Chapter 82
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 82
Chapter Title: Pacifist (1)
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Wuhan.
The capital of Hubei Province, formed by the merger of Wuchang, Hankou, and Hanyang. With waterways crisscrossed by the Yangtze River, it was a strategic hub and a gathering point for logistics, where commerce had flourished.
As a city thriving on trade, it boasted more merchants of every stripe than anywhere else. Including its resident population, it was no small settlement, and rumors even swirled that all goods from across Hubei Province flowed through Wuhan.
An abundance of manpower and resources meant money flowed freely. And where money flowed, facilities for spending it naturally sprang up. Beyond merchant guilds and inns, pleasure districts proliferated as well.
While Suzhou and Hangzhou in Jiangsu Province were famed as paradises on earth below the heavens above, Wuhan—surrounded by rivers and lakes—was no less enchanting.
But booming commerce and industry couldn't bring only blessings. Where great interests converged, strife was inevitable.
The province's major sects and clans vied alongside a chaotic sprawl of minor ones. Merchants allied with sects to secure trade routes.
Though not always out in the open, clashes over territory erupted frequently.
Hankou District, outskirts.
Every city hides its shadows behind a glittering facade. It would be nice if everyone prospered together, but reality rarely obliged.
Life went on regardless.
Even those scraping by with grueling labor banded together into communities.
Amid dilapidated buildings stood an old smithy.
The smithy sustained itself by crafting and repairing daily necessities and farming tools for the locals. It didn't rake in riches from orders by the struggling, but demand was steady for such essentials.
The Hwang Family Smithy was small and shabby, but every piece it produced was sturdy and long-lasting. Passed down through generations for two hundred years, its craftsmanship was beyond reproach. As long as they didn't get greedy, keeping the forge afloat posed no issue.
Clang! Tang!
Today, as always, he struck the iron at precise, rhythmic intervals. It rang out clear and crisp, like a master musician coaxing melody from an instrument. He adjusted the hammer's force according to the metal's quality and temper. No flashy flourishes—just solid, resolute smithing.
Sweat dripped...
Sweat poured from his soot-blackened body. Though he practiced no martial arts, his frame looked rock-hard. It was the natural aura of one who had reached mastery in his craft.
One mind, one intent. All-in immersion.
Like a high monk devoted to the Buddha's path, he pursued truth with unwavering focus. Hammering the glowing iron with pure dedication, he shaped it toward completion.
The middle-aged smith was Hwang Woo-cheol, owner of the forge. It wasn't exaggeration to say most iron goods in the area had passed through his hands.
He thinned the metal into uniform sheets, then gathered the pieces aside. Tedious repetition, yet he performed it without complaint.
The smithy echoed only with hammer strikes.
Once he'd filled his quota, he paused for breath.
Just then.
Visitors arrived at the forge.
Hwang Woo-cheol felt unease stir.
Their clothes told the tale. Fine, spotless uniforms like theirs were rare in these parts. Folks too busy surviving had no time for finery.
Despite his misgivings, he showed courtesy. Offending them could jeopardize his livelihood.
"What brings you here?"
"You know full well."
"I don't follow."
"Living hand-to-mouth makes you shameless, eh?"
Hwang Woo-cheol's brow twitched. Life was harsh, but he'd never harmed a soul.
"Quite the actor."
The middle-aged man in azure martial robes, sporting a distinctive walrus mustache, sneered openly at him.
Yet Hwang Woo-cheol held his tongue.
Gok Jisang was a senior warrior overseeing a branch of the Celestial Water Sect, which controlled Wuhan's eastern reaches.
He signaled his attendants with a glance.
Clang!
The bundle hit the ground, cords unraveling. The covering cloth fell away, spilling its contents.
Hwang Woo-cheol's face hardened.
The blade, freed from its scabbard, was pitted with rust and its edge badly chipped—like a sword neglected for years.
"You call this paid in full when it barely lasted a fortnight?"
"That can't be. Let me check it!"
As Hwang reached for the sword, Gok Jisang blocked him, face darkening.
"Doubting my word? A warrior's pride isn't to be trifled with."
"Even so, I need to inspect it."
Hwang always personally checked his work before release. He wasn't so lacking in conscience as to ship out something that would fail in a fortnight. It was the pride of his forge, handed down through generations.
'These bastards!'
Their demands were blatant extortion, yet he couldn't touch his own sword. Strong from years at the anvil, he was no match for trained warriors. They were beyond his reach.
'They came prepared.'
Fury boiled, but he tamped it down. Rage wouldn't change facts.
"Will thirty taels settle it?"
"After dragging me here, just the principal? You're a spiteful one."
"Then what sum would satisfy you?"
"Penalty's usually triple the principal. But you betrayed my trust, costing me face in the sect. To compensate, five times over seems fair. What say you?"
Gok Jisang wasn't asking for agreement.
Hwang Woo-cheol knew it well.
'What can a wretch like you do? Should've stuck to your station.'
Wuhan appeared peaceful on the surface, but unseen conflicts raged constantly. Sects clashed to prove dominance, making weapons vital strategic assets.
Tensions ran especially high with the Blood Rakshasa Sect, an unorthodox faction. Arming up was crucial now.
Then he'd spotted a tool from the Hwang smithy by chance. Dismissing it as mere farm gear, its durability rivaled weapons. Unknown till now, this smith's skill was a golden chance to impress the sect leader.
"I'm no miser, though. No money? Work it off for us. Debts cleared, plus decent pay."
"Here."
"Good thinki... Huh?"
Hwang pulled eight taels of gold from his pouch. Equivalent to 160 taels of silver. Five times thirty was 150—he'd added ten extra.
"Take it."
"How...?"
Hwang's smithing was top-notch, but he'd squandered no talent for coin. When his father's illness demanded quick cash, he hadn't a single tael to his name. Yet here he was, settling every debt without hesitation. Baffling.
"Thanks to you, Father's cured. My gratitude."
What the hell?
For this scheme, he'd secretly dosed the old man. To force Hwang into desperation for funds. Strike when he scrambled—snag a master smith easy.
'Blood Rakshasa meddling?'
Unlikely—they were under close watch. Had they known, they wouldn't let this slip.
'Damn it!'
Celestial Water Sect was orthodox; scandals must be quashed. His plans crumbling now.
'Not like this.'
Returning empty-handed meant the sect leader's wrath. Outwardly benevolent, inwardly calculating. Steel resolve, he glanced around and addressed Hwang.
"Pay up properly."
"I just handed it over."
"Nonsense. I got nothing."
"Even so, this is too much!"
"Too much? Says who?"
Gok eyed his men, asking if they'd seen payment. Lies flowed smoothly: nothing received. No proof otherwise.
His body trembled with rage.
Hwang had never shook like this from anger. He'd seen all sorts, but such brazen scoundrels? And orthodox ones, no less.
"I don't need your money."
"Hold it for now."
"Why are you doing this?"
"I'll be back."
"Enough nonsense—leave!"
He'd thought it empty bluster then. Yet precisely as warned, it came true. More debts loomed, but they'd deny those too.
"Why go this far?"
"Just want my due."
Hwang was speechless at Gok's shamelessness. Words were futile; they'd twist away. He'd tried placating, but tolerance snapped.
"To think 'righteous' folk could be so vile. Have you no fear of heaven?"
"Tsk, pathetic. They say never adopt a black-haired beast. Shameless to this degree... Teach him how the world works."
At Gok's nod, Pyo Ja-seong of the trio strode forward and swung a fist without preamble.
Thud!
Hwang was burly, but no match. Darkness exploded from his eyes as he crumpled.
"Borrow money, pay it back, worm! Don't try to cheat us!"
Shouting for listeners, Pyo stomped the fallen man. Per Gok's intent, he spared hands and feet—ruin those, lose the smith.
"...You wretched scum!"
Hwang's father, Hwang Yeo-sang, burst out, frail body notwithstanding. Illness cured, full recovery still distant.
"Just up from bed, and you'll relapse."
Gok targeted the elder; Hwang surged up, shielding him. Father had barely risen anew—another fall might end him.
"Don't make that face. Makes us look like the villains."
"You are."
"...?"
Gok whipped around. Not Hwang—a stranger's voice. Irritated by the interruption, he swallowed his ire.
"Mind your own business and go."
"But it is my business."
No need for public eyes, Gok kept it civil: scram. Defiance instead. Backing?
"This is between Celestial Water Sect and Hwang Smithy. No more insolence."
"That money? I paid it commissioning work here. Ties me in, right?"