Reopening - 4
Even in the vast Central Plains, who you knew mattered.
Suppose I'd had a fortune in hand before I ever met Hwarin. Could I have founded Daseogak with it and steered it to success? No doubt I'd have wrestled the place onto its feet through sheer dogged stubbornness — but as a black-haired barbarian, I'd have had to do it under endless jealousy and obstruction.
The reason I'd managed to establish myself so firmly in Yichang owed something to my own abilities, but far more to the legacy of the Baek Family Manor that Hwarin had inherited.
And Hwarin's inheritance was never just the single building called Daseogak. The Baek Family Manor had been one of Yichang's most renowned wealthy households, and its old master had passed away after a lifetime of good deeds. Being known as that man's granddaughter — that backing was Hwarin's true inheritance.
The easiest example was the Dang Family Storm piracy incident. By every rule of commercial decency, the novel should have been sold through Daseogak, the shop that had backed Hopil from the start — but since when did the world run on justice and reason?
If I had been nothing more than a black-haired barbarian who'd appeared out of nowhere in Yichang, and the pirating bookstores had insisted that Dang Family Storm belonged to the public, I wouldn't have had many cards to play.
But Daseogak didn't belong to a black-haired barbarian. It belonged to the granddaughter of the Baek Family Manor.
The people of Yichang ultimately sided with Daseogak. I did plenty of behind-the-scenes maneuvering, mind you, but the decisive blow was one only I could land, precisely because Hwarin was the Baek granddaughter.
And now Hwarin was gone.
Of course, no one was unaware of the relationship between Hwarin and me, so people wouldn't turn their backs on me overnight. But would they throw themselves into a matter like this — one where I needed staff hired fast — as if it were their own business?
There was no question that a request from Tang Hwarin, the Baek granddaughter herself, would be met with more initiative and care than one from the man who merely traded words back and forth with her.
I could certainly ask my close friends in the Tea Book Club to help me find employees, but I needed to tap a new network.
I looked down at the black coin resting in my palm, engraved with the character for defiled.
Black Money.
The coin Uncle Wang of the Chilgok County drapery shop had given me. He'd explained how to use it when he handed it over, and judging by his claim that the Haomen would grant almost any request, it seemed to function roughly like a Haomen VIP membership card.
It wasn't as if I had anything to commission from the Haomen — I hardly needed them to investigate the color of the tomboy princess's underwear in the imperial palace — so I'd simply tucked it away in a corner and left it there.
Who would have guessed I'd end up using it to hire staff?
I wondered what Uncle Wang was up to these days.
Back in my Chilgok days, if you asked who my closest person was — Sohee aside — it was Uncle Wang, hands down. He lent me a venue for my performances, shared meals with me, kept me company in conversation when he had a spare moment, and, while we were at it, we'd have supper together and wash it down with a drink or two.
I really should send him a letter when the chance arose.
"I'll escort you to the branch manager. This way, please."
The Haomen member, who had scurried off and hurried back, led me into an elegantly appointed room.
"Ah, there you are. Sit. So you're the Black Money itself, are you?"
A middle-aged man who appeared to be the Yichang branch manager offered me a chair.
"Ha ha. Not a black coin, no — but black-haired, that I am. The name's Kang Yunho."
I answered his question with a light quip and took my seat.
"I'm the branch manager of the Yichang Haomen. Now then — what brings the proprietor of Yichang's most famous bookstore to my humble establishment?"
Recognizing me at a glance — well, that's an intelligence organization's branch manager for you. At least the conversation would move along quickly.
"I've come hoping you might introduce me to some capable employees to work at Daseogak."
I explained my business and showed him the Black Money.
"You walk in carrying the Black Money, and the height of your request is an introduction to bookstore staff?"
The manager peered closely at the coin, then asked, sounding utterly dumbfounded.
"The Black Money was only to prove my identity. I'll pay for any services separately."
The Black Money wasn't an all-access Haomen pass — it was more like one of those single-use supermarket coupons. Among the uses Uncle Wang had taught me was presenting it to establish identity and then paying my fees like anyone else. For now, simply showing it and being treated as a VIP was enough. The money was ready and waiting.
"Since you've appeared bearing the Black Money, then rounding up a few servants for you is something I can do free of charge."
Good thing I brought it after all. This is exactly why managing your connections matters.
"Truly?"
"If the Black Money is genuine, that is."
The manager's voice sank low and level.
"Are you saying it might be counterfeit?"
I asked, feeling like a man caught red-handed by a suspicious clerk while swiping his friend's warehouse-club membership card.
"Who gave you the Black Money?"
"An acquaintance told me to use it if I ever had business with the Haomen."
The source stayed secret. I kept my explanation deliberately vague.
"An acquaintance?"
That didn't land well. The manager echoed the word as if he'd heard something absurd.
"Is there a problem?"
"The Black Money is given only to those who owe us a debt of life, to family, or to those of equivalent standing."
In other words, it was a keepsake like the Tang Clan's Ring of Remembrance.
"I can't disclose the details, but I received it because I was worthy of it."
When I answered with perfect composure, the manager glared at me with eyes that seemed to see straight through me.
So what, old man? What are you going to do about it?
If my face were thin enough to be read that easily, it would have been shredded long ago. And for the record — it isn't a lie.
Uncle Wang and I had been mutual benefactors. I got an empty lot to work as a street storyteller, and he gained customers from the crowds my tales drew. Business thrived on both ends, so we shared happy meals and drinks together — as far as I was concerned, that was a debt-of-life grade of gratitude right there.
"...First, I must confirm whether this Black Money is genuine. Even among Black Coins, this one has never once shown its face to the world. I received instruction on it, but this is my first time seeing one in the flesh."
At my brazen composure, the manager took a half step back, his manner shifting.
I thought it was a VIP card — was he saying it was a VVVIP card, so rare that even he could hardly recognize it?
"So it can't be used, then."
"The one person in all the Central Plains who can verify this coin's authenticity beyond any doubt is on their way here now."
"Then all I have to do is wait and see whether this Black Money is real or fake."
"Before that, I can certainly tell whether you are real or fake. ...Kang Yunho. Owner of the Daseogak bookstore. The manager who unearthed the author Hopil, hidden away from the world, and had him write Dang Family Storm — the book that shook Yichang to its core. A merchant mad for money. A man whose ingenious commerce leaves countless tongues clucking in astonishment. Have I got it right?"
Why did every single person I met these days insist on reciting my bad press?
"Kindly add this as well: a man of loyalty who would cast his life aside like worthless weeds for a friend's sake, and a merchant who understands the way of commerce well enough to protect his author to the very end."
I spoke like a celebrity laboring under the bittersweet burden of having to personally correct the misunderstandings and errors written about them on a wiki nobody visits.
"Hahaha. Yes — seeing as you apparently staked your life on a trip into the Tang Clan and came back alive, I'll add that too. Wait. A debt of life...? Hopil...? Of course! Could it be?! Is Hopil's true identity the owner of the Black Money?"
The manager jolted as if something had just dawned on him.
"I'm afraid I can't say."
"Heh heh. You didn't deny it."
You couldn't be more off the mark, though.
"..."
I couldn't quite grasp what was happening right now.
Rather than explaining everything in detail, keeping things vague and letting their imaginations fill the gaps was the better play for resolving this situation.
I shrugged and offered neither confirmation nor denial.
"Can you not tell me precisely where you obtained this coin?"
"I'd rather not."
I shook my head, making my refusal unmistakable.
I couldn't fathom the manager's intent. If this were some trivial matter, he would at least have explained why — instead, he was demanding answers out of nowhere.
When this happens, it's usually one of two things. Either a wrong word from me would cost me my head, or he himself was entangled in something he wasn't proud of.
If I naively spilled everything I knew, I could well be walking myself into disaster.
"If that's how you want to play it, so be it. Come in!"
"Everyone, get in there!"
What the—? A dozen-odd warriors came crashing into the room.
"What is the meaning of this!"
Move first, think later. I shot up from my seat, pressed my back against the wall so I wouldn't be surrounded, and shouted at the manager.
"Just tell me exactly who gave it to you. If it truly belongs to the owner I have in mind, I will apologize and reward you handsomely."
And if it wasn't the person you had in mind, that sounded an awful lot like you won't be leaving here alive.
So a careless word really would spell disaster. Uncle Wang, what on earth did you give me?
"..."
Assess the situation first.
Nine men had entered the room — ten counting the manager. They were armed, but no blades had been drawn. Breaking through the door: impossible. To reach the window, I'd have to get past the manager first. Unbelievable. This is exactly why you never trust these underworld bastards.
I'd come thinking this was a simple staffing office, and in the blink of an eye it had turned into a gangster's den.
"Eyes front, you punk — the branch manager is talking!"
One of the Haomen men glowered and slid his hand to his hilt to draw.
Caught you. The hand is quicker than the eye. With the instincts of a master gambler, I snapped my wrist out.
"Aaagh!"
"A hidden weapon?!"
That's right. A hidden weapon.
A single move. One throw was more than enough to skewer the Haomen man's hand.
The Tang Clan Secret Hidden Weapon Technique — the art the Tang warriors, sniffing the fresh scent of a novice on me, had drilled into me for months under round-the-clock supervision.
Just now, that art had sprung from my hand.
"So the Haomen draws its blade on guests before it bothers to ask them politely?"
Get scared, and you lose.
I drew another hidden weapon from my belt and faced the manager with unshaken composure.
"You half-witted bastards! I said intimidate him — when did I tell you to draw?! I warned you all that Manager Kang came to Yichang with Tang Clan warriors and to watch yourselves! Didn't I?!"
"You did, sir!"
"Shall I shut down the Yichang branch today as well, right after the Wushan branch?"
"Y-yes, sir!"
"'Yes, sir'?! You want it shut down?!"
"No, sir!"
At the manager's bellow, the Haomen men hastily crammed their drawn weapons back where they belonged.
"Manager Kang Yunho. So you were a man of the murim?"
Once his men had put their weapons away, the manager spoke with a studied, apologetic face.
"Anyone who means to survive the brutal jianghu keeps a hidden card or two."
In truth, that was the full extent of my prepared arsenal.
I tucked the hidden weapon away, feigning nonchalance. Against genuine martial artists, standing there brandishing hidden weapons would only make me look like a hissing kitten.
"No offense was intended, then."
The manager dipped his head slightly in apology.
"What in the world is going on here..."
What was it about the Black Money I'd brought that had them treating me like this? Somebody explain. The moment I shot a look at the manager, a woman's voice sounded from the doorway.
"Which one of you is it — the person said to have brought the Shadowless Divine Thief's Black Money?"
"Huh?"
The person standing in the doorway wore a familiar face.
"Ugh! Kang Yunho? What are you doing here?"
That's my line, Shadowless Divine Thief.
"It's genuine — the Shadowless Divine Thief's Black Money."
She turned the coin over this way and that, then pronounced it with certainty.
The Black Money I'd brought belonged to the Shadowless Divine Thief.
The Shadowless Divine Thief was standing right in front of me — and now there was talk of the Shadowless Divine Thief's Black Money on top of it?
"The Black Money you carry, Manager Kang, belongs to the Shadowless Divine Thief who vanished without a trace some ten-odd years ago."
"Vanished, ten-odd years ago?"
I stole a sidelong glance at the pink-twintailed Shadowless Divine Thief.
Unless she'd spent her childhood popping balloons with a magic wand like some phantom-thief magical girl, then the Shadowless Divine Thief of that era had to be someone else.
"It's a fairly famous tale even in the jianghu, so you may know it: ten-odd years ago, a rebellion broke out within the Haomen. Countless of its masters were killed or disappeared in the upheaval. The Shadowless Divine Thief was no exception."
The explanation was brief, but I grasped the implication in a heartbeat.
"You're suggesting I may not have received this from the Shadowless Divine Thief at all — that I may have obtained it from the rebels. Is that it?"
"Or that you were the rebel faction."
"Ha..."
"Stop laughing and answer me. Who gave it to you? What exactly is your relationship with the Shadowless Divine Thief? If you can't explain yourself properly, the Tang Clan may be beyond my reach — but you had best prepare yourself."
The manager advanced on me with an intimidating step.
This old man was a true master. His presence was anything but ordinary. As the manager bore down on me, the other Haomen men began glaring at me with open menace as well.
This was a crisis. Shadowless Divine Thief — apparently this young lady didn't hold that title yet.
Kang Yunho. Think. Find a way to survive. The Shadowless Divine Thief — what did I know? Run back through this woman's character profile.
Who was Uncle Wang? Why had he given me the Shadowless Divine Thief's Black Money? Malice? No — the odds were overwhelming that it had been given in good faith.
Find the Shadowless Divine Thief's profile. Trained in the martial arts by her father, the previous Shadowless Divine Thief. Her father? What color had Uncle Wang's hair been again? White, streaked with a faint hint of pink.
Ah! So that's how it was. I'd found my way out.
"If you will not reveal your identity—"
"We've eaten from the same pot and hit the sauna together — we're as close as close gets."
We had eaten rice together at an inn, so that counted as one pot between us. Verdict reached, I opened my mouth.
"What?"
"The Black Money's owner and I have even shared a purse. We've each done the other favors, and each received them in turn."
I'd had no one to entrust my money to, so I'd left it in Uncle Wang's care and dipped into it whenever I needed to exchange currency — so nothing I'd said was a lie.
I surveyed the room with care.
"You there. What exactly is your relationship with the owner of that Black Money?"
If I said "we're simply close," the situation would not improve. No run-of-the-mill relationship merited being handed the Black Money. And clumsily concealing my identity might only deepen their suspicion.
So what relationship should I claim to lay their doubts to rest?