The Bid - 3
The Haomen was an information sect built from the dregs of society.
People treated the lowborn around them — the tavern servers, the stable hands, the boatmen — as if they were emotionless NPCs, carelessly trading intimate secrets in their presence. A Haomen operative would commit those conversations to memory, then sell the information back to the sect for a little extra gruel to sweeten a meager life.
That was why no depiction of the Haomen in a martial arts novel was ever complete without the courtesans.
Truth spills with the wine.
It was common enough for important information to slip from the lips of a man whose self-control had drowned in drink. And even if he held his liquor, it changed nothing. The moment he shared a courtesan's bed — or merely anticipated sharing it — the rampart he'd barely managed to hold crumbled, and out came the secrets he'd sworn to keep.
Even in my old world, the rumor that the hostesses working near stockbrokerages were all secretly rich was not a rumor without cause.
What I needed was the bidding figure for Mangeum Bookstore's printing presses.
I didn't need poison that could turn a man into a handful of bloody mist, nor the organized fury of devoted fans. A single careless word from a careless mouth was enough to tilt the whole affair in my favor.
"So you want me to take them to a courtesan house run by the Haomen, and staff it with our own people?"
In the end, what I had chosen was my other great connection — the Haomen.
"Just fill the place with courtesans who are skilled at drawing information out of a man without his ever noticing."
They were an information organization, after all. They had to have at least a passing mastery of the art of making a target talk without realizing he was talking.
"And why, exactly, should I go to such lengths for you?"
The branch manager's face hardened as he put the question to me like a blade.
It wasn't a simple matter of selling information, nor merely introducing a few people. He was being asked to run an operation on someone else's orders. As the head of an organization, he could well take offense at being handled this way.
But you see, there's something you've forgotten, haven't you?
"Have you forgotten a certain debt you owe?"
I settled comfortably into my seat and smiled, making it abundantly clear that his glowering held no power over me whatsoever.
"A debt? What debt have I ever incurred?"
"The Black Money, of course. Surely you haven't forgotten something that happened so recently?"
He had threatened a man who came bearing Black Money — a man deserving of VIP treatment. And not just any man: an honored guest of the Sichuan Tang Clan, and the bearer of the Shadowless Divine Thief's own token.
"Hnngh."
Memory apparently returned, for the branch manager pressed two fingers to his forehead and let out a groan of suffering.
"I never reported that day's events to the Tang Clan's warriors. And when I asked you to save my staff, you didn't lift a finger to help."
I had kept the problem from escalating on my end. He had betrayed my trust. In a sect where trust was life itself, there was no graver sin.
"Now, hold on — the situation was simply... difficult at the time, that's all..."
Caught off guard by a problem he hadn't anticipated, the branch manager mumbled and fidgeted, his hands finding nowhere to rest.
"Then perhaps this is the perfect occasion to settle a debt born of such a small misunderstanding."
I straightened my posture and brushed off both hands as if wiping away something of no consequence.
The branch manager stared at me for a long moment, let out a small sigh, and finally spoke.
"Haah. No wonder you carry the Shadowless Divine Thief's token. Fine! I'll lend you the people. But not for free — the ledger has to balance."
"No need to worry. The fee will be paid by the sucker."
The money would come out of Mangeum Bookstore's overflowing coffers, after all.
Eat, drink, and be merry.
Jeon Gilsan's life as the young master of Mangeum Bookstore had never known want. Money flowed from a spring that never ran dry, filling whatever desire struck him, and even when his temper got him into trouble, money smoothed everything over. When the daughter of the Mangeum Lord — his own mother — scolded him for his antics, he would feign remorse just long enough for the moment to pass. And even when the family threatened to cut him off entirely, he had only to play dead — their one and only child, dying — and they would inevitably relent and open the purse again.
Thanks to all of it, Jeon Gilsan had grown older without ever growing up, a spoiled brat living exactly as he pleased.
A life where he could do whatever he wanted. But this time was different.
"Gilsan. You must become the heir of Mangeum Hall. Go to Yichang. Go and build achievements worthy of boasting about."
Money made for an easy life. More money would make for an even easier one.
Heir to Mangeum Hall. His uncle's death had been enough to set even the lazy Jeon Gilsan in motion.
The place his parents had sent him was Yichang. Sent, as he was, for the express purpose of manufacturing his son's achievements, they had assigned him work that was easy and produced results that gleamed.
"These are the printing presses the Yichang magistrate's office used daily — flawless in both quality and upkeep. If you secure both of them, the news will reach not only Mangeum Bookstore but the ears of the Mangeum Lord himself."
"If it comes to it, you may draw your blades. Make it certain."
"Yes, young master!"
The work went more smoothly than expected. A few bribes to the right officials, a show of muscle and threats toward anyone else eyeing the presses, and it was done.
One more achievement, and he would stand unmistakably ahead of his cousins. Jeon Gilsan recalled what his mother had said before he left Wuhan.
Hopil, author of Storms of the Tang Clan.
The author of the novel that had left even the veteran retainers of Mangeum Bookstore — men who had served for decades — stunned when they read it. If he could bring that man into the fold, it would be an achievement towering over anything his cousins could claim. His mother had told him to offer whatever it took.
But there was one obstacle standing in his way.
"This is the courtesan house I mentioned. I hope it's to your taste."
Jeon Gilsan watched the black-haired barbarian glance around the place with wide, unfamiliar eyes.
"I hadn't imagined a backwater like Yichang would have a house this fine."
Jeon Gilsan murmured a small appreciation of the opulent surroundings while sizing up the black-haired man.
So this bastard was the manager of Daseogak.
He'd assumed it was some barbarian upstart meddling in the affairs of the great Mangeum Bookstore without knowing his place.
Jeon Gilsan had intended to teach the man a lesson — had even planned, as a demonstration, to break one of the black-haired fellow's legs. And then it turned out the man was, of all things, the manager of Daseogak.
"Khh! This wine is bitter."
"I take it Manager Kang has lived a smooth life, free of hardship."
Once the drinks were served, Jeon Gilsan tossed a remark at the black-haired barbarian who was awkwardly forcing down his cup.
A lowly barbarian, engaged to the granddaughter of the Baek Family estate — the man had to come from money. His face was a puzzling one, looking at times like Gilsan's own kind, at times like some naive scholar, impossible to pin down.
"Haha. Do I really seem that way?"
"Wine, you see — to a man like me, who's weathered his share of hardship, it goes down sweet as honeyed water."
"Haha. I suppose my life lacks the valleys and peaks to appreciate wine like this."
"What good would valleys do you anyway? Best to grow up soft and learn your drinking from a good man."
"Then teach this junior a thing or two about the refined pleasures, won't you?"
In Jeon Gilsan's eyes, the black-haired manager looked rather endearingly dim.
Butter this one up, and I get my hands on the author Hopil.
So Jeon Gilsan thought as he traded cups with Kang Yunho.
"About the bid—"
"What's the rush? We haven't even shared our first few cups yet."
"...I've been rather hasty, haven't I."
Did he buy his manager's seat with money, too? The refusal had come swift as a blade. Right. His feelings haven't settled yet, that's all.
Jeon Gilsan figured a few more conversations at the courtesan house would do it, and kept pouring for the black-haired man.
The black-haired man wasn't coming over easily.
Jeon Gilsan had already visited the courtesan house with Kang Yunho any number of times, trading cups again and again, yet the distance between them hovered maddeningly — close, then not close. His patience wore thin.
He needed an introduction to the author Hopil, and soon. Why wouldn't the man just come over already?
"What's the harm in teaching me a little too?"
"I'm afraid not."
When he arrived at the house, the black-haired man was pleading with one of the attendants in a wheedling tone.
"You're here early. What's all this about?"
"Well, while you were away, young master, I kept hearing laughter from the next room, so I peeked in — and they were playing this..."
The black-haired man held out a small bundle of tiles for Jeon Gilsan to see.
"Hmm? Aren't those bone dominos? You've been playing bone dominos?"
Bone dominos — a gambling game that Jeon Gilsan himself enjoyed from time to time.
"They were having such fun next door that I joined in for a round or two."
"You know how to play?"
"That's the thing... I didn't really understand it, so I lost every hand. So I asked this gentleman here to teach me the rules, and would you look at that — he refuses."
The black-haired man spoke with his head hanging so low in embarrassment it nearly touched his chest.
"Well, when it comes to bone dominos, I happen to have something of an expert eye."
"Truly?"
"The gamblers of Wuhan take one look at me, Jeon Gilsan, and hide their money and run!"
The truth of it was rather different: he'd lose his money, throw a tantrum, and Mangeum Bookstore would clean up the mess afterward — so the gamblers found him too filthy to seat at their tables.
"Haha. To think I was begging an innocent man while a master sat right beside me. Might you grant me a lesson or two?"
"Hmm. Very well! I'll teach you."
A chance to butter up the black-haired man. Jeon Gilsan strode into the gambling den alongside Kang Yunho, chest out, for all the world like a pair of master swordsmen entering the arena.
"How in the world did that tile turn up?"
"You're incredible, brother!"
"Did you just call me brother?"
"Yes, brother! You've shown me a whole new pleasure!"
"Hahaha! At last, you open your heart to me!"
Victory, victory, and victory again. As the wins piled up and the distance between him and Kang Yunho narrowed, Jeon Gilsan was overjoyed.
A single loss at the very end erased the luster of all his earlier victories, but Jeon Gilsan thought nothing of it.
"You haven't been spending every waking hour at the courtesan house lately, have you, young master?"
The attendant his parents had sent to assist him asked the question with naked worry in his voice.
"It's all for the work, I tell you. The work! Do you have any idea how hard I'm striving to recruit the author Hopil?"
"If you say so, sir..."
Wine, gambling, courtesans. Jeon Gilsan had come to Yichang, yet it felt for all the world like coming home.
And on top of recruiting the author Hopil, a most tantalizing proposition had come his way.
"Come to think of it, if the author Hopil goes to Mangeum Bookstore, Daseogak's finances will be in jeopardy. So I've thought of a solution."
"And what might that be?"
"Why not acquire Daseogak outright?"
"Acquire Daseogak?"
"Daseogak has caused Mangeum Bookstore no small amount of grief, has it not? Spend a little money, take Daseogak for yourself, and you'll have an achievement no one in Mangeum Bookstore has ever matched."
"C-can that really be done?"
"Who am I, if not the manager of Daseogak himself? Of course, if you were to cast me aside in the acquisition, that would be a problem..."
"Cast you aside! Do I look like that sort of man to you?"
"Hahaha. Well, this is a matter to ponder further with the others at Daseogak — but first, have a drink!"
"Yes! A man who'd do that much for me, I'd cherish like my own blood brother! Hey there! Bring the courtesans!"
At Jeon Gilsan's bellow, beauties came flocking from every corner of the house.
"Young master. Did you truly come all this way for Hopil? He'll cost you a fortune."
"I came for the great Hopil himself."
"Then a man who can command the great Hopil must be even greater still, no?"
"Oho. Well, well. So Yichang hides treasures like you, does it?"
"Heheh. Treasures, he says. You flatterer, you."
Wine, gambling, courtesans. It felt like coming home, and beyond his original goal lay the promise of an even greater achievement.
The black-haired barbarian he'd braced himself to struggle against was being wrapped around his finger by sheer skill — the man was calling him brother now.
He would meet the author Hopil soon enough, and with luck, he might claim Daseogak itself as well.
Everyone around him was smiling at him. He could become the master of Mangeum Hall. Drunk on the intoxicating sense that everything he touched would turn to gold, Jeon Gilsan raised his cup and drank deep.
He smiled back at them all, wine-flushed and beaming.
Every one of them was smiling at him. None of them knew what schemes lay hidden behind those smiles.