The Master's Unexpected Burden
Master. Bimu Festival (2) Even as I resigned myself to becoming a clown, I consoled myself with the thought that, being a clown, the work might at least be easier. From what I could roughly gather, if things unfolded as Jo Jae-ui had described, my role would amount to nothing more than greeting well-dressed visitors while dressed in finery myself. For the sake of those seated with me, there would only be expensive meals and fine music to enjoy. Even if the seat itself proved uncomfortable, I had assumed there would be nothing I actually needed to do. Yet the affairs of men are such that when one braces for a slap to the cheek, one is instead struck on the crown of the head. I was reminded once more that few things in this world unfold as one imagines.
Because it was deemed better to maintain an air of mystery than to reveal myself clumsily, my name circulated busily while I myself did little more than meet Jo Jae-ui every few days to hear where my name had been sold next. Ironically, this very arrangement left me swamped inside Jipmudang, answering the flood of questions directed at me and organizing what had been done and what still needed doing. Once again, I concluded that vague predictions and expectations were best avoided altogether.
When I traced how matters had come to this, the root lay in Jo Jae-ui, who had conceived the event. He had taken charge only of securing the venue, lodging, and gathering participants—the commercial aspects—while dumping the entire matter of planning the Bimu Festival's actual content onto Jipmudang. He claimed that since the Bimu itself was a Jipmudang affair, he could not interfere at will, but the truth was obvious. Merchants never concerned themselves with endeavors that brought no profit. Matters such as the educational value of the matches or the fairness of victories held no interest for him; he had simply tossed the troublesome details to us, meaning we should handle them.
Of course, to the people of Jipmudang, those very details were of utmost importance. Though not every participant would be counted among the One Hundred Great Masters, the opportunity to witness dozens of experts clash under fixed conditions was invaluable. It would allow them to supplement vast amounts of previously insufficient or ambiguous data, and perhaps even attempt experiments that had seemed impossible under ordinary circumstances. Thus, the moment they heard the outline, everyone began pouring out opinions and fleshing out plans. Their enthusiasm was so overwhelming that the daily accumulation of documents grew too large to review even after an entire day.
"Come in."
At the reply from within, I quickly opened the door and stepped inside. The Jipmudang investigator, who had been hunched over the table writing something, set down his brush and raised his head to meet my eyes. His eyes were sunken, and stray hairs stuck out from his head; he looked as though he had aged ten years in the past few days.
"What did you summon me for?"
Though I could sympathize with his appearance, I felt no need to pity him. After all, every document that reached him had already passed through my hands first, and I had discarded half of them. In the past week alone, I had worked twice as much as he had without a single night of sleep.
"...I suppose I should stop relying solely on theory for my martial studies and at least learn some basic Yangsheng techniques."
"Why so suddenly?"
"Seeing you makes me envious. I have not once seen you go to bed this past week, yet how is it that you remain so vigorous?"
"There is nothing to envy. If anything, thanks to you I have had to do twice the work. I even considered pretending to sleep and slipping away at the right moment, but that moment never came."
The investigator let out a weary laugh, and I smiled faintly in return. It had been meant as a joke, yet it was also half true. Before I could finish one conversation, another knock would sound at the door. Just when it seemed everyone had finally left, another stack of reading material would appear, and by the time I had skimmed through it, someone else would arrive. Without personally turning visitors away, there was simply no time to be had.
"Come to think of it, your salary is the most efficiently spent item in the Jipmudang budget. It has been barely two months since you arrived, yet while others would still be adjusting, you are already handling twice the workload of anyone else."
"Indeed. It is absurd how I somehow ended up shouldering tasks I never agreed to take on. If I am to feel any less wronged, you had best compensate me with something substantial later."
"Of course. What sort of gift would you prefer?"
"I have nowhere to put things, so something edible would be best."
After voicing this complaint, I took the liberty of sitting on the low chair before the table. Soon the investigator rose with a teacup in one hand and approached. Having met in similar fashion several times by now, we had both grown too weary to observe formalities.
"So, why did you call for me?"
"The list of those who have registered so far has come in."
"Ah, everyone will be pleased. But why do you look so grim? Do not tell me no one registered in advance."
To study swordsmanship, one needed swordsmen; to study saber techniques, one needed sabermen. Naturally, Jipmudang wished to know the participants' names in advance so they could prepare their research plans. Since the Geumjeong Book Club also needed to arrange lodging and meals, we had decided to accept advance registrations from a month prior until the day of the event.
"No, there are many. In fact, rather too many."
The investigator spoke and handed me several sheets of paper. At a glance, they appeared to be the names and brief self-introductions of those who had registered early. Judging by the length per person and the number of pages, the total easily exceeded a hundred. Compared to previous years, when only two or three had participated, this was an enormous number. Advance registration alone had already filled the originally planned total attendance. Fortunately, the Geumjeong Book Club had prepared far more space than needed, so there was still ample room, and the tournament format could accommodate the numbers without issue.
I asked, "Since the field halves with each round anyway, could we not simply extend the schedule a little? It does not seem like a major problem."
"Look here."
Following the investigator's finger, I saw familiar surnames: Paeng, Gongsun, Murong—names that had appeared in martial tales even before I had entered the martial world. Their ages were at most in their early thirties, suggesting they were young scions of prestigious families who had come seeking to display their skills and build their reputations.
"The heirs of great houses. Is that the issue?"
"Here as well."
Beneath them were surnames I had never encountered before. While names like Jang Bo or Dongun were unremarkable, there were quite a few like Wang Chil or Jeon Sam—names that sounded more suited to young inn boys. A few were in their late twenties, but most had passed thirty, many hovered around forty, and a few had even reached fifty. Even without deep knowledge of the martial world, the reason was clear. My insistence on recruiting anyone confident in their own martial arts, rather than requiring some bizarre level of attainment, had likely played a major role. Those from good families who possessed both the means and the confidence to pursue such adventures were naturally the young. Those who were skilled and older already held positions within their households; why would they need to participate in something like this? But for those without such advantages, they could not afford to stand on ceremony. Moreover, they had begun their martial training later than those from famous sects and had not learned peerless techniques, so they would only gain confidence in their abilities after accumulating real experience in the martial world.
Yet while I understood why this had happened, I still could not see why it posed a problem. After a moment's thought, I asked, "Is there perhaps a rule against having heirs of great houses compete against those who are not?"
It sounded absurd at first, but one could never be sure. Laws existed not only as national statutes but also as the private codes upheld by street gangs in back alleys. Given how vast and populous the martial world was, it would not be strange if there were unwritten or written rules that applied only among martial artists—something like a financial code created by the Martial Alliance, for instance. And rules usually existed for a reason; unless they were truly objectionable, it was best to observe them.
"I would not call it a formal rule, but... would they not find it uncomfortable?"
"In what specific way?"
"Since this is our first time holding a Bimu Festival, they would have assumed we would simply match them against similar opponents without much thought. If we proceed as is, after the first few rounds it will be obvious that seniors and juniors will be facing one another. The heirs of famous families will resent being matched against seniors with no chance of victory, while those seniors will dislike the very notion of competing against juniors who, despite coming from prestigious backgrounds, are far beneath them in seniority."
"Hmm..."
The words themselves were not incomprehensible, but honestly, I wondered whether a gap of less than thirty years truly mattered so much. After all, enlightenment did not accumulate in strict proportion to time or effort invested. A problem that had remained unsolved for ten years could suddenly yield to an unexpected trigger, while progress could also stall for years at a time. It was common for people to waste two or three decades or to surpass them depending on fortune and timing. Was a difference between one's early twenties and one's forties really so uncomfortable? Consider Baek, for instance—he was not yet twenty, yet he had defeated the Black Poison King, one of the One Hundred Great Masters. The Black Poison King was said to be a master in his prime; if a mere average difference of ten-odd years was so intolerable, then losing to Baek, who was young enough to be his son, would make the Black Poison King the greatest fool under heaven.
Still, if one considered a child who had not yet reached the age of wisdom competing against a robust young man under the same conditions, that was somewhat more understandable. There was a difference between a fully grown adult and a child who still had growing to do.
The investigator sighed. "That said, if we were to separate the participants from major sects and those who are not, there would be complaints about that as well... Those from smaller or mid-sized sects are particularly sensitive to such discrimination. Even if we tried to persuade each one individually, with so many people, discord would inevitably arise..."
"Then what if we divide them by age?"
"Age?"
"Those below the age of wisdom as the youth division, those from the age of wisdom to thirty as the young adult division—something like that. It is wordplay, but if we frame it as dividing them according to the duration of their training rather than their origins, would that not be more acceptable?"
Regardless of my own thoughts, there was no need to force people together when both sides would be displeased. As a bonus, we could also separate the occasional child below the age of wisdom to prevent accidents. That seemed advantageous.
"Hmm... People will probably just accuse us of playing word games..."
"There seem to be a few collateral relatives from the great houses who are barely over thirty. It would be unfortunate for them, but at least it would give them something to use as an excuse, would it not?"
"...Well, even if it is just covering our eyes and crying 'caw,' it would still be better than cramming everyone together. Very well. Will there be any problems if we increase the number of divisions like that?"
"A few plans will need revision. Still, if we inform them, they will handle it themselves, will they not?"
"You say that, yet you will probably stay up all night again writing annotations on how to revise them. From what I heard yesterday, the Jejes seem to like you far more than they like me. At this rate, you will steal the head's position from me."
The investigator chuckled. A shiver ran down my spine, and I shuddered once before replying.
"...Do not say such frightening things. Once this event is over, I am simply a Jeje again. And if another such occasion arises, I have already done my share, so please assign it to the other Jejes in turn and give it to me last. I have suffered enough."
Come to think of it, the process by which I had ended up in a position that could be called event organizer was itself rather absurd. Since none of the Jejes in Jipmudang had any personal acquaintance with Jo Jae-ui, they had begun bringing their proposals to me—the one known to meet with him weekly for reasons unknown. I, unaware of the implications, had assumed they simply wanted my opinion and had given my honest assessments: this seemed feasible, that did not. After this happened several times, a system had somehow taken root in which plans passed through my hands before reaching both the investigator and Jo Jae-ui.
When the investigator first heard this story, he had burst into laughter. I could understand why he found it amusing, so I had said nothing.
Before returning to my room, I paused to rest a little, holding a rolled stack of papers in one hand while sipping the tea the investigator had offered. At the edge of the stack, a familiar name caught my eye.
Manhwageom, Yu Baek.
It was perhaps inevitable. Though I could not quite feel it, Yu Baek was apparently the most talked-about figure in the martial world at present. His feat of defeating a One Hundred Great Master, his youth—almost childhood—and even his face, which his female companions from famous families described as being like white jade (though I myself could only picture it as pale), meant that even in places he had never visited, there was no one who did not know of him. He was truly playing the role of the world's protagonist to the fullest. If the Central Plains' first Bimu Festival was being held, then the Ten Thousand Flowers Sword Yu Baek would naturally have to be there.
However, if I attended, I would inevitably encounter him at least once, and I was uncertain how I should behave. He had surely not yet completed the homework I had assigned, so for now we were strangers. Yet the image of Jipmudang's Jeje Yu facing the renowned Ten Thousand Flowers Sword Yu Baek was difficult to imagine.
As I mulled this over and swallowed the tea I had been rolling in my mouth, the investigator, who had been watching me steadily, spoke.
"You. If I create a new position as head of the administrative affairs office this time, would you consider taking it on?"
"..."
"I will raise your salary, and grant you separate leave as well... Wait, at least hear me out to the end. There is no harm in simply listening, is there?"
"...The tea was good."