Poetry Thief (4)
The next day arrived.
After breakfast, I sipped my tea and asked Yeo Eung-am Warrior,
"How are those warriors doing?"
He smirked at my question before replying.
"They're dying out there."
The punishment I'd ordered for the five warriors who'd skipped duty to go drinking was the three basic trainings.
These were the daily regimen for the Silver Wind Corps warriors: running, push-ups, and holding the horse stance.
Training to build stamina and strength.
One full cycle of all three took about two hours combined, after which they were free.
But none of the warriors under my command stopped at just that.
Even those who'd reached the Super First-rate realm dedicated at least four hours to basics.
Anyway, I'd ordered those five to do the basics—but not without a twist, or it wouldn't stick.
So I had them strap on iron weights totaling 130 geun across their arms, legs, and waist.
130 geun was roughly the weight of a sack of rice.
A regular person couldn't last half an hour under that, but trained warriors? Different story.
Too harsh? I'd trained with nearly 200 geun myself—no one dies at 130.
"Each one's required training time is…"
But the looks they gave me? Like they'd seen a demon.
So I ordered two hours each for all three drills—six hours total.
I'd planned one and a half hours per drill, but their faces hurt my feelings.
I'm more sensitive than I look.
Anyway, they'd spend their days eating and training—an ideal warrior's life.
"They'll adapt after a few days and it'll get manageable."
"True, but I still don't get it."
"What don't you?"
"Why give those warriors a chance to grow?"
At first glance, it looked like corporal punishment, but as Yeo Eung-am said, it was also an opportunity for growth.
I'd sent off an express letter, and it would take about a month for replacements to arrive.
If they followed my orders in the meantime, they'd come out stronger.
That's why he was asking.
"What do you think they'll be mulling over while grinding through my orders? At first, they'll curse me out plenty."
Obvious as day.
They earned the punishment, but people always seek someone to blame when things get tough—usually others.
So yeah, I'd be the target.
"Doesn't matter. Expecting no backlash when hiring people is just spoiled talk."
No matter how well I treat my men, gripes are inevitable.
For every grateful soul, there's one grumbling for more.
But if those warriors had any sense, they'd eventually grasp my intent and be thankful.
If not? I'd make them.
"But Young Master, didn't their faces wound you so much you doubled their training time?"
"…"
I cleared my throat at Palgap's jab. Yeo Eung-am turned to him.
"Palgap."
"Yes?"
"You gotta read the room sometimes."
"Of course! Heh, gotta watch that."
Palgap's sharp as a tack—except when teasing me, then he's all oblivious.
"Anyway, that grueling routine wears down the mind until nothing's left, then they start reflecting on themselves."
"Can't argue there."
"And boom—loyal, disciplined elite warriors for the merchant group."
I pressed on.
"Plus, if they see real gains from it, they'll push even harder. A warrior loyal to the group and driven to grow? Priceless."
"Can't help but admire your foresight, my lord."
"And watching them suffer will deter the others—one punishment, a hundred lessons."
"Not to mention boosting your infamous reputation, Young Master."
"…"
Palgap, you…
I opened my mouth to retort, but he grinned.
"Time to head out, sir."
Sigh…
I shook my head and rose, leaving the temporary quarters.
Our destination: the annex of the Sebin Merchant Group, home to their young master, In Gye-seong.
Sebin's main base was in Beijing, like the Hubei Paeng Clan, a day's ride from the palace.
But with frequent palace dealings, they kept this annex nearby.
The emperor had roped Sebin into the imperial Poetry Contest; with the leader and deputy tied up, In Gye-seong was handling it.
For such a grand imperial event, the leader should've come personally—but the emperor's grace let them send top direct kin.
Probably with me in mind.
As I approached the annex, a servant hurried over.
"Are you Eun Seo-ho, Deputy Leader?"
"Yes."
"The young master says to bring you right in. Follow me."
His manners were impeccable.
He led us inside. For an annex, it was massive. The world's top merchant group, indeed.
The reception room boasted fine tea and sweets.
As we enjoyed them, In Gye-seong entered.
"Sorry to keep you waiting."
"No trouble! These pastries are so good, time flew."
"Glad they suit you. I'll pack some to go."
We chatted smoothly.
The purpose: hash out prep for the imperial Poetry Contest.
Final calls with the Ministry of Rites, of course—but pre-aligning avoided merchant squabbles in front of officials.
Nothing uglier.
"An honor to work with the hero of the Yongbong Martial Tournament."
I waved it off.
"Come on, In, not you too? I just got lucky saving lives—don't overhype me."
"You earned the pride. I've admired your character since you saved my grandfather. Knew you'd make hero one day."
Referring to when Geun-seong disguised as Deputy Bok-yun to target In Gang-su's life.
The culprit: Yeong Merchant House, over inkstone mine disputes.
In Gye-seong continued.
"Grandfather and Father both said to cooperate fully. I'm grateful too."
"That was just for my friend's sake."
He laughed.
"We'll just trade praises and humility all day. Haha, I'll stop first."
Wise.
"Starting with the venue…"
We dove into meticulous planning.
"Biggest issue: the judges. Imperial event means every hotshot poet near Beijing will swarm."
Trickiest part.
Favor a disciple? Higher score. Hate the master? Lower.
"Fairness first."
"But can't ignore their prestige."
Then inspiration struck.
"Ah! How about this?"
"I'm listening."
"Turn the judges' chairs away from the poets—back to the reciter."
"Voice might give it away."
"Got that covered: have someone else read the poem."
"Brilliant."
We synced up and headed to the Ministry the next day.
Since that "taming merchants" fiasco where I waited on a clerk, they hadn't pulled that stunt.
Thanks to my academy ties—still grateful.
Plus, emperor's orders: heads would roll otherwise.
A clerk guided us to the meeting room. Discussions flowed.
The Poetry Contest day drew near.
.
.
.
The day of the imperial Poetry Contest dawned.
As I'd figured, Beijing overflowed with cash thanks to it.
Inns, noodle shops, and stationery stores boomed.
Out-of-towners needed lodging and meals.
Many splurged on fine brushes, ink, paper.
Rushed event limited to local poets—pity, but fitting the goal.
Success here? Next one draws empire-wide talents.
Then our group and Master's relay station feast on the scraps…
Blissful thought.
Unexpected winner: taverns and wine houses.
Sigh… Does a drink spark poetry, or poems thirst for booze?
Whatever—drink up while you can.
Temperance edict soon; famine's bad, spring brings worse.
I eyed the venue.
Crowds packed it.
Four poets per round, divided by X-shaped screens—anonymous to rivals, visible to crowd.
Judges faced away.
The announcer stepped up.
"Honoring His Imperial Majesty the Emperor and…"
Yes.
Emperor, Empress, imperial kin—all present.
Prime entertainment.
"Now, introducing our judges."
Undeniable picks: renowned scholars, famed poets.
Plus the Jegal Supreme Patriarch, at my request—he was thrilled, rushed from Bokryong Mountain.
They bowed to the emperor and took seats.
"Your Majesty, all set."
"Begin."
Announcer bellowed.
"The inaugural imperial Poetry Contest starts now!"
First group began.
Emperor drew two slips: "Tree and moon."
"Begin!"
Gong rang; incense lit. One stick's burn—one round.
Time up.
Ding-!
They released papers, handed to assistants.
Assistants checked reader prefs: gender, age—poet's choice.
Recitation sways mood; key.
Readings done, judges scored.
Imperials watching—no bias possible.
Couldn't even if they wanted; anonymity.
Contest rolled on—till Chui Il-gong's turn.
He mounted the stage like a cow to slaughter, took position.
Recognizers buzzed.
"Oh! Mi Si-gak is competing?"
"Hearing Mi Si-gak live? Honor!"
His title: Beautiful Poetry Guest. Fame rising.
Excitement swelled for his verse.
Chui Il-gong scanned the crowd.
Mouth bone-dry.
His damned friend—who'd submitted for him—waved from afar.
"You got this! Shake the world with your name! Haha!"
He bit his lip.
Shut up already!
Wanted to deck him.