That House Costs Six Hundred Thousand Nyang
The true ultimate art of the Gong Clan was the Subduing Demon Sword Technique, but since Joo Neung's master, Gyeong Cheon-so, had been a secular disciple, he couldn't inherit its full transmission.
Even so, the Bokho Sword Technique was a rather sharp and incisive sword art. Won Seung had familiarized himself with or even learned the introductory arts of major sects like the Great Blade Clan, the Four Great Sword Sects, and the Three Great Dao Gates during his time at the assassin training camp, but the Bokho Sword Technique was his first proper one.
Joo Neung possessed considerable martial talent. But his internal energy was woefully insufficient—barely around ten years' worth. It seemed lacking to Won Seung's eyes, but truthfully, achieving ten years at his age was respectable. It meant he'd diligently cultivated since the age of eight.
A few days later.
Won Seung saw Joo Neung off as he set out on his journey.
"Un hyung, taking a boat will be the fastest way. If you need to get in touch for any reason, send a letter to the Sangyang Escort Agency in Hwangdo."
Won Seung had prepared an identity plaque for Joo Neung, marking him as Un Saeng from Sangyang in Henan Province.
The two young and impulsive men thus exchanged identities and martial secrets before parting ways.
* * *
Won Seung returned to the Sacheon Guest Inn a few days later.
The errand boy greeted him with a fierce scowl. He'd vanished without a word, so the boy assumed he'd skipped out without paying. Won Seung's luggage had already been cleared out.
As Won Seung headed to retrieve his things and enter his room, a low-grade escort recognized him and approached.
"Where've you been?"
His expression was icy.
"I had urgent business back home."
"You were the last one to see Joo Neung that night, right? The errand boy said you two left together. Where'd he go?"
Won Seung flashed a sly grin.
"We'd had a bit too much to drink and went for a stroll... He spotted the Cheongdeung district and got ideas, so off he went that way."
Cheongdeung Street—the red-light district. The low-grade escort furrowed his brow.
"So you didn't go with him?"
"Come on, you think a guy like me could get into a place like that already? I came back and crashed. What happened, anyway?"
"Nothing."
They were probably searching for the missing Joo Neung.
Won Seung stayed at the Sacheon Guest Inn a few more days. The Sacheon Escort Agency group eventually gave up looking for Joo Neung and departed when the time came, their caravan loaded heavy with goods.
Watching the procession head back, Won Seung left the inn.
Having left the village outside the west gate, he now appeared in the village outside the east gate. With a solid identity in hand, he had nothing to fear.
He entered the outer city through the east gate. The gate guards inspected his identity plaque and pass, glanced briefly at his face, and handed them back.
Won Seung wandered the outer city's streets before seeking out a real estate broker.
"What do you want?"
The broker eyed the young boy and assumed he wasn't a customer, bluntly asking his business.
"Thinking of buying a house. Got any empty ones?"
The broker sized Won Seung up and down.
"How old are you? You have to be an adult to buy property."
Won Seung showed his identity plaque.
"You look young for it. But do you have the money?"
"You think I'd come house-hunting without cash?"
"Empty houses? Sure. But I doubt you can afford one. Outer city homes don't come cheap."
"How much?"
"See that house over there?"
The broker pointed to a modest siheyuan courtyard home.
"That one's six hundred thousand nyang."
Won Seung nearly dropped his jaw.
This boondocks dump?
As Won Seung glared, the broker cackled.
"Can't compare rural Sacheon to the capital. Inner city mansions top a million nyang easy. This is outer city pricing."
"Hmm..."
Frustrated but helpless, Won Seung backed off.
The same story at other brokers. One said,
"Looking for something cheaper? There's a broker outside the east gate who knows spots. Try him."
Won Seung tracked down that broker and led with the price.
"Got anything for a hundred thousand nyang?"
The broker pointed far off.
"Check over there."
It was the edge of the city-outskirts village— a good two hours' walk for an average person.
'Ah...'
Heading toward the spot the broker indicated, Won Seung found himself admiring his father, Won Guksa, anew. The family home from his childhood was worth over a million nyang... His father had risen from a poor scholar to a financial legend of the era.
Won Seung reached the village's far end. Houses clustered tightly in a valley nook. Fine for moon-gazing, maybe...
"How much for one here? Wanna check it out?"
Won Seung shook his head at the broker's pitch. Too cramped—no privacy.
"Want something more spacious? Got just the place."
The broker led him to a house at the base of a low hill.
"This one's a hundred ten thousand nyang. South-facing, with a front garden and a well in the back courtyard."
"Oh ho?"
It was sizable—way below market rate. There had to be a catch.
"Well, you'll find out anyway, so I'll tell you. It's a murder house. Victim was from out of town, chased down by enemies who butchered the whole family. Horrible scene. No relatives, so the magistrate seized it and auctioned cheap—half off local prices."
'If that's all...'
After dissecting corpses aplenty, a mere murder house didn't faze him.
"Deal. But what's with the extra ten thousand? A hundred thousand's a hundred thousand."
"That well in the back? Adds ten thousand."
Won Seung paid the deposit without hesitation.
* * *
A few days later, Jong Bi arrived.
"Why not come to Sangyang?"
Jong Bi looked plump and healthy—well-fed and rested.
While I'd been blowing up the training camp, she'd lounged around Sangyang.
"How's Sangyang holding up?"
"Peaceful now."
Ogu had become the fake black society boss.
"He's playing the part well. And his martial arts shot up weirdly fast."
Ogu had solid skills to begin with. You just paralyzed him with needles.
Plus, the meds I'd fed him weren't cheap... He'd survived two near-deaths gobbling my pills.
"Baekhwa Pavilion must be a black dao den now?"
"Nah. Officially, Hwacheong Pavilion's still the black society hub."
Jong Bi had grown chattier.
"Remember that oil shop regular? Turns out he's the Yuchokbang leader. Surprise, right? The one who saved Ogu."
Gwangeonbang had elevated Pyeong In-gang as new leader. Shrunken but holding on, backed by Gwancheon O-u.
"And Cheongsu Gate?"
"Hwa Yeo-wol's doing fine."
Cheongsu Gate stood firm under Hwa Cheon-un. Yong Jo-un had sold the pearl Won Seung gave him to repair his estate.
Everyone thriving.
"How's the painting business?"
"Ah... Almost out of paintings. Gotta make new ones."
Won Seung sighed. They didn't grow on trees. A hundred pieces covered most famous works.
"What now?"
"Business as usual. I'll buy good ones in Hwangdo and send them over."
"Got it."
Jong Bi pulled a money pouch from her bosom, brimming with silver and notes.
"The two hundred thousand nyang you wanted."
Then another pouch.
"And your identity plaque."
Won Seung had told her to get one from Sangyang. As fake society boss, Ogu could launder identities clean.
It read Un Saeng, Sangyang native. Won Seung pocketed it carefully—emergency use.
"How'd you escape the assassin camp?"
Quick to ask.
Won Seung recounted smashing the camp. Jong Bi marveled, then said,
"Good work. But stay out of Sangyang."
"...?"
"Jeokhyeolsan'll hunt you. That scary guy you saw? Probably Gi Jangno. Living legend of Jeokhyeolsan."
"So you're just gonna chill and eat well in Sangyang?"
"Gotta make money. If Jeokhyeolsan shows and bankrupts us, what then?"
Damn, cold-blooded.
"Where's Jeokhyeolsan's main base, anyway?"
"Main base? No idea."
Jong Bi shook her head.
"You went there, didn't you?"
"Ah, my 'main base' meant the Tang. Bi Jangno oversaw the Five and Six Tangs—I was Six Tang, in Kaifeng."
"Hmm."
"Why ask about the main base?"
"Gotta know to avoid it. Could run into Gi Jangno by accident."
He didn't mention allying with kids and the Three Three Alliance to raid it. Jong Bi might pack up Baekhwa Pavilion and vanish. Better let her live free.
"Ah, just skip Kaifeng. Gi Jangno doesn't know me."
Or should he expose Jong Bi, the missing Jeokhyeolsan assassin?
* * *
Won Seung paid the balance with Jong Bi's money and moved in. "Moving" meant one bundle of clothes.
"Whoa, this is our house? Got one in Hwangdo too. We're getting richer by the day."
Jong Bi beamed.
The place was tidy—magistrate-maintained. She fixed worn spots as the Ten Greats Servant. Won Seung bought furniture; she made what was missing.
He dug a basement alchemy room here too. As Cheondaemun leader, he couldn't slack on poison research.
A few days later, Jong Bi returned to Sangyang. Won Seung sent a letter via her to Hwa Yeo-wol: he'd visit come spring after winter.
Alone after, Won Seung seriously trained his martial arts. Cooking and living solo—lonely days.
On a winter night under the full moon, practicing Bokho Sword Technique in the back courtyard, thirst drew him to the well. In the moonlit depths, something flickered.
Something embedded in the well wall, faintly gleaming by moonlight.
'What's that?'
Next day.
Won Seung descended the half-full well. Clarity hit—plunging into icy water midwinter? Madman.
Submerging, he groped the wall.
'Around here.'
His hand snagged parting moss. A flat brass box, yellowish. Won Seung extracted it and climbed out.
In his study-tea room, he set it down, changed clothes, and pondered.
'How to open this?'
Book-sized, no keyhole or handle. A seam in the center screamed "opens," but it wouldn't budge.
After some thought, Won Seung hid the brass box in the alchemy room and headed out.
The broker who showed the house greeted him warmly.
"When's the family coming? Heard you're living alone."
Won Seung said springtime, then probed casually.
"You said the murdered folk were from out of town—where from?"
"Heard south, from Zhejiang. Why?"
"Feels off, so thinking of holding a rite. Any names or identities?"
"Surname Bang... Kept to themselves—no one knew 'em. Ask at the county office."
At the county office, Won Seung explained. The magistrate pursed his lips, eyed him, and said,
"We don't usually leak this."
Meaning he could.