Chapter 82
Chapter 82
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 82
Chapter Title: Hometown
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"I really thought only Red-Faced Wild Dog was coming!"
The Dengseon Pavilion owner lowered his posture as if half-prostrating himself.
Even as he did, he anxiously scanned Dang Mujin's gaze with trembling eyes, clearly tensing up noticeably whenever Dang Mujin's eyes drifted toward the Thousand-Armed Guanyin.
It was as if he had noticed Dang Mujin contemplating polishing that wall until it gleamed.
"...,,,Could you possibly leave that one alone?"
Dang Mujin looked at the Dengseon Pavilion owner with an odd expression. It was strange to see the man, whose forehead might as well have borne the characters for "leisure," looking so desperate when he was always so calm.
In truth, Dang Mujin did not think the Dengseon Pavilion owner had set a trap. After all, he had not acted rashly but had left it to Dang Mujin to decide whether to summon the man.
'Still, annoying is annoying.'
Dang Mujin grabbed the Dengseon Pavilion owner and dragged him down the stairs, then shouted loudly toward the customers filling the first floor.
"Everyone. The Dengseon Pavilion owner says he won't charge for drinks today. Eat and drink your fill and go."
"Is that true?"
"Can't you see the Dengseon Pavilion owner right next to me?"
The Dengseon Pavilion owner flashed the most awkward smile in the world, and the drinkers, who belatedly confirmed his face, erupted in cheers.
It would be a big loss for the Dengseon Pavilion owner today, but he seemed relieved that it was ending at this.
The Dengseon Pavilion owner gestured to a waiter to close the shop door to keep new customers out, then followed Dang Mujin up to the third floor.
Dang Mujin, Namgung Myeong, and the Dengseon Pavilion owner sat facing each other across a table.
The conversation began with Dang Mujin's question.
"I heard the name Haomen came up. What kind of sect is that?"
"It's called Haomen, but it's hard to call it a sect. People don't gather there to learn martial arts or anything. Haomen Society or Haomen Alliance would be more accurate."
"Anyway, what do they do?"
"It's an organization that encompasses and looks after the lower strata of society... for example, waiters, ferrymen, coachmen, porters, courtesans, and the like."
"Looks after them?"
"Yes. They make money from passage fees at taverns and brothels, and use it to provide a leg up for the lowly. They lend a hand when strength is needed, too."
Lend strength, huh. Certainly, that white-haired woman—whether Haryeong or Immortal Huayeon—could smash one or two mid-tier sects single-handedly without issue.
Of course, with someone like that watching over things, no decent sect would take root in Zhongqing, where people and money flock.
But Dang Mujin had a small doubt.
Wasn't Zhongqing the kind of place where even beggars had to pay one silver tael as an entrance fee to be recognized as Beggars' Sect members? That clashed with the idea of helping the needy.
"Aren't beggars the lowest of the low in society? Why are the ones under the bridges the only ones left out?"
"Those under the bridges are people without the will to advance. Besides, Zhongqing is fairly prosperous, so the bridge-dwellers don't starve to death. The place and method differ, but they're staying where they want to be, too."
The Dengseon Pavilion owner continued.
"Of course, the beggars would like to live a bit more abundantly, but Lady Haryeong and Red-Faced Wild Dog prioritize those who strive to move forward."
He went on to tell of how a courtesan had once been abducted and raped by some martial artist, and Haomen had stepped in to punish the offender.
After such incidents repeated a few times, private molestations or rapes of courtesans in Zhongqing had sharply decreased.
Dang Mujin pondered as he listened to the Dengseon Pavilion owner's tale.
Hong Geolgae and Ma Jeon-gae came to mind—men who believed Beggars' Sect members should dress in rags and beg for meals to stay true to their roots.
Adhering to tradition and being content with one's lot. Valuing the drive to advance and actively aiding those in tough straits.
Dang Mujin did not know what was right. Jumping to conclusions would just be presumptuous meddling.
A sudden thought occurred to him.
'This might disappoint Hong Geolgae.'
Red-Faced Wild Dog had pushed aside Hong Geolgae's birth father to claim Zhongqing. Strictly speaking, he was Hong Geolgae's enemy.
Yet somehow, Dang Mujin had gotten acquainted with Red-Faced Wild Dog and built a slight connection through one degree of separation.
Dang Mujin hesitated briefly, then shook his head.
'Well, it's not a situation I could do anything about. I couldn't just storm out of there, and I'm not going to seek out Red-Faced Wild Dog now to fight a deathmatch in Hong Geolgae's stead.'
Dang Mujin decided to set aside such complicated thoughts and, though late, enjoy dinner again.
Dang Mujin and Namgung Myeong filled their bellies with the freshly served hot dishes and came down the stairs.
The drinkers, gearing up for an all-nighter, cheered toward Dang Mujin and Namgung Myeong, and Dang Mujin lightly waved back in response.
The next morning, the two left Zhongqing.
*
Dang Mujin and Namgung Myeong walked briskly. Unlike their journey so far, with no caravan or fellow passengers on a boat, they did not need to mind others.
They raced forward freely using lightness skills, then rested a bit, rose, and sparred lightly, repeating the cycle.
"Come on, land a hit this time."
Holding roughly trimmed tree branches, they emanated killing intent like those wielding real swords and unleashed their trained forms against each other.
But the result was always Dang Mujin's defeat. Namgung Myeong's swordsmanship was at least two or three levels above Dang Mujin's, leaving no way to counter it. The name of the Namgung family's eldest son carried real weight.
"I thought I'd win at least once."
Dang Mujin tossed aside his branch and sprawled on the ground, panting. A cool spring breeze blew, cooling the sweat on his skin.
"It's only been a year since you first learned the sword? I've been swinging one since childhood—losing already would be unfair."
"I suppose."
Could he gain the edge by using poison alongside his sword?
It seemed unlikely. Namgung Myeong's internal art, the Great Cyclic Divine Skill, allowed free manipulation of qi with fluid, ever-changing flows, so he could likely expel poison while still holding his own against Dang Mujin.
If he desperately wanted to win, avoiding direct sword clashes with Namgung Myeong would be wisest.
Like a Salmak assassin, keeping distance, hiding, using poison, and repeatedly hurling hidden weapons might offer a chance of victory.
After a long talk on martial arts, Dang Mujin asked Namgung Myeong,
"When do you plan to go home?"
"I haven't set a time. The question is when I'll become a son my father won't be ashamed of."
To Dang Mujin, Namgung Myeong already seemed worthy of Namgung Jincheon's recognition.
But Namgung Myeong's standards were higher than Dang Mujin's, and Dang Mujin was in no position to meddle by telling him to go home or not.
"What if it takes too long? Like five or ten years before you return."
"Well, that could happen."
"What if they think you're dead and pick someone else as the next heir?"
At Dang Mujin's jest, Namgung Myeong nodded lightly.
"That could happen."
"Huh?"
"Someone else could inherit the family head position."
"But you're the eldest son of the family."
"The head of the Namgung family goes to whoever is qualified—it's not passed strictly from father to son. My cousins have talent that doesn't fall short, and if need be, my uncle could take the position."
The Namgung family seemed even more ruthless than expected.
Yet oddly, Namgung Myeong did not seem particularly regretful as he spoke of it.
"Didn't you want to be the next family head?"
"Well, I coveted the position at first, but wandering the world after leaving home, it all feels so pointless now. Is the family head seat really that important?"
Namgung Myeong showed no lingering attachment to the seat, but he still seemed to crave his father's approval. What did his father mean to him, exactly?
With their destination right ahead and the conversation threatening to drag on,
Dang Mujin nudged Namgung Myeong to change the mood.
"Come on, time to get up. We're almost there."
Dang Mujin stood. A familiar landscape spread below the hill.
A year since leaving home. Dang Mujin had returned to Chengdu.
*
Travelers who have long wandered abroad often harbor an illusion. That upon returning home, people will swarm out, making a huge fuss to welcome them back—
But that's overly self-centered thinking. The world turns just fine without one person, and empty spots fill in over time.
That did not mean complete indifference, however.
As Dang Mujin and Namgung Myeong walked Chengdu's streets, a few familiar faces approached to chat.
"Hey, aren't you the son of the Dang Clinic? Heard you went off on some business."
"Ah, yes. That's right."
"What for? I think I heard, but can't remember well..."
"A physician from out of town was teaching medicine, so I followed him."
"Oh, that? Speaking of which, my eyes have been awfully cloudy lately—since you learned from a good doctor, can you fix that too?"
"Come to the clinic later. Not certain, but I can take a look."
"I went to the Dang Clinic last winter, but it didn't improve."
Someone who started talking about Dang Mujin but quickly shifted to his own ailment.
"Hey, who's that young man standing behind you?"
"His name's Myeong, a friend from Anhui."
"Anhui? You went that far to learn medicine?"
"Not to Anhui specifically for medicine—it just ended up that way."
"Bet you just got restless and wandered off. A doctor coming back with a sword looks pretty suspicious..."
Someone who loved nitpicking and lecturing.
"Brother Mujin, you went all the way to Henan?"
"What? How'd you know?"
"There's that sister from Henan! Where else besides? Shaanxi too?"
"Let me see. Through Zhongqing, Hubei, Anhui, Henan, Shanxi, Shaanxi, Gansu, and even to Qinghai."
"In a year?"
"Yeah."
"Brother Mujin, that's too much exaggeration."
A curious kid with a strangely prying vibe, among others. Chengdu was just as Dang Mujin remembered.
Soon, Master Seok's forge came into view.
Thinking he should greet Seok Jiseung later too, he meant to pass by, but just then, he locked eyes with Seok Jiseung emerging from the forge.
Seok Jiseung's eyes widened round, and he shouted toward the forge interior.
"He's here, he's here!"
The forge grew a bit noisy, and five men with faces smeared black with soot came rushing out.
"He's here?"
"Which of those two?"
"Bring both!"
Strangers suddenly surrounded Dang Mujin and Namgung Myeong.
Had there been hostility, he might have swung a sword, but their eyes brimmed not with enmity but with a strange eagerness.
Thoroughly flustered, Dang Mujin sought out Seok Jiseung.
"Brother Seok, Brother Seok! What's this all of a sudden?"
"They're the ones who came to learn from the master smith. Some left after waiting, but this many stuck around."
"Why are they looking for me?"
"Last autumn, Yellow Spirit Master took the dagger you made, and after that, word spread—smiths started showing up."
Yellow Spirit Master was the branch leader of the Qingcheng Chengdu Branch.
Like the Dang Clinic, Master Seok's forge survived by leaning on the Qingcheng Sect, so the dagger Dang Mujin left there must have caught Yellow Spirit Master's eye.
Dang Mujin naturally stepped with footwork to shake off the smiths as he spoke.
"I'll come back soon, so wait a few days. I just returned home after a year—can't get dragged straight to the forge to hammer iron without even going home first, right?"
One muttered softly, "Couldn't that be possible?" but the other smiths seemed adequately satisfied just with the firm promise.
On the way home again, Namgung Myeong chuckled beside him.
"You're popular in a different way than I imagined."
"Didn't expect this either. Anyway, this is the Dang Clinic."
Dang Mujin stood before the low fence surrounding the Dang Clinic.
He used to think it spacious enough, but to eyes that had left home and seen the world, the Dang Clinic felt endlessly cramped.
Dang Mujin opened the door and entered the treatment room. A familiar herbal scent wafted over him.
There was his father, with slightly more white hair, and beside him, Dan Seol-yeong sorting herbs.
The two stared at Dang Mujin with eyes wide round.
Dang Mujin, his face a bit more mature than a year ago, smiled confidently and said,
"I'm home."