A Perfect Day to Die
It was a day of rain that fell in sheets.
Gong Duchan had been poring over the ledgers since morning. At last he set them down with a twisted scowl and pressed the heels of his hands against his dry, aching eyes. Mind and body were both frayed to exhaustion—the backlash of long hours spent reading the cruel numbers mixed through those pages.
He let out a long, heavy sigh.
“How? How the hell are those bastards still holding out…?”
It had taken less than three months for Chahwa Bank—one of Sichuan’s three great money houses—to start to buckle. The other two leading banks of the province had their main offices well away from Seongdo, so the damage to them had been lighter. They had simply lowered the rates at their Seongdo branches by two-tenths and were content to watch from the sidelines. A temporary hit, they reasoned; with luck, this might even be the chance to shove their rival Chahwa Bank out of the picture for good.
Chahwa Bank, by contrast, had taken the full force of the bleeding competition head-on. Seongdo was not only home to Chahwa’s headquarters; a dense web of mid-sized banks and Yeowangchae operations hung from it, and every loss those subordinates suffered rolled straight back into Chahwa’s own balance sheet.
Even Chahwa was reeling like this—yet Hwieon Comprehensive Finance had not so much as twitched. Fixed expenses never changed, but money coming in had dwindled, so the only way to keep making the protection payments was to push more loans and harvest more interest. And still Hwieon had the luxury of choosing its borrowers carefully.
“No… it’s because they don’t have the reserve funds…”
He tried to console himself and sucked hard on a harsh cigarette, but the smoke did nothing for his mood.
“Elder, the meeting with Zhang Family Bank and its affiliated houses is soon. You ought to be setting out…”
“Of all days they pick weather like this…”
Gong Duchan scowled at the rain hammering down, then clicked his tongue. Bad mood and foul weather were no excuse to skip the meeting.
“Let’s go.”
In the end he had no choice but to climb into the carriage.
The meeting place was a small pleasure house prepared in a quiet, secluded spot. Gong Duchan had never been there before; the traffic was sparse, but the view was decent enough for discreet business talk.
As he stepped down from the carriage, a subordinate opened an oiled-paper umbrella over his head.
“This way to the Plum Blossom Chamber, sir.”
“Mm.”
Gong Duchan walked the wooden corridor and entered the room at the far end. A courtesan slid the double doors open; the moment he stepped inside, a strange hush settled over the chamber.
On any ordinary day the bank masters and money-lenders would have risen at once to greet him. Today they stayed seated, eyes rolling anxiously in their sockets.
Tch.
Gong Duchan clicked his tongue once more and took the seat of honor.
“Why so few of you?”
He pointed at the scattered empty chairs. The master of Seongdo Bank—his right-hand man—answered carefully.
“Everyone… had urgent business come up…”
“How fortunate for them.”
The dry remark drew only awkward smiles from the money-lenders.
“Eat. Eat first, then we’ll talk.”
Gong Duchan lifted his chopsticks; the others began their meal. It was the most uncomfortable banquet imaginable. No conversation, not a single smile—only the tense faces of men working their chopsticks in silence. Gong Duchan was in no mood for small talk either. The meal ended quickly; only after hot tea had been poured did the real meeting begin.
It was less a meeting than a litany of complaints that they were all going under if things continued like this.
“At this rate we will all collapse.”
“We’re already at our limit!”
“We lowered the rates as ordered, but we need some other way…”
Gong Duchan’s irritation boiled over.
“So what exactly do you expect me to do? Hwieon Comprehensive Finance is still standing.”
“If we don’t find a move, we’re finished!”
“What move? Shall we all march over to Hwieon and set the place on fire? The prefect’s troops are guarding it—places even the Asura Sword Gate and the Assassination Pavilion gave up on. What do you propose we do about that?”
Martial artists had no reason to fear a mere hundred government soldiers. The terror of government troops lay not in their strength but in their numbers. A man does not fear a wasp nest because one wasp is stronger than he is. Even those monsters of the Realm of Transformation or the Realm of Profundity—men who could equal an army alone—could not protect every person they loved against an entire nation’s forces by themselves.
It was a dead end.
One of the money-lenders spoke with difficulty.
“…What if we approached the Young Master of the Dang Family?”
“The Young Master?”
Gong Duchan’s eyes flashed.
“What the hell for, that unlucky little bastard?”
“Everyone in Sichuan knows the Young Master has the prefect’s favor. He could petition the prefect to pull the private troops guarding Hwieon.”
“Even if not that! Everyone knows the Young Master is rolling in money. The fortune he’s amassed would be more than enough to keep us afloat until we win this fight. So if we borrow from him—”
“You madmen!!”
Crash!
Gong Duchan could no longer hold back; he hurled his teacup. The money-lenders clamped their mouths shut under the sudden violence. Gong Duchan spat as he roared.
“Go to the Young Master and say what? That bastard is our enemy! He’s the root of this whole mess! And you want to do what?!”
“What? What do you mean the Young Master is our enemy?”
“I mean the boy is constantly looking for ways to weaken the Elder Council—do you really think he’ll just hand us money…?”
Mid-sentence Gong Duchan felt a strange chill.
Come to think of it… if Hwieon Comprehensive Finance belongs to that Hwi-yeom brat, everything suddenly fits.
Hwieon Comprehensive Finance had appeared out of nowhere in Sichuan’s financial world with massive capital. They had lent the Dang Family five hundred guan of silver just to flaunt their depth, then driven out the Yeowangchae and seized the market at terrifying speed.
The money that Hwi-yeom kid raked in from all his schemes was never pocket change. And the prefect! Everyone knows the brat has the prefect’s ear. So of course the prefect’s troops would guard Hwieon!
The realization left Gong Duchan trembling.
Wait—Hwieon? Hwi-yeom and Bak Chang-eon… could Hwieon Comprehensive Construction also be…?
The thought struck him like a blow. He surged to his feet. This was no time to sit here. He had to race back, gather the elders, and confront the Family Head—
The instant the thought formed—
Crack!!
Porcelain shattered. Scalding tea sprayed.
“Guh…!”
Gong Duchan’s eyes rolled back and he collapsed. From behind him a man stepped into view, shaking hot tea from his hand and cursing under his breath.
“Haah—shit, should’ve done this sooner.”
The man who had clubbed Gong Duchan unconscious with the teapot was the very subordinate who had held the umbrella for him earlier.
The money-lenders around the table showed little surprise; they only watched him and the fallen Gong Duchan with heavy faces.
One of them spoke.
“Song Hoejang… do we really have to go this far?”
Song Hoejang answered with a thin, blood-scented smile.
“What, getting cold feet now?”
“Even if they’re only a branch, Chahwa Bank is still part of the Sichuan Dang Family. If we touch them, the aftermath—”
“Ha, fucking hell. I’ve been serving money-lenders whose brains don’t work. Anyone listening would think the Dang Family and Chahwa Bank are still thick as thieves. Even the brainless thugs collecting for me know the Dang Family and Chahwa turned their backs on each other ages ago. And you grand money-lords who claim to hold Sichuan’s purse strings still haven’t figured out the situation?”
In the fat years they had fawned over him—“Master this, Master that”—but Song Hoejang of the Yeowangchae’s Deokjeon Society was no longer that man. He had flipped like a palm and now looked at them the way a hunter looks at game. The money-lenders could not meet his eyes; they squeezed them shut.
“Wasn’t everything already decided? We take Gong Duchan down, force the debt papers out of him, burn them, carve Chahwa Bank into pieces and share it out. Once the debts are gone we each go our clean separate ways. Honestly, without the debts hanging over us we can all manage. That’s why you set this meeting up, isn’t it? Am I right or wrong?”
“…And the Assassination Pavilion and the Asura Sword Gate? They may have left Hwieon alone out of fear of the prefect, but this is an entirely different matter. If we stop the protection payments unilaterally, they will certainly take action!”
“I’ll handle that, so you money-lords don’t need to know a thing~.”
“….”
“If you’re scared, sit it out. I’ll gut the turtle myself.”
Song Hoejang’s murderous stare made the other money-lenders swallow hard.
We raised a tiger cub.
They had lent him the capital to run the Yeowangchae, but he was a feral dog that would bite its master the moment things went sideways—and he had just shown them as much. And how many more like him were there?
Until now the Yeowangchae chairmen had only grinned and endured every abuse the money-lenders threw at them. Why the sudden change?
“…We’ll trust Song Hoejang.”
The Yeowangchae were certain the Dang Family would not move. But the Assassination Pavilion and the Asura Sword Gate were another matter entirely. Even after reaching this state, Gong Duchan had never stopped the protection payments, because he believed those two would cover his back. And the Pavilion and the Gate would surely try to protect the man who had paid them so faithfully. Would they simply watch while someone betrayed him and tore Chahwa Bank apart?
The faces of the branch-family bank masters grew darker still. The outside bankers who had once stood under Gong Duchan, meanwhile, were already calculating where to find a new backer.
“Well then, enjoy the rest of the meal~ Hey, take care of this one.”
“Yes, Boss.”
“Call me Chairman, you pieces of shit.”
Song Hoejang left Gong Duchan to two hulking subordinates and strolled out into the corridor whistling. The two men seized Gong Duchan by the arms and dragged his fat bulk away like a sack of grain.
One of the money-lenders watching sighed.
“Staying alive from now on is going to be exhausting.”
Not far from the pleasure house, deep in a forest that few people visited, Song Hoejang and his men settled into the abandoned Guandi Temple.
“But Boss… I mean, Chairman—what are you actually planning to do about the Assassination Pavilion and the Asura Sword Gate?”
“What?”
“Honestly, the boys are shaking. Those are the Assassination Pavilion and the Asura Sword Gate. If even one real expert shows up from either of them, we’re all dead men.”
Looking at a man built like a mountain shrinking into himself, Song Hoejang felt his patience snap.
“Ugh, you empty-headed bastard. It won’t happen, so quit worrying.”
“What… do you mean by that?”
“I’ll pay the protection money in Gong Duchan’s place. Fuck, the unorthodox path isn’t some brotherhood of lofty honor. As long as the money keeps coming in, they won’t give a damn whether it’s Gong Duchan or me.”
Money has no name written on it. Song Hoejang understood the unorthodox path’s nature better than anyone; that was why he had planned this.
“But can we… actually pay it? Because of those Hwieon Comprehensive whatever bastards, we can’t make money either right now.”
“You fucking idiot, why do you think we ended up in this mess in the first place? The money we earned and handed over—those money-lender bastards skimmed a fistful at every step, and Gong Duchan took a big handful off the top—so the protection payments got tight. Once Gong Duchan is gone and those useless pig middlemen are out of the way, we can cover the payments somehow. Add whatever we carve out of Chahwa Bank’s belly, and we’ll hold out until those Hwieon bastards collapse!”
Gong Duchan and the money-lenders had always treated Song Hoejang like a hunting dog, ignoring him. But he and his men had clawed their way up from the brutal bottom, turning money over and over in the mud. When it came to the flow of back-alley cash and the politics of the unorthodox path, Song Hoejang could calculate faster and sharper than any comfortable money-lender living off interest alone.
“So what’s the important part? We have to squeeze every last debt paper and hidden asset out of this Gong Duchan bastard. Hey—tie him so he can’t run, no mistakes.”
“Yes, Chairman!”
The subordinates bound Gong Duchan to a chair. Song Hoejang dragged another chair over and sat facing him.
“Wake him.”
“Yes.”
Splash!!
A full bucket of cold water hit Gong Duchan’s face. He jerked awake with a start.
“Wha—? Wh-what?!”
For a moment he flailed, unable to grasp the situation. Then he saw his bound arms and legs and Song Hoejang sitting in front of him; understanding flooded in and he ground his teeth.
“Those money-lender bastards have lost their minds! Do you know who I am, to stab me in the back? You think you’ll walk away from this? Untie me this instant!”
He bellowed without a trace of fear, thrashing against the ropes. Song Hoejang smiled faintly.
“Look at that stubborn face—matches the fortune it was born with. Boys, our Elder doesn’t seem quite ready for a conversation. Loosen him up a little.”
“Yes, Chairman!”
“Wha—what? You dare—gah!!”
Thud! Thump-thump! Slap! Crunch! Aaaaargh!
While the subordinates worked Gong Duchan over, Song Hoejang made a casual gesture. One of the men standing behind him brought a short pipe, set it between Song Hoejang’s lips, and lit it with a fire-box.
Sssss—huuuh…
Song Hoejang drew the smoke deep and let it out slowly.
“Hey, hey, that’s enough. I told you to wake him up, not turn him into paste.”
“Uuuuugh…”
In those few moments Gong Duchan’s appearance had become a ruin. Hair wild, face a map of rising purple bruises, blood streaming from split lips that showed two or three missing front teeth. Clotted blood blocked his nose; he panted through his mouth. Song Hoejang looked down at him and grinned.
“Starting to understand the situation now?”
“W-what do you want…?”
“Boys.”
“Gyaaaaah!!”
One subordinate locked the chair from behind while another drove savage punches into Gong Duchan’s gut. Yellow bile came up almost at once. Song Hoejang rose, seized a fistful of hair, and hauled Gong Duchan’s head up.
“That’s awfully casual for talking to me, you pig.”
“M-money… if it’s money…”
The earlier bluster had crumbled; terror filled Gong Duchan’s face. Song Hoejang laughed.
“Money’s good. Now we’re speaking the same language. Hey, Gong Duchan. Where did you hide the debt papers of the money-lenders who owe Chahwa Bank? And you’ve got cash stashed somewhere that isn’t Chahwa, don’t you?”
“….”
“Hey—branding iron.”
“Yes!”
A man fetched a red-hot iron from the brazier prepared in the corner of the temple. Song Hoejang took the handle and brought the glowing tip slowly toward Gong Duchan’s wildly rolling eyes.
“Maybe once I’ve seared one eyeball your memory will improve?”
“I-I’ll talk! I’ll tell you everything!”
The heat seared close enough to make the eyelids sting; sheer terror ripped the words out of Gong Duchan. He poured out the locations of the debt papers and the hidden silver. Song Hoejang nodded, satisfied.
“Go fetch it.”
“Yes, Chairman!”
The men hurried out. Song Hoejang patted Gong Duchan’s thick cheek.
“Good thinking. Since you’re already on the road to the Yellow Springs, better to travel a little less painfully, right?”
“…A-are you going to kill me?”
“Depends how you behave.”
Time passed. The subordinates returned with a chest and dumped its contents at Song Hoejang’s feet: a small mountain of silver ingots, the money-lenders’ debt papers, and Gong Duchan’s personal seal. Song Hoejang smiled.
“You want to live? Then transfer these debt papers to me.”
“Transfer? What are you talking about? You’ve already taken every paper—”
“Shut up and sign that the claims on these debts are now mine.”
Song Hoejang had never intended to simply destroy the papers. The original agreement had been to erase the debts the various banks owed Chahwa. Instead he meant to collect every last scrap of them for himself. That was his true goal.
“I’ll keep running the Yeowangchae just fine, and I’ll keep the protection payments to the Assassination Pavilion and the Asura Sword Gate flowing without a gap. On top of that, I figure it’s about time I got to hear people call me ‘Master’ too.”
How long was he supposed to spend his life squeezing the poor for the Yeowangchae? Song Hoejang meant to use this chance to overturn the entire board. A bank above the banks—in other words, he intended to seize the financial influence Gong Duchan had once held and step out into the open light.
I hold the debt papers. I’m the one paying the Assassination Pavilion and the Asura Sword Gate. Whether the little money-lender bastards keep their promises or not, what can they do? In the end they’ll have no choice but to follow whatever I say.
“So, Gong Duchan—feeling reluctant to sign?”
“N-no.”
“Untie only his right arm.”
A subordinate freed the arm. Gong Duchan wrote as ordered: a document transferring every claim he held against the money-lenders over to Song Hoejang.
“Khuh…”
Grief welled up at the reality of losing everything, but he had no other path. At last he pressed his seal to the finished paper; Song Hoejang followed with his own. While Song Hoejang contentedly blew on the wet ink, Gong Duchan asked,
“Y-you’ll let me go now… right?”
“Let you live? After all this?”
“Th-that wasn’t the deal!”
“When did I ever say I’d let you live, you funny pig?”
“I-I’ll raise more money. Just give me a little more time…”
“Do I look like a sucker to you, pig? You think I don’t know what you’ll do the second you walk free.”
Song Hoejang tapped the ash from his pipe onto Gong Duchan’s head. Glowing embers scattered; the stench of scorched scalp mixed with tobacco smoke. Gong Duchan thrashed in terror, pain, and despair. Song Hoejang bared his teeth in a grin.
“Perfect day to die, isn’t it?”
“S-spare—”
“Boys, cover his eyes so the road ahead doesn’t scare him.”
“Yes, Chairman.”
“D-don’t do this! I’ll get you any amount of money! Please! Please!”
“Gag him too so he stops squealing.”
“Save me!! Save—mmph…! Mmmph!!”
Blindfolded and gagged, Gong Duchan writhed in pure despair. Song Hoejang cheerfully flipped through the seized debt papers while wet, meat-chopping sounds rang out one after another. Gong Duchan’s thin moans rose a few times and then fell silent.
Ssssshhhh…
The pouring rain swallowed the last faint breaths. Gong Duchan died.
An Elder of the Sichuan Dang Family, the man who had controlled Chahwa Bank—one of Sichuan’s three great money houses—who had commanded countless Yeowangchae operations and enjoyed the protection of both the Assassination Pavilion and the Asura Sword Gate, who had stood as one of the two great pillars of the Elder Council alongside Hong Ilgon…
In the end he was betrayed by his own subordinate, Song Hoejang, tortured without mercy, and killed. A truly hollow end.
Yet one person had been quietly watching the entire scene.
“Yeom was right. Filthy creatures.”
A beautiful voice, utterly out of place in this setting, brushed coldly against their ears. Every head turned. Standing there was a woman in jade-green martial robes, so beautiful it made the eyes ache.
“Huh? What’s this? A girl?”
Song Hoejang’s men’s jaws dropped. Her looks were extraordinary, and this was an abandoned temple with no one around—practically an invitation to grab and take.
They glanced at Song Hoejang. He only smirked. Lust was lust, but the debt papers in front of him mattered more right now.
“Play nice, boys.”
“Yes!”
“Miss~ if you’re just ducking the rain, come on over here~ hmm?”
“Heh heh, don’t be scared, yeah? We may look rough, but we’re actually very soft men.”
“Except for one place that’s hard!”
“Hahahaha!”
The woman, who until then had stood motionless—whether from fear or shock—let out a soft sigh.
“My ears are rotting.”
“What the—hack?!”
In the space of a breath, several of the men who had been laughing at her collapsed, blood spraying from all seven orifices like fountains. They hit the ground as limp, lifeless meat. The Yeowangchae pack screamed.
“P-poison!”
“Is it the Sichuan Dang Family?!”
“Fuck! Weren’t the Elders supposed to be at odds with the main family?”
“It’s just one woman! Kill her!”
“Die!”
Realizing they still outnumbered her, the Yeowangchae charged as one. Against poison, however, mere numbers meant nothing.
“Guh!”
“Urgh!”
“Gyaaaah!”
Even though their martial skill was third-rate at best, the burly subordinates toppled like cut millet. Song Hoejang’s face drained white. The instant he saw his men fall he stuffed the debt papers into his robe and bolted out of the temple.
“Hah! Hah! Hah! Hah!”
His lungs burned, but he could not stop.
That skill—no doubt. Direct blood of the Dang Family!
And among the direct line, only one female expert of that age and power existed.
Poison Phoenix Dang Su-jeong! How did she find this place…!
That was when it happened.
A sharp, fragrant scent brushed his nose; then something hot burst out with his next breath. The moment he realized it was his own blood, a bone-deep cold seized his entire body.
“Ugh-ugh-ugh… ugh-ugh-ugh… ugh-ugh-ughk…”
He pitched forward like a drunk, tumbled down the mountain path, then curled into a shrimp and shook violently. One of the debt papers slipped from his robe and fluttered in the wind.
My… money…
His hand reached for the paper without thinking. The light left Song Hoejang’s eyes.
Rustle.
Dang Su-jeong picked up the document and murmured softly.
“…So that finishes Gong Duchan’s faction as well. Yeom, you little brat—you really knew it would turn out like this?”
Truly, her nephew was impossible to read. When she got home she would thoroughly ruffle that adorable genius’s hair, she promised herself.