Interlude: Hong Ilgon
“Ohh… so this is…”
Master Hye-eun, Sect Leader of the Emei Sect, accepted the sword Hwiyeom held out and gazed upon it with open wonder.
The rosewood scabbard alone was a work of art, inlaid with the graceful image of lotus blossoms and orchids scattering on the wind—the very emblems of Emei. Yet the true worth of a sword never lay in its sheath. Slowly, Master Hye-eun closed her hand around the hilt and drew the blade free.
—Ssshing.
A cold, crystalline ring, like ice sliding across ice, filled the air as the dark blade left its housing. Wave upon wave of pattern—dozens, hundreds of them—rippled the length of the steel in soft blue light, as though concentric circles were spreading across the surface of a rain-kissed lake.
Feeling her own grip tremble lightly of its own accord, Master Hye-eun spoke.
“This is the Darksteel Sword.”
“It is. Forged by our Tang family.”
Hwiyeom smiled.
“As a token of friendship between Emei and the Tang, I wish to present it to you. Please accept it.”
“…Yet we have no means of repaying so magnificent a gift.”
True to her Buddhist vows, she momentarily smothered greed and tried to return the sword. Watching her, Hwiyeom’s smile deepened.
“Strange words, Sect Leader. Has Emei not already incurred a far greater debt to the Tang than a mere blade could ever represent? Laying one more sword atop that debt changes nothing. It is only a sword. Do not burden it with meaning.”
His meaning was plain: after the cholera disaster had left them owing their lives, it was rather late to play the modest saint. Master Hye-eun gave a small, embarrassed cough.
“Then I shall set shame aside and accept this sword.”
“I am glad to hear it. It was tempered for Emei, after all.”
“Emei shall never forget the trust and friendship the Tang have shown us.”
After Hwiyeom departed, Master Hye-eun passed the sword to Master Hye-jeong.
“It will only find its true value in the hand of Emei’s First Sword, will it not?”
“Heavens, Sect Leader—this… this is truly an extraordinary blade!”
Master Hye-jeong took up the Darksteel Sword, flowed through the Storm-Cleaving Sword Art as smoothly as water, and cried out in delight.
“It is so light, yet so keen, that one feels not as though the sword is cutting the wind—rather that the wind itself is parting to avoid the edge!”
“Compared to the Flawless Steel sword you used before?”
“The comparison itself is an insult. That was a fine blade, of course, but…”
Master Hye-jeong drew a silk handkerchief from her robes and tossed it into the air. The Darksteel Sword rose lightly to meet it; without a sound the silk parted into two clean halves and fluttered to the floor.
“Truly… an extraordinary sword.”
While the elderly nuns of Emei squealed over the gift like delighted girls, the Provincial Governor regarded Hwiyeom with a faintly sour look.
“You build State-run Ironworks and then casually produce treasures like this? Are you mocking me?”
Petty man. Do you have any idea how much money those ironworks are raking in for Sichuan?
Hwiyeom grumbled inwardly even as he smiled.
“Unlike Flawless Steel, Darksteel cannot be mass-produced. The materials are rare, and the forging itself is fiendishly difficult. We can craft a few blades as gifts, but turning them into a business is out of the question.”
For now, he added silently.
For the present, yes. But once the smiths gained experience, once steam engines or water-powered machinery began to automate the process, even Darksteel would enter mass production. After all, his true goal was an army equipped with firearms forged of the stuff.
Hearing that mass production was impossible, the Provincial Governor clicked his tongue in regret.
“Hmm… then we shall keep it as a gift item, not a commercial one.”
“You require treasured blades to present to the powerful of the Central Court and to His Majesty the Emperor, do you not? Leave it to me. I shall prepare them cleanly, precisely, and to your complete satisfaction.”
“Excellent, excellent!”
Only then did the Provincial Governor’s expression soften into a warm smile.
Word that the Sichuan Dang Family had forged two Darksteel swords and presented them to the Provincial Governor and the Emei Sect raced across the entire province through Minjeongwon’s information net.
Those who heard it merely clicked their tongues and muttered, “The Tang are being the Tang again.” The ones who made the most noise, however, were the martial artists of Sichuan’s various minor sects and schools—especially the branch halls of the Tang themselves and the secular disciples of Qingcheng and Emei, for they understood the sword’s true worth far better than ordinary folk.
“Isn’t this an open slap in Qingcheng’s face?”
A petty official who paid tuition at a Qingcheng secular hall grumbled over his wine.
“They gift Emei and the Governor, but nothing for Qingcheng. I never thought the Tang so petty.”
“What nonsense is that? Forgiving the sect that almost murdered their own son already makes them the biggest of big men.”
“Would you hand a treasure to the bastards who tried to kill your kid?”
“Lucky Emei, though. I hear selling that one sword would buy you a manor on the best land in Seongdo.”
“That expensive?”
“It’s Darksteel. Even a little Darksteel mixed into ordinary steel makes a famous blade. This one is pure Darksteel from tip to guard. Enough said.”
“And it was hammered by the chief smith of the Sichuan Dang—the greatest smiths in the Central Plains. Damn… that one hurts.”
“Calling it a legendary divine weapon wouldn’t be an exaggeration.”
“The Governor can’t even swing a sword… tch. They should have given it to Qingcheng…”
“Hey, Qingcheng should worry about cleaning its own house first. I hear the head of the Greenpine Trading Company that Qingcheng runs just died?”
“That’s the seventh already, isn’t it? What’s the excuse this time?”
“Heart failure, apparently.”
“Watching every influential merchant connected to Qingcheng drop one by one… well.”
“No, there’s definitely something going on!”
The Qingcheng secular disciple who had been quietly sidelined in the conversation flushed and snarled.
“Every dead man has ties to Qingcheng, and the causes of death? Heart failure, falling off a horse while drunk, choking on a rice cake, poisoned by blowfish sashimi—does that seem normal only to me?”
“What are you trying to say?”
“It’s the Tang pulling strings! They pretend to reconcile while quietly poisoning people behind the scenes. Underhanded and relentless—classic Tang style!”
In an instant every face around the table turned ugly.
Diners froze mid-chopstick, staring at him in disbelief; some set their utensils down with a sharp clack and glared as though ready to kill. Sensing the shift, one of the man’s companions coughed hastily.
“Mind your tongue. The Tang would never do such a thing.”
“What, is every Tang a saint? They’ve always been famous for holding grudges! Why do you think the phrase ‘Tang poison-heart’ even exists?”
“This bastard’s asking for it!”
“Insulting the Tang in Sichuan?”
“Is he out of his mind?”
“See one, know the rest—Qingcheng still hasn’t learned its lesson!”
…Something felt wrong.
Only then did the Qingcheng disciple, too worked up to notice his surroundings, register the atmosphere and blanch.
“B-bill, please.”
“Two bowls of noodles, one plate of Dongpo pork, one bottle of liquor—forty taels total.”
“Just a moment. I have a loyalty card; I’ll settle the Dongpo pork on that.”
“We don’t take those.”
“What?”
The innkeeper tilted his head, arms crossed, and answered coldly.
“A man who just cursed the Tang wants to thriftily use a loyalty card the Tang themselves issued? No cards for you. Cash only.”
“What kind of business is this? Is this how the Tang run things?”
“Who the hell are you to bad-mouth the Tang, you bastard!”
Laborers from the State-run Ironworks could no longer contain themselves and surged to their feet. The Qingcheng disciple looked back at them with pure incredulity—What do you think you’re going to do if you stand up?—then realized that far more eyes than just theirs were fixed on him with open hostility. Panic finally set in.
In the end he fumbled coins from his robe, paid, and fled. As the men scrambled out of the shop, jeers chased their backs.
“Ingrates!”
“Qingcheng running dogs!”
“Qingcheng still hasn’t repented!”
“Kh…”
Having spoken a few words out of loyalty only to drag his own sect through the mud, the man bit his lip in humiliation and left.
Crossing paths with them as he entered was a narrow-eyed delivery man who glanced after them and cocked his head.
“What’s going on? Atmosphere’s weird.”
“Nothing much. Some Qingcheng secular brats started cursing the Tang right here.”
“Huh? A Sichuan man cursing the Tang? Insane. Tell me exactly what they said?”
“This is my ‘field-report score.’ No sharing.”
“Aw, come on, stingy.”
“If you’re jealous, go chase them yourself.”
“Guess I will. Skipping the afternoon deliveries?”
“Go ahead.”
The narrow-eyed man set down his iron delivery case and hurried after the Qingcheng secular disciples. He tracked which secular hall they entered, wrote up a field report, and submitted it.
By that same afternoon the reports from the innkeeper and the delivery runner lay on Ye-eun’s desk.
Reading the summaries culled from every corner of Sichuan, together with the raw field notes that underpinned them, Ye-eun frowned.
“Mysterious sudden deaths among Qingcheng-affiliated merchants… and the rumor circulating is that the Sichuan Dang Family is behind them?”
Her eyes narrowed as she read further.
“No—it isn’t circulating. Someone is deliberately spreading it.”
The locations of the reports were far too widely scattered. A natural rumor would have radiated outward from the bereaved households. According to the field notes, these stories had erupted simultaneously across the entire province as though by prior arrangement.
Judging the matter serious, Ye-eun went straight to Hwiyeom and laid out the full picture. He closed his eyes for a moment, then spoke.
“Hong Ilgon’s work, no doubt.”
“Why do you think so?”
“When something happens, one of the simplest ways to find the cause is to ask who benefits. Hong Ilgon has set up a trading company under Qingcheng’s wing. Meanwhile, the merchants of every company large or experienced enough to rival him are dying one by one. Qingcheng is funneling those vacated routes straight to him… That alone is motive enough for murder.”
“And the rumors?”
“A free side dish—smearing the Tang at the same time.”
Hwiyeom smiled.
“Even he can see that competing with us head-on in business is hopeless. Trying political bribery is useless because the Provincial Governor is on my side. The only remaining option is to tarnish the Tang name. And the setup is perfect, isn’t it? We’re already famous as the foremost house of poison. How easy is it to link a poisoning to us?”
“If that’s true, we need to respond somehow.”
“Respond… It’s tricky, though.”
He clicked his tongue.
“We have no hard evidence to expose it as Qingcheng’s doing. Circumstantial suspicion alone won’t carry us.”
“So we just sit here and take it?”
“Of course not. This is exactly why the government offices exist.”
Hwiyeom’s smile turned sharp.
“Martial world or not, when villains are murdering commoners and trying to pin the blame on the Tang, the authorities can hardly look the other way. Call Secretary Yi and Elder Bak Chang-eon.”
“Understood. What reason shall I give them?”
Hwiyeom grinned.
“It’s time we established a Legal Affairs Division.”