The Head at the Village Gate
The secret cache had been stashed near the route leading to and from Anchuunbugu. Since trading business would bring him back and forth along that road often enough, there was little danger of raising suspicion.
There it is!
Thankfully, the hiding place was untouched. Baduri carefully peeled the mud seal away from the well-hidden entrance and slipped inside.
The storeroom was cool and dry, and everything he had entrusted to it remained safe and sound. Baduri grinned.
He had converted his entire life's savings into goods that were small in volume but worth a fortune: top-grade black sable pelts, ornaments meticulously crafted by Joseon artisans, and fine cheongju rice wine refined enough to make even the haughtiest chieftains lick their lips. Every last item was a sound investment.
He inspected the precious pelts with painstaking care, checking for so much as a single speck of mold. Once he had confirmed that all was in order, he rose to leave—and froze.
His eyes darted about uneasily. Something was off. The seal on the entrance had looked, at a glance, exactly as he had left it weeks ago... and yet something about it seemed subtly wrong.
Baduri stared for a long while at the mud seal he himself had crushed, but it was already broken to bits, impossible to read properly. It's just my imagination. That's all it is. Giahuchuyi's chatter about strangers nosing around got under my skin, that's all.
He did his best to calm himself. Nothing's been taken. Who in the world would break a seal but leave a treasure like this behind?
Even so, his heart refused to settle. Only after a long interval did he cautiously slip back outside.
That was the moment.
"Fine goods in there, I must say."
"Gah!"
Baduri nearly collapsed in fright, but instinct made his hand snap to the hilt of his blade. He had barely begun to draw when a viselike hand clamped around his wrist. The grip was so crushing that Baduri felt his wrist would shatter.
"Well done, Samuhatu! Baduri, now that won't do. I'd like to have a word with you first, you see..."
Baduri's knees went weak. He knew all too well to whom that low, unhurried voice belonged. Despair swallowed him whole; the world went black before his eyes.
"Though I suppose a man with a mouth like yours has no need of a working body, does he? Hm? Has the wretch fainted on me? Oi, Samuhatu. Pour that hard liquor from the storeroom down his throat. It's almost a shame to waste on the likes of him, but so be it."
Baduri really had fainted. A few slaps across the face and a mouthful of fine cheongju brought him around; he wore a dazed expression for a moment before recognizing Kunuma seated across from him—and began to tremble uncontrollably.
"L-Lord Kunuma..."
"Hm? So you still deign to honor me with the title of lord."
Kunuma replied with chilling indifference. "You made me work quite hard to find you, Baduri. And now that I've finally tracked you down, you squander my precious time like this. Shame on you."
"H-how did you..."
Baduri swallowed hard. He had grown too complacent, lulled by the belief that this place lay within Anchuunbugu. Only belatedly did he remember that Kunuma was not a man who cared one whit about the sacrilege of defiling a sacred precinct.
"P-please, spare my life."
"Ha! Spare your life?"
Kunuma turned to his men. "Have you all heard what this worthless speck of grain has to say? 'Spare my life'—so says the wretch who stood by and watched while his master was butchered, only to come crawling now for his own skin. Had you faced me ready to die when my brother was slain, my brother would live, and so would you."
Baduri's mouth had gone bone-dry. Kunuma smiled, cold as frost. "You know why I've come all this way, don't you? You're going to tell me who killed my brother."
Baduri swallowed again. It was the question he had dreaded, just as he had expected. If he wished to live, there was only one path open to him.
"I'll tell you everything, exactly as it happened."
"Heheh... heheheh! So you'll tell me everything, will you?"
Kunuma gave a dry laugh. "As if I didn't already know!"
"What?"
"That you intend to speak the truth! Samuhatu. Kumai."
"Yes, my lord."
"Give our friend here a bit of kneading. Even a cur should be tenderized before it's eaten, after all."
"W-wait a moment!"
There was no time for Baduri to say more. The two brutes called Samuhatu and Kumai each raised a wooden cudgel and set upon him without mercy. A scream tore out into the desolate, uninhabited silence.
Kunuma watched with detached indifference. "Uwaaah..."
The beating went on until the two men's arms gave out. Sweat-soaked through their undershirts, Samuhatu and Kumai turned to look at Kunuma. He shook his head. "Keep going."
The beating resumed. By now Baduri had been beaten half to death.
"Enough. Hand it over here!"
Kunuma took the cudgel from Samuhatu's hand. "I'm a busy man, and I've no mind to waste time on trifles. So from this moment, you will not open your mouth without my leave. Do you understand?"
"Y-yes..."
The instant Baduri managed his answer, Kunuma brought the cudgel down without mercy. "I said no speaking without my leave."
"Uuugh..."
"Good. Let's begin. There's no time, so we'll keep it short. You'll answer my questions with only yes or no. Understood?"
"Y-yes..."
Baduri's swollen lips quivered. "Who killed my brother?"
Baduri was dumbfounded. Wasn't the very first question one that couldn't be answered with a yes or a no? But he had no choice.
"It was... Temusi-i."
"What?"
Kunuma's single eye narrowed. "Temusi-i? That merchant?"
"Yes..."
Kunuma's face twisted. "That settles it. Give this wretch another round!"
"It's the gospel truth!"
Baduri cried out in alarm. "You want me to believe that my brother—my brother!—was killed by a mere merchant? Boys. Beat him!"
The cudgels fell again. "Tell the truth, tell the truth!"
Baduri could not even muster a scream. What more truth am I supposed to tell?
"There's no way Bushuku died at the hands of some peddler!"
"It is... the truth."
Kunuma let out a low grunt. Samuhatu spoke up. "My lord, we've beaten him this long, and he doesn't seem to be lying."
"Bushuku was a fool, but not so great a fool as to die to a trader. Unless someone else was with him, that is..."
"...Gang."
"What? What did he say?"
Kunuma's voice cracked out sharp. Baduri forced the words past his ruined mouth. "Th-there was Tung Jugang."
"Tung Jugang!"
Kunuma's lips curled into a frigid smile. "Of course. That's more like it. It must have been Tung Jugang—nothing else makes sense. Tung Jugang... so that wretch dares to lay hands on my brother."
Muttering thus, Kunuma swung his glare back to Baduri. "And where have those two gone now?"
"I... I don't know."
"Ho? So the dog means to show his master one last scrap of loyalty, does he?"
"I truly don't know! Only that... they went south..."
"South, hm? When did they say they'd return?"
"I don't know..."
With those words, Baduri slumped limp to the ground. "Hmph."
"My lord, what shall we do?"
"Shall we wait for them to come?"
To Samuhatu and Kumai's questions, Kunuma shook his head. "Sitting idle and waiting makes my skin crawl. We will wait—but we'll make them come to us on their own two feet."
His men nodded. Kunuma turned his gaze on Baduri. "Cut off this wretch's head and hang it at the entrance to the Anchuunbugu village. Do that, and Tung Jugang will come running in a blind panic, wherever he may be."
At those words, Irongha panicked. Whatever else, this was a contempt of Anchuunbugu beyond all reason, a sacrilege without precedent. "Commander Kunuma. Isn't that going a step too far?"
"So what if it is?"
At Kunuma's icy retort, Irongha's mouth snapped shut. Let his tongue slip one breath too far, and it would be not one head but two hanging at the entrance of Anchuunbugu.
The order carried not a shred of respect for Anchuunbugu. Yet Kunuma's men carried it out without a word of protest. Kumai drew a hunting knife. Its keenly honed edge gleamed a ghastly, brilliant blue beneath the moonlight.
Baduri flinched, and his eyes flew open—wide, wide with horror. "N... noh..."
Realizing what was about to happen, he threw his head back to shriek one last desperate cry, but Kumai's massive hand clamped over his mouth. He tried to bite down on it, and then something cold pressed against his throat. A flash of searing pain, and hot liquid came flooding into his windpipe, choking it shut.
Spilling blood, gagging and sputtering, never managing even a proper scream, Baduri went still. Kumai waited until he was certain the man had stopped breathing, then raised the knife and severed the head. The blade had dulled against bone, and Kumai spat a low curse before twisting it free.
He lifted Baduri's severed head. Kunuma, who had watched the whole scene in silence, spoke without a flicker of emotion. "Take it and hang it up."
"Yes, my lord."
Samuhatu and Kumai vanished into the darkness. Kunuma turned to the rest of his men. "Now all we need do is wait for Tung Jugang and that Temusi-i fellow to show themselves. They'll come running, mark me."
Irongha remained uneasy. An outrage like this was without precedent. If it ever came to light, there was no telling what manner of reprisal would fall on their heads. But there was nothing to be done about it now.
The gate at the mountain's mouth lay a fair distance from the temple, but Tung Jugang climbed as though he had wings on his feet. Hong-wi and Ho-in were soon panting as well, yet thanks to the conditioning Cha Gyeong-yeon had put them through, they did not fall behind.
"There it is!"
The Iljumun—the One-Pillar Gate marking the temple's first threshold—came into view. Passing beneath its tiled roof set on four pillars, they hurried through the Inwang Gate where statues of the Vajra guardians stood watch, and dashed on toward the Cheonwangmun, the Gate of Heavenly Kings.
By the time only the Bulimun, the final Gate of Non-Duality, lay before them, the clamor of shouting had become unmistakably clear.
"Oof—argh...!"
"You mad monk!"
Hardly had a scream died away than a fresh torrent of Jurchen profanity erupted. It was followed by a roar of booming laughter and a voice that thundered through the courtyard.
"Well, lads? Had your fill of the mallet's flavor yet? Come, come—says the word if it's not enough, and I'll feed you more!"
The four of them pressed themselves flat against either side of the Bulimun's gateposts and craned their necks to peer into the inner courtyard. A dozen-odd hunters, clad in the garb of mountain men, had encircled the monk in a wide ring.
Watching the monk's bearing, Hong-wi marveled inwardly. So that must be Heo Jo. Fierce indeed, just as the stories say.
Well, of course—Heo Jo was the only monk in this temple. Who else could it be? Tung Jugang had not exaggerated; Heo Jo's presence was striking. In truth, before anything else, he hardly looked like a monk at all.
He wore the proper red robe and his head was shaved clean enough, but with his slitted eyes, his chestnut-thistle beard, and a face carved rough and wild, he looked less a man of the cloth than some ham-fisted bandit playing at being a monk. He stood glaring at the hunters, slit eyes lifted, a tteok-me rice-cake mallet clenched in one hand.
As Hong-wi and his companions tried to work out what was happening, one of the mountain men—a chieftain, by the look of him—shouted again. "You there! Do you even know who we are, that you carry on like this?"
The monk snorted. "You the head of this pack? Do I know who you lot are? I know squat, and I care even less!"
"Ha! This monk's a walking corpse if ever I saw one!"
"You're the one festering, friend. Carry on wailing like that before the Buddha's own hall and lightning will find you soon enough."
"Hahahaha...! You all hear that? The monk's gone and worried himself sick over whether we'll be struck by lightning!"
The chieftain burst into scornful laughter. Heo Jo made no reply, only wore the look of a man enduring a tiresome chore. The chieftain pressed on, sneering. "We, you see, are elders in the direct service of none other than the Dudu of the Jianzhou Guard himself. Now do you grasp the fix you're in? The only one here who needs to fear lightning is you."
The Dudu of the Jianzhou Guard? So these are Lee Man-ju's men?
Hong-wi was quietly startled. He could not tell whether they were bluffing. But of late, Lee Man-ju and his son Lee Go-nap-hap had been in a frenzy gathering troops, and word had it they were pulling border scoundrels and bandits alike into their fold. It was entirely possible.
Hong-wi watched Heo Jo's reaction. Would fear take him? Not a hair of Heo Jo's brow so much as twitched; he simply kept glaring at them.
Hong-wi glanced at Tung Jugang and Sonata. Strangely, the two of them looked utterly relaxed. What do we do? his eyes asked. To his astonishment, Tung Jugang only grinned and shook his head. Easy. Just watch. That was what his eyes said.
Sonata flashed a sharp smile. "Stay put. Those fellows are about to get their own sermon."