The Strongest Man in the Clan
Bang Yeo-baek—Escort Captain to the clan head, Dancheon Gang.
Half-blooded though he was, the blood of the Dancheon Clan ran in his veins. He was my father's cousin, which made him, I supposed, my uncle.
In a clan whose house law decreed succession by legitimate birth alone, there was a reason he still stood among the pillars of the family. It came down, one could say, to his exceptional eye and his bold decisiveness.
Roughly thirty years ago, at his first meeting with Dancheon Gang—then merely the third son of the clan—Bang Yeo-baek had said this:
"You will be the next clan head. Take me as your personal escort."
He had said it to a man who was not yet even the young patriarch.
Judging by the outcome, Bang Yeo-baek's eye had proven true. As if to certify it, Dancheon Gang overtook his elder brothers to become head of the clan, and Bang Yeo-baek rose alongside him to become its de facto second-in-command, enjoying the patriarch's deepest trust.
Nor was that eye and insight of his spent merely on taking the measure of men. Apart from Patriarch Dancheon Gang, he was the only soul ever to bring the clan's hereditary art, the Dancheon Sword Formula, to its full completion.
For the record, that fact was written nowhere but the Thousand Roster of Jianghu Figures, a text none could read without clearance of the Third Seal or higher. Bang Yeo-baek was not a man who revealed himself without cause.
If I had to guess, few even within the Dancheon Clan—Patriarch Dancheon Gang excepted—knew the man's true measure. I hadn't either, not before I made my name as a beggar.
"You were already out here."
"Of course I was."
He was always at my father's side, so our paths rarely crossed—yet there he stood on the clan's training grounds.
"So. You wish to learn martial arts from me?"
"Yes, Uncle."
"Hmm."
Bang Yeo-baek studied me the way one might study a strange animal.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
"You're someone I know, and yet you also seem like a stranger."
With that, he went on observing me for a long while.
"Well, I suppose boys your age do shoot up overnight."
Having settled on that conclusion, his expression eased considerably.
"Mind if I ask you something?"
"Ask me anything you like."
"Why me?"
"Pardon?"
"Why, of all people, did you ask me to train you?"
Because getting close to you would help me become the young patriarch of the Dancheon Clan. That, of course, was not an answer I could give.
When my answer hung in the air a moment too long, Bang Yeo-baek spoke again.
"There are the clan elders, aren't there? Young Master Hak studies under First Elder, if I'm not mistaken."
He was right. The council of elders was one of the three pillars of the Dancheon Clan, and direct descendants usually trained under one of its members before assuming the mantle of young patriarch.
Under ordinary circumstances, I would have done the same. If only the elders hadn't been my brother Dancheon Hak's most devoted backers.
Playing the innocent, as though utterly ignorant of clan politics, I answered with a guileless face.
"You seem like the strongest, Uncle."
"What?"
An escort captain stronger than the elders. Depending on the circumstances, those were dangerous words—I knew it. All the more so for anyone who understood the clan's current politics.
But I voiced it freely, as if it were nothing more than a child's shallow reasoning. After all, no one else was here but the two of us.
"And if I'm going to learn anyway, I'd rather learn from the strongest there is."
As I nodded along to my own words, Bang Yeo-baek gazed at me once more, long and quiet.
"Well, fine. This sounds like it might be fun."
"Thank you."
His approval was granted. Contrary to my father's worries, things seemed to be resolving themselves with ease, and my spirits lifted.
"Young Master Myeong, you've reached the First-Class Realm by now, haven't you?"
"Yes."
"Then we shall do this. Block three of my moves, and I will teach you personally."
The instant the words left his mouth—
"…!"
Bang Yeo-baek vanished from my sight. It happened in the space of a heartbeat.
A chill shot down my spine. At the nape of my neck, I felt the keen killing aura of a blade.
"Young Master Myeong, you just died once. Couldn't even block my first move."
"So it seems."
"We'll stop here for today."
With that, he turned away without a shred of regret.
"…."
Hm. This would not be easy.
Martial training is, in the end, a solitary pursuit.
I would not deny the importance of instruction on the road to mastery—but only one's own honing opens the way to higher realms. Learning the essentials of a horizontal slash takes no more than a single night; fusing that slash wholly into one's own body, however, could take a lifetime. That is what the martial path truly is.
And yet a teacher matters, for a good one cuts down trial and error and sets you right when you stray onto the wrong road.
Well aware of that truth, I did not leave the training grounds Bang Yeo-baek had vanished from. I took up my sword instead.
Whoosh!
I swung through the first half of the Dancheon Sword Formula, the portion I was learning now—and swung it again.
Slash!
In my mind's eye I conjured phantom foes and cut them down without end.
Perhaps because I had entered the first stage of the Heart Decision, my swordplay now pleased me more than it had even at my peak in my days as a beggar. Myeonmyeon bujeol—the ceaseless, unbroken flow that was the very essence of the Wudang sword—blossomed at my fingertips, riding the forms of the Dancheon Sword Formula.
In my life as a beggar, I had entered the Peak Realm. That was why I could be certain.
Peak is not far off.
I would step into that realm five years ahead of schedule. It was a road I had walked once before, and the completion of the first stage of the Yakseon Heart Decision had struck the grueling hours of training from the journey.
Feeling out my own movements, I refined the first half of the Dancheon Sword Formula, which I had unfolded countless times before.
"Hah."
Only after a good two hours of swinging did I lower my blade. Then I glanced around the training grounds, empty and still.
I suspected that Bang Yeo-baek, though long departed, was still watching me from somewhere, his presence concealed. So I spoke to him in my heart.
Three days later, Yang Su-rin came to see me.
"It's been a while."
"It has."
When I returned to my quarters after my "training" with Bang Yeo-baek at the grounds, I found her waiting for me.
Calling it training with Bang Yeo-baek might be a stretch, mind you. Once again I had failed to block even his first move, and I had come back from an afternoon of drilling the first half of the Dancheon Sword Formula alone.
That was because the man called an escort captain moved more fleetingly than an assassin's killing strike.
"What brings you here?"
Having asked out of courtesy, I shrugged off my sweat-soaked training top without ceremony.
At my casual manner, Yang Su-rin's eyes widened briefly in surprise, but she soon composed herself.
I knelt to wash my back the way I always did alone, bracing my left hand on the ground and gripping the water ladle in my right.
Before I knew it, Yang Su-rin had come up beside me and taken the ladle from my hand.
"Didn't I tell you before? I came to spend time with you."
Splash.
She poured the water over my back.
A back-wash I had always done alone. With someone pouring water over my back, it was more comfortable than words could say.
"Thank you."
"Don't mention it."
Toweled off and changed into fresh clothes, I sat down across from her.
Like someone well accustomed to waiting, she had waited for me in silence the whole while. So she was the kind of person who could do this, too, I thought.
I met Yang Su-rin's eyes.
"I am the Dancheon clan head's bastard son."
"I know."
She answered without a beat of hesitation, and a wry laugh slipped out of me.
"What's so funny?"
"Nothing. The old days just crossed my mind."
I let the memory of a past that no longer mattered drift on by.
"Well. As you already know, my lady, I am the Dancheon patriarch's bastard. The woman who is my mother now is not my birth mother."
"What of it?"
"It means that for the second daughter of the Yang Family Hall, my status is hardly a suitable one to be weighing an engagement against."
She mulled it over briefly, then spoke.
"I'm a merchant."
"I know."
Everyone born and raised in the Yang Family Hall grows into a merchant, and among them all, Yang Su-rin had been a crane among chickens, beyond comparison.
"A merchant isn't simply someone who buys and sells goods. A merchant's true nature is one who grasps the value of a thing—and decides it."
"Then in your eyes, what is my worth?"
"You appear to be someone worth investing in."
"I see."
From a bastard who would never have dared dream of a betrothal, elevated to a man worth investing in. Regression truly did have its perks.
Still, I couldn't afford to while away the hours in such cozy harmony with her.
"Do you, by any chance, need money?"
"The more money, the better."
She laughed, as if taking my words for a joke.
"Right. You'd need money for the succession struggle within the Yang Family Hall."
Before her expression could shift, I hurried on.
"So—how much did my mother promise you?"
By the time my words ended, her face had hardened into stone.
"Five thousand taels of gold, was it?"
"…!"
And at that final remark, her composure finally cracked.
"How much do you know?" she asked, her face dark as a storm cloud. I had named an exact figure—five thousand taels of gold—so she had realized I knew the whole story from beginning to end.
"No—how did you find out?"
I gave no answer, only flashed her a grin. A sly dodge, I knew, would throw her into far greater confusion than any vague reply.
The more rattled she was, the wider the crack I could pry open.
Gnash.
I could hear Yang Su-rin grinding her teeth. She was likely concluding that the information had leaked from my mother, Baek Yeo-hae.
Now was my chance.
"About that money. I was thinking of making the investment in my mother's place."
"A merchant lives and dies by her credit, you know."
Unwilling, even now, to lose ground to me, she swiftly fitted her mask of a smile back into place and countered.
"What if I invested double?"
Her mask wavered once more.
Double would be ten thousand taels of gold. Enough to found an entirely new trading company.
But I knew the Yang Su-rin I remembered. Rather than build a new company and carve out fresh markets with that money, she would use it to become the heir and claim the Yang Family Hall for herself. That was simply who she was.
In any case, what mattered was this: the sum I had named was far too large to refuse with talk of credit.
"Then shall I hear these conditions of yours?"
Like the seasoned merchant she was, she scrutinized the bait closely—trap, or opportunity? From my standpoint, exactly the attitude I had hoped for.
"All you need do is grant me a single favor, somewhere down the road."
Yang Su-rin shook her head.
"Merchants don't enter uncertain contracts. How am I to know what favor you'll ask of me later?"
Cruel she may have been to me, but she had been a true merchant—that much I could see.
"Then what if we add a clause: you may refuse any favor that you judge, in good conscience, one you cannot grant?"
Yang Su-rin nodded before she could stop herself. For conditions attached to an investment of ten thousand taels, the offer was absurdly attractive.
"You do understand that if my plan fails, you won't recover a single coin of your ten thousand taels?"
"You will succeed."
In my past life, she had claimed the succession of the Yang Family Hall with a mere five thousand taels of gold. Now she would have ten thousand, two years ahead of schedule. I could be certain she would become the next head of the Yang Family Hall.
Perhaps my words had sounded like a well-wish, for she studied me with an inscrutable look.
"So—will you do it?"
After a moment's deliberation, she answered.
"Where is the money right now?"
"I don't have it at the moment."
At my unabashed reply, her face crumpled on the spot.
A laugh escaped me before I knew it. In my past life, I had never known she was capable of such a range of expressions.
"But it will be soon."
Ten drops of Empty Blue Stone Milk slept in my waistband. In my life as a beggar, I had already worked out precisely how to turn that Empty Blue Stone Milk into money.
"Ten thousand taels of gold, delivered within seven days."
My certainty was no empty boast.