The Sworn Man of the Road
Hong-wi's smiling face filled Teolbo's vision before he could even catch his breath.
Teolbo asked weakly,
"Why... why didn't you finish it?"
Hong-wi shrugged.
"Facing a man of your caliber, should I really end a contest over a single slip? Come now, get up and let us duel again properly."
Teolbo did not answer.
He simply sank to the ground where he stood, then let out a hearty laugh.
"I can't. The match is already decided. I lost!"
"Seongnime?"
At Teolbo's sudden declaration, the porters' eyes went round as saucers.
Turning to his stunned men, Teolbo laughed with renewed vigor.
"What are you lot gawking at? Get over here and bow before your new chieftain!"
At that, the porters glanced at one another, then quickly fell into line and prostrated themselves.
Hong-wi extended his hand to Teolbo.
Teolbo seized it with a hand like the lid of an iron cauldron and hauled himself upright, then, following the custom of the frontier tribes, offered a half-kneeling bow of respect.
"Accept my bow, Chieftain."
"My thanks!"
Hong-wi started to say something more, then broke into a grin.
"But you know, I still haven't learned your name. Might you tell me now?"
"Why, of course, Chieftain. Allow me to greet you properly once more. I am called Iharachi."
Iharachi—or Yihallachok, as it was written in the records—answered respectfully.
Hong-wi laughed aloud.
"Iharachi, is it... Come, stand up! To have fought such a splendid match and met a fine fellow besides—even if we cover less ground today, I'll treat you and your men well."
"You heard him, everyone! The Chieftain's buying the drinks!"
When Iharachi bellowed the news, the porters let out a roar of cheers.
Hong-wi personally pulled a wineskin down from the baggage.
It was fine cheongju rice wine, originally packed as gifts and merchandise for sale. Far too refined to be swilled down the throats of porters, but Hong-wi did not begrudge a drop of it.
They tore strips off boiled pork with their fingers, washed them down with wine, and ate and drank with abandon until the merriment carried them all the way to drunkenness.
From that day on, Iharachi and his porters never caused them any trouble.
From that moment he became Hong-wi's faithful right hand—the first native confidant Hong-wi had won for himself in the land of the frontier tribes.
"A lucky omen right out of the gate."
Cha Gyeong-yeon smiled wryly.
It was certainly a good sign. But Iharachi's opening of his heart meant far more than mere omen.
Once he and Hong-wi's party had opened up to one another, they discovered in their very first conversation that they had gained a surprisingly useful man.
Iharachi was no mere head porter, it turned out.
Years of trailing merchant caravans had made him intimately familiar with every corner of Jianzhou.
Which roads were easy and which were dangerous, which villages would need what and when, where any given local product could be found—there was nothing he did not know.
Hong-wi was genuinely impressed, and pulled out a map to verify it.
Ho-in spoke up.
"If you know all this, why are you a porter chief?"
"Well, truth be told, I'd been planning to start my own caravan with these fellows here, once I'd scraped together the capital."
Iharachi laughed.
"But that capital doesn't pile up easy, see. It's no small thing, running a caravan."
"That's true enough."
"So, well... I'll be honest with you, my lord. You looked young to me—awfully young to be calling yourself head of a caravan all of a sudden—and it didn't sit right with me. That's why I acted rough with you."
"Ah..."
Only now did Hong-wi's party fully understand Iharachi's lukewarm reception.
It hadn't simply been clannishness toward Joseon men.
Iharachi had his own dream tucked away in his heart—the dream of becoming a caravan master himself. He had spent years stuck as a mere porter while this fresh-faced young upstart waltzed in and claimed the title, and it had gnawed at him.
"But you won me over quick enough. Forgive me for my rudeness, I beg you."
"Then I'm the one who should be thanking you."
At Iharachi's guileless words, Hong-wi smiled back.
"By the way—what brings you to Sahalcha, if I may ask? Truth is, that's why I trusted you even less at first."
"What about Sahalcha... The road's a bit long, but I'd heard it was a place worth trading in."
"It is, my lord. This land's called Sahalcha because the black sables thrive here—sahal, you see. But Sahalcha is not a place you can just wander into, not so easily."
"Why not?"
Iharachi's expression turned slightly startled.
"Didn't the lord Pushan Hadar tell you anything?"
"Not a word, really. In fact, he was the one who suggested we try Sahalcha."
Iharachi said nothing, his face clouding over as if lost in thought.
Hong-wi's party exchanged glances.
It was hardly inconceivable. Pushan Hadar was no philanthropist, after all—no man willingly hands over a profitable trade route he's already tested the waters with. Still, as newcomers they could hardly afford to be choosy, and if the rumors held true, Sahalcha was indeed a place where they might claim a share.
"Something happened at Sahalcha?"
"It's remote—you have to travel far beyond Hwangseongpyeong, and the road is treacherous. Even riding hard, it takes a good nine days."
He curled his right index finger and folded it under his thumb and middle finger. The number nine.
"Now think on it, my lord. A dangerous road, days of travel, and word spreads that merchants are carrying valuable goods through. What happens then?"
"Bandits."
Hong-wi said quietly.
Iharachi nodded.
"Just so. And lately the brigands have grown bolder than ever. Under Lee Man-ju—that is, under his eldest son, the Kunaha—every manner of robber and reaver has been gathering."
Iharachi lowered his voice.
Hong-wi recalled what Jang Hui-sun had told him. The Kunaha—Lee Go-nap-hap—was assembling men at his father's command, but had no talent for feeding them, and so turned a blind eye to their plundering.
"And on top of that, word is Lee Man-ju means to declare war on Sahalcha itself."
"War?"
Ho-in was taken aback.
War? He whipped around to Hong-wi in alarm—only to be startled again by how calm the young man's face was.
As if he had already known.
"Yes, I had heard something of the sort. I took it for idle rumor, though. As I understood it, Sahalcha belongs to the Jianzhou Guard and pays tribute every year."
"That's so. And that's what most call it—idle rumor. But this year Sahalcha sent men to protest that Lee Man-ju's tribute demands had grown too heavy. Something is stirring, and it doesn't smell right."
"Hmm."
Hong-wi did not dismiss Iharachi's concern lightly. Still, the political currents of the frontier were something a native like Iharachi would understand better than outsiders ever could.
"Any other problems?"
"The people of Sahalcha are famous among our frontier folk for not trusting strangers. A Joseon man like you... forgive me, my lord, but winning their hearts won't come easy."
That much was understandable. The frontier tribes did not open their hearts to anyone outside their own blood. And by his account, the people of Sahalcha were especially insular.
"So you're saying I'd do best to give Sahalcha up?"
"That depends, my lord, on how bold a man you are—and on how much you trust this humble servant."
Hong-wi studied Iharachi steadily. The man seemed to have something he was relying on.
"You're confident?"
"Why, of course I am."
Iharachi declared it without a flicker of doubt.
Hong-wi regarded him for a long moment, then nodded.
"Then I'll trust you. What's your plan?"
"Truth be told, the Sahalcha people were never fond of foreign merchants to begin with. But last year the famine struck hard around these parts. Trade has soured, and now is the hungry season, when grain runs short. Given the times, they can't afford to turn their noses up at you."
Hong-wi nodded as well. The goods he had prepared were grain, salt, and cloth. Bulky and heavy, yes—but practical wares the tribesmen could hardly refuse.
"And even if war does come to Sahalcha, there's one man they cannot touch—Lord Tumut Chahar, chieftain of the Tumut Hala."
"Who is he?"
"The Tumut Hala is the mightiest lineage in all Sahalcha. Every clan in the region split off from the Tumut as their Mukun. Chieftain Chahar is, you might say, the head of the house. If you mean to claim a share of Sahalcha, my lord, you must pay your respects to him first."
"Ho."
Hong-wi was astonished.
"How come you to hand over such precious information to me so freely?"
Iharachi answered sheepishly, scratching the back of his head.
"It's nothing. A man serves a man he's chosen to serve—that's only right, isn't it?"
"Gaining you was truly a gift from heaven itself!"
Hong-wi murmured this, then clapped Iharachi on the back.
"I look forward to working with you!"
"The honor is mine, my lord."
Iharachi grinned from ear to ear.
He looked fierce, and in truth he was a rough man to the bone. But once he acknowledged a man, he was honest to a fault and unfailingly generous—a straightforward soul through and through.
Following Iharachi's advice, Hong-wi's party resolved to head for Tumut Village first.
It lay still farther north, deeper into Sahalcha. The road there was as treacherous as promised, but Iharachi proved a capable guide.
He knew every choke point where bandits might lurk and every spot fit for rest, and he steered them carefully around them all. Even the seasoned Cha Gyeong-yeon did not stint on his praise.
Still, once or twice they crossed paths with men who looked very much like bandits.
Astonishingly, Iharachi seemed to know them by face. He exchanged some words with their leader, then returned grinning, sharing the frontier-style greeting of a clasped embrace around the waist. The men even waved farewell to Hong-wi's party as they parted.
Hong-wi asked,
"Men you knew?"
"Just so. We're han-hyeongjede—brothers."
"Brothers?"
Ho-in frowned slightly. Fumbling through the frontier words he'd managed to memorize, he asked—following Cha Gyeong-yeon's advice, he too had been struggling to pick up the tribesmen's tongue.
"You mean... same mother? So you all share one mother?"
"No."
Iharachi shook his head.
Ho-in was baffled.
"Then you're not true brothers?"
"No, true brothers. Just not the same parents."
"Then how are you brothers?"
"Same village."
"Same village? The same house?"
"No. We live in different places."
Iharachi shook his head again.
Ho-in tilted his own head.
"Different places, and yet—"
"Of course. We're of the same Hala."
Ho-in scowled, plainly no closer to understanding.
Iharachi burst out laughing.
Ho-in tried a shrug.
"I was worried they might be bandits."
"Bandits? Well, you could call them that, I suppose. But they're all good men, every one."
"Bandits, and good men..."
"Out here, bandit and farmer are two sides of the same palm, my friend. Flip the hand and it's done."
Ho-in simply gave up trying to follow.
The world of the frontier tribes was a hall of mirrors to him. Perhaps someday he would come to understand it...
Cha Gyeong-yeon watched him with an amused grin.
In any case, thanks to Iharachi the journey to Sahalcha passed without a single serious incident.
On the morning of the twelfth day, they reached a vantage point from which Tumut Village was visible in the distance.
Iharachi spoke.
"That is the village where Lord Tumut Chahar resides."
"Indeed—it's quite a sizable settlement."
Even from afar, it looked to be roughly a hundred and fifty households or more. By the standards of the frontier tribes, that made it a very large village indeed.
Moreover, the village was ringed by a low wooden palisade reinforced with thornbushes.
Ho-in murmured,
"It looks like a fairly prosperous village."
"Merchants used to come and go here in great numbers. Not so much lately..."
Iharachi turned to Hong-wi and went on.
"By now even this village must be running short of grain. They'll welcome you."
Just as Iharachi said, winter had only just loosened its grip—it was the hungry spring famine, that lean stretch before the barley harvest when stores began to run thin. The rice and salt Hong-wi's party had brought would be a gift beyond price to these people.
"Shall we go in, my lord?"
"Let us go."
As Hong-wi's party approached, the village evidently noticed the strangers as well.
A sharp warning cry rang out across the plain, and moments later the village's able-bodied men came swarming out, each arming himself as he came.
Ho-in clicked his tongue at the sight of their weapons.
With arms like those, could they even stand up to bandits, let alone anything else?
What they held were crudely made hunting spears. Look closely at the heads, and they were chipped from stone or bone. Some had nothing of the sort, and carried only clubs. A few were armed with hunting bows, their craftsmanship equally rough.
A brief silence settled over the ground between them.
Iharachi stepped forward first.
He raised both hands to show he came in peace.
"We have come to trade."
The villagers gave no answer.
They only glared at Hong-wi's party with wary eyes.
Ho-in grew uneasy. Their weapons were unimpressive, it was true—but with suspicion like this, how could any trade be done?
He stole a quiet word with Cha Gyeong-yeon.
"Brother Cha, I'm not sure this is going anywhere. I know the Sahalcha people are wary of strangers, but this looks worse than we were told."
"It won't be. When strangers announce themselves as guests come to trade, the custom of hospitality demands they not be turned away coldly."
"You think tribesmen will honor that?"
"If anything, the tribes observe it more strictly than we do."
"Then why are they so silent?"
"Jianzhou's been in an uproar lately, so they're on edge, that's all. If they'd taken us for enemies, we'd have been eating arrows by now. Patience—let's wait and see."
And then it happened.
The villagers parted to either side.
From within the village came an old man, his hair streaked white. His back was somewhat stooped, but his eyes held a keen intelligence, and every step carried a quiet dignity.
Chieftain of this village and head of the Tumut clan—it could only be Tumut Chahar himself.