Return - 4
I had gone and observed it.
The odds of a cat being inside the box were one in two. By rights, a proper Schrödinger's cat ought to keep a person's curiosity simmering right up until the moment the box itself was opened—but regrettably, this wine jar had been made in China.
Inside the jar, a pair of eyes kept darting back and forth, agonizing over and over whether to meet my gaze or go on staring into the jar.
Thankfully, no one here was the sort of martial artist who declared You are already dead the instant eyes met—but the real problem lay elsewhere.
Why on earth is she here?
I knew this person. No—I knew this character.
A woman with pink hair parted into twin tails, each tied off around the nape of her neck. Her face was flushed with flustered panic, but as befit a character from a martial arts visual novel, hers was a beauty anyone would have to concede. Her faintly airheaded streak, it seemed, was not confined to the pages of the story—it showed itself without fail even while she was in hiding.
The face was younger than the one I remembered, but there was no doubt about it. This was a character I knew.
Is the Central Plains of a martial arts visual novel smaller than I thought?
Impossible. The Central Plains I had measured with my own two feet was a land so vast it never seemed to end, however far I walked. Hubei Province alone was nearly twice the size of South Korea, and it had taken a month and a half just to travel here from Sichuan. So why, in all this boundless Central Plains, was this woman standing before my very eyes?
"Um... could you perhaps pretend you didn't see me?"
While I held my silence, the pink-haired woman seemed to have reached some conclusion about the situation. Struggling to smooth over her flustered expression, she managed to look my way with an awkward air.
"I'm only checking the jar. The jar Shihua Pavilion is sending down to Yichang!"
"Eep!"
At the mention of inspecting the jar, the pink-haired woman let out a small shriek and turned white as a sheet, shooting me a look of desperate appeal.
Well. Nothing for it, then.
"Stay quiet."
I pressed a finger to my lips in warning and closed the lid then and there.
What should I do?
I could simply shut the lid and play ignorant. But the moment the Sabo Sect warriors came near and saw so much as the broken seal, I would be found out on the spot.
"We're only taking a look—how is that such a problem?"
"Outsiders may not approach the escort cargo!"
"An outsider?! The very man from Shihua Pavilion who entrusted this cargo is standing right here."
"What is the meaning of this?"
The clamor was drawing closer by the moment. I would have to decide, and quickly.
Perhaps I'll build a small connection while I'm at it.
Not every woman appearing in the story could be a heroine. Still, there was no reason to pass up a chance to earn the goodwill of a character from the original work.
I hoisted myself up and settled on top of the jar—large enough for a grown person to hide inside, and large enough for a man to sit on.
There's no way every single woman in this world is a heroine... right?
I asked myself the question with an anxious heart, but no one in this world could answer it.
Just as humans and orcs will set aside their battle the moment demons come burning down from the void, conflict is best resolved by burying it beneath a newer conflict.
First order of business: I seated myself atop the very thing the Sabo Sect wanted most. There was no need to tip my hand that I intended to lock horns with them from the outset.
Feigning indifference to the commotion, I gazed blankly out at the Yangtze, where the ships lay at anchor.
"Th-there! That jar right there is the one Shihua Pavilion is sending!"
Before I knew it, the Sabo Sect's warriors had converged on the jars en masse, escort guards in tow.
"Is that so? Then odds are good she's hiding in there!"
Without turning my head, I slid my gaze sideways. At the head of the group marched a burly, brutish warrior who, even at a glance, could only be their leader. He came on wearing the expression of a man who had finally unearthed the hidden piece planted on the board.
"No one may lay a hand on the escort cargo."
The escort leader moved to restrain the warrior, his guards at his back.
"Don't be so stiff-necked. That jar belongs to Shihua Pavilion. When the owner of the goods wishes to inspect his own property, what business is it of yours?"
The man who appeared to lead the Sabo Sect shoved forward a slight fellow who looked half-dead with fright as he spoke.
So that was Shihua Pavilion's man? He looked as though he'd been dragged here against his will.
"Cargo entrusted to us remains under the escort agency's authority until it reaches its destination. You are no Mistress of Shihua Pavilion—a mere errand boy at that. You do not get to go about opening things as you please."
The escort leader spoke with a stubborn, unyielding edge—plainly a man who did not treat his agency's duties lightly.
"Ha! Your news travels slow. The Mistress of Shihua Pavilion is dead."
The warrior sneered at him.
"What nonsense is this?"
"The Mistress, yesterday, we... ahem. In any case, there was an incident."
"Then all the more reason I cannot show it to you."
"Come, come! Our Sabo Sect took over Shihua Pavilion only yesterday. Does that not make me its rightful master? And surely the master may take a look!"
"You cannot inspect entrusted cargo through sheer obstinacy."
"This is no obstinacy—it is my rightful due. Black-haired barbarian! Out of my way!"
Convinced he had won the argument, the warrior bellowed at me where I sat atop the jar.
"..."
For now, I would play deaf and let him stew.
"Is the barbarian pup deaf?"
"No. The view from this perch suits me just fine."
If you're going to beg a favor, do it courteously. Who calls a man a barbarian pup the moment they set eyes on him? Even had he behaved himself, I had no intention of budging.
"Has this barbarian lost his senses?"
"He is sitting atop a wine jar gazing at the Yangtze. He does seem a touch drunk."
I traced a fingertip across my forehead and put on an exaggerated performance of drunkenness. The situation looked, to any observer, like a man playing games. A courteous man might have tried one more polite request here, but these were, plainly, not the sort of martial artists capable of that.
"Has this Goryeo Bangzi bastard gone mad?"
"Goryeo Bangzi?"
Whoa. Coming on strong over one light jab. These days I could take "barbarian" in stride—hear it on the level of a "black brother"—but Goryeo Bangzi struck a nerve of an entirely different breed.
Goryeo Bangzi. In the modern day the word was better known by its Chinese pronunciation, Gaoli Bangzi—hurling it at a Korean was like walking up to a Chinese man and calling him a chink bastard, or telling a Japanese man to his face that he was a Jap bastard.
"That's right, you Goryeo Bangzi bastard. Shall I give you a look at your own intestines? Or ought I to have a peek inside that rotted brain of yours?"
My echoing the word back with a dumbfounded face had evidently drawn out filth still fouler.
Right. I understood. He could not afford to look weak in front of his men. He was cowed by the Seocheon Escort Agency, cowed by the Tang clansmen watching from the sidelines—and just then, a convenient whipping boy had wandered into view. Grinding down a barbarian whom everyone already despised would let him seize the initiative over the warriors around him as well. But you see, friend. You've thought wrong.
"How dare you speak to Young Master Kang that way?!"
"How dare you insult a guest of the Seocheon Escort Agency!"
"You bastards! We were inclined to overlook this, but you've gone too far!"
The Seocheon escorts and the Tang Clan warriors had their weapons bared in a heartbeat.
"Wh-what?!"
"Boss! I don't know who he is exactly, but I think we're fucked?"
"Is he perchance a person of high standing?"
Well, I was sitting up high, so "high-standing" was technically accurate.
"Hey."
The stage was set. I dismounted with perfect leisure and walked straight toward the warrior.
"'Hey'?"
"That's right. Hey. What the hell do you even do?"
Where did he get off radiating killing intent without even knowing his own place? Something at this level didn't so much as tickle.
"I am the Master of the Sabo Sect."
When I called to him with an air of total confidence, the Sect Master—perhaps sensing that something had gone badly wrong—answered with his swagger knocked down a peg.
"A minor sect that runs a few courtesan houses in Wushan."
As if I were demanding more information, I turned to look at the escort leader, who obligingly supplied the answer.
"'Minor sect'? So that's why you don't know your manners."
Deliberately wearing an insolent expression, I walked up to the Sect Master and brushed the dust from his clothes.
"You son of a—no. Forgive me. Who might you be, young master?"
"If both the Sichuan Tang Clan and the Seocheon Escort Agency draw steel the instant I take an insult—what sort of person do you suppose I might be?"
Imagine it. Smiling the whole time, I kept squeezing him.
Fear breeds doubt, and doubt breeds fear in turn. He would start to imagine whether he hadn't just made a catastrophic mistake, whether he hadn't pried open the gates of hell with his own hands.
"A-are you a very... elevated person?"
With the air suggesting he might shortly become a pincushion for the Tang Clan's needles, the Sect Master's voice shook terribly.
"Let's go with that. Believing it will be good for your mental health. Now then. The jar's owner has vanished, so you're going to take it?"
What a woeful imagination. Fine—we'd leave it at that. To truly know my history, the man would need to know about the shift in international affairs brought on by recent events back in Joseon, and the buried secrets of the Tang Clan besides.
"That's right. No—I mean, yes, that's right."
"Then I'll buy it."
"What do you...?"
"I'll buy the wine off you. So quit making a racket."
The hand that had been dusting his clothes shot out and seized him by the collar. In the same instant, my smiling face curdled into a scowl. He was already being a nuisance, and now he was climbing into outright annoyance. I bore down on him and looked down, tilting my head low over his.
"I was planning to sell that wine..."
"Here. Take it."
Cutting off the Sect Master's words, I pulled coins from my pouch. What I produced was a single coin. Lifting it between two fingers so that everyone around could see, I displayed a coin of copper—no gold, no silver, plain copper.
It was money that couldn't have filled a single small wine cup, never mind the dozen-odd jars behind me.
"How dare—!"
"How dare? Hey. You gave me insults and grief, so take it as compensation."
Maybe the Sect Master had noticed there was someone hidden in the jars. But so what? My mercy ended here.
One man, a dozen-odd jars of wine, and a single copper coin after a string of insults. Degrading, sure—but cheaper than paying with your life.
I took the Sect Master by the wrist and set the single coin upon his open palm.
"Nghk—!"
"'Nghk'? Or would you rather this became your coin for the road to the underworld instead?"
"...I'll sell you the jars."
The Master of the Sabo Sect finally yielded and fled without a backward glance.
"Young Master Kang. Thank you for putting that disturbance to rest."
Once the Sabo Sect withdrew, the escort leader of the Seocheon Escort Agency offered his thanks.
"I merely didn't want the commotion dragging out on my way home."
"We'll convey you at top speed."
"Please sail safely. And later on, there is a favor I'd like to ask."
"What favor would that be?"
Because I couldn't let it end here.
The Seocheon Escort Agency's vessel, laden with cargo and passengers both, set sail for Yichang.
"Stowaway!"
"She's running! Catch her!"
"How the hell did that wench get on top of the ship?"
"We're over the rapids anyway! There's nowhere to run!"
Right on schedule.
I straightened my clothes and opened the ship's door.
"Well, then. Shall we go find out why the great Shadowless Divine Thief herself is here?"