That's Out of the Question
The first thought that filled the party's minds was of the Namgung Clan's interference — the kind they had already endured once before.
But as they listened to the explanation, it became clear this was a different problem entirely.
"Most of the vessels have been requisitioned to haul construction materials for a company called Angang, so the number of available ships has dropped sharply. And with passengers crowding onto whatever remains…"
In short, Hui-yeom was the culprit.
Feeling rather sheepish, Hui-yeom said, "I imagine the inconvenience to travelers has been considerable."
"Oh, don't even get me started, sir. You're a gentleman by comparison. The number of people who come in swinging, or who pull a blade on you without so much as a word — I've about had it. I'm starting to be afraid to do this job."
The gray-haired water-transport official sighed heavily.
After a moment's thought, Hui-yeom stepped back.
"What will you do?" Sama Yun asked. "We could travel by land, of course, but…"
Hui-yeom shook his head. "That would cut the whole point of seeing Suzhou and Hangzhou in half."
To properly enjoy Suzhou and Hangzhou, a pleasure cruise was essential.
In the end, the only option was to go to Angang — the source of the trouble — and sort the matter out themselves.
Sama Yun frowned. "Husband, I have a bad feeling about this."
"A bad feeling?"
"Yes. If we've thought of this, others will have thought of it too. And if they go to Angang to protest…"
If martial artists stormed Angang's offices or construction sites and got a look at the staff, the employees might not have Former River Pirate stamped on their foreheads — but visitors arriving in a foul mood might still pick a fight. Blood could well be spilled.
The gravity of the situation settled over them, and their expressions hardened.
"We move fast. Where's the nearest Angang branch?"
"The Huangmei Branch, in Huangmei County."
And so Hui-yeom's party set out for the Huangmei Branch.
Zhang Liang, branch manager of the Huangmei office of the Angang Water Transport Safety Management Corporation, was about ready to climb the walls.
"Look, I keep telling you — releasing a ship isn't something I can decide on my own. This is a government contract. Go see the Huangmei County Magistrate, or the Hubei Provincial Administration Commissioner, and come back with a permit."
"What? You dare dismiss the Peak Demon Sword, Sim Ik-hyeon?!"
Peak Demon Sword, my ass. More like Peak Bald Spot, you chrome-domed bastard. One punch and you'd fold — and you're still throwing this tantrum…
Was living in the light really this hard?
Zhang Liang, once known as the Remnant Blade Crocodile, had led a pirate den of his own in his day. His martial skill reached the First-rate. Watching a Second-rate nobody polish his shiny scalp and pile on every empty bluff under the sun — Peak Demon Sword, Severed Demon Sword, whatever he called himself — made Zhang Liang's "buried past" stir and whisper, Heh heh heh… do you want power?
So this is why demonic cultivators snap, he thought, with a certain bitter kinship. He forced a smile.
"Aigoo, how could I possibly entertain such shameless thoughts after hearing the fearsome renown of the Peak Demon Sword? My knees are knocking as we speak. But this humble servant has no authority at all. Please, consider my position — I can't exactly throw my life away either, can I?"
Zhang Liang's low posture only inflated Sim Ik-hyeon's ego further. The Peak Demon Sword snorted and drew his blade.
"You insolent dog. You know who I am and still ignore me? Enough talk. Choose! Hand over a ship, or taste real heat!"
Should I just kill him?
The Remnant Blade Crocodile inside Zhang Liang was about to wake. Internal energy began to gather in his dangling right hand —
—BANG!!
A thunderclap of a report, and the sword in the Peak Demon Sword's hand vanished.
Eyes round as saucers, Sim Ik-hyeon stared at his suddenly empty hand, then at his former demon blade spinning end over end until it thunked into the pier boards far down the landing. Only then did he look toward the source of the blast.
"Looks like we weren't too late after all?"
A lush figure no loose martial robe could fully hide; a sharp, cat-like face with the corners of the lips and eyes tilted up just enough to be dangerous rather than cruel; hair like black silk; clear, striking eyes; lips with the glossy sheen of a ruby catching the light.
Any man would have gaped at that sultry beauty — and for a moment the Peak Demon Sword did. Then he snapped out of it.
The true-green robes she wore, and the phoenix crest embroidered on them, told him exactly who she was.
"Th-the Blood Phoenix…!"
Click.
"Whoa, whoa, Auntie. Easy."
Hui-yeom stepped in and restrained Dang Su-jeong, who had already leveled her gun at the Peak Demon Sword for daring to speak a title she disliked.
"He called me the Blood Phoenix. And you want me to leave him alive?"
Honestly, Blood Phoenix or Poison Phoenix — both sound equally terrifying. Martial artists' aesthetics will never make sense to me.
Hui-yeom sighed inwardly and soothed her. "If blood is spilled on company grounds, the good fortune walks out with it. If you're going to kill him, at least drag him outside first."
Perhaps he, too, had gone a little too far down the martial-world path.
The Peak Demon Sword shook like a man in the grip of fever, looking from Hui-yeom to Dang Su-jeong and back.
"Th-that refined face, that gentle manner hiding a merciless nature — th-the Sichuan Crouching Dragon?!"
Twang~!
"Ghk!"
Before Hui-yeom or Dang Su-jeong could react, a bronze paperweight flew through the air and cracked the Peak Demon Sword square in the forehead. With a remarkably clear, ringing impact, Sim Ik-hyeon's eyes rolled white and he crumpled in a heap.
"…"
In the peculiar silence that followed, every gaze turned toward the direction the paperweight had come from.
Sama Yun, still frozen in the pose of someone who had just thrown something, laughed awkwardly. "Ah — no — just now, that man dared to call my husband the 'Crouching Dragon'…"
"…"
…What exactly is Zhuge Kongming to the Sama Clan…?
No, wait — if anyone should be offended, it's Zhuge Liang, not me. Why is Yun flying off the handle?
The Sama Clan's loathing for the Zhuge Clan was a matter that lay well beyond the understanding of either Su-jeong or Hui-yeom.
Zhang Liang gave the Peak Demon Sword a casual kick, rolled him off to one side, then hurried over, smiling, and bowed low to Hui-yeom.
"Aigoo~! Chairman! What brings you in person to such a humble place! If you'd only sent word ahead, I would have come out to receive you myself…"
"I was hoping to pass through without imposing, Branch Manager Zhang — my apologies. I came because I heard ships were unavailable and thought the situation might be getting awkward. Seems I was right."
"Tch… I have no face for this."
"Have there been many like him?"
"Yes… well… about a fortnight now. So far they've mostly been small fry — we can talk them down or soothe them and send them on their way. But the ones who cross the line are about due, and I've been fretting over it."
"Still, this is a government project. Surely no one would interfere too openly?"
"If they were from the orthodox path, yes. The underworld is another matter."
Where orthodox sects felt like legitimate enterprises — or like criminal syndicates that had successfully corporatized — underworld factions were simply gangs of criminals.
Al Capone's outfit, running milk deliveries on the side, could pose as a friend to the taxpaying public even while slaughtering people in the shadows over turf. Mexican cartels, by contrast, didn't bother with packaging — they killed as they pleased and sold their product. Orthodox and unorthodox, or the black path, were divided by whether they officially observed society's contracts and laws, or flouted them outright.
Zhang Liang himself had been one of them — a member of the Eighteen Strongholds of the Yangtze River, a vast organization under the Unorthodox Alliance. Who better to know the underworld's nature? He lowered his voice to a near-whisper.
"The black path is crawling with people who live for today and never think past it. Human garbage who don't care who you are — they just act on whatever foul mood they're in. Especially the ones who picked up some scrap of demonic or heretical art and went wrong from it — a lot of those have something cracked upstairs.
"I've been thinking we need a proper housecleaning soon. Quietly, of course, and without leaving a mark — if the Chairman permits…"
Looking at Zhang Liang's face, which practically radiated the will to turn the Peak Demon Sword into Yangtze fish food on the spot, Hui-yeom shook his head.
"I've actually come to give the opposite order."
"Sir? What do you mean…?"
"Release the ships requisitioned for the construction work. Get people and goods moving smoothly again."
"If… if it's an order, I'll follow it, but is that wise? Stretch out the construction schedule and the labor costs alone become serious, and the Hubei Provincial Administration won't sit still either…"
"I'll handle the labor costs somehow. What concerns me more is the bad impression we leave if this project inconveniences ordinary people. Over the long run, that could become a much larger problem. And for the political operators in Beijing who already find Angang's existence inconvenient, it would be a perfectly chewable piece of bait."
"Ah — this humble one's learning falls short; I failed to think that far. Forgive me."
Zhang Liang apologized, and Hui-yeom waved it off.
"Not at all. More to the point — when can ships be available again?"
"Hmm. Generously speaking, from about three days from now."
"Then proceed on that basis. I'll seek out the Hubei Provincial Administration and discuss the matter. Once their approval comes through, be ready to execute immediately."
"Yes, sir. I'll see to it."
"Ah — one more thing, Hero Zhang."
"Yes, Chairman?"
"If you keep kicking him like that, that man is going to roll right into the riv—"
Splash!
In the middle of the conversation, as casually as anything, Zhang Liang had been prodding the unconscious Peak Demon Sword toward the river with his foot — and finally kicked him in. He reacted like a cat that had just knocked a vase off a display cabinet.
Looking at Hui-yeom with an expression of pure innocence, as if nothing whatsoever had happened, he said with perfect composure, "If he doesn't want to die, he'll wake up and swim. Survival instinct's stronger than people think. Especially in vermin like that."
"…Right."
Well — underworld methods were fine, so long as they stayed this side of the line.
Hui-yeom was turning away with that thought when —
"A pity. We should have broken his arms and legs before we sent him off."
"…Yun?"
"Calling my husband the Crouching Dragon — even that would have been too light a sentence."
"…"
Hui-yeom felt distinctly lightheaded.
"W-well then… let's go see the Provincial Administration."
"Yes!"
This was not Hui-yeom's first meeting with the Hubei Provincial Administration Commissioner. When the Namgung Clan's sabotage had blown the whole affair wide open, they had negotiated repeatedly during the founding of the Angang Water Transport Safety Management Corporation. A certain mutual understanding had grown between them.
When Hui-yeom arrived, the Commissioner set his official duties aside and welcomed him warmly.
Pleasant conversation and fragrant cups of tea passed between them. The Commissioner asked after the mood in Beijing, then joked that if Hui-yeom had any ventures underway, he would liquidate his entire fortune to invest — so please, share any good tips.
In that genial atmosphere, Hui-yeom raised the matter, fully expecting it to be accepted.
"…And so I've ordered that all the privately requisitioned vessels gathered under Angang be released and returned. The construction will run longer, but I'll find a way to cover the extra costs. That should be fine, shouldn't it?"
But —
"…I'm sorry, Scholar Dang. That's out of the question."
The unexpected refusal came back.