Three Pills and a Beggar's Bargain
“What, you rascal?”
Chwipung-gae, who had butted into the negotiation, glared up at Musan-gae with open displeasure.
“I said we should give Young Master Myeong three pills of the Chwigu-hwan.”
“This punk—”
Even under the Sect Leader's gavel, Chwipung-gae stood ramrod straight and pressed on. “I promised one pill of my own accord. Given the matter of sourcing the Chwigu-hwan's ingredients, giving two more is only right. Three pills in total, I say.”
“And that's why it's two, you old fool.”
“No. Three is correct.”
Crackle. The staring contest that sparked between the two didn't last long.
“Ggh. Fine. Have it your way.”
Musan-gae had taken a step back. The unexpected victor, it turned out, was Chwipung-gae.
“Three pills of the Chwigu-hwan it is.”
Musan-gae grumbled the words out to Dancheon Myeong.
“My thanks.”
The beggars had bickered it out among themselves, and the price had somehow become three pills of the Chwigu-hwan.
Hm.
Yeom Gi-ha's head was growing complicated. The situation was drifting away from what Singija had briefed him on.
In any case, a satisfied Chwipung-gae withdrew, and Musan-gae's negotiation resumed.
“And I'll grant him the rank of Honorary Dharma Beggar of the Beggars' Gang.”
“Oh?”
Dancheon Myeong visibly brightened at Musan-gae's words.
Yeom Gi-ha couldn't fathom why the man, who had stayed so composed even when offered authority rivaling a Hall Master of the Murim Alliance's Special Operations Unit, would light up at the mere title of Honorary Dharma Beggar.
“What rank would that be?”
Dancheon Myeong asked, a subtle expectation threading his voice.
“Guardian.”
“……!”
Yeom Gi-ha was the Supreme Alliance Leader of the Murim Alliance.
Naturally, he knew the hierarchy of the Beggars' Gang. He knew that Guardian corresponded to the Fourth Knot. He also knew that the Gang never bestowed three knots or higher upon anyone who was not a beggar—and so he understood exactly how extraordinary an honorary Dharma post equivalent to the Fourth Knot truly was.
What astonished him even more, of course, was that Singija had predicted even this. The deal had wobbled briefly thanks to Chwipung-gae, but Singija's abilities remained beyond reproach.
“Hold on, Sect Leader.”
And then—things turned strange again.
It happened when the quiet beggar of the Western Quarter, Uisaeng-gae, stepped forward.
“What's your problem now?”
“Young Master Myeong is the benefactor of the Beggars' Gang's sacred treasure, the Chwigu-hwan. His grace toward us is as vast as the sea. A mere Fourth Knot cannot repay what we owe him.”
“Then what?”
“It is only fitting that he be granted an honorary Dharma post equivalent to Fifth Knot Hall Master.”
Firmness had settled into the corners of Uisaeng-gae's mouth, gentle scholar though he seemed.
“You rascal, have you forgotten the rule that to tie a knot above Third you must be a true beggar?! A Fourth Knot is already generous enough!”
“You're wrong, Sect Leader. Young Master Myeong is plenty beggar-like.”
Was Dancheon Myeong beggar-like, or not?
With that utterly unclassifiable subject—praise or insult, no one could tell—Chwipung-gae joined in, and the beggars carried the debate onward.
It was a fierce, fascinating argument—fascinating enough that Yeom Gi-ha, who cared for nothing outside of martial arts, found his ears perking up.
When the debate concluded, the argument that Dancheon Myeong was indeed sufficiently beggar-like had prevailed.
He didn't know why, but that was the verdict nonetheless.
“Tsk.”
Musan-gae clicked his tongue.
“I'll grant him an honorary Dharma post equivalent to Fifth Knot Hall Master. Satisfied?”
So he said to Dancheon Myeong.
“Quite sufficient.”
A contented smile curled at the corners of Dancheon Myeong's mouth.
It meant the negotiation had been struck.
Yeom Gi-ha didn't miss the sight of a satisfied Uisaeng-gae grinning and thrusting a thumb up at Dancheon Myeong from his belt.
Before long, every gaze in the room turned to Yeom Gi-ha.
Hm. My turn, is it?
Because now it was indeed his turn.
-Young Master Myeong is brilliant. He will hand over every elixir except the Chwigu-hwan ingredients to the Murim Alliance. There is no reason for him to be greedy.
-Eh?
-That is how it will go. Trust my word and memorize it.
“I hereby transfer all rights to the remaining elixirs to the Murim Alliance.”
“……!”
He was more stunned than when he'd been ambushed by a supreme master. At this point, Singija was downright terrifying.
“And what will the Alliance give in return?”
Musan-gae asked, as if he were Dancheon Myeong's official spokesman.
Hm?
Only when he caught the sly smile playing on Musan-gae's face did Yeom Gi-ha understand.
Musan-gae was provoking him.
'We gave three pills of the Chwigu-hwan and an honorary Fifth Knot post. What can you offer, brainbox?'
Musan-gae's eyes were saying exactly that.
-What do we offer? First right of selection among three top-grade elixirs, and one-tenth of the elixirs' assessed value. Do not forget it. I set these terms at the absolute maximum out of consideration for Young Master Myeong. Anything more is impossible—the Alliance's finances would collapse.
Singija had drilled it into him so relentlessly that he had memorized every word.
But then again.
“I'll offer half of the assessed value.”
Yeom Gi-ha, the Tyrant Emperor.
Because he was a man whose nature could not tolerate being beneath anyone.
It felt as though Singija's wail was echoing faintly in his ears.
Hm.
For a moment, he even wondered if that wail might one day become his own, once he returned to the Murim Alliance.
To a master, elixirs are nothing more than a wondrous tonic for replenishing qi.
To martial artists below First Rank, elixirs are a miraculous medicine that deepens internal energy.
To supreme masters at Peak Realm and beyond, elixirs are a fateful opportunity—a helper to tear down the wall of their realm.
And to martial artists knocking on the wall of the Harmony Realm, an elixir can be a heavenly treasure—the seed from which their spirit blossoms.
The value of an elixir changes with the one who consumes it. One might call it inherently volatile.
Which raises a question: how should the value of an elixir be measured?
That is the martial artist's view.
But from a merchant's standpoint, it is no difficult problem to solve.
At least in trade, one need only set the price based on the maximum utility the item possesses.
Then how does one set a price based on maximum utility?
How does one convert utility into price in the first place?
The great merchants of the Central Plains solved this problem rationally.
They succeeded in quantifying the utility of elixirs through a discipline called mathematics.
I don't know the exact mechanics.
My appetite for study was short, and so I never had any dealings with that forbidding field called mathematics.
In any case, the compendium that gathered the mathematically quantified values of elixirs is the Grand Compendium of Elixir Valuations.
It is a rare book kept on hand by every great merchant house and sect that deals in elixirs.
For reference, when I first met Yeo Wol, the Matriarch of Haomun, the price we set for the Empty Blue Stone Milk—one hundred thousand gold nyang—was also calculated on the basis of this compendium.
What deserves special note is that the ones who produced and published this compendium were the great merchants themselves.
They measured and derived the true value of each elixir, then added a variety of correction formulas.
The elixir's own rarity, the chronic gulf between demand and supply, the difficulty of harvesting elixirs, the dangers faced by the merchant houses that handle and trade them, rates of loss—by all accounts, these were all folded into the formulas.
Thus the trading price of an elixir is conventionally set at ten times its assessed value.
In other words, one-tenth of the assessed price is the elixir's true worth.
“Half of the assessed value!”
Alliance Leader Yeom Gi-ha's booming declaration rang in my ears.
It wasn't even that loud a voice, yet his words reverberated through the space, leaving a deep aftertone.
It wasn't because Hwanragwon lay deep in secluded mountains and his voice echoed—it was because the content itself was profoundly shocking.
“Have you finally lost your mind?”
Musan-gae asked, his mouth hanging wide open.
“I haven't.”
“You're going to eat the Murim Alliance alive, you are.”
“…….”
Yeom Gi-ha answered with his chin high, but he had no rebuttal to what followed.
He had shattered an old beggar's composure, after all. Perhaps Tyrant Emperor really was the only fitting title for him.
“Our Alliance Leader appears to be out of his senses.”
“I suppose I ought to examine him.”
Chwipung-gae and Uisaeng-gae, who could hardly bring themselves to denounce their leader to his face the way Musan-gae had, were whispering between themselves.
I heard every word, of course.
Alliance Leader Yeom Gi-ha was by nature a free spirit who cared nothing for others' opinions—but he was no fool who couldn't read a room.
Perhaps the only person he trusted in that moment was me, because the Alliance Leader strode right up and whispered in my ear.
“Wasn't this it?”
“You overshot a little.”
At my answer, the Alliance Leader put distance between us again.
“Ahem. A slip of the tongue. How does one-tenth sound?”
The three beggars apparently considered that figure reasonable, for they nodded quietly.
But in my view, even that was too much.
“Let's make it one-tenth.”
That much would be best.
Partly because I had no wish to earn Singija's hatred—and partly because even one-tenth alone would be enough to lift the Dancheon Clan past the Yang family and make it the wealthiest house in all of Anhui. Even split down the middle with Chun-baek.
“Oh.”
At my answer, the Alliance Leader's face brightened. From his expression, I could be certain that Singija's proposed line had been one-tenth. In truth, even one-tenth was Singija extending me enormous goodwill.
“If that's what you want, Myeong, then so be it.”
“In exchange for one-tenth, the three top-grade elixirs will go to me and Chun-baek.”
“Ah. Right, that was in there, wasn't it. Very well.”
“My thanks.”
It had been a negotiation with the guest and host thoroughly reversed, but in any case, the deal was safely concluded.
“Tsk tsk.”
Musan-gae rolled his eyes silently and clicked his tongue.
“Hm.”
The embarrassed Alliance Leader cleared his throat and gazed off at a distant mountain.
“Aigoo.”
From far away, Paeng Ga-heon, the Shanxi Branch Chief, was shaking his head slowly.
In truth, it might look strange.
Chun-baek and I were the ones who discovered Hwanragwon, yet here I was, handing over every right to the Murim Alliance of my own accord.
But this was the result of very sound deliberation.
It isn't hard to predict what would happen if the Dancheon Clan swallowed Hwanragwon's elixirs whole.
The Jianghu of Murim is a place where masters of stealth run rampant.
Countless people have mastered the elusive Jade-Crushing Divine Palm, and martial artists and bandits who have mastered concealment arts boasting even greater stealth than that overflow the world.
The Dancheon Clan would no doubt have to struggle desperately against thieves of every conceivable kind.
After all, the discovery of Hwanragwon could not be kept secret forever.
In the Jianghu of Murim, where stealing gold is rare but stealing elixirs is commonplace, that outcome was all but certain.
The Dancheon Sword Clan is a venerable great family of Anhui, but it lacks the strength to guard Hwanragwon's treasures intact.
In truth, I don't think it's the Dancheon Clan that falls short—even the Nine Sects placed there would fare no better.
I know that in the Murim of today, the only powers capable of protecting Hwanragwon's wealth intact are the Murim Alliance and the Shadow Alliance.
Political problems would arise as well.
The Five Great Clans would begin to check the Dancheon Clan.
The Nine Sects would likewise fix their gaze upon us.
And factions of the Shadow Alliance or the Demonic Cult, dreaming of a great leap forward, might well risk everything to invade the Dancheon Clan.
They say: drive the nail into a square stone. There would be no good in deliberately rolling about like an angular rock, begging to be hammered.
In truth, even those two prospects are the optimistic scenarios.
Because both assume the Dancheon Clan hoarding Hwanragwon's elixirs alone.
If, right now, without the aid of the Beggars' Gang and the Murim Alliance, these treasures of Hwanragwon became the spark of a blood calamity, the odds are high they would drown Shanxi in a pit of blood.
From a pit of blood, Hwanragwon's treasures would never reach Anhui.
Without borrowing the Beggars' Gang's power, I lack the capacity to outrun the Jianghu's rumor mill—faster even than a supreme master's Jade-Crushing Divine Palm.
The long history of the Jianghu of Murim has proven this fact in blood, so there is no mistaking it.
In truth, it would be more accurate to say I am borrowing the strength of the fence called the Murim Alliance even now.
That is why Singija's decision—one-tenth of the assessed value, paying the elixirs' true worth in full—strikes me as an act of goodwill.
“Shall we have the payment sent to the clan?”
“Please do.”
I could not take everything Hwanragwon had to offer, but I have no regrets.
I obtained the Chwigu-hwan.
And no less important is this: the Dancheon Myeong of the past, who had barely escaped being the ultimate unfilial son, no longer exists. That is a great achievement in itself.
One-tenth of the assessed value.
Even split with Chun-baek, that's five parts in ten for me.
Considering the value of the three hundred varieties of elixirs piled up in this Hwanragwon, it is, quite literally, an astronomical sum.
I have become Dancheon Myeong, the ultimate filial son who set the Dancheon Clan upon solid rock. And that means I can now return to the Dancheon Clan with my head held high. That is what matters.