Chapter 53
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 53
Chapter Title: Eat This?
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In a spacious pavilion large enough to comfortably seat twenty people, Mak Jimong spoke to the man sitting across from him.
"Hey, Hwang Gok. Does this make any sense? I can't figure out why my father keeps sticking this scholar on me to make me study. Me, the hero of the unorthodox sects, the Escape King Mak Jimong? Do I have to debate Confucius and Mencius?"
Hwang Gok nodded along outwardly, but inside, he was seething.
'Isn't the Supreme One assigning you a scholar precisely so you can become human...?'
Even as he cursed inwardly, his hands kept pouring wine into Mak Jimong's cup without pause.
"Enough of that. You're done here, Hwang Gok. Have Soye pour the drinks."
"Young Master, my little sister isn't good at pouring wine."
"Then why'd you bring her?"
Mak Jimong grumbled in response.
"Ah, that. We came to pay respects to the Supreme One."
"Not to see me?"
"It'd be too hectic to bring a gift during the sixtieth birthday banquet, so we came early."
"When are you and Soye going to live together?"
Hwang Gok broke into a cold sweat as he replied.
"Once you formally betroth my sister, you can live together."
The problem was that Mak Jimong wanted to keep Hwang Soye as a concubine without even a proper betrothal.
"Geumakmun's greed knows no bounds."
Mak Jimong was about to launch into a lecture when he spotted a man approaching the pavilion and set down his cup.
"Here comes the writing teacher. Father picked this one himself, they say. Want to bet on how long he'll last?"
Hwang Gok forced a laugh and played along, but Hwang Soye gave a bitter smile.
'If a guy like this becomes the head of Hyeoncheon Gate, the unorthodox sects are doomed.'
Hwang Soye knew her father, Hwang Yeong, had tried desperately to connect her with Mak Jimong, but she couldn't open her heart because of things like this.
"Come on over, scholar. Join us for a drink."
Cheon Taesan replied as he climbed into the pavilion.
"Sure, why not?"
"Huh?"
"You said to have a drink?"
Cheon Taesan said as he took his seat.
"Pour me one. You called me here."
When Cheon Taesan held out his cup toward Mak Jimong, the man blinked at him like he'd seen a ghost.
Cheon Taesan recalled Nangong Mubaek making the exact same face long ago.
When people faced utterly unexpected situations, they often panicked so hard that even curses failed to come out.
"Wha? Huh, this guy's nuts?"
"What's with inviting someone and hitting them with insults first?"
Cheon Taesan replied while pouring his own cup.
"You know who I am, right?"
"Yeah. But do you know who I am?"
Mak Jimong let out a hollow breath and said,
"The scholar who's about to die by my hand?"
Cheon Taesan downed his wine in one gulp.
"Nope. Your writing teacher."
"Hahaha! You want to be treated like a teacher? By me, of all people?"
"Don't whine to me. If you really need to complain, take it up with your father, who invited me to be your teacher."
Mak Jimong slouched sideways and let out an exclamation.
"Whoa! This scholar's completely insane! How has he survived this brutal world until now? No skills, but that massive gall."
By now, even Mak Jimong couldn't help but admire the scholar's audacity.
To Hwang Gok, the scholar's retorts sounded like outright insults hurled at Mak Jimong.
He never imagined anyone would voice aloud the things he'd only thought inwardly up to now.
'Can you really get away with saying that?'
In his eyes, the scholar looked like a dead man walking.
Hwang Soye was just as shocked.
They were words no one who knew Mak Jimong would ever dare say.
And the tone—like he was addressing a subordinate.
She shook her head vigorously.
'That scholar's not long for this world. He must think the Supreme One will protect him. The Supreme One doesn't care what his son does.'
The most he'd ever done was assign a scholar to him.
But in her view, that only made Mak Jimong more twisted.
Cheon Taesan closely observed Mak Jimong's blood flow.
He kept watch as a precaution, in case Mak Jimong tried something sneaky.
'When he's angry and about to strike, blood flow speeds up in his head and increases in his hands. But nothing like that.'
Besides, human psychology made it hard to lash out at someone who'd blatantly stunned you like this.
'What kind of backing does he have to act this way?'—that line of thinking only made them more cautious.
Cheon Taesan was exploiting both those factors in dealing with Mak Jimong, so the man must have been just as baffled and amused.
"I've done some digging too. Cheon Taesan, right? Kicked out of the Murim Alliance for being a blockhead, mooched off the Nangong Family for a bit, and now you come scampering like a puppy because my father called? He must've promised you land and money. Why do you think he did that?"
As Cheon Taesan picked up the wine bottle to pour, Mak Jimong laughed in disbelief before holding out his cup.
"Fine. Can't refuse a drink from a guy who's about to die anyway. Father's doing that because he knows you won't last long. If you drop dead, he can just take it all back."
"I get it, so shut up. You're ruining the wine. Classes start right after the birthday banquet, so get yourself mentally prepared. Give me just one month of lessons. If you still don't like it after that, you can cut off my head or chop me up, I don't care. Even kill me if you want."
Mak Jimong paused, wine bottle in hand, about to pour for Cheon Taesan.
"Huh?"
In truth, Mak Jimong had planned to emanate killing intent while pouring, mentally crushing the scholar into a halfwit.
That's why he'd accepted the cup, and as he prepared to pour, he'd built up his black killing aura.
Black killing aura was energy like a hidden weapon in itself.
But when the scholar casually talked of his own death like a pebble in his pocket, genuine curiosity took hold.
This was no ordinary scholar to kill off lightly.
"Well, now."
Mak Jimong reined in his black killing aura and clicked his tongue.
"Not bad. I can see why Father went to the trouble of inviting you."
For the first time, he looked Cheon Taesan in the eye with a hint of respect.
"Isn't that just what Father wants? For his son to grow up right. Even the Demonic Cult Leader would want his kid to turn out proper, right?"
"Hahaha! In the middle of all this, you're dissing both me and my father?"
"What? I'm just stating facts. And the ones I dissed were the Demonic Cult Leader and his son."
"Damn, you talk like a man living his last day. And your eyes say you're not bluffing."
Cheon Taesan downed another cup.
"Great wine. Pour me one."
Mak Jimong, who'd been staring silently, held out his cup.
"Ha! Me, drinking from a scholar in my lifetime."
As Cheon Taesan poured, he considered dropping a Bitanjeon into the cup.
Someone with sharp eyes might spot it, so he planned to do it amid the bustle.
Mak Jimong hadn't reached first-rate yet, which gave him the courage to try.
Playboys like wastrels always prioritized revelry over training, leaving their skills lacking.
But no opening presented itself.
Cheon Taesan stashed the Bitanjeon in a tiny jade vial, planning to slip it in when Mak Jimong was drunker and distracted by Hwang Gok pouring for him.
Tak!
Mak Jimong grabbed his wrist.
"What's this?"
"Nothing much."
"Poison you prepared to assassinate me?"
"I don't have enough grudge against you yet to poison the Young Master."
As Cheon Taesan tried tucking the vial away, Mak Jimong used his internal energy to yank his hand back out.
"Even more suspicious. Why are you babying it like that?"
The more embarrassed Cheon Taesan looked, the brighter Mak Jimong's eyes sparkled.
He was thrilled at the chance to mess with him.
In the end, Mak Jimong pulled the jade vial from Cheon Taesan's bosom.
"Give it back. It's very important to me."
"Oh? Now I'm even more curious."
Without Cheon Taesan's permission, Mak Jimong uncorked the vial and pulled out the Bitanjeon.
"What the—poison pill?"
Mak Jimong sniffed the Bitanjeon and flinched in surprise.
"It's radiating pure energy. Feels like five years' worth of cultivation."
Mak Jimong grinned slyly at Cheon Taesan.
"Turns out you're not a bad scholar after all. Were you planning to give this spirit pill to me?"
"What are you talking about? It's mine."
As Cheon Taesan reached out, Mak Jimong smirked.
A malicious playfulness filled his smile.
"I'll take it."
Mak Jimong popped the Bitanjeon into his mouth and swallowed.
Savoring Cheon Taesan's twisted expression, Mak Jimong laughed heartily.
"Hahaha! Seeing your crumpled face finally clears my chest. Hey, I ate your spirit pill—want to help me digest it?"
Mak Jimong immediately sat cross-legged and began circulating his energy.
Less than a quarter-hour later, he opened his eyes and muttered.
"What kind of spirit pill is this? Why isn't the energy spreading through my body? This a fake?"
Cheon Taesan replied with resignation.
"Just leave it be, and the energy will release on its own. Forcing circulation will only make it worse."
"That explains the weird feeling."
Mak Jimong chuckled at Cheon Taesan's aggrieved look, clearly thinking he'd gotten one over on him.
"I'll endure it all."
"If you can, go ahead."
Since things had turned out this way, Cheon Taesan glared at Mak Jimong with a wronged expression.
Evidently enjoying it more, Mak Jimong whistled a tune as he drank.
"Ahh! This wine hits the spot."
Mak Jimong eyed the gold qin placed in one corner of the pavilion and grinned deeply.
"By the way."
"Yeah? What?"
He brushed off Cheon Taesan's casual speech now, as if growing accustomed to it.
When someone exceeded your expectations, an unconscious generosity often emerged.
"I heard you play the qin pretty well too. They say you were one of Hefei's twin peaks alongside Cheongyo."
Knowing such details meant Mak Jimong had at least done minimal research on his prospective teacher.
But these words bordered on insult.
It was a roundabout way of saying a scholar had no business playing music at a drinking party—like a dancing bear.
Cheon Taesan saw through it and chuckled softly.
Then Hwang Soye stepped in.
"If it's the qin, this girl can play a tune. Would you like to hear mine?"
Hwang Soye could handle the qin adequately.
It beat pouring drinks for a man she had no feelings for.
If the scholar stubbornly refused, Mak Jimong could beat him to death on the spot for ruining his mood.
"Nah. I want to hear our writing teacher's tune. Right now."
Cheon Taesan chuckled at the killing intent in his eyes.
That level of threat didn't faze him.
"They say your playing draws butterflies—the stuff of legends. Real butterflies! Hah! Must be rumors, since you're too scared to play. Butterflies gathering to the qin? What nonsense. I've heard all the famed musicians under heaven, and I've never seen it."
Cheon Taesan watched Mak Jimong throw his tantrum, then spotted an object hanging from the eaves of a distant pavilion and laughed inwardly.
'Fine. Time to teach this punk a lesson.'
This time, Cheon Taesan grinned.
Hwang Gok felt chills at the sight.
He'd just snatched and eaten the scholar's spirit pill without permission, enraging him, and now he was demanding a qin performance.
'Truly the deeds of an unorthodox sect wastrel.'
But the scholar, grinning instead of raging, was even scarier.
It felt like the calm before a storm.
Even the potent baijiu tasted like water to him.