Moonlit Beauty
Won Seung burst into the shop and said to Jong Bi,
"We're having a grand opening tomorrow. Prep some food."
Jong Bi, trained in all sorts of odd skills at the assassin camp, could cook, do laundry, even embroider.
She might not make a Ten Perfect Assassin, but a perfect servant? No problem.
Jong Bi scowled. Ever since moving to Baekhwa Pavilion, she'd been cooking and washing nonstop—her back was killing her.
They'd agreed she'd play the maid, but this felt like outright exploitation.
"Why not hire some kid to help?"
"We'll think about it once the paintings start selling. Just a few simple dishes. You're good at it anyway."
Won Seung soothed her.
"Ugh. Fine. What're you doing?"
"Greeting customers. Oh, right—invitations first."
Won Seung pulled out brush, ink, paper, and got to writing.
"You're inviting guests?"
"Just close friends, so nothing fancy. But it has to taste amazing."
As Won Seung dashed out with the hastily scribbled invitations, Jong Bi muttered to his back,
"How long's he even been in Sangyang? 'Close friends'? Probably just Hwa Yeo-wol. Wonder what she'd like?"
Imagining Hwa Yeo-wol savoring her food with delight made Jong Bi's hands itch.
"Alright! Jong Bi, time for the best damn meal of your life."
As Jong Bi predicted, Won Seung headed straight for Cheongsu Gate.
A burly man in coarse hemp sat cross-legged by the main gate, flag in hand. Passersby glanced his way but kept moving.
When the man first showed up with that flag, crowds had gathered. But Cheongsu Gate ignored him, and the thrill wore off—people dispersed.
Now only idle elders lounged at nearby noodle shops and teahouses, gossiping about the bloodbath to come.
Spotting the man, Won Seung had a sudden thought and murmured inwardly,
'It'd be perfect if he took out Hwa Cheon-gang... Gotta scheme on that.'
Then he wouldn't have to dirty his own hands killing his friend's uncle.
But the opening came first. Won Seung pounded on the gate.
The side window slid open, revealing a familiar guard—the one whose boil Won Seung had lanced.
"Ah, Young Master Won. What brings you?"
"Pass this to Hwa Yeo-wol."
Won Seung handed over the invitation.
"Got it."
The window shut. Won Seung turned and approached the burly man, who sat like a statue, eyes shut tight.
"Hey, you're Yong family, right? What's your name?"
The man cracked his eyes, recognized the kid from the noodle shop, and shut them again.
"Scram."
"Tch. Just pitying you."
Won Seung squatted in front of him.
"They killed your dad, stole your business—gotta hate the Hwa brothers down to your bones. But they won't accept your challenge. Bet that pisses you off."
"......"
"Sitting here won't make Hwa Cheon-gang show. Cheongsu Gate can't afford a fight right now."
The man's eyes snapped open, cold light spilling out.
"What're you on about?"
"Cheongsu Gate's in a mess. If you tangle with Hwa Cheon-gang, Gwancheonbang'll strike. Word is five experts from Dosanrim arrived. Think they can risk it?"
"Gwancheonbang? Dosanrim?"
The man's gaze turned icier.
"Cheon Il-hae—that bastard dies by my hand too!"
"Huh? The Gwancheonbang leader too? He your enemy?"
The man closed his eyes.
Cheon Il-hae had been his father's retainer but vanished when trouble hit. Later, he snatched the upper Sang River trade routes.
The man figured Cheon Il-hae was in on his father's death.
Won Seung rolled his eyes.
'Crazy bastard. Gonna kill two of the Central Plains' Hundred Great Experts...'
He sized up the man carefully. The aura flowing from him was no joke.
'Geom Yak Jong backs Cheongsu Gate, Dosanrim backs Gwancheonbang. But he doesn't care. Either he's insane... or he's got backing that laughs at both.'
His eyes fell on the massive sword by the man's side.
'Cheondaemun or Musanggok could ignore those sects. If he's from one, he's bigger than I thought. Explains challenging Hwa Cheon-gang.'
Won Seung edged back casually.
Cheondaemun and Musanggok ranked with Dosanrim as the Three Great Blade Sects. If he was really from there... better play careful.
The Four Great Sword Sects and Three Great Blade Sects churned out talent. They rarely showed in the jianghu, but when they did, lesser experts dropped like flies.
About thirty feet away, Won Seung called back,
"Want revenge? Come to Baekhwa Pavilion."
Hwa Yeo-wol arrived at Baekhwa Pavilion with Yang Yeon-seo and So Sansan.
"Baekhwa Pavilion? Weird name."
"Cozy little place."
Stepping inside, the three let out a collective "Ah!" of admiration.
"Never seen a painting shop like this."
"Feels like a high-end teahouse."
The modest space was cleverly arranged. Low platforms flanked the door, with small tables for sipping tea while gazing out the window.
Five scrolls hung on each side wall, but a long translucent screen stood a scroll's length away, veiling them. White paper covered them anyway—no peeking the subjects.
A partition faced the door, with a reception counter in front. Behind led to the inner rooms.
Jong Bi, dressed as a scholar, sat fanning herself lazily with a palm-leaf fan, nose in a book.
A plum bonsai graced the counter, lending the space a simple, elegant air.
"No. 50?"
Hwa Yeo-wol's eyes widened. Cheongsu Gate knew Jong Bi as No. 50. Cured of Blood Chain Mountain poison and eating well, she looked the part.
Jong Bi rose gracefully, bowed politely.
"My name is Song Myeong. I was a scholar once myself."
Her refined alias made Hwa Yeo-wol flush awkwardly.
"Oh, right. Where's Won Seung?"
"Waiting inside."
Jong Bi gestured past the partition.
The women passed into a short hallway opening to a cozy parlor.
A central table doubled as dining and tea setup, screened artfully with folding screens.
One wall held five-tiered shelves stocked with books, liquor, tea sets.
The opposite was a latticed window overlooking a garden when pushed up.
The trio loved the vibe.
"Is this the latest fad in the capital?"
"Yeah. Totally different from Sangyang style."
As they admired the room, Won Seung emerged from the back.
"Huh?"
His changed look startled them.
His neatly bound hair hung loose, and ornate cyan silk robes gave him a noble young master's air—yet wildly free-spirited somehow.
Hwa Yeo-wol asked,
"Won Seung, what's this? A painting shop?"
"Sit first."
As they settled, Won Seung poured tea and sighed softly. He tied back his tousled hair with a hero's band, his wistful expression evoking decadent charm.
The women stared, mesmerized.
A moment later,
Won Seung murmured soulfully,
"My name is Pung Un-saeng. Fake, of course. I've wandered the world, fleeing those who want me dead. But... I'm tired now. Done roaming. Time to settle, change identities—hence the painting shop."
"Ah!"
He already seemed the tragic hero; this backstory sealed it. The women sighed in sympathy.
Hwa Yeo-wol, knowing his real secrets, ached inside.
'Joo Gunju's faction hunting him? That's why he's hiding like this?'
She wanted to ask, but not with the others.
"Keep my identity quiet. If enemies hear, assassins come calling. You're my friends—you'll do that, right?"
They nodded. Soft-hearted So Sansan whispered sadly,
"We'll keep your secret. Pung Un-saeng... you feel so full of stories, so lonely."
"That's my path."
Stories? He had plenty.
Eight years slaving in those mountains. Already poisoned one guy dead. How many his age had blood on their hands?
And... bearing his sect's grudge. Leader of the legendary Cheondaemun.
Won Seung shook his head to clear the thoughts, amping the decadent allure.
Something thudded in the women's hearts.
"Opening the shop, but no one to invite..."
Won Seung smiled self-mockingly, voice forlorn. Tears welled in So Sansan's big eyes.
"Then it hit me—you're my friends. That's why I invited you."
"Ah... yeah. We're here. Chin up."
Hwa Yeo-wol's cheery tone chased the gloom.
"Brought opening gifts too."
She offered a red envelope fat with banknotes.
"Thanks."
Won Seung set it aside, eyed Yang Yeon-seo and So Sansan.
You too?
Reading his expectant gaze, they pulled red envelopes from their sleeves and added them to the table.
Won Seung grinned.
"True friends. Let's do the opening now."
The four returned to the front.
An altar stood against one wall, spirit tablets for the Primal Celestial Venerable and Mountain God enshrined.
Won Seung lit incense, placed the red envelopes.
"Heaven, earth, spirits—bless Baekhwa Pavilion with prosperity."
He prayed and bowed.
The simple rite ended in a flash.
Hwa Yeo-wol eyed the veiled scrolls.
"Painting shop—show us the art. Why cover them?"
"Planned to unveil post-opening. Go ahead, admire."
Won Seung peeled off the white paper.
"Ah..."
The women gasped in unison. Masterful copies of greats—irresistible.
"This painting! Why's it here?"
So Sansan gaped at one.
"Moonlit Beauty... I saw it in the capital."
A beauty stood under a bright moon by a locust tree, gazing down a distant road.
"Haha, good eye. Du Gong's Moonlit Beauty, yeah. But... not the original."
Won Seung pointed to the tiny script in the corner: "Imitation of Du Gong's Moonlit Beauty, by Master Neung."