Chapter 25
Chapter 25
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 25
Chapter Title: Sparks
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A surge of resentment welled up inside him.
Only then did he truly grasp, down to his bones, what it meant for a person to die.
You don't notice it amid the bustle.
But when loneliness sets in... when you're left truly alone... that's when the shock hits you full force.
They say a person's traces are defined by the memories you shared with them...
Now, sitting in the cave and looking at Song Myeong-cheon's belongings, Han Ibi suddenly felt his eyes growing hot.
Song Myeong-cheon had a prickly personality that was hard to warm up to, and at first, it seemed like the old man was itching to devour him alive...
But as time passed, he'd treated Han Ibi with genuine sincerity.
Ah... and his life story.
Bearing the false accusation of harming his beloved, how arduously he'd lived...
If even a tenth of the world understood his tale, they couldn't have just pointed fingers at him.
A momentary silence fell.
That silence was as bitter as an infinite abyss.
'Lonely. So terribly lonely.'
That was it.
Facing the night alone in a snow-covered mountain was a horrific experience. It was suffocatingly lonely.
Han Ibi suddenly pulled out Song Myeong-cheon's jade plaque from his bosom.
A top-quality jade plaque, gleaming transparently. Song Myeong-cheon's keepsake.
Han Ibi shook his head vigorously as he thought.
'Sell this? How could I, knowing its heartbreaking story? It's utterly unthinkable.'
Then another thought struck him.
'If the chance arises... I should deliver it to that lady, the wife of the Wudang Sect Leader. If her name is cleared, Old Man Song would rejoice from the heavens. But...'
Han Ibi let out a deep sigh.
'What should I do now...'
In the silence, Han Ibi quietly circulated his energy and pondered his path ahead.
'Of course, I should go home. But how?'
He had to defeat the Evil Spirit Lord. And to do that...
Ah, right. The protagonist.
Tailing the protagonist was key.
The guy had spent the entire novel digging into the Evil Spirit Lord's trail, so he'd surely uncover clues ahead.
Han Ibi could just watch from the sidelines and snatch the technique at the end.
It felt a bit sneaky, but what choice did he have? He had to get home somehow.
'Still... I wonder if that Jong Ri-hyeok guy will even treat his good-for-nothing little brother like family.'
Truth be told, the two brothers were less like blood kin and more like sworn enemies down to their marrow.
Mainly because Jong Ri-mae had treated him like trash...
'Whatever. Fine. If I get kicked out, I'll find another way. I'll head there first and see. But if it's the Qingcheng Sect, that's on Qingcheng Mountain, right? Where the hell is that?'
Han Ibi trudged down the mountain.
The fickle weather had turned, pouring blazing sunlight over the entire range, melting the snow in patches and turning the ground into a muddy mess.
Even now, looking back, it felt like Song Myeong-cheon was walking alongside him with that stern expression.
A sack of gathered herbs dangled from his waist, following faithfully.
He didn't want to sell the jade plaque. But to set off on a journey, he needed traveling money.
So, like Song Myeong-cheon had done, he'd sell the herbs at the Demon Valley Clinic and earn some fare.
But...
'Gasp! What the hell happened here?'
The signboard had fallen and shattered, and the clinic was a hollow ruin.
'Did the shock from that day make him give up the clinic?'
He tilted his head for a moment, then turned away without regret.
This laid-back nature was perhaps Han Ibi's greatest strength.
Or maybe his biggest flaw...
Now, only one place remained where he could go.
The Clear Stream Inn.
Han Ibi called out to the person sweeping the courtyard.
"Good to see you."
"No way! Who is this? Showing up out of the blue like this—what brings you here?"
"Have we ever sent word to each other before?"
"Didn't that gentleman come with you?"
Innkeeper Hwang Bang stared at Han Ibi in stunned surprise.
He told Auntie he wanted a drink. Just quietly, by himself.
He told her the old man had passed away.
Auntie Jo Jin-suk said nothing and prepared the food with utmost care.
He was deeply grateful, but thoughts of his own mother made his heart ache instead.
One person. Two cups.
Han Ibi poured baijiu into both. One for himself, the other for Old Man Song.
'Clink.'
He set the cup on the opposite table.
'Cheers!'
Have a drink. You loved this stuff so much.
The cups clinked with a clear ring. He lifted his immediately and downed the strong liquor in one gulp.
His face didn't even twitch.
That's when voices drifted from the guests seated diagonally to his left—the inn's only patrons at this early hour.
They looked like they'd stayed overnight. From their attire, they were probably wandering ronin or third-rate warriors.
Their faces were already flushed; they seemed thoroughly drunk.
A gaunt middle-aged man asked the round-faced, pudgy man beside him.
"Brother. Did you hear that rumor?"
"What rumor?"
"Come on. You know, the one about the Wudang Sect."
"Wudang Sect? What about them?"
Huh? Wudang Sect?
Han Ibi pretended to mind his own business while perking up one ear like an antenna.
The skinny man glanced around suspiciously, sneaking a peek at Han Ibi, then said,
"I'm talking about the Wudang Sect Leader."
"Sect Leader Tak Bu-yong?"
"That's right. Him."
"What about him?"
The skinny man lowered his voice even further.
"It's the hottest gossip lately—how haven't you heard?"
"Hey, I'm busy enough with training. What gossip?"
"Oh please, brother. Your training? Well, if practicing drinking counts, sure."
"You wanna get your ass kicked up in dust first thing in the morning at some out-of-town inn?"
The skinny man waved his hands with a mischievous grin, shrinking back.
"No, no. My bad."
"Fine, lesson learned. So why bring up the Wudang Sect Leader?"
"You really haven't heard? You know the wife of the Wudang Sect Leader? Her name was..."
No way...
Han Ibi focused intently, refilling his cup with ears perked.
"Ah! I think it's coming back... Anyway, they say she was stunningly beautiful back in the day, right? Some old grandma now."
"Ugh, brother. She's no grandma."
"Calling a grandma a grandma—what's wrong with that?"
"Sigh. Fine, I'll shut up."
"Anyway, enough. Why drag that grandma into this?"
"Right. Word is, the sect leader's wife and Tak Bu-yong have split up. It's all over the martial world."
"What?"
"Right? Weird, huh? They were the picture-perfect couple, famous for their harmony. But lately, she hasn't appeared at any official events. Rumor has it she's gone back to her hometown."
"Hometown?"
"Yeah. I heard somewhere she's not originally from Wudang—she's the daughter of the Qingcheng Sect Leader."
The pudgy man grimaced.
"Married into a third-rate sect like Qingcheng?"
"Not sure. Just overheard it..."
"That woman's probably cheated on him."
"Cheated?"
"Yeah. Cheated. Who is Sect Leader Tak Bu-yong? A paragon of righteousness and integrity, a true gentleman among gentlemen."
"Of course."
"So what else could it be? That woman's no good."
Were they drunk already?
Their chatter jumped wildly—from Shaolin to Beggars' Sect to Mount Hua...
Mainly gossip about the core martial factions.
Especially unverified 'wild tales'.
People loved dishing dirt on others, same as ever.
And inevitably, crude jokes about brothels and women. When men gathered, conversations always ended up there.
Han Ibi shook his head and downed another cup. This time, his face twisted involuntarily.
Hwang Bang, passing by and catching sight of him, approached.
"Hey, kid... you got money?"
Han Ibi silently offered the herb sack. Hwang Bang looked puzzled.
"What's this?"
"All I got."
Hwang Bang rummaged through it, looking baffled.
"These... these are herbs. What am I supposed to do with them?"
"What else? Gimme another bottle."
"What? You broke bastard!"
"And uncle."
"What, you punk?"
"How far is Qingcheng Mountain from here?"
He'd felt it while working there, but... Hwang Bang and Jo Jin-suk were seriously... stingy. Ridiculously so...
He half-expected them to chip in some cash, but no—they told him to go sell the herbs at the market himself.
Luckily, wandering herbalists might pass by...
'Damn it. Korea or here... can't do shit without money. In wuxia novels, protagonists wander penniless and still kick ass...'
After bidding farewell to the Clear Stream Inn folks, Han Ibi shouldered the sack and headed to the market.
'Wait... where and how do I even sell these...'
That's when it happened.
A crowd was gathering, buzzing with excitement. It was the wide open square in the market's center.
People stood on tiptoes, straining over shoulders to peer inside.
Tsk tsk tsk. Obvious.
Village markets were rife with con artists hawking fake meds or junk at high prices with freak shows.
Definitely that crowd.
A staple in wuxia novels, too...
But...
Who says human curiosity sticks to logic?
You had to peek for at least four or five seconds to satisfy that itch—it was human nature.
'Maybe? They're herbalists, so they might need herbs.'
Fooling himself, Han Ibi quickened his pace and wormed through the crowd.
Then—whoosh!—a blast of hot air grazed his face with a roar. Cheers erupted: "Waaah!" "Kyaaack~!"
'Wha... what?'
Stunned by the unexpected sight, Han Ibi blinked. Flames were shooting skyward.
And beneath them, a bare-chested man was spewing fire into the air.
More precisely, holding a torch and spraying liquid from its tip.
Inflammable stuff—each puff sent massive flames surging upward.
Then...
He turned toward the crowd. Gasps rose.
"No! Don't! You're crazy?"
"Get that away!"
"Wha—what is that?!"
But the shirtless man unleashed the flames straight at them. Searing heat rushed in.
Han Ibi recoiled in shock. Some kids screamed, bursting into tears and fleeing.
Yet nothing happened.
The fire surged to within inches of the front row, then receded like an ebbing tide.
A classic 'fire show.'
The thrilled crowd forgot their earlier jeers, erupting in cheers and applause.
"Whoa, thought we were really gonna burn! Awesome!"
"So cool~!"
"Nearly shaved ten years off my life."
"One more! One more!"
Han Ibi took a fresh look at the man.
He seemed hugely fat, but Han Ibi's sharp eyes spotted it: layers of muscle, not blubber.
Then, a slender young man—no, wait—silently watching from the side grabbed a flag and pushed to center stage. A partner, probably.
Familiar pattern.
Time to seize the climax and shake the crowd.
The youth said,
"Alright, alright, folks. Enjoyed our fire juggling show?"
But the voice was oddly thin and high.
Strange.
Probably a girl. The boyish clothes made it hard to tell.
Yet as she spoke, the crowd dispersed like theatergoers after credits rolled with the lights on.
She stammered in panic,
"W-wait! Everyone, hear me out just a sec."
Turning backs murmured.
"Hear what? Just gonna push some quack meds."
"Old Man Lee next door slapped on ointment from these guys for a boil—got infected and died."
"Gotta watch your nose in this thieving world."
"They ripping us off too?"
Then she shouted sharply.
(To be continued in the next chapter)