Chapter 9
Chapter 9
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: uly
Chapter: 9
Chapter Title: Hunger (虛飢)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
In all his forty-five years of life, he had never seen anyone devour that much food.
He was certain that even his father, who had handed down the inn to him, or his grandfather, who had first opened its doors, had never witnessed such a sight.
It was as if a real hungry ghost had taken up residence in that guy's stomach. The slender young man had polished off more than enough to feed an entire table of guests—and he was still going.
The innkeeper's first words to the trembling errand boy were these:
"Money? You took payment upfront, right?"
He smacked the backs of the heads of the two boys staring at him in bewilderment.
Then, in a low voice lest anyone overhear, he barked:
"You worthless brats...! You picked today of all days to run this place into the ground...!"
The junior errand boy, clutching the back of his head, whimpered in reply, keeping his voice down as well.
"No, sir...! That guy's been weird from the moment he walked in...!"
"You idiot...! Then you should've taken payment upfront no matter what...!"
As the innkeeper raised his hand again, the senior boy jumped in desperately.
"That's not what he means, sir. Not just weird—weird in a creepy way...!"
"Creepy...?"
The innkeeper's thick jowls twitched.
"A martial artist?"
If it was a martial artist, you had to be cautious—always cautious.
Martial artists and inns.
For some reason, those two together were like pouring oil on a fire.
Even the Luoyang Innkeepers' Association called it the "inn effect" and warned members to beware.
Hadn't his own father lost an arm because of it?
"No, it's not that...!"
The innkeeper scowled.
"Then, some high official's brat?"
Kids of high officials were easy to spot by their clothes and manners, but when trouble hit, it was a disaster on a whole other scale.
Hadn't his grandfather died from boils after getting flogged by the authorities over a spat with one such brat?
"No, didn't seem like that either."
The junior boy, who knew the looks of every notorious official's spawn terrorizing Luoyang, shook his head.
"Then what the hell is it...?!"
The boy cried out in a frantic whisper.
"He's a hungry ghost, I tell you...! We told you...! One of those hell-spawn ghosts...!"
"You scaredy-cat bastards..."
The two boys waved their hands in protest.
"You're the one who doesn't get it, sir...!"
By then, the innkeeper couldn't just keep scolding.
He smacked his lips and strode up the remaining stairs.
"I'll handle this myself."
"Please be careful, sir...!"
"Sir...!"
They fretted, but no one tried to stop him.
'Now that I think about it, it is odd.'
They'd been whispering among themselves, but that guy sitting there with his scrawny back turned couldn't possibly have missed their conversation.
Dressed in shabby scholar's robes, he didn't even notice the innkeeper approaching—he was too busy shoving food down his gullet.
Had the creaking floorboards ever grated so harshly underfoot?
For some reason, the innkeeper wiped cold sweat from his brow with his sleeve and tugged at the tightening collar of his robe.
"Ahem!"
He stopped five or six paces away and cleared his throat, but got no reaction.
"Go closer, sir...!"
"Be careful...!"
'Damn layabouts, all talk when it's not their problem.'
For some inexplicable reason, he didn't want to take another step, but he summoned thirty-five years of grit and experience.
Each step felt eternal, but at last he stood right behind the scholar.
And even then, the scholar hadn't spared him a glance.
He swallowed dryly.
"Uh, excuse me..."
From the corner of his eye, he peeked at the scholar.
The man wasn't even using chopsticks—he was scooping food with both hands and cramming it into his mouth.
The innkeeper stood speechless for a moment, then wiped his sweaty palms on his pants.
His whole body was drenched in cold sweat now.
But this was business in the heart of mighty Luoyang.
He'd built this place up despite seeing his grandfather and father ruined.
"Excuse me, young master..."
Why did his voice come out like a squeak?
He tried to clear his throat again.
But then...
"...This isn't it. Not enough. This won't do. This isn't it. Not enough..."
A chill raced through the innkeeper's body.
The inn was filled with the sounds of this glutton scarfing down food nonstop, and he was watching it happen with his own eyes.
So whose voice was that endless whisper coming from?
"...Not enough. This won't do..."
And listening closely, it wasn't even remotely human.
Then the scholar's hands stopped dead.
"...!!"
His head began to turn slowly toward the innkeeper.
The innkeeper's pupils were dilated wide, his legs trembling on the verge of collapse.
He wanted to scream, but his body was no longer his to command.
Frozen in place, he met the scholar's gaze.
The scholar's mouth opened.
"I've had my fill. How much?"
"Wh-what...?"
The pale-faced scholar wiped sauce from around his mouth with his sleeve and asked again.
"You're the innkeeper, aren't you?"
The innkeeper answered on reflex.
"Y-yes, sir."
The scholar nodded and rose.
His clothes were filthy with spilled food and sauce, but he paid it no mind.
Casually pulling out his money pouch, he asked once more:
"How much?"
After the scholar left, the errand boys carried their fainted innkeeper through Luoyang's night streets to fetch a physician.
No one was around the next day to stop the innkeeper from emptying his savings on a massive shamanic rite.
* * *
"Strange. So strange."
Leaving the inn, the scholar Yeon So-hyeon kept muttering it.
He'd tested himself by gorging to the limit, but no matter how much he ate, satiety never came.
And after that much, he should've been puking, at least.
But it all just went down—straight down.
The food seemed to vanish somewhere after passing his throat.
Deep down, he was certain.
No amount of "this stuff" would ever sate his hunger.
He shook his head.
So what was he supposed to eat?
Then a scent tugged at his nose.
'A smell...'
One he'd never encountered before—so achingly fragrant.
So irresistibly delicious.
It teased his hunger.
'What is this smell...?'
Questioning it did no good; instinct pulled him along.
His steps led into Luoyang's dark back alleys.
Soon his figure melted into the shadows.
* * *
Luoyang, the ancient metropolis steeped in history since time immemorial.
Swept by the flames of war through dynasty after dynasty, it still stood firm as the Central Plains' premier metropolis.
True to its millions of souls, it harbored entertainment districts of staggering scale.
Even late at night, garish oil lamps painted the streets in vibrant hues, banishing the night's chill.
But where there's brilliant light, deep shadow follows.
For all its glamorous pleasure quarters, there lurked ugliness and twisted order just as profound.
Among those countless orders, one stood out: the leech of gold—the shadowy overlord known as the Gold Leech.
And right now, in this filthy, damp alley, that Gold Leech's order ground on relentlessly.
"Strip him naked and shake him down."
"Got it, boss!"
Fortune's fool or reaping what he sowed—a middle-aged man who'd gambled away his fortune tried a feeble resistance.
"You little...!"
"Beat him down!"
He got a thorough thrashing from the bruisers, as expected.
Moments later, the man was barely distinguishable from ground meat—save for still breathing.
"Found it, boss!"
One brute finally dug a wooden slip from the man's undergarments and held it up.
A name plaque—an identity token.
It listed his address, family details, everything. Taking it meant stripping him bare—home, wife, kids, shop, all of it.
"Ahh... please... no..."
Despair shrouded the man's pulverized face.
Cruel grins spread across the bruisers'.
These desperate fools fell for rigged games day in, day out, and the scams fattened the coffers by crushing the gullible.
That was one facet of the shadow order called the Gold Leech.
"You thought you could stiff the boss on his money and stroll Luoyang scot-free?"
Truth be told, even their so-called boss had never laid eyes on the Gold Leech himself—none of them were direct underlings.
They were just one of the outfits he outsourced to.
But backed by that name, they were kings of this alley.
"Mercy, sirs, please..."
Then it came.
"A whistle?"
An eerie, strange melody.
哀切 yet wretched, urgent yet despairing.
Madness itself, if you had to name it.
"Who's the bastard?!"
The brute clutching the plaque bellowed.
Normally, his crew would've relished how his roar cowed foes.
But for some reason, that shrill whistle made his shout sound frail by comparison.
He tossed the plaque aside and drew his weapon.
"Which fucker's out there?! Show yourself!"
The others snatched up their arms too, yelling wildly into the dark.
"Wanna die?!"
"Who's fucking around?!"
"You shithead?!"
Then their boss growled low.
"...Shut it, all of you!"
His voice, still steady, silenced them.
"Quiet and hold still...!"
Anxiety flickered in his eyes.
His boys weren't overreacting.
Even he had nearly lost it and screamed along with the whistle.
Whoever it was, shaking souls with mere whistling was a massive red flag.
He cupped his fists politely toward the shadows all around.
"Unknown senior, we mean no offense. Do you have business with us?"
And as his words ended, the whistling stopped—as if by magic.