Journey to Sichuan – Part One
"We've fallen behind schedule, so we'll take the faster route."
At the Medical Pavilion Master's declaration, the scenery outside shifted in an instant from paved highway to rough dirt track.
"This carriage has terrible suspension."
What kind of coach doesn't even have shock absorbers? Feeling every rut and stone of the unpaved road through my backside, I turned to Hwarin.
"Right? There's a proper imperial road all the way to Sichuan. Why go out of our way to suffer like this?"
"We're the reason the schedule slipped. The main road winds through every major city, and I guess he can't stand any more delays."
"If we skip the main road, aren't we going to run into bandits like last time? The stretch we're on right now looks perfect for an ambush."
Hwarin's face clouded with worry, clearly remembering the bandits we'd met on our earlier travels.
"We'll be fine."
"Huh?"
"No bandit in his right mind is going to pick a fight with the Sichuan Dang Clan."
Hwarin. You grew up with purple hair but never got to suckle at the Dang Clan's teat, so of course you're nervous. But being born into a great orthodox sect is, by itself, an enormous safety net.
"I still don't like it."
"Don't worry. A few more days on the road and you'll feel it for yourself."
When a pride of tigers marches past, no jackal is foolish enough to make a sound.
This wasn't a world where everyone had black hair. Hair color told you which family someone belonged to. A whole procession of purple-haired martial artists rolling through the mountains? Bandits would have to be suicidal—or powerful enough to take on the entire Sichuan Dang Clan—to even think of interfering.
"You're right."
After hours of winding through the mountains without so much as a glimpse of a bandit, Hwarin looked at me with genuine admiration. I gave her a smug little smile, though truth be told I was a little amazed myself.
When I'd traveled with Hwarin alone, bandits had been a constant worry—and we'd actually run into them more than once. Did purple hair make people think a natural disaster was rolling through and send them diving for cover?
No bandit worries, no security worries—just the ordinary worry of dying. What a relaxing trip.
Of course, relaxing or not, something else kept needling at me the entire way.
"Is that black-haired one really the Clan Leader's bastard?"
"Didn't you see him eat the pineapple pizza?"
"I saw it. I still can't believe it."
"To think our clan had a secret history like that…"
"Dang Geoho really did those things…"
"Subjected to those vile experiments. Tsk, tsk."
"If the Young Clan Leader dies, what happens then?"
"Watch your tongue."
Wary glances. Curious glances. Whispers aimed our way. The Dang Clan warriors spent days on end staring at us and chattering among themselves.
They'd promised to treat us as guests, yet somehow I felt like an orangutan in a zoo.
Enjoying the show? Never seen a black-haired bastard before? If you're going to talk behind my back, at least have the guts to do it to my face. I wanted to snap something sharp, but a reserved soul like me would probably end up yelling, You purple-haired little shits! instead—so for the sake of my image, I kept my mouth shut.
"If you're so curious, come ask us yourselves. Why mutter where we can hear every word? It's creepy."
Hwarin made no effort to lower her voice, broadcasting her irritation to every gossip within earshot. That's my Hwarin! Casually doing the thing I never could!
"Ahem."
When Dang Hwarin, sworn enemy of backbiting, glared at them, every warrior but one averted his eyes. That single holdout kept staring straight at me, then finally walked over.
At last—someone bold enough to talk to my face!
"Your name is Kang Yunho, is that correct?"
His manner was quite respectful. Bastards usually weren't even treated as clan members, so full marks for attitude.
"Yes. Aren't you the warrior who bought a copy of Dangga Pungun last time?"
Now that I looked properly, this was the Dang Clan warrior who'd been so moved by the novel that he'd thrown a small fortune at it. Come to think of it, wasn't this guy the root of all evil?
"I should have greeted you properly when we met again, but given the circumstances I was delayed. Then… is it also true that you are the one who wrote Dangga Pungun?"
"Yes. I'm Hopil."
"In that case, I have a question. Is Dang Jeong supposed to be the Clan Leader?"
So that was why he'd come over—because of the book.
"Strictly speaking, Dang Jeong and the Clan Leader are different people. I did weave in stories I heard from my mother for various reasons, that much is true."
We hadn't set out to expose any secret history in detail. In a crisis we'd simply needed someone who would recognize the truth and come running, so we'd mixed a little reality into the fiction. Dang Jeong was based on real events, but he was still a fictional character.
That was something I would need to make absolutely clear once we reached the clan as well.
"Ah! So it's fiction based on a true story."
"More precisely, it's mostly invention with a little truth mixed in. I've never actually met the Clan Leader, after all."
Bastard or not, I had to watch my tone. As an illegitimate son, I had no standing to call the Clan Leader "Father."
"I see. Then I have a request—would you hear me out?"
"What is it?"
When I asked, the warrior hesitated, glancing at me.
Don't you dare say something like, If you agree first, I'll tell you what it is. That is the absolute worst way to ask a favor.
If you refuse because you don't know what you're agreeing to, they act all offended. People like that should be legally required to grant any request for a loan guarantee, no questions asked.
I waited without letting my irritation show. The warrior rummaged in his robes and held something out.
Huh? That's a copy of Dangga Pungun.
I looked up at him in surprise. His face was faintly flushed as he spoke.
"Would you be willing to put your seal on my copy of Dangga Pungun?"
Wait. A signature?
Apparently Dangga Pungun was quite the hit among the Medical Pavilion members.
"Me too!"
"Please, sir!"
"Hey! I bought that copy—why are you getting the signature?"
"I'll pay you back next time, man!"
"I don't even have my book with me!"
The moment one man got a signature, the rest of the Medical Pavilion crowded around me with their own copies.
"Young Master Dang. Reading Dangga Pungun moved me deeply. This is what we truly are. The rest of the murim has misunderstood us."
One warrior cradled his freshly signed volume as if it were a sacred treasure and spoke with feeling.
"Haha. Is that so?"
I casually glanced toward the Medical Pavilion Master, who was pretending not to watch from a distance. A few of the men caught my meaning at once and spoke up.
"Please don't hold it against him too much. He has his prejudices about black hair, but he's a good man."
"It's true. He can be rigid and thrifty, but he's endlessly reliable—someone you can trust completely."
"The Clan Leader didn't entrust him with his son's life for nothing."
I felt like I was listening to the classic "our kid can't do this or that, but he's a good boy at heart" speech.
"I understand, but I can't help how I feel."
Setting aside what he'd done to me, he had been fairly orthodox in his own way. If he just hadn't threatened to cut off my hand, I might have been moved—So there really are proper righteous sect people in this world!
I turned away with a bitter expression. One of the warriors, looking embarrassed, pointed at my robes.
"D-do you happen to have volume three of Dangga Pungun on you? Could we… take a look among ourselves?"
"I made a promise to my readers in Yichang. It will be published only after everything is settled."
This thing is my life insurance. Don't come sniffing around for a free preview.
"But will volume three even see the light of day?"
One of them asked, voice thick with worry.
"I can revise the content or adjust the future plot. I fully intend to publish volume three."
It was my life insurance, yes—but it was also my first hit in this world. If I couldn't finish it, I might have to change my pen name from Hopil to Eraser.
I had to bring it to a successful close so I could keep writing under a famous name.
"He's right. What secret history? We all read it, and the only one who noticed anything was the Pavilion Master. It's the kind of thing only people in the know would go, 'Wait, is this…?' If Author Hopil revises it, no one will ever tell."
Exactly my point.
"So we won't get to see volume three until everything is over."
The warriors looked at me with naked disappointment. Everyone crowded around was staring at the book hidden in my robes.
I can use this as a bargaining chip.
If it wasn't just one or two people who wanted it, there was a way to play this.
"Once we reach the clan safely and our business is finished, I'll let you read it before the Yichang readers."
"Truly?"
Color flooded the Medical Pavilion members' faces. Of course I'd show them. But not for free.
"In exchange, once we're at the clan, I'd appreciate it if you put in a good word for Dangga Pungun."
Carry me into the clan on a flower-decked palanquin of public opinion. Then I'll show you the book.
"That's no trouble at all!"
"Of course! Not just the book—we'll speak well of Hopil himself!"
"Dangga Pungun is far too fine a work to simply vanish! Naturally we'll praise it!"
"Exactly! I want to see the love rivalry between those two sister-like swordswomen!"
"Hahaha."
I have to stay alive for you to get volume three. So be my shield.
I kept the conversation going, stoking their anticipation for the third volume higher and higher.
We lacked nothing in martial strength, and relations with our companions were steadily improving. Even so, smooth journeys have a way of producing obstacles.
"The road ahead is blocked."
Whether from a landslide or something else, the path we were meant to take was sealed.
"This side is blocked as well!"
Even the detour was choked with earth and fallen trees.
"I don't like this. Bandits use this trick all the time."
Watching them scout for another way around, I murmured to Hwarin.
"Hm?"
"They block the alternate routes with dirt piles and wait somewhere that favors them in a fight. Classic bandit tactic."
With the Sichuan Dang Clan escorting us, nothing truly catastrophic was likely—but it still left a bad taste.
Both blocked roads were wide enough for carriages to pass with ease. Deliberately sealing routes that size suggested a bandit force of considerable scale.
"Everyone stay alert!"
The Medical Pavilion Master clearly shared the same unease; he raised his voice in warning to the whole party.
The Dang Clan warriors advanced along the mountain path in a state of high vigilance.
"A village. Maybe it really was just a landslide?"
Following the one remaining road brought us to a small, remote settlement tucked deep in the mountains. A slash-and-burn farming hamlet? For that, the buildings looked surprisingly solid.
"Welcome."
The only two-story building in the village. When we stepped into the inn, a thickly bearded man greeted us.
The innkeeper, I supposed. A place this isolated probably couldn't afford waiters.
"Everyone must be starving. Carbonara for the lot of us."
Once he confirmed the entire party was seated, the Medical Pavilion Master placed the order.
"Carbonara? What's that?"
Too remote a village to know carbonara, was that it?
"An innkeeper who doesn't know carbonara? Then do you have aglio e olio? Bring that instead."
"Haha…"
The man laughed awkwardly, looking uncomfortable.
"What kind of inn has no aglio e olio either? Do you serve rice soup, then? Bring us whatever rice soup you have."
"We don't serve rice soup."
"An inn that doesn't even serve rice soup! Then what do you serve?"
An inn with neither pasta nor rice soup. Surely they weren't peddling nothing but boiled potatoes.
"If you order somyeon, I'll bring enough for everyone."
The dish the innkeeper named was somyeon—thin wheat noodles, the classic staple of orthodox wuxia inns everywhere.
"Somyeon? Tch. What kind of food is that… Fine, bring it anyway."
The Medical Pavilion Master eyed the man with clear displeasure and took his seat.
"We also have dumplings. How about those?"
Dumplings sounded good. We'd been on the road a long time—surely we weren't ending the meal at plain noodles?
I wasn't the only one thinking it. At the word "dumplings," the entire Dang Clan party turned toward the Pavilion Master.
"Bring dumplings as well."
Sensing the silent pressure, he nodded and added them to the order.
"Somyeon and dumplings for everyone here!"
"Wait!"
The Medical Pavilion Master caught the man's sleeve and stopped him.
"Yes?"
"One dumpling per three people."
"Ah. U-understood."
The party members' faces twitched for a fraction of a second—just short of something the Pavilion Master would notice—then settled into expressions of resigned acceptance. That's our Pavilion Master for you. They waited for the food.
A long journey toward Sichuan, and at last a village inn with a proper roof. Everyone looked pleased to rest under shelter for the first time in days. I alone couldn't relax my face.
Something was wrong.
An inn that sold neither pasta nor rice soup, but offered somyeon? What was this? It felt like the genre had suddenly shifted.
"Water for the table."
The innkeeper set cups before the waiting Dang Clan members.
"Thank you. Do you happen to have bamboo-leaf green as well?"
"Ah, that… we might. Shall I check?"
Suspicious.
Extremely suspicious.
How does an inn skip aglio e olio and rice soup, serve somyeon and dumplings, and stock bamboo-leaf green as its liquor?
A sense of wrongness wrapped around my entire body.
"I'll let you know if I think of anything later."
I sent the innkeeper off in another direction and began scanning the room.
It felt like being the only two-eyed person in a world of cyclopes. The problem was that I was the only one who could tell the two-eyed ones were the ones who didn't belong.
Was I overreacting? No. Think, Kang Yunho. Something feels off. Find what's wrong. Look around like your life depends on it. There's no way they'd skip simple aglio e olio and sell somyeon instead.
Somyeon and dumplings. And bamboo-leaf green—a high-grade liquor. Not something you could source in a village like this.
As if someone who had never run an inn in his life was just saying whatever came to mind…
Ah.
"Hwarin. Don't drink that water."
I raised a hand and stopped her just as she was about to lift the cup.
"Huh? Why?"
"I think we've walked into a trap."