The Burden of Responsibility
Ten gold coins. It was good news, at least for now, but there was one thing I needed to confirm.
"So, did you bring them with you?"
"No! I told them I'd come meet the author alone. They might've sent someone to tail me, but at least from what I could see, there was no one."
"Well done."
Even though he was a traveling merchant who could lie as easily as breathing, this was why I trusted Yang So-chang with my affairs. He had a sense of integrity and quick wits, and he never overstepped his bounds in human relationships. Knowing he would do his best to keep any fallout from reaching me made the riskier propositions he brought me feel far less burdensome.
"So? You'll write it, right? You don't even need to give me the promised thirty percent. Twenty will do, or if you write the next volume too, ten percent is fine. What do you say?"
"That won't be necessary. We agreed on thirty percent when we first made the deal, so take your thirty."
Yang So-chang's face lit up, his eyes turning red at the edges. For a grown man, he cried far too easily. Then again, three gold coins was nothing to sneeze at.
"In exchange, the conditions stay the same. I'll only provide the manuscript. All the troublesome parts are yours to handle, Yang."
His expression stiffened. Something was bothering him.
"Ah... that might be difficult. They insisted on meeting the author in person. If we're signing a contract, they want to see your face at the same time. They even said they'd keep it secret if needed. Can't we work something out?"
"Hmm..."
Of course. Even I would feel the same. This wasn't some small sum of a few coins or taels—it was a ten-gold-coin deal. It was only natural to feel uneasy about handing over that kind of money to someone whose face you'd never seen. Thinking about it, I didn't have any grand reason for living in hiding. I was simply afraid of getting entangled with people and the trouble or danger that might bring. Even so, over the past few years I'd been visiting the village like this, so it wasn't as if I was truly living in seclusion. Besides, I wasn't a martial artist. What harm could come from a wuxia novelist gaining a bit of fame? At worst, I'd receive a 5,700-character threatening letter.
"If it's just to see my face, then fine."
"Great! Then right away—"
"Ah, not right away. They've come from far away anyway. They can wait a few more days."
"Is there something important going on?"
Yang So-chang frowned slightly. From his perspective, he had every reason to be impatient—three gold coins were on the line. But for me, this was a matter of "if it works out, great; if not, so be it." I had more pressing business to attend to.
"Something like that. By the way, Old Man Hwang."
"What is it?"
"Do you know where Scholar Jang's house is? I've run into him a few times, but I don't know where he lives."
"At the northern edge of the village, there's a large house set apart from the others. That's Scholar Jang's place. You're heading there?"
"It won't take long. Do you have any smoked meat?"
"I do."
"Pack plenty. Yang here will pay for it."
"You tell busy people to wait days, then say something ridiculous like that? If you've changed your mind, just say so. If you're going tomorrow, forget the meat—I'll rent out a proper inn and treat you properly."
Yang So-chang's lips jutted out in a pout, but I didn't feel like indulging him. After all, he'd already met the people from the Gold Tripod Merchant Alliance.
"You clearly said earlier that you'd met them. Are you asking me to believe you didn't receive even a single favor from them?"
This world had its similarities to the China of my past life, but also its differences. One thing that remained exactly the same was the culture of exchanging favors before making requests. Especially when the other party was the wealthiest merchant group in the Central Plains.
"Ahem. They weren't as impressive as their reputation suggested. And of course, they would've prepared something bigger for the young lady's share."
"So, will you pay or not?"
"...I'll pay."
"Then pack plenty. As much as you can."
Old Man Hwang burst into laughter at our back-and-forth. I chuckled along with him, while Yang So-chang forced a sulky expression. Once we'd laughed enough, Old Man Hwang stood up and began gathering a cloth bundle. I rose as well—I had somewhere to be.
"By the way, why are you going to Scholar Jang's house? Lately, he looks at you like you're his mortal enemy. I doubt you'll receive a warm welcome."
He was right. I'd originally planned to eat a bowl of chicken noodles at the inn across the way and take my time, but now it seemed I'd be having an uncomfortable lunch at someone else's house. A sigh escaped me.
"Tell me about it. I've never hated Scholar Jang, but somehow I'm the one being hated. I suppose I should go hear what he has to say."
The only sound in the chilly atmosphere was the clinking of chopsticks. The beautiful tradition of hospitality existed in this world as well. Offering a meal to a guest was basic courtesy, and Scholar Jang, who prided himself on being a scholar after passing the same examination as me, naturally couldn't mistreat a visitor to his home. Though "couldn't" was probably more accurate than "wouldn't"—it was all for the sake of appearances.
Throughout the meal, he ate like a miser, taking a spoonful of rice before glaring at me. His feelings were obvious. I'd lost my appetite long ago, so I set down my chopsticks with most of my food untouched. It was rude in front of the host, but did it matter?
"It was delicious. I'm sorry I couldn't bring a gift, coming in such a hurry."
"That's fine. You're not a scholar—you're a martial artist, and a woman at that. If I were to criticize you for lacking proper etiquette, I'd only make myself a laughingstock."
The implication was clear: What does some martial artist girl who hasn't even taken the preliminary exams know about writing? Her behavior alone shows her true level.
Since he seemed to enjoy roundabout speech in writing, I decided to play along.
"Being strict with oneself and lenient with others—Scholar Jang is truly a gentleman. Then naturally, resentment should stay far away, shouldn't it?"
After finishing, I shot him a glance. Scholar Jang's face instantly turned pale. That was enough confirmation. It wasn't some overzealous family member acting on their own—he had personally ordered it. The debt was clear. Now it was time to decide how much to collect.
"A gentleman is composed but not arrogant. How could I make assumptions so carelessly? Still, since I haven't heard any complaints, it doesn't seem like anyone hates me at the moment."
It was a long way of asking if he had evidence. Denying everything when the guilt was obvious wasn't a wise choice. Even in the highly institutionalized legal system of my past life, the crime of being detestable existed.
"They say that if you reach forty and still earn people's hatred, your life is over. How fortunate for you. I couldn't bring a proper gift, but as a traveler, I do have one story that might help. Would you like to hear it?"
That was a self-own if I'd ever heard one. Not that it mattered— to Scholar Jang, I looked like a girl not even twenty.
"A gentleman doesn't conform to the times. What use would gossip from the road be? Only—"
"There's a band of bandits appearing on the nearby roads. Wouldn't warning the people of this house help you accumulate virtue?"
"...I suppose it would. Thank you for the information."
I cut him off before he could start another pointless battle of words. Not bringing a gift was rude, but refusing one was rude too. More than that, I wanted to wrap this up.
"By the way, has Scholar Jang ever thought about what would happen to a woman kidnapped by such vicious bandits?"
"Propriety says not to listen to what is improper, not to speak of what is improper. What is your intention in bringing up such things?"
I studied Scholar Jang's face as he answered. There was no surprise, no change in his expression. That meant he hadn't been caught off guard by the bandits' attempt to kidnap me. He'd declared it improper to even mention what might happen to me—meaning he knew exactly what that would entail.
"Hah..."
Sighs kept escaping me. Nothing was ever simple. Bandits and martial artists existed outside the law, so whether they lived or died was none of the authorities' concern. But commoners registered in the census were different. Even a country scholar like him was still a gentleman who had passed the imperial examinations. Killing him would lead to endless complications. I just wanted to drop everything and go home to sleep. But how could I? I was a responsible adult. I'd decided to be one nine years ago.
"Do you know why cultivation methods are called heart methods?"
"What nonsense is this?"
Scholar Jang frowned and glared at me.
"Because gong is philosophy, and it forms the heart. From what I see, Scholar Jang has studied quite a bit but understands very little."
"What did you say? Are you finished talking?"
The wuxia novels circulating in the market were quite vivid and entertaining, but they fell short in terms of accuracy. One such shortcoming was depicting internal energy as some invisible fuel. I didn't think that was right. If internal energy were truly like that, why would enlightenment be necessary? Why would heart demons appear? Internal energy was the heart. The deep understanding of one's refined techniques and oneself led to conviction, which strengthened the heart. The power of a strong heart influenced the outside world through the body, which was why it was called internal force. Therefore, internal force wasn't something only martial artists possessed. Since I hadn't trained any techniques, I couldn't use it for things like striking from a distance or emitting force, but I could naturally project an aura to intimidate the weak or bolster someone's courage. What people called spirit or dignity was one form of internal force.
"Your heart seems terribly narrow, so I'll help open it up a little. Relax and receive it."
"What are you—!"
Even an unremarkable talent, if they spent over a century pondering alone, would accumulate considerable knowledge and confidence. I might not match the monks and Taoists of Shaolin or Wudang who were called living Buddhas or immortals, but I was confident my heart cultivation was quite advanced for an ordinary person living in the secular world. That said, constantly wearing a stern expression and boasting about my studies would be ridiculous, so I only revealed it when necessary and kept it well hidden otherwise. Like now.
I'd only frightened the bandits, but Scholar Jang's sins ran deeper. When I hardened my resolve, the internal force grew stronger as well. A fierce current of energy pierced into Scholar Jang's mind, flowed through his marrow, and withdrew. He let out a soundless scream and collapsed onto the table, rolling his head against it. I'd cleared every blocked meridian in his heart—it was an opportunity any martial artist would dream of. But Scholar Jang's vessel was too narrow to benefit from it. Jang Bo, who had barely passed the preliminary exams but failed to secure a proper position and had come to the countryside to play the local tyrant, couldn't withstand the early senility that struck just after turning fifty. He lost his mind completely and became a madman.
"Baek-ah! Are you there?"
I'd finally finished everything I needed to do in the village and was heading home with a light step. For some reason, I couldn't sense Baek's presence. It was unusual, but I assumed he'd gone for a walk in the nearby mountains. He must be troubled too, after all. He'd gone to kill his master but couldn't do it.
I'd given Yang So-chang a few days' leeway to set a deadline for my own procrastinating self. Before meeting him, I wanted to hear Baek's full story and organize my thoughts. As I unpacked, I took out the smoked pork and set aside enough for two people to eat heartily. I planned to have an honest conversation over meat for the first time in a while.
"I should ask if there's anything he wants, too."
In a little while, ten gold coins would be in my hands. I couldn't think of anything I particularly needed, but Baek was at that age where he might have desires. Whatever it was, as long as it could be bought with money, ten gold coins would more than suffice. If it wasn't enough, I could always write a few more wuxia novels, annoying as that would be.
"...Come to think of it, what about dinner? Why is he still out at this hour?"
Skipping meals was a bad habit. He hadn't even finished growing yet. Not that saying anything would matter—it wasn't me who cooked anyway, it was him. Besides, even if he came back now, it would be too late. On a day like this, I should be the one cooking. Just wait. I'll show him I can do it too.
And a week passed, but the disciple never returned.