What Lies in the Tales of Mountains, Fields, and Clouds
Manseong Ru's chief steward, Go Yeong-bo, fell into brief thought.
Whoever this guy was, he'd come knowing this was one of the Hao Clan branches in the imperial capital. Only Hao Clan branches stocked a full year's worth of gossip sheets issued from every province. It wasn't some grand secret that Manseong Ru was a Hao Clan outpost—the capital teemed with sects, and anyone worth their salt who dealt with them knew it.
Holding out for three whole shifts meant he wanted friendly dealings. Unlike those brute black dao thugs who barged in demanding info, this one had kept his crew waiting just in case.
Go Yeong-bo descended into the secret archive behind his office. The underground library was spacious, lined floor-to-ceiling with long shelves. Fitting for a capital branch, it was impressively stocked.
He pulled the Sichuan Province shelf and found the file on Bokho Pavilion Lord Bokho Victory Sword Gyeong Cheon-so's death. Nothing major about the guy, so it was summed up on a single sheet.
A moment later.
Won Seung sipped his baijiu, the table buried under stacks of gossip sheets, when Go Yeong-bo entered.
"Guest, it's the hour of the rat now. Kitchen's closed, but…"
"Oh, right? You're not that errand boy from earlier."
Their gazes locked in midair.
After a silent exchange, Go Yeong-bo spoke.
"Looking for details on Gyeong Cheon-so's death?"
Won Seung silently pulled out a bill and set it on the table. Ten taels of silver.
Go Yeong-bo eyed it steadily.
"Need one more sheet."
"Can't you see this? I'm signing up for a regular subscription."
Won Seung gestured at the towering stacks.
Go Yeong-bo studied Won Seung's eyes—no hidden agenda. Sharp trader vibe, but the face mask screamed caution. Probably some outlander fresh in the capital after years on the road.
But why dig into distant Sichuan business here?
Go Yeong-bo pondered, then said,
"Gyeong Cheon-so died clashing with the Pung Clan of Sichuan."
"Handled by the Dang Clan?"
"Who could know?"
He couldn't dare name the Dang Clan outright. But his eyes admitted it.
Won Seung rose.
"Keep these sheets aside for me. I'll come back for them. And this—pass it to folks who lost sleep on my account."
He added another five-tael silver bill.
This guy's splashing silver like water?
A glint lit Go Yeong-bo's eyes.
Haggled the intel fee down, then tossed extra cash unasked. A show of respect for Hao Clan folk.
Most who hit up the Hao—white or black dao—treated them like dogs. Rare to see this courtesy.
Go Yeong-bo cupped his fists.
"Come often. May I have your name…?"
Won Seung extended a hand.
"Don't test a loyal reader."
Go Yeong-bo drew a sharp breath. Street-hardened vet. And he knew how the Hao operated. Caution like this meant no funny business.
Snagged a solid customer.
Go Yeong-bo's eyes softened. Politely,
"Next time, tell that kid: What lies in the tales of mountains, fields, and clouds? Good till spring next year."
Won Seung returned to the Sichuan Inn at dawn and slept late.
The Sichuan Escort Bureau escorts were off enjoying post-escort leave, wandering all day—no need to rush.
After lunch, he circulated Cheongmyeong Simgong linked with Musanggyeol's yin-yang acupoints, then headed to Sangyang Escort Bureau to send a letter via Jong Bi.
Bet she's blown through all the cash by now.
Worried a bit. Had Ogu become the fake black society boss? Was Hwa Yeo-wol waiting? So many questions about Sangyang.
He waited till evening and went downstairs to the eatery.
Sure enough, low-rank escorts gathered, chattering about the capital's dazzle. Joo Neung was right in the mix.
The low-ranks' table was pitiful—cheap booze, snacks long gone. Won Seung called the errand boy and sent over drinks and food.
Moments later, the low-ranks gawked at the sudden spread. The boy pointed at Won Seung. Joo Neung stood and approached, face slightly pissed.
"What the hell? No free favors in jianghu. Spill your intent."
"Brother Joo knows my roots are Sichuan too, right? Truth is, I wanna join you guys but lacked an excuse."
The low-ranks shot up, calling Won Seung over.
"Should've said so! Come on. Joo Neung, bring him!"
Their faces beamed—calling the client like family. Youngest of them, Joo Neung looked a tad grumpy but said,
"Warn me next time."
Won Seung mingled with the low-ranks. Mostly early-to-mid twenties, they guzzled booze freely and talked nonstop. He'd heard about Sichuan's sights, foods, customs at the training camp, but these guys' words were live intel.
Just… not very nutritious.
"Dang So-so… Ah, her name alone crushes my heart! She's my goddess."
"Idiot. You'll end up picked clean. Dare eye Dang So-so?"
"You haven't seen, so you talk big. I have—that sharp gaze, jade skin, slim waist… Ugh! One deep drink with her, and I'd die happy."
"Pathetic. Dang So-so's already tangled with Mansan Sect's young lord. Wanna get hacked to bits?"
"She'd beat you to death first—Dang escort chief."
Drunk as skunks, total mess. Dang Clan's precious flower drinking with you? Dream big, boys. Drink up.
Won Seung ordered more whenever it ran low. And learned the real boss of Sichuan Escort Bureau was the Dang Clan. This escort's leader? Dang branch family.
"Little brother, meeting you here's a stroke of luck."
Soon, the low-ranks passed out drunk. Joo Neung hauled them one by one to upstairs rooms and returned.
"Booze hitting hard. Need some cool night air. Coming?"
Hmm. Sketchy vibe—should I? Won Seung's instincts screamed Joo Neung was hiding something. But against him…
Won Seung tagged along cheerfully.
They headed to a creek outside town.
"Kinda creepy out here."
Won Seung glanced around. Perfect spot to bash someone.
And sure enough—Joo Neung whirled.
"Reveal yourself."
"Brother Joo, what's up? I'm Unsaeng?"
"No lies. Why tail me?"
"Huh?"
"Saw you at the open tea stall entering town. Tonight, you sat close."
Won Seung eyed Joo Neung anew. Knew he'd approached on purpose, yet played dumb with that sunny smile, spilling his own stories?
"You knew?"
Joo Neung scowled, then unleashed a thunderous punch. Fierce momentum.
Won Seung was ready—slapped the fist aside and retreated.
Joo Neung didn't press, testing if Won Seung hid martial arts.
"You train too."
"Better than you, brother."
Joo Neung's face hardened gravely. Won Seung asked,
"But really? That's all it took to suspect me?"
Joo Neung glared piercingly.
"Morning, found an ID tag on the floor. Checked the pass—blank. Then bumped you at the bath, and it was back perfect."
"Whoa…"
Won Seung was genuinely shocked. Played ignorant and tested him anyway? Sneakier than he looked.
"Knew that and still drank with me?"
"First, explain why you're after me."
Won Seung sighed and spilled.
"Truth? I'm not of age yet. Wanna get into the capital—no ID, no pass."
Pulled out a ten-tael silver bill.
"Paying to borrow your identity."
Joo Neung looked dumbfounded.
"Would you sell yours?"
"Figure you're one foot in the grave already, brother."
"?"
"You know it too, right? That's why you spilled your story to me on purpose?"
Won Seung recalled an escort peeking during drinks with Joo Neung.
Joo Neung's face turned to stone.
"What're you on about? What do you know?"
"Chilly night… Shall we grab another round inside?"
Sharp as Joo Neung was, still a hick from Sichuan's boonies. Salting one yokel was child's play. Won Seung led him to a tavern.
Entering, Joo Neung scanned the room quick.
"Relax, brother. This is the capital—no casual killings."
Won Seung ordered booze and snacks. As they arrived, the mood loosened for talk.
"Spit it. You suspect your master's death too? Joined the Dang-run Sichuan Escort Bureau for that."
Joo Neung gaped at Won Seung.
"Jianghu's got fliers above every jumper. Bet the Dang already know your suspicions."
"……"
"Sichuan Escort's big, sure. But you're just eighteen. How'd a rookie like you make escort—and get sent to the far capital? Nah."
Joo Neung's face stiffened. Won Seung nailed it. This kid sees a thousand li from his chair? Wondered how he knew his plight.
"Who are you? How do you know my mess so well?"
"Seeing you tells me your master's type. Righteous hero, blind to suspicion. So you're… pure-hearted."
Almost said sucker.
"Tell me. What went down with the Pung Clan?"
"Your identity first."
"If I bullshit? Can you verify? My name ain't the point. You're at death's door, and I'm the guy with the survival plan—that's what matters."
Joo Neung was just eighteen. Sudden death of his sky-like master, shouldering Bokho Pavilion's fate—he was buckling.
Won Seung's words shook him. That earnest face sold it. He'd never heard his master warn of old folks, kids, or women in jianghu.
"Pung Clan wanted to buy out Bokho Pavilion. Master refused. Soon after, he dropped dead."
"World's full of messes born from money."
Won Seung sighed.