Fallen Angel (2)
"Let's grab some food first."
"Food? We ate breakfast before leaving."
"You did? I tossed mine out."
"Why'd you waste it like that?"
Why'd I waste it? Why the hell would anyone eat grass roots and tree bark? Sure, Wudang was a Daoist sect, but this was pushing it. I'd always thought that.
"You're hungry anyway."
"Yeah, true."
Especially at Myeong-gyeong's age—he was right in the middle of a growth spurt. I smirked inwardly with wicked glee.
Myeong-gyeong had no clue what was running through my head.
First things first: I needed to win him over to my side, not Cheong-hwa's. That would make things a lot smoother moving forward.
Especially if word got back to Cheong-hwa about me starting a merchant group. That'd be a headache waiting to happen.
I could've eaten in Gyunhyeon at the foot of Wudang Mountain, but I didn't.
Gyunhyeon was too familiar to Wudang folks, and it was a backwater dump with nothing worth eating anyway. I'd tried the noodle place there in my past life a few times—noodles crawling with curly hairs. I still had no idea where those came from. All I could hope was armpits.
So I set our destination for Xiangyang, the closest bustling spot to Gyunhyeon.
"Senior brother. You know how to ride a horse?"
"Nope."
I clicked my tongue at Myeong-gyeong's confident reply. Figures—endless martial arts training on Wudang Mountain left no time for riding lessons. And the terrain wasn't exactly flat enough for stables anyway.
"You planning to ride one?"
"Yep."
"No way."
Myeong-gyeong crossed his arms with a stubborn scowl. I frowned at the sudden tantrum.
"Why not?"
"It's good qinggong practice. Builds stamina too. Riding skips the training."
He was trying for a stern tone, but a kid who hadn't even hit puberty yet? It just came out whiny.
"Can't we just take it easy for once?"
"A martial artist never chooses the easy path."
"Then food's gonna be late."
"Doesn't matter. I can handle starving."
What pointless confidence. At this rate, I might report Wudang for child abuse.
"Fine, have it your way."
Taking my words as surrender, Myeong-gyeong puffed out his chest triumphantly.
On the way to Xiangyang, Myeong-gyeong meddled nonstop. Telling me to use Cheongunbo out of nowhere, forbidding breaks in the shade, nitpicking my polite directions to passersby as unmanly.
I glanced up at the sky, and Cheong-hwa's face flickered in my mind. Myeong-gyeong was playing the perfect little proxy right now.
Damn it.
But I'd seen this coming. Cheong-hwa must've given him orders—probably just to nag me. Still, no way was I letting a brat push me around.
Fine then. Like he said, time to practice Cheongunbo. I had the manual Cheong-su had given me.
I pulled it out, and Myeong-gyeong's eyes lit up.
"Finally motivated? I'll teach you. Cheongunbo works like..."
"I'll try it solo first. Ask if I get stuck."
I cut him off. He fumed about disrespecting a senior brother, but I was already deep into the manual.
Come to think of it, I'd had this book for a while but never cracked it open till now. Guess that showed how little I cared about martial arts back then. But now that I'd resolved to train, no slacking.
Myeong-gyeong muttered beside me, but I ignored him and unfolded Cheongunbo as described. It was Wudang's intro lightness skill, the foundation for all their arts—soft, fluid, flexible.
Having learned quick movements already, poses that used to trip me up flowed easily now.
A sidelong glance: Myeong-gyeong looked antsy, dying to catch me slipping but failing. No surprise—my lightness skill was already better than his.
I pressed on silently with Cheongunbo, and since he didn't nitpick during practice, the trip stayed peaceful. He kept wanting to chat, but my nonstop training left him sulking.
"Junior brother. Just Cheongunbo? Practice other stuff too."
"Master this first."
"Nothing I can teach you?"
"Nah, I'm good."
He'd humbled his pride to offer help, but I played it cool. Back to shrinking violet.
I left him stewing on purpose. He'd learn soon enough: nagging me nonstop wasn't doing him any favors.
He'd said this was his first real outing too. Probably more excited than me. But traveling with a cold fish? No fun.
I eyed him and paused Cheongunbo.
"Xiangyang's coming up."
"Y-yeah!"
His face brightened a bit. Already checking my mood. Kids wear it all on their sleeves—handy.
"Xiangyang's got tons of great noodle spots."
"Really?"
"But first, quick detour."
"Where?"
"To collect some money."
"Money? Why?"
"Money's what you need most in this world."
All we'd brought from Wudang were a few portable rice pills. Tragic. Eating's one of life's great blessings—no need to shun it.
I hit the Xiangyang branches of Infinite Battlefield and Cheonsu Merchant Group. Big city in Hubei—branches made sense.
Loans were a breeze. Loan officers gawked once at my Wudang robes, twice at the name on the note, three times at the amount.
Pockets stuffed now. Myeong-gyeong gaped blankly—he didn't grasp currency yet.
"Heh heh heh."
2,500 silver taels. Solid. Seed money for my merchant group. Historic day for this future tycoon.
Myeong-gyeong just gawked at the crowds and streets. First time in real bustle.
I found Daeun Banjeom, a famed old establishment passed down generations in Xiangyang.
Restaurants split into jeongjeom (high-class for the well-off) and geukjeom (everyday spots).
"We're eating here?"
"Yep."
Myeong-gyeong marveled at the ornate gate and colorful decorations—they hooked him right away. A neatly dressed waiter hurried over.
"W-welcome."
He hesitated. To them, Wudang meant zilch. Cash or no cash—that was king.
Objectively, we looked ragged. Long trek from Gyunhyeon, hand-me-down Daoist robes worn thin.
He whispered apologetically.
"S-sir, sorry, but even our cheapest noodles are about a hundred copper cash."
"And?"
"...Pardon?"
"Do I look like a beggar?"
Speechless. I nodded at a table; he backed off. Myeong-gyeong glanced nervously.
"...Daoists shouldn't be so rough."
"He judged us by our clothes. Insulted Wudang—I couldn't stand it."
"R-really?"
"Damn right."
"Still, embarrassing him..."
"It's fine. I know how to handle waiters."
Myeong-gyeong kept peeking around. Worlds away from Gyunhyeon's dives. Tables gleamed, aromas tantalized, patrons classy.
"Waiter."
"Yes, sir."
I flicked him a silver tael. His eyes bulged—ten bowls' worth as tip? Mind blown.
Straightened back bent; face softened.
"Aigoo, sir, no need for that. We'll serve you right."
"What's hot right now?"
"Palbo Podae Ap, Gyuhwa Gye, Yeom Daeha."
All premium picks. Eyes turned our way—ragged clothes ordering fancy? Intriguing.
"Gyuhwa Gye and Cheongtang Yeonwa each, one bottle Jukyeopcheong."
"Y-yes, sir!"
He bowed nearly to his knees and dashed to the kitchen. Myeong-gyeong blinked in confusion—didn't get the silver's pull.
"Not just noodles and dumplings?"
"We're out—might as well eat well."
"Those are plenty tasty."
Fancy dishware soon covered the table—gold-threaded plates and bowls, unthinkable in ascetic Wudang.
About fifteen minutes later, waiters brought the food. Warmth and scents flooded out. Myeong-gyeong stared like a broken doll—overwhelmed by new sensations.
"Dig in."
I ladled cheongtang yeonwa onto his plate.
Swallow's nest in clear broth—premium from the start. He tried a spoonful and shivered.
"...W-what is this? Spirit medicine?"
Sweet warmth flooding in? Easy mistake. I shredded the gyuhwa gye—beggar's chicken—for him.
"Try this too."
"What's it?"
Wary but curious, he poked with chopsticks. Lotus leaf unwrapped, revealing tender white meat.
Mud-and-lotus-baked chicken hit his mouth; jaws worked. One chew, and he froze.
Juicy flavors hit a first-time meat-eater like overload.
Silent now, he shoveled cheongtang yeonwa and gyuhwa gye with spoon and sticks. I chuckled inside and downed a cup of jukyeopcheong.
"Ahh."
High proof scorched down, firing up my whole body. This was booze. This was life. Merchants can't dodge drink. My body thrilled at the long-lost taste.
"Senior brother."
"Yeah?"
Face food-smeared, he looked up—like he'd dunked his head in the plate. I wiped his mouth first.
"Good, right?"
"Yeah!"
"World's full of tasty stuff."
I lowered my voice.
"I'll make sure you eat great while we're out."
"Thanks, junior brother!"
"But."
Genuine gratitude shone in his eyes. Too soon for that.
"Keep today's stuff secret from master."
"H-huh? Why?"
"Just 'cause."
I winked. His chopsticks trembled on the chicken. Reason vs. instinct—he wavered.
But not for long.
"Deal!"
Answer given, face back in plate. Kids lack the steel to fight urges yet.
I nodded smugly. Nothing to stop me outside Wudang now.
So I thought—until that tipped waiter approached.
"Excuse me, great hero."
"What?"
"Mind sharing a table?"
"Sharing?"
Plenty empty tables around.
"Ah, no—honored guest upstairs wants to join you."
I glanced up instinctively. At the second-floor railing, a burly warrior glared down.