To Shaolin Temple
Hwi-yeom’s party left Beijing and set out for Henan, where the Shaolin Temple stood.
In the depths of winter stretches of the canal had frozen solid, forcing them to travel by land—a change Sama Yun, for her part, welcomed with open arms.
“I don’t think ships and I were ever meant to get along.”
She had suffered mild seasickness the entire time they had been on the water; now she smiled brightly and slipped her arm through Hwi-yeom’s.
“Gaga, once we get back we’re getting married, right?”
“That’s the plan. When the flowers bloom in the warm spring.”
“I can hardly wait!”
Watching the utterly radiant smile on Sama Yun’s face, Hwi-yeom felt a tangle of complicated emotions.
If you really think about it, she’s practically young enough to be my granddaughter…
As someone who still carried the memories of a previous life, the idea of taking a wife who was still a minor sat a little uncomfortably with him.
Even if this world considered it perfectly ordinary for boys and girls to marry and start having children the moment secondary sexual characteristics appeared at fourteen or fifteen…
What do they call it these days… clink-clink?
Still, what could he do? It was a political marriage.
In the Central Plains, where face was valued more highly than life itself, once an engagement had been sealed there was simply no undoing it—not unless you intended to make lifelong enemies of the Sama Clan.
The fact that they waited four years for me was already an extraordinary show of patience on their part.
They had only waited because Hwi-yeom was so busy; under normal circumstances the reaction would have been, “What’s wrong with our daughter that you want to set the wedding date so late? If that’s how it is, just forget the whole thing!”
Hwi-yeom looked down at Sama Yun, who was clinging tightly to his arm and resting her head against him. A sweet fragrance tickled his nose; the warm press of her body against his arm made heat rise unbidden to his face, and he let out a wry smile.
In the end this body is just another male driven by hormones.
“Dang Gaga? Why the bitter smile? Is something bothering you?”
“It’s just… a little embarrassing in front of people.”
“You’re being awfully self-conscious all of a sudden.”
“I know. Maybe I just suddenly realized how pretty Yun-mae is.”
“Flatterer. Hee-hee.”
All right. Steel yourself. We’re bound by politics either way. As long as she’s happy, isn’t that enough?
In his previous life he had been so consumed by the thrill of building a business that he never had the energy to look around him, and so he had never married. This time, then, he would give married life his best effort as well. Well… the business would still come first, of course, but still.
Watching the two of them drip with sweetness, Dang Su-jeong pouted her lips from a little distance away.
“Honestly, the honey’s just dripping off you two! I’m going to grow old and die a lonely spinster while you little brats get all sticky-sweet…!”
Lee Jinmyeong tilted his head at her words.
“I truly don’t understand it. Lady Dang, you have looks, martial skill, family, personality—you’re perfect in every respect. Why haven’t you married yet?”
“You think I didn’t want to? What am I supposed to do when the right person never shows up?!”
“Still, I can’t imagine the men left you alone. Don’t you still get a lot of love letters?”
“Secretary Lee, are you mocking me right now? Love letters? For a spinster in her early forties?!”
Dang Su-jeong shot him a look of pure disbelief, but Lee Jinmyeong’s expression remained perfectly serious.
“Even in your forties you look younger than most women in their twenties. Age isn’t the problem—maybe the men are simply intimidated because you’re too outstanding…”
“Is there anything this kid won’t say?”
Dang Su-jeong’s face settled into an expression that could not decide whether it wanted to be angry or embarrassed.
Ye-eun, who had been quietly watching the exchange, asked,
“So, Secretary Lee, what do you think of a woman like Lady Dang?”
“Me? If someone like Lady Dang became my wife, I think I’d just carry her around on my back for the rest of my life.”
“Huh?”
“Oh.”
Ye-eun pursed her lips and Dang Su-jeong’s eyes went round while Lee Jinmyeong spoke with the utterly earnest firmness of a man stating an absolute truth.
“Honestly, if a man could form a bond with a woman of Lady Dang’s caliber, wouldn’t that mean his life was already a success? No, I’m serious. If the men around her aren’t complete fools, I almost wonder if the real problem is that Lady Dang’s standards are simply too high.”
“Wha…”
Lee Jinmyeong, sudden acceleration of a real man.
Dang Su-jeong was uncharacteristically flustered. Her distant relative Dang Hwon, commander of the Hwamangdae, grinned wickedly and began to tease her.
“Oho~ Dang Su-jeong, at this rate you’re going to snap up a younger man and get yourself married off, aren’t you?”
“Don’t talk nonsense. Really. How big is the age gap?!”
“Secretary Lee, how old are you this year?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“What? Only twelve years’ difference. A capable woman can handle that just fi—kuhk!”
Dang Su-jeong drove a knife-hand strike straight into Dang Hwon’s solar plexus, and the two of them immediately began to bicker and scuffle.
“You’re dead, you hear me?!”
“Urgh! The old maid’s hitting people!”
“You—! Just because you’ve got a wife and kids doesn’t mean I won’t kill you!”
The rest of the Hwamangdae watched the spectacle with quiet snickers while a clear, bracing winter wind rose and carried their voices away into the sky.
It was a little cold, yet refreshing and pleasant—exactly the sort of journey one hoped for.
“So if Lady Dang proposed, would you marry her?”
“—? What kind of man would refuse that?”
When Lee Jinmyeong answered Ye-eun’s question with an expression that clearly said What kind of idiotic question is that?, Ye-eun tilted her head.
“Twelve years’ difference—doesn’t that bother you?”
“It’s not a hundred and twenty years. What’s there to be bothered about?”
“…So a hundred and twenty years would bother you.”
Ah. So that was how it was…
Having taken an entirely unintentional critical hit and been shot down, Ye-eun quietly wilted a little—on a warm afternoon that smelled of ordinary human life.
Lee Jinmyeong’s unexpectedly passionate feelings toward Dang Su-jeong had made for an entertaining interlude, but the journey itself remained swift.
In less than a month they reached Henan, home of the Shaolin Temple. There Hwi-yeom parted ways with Sama Yun for a short while.
“I’m going to stop by my family home for a bit. Once I leave this time I won’t be able to return until after the wedding, so I have things to settle and pack.”
She insisted that her presence would only get in the way of the important talks between Shaolin and the Dang Family. As she prepared to go, Hwi-yeom leaned close and murmured a few quiet “requests.”
Sama Yun’s eyes widened; then she broke into a bright smile and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
“This is exactly why I can’t help loving our Gaga.”
With a radiant smile and a cheerful “Don’t worry about a thing,” she left Hwi-yeom behind and hurried away.
Until now he had barely reacted to such open displays of affection, but with the wedding suddenly so close he found himself conscious of it; heat flooded his face.
She’s the perfect wife candidate in every way, and yet my conscience still twinges…
Looks, personality, ability, family background—there was nothing about her that fell short. The only problem was the age gap that no one in the world but Hwi-yeom himself knew about.
…I’ll just have to do better.
He made that silent vow. And for that vow to mean anything, the negotiations with Shaolin were crucial.
Shaolin Temple.
The Taishan and North Star of the martial world, the very heart of the orthodox factions.
It stood as the leader of the Nine Sects and One Gang; even the Nine Great Noble Families could not entirely escape its influence. Throughout history the title of Greatest Under Heaven had been claimed by masters from many different sects, yet the honor of Greatest Sect had belonged only to Wudang and Shaolin—proof enough of the temple’s deep and enduring strength.
Shaolin’s relationship with the Sama Clan is not good. My role here is critical.
Fortunately he already held a debt over them.
By accepting the mediation of the Thousand-Handed Living Buddha, Hyeondeok Daesa, he had given Shaolin face—and that itself counted as a debt.
On top of that, by excluding the Anhui grain merchants and buying Henan grain instead, we’ve been lining Shaolin’s pockets quite nicely.
For all these reasons the talks with Shaolin were unlikely to go completely south.
And indeed, the moment the gate-guarding warrior-monks were informed that the young master of the Sichuan Dang Family had arrived, the head of the Guest Reception Office came out in person to greet them—an extravagantly courteous reception even for the heir of one of the Nine Great Families. It was a clear sign of the goodwill Shaolin currently felt toward the Dang Family.
Guided by the Guest Reception Head, Hwi-yeom was soon ushered into the abbot’s chambers.
“Welcome, Prophetic Dragon. I have heard a great deal about you from Hye-deok, yet seeing you in person you are even more impressive. I am truly glad we could meet. I am called Hye-won.”
“It is an infinite honor to meet the Abbot of Shaolin, the Divine Buddha of Compassion, Hye-won Daesa.”
The kindly-looking old monk rubbed his gleaming head and let out a hearty laugh.
“Divine Buddha, nonsense… I’m just a bald monk. Come, come, take a seat.”
“Ah, allow me to brew the tea. I brought a gift of Western tea called Caffa that our family has begun selling…”
“Oh-ho, so this is the famous drink that has all of Sichuan in an uproar. Then I shall gladly accept a cup.”
After the usual polite small talk and a few sips of coffee, the two old foxes finally moved to the real business.
“Still, while it delights me that you have come all this way to visit our temple, a man as busy with public and private affairs as the Prophetic Dragon would not have made such a difficult journey merely to chat with an old man about the state of the world, would he?”
“If, by conversing with Hye-won Daesa, I could absorb even one-hundredth of his penetrating insight, what could possibly be more valuable?”
“Hahaha…”
“Yet it is also true that I did not come merely to pay my respects. In fact I have come to propose an alliance to the Daesa.”
“An alliance? The Sichuan Dang Family is already one of the pillars supporting the orthodox path among the Nine Great Noble Families, and thus already a steadfast ally of Shaolin.”
“Not an alliance of martial sects, but an alliance of economic entities.”
“Ho.”
Hye-won Daesa’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“This old man is of shallow learning and meager talent, so I know little of such things. Forgive my ignorance, but what exactly does an ‘alliance of economic entities’ mean?”
Even the word “economy” itself was not widely used in this era. It was only natural that even the abbot of Shaolin would find it unfamiliar.
Hwi-yeom opened his mouth.
“The exchange of goods between groups, the circulation of materials, and the sum of all profit-and-loss activities that arise from them—this we call the economy.”
“In that case I understand: both Shaolin and the Dang Family are already economic entities. Shaolin purchases the Yunnan tea that the Dang Family monopolizes, and the Dang Family purchases the grain produced on Shaolin’s fields. Is that not already an excellent economic alliance? Is there something new beyond that?”
“There is.”
“Then what, specifically, do you desire?”
“At present Sichuan draws its revenue from cosmetics, Shu brocade, wrought iron, and steel. But these sources of income will diversify further in the days ahead, and will generate even greater profits.”
“For example?”
“Glassware, rubber goods, sugar and Caffa, and from there an endless diversification of iron products.”
“Hmmm…”
Glass and rubber, sugar and Caffa. Hye-won Daesa himself did not know precisely what those things were, but he knew they had set the Central Plains abuzz. Through the Beggars’ Gang he had also heard about the events in Beijing, so there was much about the Dang Family’s recent movements that concerned him.
Yet news from Sichuan itself has been completely blacked out.
That was largely because Sichuan no longer had beggars. With countless enterprises springing up, every corner of the province was short of manpower. Able-bodied men no longer went hungry, leaving no openings for the beggars of the Beggars’ Gang—the greatest intelligence network among the Nine Sects and One Gang—to plant their feet.
And now, of all times, they have come to us of their own accord to talk…
“Does the Dang Family intend to share those profits with our Shaolin?”
“Of course.”
“Heh-heh. We are merely monks who chant sutras; we cannot invent new products. What help could we possibly offer?”
At the abbot’s words the corners of Hwi-yeom’s lips slowly curved upward.
“We intend to advance into the Central Plains. Hand in hand with our in-laws, the Sama Clan, we mean to cut down the power of the Namgung Clan—and for that process we require Shaolin’s cooperation.”
“Hah…”
Hye-won Daesa let out a short, involuntary sigh.
He had known that the Dang Family was checking the Anhui grain merchants and rubbing up against the Namgung Clan, but he had not expected them to walk into Shaolin and state it so baldly.
“This humble monk’s ears are dull; I am not certain I understood correctly. Could you perhaps explain in greater detail?”
In other words: show us your cards first. Hwi-yeom answered with perfect clarity.
“We will arrange for a State-run Ironworks to be established in Henan. The ironworks itself will fall under the jurisdiction of the Provincial Administration Commission, so Shaolin will not profit directly from the enterprise… but…”
Hwi-yeom smiled.
“Shall we talk about sitting back and counting money?”