38. Merchant Association (1)
Myeong-gyeong looked upset. It was because I'd stubbornly gone ahead and formed my own merchant group.
Still, he wasn't throwing himself on the floor and flailing his limbs like before, so things seemed a bit improved, at least.
"Junior brother."
"Yes."
"I still don't think starting a merchant group is a good idea. You're a martial artist—you should focus on your martial arts."
"I won't neglect my training."
"I won't tell Master about this. We had our agreement, but more than that, you've shown some righteous conduct, so I'll let it slide."
Myeong-gyeong spoke with remarkable magnanimity. I smiled and brushed it off, though it stung a little. Righteous conduct? All I'd done was scheme to gather internal energy. Sure, it ended up saving a lot of people, but still.
Whatever—good was good. With Myeong-gyeong's permission, nothing could stop me now.
"So, now that you've got your merchant group, you're going to start selling goods?"
"Pretty much. Though there's some prep work first."
"Prep work?"
I moved with such speed that Myeong-gyeong could barely keep up. Starting from scratch meant a ton of tasks, after all.
First up: buying land and buildings. With just five hundred silver taels, snagging something decent was tough. I had to save enough for merchandise too, which made it even tighter.
When I first launched the Hwi-yeong Merchant Group in my previous life, I'd spent days scouting properties and even fussing over feng shui. But now I knew that was pointless.
Merchants spoke in numbers. If superstition tanked the price, it was undervalued—buy low. So I snapped up a plot and buildings on the outskirts of Muhan, rumored to be haunted, for a steal.
"You're really buying this land?"
"I told you, yes."
"No complaints later."
"Won't be any."
It should've cost at least a thousand taels, but I got it for three hundred. Bad feng shui and ghost rumors had scared off buyers, slashing the price.
It was a modest start compared to my past life's triumphs, but still leagues ahead of my old rookie days—when I'd gotten fleeced left and right from sheer inexperience.
I quickly laid the foundations for the Hwi-yeong Merchant Group. Hired laborers to convert the ruins into warehouses.
Everything proceeded smoothly, without a single hitch. I'd done it all before, so no hesitation or awkwardness.
Myeong-gyeong was baffled by the breakneck pace. Papers exchanged hands a few times, and suddenly—bam—land appeared, buildings transformed.
"So this is how you build a merchant group."
Watching the Hwi-yeong Merchant Group take shape sparked curiosity in Myeong-gyeong.
It wasn't easy witnessing the whole process from the sidelines. If he ever became a merchant, this experience would be priceless.
The basics were set. It had taken half a year last time; now, half a month sufficed. Massive time savings.
"All done?"
"The most important part's left."
"Again? When do we head back to the sect?"
I patted his head as he whined. He shook it off in immediate rebellion.
"Hey, quit petting my head all the time. It's disrespectful to your senior brother."
"Oh, right. Sorry."
"What kind of half-assed apology is that?"
He'd tolerated it before. Kids changed day to day, after all. Guess his pride got bruised.
Anyway, the real priorities remained: stocking the renovated warehouses.
"Senior brother."
"Yeah."
"What do you think business is?"
"Buying cheap, selling high—like a piggish scam."
"……."
Kids sometimes dropped insights that floored adults. But not this time. A shady merchant might nod along, but not me.
"Close, but not quite. Precisely, it's turning minimal costs into massive profits."
"Same as what I said."
"Only for goods. That's peripheral in business. The costs I mean include fatigue, anger, sorrow—emotions, time, strained relationships, conscience. Profits, conversely, bring happiness, fulfillment—new bonds, values, philosophies, experiences."
Myeong-gyeong stared intently, parsing my words. I continued.
"Your answer was close because goods reflect some intangible assets."
"What nonsense is that?"
He just didn't get it. I simplified.
"Take smuggling illegal private salt for two hundred taels profit, versus selling grain to a famine-struck region for a hundred. The latter's more profitable."
"Why? Merchants only see money."
"Fools do. That profit includes reputation, philosophy, experience—and loyal supporters. Follow the righteous path, and you'll thrive big. Like pure martial arts: slow but surely stronger. Martial way and merchant way aren't so different."
Myeong-gyeong stroked his beardless chin, eyes rolling. He was actually pondering now.
"Grain isn't just grain. It holds a father's hope to feed his family, a child's potential future—myriad possibilities. That's what I mean by intangibles reflected."
"Gotcha, roughly."
"Really?"
"You said it's like the martial way. Same swing, mindless or enlightened—worlds apart."
"Exactly. Smart cookie."
"I'm your senior brother, duh."
His lips puffed out. At least he'd bought it. Time to pick the Hwi-yeong Merchant Group's debut goods.
"So, what's your point?"
"I'm stocking the warehouse, but I don't want you hating it."
"……What is it?"
Myeong-gyeong looked anxious. I grinned.
***
I knew roughly which goods would skyrocket or crash later. More cheat-like than any talent from the Martial God Shop.
So, my picks were surefire winners—items that'd fetch top prices soon.
"No way."
"It is."
"Over my dead body."
"Don't you get dirt in your eyes during sparring? Where'd you pick up that saying?"
Myeong-gyeong picketed in front of the warehouse. Laborers had already hauled the goods there, so I had to convince him.
"All fancy talk, but selling unorthodox martial arts? Bah!"
"Practical martial manuals."
"Don't talk crap! What's in this book?!"
"Says Green Forest Twelve Forms."
"Bandit arts! Crazy... Junior brother!"
Good kid—no swearing. That gave me hope for negotiation.
"I explained why this follows the merchant way."
I wasn't peddling Green Forest Twelve Forms for kicks. Among street-level manuals, it was the most practical for real combat.
Not limited to swords or sabers—it worked with sickles, hoes common among peasants. Green Forest bandits were desperate farmers, after all.
Thus, it sold well to commoners seeking basic self-defense—beyond pure martial fundamentals.
"Commoners need these to protect themselves. Prestigious sects don't hand out manuals for them."
"The orthodox protect them instead."
"They fix the barn after the ox is gone. Government or murim."
My cynicism shut him up. I pressed on.
"Soon, some bandit lairs will collapse, forcing them downhill. Folks'll snap up Green Forest Twelve Forms then—know your enemy's moves, learn some yourself. Win-win."
"How do you know?"
"Common knowledge. Have I ever steered wrong?"
Truthfully, I didn't know why the lairs fell—just rumors the Bandit Chief dissolved unaffiliated dens. Those rogues turned full brigands, plaguing the Central Plains for years. Ironically, making Green Forest Twelve Forms a hit among commoners.
Foreknowing this, I'd mass-print woodblock editions from the markets to fill the warehouse.
"An orthodox disciple profiting off unorthodox arts? No."
"Self-defense for the people. Orthodox or not—does it matter? Isn't this the righteousness sects should uphold?"
No matter he was my senior—he couldn't outtalk me. I had decades of field-hardened tongue.
"……I dunno. Do what you want."
Surrender. Logic wasn't winning.
With warehouses stocked, I tackled the next priority: hiring for the Hwi-yeong Merchant Group.
Even a tycoon like me couldn't solo everything. Inefficient, too.
And I'd be tied to Wudang awhile—staff was essential.
Like labor agencies for workers, merchant associations handled staffing for caravans: the Merchant Association.
Any decent hub had a local one. I asked around and found Muhan Merchant Association.
"Whoa. Big building."
"Yeah."
"Nothing like that ruin."
"Gotta compare?"
Myeong-gyeong gawked, awed. The compound screamed money—though not quite past-life Hwi-yeong level.
Even the main gate had two guards.
I approached first.
"Hello."
"Appointment?"
"Pardon?"
Martial artists cut to the chase.
Fine. I pulled the token from my bosom—proof from Hyeong-seong.
"I'm the head of Hwi-yeong Merchant Group."
"Hwi-yeong?"
The guards eyed each other. I figured we'd breeze in.
Associations coveted subgroups, any size—their count meant power.
"Hwi-yeong Merchant Group?"
"Yes. You won't have heard—brand new..."
"Nah, we have. Boss ordered to thrash and boot 'em if they showed."
"Pardon?"
The guards rolled up sleeves, advancing.
What the hell?