The Runaway Prodigal
There's an old saying: if you want to hide a tree, hide it in a forest.
So I decided to bury myself in Beijing—the biggest city in Hebei, a place so packed with people it was practically bursting at the seams.
A massive city gate loomed ahead, its yellow imperial dragon writhing as if mid-ascent. The moment I passed through, a vast urban panorama unfolded before my eyes.
"Whoa. It's packed solid."
The broad main avenue thronged so densely you could barely find a place to plant your foot. Street stalls stretched endlessly left and right; the market roared with haggling and hawkers' cries; itinerant travelers and peddlers bowed under heavy packs; and martial artists strode past with swords at their hips, radiating pure swagger. People from every corner of the Central Plains had poured in until the streets formed a literal mountain-and-sea of humanity.
"The buildings aren't half-bad either."
True to its status as the imperial capital where the emperor himself resided, everything was grand and gaudy. Multi-tiered pavilions soared skyward; mansions stood on thick, proud pillars. Wealth practically oozed from the stones. If there was a way to survive anywhere, it had to be here.
They say generosity starts when the granaries are full. Whether it was honest work or begging, doing it where money overflowed was a hundred times better.
"Coming here was the right call."
Chewing and swallowing nameless berries and roots, I had walked day and night for half a month. The original Moyong Cheongjin, raised soft in a prestigious clan, would have collapsed sniveling long ago. This body of mine had clawed through it on pure grit and spite.
My stomach growled.
Nearby, a street stall was roasting chicken skewers to a perfect golden brown. The smell of meat brushed my nose and my guts began thrashing, screaming for food—but right now this body didn't have a single coin to its name.
"If I want anything in my mouth, I'd better do something."
Even day labor was fine. On the way here I'd confirmed it: this Heavenly Killing Star–cursed body boasted monstrous durability and monstrous strength. As long as I was willing to work, starving shouldn't be an issue.
Whenever I spotted a halfway decent shop, I charged in headfirst like a man diving into bare dirt. What I got back was nothing but scowls and ice-cold snubs.
"Where the hell did this filthy beggar crawl in from, asking for work?"
"Ugh, the stench! Get lost—you'll drive the customers away!"
"You still here? Scram!"
I begged them to let me do even the lowest scut work, but apparently nobody hired some unknown mongrel they'd never seen before. This was the merciless society of the Central Plains: for an outsider—especially a boy of completely unclear origins—there wasn't even a chance to work.
No wonder the streets crawled with beggars.
"Fucking guanxi."
Fine. Plan B: panhandling.
Who said money only counted if you earned it with sweat? As long as I could put something in my mouth, anything went.
I eyed the well-fed passersby. In an age drowning in famine and hunger, the ones with plump cheeks and soft bellies stood out like beacons. Back in the orphanage, whenever my pocket money ran dry, I'd padded my purse with exactly this kind of street hustle. People would open their wallets with pity for a little kid's begging—some even teared up out of sheer sympathy.
That was when I'd learned the truth: swallow your pride and the ways to make money become endless.
"That goateed merchant looks good."
His silk robes shimmered with a soft luster. In this world, silk was a luxury fabric spun from carefully raised silkworms. A man dressed like that wouldn't nickel-and-dime over a few iron coins.
"My lord…! I'm going to starve to death! Please, just one coin!"
I bolted over and flung myself flat on the ground in front of him, head bowed, trembling hand outstretched. Humans possessed compassion no other animal could claim. Few would refuse the begging of a stick-thin child like this.
"Then go starve and die."
"…"
I lifted my head in a daze. The Central Plains martial world really was no joke. First a sister who stabbed her own little brother, and now beasts worse than animals roaming everywhere.
I snorted.
The goateed merchant saw the dead look of a man who'd abandoned all faith in humanity, let out a nasty little chuckle, and turned away. In that instant I felt something inside me snap clean through.
This subhuman piece of shit was actually taunting a starving beggar who had nothing left to lose? You just signed your own death warrant.
"My looord—!"
I exploded off the ground, charged, and slammed into the merchant's broad back like a furious wild boar.
"Guhk!"
The sudden heavy impact tore a groan out of him. I clamped both hands around his pant leg so he couldn't run and roared with blazing eyes:
"Just one coin, pleaseee!"
"…What kind of crazy little bastard is this?!"
The merchant read the pure venom in my gaze and his face twisted in shock. Even so, he only tried to shake me off with brute force; his hand never once moved toward his money pouch.
Right. A world where compassion had dried up completely, was that it? Then there was always another method tailored to that.
I glanced around. The commotion right in the middle of the main road was already drawing eyes. Perfect. I flashed the merchant a nasty grin and unleashed the most terrifying blackmail only a child of my age could pull off.
"Dad! Don't abandon me!"
My voice boomed down the entire stall-lined street. At those ominous words, every passerby's gaze snapped toward us at once.
The goateed merchant's mouth fell open.
"W-w-what kind of bullshit is that?! I've never had a kid like you!"
I'd heard people of this era obsessed over face—mianzi. It was true. The same bastard who'd sneered when I called him "my lord" was now hopping around in pure panic.
And across every age and place, other people's trashy family drama always drew an eager crowd.
"So he wasn't a beggar—he was his own kid?"
"Heavens, trying to abandon his child in broad daylight…"
Tutting and open condemnation began raining down from every direction.
"Let go, you little beggar bastard…! Don't listen to this one, everyone! He's just a deranged brat!"
The merchant shrieked that I was a fraud and thrashed desperately to throw me off. But how was some ordinary civilian supposed to overpower the monstrous strength Heaven itself had gifted for killing people? I hugged his leg even tighter—until the blood must have stopped flowing—and kept wailing.
"Sniff… I'm sorry, Dad, I'll be better… so please!"
A little kid smearing a mess of tears and snot all over the hem of the man's trousers, sobbing like his heart was breaking. To any onlooker, it was a child being cast out by his own parent.
"Y-you little son of a bitch!"
The merchant recoiled in horror. Glare after glare of pure murder poured in from every side.
"Trying to dump a kid right in the middle of the avenue…"
"Tsk tsk, a real piece of human garbage."
Beijing locals muttered while staring him down. In Central Plains society, one careless moment and you became trash in the blink of an eye.
"No, this is unfair! I haven't even gotten married yet—how could I—!"
The merchant flailed both arms, voice cracking with outrage, but the crowd's eyes only grew colder. Suddenly branded a lowlife, his thin goatee quivered violently.
"Isn't that the merchant from the Mangeum Money House?"
When someone actually recognized him amid the scuffle, the goateed merchant grew even more frantic.
"Damn it, fine! Just let go already…!"
A full-grown man putting every ounce of strength he had into it—and this little kid still wouldn't budge, solid as a boulder. The merchant cursed and pounded on my skull for a while, then finally realized it was hopeless and dug a money pouch out of his robes.
"…You vicious little shit! Take this and get the hell off me!"
He grabbed a fistful of coins and flung them clattering across the ground. Apparently he'd decided any more struggling was pure loss.
Dull iron coins tumbled and rolled, catching the sunlight. Harvest time.
"Hehe, great man, may fortune smile on you!"
Afraid someone else might snatch them, I dove and raked the scattered iron coins into both hands as fast as I could. This was the art of creating something from nothing—Begging Divine Art.
Once a decent sum filled my clothes, I bolted, ducking every staring eye.
"Mmm. Pretty solid weight."
Ten iron coins filling my small hands to the brim. This was the currency of the Central Plains. Not a fortune, but if I was careful it would grease my belly for three or four days.
Slap an iron plate over your face and the road to survival opens right up.
As I jiggled the coins, the golden-brown chicken skewers that had set my mouth watering earlier floated back into mind. Why not celebrate my first earnings here with those?
But the moment I took a step toward the stall, a pack of kids came swarming in and blocked my path. Ragged clothes, grime running down their faces—local beggars, by the look of them.
"…Brother, is this okay? That guy looked completely unhinged earlier."
"It's fine. He's got a temper, but he's tiny."
They muttered among themselves while staring at me. Whatever they were, they'd clearly watched my whole performance.
"Hey."
The biggest of them—a bald kid who still only looked about middle-school age by modern standards—spoke up.
"What kind of mongrel are you supposed to be?"
"Me? A mongrel named Dan Mujin."
I'd just made the name up. Struck from the family register, so Cheongjin became Mujin—emptiness. Stick my original surname in front and you get Dan Mujin.
Wait. Saying it out loud, it kinda sounds like pickled radish.
"Right, Dan Mujin. You know this is our turf, or did you just start begging here for fun?"
Apparently it was already too late. The big one snorted and stomped the ground hard enough to make dust jump.
"Beggars these days have zero code. Where the hell did you crawl in from?"
So even beggars had territory rules here. He was furious that I'd begged out in the open on the main road instead of sneaking around.
"So what? You want a cut?"
If it came to fists I'd win hands down. This body was the Heavenly Killing Star, optimized for beating people to death. But what kind of grown man went around thrashing kids—especially beggar kids in the same miserable boat? Depending on the negotiation, I was still willing to show a little mercy.
"A cut? You brain-dead idiot? You're coughing up every last—urk!"
My hand moved before I could stop it at that pure garbage talk.
Thud! The sound of a leather drum being struck, and the big kid went sailing through the air.
I'd been ready to show a rare bit of mercy, and this one had zero professional ethics.
"N-no way…"
"Big Brother Ohchil, in one hit…"
The smaller kids who'd followed him whispered, faces gone paper-white. They clearly hadn't expected a guy that size to fold so completely. They were staring at me like I was an actual monster.
"What? You lot wanna try too?"
The big one was still sprawled in the dirt, both legs twitching. The kids frantically shook their heads at my question.
"Then this turf is mine now?"
"…"
I'd floored their boss and accepted their surrender. This was the Murim—strength was the only rule. After watching someone get launched like a ball, not a single kid had the guts to argue.
Just as every sunrise casts a shadow, even glittering Beijing had its back alleys.
A hideout of worm-eaten wooden posts with a scrap of thatch barely enough to keep the rain off.
"We'll serve you as our big brother."
The day after the rough introduction, the big kid who called himself Ohchil pressed his forehead to the ground and asked to join up. My monstrous strength and expert-level panhandling must have given him ideas.
"Bullshit. Why the hell would I be your big brother?"
"If you're strong and good at making money, you're big brother."
Well. He wasn't wrong. Even as a beggar, the kid understood how the world worked.
"If you know that, why were you trying to snatch someone else's begging money?"
"I've got mouths to feed… I'm ashamed, Big Brother."
Behind him, four smaller kids stood awkwardly with their hands clasped. For someone supposedly supporting them, Ohchil and the rest looked equally filthy and skin-and-bones. The phrase "skin stretched over bones" existed for faces like theirs.
"Begging not going well?"
"It's hard, Big Brother."
Apparently the neighborhood was full of gambling dens and loan-shark money houses that vacuumed up every last coin.
"Plus there are plenty of bastards like that goatee who openly mock beggars."
People got cleaned out at the gambling tables, life was already brutal, and then along came soft targets with no one to avenge them—so contempt and mockery had become the local culture. In short, the absolute worst place to try making a living by begging.
I'd wondered how these scrawny kids had claimed any turf at all. Turns out other beggars had simply abandoned it and they'd scavenged the leftovers.
"And then Big Brother went and skinned the most vicious of those goateed bastards."
The kids stared at me like I was some kind of legend. That rude merchant must have been infamous among the local beggars. I'd already figured while begging that he was no ordinary cheapskate.
Something about the conversation started to grate, though.
"So, Big Brother…"
"Hey. Drop the 'Big Brother.'"
"Why?"
Because it made us sound like gangsters. We weren't some underworld outfit.
"Call me Boss."
It was the title the kids at the orphanage had used for me. I decided to take these homeless brats on as underlings. Even if you claimed a turf, you needed a minimum headcount to manage it. They'd do fine as minions.
"Yes, Boss Mujin."
Hearing that title again felt strangely like slipping back into the old days.
"Is this all the kids?"
Five counting Ohchil, six with me.
"There used to be one more… Ilhong."
"And?"
"Said he was gonna starve to death like this and bailed."
Couldn't take it anymore and deserted. Looking at these kids' stick-thin frames, I couldn't blame him. When beggars can't even beg, starvation starts looking inevitable.
"How do you even squeeze money out of people like you do, Boss?"
Ohchil had clearly been dying to ask; his eyes shone as he stared at me. How? The other side acted like a complete asshole, so I just answered in kind. Trying to milk sympathy from people who openly sneer at you is pointless.
"Simple. Slap an iron plate over your face."
"I already did."
"Slap a thicker one."
Half-measures get you nothing. To survive you have to throw your life into it. The ones with nothing left to lose are always the scariest. Those people, on the other hand—starting with face itself—have way too much to lose.
"This isn't begging. Think of it as a fight to stay alive."
A dusty old pep talk. But it was all I had, so it would have to do. Nobody looks after beggars. Collapse from hunger in the street and all you get is cold laughter. To live, we had to change the way we operated.
Ohchil was a beggar with zero talent for begging.
The first thought that hit him when he saw Mujin was: That guy's completely insane.
Of all people, the kid had latched onto the single most vicious merchant in Beijing. Everyone expected him to fail. Instead he clung like a rabid dog and somehow forced the man to open his own purse. He made that legendary miser so thoroughly sick of him that the merchant paid him just to leave.
Right then Ohchil knew: stick with a bastard like that and at least you won't starve to death.
It turned out to be an extremely accurate judgment.
"My looord!"
The crowded market avenue. Merchants who lived and died by public reputation and credit.
"Y-you little monsters have all gone mad! Let go this instant!"
"My lord! If you just walk away we'll starve to death!"
Boss Mujin had said it: alone you're weak, but together you're strong.
Little kids latching onto a man's pant legs and bursting into full-throated wails right where everyone could see. Three or four children shrieking loud enough to shake the market—impossible not to draw every eye. The merchant became the neighborhood's free entertainment. With both legs pinned and no way to move, he could only grind his teeth and perform a thoroughly involuntary act of charity.
"I've worked this street for ten years and I've never seen bastards as vicious as you!"
He flung a few iron coins down in pure irritation.
"My lord, we've got a lot of mouths—just a little more…"
"Argh, you sticky little pests!"
A few more coins clinked into the begging bowls. Pocket change to a merchant; six days of not starving for the beggars.
"Boss! Look at this!"
"We got this many iron coins!"
For kids who'd been lucky to scrape together a single coin after a whole day of begging, the haul was unheard of. The hollowed-out gourd bowls grew satisfyingly heavy and bright smiles bloomed on every face.
Under Mujin's command the brats grew bolder by the hour. Their begging no longer discriminated by age or gender.
Old Man Jang of the fabric shop, who used to swing a club and scream at them to stay away from his storefront:
"Grandpa Jang, you gonna abandon your grandkids?"
"What kind of rotten little brats…"
The madam of a certain pleasure house who used to kick beggars for sport:
"Mom."
"…Heavens, what are these beggars saying?!"
No one could escape the tiny rebellion of people who had nothing left to lose. In this merciless forest of blades and mountain of swords, a preschooler who wanted to survive had to do whatever it took.
They say all within the four seas are brothers. We were the parents, the relatives, and the siblings the entire world had lost—whether those people agreed or not.
"Boss! The bowls are full again today!"
"Let's hurry back and cook with this!"
Mujin's crew kept winning. Word that they were eating well and living large must have spread, because kids in the same desperate situation started drifting in from every direction. Turning them away cold meant certain starvation and nowhere else to go, so one by one we took them in until the headcount quietly climbed to eight.
When the organization's weight class grows and the mouths to feed multiply, expanding the begging territory little by little is the natural next step.
"Hell with it—today's a good day! Let's throw a real chunk of meat into the brown pork stew!"
Brown pork stew: roots, ancient rice, and discarded scraps of meat all boiled together. Usually it was closer to watery blood-gruel pretending to be meat soup, but today it looked like we might actually chew real flesh.
"Ooooh!"
"Meat! Meat! Meat!"
Growing kids need protein if you want them to shoot up tall. The children who'd scored a slab of meat from a butcher bounced back into the beggar den on excited feet.
Only their rag-covered home already had uninvited guests.
Thud! Thud!
Thin, pitiful screams. A kid surrounded by a pack of strange beggars, getting beaten so hard the dust flew even though it wasn't raining.
"Ack! I'm not Dan Mujin…! Ugh!"
Strange. Why was that name coming out of his mouth?
Dan Mujin tapped Ohchil on the shoulder.
"Who's the one getting stomped over there?"
"Looks like Ilhong."
"Ah, the runaway?"
Ohchil nodded.
"Ugh! Oof! Hrk—wait! Not the face!"
Apparently the prodigal who had left home had come crawling back.