198. The Living Buddha of Gangbuk (3)
Most of the people gathered in front of the inn looked anxious.
They all had their hands clasped together.
It was much like the expressions of those who had lined up before the Lying Buddha statue to make a wish.
What on earth was going on?
Just like Seo Jaeo, the people of Jangun-hyeon were seeing the likeness of Avalokitesvara Bodhisattva in Hanbin's figure.
And for good reason—Hanbin had been tirelessly tending to the poisoned victims without rest.
The village folk, abandoned even by the local authorities, had been saved by Hanbin and the Red Blood Mangho Squad.
They were plague victims the official troops wouldn't even approach, simply abandoning them out of fear.
To them, Hanbin—who delivered water and food, and even treated them—appeared nothing less than a living Buddha.
Hanbin treated the common folk without attaching any conditions.
Before long, rumors began circulating in Jangun-hyeon that he was an incarnation of Avalokitesvara Bodhisattva.
They mistakenly believed he was curing the poison through the power of Buddha.
More precisely, they thought the pills he distributed contained the divine power of the Bodhisattva.
Behind these rumors were testimonies from people who had lived in the village next to Cheonsu Manor.
Folk near Cheonsu Manor had mistaken Hanbin for the world's greatest physician.
Their eyes, fixed on the inn, brimmed with reverence.
Of course, not everyone felt that way.
Most of them were merchants and martial artists who hadn't yet received Hanbin's aid. Some remained skeptical for that very reason.
* * *
Creak, creak.
At the sound of cartwheels led by Hanbin's group, everyone turned their heads.
The people in line lit up at the sight of him.
Then murmurs rippled through the crowd.
"He's finally here."
"About time."
"I was worried he might not show today."
"Now we're saved."
Hearing the murmurs, Hanbin flashed a broad smile.
With his affable face, he made eye contact and passed by.
As they entered the inn's fence, Sim Miho asked with a worried look.
"My lord, is this okay?"
"What's not okay?"
"They look like they're here for herbs and food..."
Sim Miho trailed off.
She wasn't sure if Hanbin would help them.
Her lord was unpredictable, after all.
Hanbin answered without hesitation.
"If someone's in need, you share what you have."
"For real? You're giving all that away for free to that many people?"
Sim Miho's eyes widened in surprise, and Hanbin called her with a disappointed expression.
"Deputy Sim."
"Yes, my lord."
"Who said anything about free? Deputy Sim."
"Not free, then...?"
As Sim Miho tilted her head, Hanbin smiled good-naturedly and headed inside.
Once seated at a table indoors, Hanbin spoke.
"Deputy Sim, why are you acting like a rookie?"
"You treated the villagers for free."
"Nah, with them, I got public sentiment instead of money. With these folks, we'll take goods."
"Goods? But we're out of food and money—how do we get goods, my lord?"
"Goods aren't just wealth."
"What do you mean?"
As Sim Miho cocked her head again, Hanbin snapped his fingers instead of answering.
Snap.
At the sound, Seolhwa appeared silently.
Before Hanbin could even give orders, she unpacked a bundle on the table.
Watching the scene, Sim Miho nodded.
"As expected of the brush, ink, paper, and inkstone..."
Well, it was just as she'd guessed.
Ignoring Sim Miho's words, Hanbin dashed off the contents in one go.
Sim Miho realized what he meant by "goods aren't just wealth."
Their bodies were the goods.
Only then did she grasp Hanbin's deeper intent.
He had just two aims.
Under the belief that nothing in the world is free, he simply demanded payment.
Most people treated even their own lives as free and squandered them.
That was the first reason for drawing up contracts.
After writing about ten copies of the same contract, Hanbin's brush paused.
Sim Miho asked.
"Why'd you stop?"
"Contracts, by nature..."
Hanbin trailed off, and everyone swallowed dryly, waiting.
In the silence, he continued.
"...must have scarcity to hold value."
"Writing?"
"I mean calligraphy. A contract's calligraphy too."
"..."
"If Meng Huang of the Later Han left behind tens of thousands of pieces, would they be worth anything? I bet five iron coins they wouldn't."
Meng Huang was a famous calligrapher of old.
"But Meng Huang's calligraphy and my lord's..."
Before Sim Miho could finish, Hanbin cut in.
"Excellent question, Deputy Sim. What's your take?"
His eyes gleamed, and Sim Miho quickly followed up.
"I believe my lord's writing holds more value than Meng Huang's."
She finished, clasped her hands in a fist salute, and stepped back.
Putting down his brush, Hanbin turned to the others.
Those meeting his gaze all nodded.
Some reflexively, others—like Seolhwa—sincerely.
To Hanbin, treating commoners for free was akin to investment.
The return on that investment came from merchants and martial artists.
That was the second reason for the contracts.
As Sim Miho emerged with the contracts, eyes focused on her.
Once she finished explaining, murmurs arose.
Even those who had endlessly praised the living Buddha changed their tune now that conditions were attached to treatment.
One merchant, pointing at Hanbin in front of the inn, spoke up.
"Look, the incarnation of Avalokitesvara is out there. Hope I can get some medicine today."
Beside him stood a boy leaning on a cane, looking unwell.
The boy said,
"Yeah, Father."
He was a child whose legs had been crippled by this plague.
A goateed merchant ahead turned back with a displeased frown.
"Avalokitesvara my ass. He treats villagers for free but charges us? What kind of Bodhisattva is that?"
He'd been half-doubting it would be free on the way here.
And sure enough, conditions were attached—fuming, he snapped when his companion hailed Hanbin as the Bodhisattva.
The boy's father waved his hand dismissively.
"Tch, if the Bodhisattva hears that, we're in trouble. Keep it down."
"Your voice is louder. Sure, he's Avalokitesvara—just one holding a contract. That's the issue."
The goateed merchant sneered, and his friend turned with shining eyes.
"Eh, I'll sign no matter what. Better than dealing with Heuksa Gate or other righteous sects. Hebei Paeng Family's a hundred times better."
"Hm, true enough. But haggling over money when lives are at stake? Is that right?"
"Watch your words. Who else stepped up besides Hebei Paeng? Without them, we'd all have starved. Word is their fourth young master has ties to the imperial family—official troops will help us soon."
"Imperial family? If Paeng had those ties, they'd have broken through the troops and fled by now."
"They could've fled but stayed—that's why we call him the living Buddha. Right? Haha."
The boy's father laughed as if it were his own good fortune.
Just then—
Someone from behind yelled at them.
"If the front's empty, move up! Or should I go ahead?"
They hurriedly pressed forward.
The line shrank faster than expected.
Most merchants and martial artists, upon seeing the contract, said they'd think it over.
The terms were no small matter.
Finally, it was the goateed merchant's turn.
Still glaring at Hanbin, he told his companion behind.
"You first."
"You sure?"
"Go on."
"Alright, then."
The merchant accepted the concession and stepped up with his limping son.
The goateed merchant's plan was simple: watch his friend's situation and snag a contract copy.
The trouble came after the limping boy's father signed.
Sim Miho, who had been kindly dealing with merchants and martial artists, began tidying the brushes and ink before her.
Jang Sam, assisting beside her, even picked up a broom to sweep the front.
Sweep, sweep.
Anyone could see: we're closing up.
The startled goateed merchant blurted,
"Wh-what are you doing?"
"Come back tomorrow, everyone. We're done for today."
"Wh-what? You have to finish with me too..."
"We're out of contracts."
"What do you mean?"
"My lord suffered a serious injury—he can only write ten per day."
"T-ten? Can't someone else—"
"Contracts are major undertakings; my lord forbade ghostwriting."
"So just ten a day...?"
"Yes, that's the limit."
Murmurs spread like a plague.
"What?"
"Now what?"
"This is too much, isn't it?"
As the commotion grew—
A finger snap echoed from somewhere.
Snap.
Simultaneously, someone blocked the merchants' path.
Whoosh.
A man in white martial robes appeared with the wind.
Everyone stepped back at his presence.
Someone from behind noted his sleeve.
"Mount Hua Sect's Plum Blossom Swordsman..."
The pointed-out white sleeve bore an embroidered plum blossom.
Murmurs followed.
"Mount Hua Sect?"
"Seo Jaeo, the Plum Blossom Swordsman who shone in this incident?"
"..."
The chatter among the long line of merchants and martial artists quieted.
Seo Jaeo's lips curled slightly.
It had felt like a reluctant, obligatory jianghu excursion.
Mount Hua Sect was rife with such forced outings.
Lately, no Plum Blossom Swordsman had made such a name.
Yet unexpectedly, he'd played a key role in quelling a northern uproar.
Even without witnesses to his feats, rumors flew that a Plum Blossom Swordsman had shone against the plague.
They were whispering about it now, weren't they?
His shoulders straightened inevitably.
But soon, Seo Jaeo tilted his head, scanning around.
Standing here guarding Sim Miho—didn't it tarnish a Mount Hua disciple's honor?
Wasn't this what gate guards did at taverns or inns?
The doubt was brief. His lips curled again.
Hanbin had asked him to step forward on signal.
Had he ever lost out fulfilling Hanbin's requests?
Body might ache, but no losses—he could swear it.
As Seo Jaeo wore a smug smile, Sim Miho approached the limping boy and his father.
"Come this way for your medicine. And food too."
"Oh, thank you, milady."
The boy's father unconsciously clasped his fists in salute.
A gesture he never made normally, showing full respect.
That was how grateful he was to Hanbin and the Red Blood Mangho Squad.
He received pills from Jang Ja-myeong beside Sim Miho and food from Jo Ho.
As he gathered his supplies, his son struggled to stay upright on his cane.
Then, a sweet scent tickled the boy's nose.
He quietly turned his head.
There stood a pretty girl holding tanghwa candy.
Of course, the girl was Seolhwa.