Bringing the Fire (1)
Cheon Yeong-in, the head of the Muhan Merchant Association, tore up the ledger handed to him by the manager. Sales had plummeted dramatically compared to the same quarter last year.
"You think you can keep food down acting like this?"
At Cheon Yeong-in's sharp rebuke, the people of the Muhan Merchant Association bowed their heads. Every one of them looked like they wanted to crawl into a rat hole and disappear.
"But, Head, what can we even do about it?"
One manager spoke up with a dissatisfied expression. Everyone in the office gazed at him with supportive faces. But Cheon Yeong-in's expression grew even colder.
"Get out."
"Pardon?"
"I said get out! I don't need some loser soaked in defeatism—pack your bags and scram!"
"I've been a manager here for over ten years. You've barely been in the seat for six months..."
"Shut your trap and beat it!"
Cheon Yeong-in flew into a rage, even pretending to draw the sword hanging on the wall. Only then did the manager hurriedly pack up and leave.
Watching the instant dismissal unfold, the others shrank back even more.
Cheon Yeong-in knew it too. This kind of atmosphere only made things worse. He was an experienced merchant himself. He'd been a top manager at another firm in Hunan Province when the Zhuge family had headhunted him with a fat paycheck to take this position.
He saw it as the opportunity of a lifetime. A chance to tie himself to one of the Five Great Families, the Zhuge house—and if he built the association into something grand as its head, he could become a titan in the merchant world.
But with sales tanking like shit in the very opportunity he'd staked his life on, how could he not lose his temper?
"Goddamn scarecrows!"
Cheon Yeong-in fumed and stormed outside. In this emergency, no one dared stop the head from leaving the association. The managers and below were long-time veterans of Muhan Merchant Association, while Cheon Yeong-in was just some outsider planted from above—the gap was impossible to ignore.
Of course, he hadn't stormed out in blind rage; he had a plan. What the fired manager said wasn't wrong.
Sales had indeed dropped because common folk were suddenly stocking Green Forest Twelve Forms at home. With the already high price skyrocketing on the hype wave, buying one left no room for other spending—it was only natural. And it wasn't the Muhan Merchant Association's fault.
In the end, Cheon Yeong-in decided to go straight to the Hwi-yeong Merchant Troupe and settle it.
"Excuse me, do you know where the Hwi-yeong Merchant Troupe is?"
Cheon Yeong-in grabbed a random passerby to ask for directions. He hadn't been in Wuhuan long enough to know the lay of the land.
"Hah, wasted effort. Even trekking to their main branch, they won't sell Green Forest Twelve Forms. You can only buy through their traveling merchants."
The man chuckled. Right now, Hwi-yeong was the hottest troupe in Wuhuan. Controlling the monopoly on Green Forest Twelve Forms, it was no surprise.
So the man assumed Cheon Yeong-in was just another buyer hunting the book.
"That's not why I'm going. Just tell me where."
At Cheon Yeong-in's prickly tone, the man clicked his tongue and pointed out the location. Without so much as a thanks, Cheon Yeong-in turned and marched off. Curses followed from behind, but he had no time for pointless squabbles.
"Dongho Merchant Association?"
Cheon Yeong-in arrived at the spot, but oddly, a Dongho Merchant Association sign hung there.
He'd only been in Wuhuan a few months, but even he knew where Dongho was. They were steadily chipping away at Muhan Merchant Association's market share—the very reason he'd become head. To Cheon Yeong-in, Dongho was an enemy to rip apart.
"Ahem."
Looking closer, a small placard beside the sign read "Hwi-yeong Merchant Troupe." Sometimes minor troupes rented space from larger associations—probably that.
To think I have to come to a pipsqueak troupe like this!
Cheon Yeong-in cursed inwardly. He'd been a top manager at a major Hunan firm. Dragging his feet to a troupe without even a proper compound felt humiliating. But now that he was here, turning back wasn't an option.
"Who are you?"
As he loitered by the main gate, someone emerged to ask. The youthful face suggested just a lowly errand boy.
"Take me to the head of Hwi-yeong Merchant Troupe."
"Pardon? And you are?"
"Brat! You don't get to speak to me like that. Go tell them Cheon Yeong-in, head of Muhan Merchant Association, is here."
At the menacing tone and shout, the boy paled, stammered to wait a moment, and dashed inside.
Soon, a middle-aged man approached with slow steps. Cheon Yeong-in frowned. He'd heard Hwi-yeong's head was young. This guy clearly wasn't. But in merchant circles, mental strain caused early presbyopia, so he asked just in case.
"You're the head of Hwi-yeong?"
"No. Song Hwan-yeong, head of Dongho Merchant Association."
"I'm looking for Hwi-yeong's head."
"Hoho. I heard Muhan got a new head, but I didn't know he was this impatient."
Song Hwan-yeong's voice turned icy in an instant.
"Coming to our association and ignoring me to demand their head first. Never thought you'd be this rude."
"It's urgent."
"What's so urgent? It's obvious. You want some Green Forest Twelve Forms, right? And you'll wave your 'head' title like a half-threat since they're a minor troupe with a kid at the helm."
Song Hwan-yeong hadn't forgotten the humiliation Dongho suffered at Muhan's hands. This man had nothing to do with it, but Muhan was still Dongho's chief rival.
Cheon Yeong-in flinched. Song Hwan-yeong had nailed it word for word—exactly what he'd planned. A true merchant head, not to be underestimated. Cheon cleared his throat.
"Ahem. I was a bit hasty. Forgive me, Dongho's head. I'd meant to visit since taking the seat, but time slipped away."
"Hmph. Talk sense. You're hell-bent on crushing us anyway, aren't you?"
Transparent spears stabbed Cheon Yeong-in's chest. But he couldn't back down here—he still needed to see Hwi-yeong's head.
"I don't see Dongho as enemies. I heard vaguely about past issues, but that's irrelevant under my watch. I swear on my name here: I won't treat you as foes."
"A merchant's name is the lightest thing there is."
Song Hwan-yeong was still prickly, but Cheon Yeong-in's groveling seemed to ease him a bit.
"Then buy me a drink somewhere nice later. And don't keep their head waiting."
"Of course. Always welcome."
Cheon Yeong-in sighed inwardly. Song Hwan-yeong, smug now, sent an errand boy to escort him to Hwi-yeong's main quarters.
"Head."
"What?"
Song Hwan-yeong eyed his manager. The man looked worried. This manager was one who'd been healed by Muk Hwi-yeong.
"Sending Muhan's head straight to Hwi-yeong's kid like that? Won't it be too much?"
"You don't know Hebei's Divine Physician well."
Song Hwan-yeong chuckled.
"If he'd been a handful for me, I'd have blocked him come hell or high water. But if he pushes me around, how's the kid supposed to handle him?"
"Isn't Hebei's Divine Physician a newbie in merchant circles?"
"That's the common view. But I see real experience there. He's hiding it, but it's not innate talent—it's the kind you grind out through years. He has that."
"Really?"
"You don't talk much, so you wouldn't know. That Muhan head's gonna get torn to shreds."
"But he's got over twenty years in the trade."
"Watch and learn. You'll see."
Song Hwan-yeong grinned confidently. Geniuses existed everywhere, unfathomable. Merchant world too. To him, twenty years was nowhere near enough against Muk Hwi-yeong—at least a century-old fox was needed.
The manager still eyed the Muhan head's retreating back worriedly as he entered Hwi-yeong's building.
As I entered the troupe, the Muhan head sat there in a posture straight out of a painting—arrogant as hell. Manager Jo Chung-hyeon fidgeted beside him, at a loss.
No wonder. The gap between a minor troupe manager and a regional powerhouse's head was vast.
"You're the head of Muhan?"
"No manners."
"Pardon?"
The presumed Muhan head raised his voice right off the bat.
"Who else would be sitting here? Figure it out and introduce yourself first. They say you're new to the trade, but you don't know basic etiquette!"
I smiled wryly inside. One exchange, and I already had his number.
People like this were a dime a dozen. Those who crushed others with position, not skill. I despised them—they proved themselves with rank, not ability.
"My mistake for being dense. Muk Hwi-yeong, head of Hwi-yeong Merchant Troupe. What brings you here, Muhan head?"
I kept it polite anyway. Hwi-yeong's head didn't just rep the troupe—with Dongho affiliation, I had to consider them too.
"Hmph. That's more like it. Cheon Yeong-in of Muhan. Sit."
I hadn't noticed amid the obviousness, but he'd naturally taken the head seat.
Technically proper—a powerhouse head outranked a minor troupe head. But this was my turf. Usually, I offered the seat out of courtesy; they didn't just plop down.
I fixed a smile on my face. In moments like this, never lose the smile.
"Honored by your permission."
"As you should. Straight to business?"
"Please do."
"Sell us the Green Forest Twelve Forms in your warehouse. At market price."
How predictably blatant. I'd known from the start—that was the only reason he'd come.
"No loss for Hwi-yeong. Market rate and all. If anything, buying bulk deserves a discount."
Cheon Yeong-in said it shamelessly. Clearly, he'd pegged me for a sucker.
That's why you fix the smile—for when you need to drop it.
"You joking?"
"...What?"
"Prices are jumping daily, and you want market rate? With a discount on top? You must be nuts."
"N-nuts?"
"Cut the crap. I was gonna let it slide, but do I look like some idiot who can't do basic math?"
My rough tone painted shock on Cheon Yeong-in's face.
"...Hmph. At least you grasp the market."
"Talk's over—get out. All this bullshit’s making my ears itch."
"Last chance. Thirty percent over market."
"Why should I sell? Who knows how high it'll go."
"Too much greed brings downfall. When fortune rains, merchants share with peers—that's tradition. Still clueless on etiquette."
I started chuckling. His words were getting funny. Not wrong, technically. In good times, associations shared stock for harmony. But that was for friendly ones. Not Dongho vs. Muhan.
"Scram. Just."
"Won't regret that?"
Cheon Yeong-in's face burned red with humiliation. Outranked by age and station, he couldn't take the insult.
"You do traveling sales, right? We could hire black dao thugs to sabotage. Easy."
"Try it. Put up or shut up."
"You're insane. Your choice could spark a brawl with Muhan's black dao. You really wanna set Wuhuan ablaze?"
"Sounds fun. Everyone loves a show."
"A pipsqueak troupe challenging an association—you'll learn soon enough how ballsy that is."
"Ballsy enough to bring fire barehanded."
Speechless, Cheon Yeong-in rose with a frosty glare.
Negotiations collapsed.
And as he said, word soon came of black dao clashes on Wuhuan streets.