Three Days' Activities (3)
Namgung Je-cheon pondered.
Why were these guys listening so obediently to the sisters?
Even with just the people here—and adding a bit of exaggeration—they could wipe out a major sect from the face of the earth forever.
Right. For now, they're Namgung Clan laborers, and the sisters are just maids in status.
Imagine passing by on the street or while working, striking up some acquaintance for whatever reason, exchanging greetings.
Up to here, it's just the usual experiences anyone has when forming relationships.
Then it progresses. Greetings turn into inquiries about well-being. A rapport forms in their hearts. Not just as colleagues in the same organization.
If they realize they're sharing the same pains, wounds, ideals!
It might be an overreach, but he arrived at one conclusion.
Together.
But! The one variable that could upend all these assumptions.
It could just be the food tasting damn good.
Honestly, if the sisters weren't the youngest young master's people, he'd want to set them up right now with a massive inn in the best spot in the city.
And he himself had come here for that very reason.
The reason doesn't matter.
What mattered was that people who shouldn't be gathered in one place were gathered.
Did the sisters even realize how monumental what they'd done was?
Probably not.
"Thank you, sisters!"
Namgung Je-cheon downed his drink in one gulp and shot to his feet.
If anyone else here had done that, everyone would have just laughed it off.
People were constantly jumping up like Namgung Je-cheon even now.
"Vice Strategist, sir? Something wrong?"
He was the Namgung Clan's vice strategist.
"No."
A man whose single word could shake the world.
"Gotta take a shit?"
Whose gesture could decide a sect's fate.
"No, I said!"
And make the world tremble.
"Heh heh, got it. You want the last leg from that chicken stew, huh?"
"Ilhyang sister."
"I know, I know. Don't worry. I've got one more boiling secretly for you, Vice Strategist sir. That's why you came, right?"
"You mean that one?"
"Yes, yes. That. So sit back down. I'll sneak it to you later."
"Whew. Yeah, that's the stuff. Haha!"
Namgung Je-cheon sat back down.
A moment later.
Whoosh!
"Argh! This ain't it!"
Namgung Je-cheon kicked back his seat and stood again.
Sure enough, all eyes turned to him.
But the looks were different from before.
"He still got robbed."
"We all heard her say she'd save one secretly."
"They say the haves are the real takers. Poor Ilhyang."
"What can you do? Have-nots gotta bow and scrape."
No! Guys!
The guy reaching for the last chicken leg slyly put it back in the stew.
Namgung Je-cheon pointed at the one who'd just snatched the stew's chicken leg.
"Wh-why, sir?"
"Eat the chicken leg. I'm not into legs."
"An order? Gonna kick me out of the Namgung Clan later for this? I'm used to backstabbing. Just write me a rec letter for the Beggar's Sect instead. At least I can beg for scraps."
"No backstabbing. And I prefer breast meat anyway."
That wasn't what he'd meant to say originally.
It felt like the buttons had been buttoned wrong from the start, but he wouldn't waste this chance.
"Everyone here."
As Namgung Je-cheon spoke, even those munching breast meat set it down.
The leg and wing eaters were thrilled.
Haa...
He pretended not to notice and continued.
"As Namgung's vice strategist, I have a proposal for you all."
"Mind if I ask what it is?"
Ilseon Dosa, the defrocked monk, casually picked up a breast meat piece and asked.
A flicker of fire in Namgung Je-cheon's eyes.
Grin.
Ilseon Dosa curled one corner of his mouth, popped the first breast meat in, and selected a second with his chopsticks.
Old ginger was spicy indeed. A defrocked monk through and through.
His insight into people's hearts was no joke.
If he'd aimed to rile him up, it had worked.
Though Namgung Je-cheon wouldn't fall for such a provocation.
She said she'd prepared extra separately.
That was the biggest reason, anyway.
"Of course."
Namgung Je-cheon replied with a friendly smile, scanning them.
The one once called Dragon.
The one once called Monster.
The one once called King.
The one once called Venerable.
Fifty such figures in total.
The perfect number to form a unit.
"What's that about? A high-and-mighty type like you didn't drop by in the dead of night just to snack with lowly folks like us."
Huh?
"I did come for snacks first. That's the truth."
Namgung Je-cheon continued, eyeing the spread on the table.
"Honestly, it's delicious."
"Hm..."
Ilseon Dosa pondered briefly before answering.
"Can't deny that."
And everyone nodded.
There were those who'd never tried it, but none who'd only tried it once.
That was the new saying trending in the Namgung Clan.
Clap!
Namgung Je-cheon steadied his oddly proud heart and clapped sharply to draw all eyes.
"Unlike others, I know exactly what pasts you all carry. I'm one of the key figures leading the Namgung Clan, after all."
"Kekeke. So you came to cut us down?"
Ilseon Dosa shot him a hollow look, as if expecting it, and subtly set down the breast meat.
"Nope?"
Huh?
He picked it up again.
"Not?"
"Yes."
"Then why?"
Namgung Je-cheon's expression turned deadly serious, unlike before.
No more banter over breast or legs—the true aura of the world's top clan's vice strategist emanated from him.
These battle-hardened veterans wouldn't miss it.
Something was coming.
Something massive that could change their futures.
Setting down the breast meat stealthily was the instinct of the subordinate, not the superior.
Namgung Je-cheon bowed his head politely.
"I ask everyone here: please become the youngest young master's people."
And the response.
Came immediately.
Without a hint of hesitation.
"Sorry, wrong address."
"Aw, you got the wrong idea, Vice Strategist."
"We're done with Murim affairs."
Come to think of it, it had been odd.
These weren't people who should be together.
"Then why are you in the Namgung Clan?"
Why go through the hard labor that makes everyone frown?
They could live comfortably anywhere else but here.
The jovial mood flipped—their faces clouded over completely.
"We lost..."
"Lost..."
"We got beat..."
Bitter.
If words had taste, their answer was bitter.
That's how Namgung Je-cheon felt.
"Just for that reason?"
He could guess who they'd lost to.
Someone from Namgung, probably.
"For a martial artist, it could be everything."
He, who'd spent his life with books, couldn't fully grasp it.
But...
Namgung Je-cheon had no answer.
They were Murim folk.
He was a strategist.
Trapped by the sword—he could roughly understand that.
He too had despaired thousands of times under his master's vast shadow.
For them now, the key was shattering that sword etched in their minds...
That would be done not by a strategist like him.
But by a Murim man.
He had no confidence in convincing them.
"I see. Sorry. I made an unnecessary proposal."
Namgung Je-cheon bowed in apology and left without another word.
A moment later.
"Huh? Grandpa, where's the Vice Strategist?"
Ilhyang emerged from the kitchen, carefully wrapping several dried chicken breasts in cloth.
"Gone."
Ilseon Dosa answered curtly.
"Why?"
"We're old, and he's still young. He left to find another way after we turned him down."
"Grandpa, you drunk?"
"Drunk off five bottles? Bullshit. I'm fine!"
"Then what's with the nonsense?"
"Huh?"
"Who was side-eyeing like a pro even in old age? You think he's the only young one? Poor Vice Strategist, surrounded by geezers getting reamed."
"Reamed? We're clearly below him in rank."
"See? This."
Ilhyang pointed at the table.
Four hwandan pills sat wrapped in gold foil.
"How nice is our Vice Strategist? Just grant the favor. He'd have asked something easy anyway."
What if it was a lifelong commitment?
If he weren't just old, Ilseon Dosa might have made excuses.
"What's that?"
The matter was done.
He knew better than to dwell on the pointless now.
Ilseon Dosa eyed what Ilhyang held curiously.
"Side-eyeing again!"
"Ahem!"
"It's payment for the meal."
"Meal payment?"
"Yes. The Vice Strategist always pays for his food."
Ilhyang unwrapped the gold foil.
A clear, pure fragrance filled the yard.
All here were once Murim wanderers who roamed freely.
"No way, cheongadan?"
One shot up in shock.
"What's cheongadan?"
Questions erupted everywhere.
The one once called Sword Physician—the one who'd stood—answered.
"Everyone knows Sinui, right?"
Nods.
"That he made only three hwandan in his life?"
Shakes.
"Well, there are."
Nods.
"The scent's unmistakable."
Gulp.
"That's one of Sinui's three hwandan: cheongadan."
"So what's the effect?"
Someone asked.
Sinui himself. If not for Namgung Clan, they'd never see him even in reincarnation.
For something he'd made, chaos would ensue in normal Murim.
"Doesn't boost internal energy much."
Most who were interested looked away.
"But!"
Eyes refocused.
"Cheongadan was specially made for the old Murim Alliance strategist. Best for clearing bodily waste. A treasure without equal in Murim."
For martial artists, waste buildup rivaled internal energy in importance.
And only one way to clear it: hwangol taltae.
But hwagyeong minimum for that.
Hwagyeong might as well mean "live with waste forever."
Then Ilhyang clicked her tongue.
"Tsk tsk. What's the big deal? My room's full of these. Give one each on the way out?"
"Huh?"
The Sword Physician's eyes widened.
"No way... cheongadan... that common?"
"Ihyang! Samhyang!"
Ilhyang called loudly to the two in the kitchen.
"Yeah? Why, sis?"
"I'm busy!"
Ilhyang asked casually, like checking if she'd fed the neighbor's dog again today.
"How many of the Vice Strategist's gifts do you have?"
"Oh, that? Like twenty?"
"Me too, about that."
Ilhyang looked at the Sword Physician.
"One each on the way out. I don't like these—they taste bad."
"Taste bad? Cheongadan?"
"Yeah. The ones Vice Strategist gave before were tastier... some so-somethingdan."
No way so-somethingdan is sohwadan?
Ilseon Dosa's face hardened.
Sounds like it.
Everyone here thought the same.
That earlier proposal.
Wouldn't have been bad to accept.
This was a brief episode from the three days Namgung Daeso spent in Manhak Seogo.
* * *
I was leaving the family head's quarters.
My second brother's proposal was tabled for now.
"He won't even believe I have any forces."
I couldn't understand his sudden interest in me either.
"Haa..."
A sigh escaped naturally.
My brow furrowed.
"Feels off for no reason."
The Namgung Clan had countless people.
Naturally, plenty doing odd jobs.
There was an old man pruning branches.
Normally, I'd pass without a glance.
"Hey, sir."
"Yes, you called?"
"You can't do it like that."
"Do what?"
"When pruning branches. Mister... Grandpa...?"
"Just call me old man."
"Got it, old man. You trained in martial arts, right? Well, duh—in the Namgung Clan."
The pruning old man: former head of Wudang's Seven Swords, senior brother to the current Wudang sect leader.
His nickname: Taeguk Geomwang.
"Trained, sure."
"Tsk tsk. Sloppy training."
Mujikja's eyes narrowed slightly.
This punk mouthing off?
Mujikja was here for no big reason.
Namgung Hancheol had crushed him, then he got drunk, caused a ruckus, smashed the strategy hall, and got booted from his sect.