White Spirit Tree (4)

"Let's dine together again sometime."

"Yes, sir. Please head back safely."

"That's my line, I think. Go on, all of you—safe travels."

The chief scribe and the others bowed toward my waving hand, then fled the inn as fast as an ebbing tide.

And now, before me, a young man stood with his head lowered, face flushed, utterly at a loss.

"Ju Cho-saeng. Bottom-rung scribe of the Geumhwa Department."

"How does the young master know my name...?"

"Come with me. Somewhere quiet."

At a single word ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠from me, Ju Cho-saeng fell into step behind.

I took him to an upscale teahouse and settled into a private room where we could talk.

"Speak freely."

Seol-ha, who had come along, shut the door and stepped outside to stand guard. Once she was gone, I quietly studied the man I had brought.

On the surface he was an ordinary man through and through—nothing remarkable about him. His face and build were so plain that if you passed him on the street, you would struggle to remember him at all.

Even so, I had sought him out because I knew what he would one day do inside the Golden Manor. Before the regression, once Geon A-seong was forced to face the manor's collapse, he had charged Ju Cho-saeng with hiding the slush funds—only for the man to vanish without a trace, and the money with him. In truth, that disappearance had been one of the chief reasons Geon A-seong fell into qi deviation.

"I looked into you a little. With a face that pure and innocent, you're hardly the sort who ought to be stuck as a bottom-rung scribe."

"I don't know what you mean. As you said yourself, I'm nothing but a scribe who handles odd jobs."

"Quit the act and show me your true colors. Do I really have to drag it into the light myself—that you've been inventing as many phantom figures as you please on the ledgers, and putting them to other uses?"

"..."

"Gather up the write-offs from the silk shops—defective silk, scrap cloth—and the yearly loss comes to about half a percent of total output. Up to that point, it's only natural."

Ju Cho-saeng swallowed dryly.

"But when I looked at the books, those write-offs always landed right around half a percent, or matched it exactly. Set against the scale of the cloth trade, it's a drop in the bucket, and no one else would spare it a thought. It grated on me, though."

I took a sip of tea, then went on.

"No matter how many skilled weavers you have. Losses that fall out this identical, this precise, year after year—that doesn't make sense. Explain it."

"Well... those of us who keep the ledgers are only human, so..."

"Too precise to pass off as mistakes. And from what I found, you're the one solely in charge of the write-off books. So. Shall we talk about where the money from that discrepancy goes? Shall I tell it, or will you?"

The moment I stopped, Ju Cho-saeng shot to his feet and threw himself flat on the floor.

"Kill me, and please—bury this matter. If you want a slave, I'll be a slave."

"You don't look like you've got the strength for it. Hardly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠seems useful."

"Please, I implore you. Don't touch the orphanage. Those children know nothing."

Only then did I understand, anew, what Ju Cho-saeng was living for.

"The orphanage where Scribe Ju was born and raised?"

"Yes. Mercy, I beg you..."

"So the money you scraped together flowed into that orphanage—gruel for the children's mouths, clothes and quilts to cover their bodies. Money that ought to have been my own flesh and blood?"

"I'll take my own life, right here."

"And you think that settles it?"

Despair filled Ju Cho-saeng's face. I rose, dropped to one knee before him, and lowered myself.

"Work for me from now on. Do that, and I'll cover this up."

"Give me any task—just give it to me!"

"Keep the funds flowing to the orphanage, the same as now. And when the time comes, I'll grant you far greater authority. I'll raise your monthly pay by a wide margin, and later you'll manage the ledgers of every venture under the Geumhwa Department yourself."

"M-me? But that role belongs to the Head Clerk..."

"Honestly, you're slow on the uptake. Sharp as a blade with numbers, and this sluggish when it comes to how people move? I said when the time comes."

"..."

"That 'time' is when I've secured a justification solid enough to pin the Head Clerk down. From now on, comb through every ledger and track his slush funds. The other scribes won't object to someone lightening their workload, will they?"

"Then..."

"Right. Until now the Geumhwa Department has drifted like a ship without a captain. Plenty of money must have leaked away for nothing—enough that even a mere scribe like you could exploit a gap in the books."

"..."

"And you think the Head Clerk couldn't do the same? A man who plays lapdog to the eldest while watching the second son's mood?"

A strange light flickered through Ju Cho-saeng's eyes. He had noticed that I spoke of the second son, Geon A-seong, as if the man were someone else. Even so, he didn't dare open his mouth. He only watched my face.

"I'm Geon-gon—the one already said to be dead. In other words, the man you ought to serve isn't that madman Geon A-seong. It's Geon-gon, the one they called worthless."

"H-how..."

"Why am I telling a stranger a truth my life hangs on?"

Ju Cho-saeng couldn't speak. He only lifted his head and stared up at me, dazed.

"I'm telling you we're in the same boat. That I don't intend to use you, Ju Cho-saeng, and throw you away like a card that's been played."

"And if I... were to betray you?"

"Then I'd have to accept it, humbly. I'd have to discard this ill-fitting coat I've worn for a while, too. Only..."

I grinned.

"I don't plan on regretting my methods."

"..."

"Think it over carefully, and decide for yourself how you'll move. And when the 'time' comes—when the Head Clerk's slush funds turn up in the books—report to me at once. If things go well after that, we pin him down, and you become Head Clerk."

"H-Head Clerk, you say?"

"Yes. From then on, you manage all of my money. Send it where I tell you to send it, set aside what I tell you to set aside, spend it where it needs to be spent. And I promise you this: when the time is right, we'll move that orphanage you support somewhere safer, and expand it."

"..."

"Once your mind's made up, move at once. Ah—and one moment."

I edged closer, curled my hand into a fist, and stepped in on him.

"Nothing personal. They'll wonder why I called you out alone, so there ought to be some proof I threw a fit over the ledgers. Don't you think?"

Frightened, Ju Cho-saeng sucked in a sharp, empty breath—and in that same instant my fist tapped his eye, light and quick, then drew back.

"Agh—!"

Still on his knees, Ju Cho-saeng toppled over backward.

"Does it hurt?"

"Yes!"

Watching him bellow at the top of his lungs, I felt a fresh certainty settle in.

"Well, well. More temper than the look of you suggests."

Ju Cho-saeng stared at me in sheer disbelief.

"Funny. Senior Clerk Ju seems to be taking this awfully personally."

At the words senior clerk, his eyes went perfectly round. I held out my hand.

"Get up. There's a lot to do. That senior clerk's seat is as good as reserved—time you sat in it."

Ju Cho-saeng stared at my hand for a while, then grasped it and rose.

"Next time, I'll invent a different reason myself. I didn't care for that."

He sighed, rolling his palm over the bruised eye as if to soothe it.

With this, another foundation for swallowing the Golden Manor had been laid.

After meeting Ju Cho-saeng, I climbed into the carriage and, as it rolled along, spoke with Seol-ha in low, easy tones.

Ever since I had become a Peak Expert, I always raised a Sound Barrier around any talk that mattered, so no one else could hear. This petty art of cutting off sound with true qi was something only a Peak Expert could manage.

"Are they really going to pretend the marriage proposal never happened?"

"Yeah. I accepted a deal that cut against me, and they folded in no time."

I gave Seol-ha a brief account of my talk with Jegal Rin, leaving out anything about the Soul-Enthralling Art.

"..."

"And that's how I suddenly ended up taking on a whole heap of White Spirit Tree."

"You don't even have funds like that left, not after the last investment. You haven't recovered the capital yet, either."

"Right. On the verge of bankruptcy, you could say."

"Don't tell me you're planning to throw away your identity and run?"

Seeing Seol-ha clutch her scabbard tight, I let out a hollow laugh.

"What, you want to run this instant?"

"If you go, young master, I'll go anywhere."

"There's still a fair amount worth taking from the Golden Manor. Until then, I'll live a little longer as Geon A-seong."

"Then the money you spent buying the White Spirit Tree—how will you..."

I shrugged.

"Sell it again."

"They've already stockpiled herbs enough to replace the White Spirit Tree. Will they really buy it back at the price you want? I don't understand why you made a deal like this."

"Mm. I imagine they will."

"What? How can you be so sure?"

"The White Spirit Tree isn't something you replace that easily."

"Someone from the Jegal Clan, famed for knowing everything under the sun, wouldn't have been taken in without knowing that... How can you be so certain, young master?"

"Sometimes people too sure of themselves can't bear the word failure, and their keen sight goes dim. If they'd only endured a moment and looked back, a solution would have turned up—and still they don't."

This was my own experience, too. For me, who had lived ninety years, time had never been something that merely passed. Countless failures, challenges, and hardships had tempered me, and every regret had driven me further, sharper. And so today, as always, I could become a slightly better man by holding those old days up as a cautionary stone.

Always humble. Always patient. Always careful.

"Truly... you don't seem like the young master I knew anymore. Now and then, it feels as if I'm facing a seasoned elder who's weathered every storm there is."

"You're the older one, though. Sadly, the old fossil here is you. Ahaha."

"Yes. I'm aware."

Seol-ha's face went cold. She glared at me, then whipped her head aside. The air had turned thoroughly icy.

What did I do wrong?

I scratched the bridge of my nose and said nothing. I'd only told the truth. At this rate, it seemed we wouldn't manage much conversation all the way to Lanzhou.

"Hohoho—!"

Riding in her carriage, Jegal Rin burst into laughter loud enough to lift the coach off its wheels.

How delicious it was. The feeling of seizing someone and bending them however she pleased was always a thrill. Geon A-seong, second son of the Golden Manor, had turned out to be nothing but a man of brute strength, full of openings.

The exchange rose again in her mind.

"Heehee."

And after that—the sight of Geon A-seong, who had been trembling under her threats, lunging back in with eyes lit by greed. Well, of course. He would want to win the fight to succeed the lord of the Golden Manor.

Recalling the Geon A-seong of that memory, she couldn't hold in her laughter. They had already agreed to the contract. Even if he later realized something had gone wrong, how would he dare call her to account?

Jegal Rin opened the carriage door and released the messenger pigeon she had prepared. It was bound for Wang Luju. He had been her ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠partner, until she cut him loose. Word was he was waiting only for a chance to rise again. Tip him off, and he would race as if on wings to the lord of the Dragon Iron Union and share what he knew.

Wings beat—a flutter—and the bird was gone.

What if she let the Dragon Iron Union in Lanzhou know that the owner of the White Spirit Tree was no longer herself, daughter of the Jegal Clan's patriarch, but the Golden Manor's second son—comparatively weak in both martial power and influence across the martial world? The Dragon Iron Union would be itching to raid the warehouse and leave not a trace. Even if they didn't, it was fine. Even without them, she had secured three-tenths of the sum she had lost.

"What a windfall."

A hum slipped from her of its ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠own accord. However outstanding a rising talent Geon A-seong might be—far beyond anything she had expected—stopping the Dragon Iron Union alone would be all but impossible.

It had been a marriage in name only. Even so, this was repayment enough for Geon A-seong, who had refused her and offered her insult.