The Favor - 4
"Hehehe."
Early in the morning, Jegal Hyang woke brimming with such good cheer that she couldn't hold back her laughter.
Her mood this morning was not simply because she had slept well.
Nor was it even because she'd spent the previous evening so delightfully—pouring drinks for a man whose mere sight lifted her heart, their hands intertwined.
A solution had finally appeared for the special mission her maternal grandfather had handed down.
"There was a way all along."
Jegal Hyang murmured this with both fists clenched tight. There had been no need to keep despairing—everything, it turned out, had its own way through. After days of agonizing, Jegal Hyang had at last unearthed the key to winning Kang Yunho over.
"All I had to do was support him well!"
The answer was that simple.
"Lady Jegal. Your help in this matter was truly invaluable."
Throughout the entire Three-Eyed Sword case, she had been a tremendous help to Young Master Kang. And he, grateful for it, had watched her with eyes that fairly dripped with affection.
Jegal Hyang had told Kang Yunho it was nothing at all, yet under his gaze she'd struggled to keep the smile from her lips.
"I never needed to seduce Young Master Kang the way Hayeon Eonni does."
Jegal Hyang thought of Lim Hayeon, off on her long journey. A willowy figure with generous investment in all the right places, a supple body tempered by qinggong. Every time Kang Yunho's gaze strayed, however subtly, toward Lim Hayeon's body, Jegal Hyang had been forced to taste a small, bitter defeat.
"And Eonni knows exactly what she's doing, wearing those clothes that cling to every line, ohhh."
Displeasure bled into Jegal Hyang's voice.
Lim Hayeon always claiming she needed freedom of movement to demonstrate lightness techniques for Kang Yunho's training while dressing in skintight clothes—that was deliberate, obviously. She'd insisted the outfits were merely comfortable to move in, yet whenever Kang Yunho fumbled to keep his eyes in place, hadn't she looked quietly pleased with herself? Each time, Jegal Hyang had been left silently chewing grievances she could never voice.
But now, things were different.
"With Hayeon Eonni away, it's my turn to try, ohhh."
Hayeon Eonni had walked off with a hefty pile of points, but she couldn't return for some time, could she? And with the fiancée at the Sichuan Tang Clan reportedly bedridden with an incurable illness, this was Jegal Hyang's stage alone.
All she had to do was hoard the points by herself. Slowly, patiently, show him that she was the woman he needed most.
"I will become Young Master Kang's Lady Jegal."
Hadn't they always said that their revered ancestor, the Marquis Wu of Jegal, though brilliant in strategy, revealed his truly staggering genius in the art of governance? She would stand at Kang Yunho's side each and every day, supporting him, steadily stacking up her score.
"Young Master Kang holds my hand so readily now. And next... ehehe. I don't knooow."
Jegal Hyang murmured behind her hands, worried someone might see. Once upon a time even holding hands had felt awkward; now, the moment she seemed the least bit pouty, he would reach for her fingers. A colossal, leaping advance. But once progress had been made, her bottomless heart only thirsted all the more.
In the end, Jegal Hyang nodded at the girl in the mirror.
"A straight shot from here to becoming the official wife! Ahh!"
Now there was no one at Young Master Kang's side but her. Support him diligently, pile up the points, and Young Master Kang would surely decide to marry her.
"Lady Jegal. Are you in your room?"
"Yes, Young Master Kang. What brings you heeere?"
Right on cue, Kang Yunho was knocking at her door. For their first greeting of the morning, Jegal Hyang took a moment before the mirror to rehearse her smile, then opened the door and greeted him with a nervous, crumpled attempt at one.
What business could he have so early in the day? Jegal Hyang waited for his words.
"I'll be going out to meet a courtesan."
"...Par...don?"
Jegal Hyang's face froze solid, the crumpled smile still clinging to it.
"Ah! Do not misunderstand! She's a pregnant courtesan!"
That only made it worse.
"I think that made it worse..."
He'd tried explaining further to Lady Jegal, but her frost-glazed expression suggested not a word was reaching her ears.
"Kek. You could've just snuck off and come back. Why go telling Hyang about it?"
Jeon Gilsan clutched his belly and howled with laughter at the sight of me looking so grave.
"Better to say proudly that I'm going for work than to get caught later and breed a misunderstanding, no?"
It's a matter of trust. Lady Jegal lives under my roof—if word reached her that I'd been slipping in and out of a pleasure house on the sly, everything I said afterward would sound like excuses. Granted, I seemed to have cultivated a rather different misunderstanding just now.
"Sure, sure. Of course. Anyway, I know where Hyewol Pavilion is, where Hongran stays. What's the plan once we get there?"
Jeon Gilsan asked as we stepped out through the mansion gates.
"I told you. Frontal assault. First things first, we meet the woman herself—Hongran, the Imperial Inspector's beloved."
"Doesn't the pleasure house have the two of them kept apart ever since they learned about the pregnancy? She won't even be on the premises."
Word was that the last face the Imperial Inspector had seen was Hongran's—the color draining from it the instant she learned she was with child. The house had refused the meeting outright, telling Jeong Munwon to bring the full sum of money if he ever wished to lay eyes on her again.
"They're holding the woman and the child hostage. Done properly, I'd have to track down where they've stashed Hongran, scrape together circumstantial evidence while I was at it, then arrange some clandestine rendezvous down the line. Far too much hassle."
"You've got something else cooked up, then?"
"We ask the Hyewol Pavilion Owner to let us see her."
Meet Hongran first. Reading her face and swiftly determining whether this was truly an accident or a conspiracy—that was the most urgent order of business.
"You think the owner comes sprinting out in his sock-feet to fawn all over us just because the two of us walk in? Ask politely and he'll just wave us through, will he?"
Jeon Gilsan eyed me with skepticism—the sort, perhaps, that came from frequenting pleasure houses aplenty.
He had a point.
As long as the Hyewol Pavilion Owner was set on bleeding the Imperial Inspector dry, asking to speak with Hongran first meant he'd likely scent who had sent us and refuse the meeting.
But here's the thing.
"That's exactly why I'm breaking through the front door."
There's always a way.
"Huh?"
"Let's go cause a scene."
Flushing a tavern owner out of his den is no trouble at all for me.
"Sir. Hongran has the day off today."
Hyewol Pavilion—establishment of the Imperial Inspector's beloved, Hongran. The moment Gilsan and I had secured a room, we asked for her straightaway.
"I ask you to bring one girl out and you give me all this lip? Is she the owner's daughter or what? Not here yesterday, not three days ago, not even a fortnight ago—what kind of house are you running?!"
The instant Gilsan heard that Hongran was unavailable, he screwed his face into a scowl and bellowed at Jeomsoi.
"Hongran is... feeling somewhat unwell."
When a guest names a particular courtesan, the rule of any pleasure house is to oblige his wishes so long as she holds no prior booking. Jeomsoi bowed her head, utterly at a loss.
"Hongran's the only one sick? Well, my heart's sick right now! The great Jeon Gilsan's heart aches because he cannot see Hongran! Do you understand me?!"
Kuh. Bringing in a professional was the right call after all. Gilsan heaved a sigh of magnificent disbelief and thumped his chest.
"Ah, um, that is..."
"Ah, to hell with it. We're not getting anywhere. Not with you. Go call the owner out. Bring me the Hyewol Pavilion Owner!"
"The Owner is out attending a gathering. He is not in."
Jeomsoi seemed determined to contain the disaster within her own humble station, bowing low and pleading her case to Gilsan.
"No Hongran, no owner—what exactly does this place have?! Bring me Hongran! Drag the owner before me!"
Some pair of lungs on him. As Gilsan's roar carried out into the corridor, a man pushed open the door and entered.
"Sir."
The warrior stepped in with practiced calm and addressed Gilsan in a low, level voice. Gilsan shot me a quick glance.
—He's a martial artist. Now what?
—What do you mean, now what? You stopping just because he knows some martial arts? Cut loose. Show them the one and only menace Jeon Gilsan in full flower.
"And who might you be?"
Gilsan curled one corner of his mouth and stared the man down as though the entire situation were beneath contempt.
"Please keep your seat. I shall prepare courtesans who outshine Hongran in every way."
"Don't want to."
"..."
Gilsan began jabbing a finger into the man's chest, prodding him with exquisite care toward the edge.
"What, going to draw a blade on me? My, my. Hyewol Pavilion truly has hit rock bottom. A guest offers a few words and you glower at him. Hey. Hey! Hey! Why aren't you answering?"
So dependable. That's our bastard.
"Once you see her face, I am certain you will be pleased."
Golden rule of the trade: however badly you ache to thrash a troublemaking customer, you still have to mind your review ratings. The guard clearly understood better than to let slip, at a single glance, a lout who reeked of money, and so he clung to his reason and promptly produced an alternative.
Of course, a Gilsan who settled for alternatives was no Gilsan at all.
"Bring me Hongran! Hongraaan! I want to see Hongran! Are your ears stuffed shut?! Shall I dig them out with a spoon? No—wait. That's filthy, I won't. You do it."
Gilsan snatched up the spoons from the table and flung them one by one at the man's chest, using him as a dartboard.
How can a human being be so unendurably insufferable? I'd only told him to perform a suitable ruckus, but he was a fish returned to water.
"Hongran is currently unwell..."
"Bring her out NOW!!! I want Hongran!!! My Hongraaan!!!"
"Sir."
The man's patience had finally run dry. The guard ground his teeth as he addressed Gilsan.
"Let's go."
I rose from my seat before real trouble could break out.
"Hey. What? We're just leaving?"
Strangely enough, Gilsan asked with a look of genuine disappointment.
He may as well have drawn his sword—we'd confirmed he had no stomach for actually roughing up a guest. Time to move on to the next phase.
"I had no idea Hyewol Pavilion held its guests in such contempt. I am... disappointed."
"...You're leaving, then. See him out."
At my glacial words, the man opened the door with a voice that said he wanted nothing more to do with any of it.
"Who said anything about leaving?"
"Sir?"
The moment I crossed the threshold, I wheeled around. My destination lay in the opposite direction from the exit—not the guests' quarters, but the passage where the staff came and went.
"Hey! Stop him!"
A panicked voice barked at my back. Several warriors who looked to be guards rushed to wall me off with their bodies. Useless.
The movement art I had mastered was the Shadowless Body Art. A supreme-grade art, drilled into me through thick and thin by the greatest thief this world has ever known. If a handful of half-baked warriors could stop it with their bodies, I'd never have bothered learning it in the first place.
The guards lunged for my clothes, but just as no man can seize a passing shadow, all they could do was watch me drift serenely to my destination.
"So this would be the liquor storage."
I stopped before the door, breathing in the fumes of raw alcohol seeping through its seams.
"Where do you think you're going!"
A belated guard planted himself between me and the storage, but it made no difference. I snorted with laughter and drew a free pass from inside my coat.
"Ah—it's such a cumbersome thing, you see. Would you mind holding this for me?"
"What in the... Huh?! Th-the—the constable's rope?!"
What I handed the guard was the very badge of the bailiff's office: the binding rope.
"I keep my two batons under good watch, but ropes are a dreadful bother to carry about."
Of course, those batons are things I've been forced to keep custody of for the better part of my life anyway—not that it much mattered.
"Y-you're... a bailiff?"
I fixed my expression into stone and met the guard's frantic eyes.
Hey. We gave you your chance. You're the ones who wouldn't hand her over. Should we be hurt about that, or shouldn't we? I'm feeling sore, so I'm going to throw a fit. And not just any fit—the single most aggravating kind in all the world.
"Surprise inspection! Stand aside, unless you mean to obstruct official duties!"
There. Take your tantrum, powered by the authority of the state.
There are many ways for a small business owner to weather a customer's tantrum.
Entitled patrons can be humored and soothed; gangsters can be bought off with the right sum; outright thugs can be scared off with a few threats.
But there exists a species of troublemaking that is truly hell to deal with.
"Sir Bailiff! What do you think you're doing, tearing open fresh liquor!"
When a corrupt officer of the law throws his weight around with state power behind him, it is enough to make a grown man weep.
I boldly stripped the paper seal from a jar of liquor. Exposure to air sours wine quickly, but that was hardly a constable's concern when he'd come to flex.
"Have a taste."
I ladled out a measure on the spot and passed it to Gilsan.
"Why does this rice wine reek so horribly of bitterness and fermentation fumes?"
"Let's see. Ptui! Too cheap for the upstairs seats—hell, even the first floor shouldn't be serving this."
Bottom-shelf swill, in other words.
"Right here, sir! This way!"
"S-sir! No—Sir Bailiff!"
An older-looking employee came hurrying over, eyes bulging. Not the owner, by the look of him. Some manner of floor manager?
"You work for Hyewol Pavilion? Where did this liquor come from?"
I asked, pointing at the cheap rice wine.
"Well, that is..."
"I'm no regular of yours, so correct me if I'm wrong—have you been serving your guests swill like this of late?"
"The first-floor guests don't much mind the taste..."
Slipping past me so easily, was he? Did he take me for someone who wouldn't notice?
"And no seal on the jar, I see. Don't tell me Hyewol Pavilion is brewing its own moonshine."
"Absolutely not!"
The manager leapt a full inch off the floor, waving his hands in frantic denial.
"Then I take it you've been buying from a brewery unlicensed by the state."
"Th-there's no way that could be the case."
He was right, actually.
My plan had been to strain for a pretext, but with real evidence sitting in front of me, what more could a man ask? Feast your eyes on a tantrum powered by the full weight of the law!
I bore down on the employee with the air of a man about to swallow him whole.
"Heaven forbid Hyewol Pavilion would ever do such a thing. Buying from an unlicensed brewery means buying liquor from brewers who paid no tax, and evading tax is a crime against the state, is it not? Or... is it?"
"..."
Gulp. Over a matter this grave—the kind where someone, anyone, absolutely had to be hauled away—I could hear a dry swallow going down. The air around us turned glacial in an instant. I smirked and gave the manager's cheek a friendly tug.
"Hahaha! Why so tense, my friend? As if Hyewol Pavilion would ever. The law of the land is stern—who would dare commit so brazen a crime? It's merely my own misunderstanding, for a man who knows nothing of good liquor! Isn't that so?"
When I said it laughing, as though in jest, the manager bobbed his head in eager chorus.
"Quite so, quite so. A misunderstanding. How could we ever? You were simply mistaken, sir, not being accustomed to drink."
"Are you saying my tongue has grown so dull that I'm a half-wit who can't tell wine from vinegar?"
"..."
"Laugh, damn it! Can't even take a joke in this place!"
Using both hands, I sculpted a smile onto the manager's stone-stiff face.
"Ah—ha, hahaha."
"Over here! Why is there a water jar sitting in the liquor storage?"
Gilsan beckoned to me, delighted with his discovery.
"Now that you mention it. A water jar on the left, an empty liquor vat in the middle, and on the right, white liquor with its seal torn off..."
One glance told you exactly what manner of work went on in this room.
"Heheh. So the room stores water as well as liquor, does it..."
"Doesn't it just? Surely the famed Hyewol Pavilion isn't watering down its wine. If word of that reached the guests, it would be an unmitigated catastrophe. Am I wrong?"
As I closed in with my smile firmly in place, the terrified manager shuffled backward, staring at me.
"S-Sir Bailiff?"
"I'm just about to start forming some very dangerous ideas about Hyewol Pavilion. What do you think?"
"Is there something in particular you would... like?"
Selling moonshine. Watering the wine. Illegal, yes—but the sort of thing every tavern does quietly behind closed doors. The moment a bailiff points at it in broad daylight, however, the story changes.
The law has been broken, so the magistrate's office must act. And when the office acts, a torrent of misery descends upon the tavern.
To keep that torrent from falling, exactly one answer remained. Hardening my face into something that permitted no compromise, I spoke.
"Bring me the Owner."
"At once, sir! Right away!"