The Road Home
Waaaaah—!!
Emperor Sungui’s speech proved quite the success.
Praising the monumental feat of raising a dam from a mountain by human hands alone, he declared that they were living in an age no one had ever known before—and that this age was one they themselves would forge. The words struck a blazing chord among the people.
The common folk of Henan Province, thoroughly swept up in the fervor, lifted their prostrate heads and roared toward the heavens.
“Long live His Majesty Emperor Sungui! Ten thousand years! Ten thousand years! Ten thousand of ten thousand years!!!”
“May the Great Gyeong Empire endure forever!!”
And of course their praise did not stop with the emperor.
“Lord Wi Cheon! May you enjoy everlasting health and longevity!”
“Ten thousand years to the Provincial Governor of Henan!!”
Acclaim poured out as well for Wi Cheon, the Provincial Governor of Henan who had overseen the entire construction. The governor—still a little crestfallen that he had never gotten to deliver the speech he had stayed up night after night preparing—gazed upon the cheering throngs with a look of pure emotion.
Then, as if by inevitable progression, the cries turned elsewhere.
“Sichuan Wolong!! Sichuan Wolong!! Sichuan Wolong!! Sichuan Wolong!!”
“Dang Family! Dang Family! Dang Family! Dang Family! Dang Family! Dang Family! Dang Family! Dang Family!”
A feverish wave of cheers for the Dang Family and for Hwiyeom rolled on without end.
“Well now. Your popularity almost rivals my own.”
When Emperor Sungui tossed out that bone-chilling jest, Hwiyeom instantly moved to throw himself into full prostration and cry that such a thing was utterly unthinkable. But the emperor was quicker than Hwiyeom’s forehead could meet the ground.
“I’m not threatening you and I’m not pressuring you, so quit the nonsense. Are you trying to force me to make an example of you right here?”
His hand rested on Hwiyeom’s shoulder, stopping the bow. From the side it almost looked affectionate.
“Your Majesty… why…?”
“Heh heh heh. I know every corner of that mind of yours. But there are still a few stiff-necked fossils in Beijing who refuse to understand. That is why I came—so that the glory of this great work becomes mine entirely, not merely yours.”
“As is only proper, Your Majesty.”
“Doesn’t it stick in your craw, honestly?”
“Not in the slightest, Your Majesty.”
“Kekeke. Good.”
Still chuckling, Emperor Sungui regarded Hwiyeom.
“With iron no longer in short supply, we can finally push ahead with the Beijing Railway Joint-Stock Company, yes?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. First, however, I intend to promulgate the stock law and open the Imperial Stock Exchange.”
“Ah… that business of absorbing market capital you mentioned before?”
“Precisely.”
A joint-stock company was a place where all people, high and low, could freely buy and sell shares. Yet in a society still bound by rank and status, such pure equality would never win the favor of the ruling class. A small compromise had therefore been arranged: the pre-listing investment system.
Even in the twenty-first century, entrepreneurs had called it “angel investment”—wealthy backers pouring capital into fledgling ventures that possessed only technology or an idea, receiving in return a measure of managerial influence, then recovering their stake later through an IPO once the business had grown. Unlike ordinary stock trading, the company was not yet listed, competition was scarce, and the potential returns could be enormous—though the risks, of course, matched the reward.
Hwiyeom had simply refined the private practice so that many people could participate in slices, much as they would with regular shares. The arrangement offered officials several quiet advantages.
First, merely selling upon listing would already turn a profit. The Beijing Railway Joint-Stock Company rode the twin waves of Hwiyeom’s golden reputation and the certainty that the emperor himself would ensure its success; an open rush was inevitable the moment the shares hit the market. A timely sale would put handsome pocket money into any official’s purse.
Second, holding the shares was even better. If the company thrived, the price would climb steadily—no reason to sell. Beyond simple gain, the stock carried the right to influence management, something high ministers especially would be loath to relinquish.
Third, it satisfied a certain psychological superiority. Being able to buy first in an over-the-counter market closed to common folk soothed bureaucratic pride.
Fourth, it turned officials cooperative. No bureaucrat would throw sand into the gears of a company whose shares he himself owned. Even if some disgruntled party tried to interfere, the informal “shareholder bloc” would quietly smother the obstruction.
Emperor Sungui nodded.
“Proceed as you see fit. I shall see you again in Beijing.”
“Your imperial grace is boundless.”
And with that, every remaining matter in Henan was finished.
Before returning to Beijing, Hwiyeom decided upon a brief respite at the Sichuan Dang Family and made stops at both the Namgung Family and Shaolin Temple.
He called first upon the Namgung Family. The once-hostile gazes of its people had softened; he exchanged greetings and met with Namgung Jin.
Outwardly the Namgung Family had chosen to bury both the affair with the Sichuan Dang Family and the earlier clash with the Hebei Paeng Family, and in so doing had managed to polish a rather magnanimous image for themselves. The general impression ran something like this:
—The Namgung Family accepted the mediation of the Sichuan Dang Family and resolved the misunderstanding with the Hebei Paeng Family.
—We had long since discerned that vile villains were plotting the division of the orthodox murim from the shadows.
—The Emperor’s Sword is never deceived by evil. The Hebei Paeng Family has long stood shoulder to shoulder with us in the cause of righteousness and chivalry; this incident shall not fray the bonds of loyalty between our houses.
When the Young Lord of Namgung issued a proclamation to that effect across the whole of Anhui Province, the reaction was considerable.
“Hah, Namgung really is Namgung.”
“Now that’s a true man of greatness… Their own people were wounded by Paeng martial arts—anyone would have pointed the finger first—yet they saw the situation with cold clarity and recognized the hand of the unorthodox.”
“Well, the Sichuan Dang Family did set the stage, true.”
“That they did.”
Namgung Jin, who had danced to Hwiyeom’s tune from start to finish, might have felt the sting privately, yet the Namgung Family had secured two rabbits at once: they avoided a pointless feud with the Paeng Family while preserving their pride.
“Young Lord. I am now leaving Henan and returning to my own house.”
“So you are.”
“And once more I must say it… the Dang Family never harmed the people of Namgung.”
“….”
“I suspect the same is true of the Paeng Family. Therefore—”
“Enough.”
Namgung Jin’s brow furrowed.
“That matter was already settled last time.”
“I only feared some lingering resentment might remain…”
“I may have taken a hit from you, but I am no fool. Once might be overlooked; twice, thrice—I know how to grow suspicious.”
“…Forgive the impertinence.”
“That a force works in the shadows to sow division and chaos among the orthodox is now known to many. It will not be so easy for them again.”
“Is that so?”
“Come to think of it, my father asked me to pass along a message.”
“The Family Head?”
Hwiyeom tilted his head. Namgung Jin’s father was none other than the Sword King Namgung Hyeok. What business could a man he had never even met possibly have with him?
Namgung Jin’s voice was cold.
“….”
In short: if Hwiyeom, absorbed in politics and state affairs, ever inflicted too much harm upon the murim, Namgung Hyeok would simply arrive and kill him. A naked threat. Yet Hwiyeom only smiled quietly.
“Man proposes, Heaven disposes, as the saying goes. One cannot stop the flow of the Yangtze with a single palm. Tell him that things come to pass because they must.”
It could have been the bold declaration of a man who meant to walk his own road no matter how some recluse swordsman ranted in his private chamber; it could equally have been the calm maxim of a sage simply speaking truth.
Namgung Jin’s brow knotted hard.
“…I have thought it before. You really are an insolent fellow.”
“I hear that often.”
Hwiyeom laughed.
“And because of it I have accomplished a great deal.”
“….”
Namgung Jin sighed.
“Go carefully.”
“Until we meet again.”
And so Hwiyeom left the Namgung Family behind.
By contrast, the visit to Shaolin Temple unfolded in a far gentler atmosphere. Naturally so: the Sichuan Dang Family was now Shaolin’s foremost ally, and Hwiyeom himself the benefactor who had showered the temple with enormous profit.
“I still remember that green boy from back then as if it were yesterday—and now his fame shakes the Central Plains and his authority raises mountains from nothing. ‘The blue sea turned to mulberry fields’ barely begins to cover it. Heh heh!”
“You look as hale now as you did then, Living Buddha. That is a relief.”
Thousand-Handed Living Buddha Hyeondeok Daesa smiled faintly through a face thick with age spots.
“Do I, now?”
“Of course.”
“Even the eyes of the Sichuan Wolong can miss their mark. At my age a man begins to know when his time is coming. Mine will not be long. This will likely be our last meeting in this world.”
“Please do not say such things.”
“No. I have lived enough. And…”
The warm smile vanished. With a solemn face he looked straight at Hwiyeom—then sank to his knees before him in formal respect.
“?! Martial Uncle! What is the meaning of—?!”
The Abbot of Shaolin nearly choked, yet Hyeondeok Daesa offered no explanation. He simply bowed his head to Hwiyeom.
“I am sorry.”
“….”
Hwiyeom’s expression did not change. No one could tell whether he had anticipated the gesture or whether he simply believed the old man deserved to make it.
After a moment of silence he spoke.
“Please rise, Daesa.”
“This is my final wish before I die. Forgive Shaolin.”
“Martial Uncle, what are you—”
“….”
“Shaolin, and the orthodox murim entire, bear a heavy original sin toward the Sichuan Dang Family. When Sichuan murim stood on the brink we neither saved it nor even turned our faces toward it. Because of that the Dang Family wandered decades in deep darkness. I beg you… please forgive us.”
“….”
Hwiyeom’s gaze remained clear and transparent. His continued silence twisted the atmosphere. The Abbot’s face flushed scarlet as though he himself had been insulted; he was on the verge of opening his mouth to rebuke Hwiyeom when Hwiyeom finally spoke.
“The Southern Savage Beast Palace.”
“….”
“The Palace Lord of the Beasts once told me never to trust the murim of the Central Plains.”
“….”
“I looked into the situation of those days afterward. What happened to my family… turned out not to have been for any especially grand reason.”
“….”
The Abbot of Shaolin flinched. Seeing that reaction, Hwiyeom gave a short laugh.
“No need to look so wary. I have no particular thought of revenge. Besides—when it comes to talk of vengeance, Shaolin and my house are already highly productive business partners, are we not?”
He shrugged.
“Please stand. This is not sarcasm, nor some declaration that I can never forgive you now. I truly hold no grudge against Shaolin.”
“….”
“The elders of my house may feel differently, of course. But with people already working in the shadows to split the murim, there is little point in dredging up old grudges just to make faces red. Is that not why you yourself have gone to such lengths, Daesa? The one man of Shaolin who once showed Sichuan a scrap of warmth—Thousand-Handed Living Buddha Hyeondeok—wishing to receive the Dang Family’s forgiveness while he still draws breath.”
“….”
Hyeondeok Daesa, who had kept his silence, finally let out a long breath.
“I know how shameless these words must sound to those who lived it… but in those days the murim had no other path. It was never because we wished to watch Sichuan murim collapse. Qinghai, Sichuan, Yunnan—all had to be offered up so that every sect under heaven could gather for one last desperate throw of the dice. Even that was not enough; we had to persuade the imperial court to lend us troops.”
“In the end, the Poison Thunder Without Shadow that the Dang Family Head of the time unleashed in a mutual-destruction technique poisoned the Heavenly Demon… and the worst we feared never came. I merely stole his victory. I only finished off a Heavenly Demon already dying of incurable venom.”
“Since the subject has arisen, allow me to ask. What truly happened that day? At the summit of Wolgyeon Peak my grandfather—the Dark King Dang Hyoseon—together with the Emperor Sword Namgung Changcheon, the Five Tigers Saber Emperor Paeng Junhyeok, the Taiji Sword Venerable Daoist Cheongsu, and the Plum Blossom Divine Sword Daoist Unjeong fought a great battle against the Heavenly Demon. The wounded Heavenly Demon fled, and every orthodox hero save my grandfather was slain. That is all I have ever been told. Daesa… do you know the truth of that day?”
“….”
After a pause Hyeondeok Daesa answered.
“If I speak, will you be able to believe me?”
“Speak so that I can.”
“….”
After a moment’s consideration the old monk said,
“I cannot say how much weight my words will carry… yet…”