Guyaja-je: The Brand of Famous Swords
If you want people to work at a reasonable pace, just pay them.
They will then apply themselves according to their own sense of responsibility and duty, finishing within a moderate span of time.
Of course, the odds are extremely high that along the way you will get what can only be called “salary-thief” behavior—not outright sabotage, but something uncomfortably close to it.
So how do you make people work truly hard?
You prick their pride.
That was Hwiyeom’s management philosophy as well.
The magic slogan that flooded American startups in the 2010s—“we change the world”—struck exactly that nerve.
When a person is seized by the urge to prove what they can do, they will work of their own free will, and with ferocious productivity.
In short, the craftsmen of Cheol-u-jeon were men who had every reason to take pride in themselves.
Exactly half a month later they returned, bearing the iron sword forged by the Damascus method Hwiyeom had demanded.
“It worked just as the Young Master said,” Dang Rok declared, his face weary yet unable to hide the pride shining through.
“Instead of the usual folded-steel method of hammering a plate, folding it, and folding it again, you stacked many thin plates crosswise, melted them together, and then forged. How did you even think of that?”
“I only sketched the broad method. The ones who actually made it real were the masters of Cheol-u-jeon. My earlier words were rash; I apologize. You gentlemen are the finest craftsmen in the Central Plains.”
Hwiyeom looked down at the gleaming Hyeoncheol sword, its surface rippling with the distinctive, beautiful wave pattern of Damascus steel, and smiled with quiet satisfaction.
In truth, the Damascus forging technique he had taught them was a little removed from the traditional method. The classical way heated finished Damascus steel to a cherry-red glow, twisted the billet like pretzel dough into many layers, then hammered and folded it. That process produced a blade whose pattern was as unique as a fingerprint—one of a kind in the entire world. But for efficiency and mass production, twenty-first-century companies like Cold Steel had discarded that laborious handwork in favor of something simpler: thin Damascus plates stacked in a zigzag, side-welded so they would not separate, dusted with borax, heated with a torch, and pressed. The result was a Damascus sword made far faster and far more easily.
Alloys were already stronger than ordinary carbon steel, but once the lattice-stacked metal was forged into a single billet it became like bamboo strips woven into a grid—strength and elasticity both rose dramatically.
“We weave thread into cloth and bamboo strips into baskets to make them stronger, yet no one ever thought to weave metal itself. Truly, the Young Master’s wisdom is watched over by the ancestors of this house!”
“You flatter me,” Hwiyeom laughed.
They had no welding technology, yet the powerful acids the Tang family possessed, combined with high heat and a secret catalyst, were enough to melt and fuse the sides of the billets. Instead of a hydraulic press—which was too coarse for delicate work—martial-artist smiths sprinkled borax and drove their hammers with internal energy. Layer after layer of thick iron gradually lengthened and thinned until it became one seamless mass. After repeated heat-treatment and quenching, the edge was set, and the beautiful sword that emerged was this Hyeoncheol blade.
“You have all worked hard. I will give you a month of paid leave so you can rest and recover from the strain. A generous special bonus will be arranged as well.”
“A whole month? Well, that is welcome enough… but are we not going to mass-produce these?”
Hwiyeom smiled at Dang Rok’s question.
“No. The manufacturing process does not lend itself to automation the way Flawless Steel does. So we will pursue a pure premium strategy with these.”
“Hmm.”
“Think of it as conserving your strength for the next stage, and rest well.”
“Thank you. We will take our leave, then.”
The craftsmen withdrew in a cheerful, exhausted clamor. Hwiyeom called after them.
“Secretary Lee! Secretary Lee? Where do you think you’re going?”
“…?”
Lee Jinmyeong, who had been walking arm-in-arm with the smiths, a ghost’s face lit by a faint spark of pride, turned with a look that said Eh…?
Hwiyeom beckoned him with a full, sunny smile.
“Where is Secretary Lee off to? You’re working with me.”
“W-wait, I suffered right alongside them… eh?”
“Is Secretary Lee the same as the master craftsmen? Secretary Lee, do you want to quit being a secretary and become a smith? Shall I arrange that for you?”
“N-no…”
Cold sweat beaded at Lee Jinmyeong’s temples.
Hwiyeom regarded him for a moment through half-lidded eyes, then turned the same bright smile on the direct-line master who still had an arm around the secretary’s shoulders.
“Uncle, will you be joining us as well?”
“Haha! Not a chance. Ah—Secretary Lee, thank you for the support!”
The blacksmith’s arm was yanked from around Lee Jinmyeong’s neck. In its place Hwiyeom stepped forward, took the secretary’s hand in a firm, friendly grip, and beamed. Beneath that radiant smile, something black and ominous stirred.
“Trying to slip away alone? What kind of secretary rests while his employer is still working?”
Lee Jinmyeong’s smile was the empty, hollow laugh of a middle-aged fund manager standing on a Han River bridge on the afternoon of a market crash, gulping cheap soju and staring at the sky.
If only I could turn back time…
He would have buried his bones on Mount Qingcheng instead of coming down to the Tang family.
Regret, no matter how early, always arrives too late.
When Dang Un-sang and the elders beheld the Damascus sword produced by the special folded-steel method, their eyes wavered.
“To think a blade of such beauty could exist…”
Dark-blue waves rolled across the blade like a storm-tossed night sea; beyond its worth as a weapon, it possessed the value of a work of art.
Dang Un-sang took up a test plate of iron and drew the Damascus sword across it.
Saaaaak—
As if a dull knife were slicing tough paper, the blade moved back and forth with almost no resistance and the iron plate parted with a soft tearing sound.
“To cut Flawless Steel like paper without even using internal energy… one may rightly call this a divine weapon.”
“Truly magnificent!”
“That our house could produce such a treasure…!”
The elders trembled with emotion. The Council of Elders was already as good as in Hwiyeom’s palm. Opposition still existed, but its strength had dwindled to almost nothing. Even the elders who remained poured out praise at the sword’s performance.
Hwiyeom spoke.
“It is certainly an excellent sword. Yet you must not forget: the weapons of our Tang family are not swords but hidden weapons. With hidden weapons forged from this Hyeoncheol I intend to lead the revival of our family’s throwing-weapon arts.”
“Revival…”
Dang Un-sang rolled the word around his mouth—something that had declined rising again—and gave a small smile as he nodded.
“True enough. Hidden weapons made of this Hyeoncheol will increase lethality greatly. They may even compensate somewhat for the loss of our secret techniques.”
Hidden weapons forged from steel that sliced iron like paper would pierce an enemy’s blade or armor as easily as tofu.
“Yet that alone is not enough. Just as a peerless sword is useless in the hands of a man whose swordsmanship is pathetic—he cannot even cut a scarecrow—what matters is restoring the vanished martial arts of the throwing-weapon lineage.”
“….”
On this single point Hwiyeom and Dang Un-sang’s opinions ran on endless parallel tracks. Hwiyeom did not bother to contradict him. Dang Un-sang was no fool; he had surely drawn his own conclusions from the report that Dang Su-jeong, using Tang Thunder, had easily subdued an opponent a full rank above her. This was merely a performance, a way of protecting the secret of gunpowder manufacture that the two of them shared.
Hwiyeom nodded.
“Your son will engrave it upon his bones.”
“Good. Will you begin production of hidden weapons using Hyeoncheol at once?”
“It is still too soon.”
“Oh?”
“Working Hyeoncheol is several times more difficult than working Flawless Steel, and the methods are strictly secret. The craftsmen of Cheol-u-jeon have only just managed to produce swords. Fashioning smaller, more delicate hidden weapons will require a great deal more practice.”
“…I see.”
“Yet it would be a waste to treat that practice as mere practice. Hyeoncheol is precious, and a craftsman’s time spent working it is worth gold.”
Hwiyeom smiled faintly.
“I intend to begin a business of custom-forging Hyeoncheol swords to order.”
“Custom-forging… Hyeoncheol swords?”
Dang Un-sang, the elders, and even the direct-line retainers all rounded their eyes.
“They say that even a little Hyeoncheol mixed into a blade elevates it to the rank of a famous sword.”
“A sword made entirely of Hyeoncheol—the price…”
“Could anyone afford it? Ordinary wealth would not even dare dream of it…”
“If we take as customers the Five Great Noble Families, the Nine Sects and One Gang, and the wealthy of the government and military…”
The direct line began debating the political ramifications and how the factions of the jianghu would react; the collateral branches clicked abacus beads, calculating how to sell the swords at the highest price to the most influential buyers and thereby forge valuable relationships. Watching the Family Head’s hall erupt into lively discussion in an instant, Dang Un-sang smiled with quiet pleasure.
At last the household is running properly again.
It felt as though the Tang family of his father’s day had returned—when direct and collateral lines did not snarl at each other but respected and supported one another, combining their strength to advance the clan.
Strange, isn’t it? Something thirty years could not achieve, accomplished in a mere five.
His gaze fixed itself on Hwiyeom, who was already leaning over a spread of papers with Ma Jeonggu, Bak Chang-eon and the others, spitting arguments with animated intensity, and would not leave him.
Thank you.
And Ye-eun, who had followed Hwiyeom as always and now stood quietly in the shadow of a pillar watching the entire scene, saw that look on Dang Un-sang’s face and curved her eyes in a faint smile.
When the room quieted a little, Hwiyeom spoke again.
“The Hyeoncheol swords already forged will first be presented as gifts—to the Poseongsa and to the sect leader of the Emei Sect.”
“Must we?”
“Yes. It is a demonstration that our Sichuan Tang family possesses the capacity to produce Hyeoncheol. A sword made entirely of a metal that can create a famous blade with only a small admixture—such a gift will show that we have enough of the material, and the skill to make it, that we can afford to give it away.”
No one uproots a pillar of his own house and hands it to strangers. If the Tang family presented Hyeoncheol swords, people would naturally assume the family possessed still more. And they did. Hyeoncheol was a legendary metal; even its own weight in gold could not buy it. Without the ability to produce it, scattering it so freely would make no sense. The sects of the murim would scramble to maintain good relations with the Sichuan Tang family that could create Hyeoncheol, and the family’s influence would rise overnight.
Dang Un-sang’s brow furrowed slightly.
“I worry the thought is too naïve. I dislike saying it myself, but the Tang family has not yet regained its former strength. There will be those who seek to subjugate us and seize this ability for themselves.”
“I am aware.”
“Then why?”
“There is no one left to fight. We have already pacified Sichuan.”
“Pacified Sichuan?”
“Emei owes us their lives; opposing us would stain their reputation beyond repair. Qingcheng, after the recent affair between us, must tread carefully for some time. As for sects from other regions, geography makes direct confrontation difficult—and would they try to poach our craftsmen? These are our direct-line people.”
“…That is true.”
Dang Un-sang nodded at Hwiyeom’s words.
“And we will leak a few rumors, and send letters to the Nine Sects and One Gang and the Nine Great Noble Families: we have swords of pure Hyeoncheol for sale—would you care to commission one?”
“Will no one complain that we give gifts to some and sell to others?”
“If it bothers them, they can simply treat the Sichuan Tang family well. That, in the end, is just another way of expanding our influence, is it not?”
Hwiyeom smiled with perfect innocence.
“A Hyeoncheol sword of which only one exists in the world, forged for you alone—crafted by the greatest master of the Sichuan Tang family, pouring out the clan’s secret arts without reserve, the finest famous sword imaginable! Order yours now! As for the brand name… hmm.”
He stroked his chin for a moment, then said,
“How about Guyaja-je—‘Made by Ou Yezi’—after the legendary blacksmith Ou Yezi?”
In later years the Hyeoncheol weapons produced under the Guyaja-je mark would be treated as treasures by every one of the Nine Sects and One Gang and the Nine Great Noble Families, becoming divine arms reserved for sect leaders or the supreme masters of each school. Their value rose still higher because, no matter how much money was offered, the Sichuan Tang family strictly limited production to custom commissions or gifts—never ordinary merchandise.
How important a fine weapon is to a martial artist needs no explanation.
Hwiyeom took the very first Guyaja-je Hyeoncheol sword and set out for the Emei Sect.
“You’re going in person?”
“Yes. VIP… no, no—guest-of-honor sales must be handled personally.”
Grinning at Dang Un-sang’s question, Hwiyeom climbed Mount Emei…
“Ohhh… th-this is…?!”