Poem Thief (6)
I watched Jin Yeong Daehyeop walk away.
The fact that Chui Il-gong had put out a hit wasn't all that surprising. I'd already considered the possibility that he'd try to take out Song Lok once he learned the poet was attending the contest.
That's why Song Lok and his family were currently staying at this temporary residence.
With the Eunhae Merchant Group's warriors stationed here around the clock, they should be well protected.
Song Lok's wife spent her days doing piecework sewing, and seeing that made me think I needed to work the poet even harder once this was all over.
What had surprised me, though, was something else entirely.
Assassins operating right near the imperial palace.
Well, even with the Gold Guard, the Embroidered Uniform Guard, and the Eastern Depot, it was impossible to control everyone completely.
In that case... might as well make use of this opportunity.
Jin Yeong Daehyeop! I called out, running after him.
Hm? What is it?
Do me a favor—help me with something.
.
.
.
That night, I walked through the night market with Song Lok.
You worked hard today.
No, not at all.
So, how did it feel? Hearing everyone praise the poem you wrote.
Song Lok scratched the back of his neck at my words.
I-It... felt good.
His face flushed red.
I never knew recognition from others could feel this nice. In a way, I can even understand why that guy did what he did.
No, you don't.
Pardon?
Stealing someone else's poetry is a clear crime. Understanding a criminal? Aren't you a bit too nice for your own good?
Ah, w-well... is that how it is?
So, do you still want to die?
He flinched at my question and turned his head away.
Th-that time, I was foolish.
I couldn't help but smirk at how readily he admitted his mistake.
There were a few reasons I'd brought Song Lok out to the market like this, but the main one was to lure out the assassin.
Chui Il-gong would want him dead as soon as possible.
And right now, Song Lok had no idea he was the target of a hit.
I'd told him I was treating him to some fine stationery supplies for the upcoming rounds of the contest.
This inkstone looks decent. What do you think?
I'd be grateful for anything.
Weasel-hair brushes seem like a good fit.
We bought an inkstone, brushes, and other supplies from a Sebin Merchant Group shop, then headed back to the temporary residence.
Be careful. He's approaching.
Jin Yu Warrior's sound transmission reached me.
Finally.
As I heightened my senses and kept walking, I felt a surge of killing intent.
And then—
Shwick!
A dagger flew straight toward Song Lok.
If there hadn't been people around, they might have charged in directly, but with me and others nearby, they'd thrown it instead.
The dagger was aimed precisely at Song Lok's throat.
Clang!
But it was blocked by a shield. One of the Embroidered Uniform Guard experts posing as my bodyguard held it up.
The small black shield strapped to his arm transformed into its full form with a simple motion.
And it was also the Embroidered Uniform Guard's symbol.
He sometimes revealed his identity with it, but this time, he'd shown it on purpose.
Thanks to Poet Chui Il-gong's cooperation, we'll be able to wipe out these Beijing assassins! I shouted loudly on purpose.
Assassins! After them!
Jin Yeong Daehyeop led the other Embroidered Uniform Guard experts in pursuit.
They planned to let the assassin slip away on purpose while chasing him.
He was the key to rooting out all of Beijing's assassins, after all.
And at this distance, the assassin would've heard what I said.
About Chui Il-gong's cooperation.
Staying in Beijing meant he took pride in his craft—and that he had a massive ego.
A guy like that, getting played like this? He wouldn't sit still. He'd go straight for Chui Il-gong.
I knew how these types operated. They didn't just swing a sword yelling, Die!
They reeled you in slow... then squeezed the life out of you.
Vicious bastards.
But since the target was Chui Il-gong, who cared?
His blood would run cold day by day, but it was his own doing.
Still, I wouldn't let him die. He had to pay for his crimes properly.
I looked down at Song Lok, who'd collapsed to the ground.
Are you all right?
Wh-what... what was that just now?
This?
I picked up the dagger that had bounced off the shield and answered in a dry voice.
Proof that an assassin just came to kill you.
A-an assassin? For me?
Yes.
Why me? I don't have any grudges...
He was so shocked he could barely string words together, so I explained.
I just heard. Someone named Chui Il-gong put out a hit on you.
Pardon?
He tilted his head.
But didn't you just say it was thanks to Poet Chui Il-gong's cooperation?
That?
I smirked and leaned in to whisper.
Lie.
Pardon?
I made it up. To confuse the assassins. And so they won't try for you again, thinking it's a trap.
Ah...
I offered him my hand.
Get up. The ground's cold.
Ah, yes...
He stood, and I brushed the dirt off his clothes.
You okay?
Y-yes.
He said he was fine, but his face was still pale.
He must've been really shaken.
Normal reaction for a civilian.
Take some deep breaths. It'll help you calm down.
Song Lok did as I said, breathing deeply several times.
Once the shock had somewhat subsided, he asked me.
So... Chui Il-gong put out a hit on me?
Yes.
I continued.
You saw it today. To those who don't know the details, your poems sound like his. So before the truth comes out and he loses face, he wants you dead...
Stealing my poems again.
Poison started filling his eyes, even though he'd just calmed down.
That was part of why I'd brought him out here, exposing him to the assassin.
Even after this was over, it would've been tricky to push him hard.
He lacked that killer edge.
Which also meant he was too nice—and too nice meant perfect for dragging down his family.
And this incident was his chance for personal revenge.
After getting screwed like that, anyone would harbor grudges, but he was still just too nice.
You could tell from how he'd tried to kill himself.
Honestly, I hated that personality. Why off yourself? Spend that time sharpening your blade for revenge.
Anyway, like that, proper revenge would be impossible.
There was a good chance he'd face Chui Il-gong in the finals, and if his momentum faltered then, he wouldn't show his true skill.
So I asked coldly.
So, what do you say? Still want to die?
Just moments ago, he'd flinched and called himself a fool.
But now, with venom in his eyes, even his voice had changed.
I won't die until I've buried that bastard socially.
Satisfying answer.
The second day of the imperial poetry contest dawned.
When Chui Il-gong arrived at the venue, his cronies cheered him on.
Hope your name rises even higher today! Haha!
Your win is already a sure thing!
We'll be rooting for you.
But his friends noticed something off about him today.
What's wrong?
Hm?
You seem anxious today.
Chui Il-gong forced an awkward laugh.
A-anxious? N-no such thing. Haha.
But cold sweat dripped down his back and forehead.
This morning.
When he woke up, a dagger was embedded right next to his head.
And pierced through the dagger was a piece of paper that read:
The price for deceiving me is death.
He had no idea what was going on.
Did someone put a hit out on me? Damn it!
He racked his brain over who might've ordered it, but with so many he'd screwed over, he couldn't narrow it down.
The contest began.
One group, two groups took the stage, showing their skills, and two out of four were eliminated each time.
Then.
Today's theme is mirror and flower.
After the theme was announced and a incense stick's time passed, the readers began reciting the poems.
The mirror left behind by my love...
The mirror left behind by my love...
The moment Chui Il-gong heard it, his eyes bulged.
He recognized it as Song Lok's poem—the one he'd commissioned the hit for.
He's still alive? Damn it! Those fixers are worthless!
The audience gasped in admiration at Song Lok's poem.
Oh! As expected of Mi Si-gak!
Such beautiful poetry!
Today's poems feel even more refined.
And...
From the participants' waiting area, the other poets stared at him.
Their eyes held questions.
This poem being read—it's clearly Mi Si-gak Chui Il-gong's. So why is he sitting here?
Whose poem is this, then?
Yesterday, it might've been coincidence with Song Lok and Chui Il-gong both on stage, but today, without that, the poets started doubting.
Chui Il-gong blurted out an excuse without thinking.
Whoever it is, they must really admire me.
...
But their doubts didn't fade. They only grew.
And so the second day of the poetry contest ended.
Naturally, Song Lok advanced again, and Chui Il-gong survived the day as well.
According to Song Lok, all the poems Chui Il-gong submitted were his.
Some were just slightly tweaked to fit the themes.
Even so, people were starting to question how someone could produce poems eerily similar to Chui Il-gong's—or even better—without him taking the stage.
Just as I'd planned.
And the rumors would spread through Beijing's markets tonight.
Chui Il-gong had looked uneasy today. Guess the assassin paid him a visit last night.
Jin Yeong Daehyeop was busily moving to wipe out the whole gang.
Overheard they'd be laying a heavenly net.
A heavenly net adapted from imperial palace pursuit arts... intriguing.
Young master.
Palgap entered then, looking flustered.
What's up?
Those five warriors. Looks like they bolted.
...
I was speechless for a moment but quickly regained my composure.
Explain in detail.
They were there for lunch, but gone by mi-si (1-3 PM).
Hahaha.
I burst out laughing.
Wow! Impressive warriors. Didn't expect them to run.
Eh? No way. You must've seen this coming too, young master.
Well, not entirely unexpected. But I figured the odds were slim.
I asked Palgap.
Did they pack their things?
He nodded. That's why it was desertion.
I stood up.
Let's go. To their quarters.
Yes.
Moments later, we arrived at the warriors' quarters. Eun Jeong-ho stood out front, looking frantic.
I'm sorry. I should've watched them better...
It's fine. How do you stop determined deserters?
Still, I'm sorry.
It's okay. Go handle your work.
I asked the warrior in front.
Where are the deserters' rooms?
Ah! This way!
I followed him, then sent him out for a bit.
Geum-ryeong.
Kkwi?
Come out.
Geum-ryeong poked its head from my sleeve at my words.
Want to track the owners of these beds?
Kkwi? Kku?
Silver? No silver and you won't...? Fine, fine. I'll give you silver. I said I will.
Kkwi.
Silver first? Sigh...
Since when did it start demanding payment upfront?
I shook my head, pulled out some silver, and offered it. Geum-ryeong's eyes sparkled as it snapped it up.
It tumbled out of my sleeve onto the bedding, rolled around, then sprang up.
And shot out the window like an arrow.
I counted to about 150, and it returned.
Sео-u Warrior, Jin Yu Warrior. Let's go catch them.
Yes.
Understood.
I left the rest to Palgap and the other warriors, following Geum-ryeong.
How far did we go?
About an incense stick's time of lightfoot skill, and I sensed a familiar presence.
Sure enough, five warriors appeared, bundles on their backs.
Running diligently with lightfoot skill, fearing pursuit.
I already had a headache from Chui Il-gong—now the warriors too?
Well, everyone has plans.
Until they eat a fist, anyway.
I'd given them a chance; they should be grateful.
Still, I'd give them another.
Second chance, so they'd have no room to complain after a single punch each.