Chongqing
Rumors spread quickly. On the first day, there was one spectator. The next day, three.
By the third day, every blacksmith in Chongqing had crowded into Old Man Pung's smithy.
Goiyi was not someone to miss such an opportunity.
He didn't stop at charging two silver taels for admission—he began aggressively raking in money. Every method he used was shameless, despicable, and downright vicious.
"Does it make sense to charge one silver coin just to sit in a chair…?"
"If you don't like it, then stand and watch."
"What's with that white line on the floor?"
"Step inside that line, and you'll need to pay two more taels."
"That's absurd!"
"If you don't like it, leave. If you go now, I'll even refund your entrance fee."
"…No, I didn't say I'd leave…"
"If you'd given up the smithy when asked, you could've watched for free. You refused. Isn't that right?"
The blacksmiths were powerless against Goiyi's business tactics.
This was the essence of an overwhelming superior versus an overwhelming subordinate: no matter how ridiculous the superior's words, the subordinate could only tremble and hand over money.
The blacksmiths wanted nothing more than to storm out in anger.
But the results Tang Mujin produced were far beyond the bounds of common sense and compromise.
It was humiliating, yes, but more than worth the price.
Still, blacksmiths were fiery-tempered people. They could not simply swallow their resentment.
So, they vented indirectly, using Old Man Pung as their mouthpiece.
"Elder Pung, don't you think their demands are going too far? I overheard them mumbling earlier—they're even thinking about recruiting assistants. I bet they'll start charging money just to let us hold a pair of tongs."
"Oh, surely not. Who would dare charge someone to work for them…?"
Old Man Pung's evasive reply only made the blacksmiths more frustrated.
"Elder, you know what he's like. He'd say it without hesitation. He's possessed by a money demon."
"There's nothing I can do. If they choose to work and charge money for it, I can't tell them otherwise."
"…"
"Since things have come this far, look on the bright side. Opportunities like this don't come often. You're young—invest a few silver coins now, broaden your perspective, and you'll reap benefits for life."
"…Well, yes, but… Fine. We understand."
Contrary to their expectations, Old Man Pung smoothed over their complaints skillfully and defended Goiyi's position.
The reason was simple: a cut of the profits was flowing into Old Man Pung's pocket.
Without hammering a single piece of iron, he was making the best income he'd seen since opening the smithy.
After finishing the third day's work and heading back to their lodgings, Goiyi asked Tang Mujin:
"How many more days do you think it'll take?"
"Probably just another seven days and nights. I could put in more work, but without better materials and equipment, it wouldn't make much difference."
Three days had already passed—add another seven, and that made ten in total.
Since their previous work had been completed so quickly, ten days felt long. But master swordsmiths often spent two or three months on a single piece. In that context, ten days was nothing.
Still, Goiyi knew that among those ten days, there was plenty of excess.
"Skip the decorations. Just smooth the scabbard and hilt from paulownia or jujube wood—that'll be enough."
"Then we only need three or four more days."
"Three or four, huh."
Goiyi folded his arms and stroked his beard.
"I'll be leaving Chongqing for a few days to take care of some business. Have it finished by the time I return."
"What kind of business?"
"Something that bothers me. You don't need the details."
"Will it take long?"
"Five days if it's short. Ten if it's long."
"Got it. In the meantime, I'll make myself a sword."
"Suit yourself."
The two returned to the New Moon Inn, where they ate and drank their fill for free before falling asleep.
A Little Earlier
While Tang Mujin and Goiyi were raking in money at the smithy—
Hong Geolgae was wandering the back alleys of Chongqing, looking for a place to find Beggar's Sect disciples.
On especially good days, Ma jeonggae used to tell him stories about life in Chongqing. Most were trivial: lazing around the hemp fields, listening to beggars gossip under a bridge, or a few boastful tales of his youthful prime. Memories layered in the dust of time, then dusted again with nostalgia.
"In the end, he never told me what I most wanted to know."
What Hong Geolgae most wanted to ask was why Ma jeonggae had left the great city of Chongqing to settle in Jueul Village.
But his master had died without ever revealing that secret.
No matter. Now that he was here himself, he could find someone who knew.
His steps led him to a bridge over the upper Yangtze River.
There, he found more beggars than Jueul Village could ever compare with. The bigger and richer the city, the more people fell through its cracks.
When Hong Geolgae approached, the beggars eyed him warily. Some even shrank back, noticing the three-knot rope tied at his waist.
He asked them:
"Who's the leader under this bridge?"
The beggars said nothing, edging back. Hong Geolgae seized the shoulder of the one who looked the most decent. The man yelped.
"Ouch! What do you want, sir? I'm just an ordinary beggar—not a leader!"
"I know. But since no one else answered, I grabbed you. Who's the highest-ranked here?"
"Rank? There's no such thing here."
Hong Geolgae frowned and pressed again.
"Impossible. I've always heard that if three Beggar's Sect disciples gather, one of them must hold higher rank."
"No, no. We're not Beggar's Sect disciples."
Hong Geolgae's brow twitched. Beggars who weren't part of the Beggar's Sect? Was that even possible?
But the man didn't sound like he was lying.
"Then where are the Beggar's Sect beggars?"
"There aren't any."
"Don't try to hide it. How could Chongqing not have Beggar's Sect disciples?"
"No, the Sect exists. There just aren't any disciples here who are beggars."
Hong Geolgae was baffled. The Sect existed, but its disciples weren't beggars?
The Beggar's Sect were beggars, and beggars were the Beggar's Sect—or so he thought.
"What do you mean by that?"
Seeing his confusion, the beggar finally understood the misunderstanding.
"Ah… you must be from outside Chongqing."
"That's right."
The beggar let out a long sigh of relief.
"Phew. I was worried for nothing. Outsiders often ask that. But here in Chongqing, the beggars are not of the Beggar's Sect.
A Beggar, Yet Not a Beggar's Sect Disciple?
Hong Geolgae looked around at the beggars nearby. Not a single one wore the knotted rope at the waist. He grew confused.
"Could you explain in more detail?"
"If you want to meet the Beggar's Sect disciples, you won't find them under this bridge. You'll need to go over there."
The man pointed toward the riverside, where a row of wine pavilions (julu) stood, all lavishly decorated.
"So the Beggar's Sect disciples occupy that tavern district and prevent other beggars from begging there, is that it?"
"Not exactly… It's better if you see for yourself. I'm not good with words. I can't explain it well."
Hong Geolgae clasped his hands in salute to the beggar and headed straight for the tavern district.
His mind was a storm of questions.
How could Beggar's Sect disciples possibly prevent other beggars from begging?
Were they not supposed to be the guardians of beggars everywhere?
Hong Geolgae arrived at the tavern district before evening.
It was a time when no drunkards staggered about, only merchants busy preparing for the night's trade.
He glanced around. There were no beggars here either. Not a single one.
"Must be because it's on the main street," he thought.
Beggars usually stayed in hidden, shadowy places.
So he searched behind the buildings—places where beggars might hole up.
But there were none there, either. Not a single one.
"What on earth is going on?"
He scoured alleys between the taverns and heaps of refuse behind them, but even as evening drew near, he found no beggars at all.
Just as he was wondering whether he should go back under the bridge and ask again, two burly men blocked his path.
"Hey, beggar brat. What are you snooping around for?"
"Ah, sorry about that."
"Sorry, my ass. I asked why you're snooping. Haven't we warned you lot a hundred times not to wander into the tavern district? If you ruin business, you'll be the one paying."
"Ah, I didn't know. I'm not from Chongqing."
Hong Geolgae straightened up with an awkward smile. Only then did the men notice the three-knot rope tied at his waist.
Their faces turned pale, and in an instant their demeanor changed.
"Are you… by chance, a Beggar's Sect disciple?"
"That's right."
"Forgive us for our rudeness. We didn't recognize you."
The unexpected reaction threw Hong Geolgae off balance.
Never in his life had anyone bowed and scraped before him.
"There's no need for apologies. It's fine."
The men's color returned, and they spoke in exaggerated tones of flattery.
"Ah, such generosity! Might we ask what brings a great hero like yourself to Chongqing? If you're looking for a fine tavern—"
"Nothing like that. I'm searching for Beggar's Sect disciples in Chongqing."
"Ah! Then we can help you right away. As it happens, the master of our tavern, Dengxianlou , is also a Beggar's Sect disciple."
The man pointed at a building beside them—an imposing three-story wine pavilion.
Hong Geolgae frowned, wondering if he had misheard.
"Your tavern master is a Beggar's Sect disciple?"
"Yes. He isn't yet at your level, sir—he only has two knots, which he gained last year. Shall we take you to him?"
The two men didn't realize what part Hong Geolgae found strange. They simply answered as if nothing were unusual.
After a moment's hesitation, Hong Geolgae nodded.
Tavern master or bridge beggar—either way, wasn't he here to meet Beggar's Sect disciples?
"Very well. Please, lead the way."
He followed them into Dengxianlou.
The inside was resplendent, far beyond anything the village chief's house in Jueul Village could compare with.
Soon, they arrived on the third floor. In one corner, a well-built man sat gazing out the window.
He looked to be in his mid-thirties.
Slightly overweight, with a thin beard he carefully maintained, dressed neatly in a round-collared robe.
And at his waist hung a knotted rope.
But unlike common beggars who tied it crudely around the waist, his was decorated with silk threads, dangling like an ornament.
Sensing their presence, the Dengxianlou master turned and frowned.
"What's this? Why bring me some beggar?"
"He's no ordinary beggar, Master."
The men gestured toward Hong Geolgae's waist.
The master saw the three knots, and his expression softened.
"Ah, so you're a Beggar's Sect disciple from elsewhere. To have already become a Branch Master at such a young age—impressive. What brings you here?"
His tone wasn't exactly respectful, but it didn't carry the condescension of a superior toward a lesser. Hong Geolgae was relieved and asked:
"May I ask you a few questions?"
"Of course. You two, leave us."
He dismissed the men who had brought Hong Geolgae.
Now only the two of them remained on the third floor.
After much thought, Hong Geolgae finally asked his first question:
"What exactly happened in Chongqing that the Beggar's Sect disciples are no longer beggars, and the beggars are no longer disciples of the Beggar's Sect?"