had beaten me up in the marketplace on commission from the goat-bearded merchant. Yang Jo and Yang Wi, if I remembered right.

"Uncles. Why'd you do that to me back then?"

I narrowed my eyes and asked. Back then I had been a worthless beggar scrap-picker. Now I was known as Old Man Hwang's disciple and the one who had saved the silk-farming operation.

The two escorts cleared their throats and hastily avoided my gaze.

"Ahem."

"Well, you know, the merchants were raising hell, demanding we do something about it."

That couldn't have been the only reason. The goat-bearded merchant's name had come up too. When I just kept staring at them in silence, they scratched the backs of their necks and finally folded first.

"……Look, we're sorry about that."

Apparently they had taken a pay cut and disciplinary confinement over the whole thing. Well, I had been running a shakedown myself and stacking up merchant resentment. I could afford to be magnanimous. After all, I was the one who ended up thrashing them and winning that day.

"So where are you headed? Doesn't look like you've got silk-farming work."

"I'm going to pick up the kids from my crew. The merchant leader already gave permission."

Kids no one else would look after if I didn't. That's how orphans are. And our crew ranked among the weak even among orphans.

At my words, the two escorts glanced at each other with troubled faces.

"If that's the case, you'd better get there fast."

"……Why?"

I asked back, puzzled. Was something wrong?

"I heard it from a marketplace merchant. Those kids got wrecked by Eom Baek's gang."

"And that pretty one… Ilhong, was it? Word is some deviant snatched him."

Listening to that, my common sense felt like it was packing a bag and leaving home.

"What the hell is this shi……."

Someone was trying to smash my bundle of good deeds.