Who Said I'd Sit and Wait?

Every gaze in the wine house snapped toward the entrance. The staff's faces twisted as one.

"Isn't that Ha Yeonsang's crony?"

"That bandit?"

"Has he lost his mind? He should've been grateful he got thrown out in one piece. What's he doing sniffing around here again?"

A few rough-looking men started forward, then hesitated. Standing there like he owned the place was Sun Wukong — a presence so alien that no one could mistake him for an ordinary man. They couldn't bring themselves to make a move. Never mind his appearance. The way he'd strolled in drawing every eye in the room, the easy look on his face, the unhurried way he carried himself — all of it gave them pause.

Their thoughts veered in an unexpected direction.

Did that bastard bring some kind of expert with him?

Tch. An expert? Look at how he walks. He's a loafer, plain and simple.

Still... better safe than sorry. Someone tell Steward Yang.

Wine houses attracted every kind of riffraff as a matter of course. Genuine martial experts mixed freely among the rabble, and it was practically a regular occurrence for some nobody who looked like he couldn't punch his way out of a wet paper bag to turn out to be a hidden master of the martial world. The staff's wariness of Sun Wukong was only natural.

One of them slipped away to fetch Steward Yang, the establishment's resident expert. The rest composed themselves and received Wukong as a guest.

"This way, honored guest. I'll show you to a private room."

The attendant bowed at the waist with meticulous courtesy — exclusively to Sun Wukong. Sideburns and Sparrow-Eyes might as well have been invisible. Wukong figured something must have gone down here before, but he didn't bother asking.

"Before that. Any unusual customers in here tonight?"

"Unusual, sir...?"

"Someone who came alone. Someone with a weird atmosphere about him."

"W-well, if you put it that way, I'm not sure I..."

"Someone who looks strong."

"Ah..."

Something clicked behind the attendant's eyes. His expression hardened for the briefest instant — gone almost before it appeared, but not fast enough to escape Wukong's notice. Wukong gave the man's shoulder a couple of companionable pats.

"Go tell him. We've come from Seokhwa Gate with the goods. He should come collect them."

"...!"

"Oh, and bring plenty of wine. Snacks, whatever you've got. Wait — no. Fruit. Bring every kind of fruit you've got in this place."

The moment the attendant withdrew, Sideburns practically bounced out of his seat.

"What in the world are you thinking?!"

"What else? I want a look at his face."

"Th-that Sa Hyeol-cheol-gwi — the rumors about him are genuinely terrifying. They say more Wulin Alliance experts than you can count on two hands have gone after him and ended up dead."

"Sounds like they only sent weaklings after him."

"That's not—"

Calling the Wulin Alliance's pursuit teams weak. Sideburns didn't know what to make of it. Did this man genuinely find everyone else's martial arts pathetic, or did he simply know so little about the martial world that he could say whatever popped into his head without a second thought?

Both, probably.

Sideburns had watched Wukong's martial prowess firsthand when they faced Seokhwa Gate. He might be reduced to banditry these days, but he'd once been a lay disciple of Shaolin. He knew what he was looking at.

I couldn't even follow how he moved. Not with my eyes.

That much was real. No trick, no trap, no sorcery. No special technique, either. Just the pure movement of a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠body.

He turned Jeokgyeon — a man who was supposedly first-class on bare-handed fighting alone — into complete pulp.

Honestly, it hadn't even been a fight. It was a one-sided beating.

But still...

This was Sa Hyeol-cheol-gwi. Sa Hyeol-cheol-gwi! Not some two-bit underworld thug puffing out his chest in the countryside. A genuine master. A man who had survived five full years after being named a Wulin Public Enemy.

Sparrow-Eyes clearly shared the same thought. Anxiety flickered across his face without pause. If they got swept up in a fight now...

Whether Wukong noticed their unease or not, he cheerfully drained the wine and demolished the snacks as they arrived.

"What's the matter with you two? Why are you just sitting there?"

"Well..."

"Nervous?"

"Y-yes, we are."

"Aigoo. You two have only ever heard the rumors about this Sa Hyeol-cheol-gwi, or whatever two-bit bastard he is. Have you actually seen him?"

"We haven't."

"So you don't even know if those rumors about how strong he is are true."

"Well..."

How would anyone know without seeing him in person? The rumors were what they were. Sideburns swallowed the words before they could leave his mouth.

Wukong cackled.

"You don't have to say it. I can see exactly what you two are thinking. Don't worry about it. This old man has it all figured out."

Old man, my ass.

Sideburns was already pushing forty. The man sitting across from him didn't look a day over thirty. A kid, practically...

"Anyway. Let's talk about you two."

"Pardon?"

"A pair of so-called bandits, just the two of you, wandering the streets like you've got nowhere to be and nothing to do. I get the feeling you haven't exactly lived ordinary lives."

"W-well, we're bandits in name only, really. Neither of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠us had anything better to do, so we've just been drifting around like duckweed on the current."

"You said you used to be a martial artist."

"I was a lay disciple, yes, but... well. Life happens, doesn't it? I did a bit of river piracy with Semo here — he was a kid from my neighborhood — then we got kicked out of that, and now the two of us swagger around calling ourselves bandits."

"Those yamen constables walked right past you earlier and didn't even try to arrest you. What kind of bandits are you?"

"Ahem."

"Your life's been one hell of a winding road, hasn't it? So why'd they throw you out of this place? The way the staff were looking at you, they wanted to beat you black and blue."

"That's..."

Sideburns hedged, clearly reluctant to answer.

"What, it's obvious. A woman, right?"

"...!"

Wukong grinned.

"You probably fell for one of the girls who works here. And of course she turned out to have some tragic story. What's a man supposed to do? You tried to get her out, and you got caught red-handed. Heh."

Sideburns' mouth fell slightly open. The man had no common sense, you could never tell what he was thinking, and he was full of sloppy edges — but every so often he cut straight through to the heart of things, and it sent a chill down your spine. He'd just been guessing, surely. And yet... every now and then, beneath that playful glint, there was a look in his eyes that ran very, very deep.

"It was just one of those tired old stories. Nothing interesting."

"Listen here. Everything in this world is connected by threads. Like a spider's web — viciously, inescapably so. Threads of fate. Threads of ill fate. That's why there's no need to get yourself tangled up. The more you struggle, the more you end up like a fly that can't get free of the web."

"..."

"What I'm saying is, you don't need to pour so much of yourself into forging connections. If a bond is true, the thread will find you even if you sit still and do nothing. And if it's a shallow one, it'll pass over you like a breeze and be gone."

There was something strangely profound in the words. A peculiar expression crossed Sideburns' face. Wukong poured wine into his cup.

"You'd better appreciate this. Wine poured by the Great Sage, Equal to Heaven himself — the one who once ran roughshod over the Celestial Realm. It's more precious than imperial wine!"

There he goes again. The second he starts looking impressive, he says something like that.

Sideburns snorted a laugh and knocked back the cup. It was fierce, burning liquor, and yet it cooled something in his chest. The tangle in his head seemed, for a moment, to simplify itself.

Wukong chuckled.

"But then, forming bonds and breaking them is never as easy as it sounds, is it? The whole world is incomplete — so how much more so the good connections and the bad ones? As long as we don't forget that our lot is to chase completeness from inside incompleteness... well. That's enough."

"...!"

Something stirred in Sideburns' chest. Profound. They said beautiful words carried a fragrance. For the first time, Sideburns thought he understood what that meant. Or maybe he'd just had too much to drink.

He, too, had once been a lay disciple of Shaolin. A man who had studied the Buddha's dharma. The single remark that had just reached his ears carried such a refined, lofty fragrance that his whole body trembled. He knew instinctively what this was.

A thread of enlightenment.

The principle of it swayed before him like a breeze, so close he felt he could grasp it if he just reached out.

Just a little more. Just a little further.

He stretched for it. It was right there.

And then Wukong burst out laughing.

"What? Surprised? This Great Sage may not look it, but I was once the disciple of the sharpest mind in all of Buddhism — and these days, I'm a Buddha. A Buddha. Hear me? Not one of those statues you bow to. The real thing."

"..."

The strength went out of Sideburns all at once. The trailing edge of enlightenment, so nearly within reach, vanished before his eyes.

"Ah..."

A sigh of pure, aching disappointment slipped out of him. A Buddha. Of course. Open his mouth and there he went again. A moment ago the man had seemed like someone else entirely. Now he was every inch the idle loafer.

Sideburns could no longer tell which one was the real Sun Wukong.

That was when footsteps sounded outside. A man with a thoroughly unpleasant face shoved his way through the door.

"You said you came from Seokhwa Gate? Dragging along that lunatic bald monk who keeps insisting he's a bandit?"

"Is that him? Sa Hyeol-cheol-gwi?"

"No. That's Steward Yang. The manager of this place."

Wukong folded his arms.

"So where's the one I told you to bring?"

"So it's you. I heard there was a golden freak who took down the Hubei Crimson Wolf at the docks."

"You little—"

Wukong flicked his wine cup without warning. Steward Yang snorted. Working as a manager in a place like this, you got wine cups thrown at you by every kind of lowlife imaginable. It was practically routine. And he was a skilled expert in his own right. Something like this would be—

A sharp crack split the air.

"Gahk!"

Steward Yang's thoughts cut off mid-sentence. The cup had come at him several times faster than expected — no, dozens of times faster — and the force behind it was devastating enough that he couldn't simply shrug it off. His body lurched so hard his mind nearly blanked.

He barely managed to plant his feet and stay upright.

Wukong was already right in front of his nose.

Yang's hands came up on instinct, settling into a guard.

"...?"

Something was wrong. He'd blocked first. So why was the man's fist already through his guard?

Ah. He was just that much faster. Absurdly, impossibly faster.

A wet, crushing impact.

Steward Yang crumpled, clutching a face painted in blood.

"Go get him. Tell him Seokhwa Gate brought the goods. Now. Or I start cracking skulls right here."

Under that savage threat, Steward Yang scrambled to his feet and fled through the door. Wukong glanced at the two men staring at him in a daze and shrugged.

"Honestly. Some people just don't listen the first time. Types like that, you've got to stand them up and beat them until it sinks in..."

He sat back down as if nothing had happened and reached for his wine.

It wasn't long before Steward Yang returned, looking like a man who had run for his life.

"H-h-he says if you don't want to die, bring the goods up to him. Right now."

"Huh."

What? If who didn't want to die, come up?

Wukong clicked his tongue.

"He's been on the run so long he left his brains in the underworld. Go back and tell him this. If he doesn't come down, I'll make sure he understands that people can actually get beaten to death."

Steward Yang's face crumpled. Sideburns felt an unexpected twinge of sympathy — and this was a man whose face he normally couldn't stand. Right now, Sun Wukong looked exactly like a drunk making a scene, bellowing for someone to come out and face him.

Didn't he say he was a Buddha...?

What kind of Buddha got drunk and terrorized the staff?

Then another thought occurred to him. Recalling the profound grasp of Buddhist principle Wukong had displayed just moments ago... there was depth there.

Is this a high-level battle of wills?

Presence and atmosphere influenced a fight. Provoking an opponent to anger, disrupting his breathing — they even had a name for it in the old texts. The strategy of goading the enemy. A winning tactic passed down since ancient times.

Sideburns felt a flicker of admiration. The man looked like he was doing nothing but drinking himself stupid, empty-headed as a gourd.

But the fight has already started!

A fierce psychological war was already raging beneath the surface. Sideburns looked at Wukong with fresh eyes. Wukong's brow was faintly furrowed — and to Sideburns, it looked like the gaze of a master taking the measure of a distant opponent.

Of course, what Wukong was actually thinking was:

"Who the hell does he think he is, telling me to come and go? A bastard who isn't even fit to share a table with me."

Telling the Great Sage, Equal to Heaven, to come when called? Even the Jade Emperor sent Taebaek Geumseong down when he wanted an audience.

The sheer gall of it. It just pissed him off.

That was when a vicious energy pressed in from beyond the door. Killing intent.

Wukong snorted a laugh.

"See? If I'd said come, he should've just come. Now he's making an ugly entrance. Real ugly."

The door slid open with a heavy rasp.

The man who stood there had cold, assessing eyes. Beneath his brows, a sinister light gleamed, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and cruelty lived in it.

Sideburns broke out in a cold sweat.

Insane. Why are the rumors so accurate these days?

Just looking at the man was enough to make your blood run cold.

Wukong lifted his wine cup.

"There you are. Have a drink."

He said ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it with a delighted grin, as if he'd just run into an old friend.