The Wedding (1)
In the sixteenth century, with travel still so poorly developed, it was nearly impossible for a serving official to attend a wedding in a distant province.
How could a bureaucrat abandon his office for a month—or, at worst, several months at a stretch?
And so most of the officials in Beijing to whom Eun Seol-ran had written invitations until the ligaments in her wrists burned never managed to attend the ceremony itself. In place of their presence, however, they sent letters of congratulation for Hwi-yeom’s marriage—so many that the pile was almost unbelievable for the wedding of a mere young master of a martial clan.
“It would be a waste if only we saw these,” Eun Seol-ran declared. “We should put them on display so every guest can see them—and see the power of our Dang Family!”
Under her direction, every letter from the powerful and the practical men of Beijing was mounted and hung along the corridors of the guest lodgings.
Because the land was vast and the roads were not, a wedding in the martial world often ran three days at the shortest and more than a month at the longest; providing lodgings on the estate—or at least securing nearby inns—was simply the unwritten rule. The arriving guests would stay in those rooms and marvel at Hwi-yeom’s connections and the strength of the Dang Family.
Among the congratulations, one outshone all the rest: an imperial plaque written in Emperor Sungui’s own hand. Even its wording was extraordinary.
To Hwi-yeom, loyal servant of the ages and Zhang Liang of Our court, We bestow this plaque as a wedding gift. Let the people of Sichuan revere Baedang Mountain.
Baedang Mountain was simply the name people gave to the modest peak on which the Sichuan Dang Family had planted its roots. The mountain had once possessed another name of its own, but the clan’s renown and prestige had grown so overwhelming that the old name was forgotten and “Baedang” remained. Hwi-yeom, for his part, rather liked the sound—it reminded him of stock dividends.
The plaque the emperor had granted was carved from fine rosewood by the finest woodworker in Beijing, who had transferred His Majesty’s calligraphy into raised relief and then gilded the characters with gold.
People of Sichuan, remember the loyalty and righteousness of the Dang Family.
— Sungui Emperor Ju Gyeong-cheon, written by Our own hand
For the people of the Dang Family, it was pure, lethal-dose family pride. From Hwi-yeom’s thoroughly un-Confucian perspective it was more like, Ah, so this guy didn’t want to hand over money or actual privileges and just papered it over with lip service, and he clicked his tongue. Everyone else’s reaction was rather different.
The elders of the council and the senior masters fell to their knees before the plaque and wept.
“To think that in my seventieth year the Dang Family would live to see such glory…!”
“I can die without regret now!”
They bowed again and again toward the northeast, where the emperor resided. The household retainers—who had always regarded their young master with a mixture of respect and resentment for the endless overtime, the dazzling results he somehow wrung from them, and the way he crushed complaints with money—stood staring at the plaque and murmuring among themselves.
“Why do I keep snickering for no reason?”
“Right? It’s not like rice cakes fall out of the sky just because we got that thing.”
“Weird. My shoulders keep wanting to puff up.”
“Guess the young master really is something else. A few trips to Beijing and he comes back with an imperial plaque in the emperor’s own hand…”
“Hey, you bastard—is the young master your buddy? ‘Something else’? ‘Guy’?”
“Sorry, slip of the tongue. You know what I meant, though.”
“Watch how you carry yourself.”
“…Should we get back to work? Guess we’d better work hard.”
“Yeah. For some reason I feel stronger.”
And so, shoulders dancing with an inexplicable pride, they headed off to their posts—only to receive, because of Hwi-yeom’s wedding, a paid leave of nearly a full month until the ceremonies ended. When Hwi-yeom announced a special bonus for every household member’s past labors in celebration of receiving the imperial plaque, the entire Dang Family roared so loudly the buildings seemed ready to lift off their foundations.
“Long live the Sichuan Dang Family!! Long live His Majesty the Emperor!!”
“The Dang Family will remember your devotion—just as the emperor remembers the Dang Family’s loyalty!”
Even before the wedding began, Dang Un-sang threw the Sichuan Dang Family wide open to the outside world. Naturally the core secret departments—the Innovation Hall, Cheol-u-jeon, the Poison Hall, the Christian Hall, and the rest—remained closed, but the great gates of the estate stood open so that wedding guests and ordinary people of Sichuan alike could come and go as they pleased.
Surprisingly, this too had been Eun Seol-ran’s idea.
“Darling, our Dang Family needs to change the impression it gives the world.”
“Why? The impression is fine. Sichuan’s foremost house, strong enough to matter. A sect with both virtue and competence that keeps the common people fed. What’s not to like?”
“That’s true, but there’s still the sense that we’re closed-off and sinister, isn’t there? That we only care about blood kin and huddle among ourselves… the sort of house that can never rise beyond being the local hegemon. You’ve heard people say it.”
“…No one who said it to my face ever walked away breathing, but go on.”
Because the Dang Family’s main weapons were poisons and hidden projectiles, they had always been forced into more neurotically closed policies simply to control their secrets. Under the family motto of never forgetting a grudge, they were famous for the relentlessness with which they killed enemies and favored only their own. Those who disliked the clan mocked them as “a narrow house of small capacity,” “a house that might rule a province but could never become the foremost under heaven.” Honestly, the Dang people themselves were not indifferent to the charge.
“But in your generation our family has changed a great deal. We’ve become a house of righteous men who contribute to the whole community—so much that the people of Sichuan rely on us more than on the officials of the realm. But that’s how people inside Sichuan see us. To martial figures who come as guests, the Sichuan Dang Family still looks like a closed clan. So…”
“So we hide the truly critical secret zones, fling the gates wide open in a carefully staged show, and prove we’ve overcome that closed nature and become a house respected by the community.”
“Exactly!”
“I’ll take it up in the Family Head’s hall.”
After discussion, Eun Seol-ran’s proposal was accepted. Thanks to that, the people of Sichuan poured in to gawk at the secretive place they had only ever heard rumors about, and the estate was flooded with sightseers.
Flower beds blazing with spring blossoms were thrown open to view (iron mesh and warning signs kept anyone from approaching the poisonous plants). Multicolored glass ornaments and glass lamps crafted by Niccolo and his disciples in the Innovation Hall’s glass workshop hung glittering throughout the grounds. Children crunched free Tanghoro candy handed out at the entrance, toured the interior of the Sichuan Dang Family, and turned sparkling eyes on their parents.
“Mama! When I grow up I want to be a worker for the Dang Family!”
“Then you’d better study hard, hadn’t you?”
“I’m going to be a martial artist!”
“Martial artists need to be clever too.”
About a week before the wedding, figures connected to the martial world began arriving from every corner of the realm. The first to appear were not the Emei Sect or the Qingcheng Sect. Those two lived practically next door and visited often enough; they could simply show up when the ceremonies actually began. The earliest arrivals were the deputy chief and elder beggars of the Beggars’ Sect, whose headquarters stood in Kaifeng.
“A feast house without beggars? Unthinkable, Family Head! Truly, congratulations!”
“Chun-sik, why the stiff formality? Call me the way you always do.”
“Should I? There were so many eyes watching I thought I’d better mind my manners.”
“If you start minding eyes, how do you keep being a beggar?”
“True enough! Wahahaha!”
Cheolhyeolgae Jang Chun-sik, Dang Un-sang’s childhood friend and deputy chief of the Beggars’ Sect, swept him into a crushing hug.
“Congratulations, Un-sang! Your boy is so damned impressive the whole Central Plains is buzzing with the news!”
Jang Chun-sik’s clothes were filthy in the true beggar style, but Dang Un-sang felt not the slightest distaste. He returned the embrace, pounding the other man’s back, and laughed with equal gusto.
“Don’t even start. The brat’s so capable I may have to hand over the family headship early and go into retirement.”
“Well, you never were cut out to be family head in the first place.”
“What was that, you bastard?”
They traded barbs in the easy, boyish tone of their youth until Cheolhyeolgae’s face suddenly turned serious.
“Congratulations aside, I’ve got something grave to discuss. Make time for me later.”
“—? All right.”
Dang Un-sang assigned lodgings to Cheolhyeolgae and the rest of the Beggars’ Sect contingent.
Next to arrive was none other than Shaolin Temple. Ordinarily people snickered that Shaolin and Wudang, quietly obsessed with which of them ranked first under heaven, always timed their arrivals for last; for them to appear this early was truly rare. And the delegation itself was dazzling: Hyeondeok Daesa, the Thousand-Handed Living Buddha—Sichuan’s hero and the man who had once mediated between the Dang Family and Qingcheng—had come, and with him Hyeonseong Daesa, abbot of Shaolin’s Guest Reception Court, which effectively managed the temple’s purse.
(Why did the office that received guests serve as Shaolin’s wallet? Because, after tenant rents, donations from worshippers were the temple’s second-largest source of income.)
“Hehehe! That child from back then has already grown into such a splendid man. Dragon of the Seonji! Congratulations on your marriage. Ah—calling you ‘A-ryong’ is probably rude by now.”
“That Master Hyeondeok would honor us with his presence is the greatest joy. And what does a courtesy name matter? I’m still only a child who doesn’t yet know how narrow the well is.”
“Hehe. What you have already accomplished is without precedent, and still you call it nothing more than the bottom of a well. This donor’s future is truly something to look forward to. We meet for the first time. This humble monk is Hyeonseong of Shaolin.”
“Master Hyeonseong, it is an honor. I suspect we shall be exchanging greetings often from now on; please enjoy yourself to the fullest while you are here.”
In all likelihood it would be with Hyeonseong Daesa that he coordinated any future business with Shaolin. At Hwi-yeom’s words the abbot’s brows twitched and he smiled.
“I trust the Family Head understands why we hurried our steps.”
“Of course I do.”
It was an unmistakable diplomatic gesture: Shaolin was elevating the Sichuan Dang Family above the old order. Naturally the Namgung Family, potential enemies of the Dang, would find it uncomfortable. In short, Shaolin was using this wedding to declare, publicly and officially, that it stood with the Dang Family.
Dang Un-sang smiled faintly.
“The Dang Family has never forgotten the kindness Shaolin once showed us. That the two houses should be bound again by such a fortunate tie is nothing but joy.”
“We feel the same, hahaha!”
Beginning with the Beggars’ Sect and Shaolin, the geographically nearer houses arrived first—Kunlun of Qinghai Province, Kongtong of Gansu—followed by Huashan and Zhongnan of Shaanxi, Wudang of Hubei, and the rest. The Emei Sect and Qingcheng Sect appeared three days before the wedding.
“Donor! Congratulations on your marriage!”
From Emei came none other than the sect leader herself, Hye-eun Satae, together with Hye-jeong Satae, Emei’s First Sword. Even Qingcheng—whose history with the Dang Family was far from beautiful—had apparently decided there was no longer any need to keep the confrontation going. Sect Leader Baek Hyeon-jin-in arrived with Pavilion Master Baek Seon-jin-in of the Re-View Pavilion and offered awkward congratulations. Whether they had resolved to pivot and hitch themselves to the stream of wealth the Dang Family was creating, no one could say for certain; but on a happy day there was no need to sour faces, so the people of the Dang Family smiled and welcomed them.
The Hainan Sect, farthest of all, only managed to arrive the day before the wedding began.
Compared with the Nine Sects and One Gang—who had largely come for simple congratulations and curiosity—the Nine Great Noble Families arrived with rather more complicated motives.