A Wounded Beast Is Still a Beast
There are many ways to solve the problem before you, but seen from afar, they all converge in the end upon two roads.
The first is to crush the problem itself under overwhelming force. Those who favor this way break whatever obstacle stands before them and shatter whoever dares block their path. It is the way preferred by men of the Sovereign of Destruction's temperament — Yeom Gi-ha, that is. In the Jianghu, overwhelming force is a shortcut to having every door swing open, so for an extraordinary figure like Yeom Gi-ha, it might even be called an excellent tool. Then again, since men of middling strength also insist on solving everything by brute power alone, I can hardly deny that this is why the Jianghu knows such endless strife.
The second is to solve problems through stratagem or negotiation. Those who favor this way seek to detour around the problem itself by outlandish means, or to win the other party over until the problem simply ceases to exist. It is the way preferred by men like Singija. As an aside, those who prefer stratagem and dialogue tend to pass judgment on men like Yeom Gi-ha — who would settle everything with force — calling them ignorant, eccentric, dim-witted, insufferably arrogant, and beyond all salvation.
That Singija is never quite satisfied with Yeom Gi-ha, that he frets over him like a parent who has left a child playing at the water's edge — the psychology beneath it all must be exactly this. And the reason I can read Singija's heart so well is no mystery. It is simply that this famous beggar's own way of solving problems has always resembled what one might call the Singija way. That's right — hearts speaking to hearts without a word. Beggars, as a rule, have seldom had much schooling, and so they tended to reach for force to solve their problems; I suspect the feeling with which I watched them was not so very different from the feeling with which Singija watches Yeom Gi-ha.
In any case... Ma Sok and I now faced a great problem. Which is to say, we stood at a fork in the road: stratagem or force.
"How is your body holding up?"
"Quite well, thanks to you."
Ma Sok answered firmly, but I gave a small shake of my head.
"It was only a stopgap."
I was no physician. With the aid of the Stability Incense, my Vein-Tracing Blood Harmony had indeed calmed the qi and blood that had derailed through Ma Sok's body — but a full cure was another matter entirely. In truth, I knew that restoring a martial artist who had brushed the very brink of qi deviation in a matter of days was beyond the reach of most physicians. Only a Divine Physician could manage such a thing, and I was no Divine Physician. I was not even an ordinary one.
The fortunate part, though...
"Since you have taken the Stability Incense, there is no need to go looking for a physician. Three days or so, and you will be yourself again."
So Ma Sok had taken the Stability Incense. Having consumed one of the Jianghu's mysteries, he would fare better than under any ordinary physician's care. Perhaps because I knew the name of the Stability Incense, a flicker of astonishment crossed Ma Sok's gaze as he looked at me.
But his face soon darkened again.
"But..."
"But you cannot afford to, I know."
Ma Sok had begun to speak, and I cut him off. How could I not know that Ma Sok was hardly a man who could spend three days nursing his own body while Yeo Wol sat in the hands of her abductors?
"Where am I to go? Lead the way."
There was no time to waste. It would be driving Ma Sok hard — and yet I knew this was, if anything, the road that served him best. It was for Yeo Wol, too, who was surely enduring torments of her own somewhere at that very moment.
"...Thank you."
"Let us go."
"Yes."
As I said before, I do not care to solve problems with force. But I also know that some problems must be solved by force. I had built up strength enough by now, so this too was a perfectly serviceable tool for the job. And so, this time, I chose force. Perhaps the road I had walked at the Sovereign of Destruction's side had left its mark on my temperament. Besides, I had my own reason to move quickly.
While performing the Vein-Tracing Blood Harmony on Ma Sok, I had found a most unsettling sign. It was still only a suspicion, without clear proof, and so I had said nothing to him — but it was an instinct bordering on conviction. In Ma Sok's blood vessels, I had caught — or so I believed — the lingering scent of demonic qi. If my guess was right, then the unidentified vicious beast Ma Sok had spoken of was tied by a thread to the Eunyeong, the Heavenly Demon Cult's hidden hand.
Whether one solves a problem with force or with stratagem and words, what matters is that the thinking behind it remain rational and cold. I know that when solving a problem, inflamed emotion is the first spark of things going wrong. Even a man like Yeom Gi-ha, who at a glance seems a hot-blooded creature acting without weighing anything, moves — I know this — on thorough calculation.
— Kahaha! I am the Sovereign of Destruction, Yeom Gi-ha! I'll smash every last one of you to pieces!
Well — if that was not how it went, there was nothing to be done about it. In any case... the same held true now that I had resolved to settle this by force. It must be for the same reason the sages of old made such a point of the Middle Way. Cold thinking, properly speaking, ought to begin by assuming the worst.
"Is the Mistress still alive?"
This was the worst I could conceive of. In truth, it was also the most important question — for Ma Sok's answer would be the watershed that decided our every move from then on.
"Hmm..."
He had not expected me to put it so bluntly; Ma Sok's expression wavered for a moment.
"Answer as objectively as you can."
Abduction is no common practice in the Jianghu. I am told that in the barbaric age, before the Jianghu had taken on the framework of xia — of chivalry — the trade in human lives flourished, but that, too, was merely the culture of the common folk. In most cases, abduction is a crime committed for gain, and there are precious few ways to profit from stealing away a martial artist. Worse, Geom Bigak and Yeo Wol were rivals competing for the same successor's seat. Since killing a rival yields far more than kidnapping one, the possibility that Yeo Wol had already lost her life could not be ruled out.
"...She will be alive."
"Answer me with certainty."
"She is alive."
In truth, it was the answer I had expected. Had Ma Sok lacked the conviction that Yeo Wol lived, he would not have begged me for her rescue — he would have begged me to help him take revenge.
"Can you tell me the reason?"
"The law of Haomun says so. Geom Bigak is a greedy man; he will not be fool enough to break the law himself and have his own claim stripped away."
"Hmm?"
"The law of Haomun..."
Only after Ma Sok's detailed explanation did I come to know the law of Haomun's contest of succession — that the Young Sect Masters could not kill one another. This famous beggar was no omniscient being, after all; it was only natural. Even regressed as I was, how was I to have known the laws of Haomun's succession contest? In any case, once I had grasped the situation, my verdict was...
"Thank goodness."
That was it. And I meant every word. Partly because my friend Yeo Wol, the Mistress of Hwawollu, still lived — but more because it meant the road I was about to walk might not have to become the murderous rampage of an avenger.
Even so, a question followed.
"Then what is Geom Bigak's aim?"
"Hmm."
Only then did Ma Sok begin to turn it over. He had come running to me straight from a sudden ambush and an abduction, his qi and blood all but spent — I could guess he had not had the leisure for such thoughts.
"We can wait. Take your time and think it through."
I knew that sometimes moving slowly was the fastest way to solve a problem. Fixing a sure direction before setting out will bring you to your destination sooner than simply running.
After a moment's hard thought, Ma Sok reached his conclusion.
"Confinement."
A single word, and it carried the whole of the meaning. I agreed with his read. Perhaps, with the Mistress of Hwawollu's power growing strong, Geom Bigak had moved to put the brakes on her by abducting her and locking her away. And it struck me that this might even be the fruit of the Empty Blue Stone Milk I had passed to Yeo Wol, and of the fleeceflower grove I had told her about.
"And that does not violate the law?"
"No life was taken, so no."
Ma Sok's face darkened as he said it.
"What of asking the Matriarch of Haomun to arbitrate?"
"...Geom Bigak has broken the law nowhere, so that too would be impossible."
"Kidnapping and imprisonment — and you tell me that's nothing?"
"The law governs killing alone."
"Hmm."
Call it law, but in the end it was the measure of a sect's private code — a thing from which no compassion could be expected. But if the law was the problem, then surely the answer was to be found within that very law.
"Tell me — is there any law forbidding a third party from stepping in?"
At the realization of my intent, the rigid corners of Ma Sok's mouth loosened for the first time.
"There is not."
That was all I needed.
"Do you know where Geom Bigak's stronghold is?"
"He will not have left Anhui."
I nodded at his words.
"Grant me a moment, then."
"Yes."
With Ma Sok in tow, I set off for Brother Chun-baek. This was the hour for arrangements against every contingency, and there was no one more dependable than he.
"Brother Chun-baek, I need your help."
"Tell me, then."
I laid the plan out for him.
"Hmm... that won't be easy."
"I'm sorry, as ever."
"No need. I'll see it done, so trust me."
"Thank you."
As expected. Brother Chun-baek had never once betrayed my trust.
A walled compound on the far edge of the city proper, tucked into a corner so remote that the constables' protection might as well not have existed.
Thwack!
"Kgh."
Down he crumpled. A knife-hand strike had come flying out of the dark, and the gatekeeper dropped unconscious without ever grasping what had happened. It was stealth to rival a seasoned killer's — but we had no intention of moving in silence from here on.
BAM!
"Geom Bigak! Come out!"
As though to give voice to that very feeling, Ma Sok — the same man who had just knocked the gatekeeper senseless — kicked the entrance open and roared. He looked for all the world like a beast robbed of its cub.
CLANG!
"Who in the blazes is this?!"
"Does he have any idea where he is?!"
"The mad bastard!"
"We'll tear him limb from limb!"
Spitting vulgar threats, the menacing figures drew their weapons.
"Where is Geom Bigak?"
"What's he on about?"
"He's out of his mind."
"Shall we kill him?"
"Kahaha!"
As if all this were business as usual, the menacing figures gave Ma Sok no answer — only snickers. The killing intent steeped in that laughter laid bare the depth of the men's inner power.
"Looks like the only answer I'll get from you lot is a beating. So shut your mouths and come at me."
Unmoved by all that menace, Ma Sok curled his lips in a thin smile and spoke with cool disdain. Every face inside the compound was far from ordinary — all of them hard-featured to a man, a few with blade scars carved across their cheeks. But Ma Sok knew. The only thing out of the ordinary about them was their faces. For he knew every last one of them to be a wastrel prowling the border between third-rate and second-rate. To a master of Ma Sok's caliber, the gap was so remote that even working up a tension would have taken effort.
Fwish!
Ma Sok vaulted in among the wastrels in a single stride. Less than whole as he was, he remained a master past the threshold of the Harmony Realm. He was not a man to be routed by wastrels such as these. Wounded or no, a beast was still a beast. No — at times a wounded beast is the deadlier one, and it was high time someone taught them as much.
CRACK!
"Ugh!"
Crack—!
"Khegh!"
The relentless work of Ma Sok's hands, flattening wastrels one after another, proved the point.
"Kill him!"
"This bastard! How dare he!"
Even before Ma Sok's display, the wastrels charged without an ounce of fear. It was no courage of theirs — the gulf was simply so vast that they never sensed the solitary height of Ma Sok's skill. But it was recklessness...
Crack—!
"Kek!"
CRACK!
"Kraagh!"
And they collected the wages of that recklessness in full. It has long been the way of the Jianghu that what one does not know, one learns by taking the blows. For all that Ma Sok's hands looked brutal, they were not truly cruel — and so not a single wastrel lost his life. If anything, those wastrels may well have just met a stroke of heaven's own luck.