Yellow Dragon Castle (9)
Yellow Dragon Castle (9)
Hwang Ryong-seong had loved the hazy atmosphere of drinking parties—those scenes where wine cups caught the light, the ornaments of dancing courtesans glittered, and a cozy warmth settled in as vague stories drifted alongside laughter. When the Eight Trigrams Association first came together, the faces of those young men had been alive with ambition and longing for the future.
Hwang Ryong-seong had been the protagonist of those nights. People looked up at him with envious eyes, and raising his cup high, he would shout a toast.
"May the Eight Trigrams Association live forever!"
"Live forever!"
The members of the Eight Trigrams Association would all raise their voices as one. And in the midst of that boisterous clamor, the third-in-command, Mu Song, would slyly murmur—
"Elder brother, isn't that toast a little old-fashioned?"
At that, the second-in-command, Gyeong Hwi, would glance toward Hwang Ryong-seong, nudge Mu Song, and retort.
"It's nothing short of magnificent. Why must you spoil it?"
"Oh, come now—surely we could come up with something a bit cooler for next time..."
Watching the two bicker, Hwang Ryong-seong would laugh like an indulgent elder brother, down his liquor, and say.
"Don't fight. Next time, Mu Song—why don't you give the toast a try?"
"No, brother!"
"Brother!"
Both men would shout at once, and Hwang Ryong-seong would burst out laughing.
"Hahahahaha..."
As if to prove that all he had recalled was nothing but a dream, Hwang Ryong-seong's laughter spiraled within the cramped palanquin and soured into turbid breath and a foul stench. With each inhale and exhale, only the dust of that desolate place and the sound of people coming and going reached his ears. The glorious sense of triumph Hwang Ryong-seong had once savored was nowhere to be found.
He could see neither the second-in-command Gyeong Hwi nor the third-in-command Mu Song. Only the stuffy canopy, his own crumpled body carelessly tossed within, and his emaciated, withered forearms confronted him. Hwang Ryong-seong wondered where the palanquin was heading as it jolted along. Did they mean to dispose of him, now a cripple, without a trace?
The more he dwelt on it, the more Hwang Ryong-seong saw his former self returning in triumph to the brothel, and his body convulsed with something not quite a seizure.
"Ugh...! Ah-eu...!"
His old self was so splendid that rage and despair churned together inside him. The courtesans would stand in a line and chant his name.
"Welcome! Lord Hwang Ryong-seong!"
"We've been waiting! We've prepared the finest seat of all!"
The smooth-tongued managers and attentive servants. The young martial artists tucked into the corner stealing envious glances his way. And the members of the Eight Trigrams Association, who had secured a table up on the high floor, waving to him from afar.
"Brother! Please, hurry! The food will grow cold!"
"How can we start without the guest of honor? All by ourselves, no less?"
Then Hwang Ryong-seong would wave back leisurely and ascend the stairs with an exceedingly unhurried stride, displaying the measured dignity of a great man. Everyone in the Eight Trigrams Association would be waiting for him with bright smiles and respectful eyes, ready to embrace him with joy.
They would cheer or laugh and throw their arms around him, clinging to him noisily, each vying to show who stood closest to him.
There had been such moments of glory.
But now Hwang Ryong-seong waited for the death that would soon come to claim him.
At that thought, his heart seemed to settle a little.
Hadn't he lived rather well, all things considered?
He had taken the Beggars' Sect's money and lived a life more splendid than anyone else's. Even if he were to starve to death as a wretched beggar, it seemed it would be quite all right.
And if he were murdered by someone—well, he had surely piled up enough karma to deserve it.
Hwang Ryong-seong nodded to himself and felt the palanquin slowing down. He exhaled calmly and closed his eyes. He was ready to face the death drawing near.
"Aren't you Madam Eun? Where is the great hero Hwang Ryong-seong?"
"Here he is."
But at the sound coming from outside the cart, Hwang Ryong-seong felt his whole body tremble. He realized that the body which had been so calmly prepared for death just moments ago had now stiffened taut with dread. This was neither a grave nor a back alley.
Right now, just beyond the thin walls of the palanquin, lay the brothel the Eight Trigrams Association had long used as their meeting place. Hwang Ryong-seong looked down at his emaciated body. He saw his limbs, robbed of internal energy and hideously stained, and his filthy clothes. His hair was disheveled, and dried drool streaked from his mouth, giving him a thoroughly squalid look.
"Ah, wh-what...!"
He could not step out looking like this. But he didn't even have the strength to resist, and Eun Ho-seol mercilessly yanked the palanquin door open.
"Ah...! Aaah...!"
Hwang Ryong-seong barely managed to raise one hand and cover his face. Yet in that fleeting instant, he caught the shocked expressions of the managers and courtesans. They were staring, mouths agape, utterly stunned—and some were already whispering among themselves.
"No, what on earth is that? What in the world could have happened..."
"Hwang Ryong-seong—turned into a complete cripple, is it?"
"Such a fine face he had, and to end up in a state like that... no..."
"Oh my..."
"What a pitiful sight..."
Grabbing Hwang Ryong-seong by the nape, Eun Ho-seol forced him into a wheeled chair. He tried to thrash and escape, but Eun Ho-seol pressed his acupoints and immobilized him on the spot.
"Ugh...! Agh...!"
"Stay quiet."
Eun Ho-seol carried out the cruel procedure swiftly, without a trace of emotion. She straightened the stiffened body and lifted Hwang Ryong-seong's head so that he faced forward. Hwang Ryong-seong had no choice but to roll his eyes while held rigidly in place, like a carved wooden Zhuge Liang.
"So that's Hwang Ryong-seong? They said he squeezed money out of the Beggars' Sect's beggars and strutted about pretending to be a great hero. But seeing him now, he was never anywhere close to becoming one."
"Is he pretending to be sick now to win sympathy?! Hwang Ryong-seong! Enough of your filthy antics!"
"Leave him be. They say he's the child of some high-ranking figure in the Beggars' Sect. Who knows if he might seek revenge on us later?"
"Oh my, how he used to put on such airs—and now look at him."
Wherever his eyes turned, wherever he was dragged, people hurled mockery and condemnation. The managers who once rubbed their palms together in deference now turned away to avoid his gaze, and the courtesans paid him no mind, flocking instead to their own patrons.
The martial artists sitting in the corner cast openly scornful looks and giggled.
"No, what is all this about?"
"Brother! What on earth has happened? How did you come to this?"
"Ah...! Aah...!"
All the higher-ups of the Eight Trigrams Association seated on the upper floor wore bewildered expressions. Hwang Ryong-seong tried to explain what had befallen him, but his throat was utterly choked and no sound would emerge. Eun Ho-seol stroked the nape of Hwang Ryong-seong's neck and said.
"I will be your mouth."
"Ah...! Aah...!"
He tried to shake his head, but it would not budge. He tried to scream, but he could not even force out a shriek. Hwang Ryong-seong was simply being dragged, ever so slowly, toward the stairs. All the members of the Eight Trigrams Association waited for Hwang Ryong-seong with bewildered faces.
No one showed respect or laughter.
The place was filled only with despair and ominous stirrings.
******
Hwang Ryong-seong had loved the hazy atmosphere of drinking parties—those scenes where wine cups caught the light, the ornaments of dancing courtesans glittered, and a cozy warmth settled in as vague stories drifted alongside laughter. When the Eight Trigrams Association first came together, the faces of those young men had been alive with ambition and longing for the future.
Once again, Hwang Ryong-seong was the protagonist here today. But now he could not even raise a toast, and the people merely stared at him intently, their mouths clamped shut.
"What is the meaning of this?"
Gyeong Hwi spoke first, glancing about uneasily as if waiting for something. Eun Ho-seol answered on behalf of Hwang Ryong-seong, who could not reply.
"Qi Deviation."
It was a simple explanation, but no one doubted it. Or rather, there were those who seemed pleased instead of suspicious. The second-in-command Gyeong Hwi was one, and the third-in-command Mu Song was another. Both smiled as though it were a welcome turn of events and continued scanning their surroundings.
But the others were different. Some began murmuring and raising questions about the future of the Eight Trigrams Association.
"No! If the very brother who was meant to lead the Eight Trigrams Association has been reduced to this—what are we to do now?"
Another nodded and shouted.
"We called a meeting to set a course forward! And now our chairperson is essentially a cripple—so what of the Eight Trigrams Association's future? What are we supposed to do now?"
The members of the Eight Trigrams Association all raised their voices at once. And in the midst of the uproar, the third-in-command, Mu Song, slyly remarked—
"Someone must step forward as the point man and take charge of this situation. The rules demand it."
The way he grinned with the corners of his mouth lifted was hardly appropriate for one who had just learned of an elder brother's misfortune.
Gyeong Hwi gave Mu Song a sharp nudge and spoke in a menacing tone.
"You dare stick your neck out while knowing nothing? Sit down and be quiet. From now on, the Eight Trigrams Association will be led not by Hwang Ryong-seong, but by me—"
"You? And with what credentials do you mean to lead the Eight Trigrams Association? You were nothing but a bastard sitting at Hwang Ryong-seong's side, sucking honey from his backside! And now you dare say you'll lead us!"
At Mu Song's heated words, Gyeong Hwi likewise flared up and seized his weapon. Mu Song drew his own blade and cried out.
"Everyone, follow me! Take the head of that filthy Hwang Ryong-seong! From this day, we rise anew as the Eight Trigrams Association!"
Gyeong Hwi, unwilling to be outdone, kicked Mu Song and roared.
"Isn't this very fellow the treacherous toady who fawned over Hwang Ryong-seong! How can a petty man become great merely by aping him! Vomit up all the blood and sweat you've leeched, and crawl out of this Eight Trigrams Association!"
"Follow Gyeong Hwi, brother!"
"Follow Mu Song, brother!"
In an instant, factions split and weapons began to clash. As if everyone had been waiting for precisely this moment, they fell upon one another with cold violence, all shouting at once.
Hwang Ryong-seong opened his mouth and let out a strange sound—neither a scream nor a cry.
"Ah... Aah..."
And Eun Ho-seol silently forced his eyelids open and said.
"Isn't it fun?"
"Aaaah...! Aah...!"
Hwang Ryong-seong's groans were buried beneath the youthful fervor and went unheard by anyone.
"Die, Mu Song! Back when you were fawning all over Hwang Ryong-seong—and now you dare say you'll lead the Eight Trigrams Association? Don't talk nonsense!"
"Weren't you the one clinging noisily to Hwang Ryong-seong yourself! And with those credentials, who are you to judge anyone! You filthy bastard!"