Chapter 80
Chapter 80
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 80
Chapter Title: Chongqing
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At first, the onlookers and drunkards offered a couple of silver taels each to claim the carvings, but as time wore on, merchants started to gather.
When the merchants showed up, Dang Mujin inwardly viewed them with some displeasure. He figured that as proper merchants, they would surely haggle down the prices.
However, the merchants of Wuchang were different from the small-time peddlers who roamed the villages with packs on their backs.
They had wide-reaching connections and the confidence to sell goods at high prices, so they knew securing the items even at elevated costs was the top priority.
They even took the initiative to run an auction without Dang Mujin needing to steer things.
In fact, they did not price the finished products by individual count, like the ordinary onlookers had.
"Half a double-hour for twenty silver taels."
"Twenty-five."
"Thirty. Going once?"
The merchants quickly grasped that Dang Mujin's time was the unit of trade.
The bidding climbed steadily until it capped at eighty silver taels per double-hour, allowing Dang Mujin to pocket more than two gold taels in profit overnight, even after subtracting the boat fare.
*
Dang Mujin and Nangong Ming headed to the docks without having slept a wink.
There were no boats departing late evening or at night, so nearly all the vessels from the previous evening were still moored there.
Dang Mujin approached the boat he had scouted yesterday. With departure imminent, no merchants were loading cargo—only a few passengers were boarding.
A familiar sailor spotted Dang Mujin and Nangong Ming and greeted them.
"I'm telling you upfront: no haggling on the fare."
"No intention of trying."
Dang Mujin handed over a small pouch. The sailor opened it, counted the silver. Exactly eighty taels.
"What gives? Yesterday you said you were short on cash."
"Cash is something you earn, isn't it?"
"If it were just a tael or two short, sure. But it seemed like more than that."
"There's always a way."
The sailor eyed Dang Mujin curiously, wondering how he had made the money.
"Mind sharing that 'way' with me sometime?"
"I could tell you. It's just not something anyone could pull off."
"Who said anything about copying it? I'm just curious—so fill me in later."
"Sure thing. We've got plenty of time anyway."
The sailor grinned, let Dang Mujin and Nangong Ming pass, then pulled up the plank connecting the riverbank to the boat.
*
Life aboard was comfortable.
Days were spent chatting idly with fellow passengers, nights practicing basic martial arts away from prying eyes. That was the routine.
The first time he'd boarded a boat, Dang Mujin had squirmed from boredom, but now he and Nangong Ming passed the time leisurely. Both had endured grueling, hectic months lately.
Some days later, in the afternoon as the boat arrived in Chongqing, Nangong Ming—who had been leaning against the bow, staring blankly—suddenly straightened up.
"What's that boat?"
Dang Mujin looked ahead as well. A small vessel carrying five men crept up from the riverbank, blocking the path of their boat.
Dang Mujin turned to glance at the departure point on the shore.
It was a familiar spot. The Upper River Stronghold he and Hong Geolgae had raided and toppled last year.
"Bandits."
"For bandits, they're approaching rather tamely."
"If we don't hand over the cash willingly, they'll get a lot rougher."
Over the course of traveling together by boat, the formalities had vanished from Dang Mujin and Nangong Ming's conversations.
They were men of similar ages despite different backgrounds, so it was only natural.
At that moment, the captain emerged at the bow and tossed a pouch toward the small boat.
The bandits aboard opened it and checked the contents. Amid the white silver coins gleamed hints of yellow gold. Deeming the amount satisfactory, they turned their boat without a word and headed back to shore.
'I thought making money was easy, but these guys have it even better.'
Dang Mujin casually asked a nearby sailor.
"What's the name of that bandit crew?"
"Those guys? Upper River Stronghold, since they hold the upper Yangtze."
Dang Mujin's eyebrow twitched.
The leader was dead, yet they hadn't even changed the name.
Pretending ignorance, Dang Mujin remarked.
"I heard the Upper River Stronghold leader died last year, and his bandit underlings scattered to the winds."
"Oh, right. Last summer sometime? But they popped right back up."
"Popped back up?"
"Yeah, around autumn, I think. Still, our boss was pretty pleased to save a round-trip toll that one time. The merchants who passed through then must've made a tidy profit too."
Dang Mujin felt a bit deflated. Risking his life last summer to sever the old stronghold leader's head—had it all been for nothing?
'No. I saved those kids, so it wasn't meaningless.'
Staring at the Upper River Stronghold with lingering unease, Dang Mujin finally turned away.
The boat pressed on for another double-hour or so before dropping anchor in Chongqing at dusk.
*
Chongqing's evening scene hadn't changed much from last summer.
Along the riverbank overlooking the Yangtze stood winehouses run by Beggars' Sect disciples, while lower down the shore, non-sect beggars loitered. Ordinary Chongqing folk drifted somewhere between the winehouses and the river.
Dang Mujin paid the scenery no mind, but Nangong Ming's gaze fixed on the row of winehouses.
Two- or three-story buildings hung with vibrant lanterns, drawing in customers. He might have looked away under normal circumstances, but tonight Nangong Ming's eyes lingered on the winehouse alley.
Dang Mujin recalled their first meeting.
The sparring match and sword theft had left strong impressions, but otherwise, Nangong Ming struck him as a young martial artist who appreciated the finer things.
Dang Mujin had caught him several times late at night, sipping mysteriously procured liquor at the boat's stern.
He asked.
"Now that I think about it, it's been ages since you've hit a winehouse instead of just an inn, right?"
"Yeah, it has."
"We've got plenty of cash now, so how about a winehouse tonight?"
"Nah, it's fine. No need to waste money."
Such words from Nangong Ming's mouth. The man was truly shaping up.
Yet his gaze drifted from the winehouses only to soon wander back, staring vacantly at the alley. He still harbored some longing.
Dang Mujin wasn't particularly fond of winehouses himself, but Chongqing's were different. They held various ties and memories.
"No need to worry about money. There are a few places that will treat us for free, so let's do winehouse dinner tonight. We'll be rushing tomorrow anyway."
Nangong Ming blinked, as if hearing something absurd.
"Free treatment at a winehouse?"
"Yeah."
"Does that even make sense...?"
Dang Mujin chuckled.
"You think I'd lie? Come on, follow me."
Dang Mujin led Nangong Ming into the winehouse alley.
The air buzzed with languid string music and the excited murmur of revelers. Just like when he'd come with Hong Geolgae.
A few touts pulling in customers at the winehouse fronts spotted Dang Mujin and dashed inside like arrows.
When they reemerged, they were accompanied by sharply dressed madams.
The madams strode right up to Dang Mujin.
"Long time no see, Young Master Dang. Songhua Tower would like to host you for dinner tonight, if that's alright..."
"Young Master Dang, you promised to visit Qingyue Tower last time. Don't tell me you've forgotten—right this way, please."
From subtle coaxing to outright grabbing sleeves.
Madams he would never cross paths with ordinarily swarmed out, clamoring to whisk him away.
Dang Mujin waved them off lightly.
"I've got a place in mind right now. Next time an opportunity arises, I'll definitely visit."
Dang Mujin guided Nangong Ming to the most familiar spot, Dengshan Tower.
Nangong Ming looked utterly baffled, struggling to comprehend the situation. He had enjoyed fine treatment back home, but nothing like this.
"What the heck? What's going on?"
"Last summer in Chongqing, I partied pretty lavishly."
"Lavishly?"
Entering Dengshan Tower, Dang Mujin pointed to the Thousand-Armed Guanyin carved into the first-floor wall.
"I carved that in exchange for one night's drinks."
"Whoa..."
Even to Nangong Ming's eyes, it was an exquisitely detailed Thousand-Armed Guanyin.
Commissioning such work from an artisan would cost more than a few gold taels, and require months out of business. Eyes would roll at paying that for a single night's booze.
Then, the Dengshan Tower madam appeared, bowing slightly with cupped fists.
"Welcome back after so long. Shall I show you to the third floor? Or the first?"
Somehow, Dengshan Tower now had prime seating on the first floor too, but typically the upper floors were preferred.
"First floor's crowded, so I'd like to go up. That alright?"
"Of course. I'll send up your favorite dishes and liquor from before."
As Dang Mujin headed upstairs with gusto, the madam asked again.
"Oh, right—there's someone who's wanted to meet you for ages, Young Master Dang. Mind if we seat them with you?"
"Who might that be?"
"I can't say. But if it would inconvenience you, I won't contact them."
Dang Mujin pondered briefly.
Among his Chongqing acquaintances, was there anyone with bad blood?
People from the winehouse alley, blacksmiths in the city, even the beggars under that bridge. Not one bore him ill will.
Well, there was one grudge from Chongqing. The Upper River Stronghold leader. But Dang Mujin had personally lopped off his head, so no concern there.
"I'm fine with it."
"Understood. Lan'er, guide these two gentlemen upstairs."
A courtesan led Dang Mujin and Nangong Ming to the third floor.
At the far end, isolated from outside with a prime view of the Yangtze—a room that was surely Dengshan Tower's best seat.
The courtesan finished guiding them and backed away bowing.
They had barely settled when liquor and dishes began filling the table.
"We'll prepare your main courses while you enjoy these light bites."
Judging by the speed, they were redirecting other patrons' orders to Dang Mujin and Nangong Ming.
Nangong Ming, experiencing such hospitality for the first time, gaped wide-eyed. Seeing it, Dang Mujin's shoulders puffed up with pride.
"Be honest. You stashed money here before, didn't you?"
"Told you, nothing like that."
"Not satisfied with just the Thousand-Armed Guanyin, so you're planning to carve the outer wall too for tonight's bill? Something like the Three Buddhas of the Past or the Seven Buddhas of Antiquity."
"You might be secretly hoping for it."
Dang Mujin and Nangong Ming chuckled as they dug in. The food and drink were flawless.
Soon after, footsteps approached from outside.
"Looks like the one they mentioned is here."
The door slid open, and a burly man entered. Rough features, fierce glaring eyes.
He appeared well-versed in martial arts. The issue was that Dang Mujin had no memory of him.
"Are you Young Master Dang?"
"That's me. And you are?"
"I'm the Upper River Stronghold leader. The current one."
Dang Mujin rolled his eyes in disbelief.
The Upper River Stronghold leader was an utterly unexpected guest, and his purpose unclear.
Had he come to thank Dang Mujin for taking out the previous leader, paving his way to the top? Or for revenge?
Dang Mujin wasn't overly worried. Even if a fight broke out, he figured he could handle it.
But the leader showed no intent to fight, stepping out to fetch three chairs.
The room had five chairs total. He sat in the left corner one, leaving two empty.
"Who else is coming?"
"Indeed."
"Who the heck...?"
"One has arrived."
The door opened again, revealing an old man.
His face flushed beet-red, long beard trailing, clad in fine robes.
Appearance mattered little. His martial prowess loomed far larger.
The old man was a supreme expert who had surpassed the Absolute Realm.
"May I ask who you might be, elder?"
"Me? Folks call me the Red-Faced Old Beggar."
Red-Faced Old Beggar. A name Dang Mujin had heard somewhere before.
Racking his brain, he recalled where: the Beggars' Sect Central Region Deputy Branch Leader, Red-Faced Old Beggar—the man who had ousted Hong Geolgae's father to claim the post.
Only then did Dang Mujin notice the hemp rope at the old man's waist. Five knots.
His mind reeled. How could a righteous sect warrior like the Red-Faced Old Beggar be with a black path bandit like the Upper River Stronghold leader?
His thoughts veered to dark places. Had the bad blood between Red-Faced Old Beggar and Hong Geolgae spilled over to him?
Even more ominous: one seat remained empty.
Worse, it was the head seat. The leader had taken the left chair, Red-Faced Old Beggar the right.
As Dang Mujin twitched, wondering if he should bolt, the Red-Faced Old Beggar muttered.
"He's here."
Red-Faced Old Beggar and the leader rose, facing the door.
An immense presence emanated from beyond.
The door slid open, and a girl who looked about thirteen appeared.
Pale skin, youthful pretty face. But her hair was stark white like an old woman's—strikingly mismatched yet eerily fitting.
Dang Mujin and Nangong Ming had both sensed something similar before.
It resembled Nangong Jincheon's presence. The hallmark aura of a transcendent expert beyond the Absolute Realm.
Their knees trembled.
The girl took the head seat casually and asked.
"You're the Dang Clan punk who lopped off the previous Upper River Stronghold leader's head?"