You Are the Ones Who Aid the Poor
"Who among you is a bandit!?"
At my question, the whole gathering began to stir.
"The heroes of the Green Forest? Or those river-hold scum who sail the Yangtze? Is a bandit someone who comes down from the mountains with a blade and collects a toll, the way you fine gentlemen do?
"No! You receive fair payment because you keep this road safe! So then—what is a bandit?"
Praising a pack of mountain brigands who were bandits in all but name left a sour taste in my mouth, but if I so much as called them thieves to their faces, my neck and body would part company in a very neat fashion.
So I spoke up for the bandits instead. And whether that was the spark they needed or not, I could feel the focus in their eyes sharpen at once.
"Hong Gildong, who wandered the whole realm in the company of a Taoist master, saw this with his own eyes: the common people reduced to skin and bone, while the storehouses of the officials overflowed with grain rotting where it sat.
"So I ask you again! Who is the bandit? The Green Forest heroes who guard the roads—or the officials who strip the people bare?"
"The officials, of course!!!!!"
"Damn right! How could heroes like us be bandits?"
The bandits roared as one, every voice naming the officials.
A stage that draws the audience in. A performance of that kind pulls the crowd deeper by talking with them, not at them.
Of course it only works if the speaker can carry it—but I had done this kind of stage more than once already. That was no problem.
"Exactly so! Corrupt officials wearing the name of government were thieving in every corner of the land. Seeing that, Hong Gildong made a vow. He would save the poor!
"Hwalbin—Aiding the Poor! Raising that banner, Hong Gildong founded a brotherhood called the Hwalbin Party! And from every province, righteous comrades who shared his purpose came flocking to his side."
Ah—I could see it. Those rough, villainous faces fixed on me with bright, shining eyes. They understood now.
That this Hwalbin Party was none other than the Green Forest itself. The moment they heard their own story was being told, those fierce faces lit up with an eagerness that did not match them at all. And answering that hunger in an audience is exactly what a performer on stage is for.
"So gathered, the Hwalbin Party began raiding the storehouses of corrupt officials—storehouses stuffed with ill-gotten wealth—and distributing it among the poor. But they had plundered the warehouses of men who drew the state's own salary. Was it any wonder the court sent government troops to wipe the Hwalbin Party out?
"But who was Hong Gildong? A man who had learned mystic Taoist arts that could raise wind and rain and fold the very earth beneath his feet! Truly—a flash on the Eastern Sea, no, a flash on the Yangtze! A flash on the Yellow River! Appearing and vanishing like a ghost!
"They heard he was on the Yangtze and raced there—only to find him already on the Yellow River. They heard he was on the Yellow River and raced there—only to find him already back on the Yangtze. Against Hong Gildong's phantom movements, the government troops could do nothing at all."
"Toyed with the government army, did he? This Hong Gildong fellow's got some skill, then."
The Bandit Chief seemed amused by the image of government troops being made fools of, and spoke up with interest.
"And not only the government troops. Even in the martial world a bounty was posted on Hong Gildong's head—yet not a single renowned master ever managed to catch him.
"No—whenever word got out that someone meant to hunt Hong Gildong, the common people themselves began feeding the hunters false information. Who, then, could possibly have caught him?"
"The common people gave out false information?"
To the bandits' way of thinking, the Hwalbin Party were thieves just like themselves. That the people would willingly help such men seemed to sit wrong with them, and they asked as if something did not add up.
"That is so. Hong Gildong was a righteous outlaw who robbed corrupt officials' storehouses and gave the spoils to the people! Who would ever hand over information on a man like that?"
"A right…eous outlaw? Yes! A righteous outlaw! That's exactly what he was! Any hero of the Green Forest deserves to be called a righteous outlaw!"
"Indeed. As more and more of the people began shielding Hong Gildong, the court found itself with no other recourse and sent his own father, Hong Sangjik, to extend an olive branch. And who was Hong Gildong?
"From childhood he had been a filial son who longed for nothing more than to call his father Father. Hong Gildong accepted the invitation and went to meet Hong Sangjik. And face to face with him, Hong Gildong said—"
And in that moment—for the dramatic peak of the stage—Hong Gildong himself had to appear upon it.
"Father… no…… Your Lordship…"
In that instant I became Hong Gildong, speaking in a voice thick with feeling, as if Hong Sangjik stood before me.
"Moved by the raw emotion in Hong Gildong's words, Hong Sangjik told him he might call him Father. And to mark the occasion, he offered Hong Gildong a cup of wine.
"But! That wine held the formless poison from the imperial treasury itself—a trap laid by the court to assassinate Hong Gildong! Hong Sangjik, who had never once treated Hong Gildong as a son in all his life, still did not regard him as his own child!"
"That—!! To kill his own boy! Even a piece of trash wouldn't stoop that low!"
"Yet Hong Gildong, never dreaming his own father would work such a scheme against him, drained the cup of formless poison—and understood at last. He was still not acknowledged as a son!"
What makes a masterpiece?
Some say a masterpiece is something that wrecks you at the end.
That does not mean a story that starts strong and fizzles out.
Whether you leave the reader—or the listener—with a blow they cannot shake. That, I believe, is the condition of a masterpiece. And so I chose a Hong Gildong different from the one already known.
"His mind made up, Hong Gildong cried out—"
Not the weak Hong Gildong who bowed to reality and fled to the Kingdom of Yuldo. No—a Hong Gildong who stood tall to the very end.
"Father. No. Hong Sangjik! I treated you as my father—yet to the last, you never thought of me as your son! My martial arts already have no equal under heaven, and I have learned the Taoist arts of the immortals themselves! Did you truly believe a petty poison like this could harm me!?"
I bellowed it like a thunderclap, my whole body trembling with rage. Then I slowly raised my right hand and swept it down hard as I spoke.
"From this day I sever every bond between us! Rot…… and get out of my sight!"
The instant the last words left my mouth, I snapped my head away—as if the real Hong Sangjik stood before me and I could not bear to look at him another second. Then, without so much as a glance back, I shouted in a voice thick with fury.
"And tell that emperor of yours—so long as this Hong Gildong draws breath, no corrupt official will ever sleep easy again!"
I held the moment for all it was worth, then closed my eyes.
"Of course! A man like Hong Gildong would never die to some cheap poison!"
The bandits spoke up in bright, delighted voices, clearly moved by Hong Gildong's stand.
"And so Hong Gildong severed the bond of blood with his father, Hong Sangjik. After Hong Sangjik had gone, Hong Gildong hastily summoned every member of the Hwalbin Party. Not one of them doubted that he would, in his rage, go forth and punish the corrupt officials. But—!"
As I spoke, I began to act again.
Thud!
Both knees dropped uselessly to the floor.
"Cough!"
I coughed hard, dragging in a ragged breath.
"Hear me, all of you! I am about to die. But do not let the world know of my death. Scatter across every province of the realm—become Hong Gildong yourselves—and let the world know that Hong Gildong still lives!
"Strike terror into the corrupt officials who prey upon the poor! Then even in death, I will not truly be dead!"
I cried it out as passionately, as pleadingly, as I could manage.
Perhaps that was why—the moment the words ended, the bandits began to murmur and shift.
"Die? What do you mean, die? Why would Hong Gildong die?"
"Hold on—what? He's dying? Didn't you say his martial arts reached the heavens?"
The death of the hero.
In an age drowning in happy endings and the triumph of good over evil, it was a shock they were not used to—no, a shock they had never even heard of. And so the bandits refused to accept Hong Gildong's death, shouting it down at the top of their lungs.
"And so Hong Gildong, the people's hero who had protected the weak and punished the corrupt, died—yet according to his own will he rose again as the terror of every crooked official.
"How? Because men calling themselves Hong Gildong appeared in every corner of the realm, still raiding the storehouses of the corrupt and giving the spoils to the poor. And in time, those men came to call themselves the Green Forest. That is right. The ones who aid the poor—were none other than all of you."
In that instant the bandits fell silent. The realization that this story was the story of the Green Forest they themselves belonged to seemed to leave them more than a little stunned.
"Khuhuhahahaha!!! Boy's got a real gift for a tale, hasn't he?"
Yeom Gilsan threw his head back and laughed at the top of his lungs.
"You flatter me. I merely unspooled a story I once read in an old book as a child."
In case anyone decided to start picking at the facts, I laid down an escape hatch at once—claiming I had only seen it in some childhood text.
"You lot, what are you standing around for? This man's drinking table is empty, isn't it?"
Contrary to my worries, the Bandit Chief seemed thoroughly pleased with the story.
The other bandits must have liked it just as well, for before long they had crowded in, thrown arms around my shoulders, pressed wine bottles into my hands, and heaped praise on me without holding back. The table was soon laid again, and as I sat down to fill my empty stomach once more, Yeom Gilsan turned to me with interest.
"It's been a long time since I heard a story that good. You there—you wouldn't happen to be one of those Seolseoin, would you?"
"A Seolseoin? What is that?"
"Hm? You don't know what a Seolseoin is? Those types who stand in the marketplace telling stories and taking money for it."
The Wangga Village I had come from was no great town; what passed for a marketplace was a handful of shops and nothing more. Naturally no such trade existed there, and having never seen one, I had not even known the occupation existed.
"There was such a thing? I spent my days as a mere jeomsoi in Wangga Village. I never knew anything of the kind."
"The way you spun that tale, I was certain you were one of those Seolseoin types."
Every time he mentioned the Seolseoin, Yeom Gilsan let a distinctly foul temper show through.
"You seem to hold rather a grudge against these Seolseoin fellows?"
Truthfully, I was not especially curious about what a Seolseoin was, or what bad blood Yeom Gilsan had with them. But this was the moment I needed to draw closer to him by any means, so I forced the topic along.
"Of course I do—those damned creatures will cut a story off halfway if you don't hand over the coin, won't they? A man who tells a tale as well as you do ought to understand just how foul that feels."
In short, the Seolseoin were the sort of vicious storytellers who abused the cliffhanger technique and then demanded payment.
"Ah… I take your meaning entirely, Chief. When I was a boy reading novels, I would sometimes come across a torn page and feel thoroughly put out—and these Seolseoin types demand money on top of that! Truly wretched creatures."
"Exactly. Scum you'd tear apart if you could. But you're saying you're not one of them? I like that! What do you say to settling down in this stronghold of ours?"
In that instant the Bandit Chief let slip something truly dreadful. An invitation to join a bandit gang that made its living by threatening people and stripping them of their goods.
Any normal person would have refused on the spot—but this was their den. Spitting out a refusal carelessly could end any number of ways, so I declined as politely as I could, with reasons attached.
"I am honored, but I still have a dream I have not fulfilled. For that reason, I fear it would be difficult."
"A dream? And what might that be?"
"After my father passed when I was young, our family's fortunes declined. My mother gathered every last coin she had—calling me the pillar who would raise the house again—and put me through my studies. Her wish was that I rise to an official post and make something of myself."
Having said that much, I deliberately let the words hang. The way an actor on stage gives the audience a moment to take in the situation and catch their breath.
Then I put on an expression that looked ready to break into tears at any second.
Of course, every bit of it was improvisation thrown together on the spot because of Yeom Gilsan's offer.
"Though she is no longer of this world… as the son she bore, is it not my duty to fulfill her final wish?"
"Ahem… Well then, nothing to be done. A fellow with that much learning—I thought he might be worth introducing to my sworn brother. A pity."
The moment I dragged a nonexistent family into it, the Bandit Chief—conscience apparently not entirely dead—dropped the matter at once.
"Still, I would very much like to keep good relations with a hero of the Green Forest such as yourself, Chief. With a connection to a man of your stature, who would dare lay a hand on me?"
Yeom Gilsan stared at me for a moment, then burst into a great laugh.
"Hahaha—this boy really can talk. Fine. You lot, listen!"
Yeom Gilsan cast a look around and raised his voice.
"For as long as this man remains in our stronghold, he is no different from a brother of our Green Forest! So if anyone plays tricks on him or lays a hand on him, I will personally step in and set them straight. Is that clear to every last one of you!"
"Yes, Chief!"
The bandits around us answered in a roaring chorus.
In that moment, I finally relaxed. One way or another, I was going to get out of this place alive.
Hyeongju.
A logistics hub of the continent, straddling the Yangtze. Where people and money gather, martial artists gather as well. And of late, one clan above all had been making a name for itself in Hyeongju.
The Jegal Clan.
Jegal Hyeok, head of that clan, rode alongside Jang Pilsen, murmuring in a low voice.
"Hero Jang—this is the place? Where that Yeom Gilsan has made his nest."
"It is. Travel this stretch of road and you will inevitably run into them."
"Young Master Im must come through unharmed…"
"He most likely will. Even as a man of the Green Forest, Yeom Gilsan is one who keeps the rules that ought to be kept."
At that, Jegal Hyeok's brow tightened slightly.
"Come now, Hero Jang! How does an Escort take the side of a Green Forest bandit?"
He was not wrong. Escorts and the Green Forest were oil and water. As an Escort, Jang Pilsen had no business speaking up for Yeom Gilsan.
"Ahem! I misspoke."
Outmatched by Jegal Hyeok in both seniority and martial skill, Jang Pilsen could say nothing further and shrank back. He was still carefully managing Jegal Hyeok's temper when the clan head spoke again.
"Hmph… Quieter than I expected. I thought we would run into them at once."
"If they do not spot us first, there is little to be done. Even I do not know the exact location of their stronghold."
"So we are to wander this road endlessly and wait for them to come to us?"
A thin edge of irritation had crept into Jegal Hyeok's voice. Jang Pilsen swallowed a sigh.
If you're going to be like this… why did you come along in the first place?
He kept his face carefully composed and answered.
"Once night falls, light a fire and move about. They will show themselves soon enough. At that point it will be hard for them to pretend they have not seen us."
Jegal Hyeok nodded without a word, but irritation still sat in his eyes. Seeing that look, Jang Pilsen prayed inwardly once more.
Please—just don't cause any trouble…