Chapter 142. Ki Seung-gyo is the True Sea One Sword
“Why has the Great Swallow Sword stepped into the jianghu affairs?”
“That, I don’t know.”
What? This flimsy intel costs ten taels of silver?
Won Seung reached for the silver note on the table. Go Yeong-ju pinned it down with a finger. Trying to yank it free would just tear the note.
“Ten taels is too much just for knowing the Great Swallow Sword is behind it.”
“You must not know who the Great Swallow Sword is. Even mentioning his name puts my life at risk. I’m only telling you because you’re a valued customer—anyone else, forget it.”
Won Seung thought it over. Come to think of it, he only knew the Great Swallow Sword was Huangdo’s top expert; nothing about the man himself.
“Is the Great Swallow Sword that terrifying?”
“He was the Grand Marshal of the million Golden Troops during Emperor Geommu’s reign and the founder of the Embroidered Uniform Guard. Countless meritorious officials, bureaucrats, and imperial clansmen died by his hand. After the Guard disbanded, he secluded himself under the Seongwangbu’s protection… but rumors say his influence led to the Guard’s revival this time.”
Ah, so that’s why the Embroidered Uniform Guard got involved.
Won Seung felt an itch at the nape of his neck. If the Great Swallow Sword had mobilized the Guard, he’d surely have a report on it. Of course, under the name Joo Neung… but something about catching the Seongwangbu’s eye unsettled him.
Won Seung glanced at the silver note and raised a finger.
“I’ve got some intel to share too.”
Go Yeong-ju replied calmly.
“Let’s hear it.”
As Won Seung reached for the note again, Go Yeong-ju pinned it once more.
“Intel payment is after delivery.”
“You take prepayment when selling?”
“Customers often don’t know the value of their own info. They spill what they think is gold, but it’s usually trash.”
“Ugh.”
Won Seung grumbled but spoke up.
“The ones who came this time are from Mount Mangeom’s Yeongwi Peak.”
“I know.”
“Sado Gongja’s leading them.”
“I know.”
“The Bi Sword Sect guy is third disciple Gi Seung-gyo.”
“I know.”
Go Yeong-ju’s constant “I knows” made Won Seung suspicious. How could he verify truth from lies if the guy just claimed prior knowledge after every reveal?
“This ain’t fair.”
Go Yeong-ju smiled.
“Want one more? Gi Seung-gyo is the True Sea One Sword. The one who smashed those pirate ships off Jeolgang. You must’ve seen it in the gazette.”
“Ah!”
Won Seung was stunned that Gi Seung-gyo was the True Sea One Sword, and he had to admire Go Yeong-ju’s information network.
“Then you know why Mount Mangeom’s Yeongwi Peak attacked the Bi Sword Sect?”
“That too.”
“What’s the reason?”
Go Yeong-ju raised a finger, then bent it halfway.
Won Seung couldn’t stand the curiosity. He pulled out five taels of silver.
“In the past, experts poured out from Mount Mangeom, shaking the jianghu. Many masters died then.”
“I know that much.”
“Mount Mangeom’s martial tour was imitating the Flying Sword Saint before it. The Saint roamed the jianghu, crushing foes left and right, propelling the Bi Sword Sect to the top sect overnight.”
“Mm.”
“Anyone versed in jianghu history knows that far. But here’s the key: word reached the reclusive Flying Sword Saint. He stormed Mount Mangeom and shattered the masters of its thirteen peaks.”
“……”
“Mount Mangeom has countless peaks, but those thirteen stood out. The Saint crushed them all and declared…”
“What?”
“‘Try it again, and I’ll wipe Mount Mangeom off the map.’”
What a mad legend.
“Unconfirmed, but the Flying Sword Saint seems to have passed. So Mount Mangeom’s out for revenge. Just my theory.”
Oho. He doesn’t know the Flying Sword Saint died? Feels like I win this round.
Won Seung pondered, then asked Go Yeong-ju.
“Why didn’t you tell me this last time?”
He could’ve adjusted his plans if he’d known.
“Didn’t know your finances.”
“?”
“Some get hooked on intel and blow their fortunes. Can’t lead a customer to ruin. Manseong Ru shares only what’s essential.”
Go Yeong-ju’s gaze drifted to the pouch where Won Seung kept his Boheol-dan profits.
“Aha!”
Now that he had Boheol-dan money? Intel scaled with wallet size?
Won Seung sensed he’d be bled dry if he stayed. He rose to leave, but Go Yeong-ju asked.
“No Boheol-dan today?”
“Need these silvers for herbs to make more.”
“Oh! You brew them yourself?”
Go Yeong-ju’s eyes sparkled.
Damn.
“Wish I had the skill… sadly not. Buy herbs, send ’em off—they make it.”
“Understood.”
Go Yeong-ju nodded agreeably, but didn’t seem convinced.
Won Seung stopped by the Sangyang Escort Agency’s Huangdo branch—no letters for Pung Un-saeng. He sent one to Yun Ye of Yeongtap Temple, then headed home. Walking took until nearly dusk.
Gi Seung-gyo was sweeping the yard and asked upon seeing him.
“When to Yeongtap Temple?”
“Too risky now. Got a tail. Sent a letter—don’t worry.”
Won Seung eyed Gi Seung-gyo anew.
True Sea One Sword, huh. Never thought I’d meet the gazette’s star in person.
He’d pegged the quiet, melancholic guy as gloomy. But knowing he was the True Sea One Sword reframed him as a solemn, solitary hero.
Gi Seung-gyo asked no more about the tail and resumed sweeping.
That night.
A mournful tungso melody woke Won Seung. Peeking through the shutters, he saw Gi Seung-gyo perched owl-like on a tall tree, playing the flute. The lonesome notes brought tears to Won Seung’s eyes.
Next day, Won Seung bought a geom in the outer city.
That night, as Gi Seung-gyo climbed the tree and played, Won Seung emerged into the hall with the geom and plucked the strings.
Gi Seung-gyo paused in surprise, glanced at the hall, then resumed. Tungso and geom wove together, the plaintive tune gutting listeners’ hearts. The Samya-hyeon household wept in their sleep.
Sangyang’s morning.
Ogu entered Hwacheong Pavilion’s iconic five-story building. As black society’s puppet leader, he visited early every three days to handle business.
Gu Ak-pyeong used the scenic fifth floor; Ogu set up on the first—to shake the trauma of leaping from the fifth.
A maid brought tea. Seated at the desk, he sipped gracefully, posture erect, movements refined. As puppet boss, he believed dignity was key. Thanks to Won Seung, he looked a decade younger—mid-twenties. Among rough black dao thugs, elegance offset his youth.
As Ogu drank solemnly, the pavilion’s chief steward entered for the routine report.
He handed over revenue sheets, expenditures, black society tribute docs, then key updates.
“…Tribute unchanged.”
Ogu scanned the new guard hires list.
“Summon Un-saeng here; you handle the rest.”
“Yes, sir.”
The steward bowed to leave, paused—“Ah”—and turned back.
“Don’t forget the Ten-Man Assembly banquet in three days at oshi.”
Ogu nodded. First since his puppet inauguration.
“I know. Oh—know Gwang Dokdu’s favorite dish?”
“Duck stew, I believe.”
“Cater around Gwang Dokdu’s tastes.”
Ogu owed his life to Gwang Dokdu. He never forgot benefactors—lavished them—or enemies; stabbed them twice-rescued, he’d etched it in his bones.
Steward left; soon Un-saeng arrived.
“Heard you called, Pavilion Lord.”
Joo Neung seemed surprised at the young, stunningly beautiful lord.
“Heard you’re skilled…”
“Pardon?”
Did I say that? Haven’t even drawn my sword here.
Ogu sized up Joo Neung—pre-adult but sturdy from early training.
“Where’s home?”
“Outskirts.”
Ogu knew, asked anyway.
“Bad area for security. Heard you’ve got mom and sister—can’t live there.”
“Planning to move soon.”
Ogu pulled a note from the drawer.
“Rent with this. Pay back slow.”
“Pardon?”
Joo Neung saw fifty taels. How, so soon after starting? He didn’t take unexplained favors.
“Why such a sum?”
“Pocket change for me. Hwacheong Pavilion treasures brothers. Hour’s walk home? Stay close, focus on work. Your post outer guards?”
“Yes.”
“Personal guard for Hong Hwa from today.”
Hong Hwa: newest courtesan, shaking Sangyang’s flower world with allure and beauty. Rich suitors flung money, but she chose her clients.
“Dismissed.”
After Joo Neung left, Cheol Mado entered. He and Gwisoo still worked here. Sword-brothers turned pot-mates. Got along with Cheol Mado; Gwisoo, who’d stabbed him in the back, no. Gwisoo, knifed by Jong Bi, now worked outside.
“What’s up?”
Sangyang’s black dao was quiet—no rampage for Cheol Mado.
“Sent guys to check outskirts murders?”
“Yeah.”
Outskirts murders: four dead near Un-saeng’s inn.
“Why bother?”
“Puppet or not, I’m black society boss. Obvious black dao thugs… can’t let randos dirty Sangyang streets unchecked.”
“Luoyang black dao. Drop it.”
“Mm. Got it.”
Ogu nodded, thought: Deung Noya’s involved.
As Cheol Mado turned to go, Ogu said.
“Tell Gwisoo: quit harassing Hong Hwa.”
“That punk listens to me?”
“Hey, I’m Pavilion Lord. Protecting courtesans is my job.”
“Fine, I’ll tell him.”
Cheol Mado vanished.
Ogu finished morning duties, ate lunch, headed to Baekhwa Pavilion. Time to resume as owner Go Seonsaeng.
Entering, Yu Bul-gun and U Hui were cleaning post-lunch. Jong Bi dubbed first-arriver Yu “Jong-il,” later U Hui “Jong-i.”
“Welcome back?”
Jong-il bowed. Noble scholar turned servant, he adapted like born to it.