Nine Dragons Seven Phoenixes
To cut straight to the conclusion, Hui-yeom’s proposal to open the stock exchange inside a store he himself owned was accepted without any real objection.
Part of that was the enthusiastic support of the high lords who had already been won over by his persuasion and become backers of the venture. More fundamentally, the only real question had ever been whether such a business would be permitted at all; once permission was a settled fact, the exact location where the shares would be bought and sold hardly seemed to matter.
In actual history, the world’s first stock exchange—the Amsterdam Stock Exchange of the Netherlands—had begun in a place little different from a coffee house, where merchants gathered to trade information and socialize while investing in the shares of the Dutch East India Company (VOC). That Caffe the One, created by Hui-yeom, would come to fill the same role felt, in a way, only natural.
Why?
Who owned Caffe the One? Hui-yeom.
Who had defined the concept of joint-stock companies, memorialized the Emperor, and was driving the entire enterprise? Hui-yeom.
Then where could one obtain the most accurate and official information about those shares? Caffe the One.
So for Caffe the One to take on the dual character of stock exchange and public square for information was, if anything, the natural next step.
Of course, no public explanation of joint-stock companies had yet been released, and the Beijing Railway Joint-Stock Company—the first of its kind—did not even exist yet. The Beijing flagship of Caffe the One therefore could not open from day one as a securities exchange. Hui-yeom simply designed the space generously, intending it for that future use, and had it finished like a garden displaying the works of Michelangelo and other sixteenth-century artists.
Patrons could enter, order food, take a seat, and enjoy themselves—or they could stroll the garden, admiring the artificial pond, the carefully planted flowers, and the paintings and sculptures of the artists on display.
And on the day the true face of Caffe the One was revealed to the world, unexpected guests arrived.
“Whoa—why is this place so huge?”
Namgung Sang-min’s mouth fell open as he took in the grounds of Caffe the One, which looked as if they could rival the estate of an ordinary great family.
Don’t tell me that eunuch-looking bastard (Hui-yeom) was rich enough to buy this much land in Beijing? People always said those Sichuan country bumpkins had deep pockets—looks like it was true after all.
While Namgung Sang-min seethed inwardly, a handsome young man standing beside him, staring at the endless fence, spoke.
“That appears to be the line.”
At the words of Cheong-am—future of the Mount Hua Sect, current senior disciple of the second generation, seventeenth-generation disciple of Mount Hua—a lovely young woman with a puppy-like, adorable face pouted.
“Wow… what kind of line is that… Do we really have to stand and wait to get in?”
Watching the thoroughly dissatisfied face of Hwangbo Seol—only daughter of the Hwangbo Family head and youngest of the Nine Dragons Seven Phoenixes—with fond amusement, a powerfully built man spoke.
“Well, once we go over there, won’t they guide us properly?”
He was Paeng Sang, son of the young master of the Hebei Paeng Family.
Yes. These were none other than the Nine Dragons Seven Phoenixes, the pillars said to shoulder the future of the martial world.
For the record, Hui-yeom himself had—without ever knowing it—been ranked among those Nine Dragons Seven Phoenixes by the gossip-loving busybodies who enjoyed making such lists.
“Besides, the Sichuan Sleeping Dragon is one of the Nine Dragons Seven Phoenixes just like us! We’ve never met him, but he’ll surely welcome us!”
Paeng Sang laughed with a hearty, booming voice.
Namgung Sang-min clicked his tongue, finding the man pretentious and irritating.
Acting all open-hearted…
Outwardly, however, he simply nodded with the mildest of expressions.
“Young Hero Dang Hui-yeom of the Sichuan Sleeping Dragon will certainly not treat us shabbily, Brother Paeng.”
“Come to think of it, Brother Namgung has met Young Hero Dang. What sort of man was he?”
“He was…”
Having spent so much time cursing the man under his breath, Namgung Sang-min found that nothing complimentary came out at once and faltered. Jegal Eun-ryeo quietly stepped in.
“He was a man much like the Gongjin of old—Zhou Yu.”
“Zhou Yu…! Then he is no ordinary figure, that much is certain!”
Paeng Sang exclaimed in admiration simply because a famous name had been mentioned, then looked at Jegal Eun-ryeo with eyes that clearly said, So what does that actually mean, Ten Virtues?
Jin Mu, the Cloud Mid Divine Dragon and swordsman of the Wudang Sect, spoke.
“Zhou Gongjin was the outstanding talent of his age who upheld the Six Commanderies of Jiangdong. Peerless in both civil and martial arts, handsome of face, and deeply versed even in music—a true man of many talents. Jihaeng Seobong’s evaluation is remarkably generous.”
“…I was merely reflecting on how his epithet became Sleeping Dragon.”
Jegal Eun-ryeo immediately took a step back, lest it appear that an unmarried maiden was showing excessive favor to a married man. Of course, coming from a direct descendant of the Jegal Family, no excuse could have sounded more natural.
Everyone present assumed she was expressing—gracefully and elegantly—her dissatisfaction that Dang Hui-yeom was being compared to Zhuge Liang. After all, Zhou Yu was the man who had supposedly lost every contest of wits against Zhuge Liang and finally, consumed by inferiority, spat blood and died with the famous last words, “Heaven, why did you give birth to Zhou Yu and then give birth also to Zhuge Liang!” Whether the tale was true or not, likening Hui-yeom to Zhou Yu among all possible figures was taken as a pointed reminder that he stood a step below the Jegal Family.
It wasn’t exactly that. He simply struck me as a man of many gifts.
Superb business acumen, political skill, administrative talent—and a neat, refined appearance as well.
Truly, a man who naturally inspires admiration.
Yes—admiration. Had he not single-handedly blocked and beaten back the checks of the Eight Great Families of the empire and climbed to this position without borrowing anyone’s power?
Frankly, he was a million times more impressive than the young pups swaggering around calling themselves the Nine Dragons Seven Phoenixes.
As the Nine Dragons Seven Phoenixes approached the line, a clerk holding a signboard at the very end came forward and asked,
“Welcome to Caffe the One Beijing Flagship, where refined tea fragrance and art overflow. Might you be officials, or the children of officials?”
“No.”
When Namgung Sang-min answered, the clerk asked again.
“Then perhaps the children of great merchants, head clerks of trading houses, or masters of money-changing shops?”
“No.”
“Ah! Forgive me—I’ve only just started and my eye is still untrained… With those imposing, dashing looks, are you heroes of the martial world?”
“We are.”
Namgung Sang-min’s expression had been darkening by degrees; only when he forced it smooth again did the clerk smile and say,
“This entrance is for the common citizens of Beijing. Martial artists should go to the Righteous Martial Gate over there and line up. The Righteous Martial Gate is quiet right now, so you should be able to enter at once.”
“They’ve separated the entrances?”
“Naturally. If common folk were forced to use the same gate as high officials and powerful clans, all sorts of unpleasant friction would arise, would it not? We divided them so that each group may come and go comfortably without mixing.”
Modern people might have complained that it was unequal, but to the people of this age the arrangement felt reassuring and proper. Had Hui-yeom thundered, “Everyone line up together like ordinary folk~!”, not a single commoner would have risked entering a shop where they might pick a quarrel with officials or martial artists—and the officials and martial artists would have stayed away out of wounded pride as well.
The martial artists of the Nine Dragons Seven Phoenixes themselves found the arrangement pleasing. Inwardly they regarded Beijing’s high ministers and powerful clans with awkward distaste and preferred not to mix with them if they could help it.
Guided by the staff, they entered through the Righteous Martial Gate reserved for martial artists. Once seated, they ordered drinks and refreshments.
The Caffe the One branches in Sichuan copied the modern coffee-shop system in which customers collected their coffee at the counter, but here attendants had been stationed for the sake of high-nosed officials and martial artists. That did not mean orders flew about in the style of “Boy! One bowl of caramel macchiato over here!” Guests simply studied the menu placed on the table, decided what they wanted, rang a small bell, and an attendant came to take the order and bring the tea.
Paeng Sang, however, paid no attention to such rules. Just as he always did in inns, he simply grabbed a passing attendant and asked,
“What’s good?”
The attendant answered as if used to it.
“For first-time visitors I recommend Hot Caffa with Tanghoro. Hot Caffa has a very deep flavor, but its shortcoming is that a dry, bitter aftertaste lingers; the sweet and refreshing Tanghoro balances it perfectly, and the combination is highly praised.”
“And this food called Dango Cake—what is it?”
“Ah, that is a soft, sweet cake made with plenty of sugar and flour.”
The Dango Cake was none other than traditional castella. To a modern palate, traditional castella used far fewer eggs and was so heavily steeped in sugar that it tasted rather dry and excessively sweet. Originally it had been popular aboard ships—together with pound cake and ship’s biscuit—precisely because the heavy sugaring made mold unlikely and long storage easy. Here, however, the sheer quantity of sugar made it a luxury item.
“Please wait a moment.”
When the attendant withdrew after taking the order, their eyes turned to the decorations placed around them. Martial artists without artistic training mostly managed only the level of appreciation that said, “Whoa, amazing sculpture.” The Nine Dragons Seven Phoenixes, however, were admiring something else entirely.
“Mm… this tiger.”
“Indeed, Brother Paeng—you felt it? No ordinary hand produced this.”
They were marvelling at the cut surfaces and grain of the stone. In every field, those who reach the realm of true mastery display something that can be learned from; is that not the principle that all streams return to the same ocean? Looking upon works in which Michelangelo’s divine craftsmanship had met the power of martial arts, the martial artists thought:
“Look how every single hair seems alive and moving—does it not look as if it will spring at any moment?”
Paeng Sang was locked in a staring contest with the tiger statue. He knew perfectly well it was stone, yet his instincts kept reading the attack signals in every coiled muscle fiber and every individual hair of the crouching tiger before him; he simply could not look away. It was the feeling of power tightly condensed in the instant before a tiger launches, muscles quivering with tension.
“This… is it not the realm of the Living Sword we have only heard of?”
“Living Sword…?”
It sounded absurd, yet nothing else could explain the statues that seemed ready to move before their eyes. Of course it was merely the chronic delusion of martial artists who force every phenomenon into the frame of “martial arts.”
Each of the Nine Dragons Seven Phoenixes thought to himself:
The Sichuan Dang Family’s connections run this deep?
To invite a master of the Living Sword to carve statues and then display them as a show of power…
Hmm… they say the family’s fortunes have lately been like a rising sun…
Around the time Michelangelo, suddenly elevated to Living Sword master, inhaled a lungful of plaster dust and sneezed mightily, Paeng Sang—unable to restrain his curiosity—called the attendant again.
“Boy! We are the Nine Dragons Seven Phoenixes. The master of this tea house, Dang Hui-yeom, is our fellow among the Nine Dragons Seven Phoenixes. We have come to offer congratulations—if he has time, would you ask him to step out?”
“Of course. Please wait a moment.”
A short while later, Hui-yeom, having heard the attendant’s report, came out to the floor where the Nine Dragons Seven Phoenixes waited.
“This humble one is Hui-yeom of the Dang Family. Miss Jegal, Young Hero Namgung—it has been some time; I am glad to see you. And the companions at your side must be the other members of the Nine Dragons Seven Phoenixes. I do not know whether I am worthy to call myself a colleague, yet I offer my greetings.”
At Hui-yeom’s courteous greeting the Nine Dragons Seven Phoenixes welcomed him with bright smiles.
“Far handsomer than I expected! Well met—I am Sang of the Paeng Family. Friends in the martial world call me the Broken Cliff Blade Dragon!”
“I am Cheong-am, Plum Blossom Sword Dragon of Mount Hua. Glad to meet you, Young Hero Dang.”
“I’m Hwangbo Seol—pleased to meet you. May I call you Brother Dang?”
“This poor Taoist is Jin Mu of Wudang. Glad to make your acquaintance, Young Hero Dang.”
While they exchanged greetings in that amicable atmosphere—
Crash!!
“What kind of lousy shop is this?!”
The sound of someone causing a disturbance rang out from not far away.