Chapter 124. Dying from Undercooked Freshwater Fish
Won Seung occasionally glanced around as if taking in the sights, all the while observing Ju Neung.
He committed to memory the man's appearance, speech patterns, habits, and every little gesture.
The escort party, having completed the long journey from Sichuan to the imperial capital Huangdo, finally relaxed and drank their fill.
That night.
A bamboo tube as thick as a finger slipped through a crack in the window of the room where Ju Neung was staying. Faint smoke wafted in on the breeze, swirling lazily around the chamber.
A short while later, Won Seung entered the room, where the sound of loud snoring filled the air. He approached Ju Neung's bed, rifled through his belongings to find the identity plaque and travel permit, then slipped away.
That same night, the light in Won Seung's room burned late.
The next day.
Ju Neung, the youngest escort of the Sichuan Escort Agency, woke early. He had to wash up and order breakfast before his seniors stirred. As he stepped out of his room, he felt something underfoot. Looking down, he saw his own identity plaque. Only then did he realize it was missing from his belt.
Did I drop it last night when I came back drunk?
Without a second thought, Ju Neung picked it up and headed to the communal bathhouse. Pushing open the door, he bumped into someone just coming out.
"Whoa there."
A boy who looked a bit younger than him tumbled to the floor. Startled, Ju Neung hurried over and bent down to help him up. In that moment, Won Seung's hand dipped into Ju Neung's inner pocket and returned the travel permit to its place.
"Sorry about that. You okay?"
Won Seung rubbed his sore backside as he spoke.
"I'm fine."
Won Seung's speech carried a hint of the Sichuan accent. Delighted, Ju Neung asked,
"You from Sichuan?"
"My father's from there."
"Ah, really? Nice to meet you. I'm from Sichuan too. Staying here long?"
"Besides the Sichuan Inn, is there anywhere in Huangdo that does real Sichuan food right?"
Ju Neung laughed.
"Haha, good point. See you around."
Ju Neung grinned and went to wash his face.
The escorts, their mission done, went sightseeing in the capital and entered the inner city. By evening, only Ju Neung and a few low-ranking escorts had returned.
"Tch. When do we get to hit up a place like that?"
The senior escorts were apparently whiling away the time at brothels outside the walls. Short on cash, the juniors nursed cheap drinks at the inn's tavern before scattering to their rooms.
Ju Neung rose to head to his own room when his eyes met those of Won Seung, sitting quietly in the corner.
Hey, it's the guy from this morning. Ju Neung waved in greeting, but Won Seung beckoned him over to his table, laden with drinks and dishes.
As Ju Neung approached, he said,
"Looks like you're doing pretty well for yourself. That's top-grade cuisine right there."
"Not hurting for money. I ordered too much and can't finish it—wanna join me?"
"Sure. I'll cover the next round."
Ju Neung ordered fresh drinks, and the two traded cups back and forth. Won Seung introduced himself as Un Saeng.
"How old are you, anyway?"
"Turning of age soon."
"Hmm. You look younger than that. I just came of age myself."
"And you're already an escort?"
"Haha. I was the senior disciple at the Fuhou Pavilion."
Oh ho, is that so? Deprived of chances to chat freely under his seniors' thumbs, Ju Neung loosened up with the booze and grew talkative.
The two young and impulsive men quickly became sworn brothers.
When Won Seung subtly probed, Ju Neung spilled his life story without reservation. He lamented his lot as the senior disciple of Fuhou Pavilion, a martial school near the capital of Sichuan.
"The pavilion master passed away suddenly, so I had no choice but to join the Sichuan Escort Agency. But someday, I'll rebuild Fuhou Pavilion with my own hands."
You're a lonely soul with no family ties. Perfect. Won Seung recalled his great-uncle's words about a great fortune coming his way. He'd chosen carefully, but this disguise seemed even better than expected.
Ju Neung poured out tales of the pavilion master who raised him, his training days, the school's downfall, and his employment as an escort—his short life laid bare. An orphan who swept floors at a dojo while learning martial arts, he recounted it like a saga of worldly trials.
"Rebuild the pavilion? Is that really necessary? If it were me, I'd rather roam the world as an escort."
"You wouldn't get it, brother. This job's life on the line. And the master was like a father to me. He raised an orphan like me this far. You have a wife and little sister to care for..."
"Sounds like a good man. Shame he went so suddenly."
"Bad freshwater fish. Some parasite or whatever. Scary stuff—vomiting blood and gone in ten days."
"Damn... As a dojo master, he must've been pretty skilled."
The more Won Seung learned about Ju Neung, the better it suited his disguise, so he kept digging deeper.
"Yeah, top expert around the capital. He was a lay disciple of the Shaolin Temple. Fuhou Pavilion—that name comes from their Fuhou Swordsmanship. Takes real skill for a lay disciple's school to bear that name."
As Won Seung listened, a sliver of doubt crept in.
Even experts could die from bad food. But poison claimed far more lives.
Fuhou Pavilion was in Joryeon County, just outside the capital. Home to the Dang Clan. Won Seung's preconceptions led him to wonder if it might've been poison.
He eyed Ju Neung. Eighteen years old, face blank and carefree. Spilling his guts to a stranger meant he was either pure-hearted or reckless.
Is there more to this identity than meets the eye?
The Shaolin lay disciple angle nagged too. Why would one from Gansu open a dojo all the way in the capital?
Need to dig deeper.
A flawed disguise could spell trouble.
"It's getting late. How long you staying in Huangdo, brother Ju?"
"At least ten days, they said."
"Catch you later then. I've had plenty tonight."
"Whoops, sorry. Kept you too long."
The next day.
Won Seung paused before a three-story tavern on a bustling street. He wore a plain human-skin mask.
Manseong Pavilion.
This is the Hao Men branch, right?
Huangdo was vast, with multiple Hao Men branches. Manseong Pavilion dealt with Jeokhyeolsan transactions. They served many clients, so no suspicions if you weren't impersonating Jeokhyeolsan.
The key was the first deal. The Hao Men hated backstabs and vetted customers carefully.
"Welcome!"
The waiter greeted him brightly.
"Somewhere quiet."
His tone hinted at secrecy, and the waiter's eyes gleamed knowingly.
"This way."
He led Won Seung to a small private room on the second floor.
As Won Seung ordered drinks, he said,
"Heard you can buy gazettes here."
The waiter's eyes smiled. That means yes.
"The last year's worth."
"A whole year?"
The waiter eyed him curiously. Selling gazettes was his side hustle, a minor gig. Outlets beyond just Hao Men branches. But buying a full year? Worth a second look.
Some folks got hooked, hunting down back issues...
"All from the thirteen provinces."
"Hmm. That'll cost a pretty sum."
"I know. Thirteen provinces, bi-monthly issues—thirteen sets, a hundred fifty-six for the year. Plus special editions? That's why I came here."
Reciting the publication details precisely, Won Seung got a nod. Bulk order meant they knew this was wholesale.
"I'll check stock."
"Don't test a loyal reader."
Won Seung tossed in the quip.
Soon, drinks and food arrived. Much later, the waiter brought a bundle of documents.
"Got 'em all."
Won Seung paid. The waiter bowed repeatedly, barely hiding his grin. Who buys this trash in bulk? A cut of the sales lined his pocket.
His jaw had dropped wide earlier, but three hours later, he was cursing under his breath.
"Does that bastard not have a home? Why won't he leave?"
Won Seung sat in the private room, eating while poring over the gazettes. Anyone watching would peg him for a true fanatic.
Money ruled the world. No customer, no closing.
The waiter, fighting drooping eyelids, finally trudged upstairs.
Then—a loud ack! from inside.
What the?
He burst in. Won Seung trembled, clutching a gazette.
"Everything alright, sir?"
"Is... is this real?"
Won Seung's eyes bulged at a section in a spring issue from Sichuan Province's local news.
The headline was flashy, but the content was thin. Kyeong Cheon-so, Shaolin lay disciple and Fuhou Pavilion master, died from undercooked freshwater fish parasites. A dubious tipster claimed possible poisoning, and the article closed noting Dang Clan elders and local notables attended the funeral.
Gazettes peddled wild rumors alongside such local tidbits.
"Kyeong Cheon-so was an acquaintance of mine... Dying from bad fish? No, this can't be."
Get out already! It's late, this ain't an inn!
The waiter screamed inwardly but said,
"That's awful, sir. But it's getting very late."
"Oh, right. Got so into reading, the food's cold. Heat up some soup, bring a bowl of thin noodles and a bottle of baijiu. Gotta toast my friend."
A silver ingot clinked down.
The waiter wasn't thrilled, but orders were orders.
Won Seung added,
"And... can you get me another year's worth of Sichuan gazettes?"
"Pardon?"
"Something's off. He wouldn't go like this. Look at the title—there's a hidden story. Need to analyze closely."
"Sir, gazettes are just for fun..."
"Hey! My friend's dead, and you call it fun?!"
Won Seung exploded. The human-skin mask dulled his expressions, making it eerie. Channeling inner energy chilled the air.
The waiter sensed something fishy. Human-skin mask? So refined I missed it.
"S-sorry. I'll fetch them."
He roused the dozing kitchen boy with the order, then headed to the manager's quarters behind the tavern.
The groggy manager emerged, scowling.
"What?"
"Some weirdo's causing a scene."
The waiter reported on Won Seung.
"Thought he was just a gazette nut at first, but he's wearing a human-skin mask, and sticking around this late? Suspicious."
"Weapons?"
"No sword or saber, but maybe darts or hidden blades."
"Get the boys ready."