Chongqing
He had no appetite.
Hong Geolgae went hungry, staying apart from the beggars beneath the bridge and living by himself.
He would either lie on his back staring blankly at the sky, or bury his head between his knees.
Today again, he had his head buried between his knees, dazed, when someone tapped lightly on his back.
Lifting his head, he saw a young girl.
She looked about eight or nine years old. Her baby teeth must have just fallen out, for her two front teeth were missing.
"Big brother, what are you doing here?"
"Huh? Just… sitting around."
"You were just sitting yesterday too. Aren't you hungry?"
"I'm fine, go away."
Hong Geolgae waved his hand to shoo her off, then lay back down and closed his eyes, letting the rain beat down on him.
But after a moment, someone nudged his side. Opening his eyes again, he saw the same girl standing there.
"I told you to go."
"Here. Eat this. You look hungry."
The girl stretched out her small hand. In it was a roughly packed barley rice ball, shaped clumsily into a fist-sized lump.
Hong Geolgae almost sent her away in irritation—but then changed his mind.
He didn't want to become the kind of petty man who vented his bitterness on a child.
So he reached out and accepted the rice ball.
It was cold, as expected, and damp with rainwater.
But Hong Geolgae put it into his mouth anyway. How many days had it been since he last ate? Two? Three?
The moment it touched his stomach, it was as if the lie of having "no appetite" had been exposed. His belly devoured the rice greedily. Growl— Even after eating, the hunger only grew sharper.
The little girl grinned at him, toothless, as if waiting for praise.
Rising to his feet, Hong Geolgae asked:
"What's your name?"
"Soseon."
"I see. Soseon. Thank you for the meal."
His mind cleared.
Hong Geolgae had been in torment, to the point of wanting to die. But he had no real wish to end his life.
He had no reason to die. The one who had sinned was his master, not him.
So he followed Soseon back under the bridge and passed the time in a daze.
That evening, Hong Geolgae overheard the beggars talking.
"Did you hear the news? A descendant of Ou Yezi has appeared."
"Ou Yezi—the legendary smith?"
"Yeah. A young blacksmith showed up, and all the smiths in Chongqing are flocking to see him swing his hammer."
"Bah, what could be so different about the way someone swings a hammer?"
"I wouldn't know—I'm no smith. But the fact that smiths themselves are gathering must mean something. I saw it myself."
At once, something clicked in Hong Geolgae's mind.
He remembered what Goiyi had said as he watched Tang Mujin carving wooden swords:
—Didn't I tell you it wouldn't take long? Just sit quietly and watch. That brat's better at hammering iron and carving wood than sticking needles.
He recalled Tang Mujin's hands working briskly, carving wood into a sword as if one had been hidden within the block all along.
Yes. The young smith they were talking about could only be Tang Mujin.
Leaping up, Hong Geolgae went to the beggars.
Since he had cast his knotted rope into the river, the beggars no longer shrank back when they saw him.
To enter the Beggars' Sect, one needed a silver coin. But to be recognized as a beggar? All it took was to throw away a shabby rope. Ridiculous.
"Elders, does that young blacksmith happen to be accompanied by a man in his fifties?"
"Hmm. I think I heard there was some money-mad fellow hanging around him. Why do you ask?"
The one answering was Sosamgu, Soseon's father.
"Do you know where this smithy is?"
"Planning to go beg there?"
"Well… something like that."
Sosamgu looked at him with satisfaction.
"Good, good. A young man shouldn't just mope around, he should earn his keep. It's called Pung's Smithy. There'll be a crowd inside, so it won't be hard to find."
"Thank you."
"Go on, eat your fill there!"
Sosamgu even repeated the directions two or three times, worried that Hong Geolgae might get lost.
As he ran off, Hong Geolgae called back over his shoulder:
"Thank you! If I get plenty, I'll share some with you!"
"Forget it! Just make sure you eat until you burst!"
So Hong Geolgae ran through Chongqing, the rain now only a drizzle.
Yet inside, he was uneasy.
He was no Beggars' Sect disciple, no Three-Knot beggar—he wasn't even their traveling companion anymore.
Would Tang Mujin and Goiyi still welcome him?
He didn't know. But he pressed the doubt down and kept running.
Soon, he reached Pung's Smithy.
Goiyi was nowhere to be seen, but Tang Mujin was there.
When Tang Mujin came out after finishing his work, he ran into Hong Geolgae.
He only greeted him lightly with, "What brings you here?"
But at that, Hong Geolgae burst into tears, pouring out everything that had happened—from the wealthy beggars of Chongqing to the truth about his master, Ma jeonggae.
In just a few days, his shoulders had sagged terribly.
Tang Mujin disliked the sight. With a sharp smack of his palm, he slapped Hong Geolgae's back.
"Tch, you idiot."
Goiyi had left the previous evening, and Tang Mujin had been feeling bored.
Now, a mischievous thought crossed his mind.
"Hey, Hong Geolgae."
"What?"
"So you're not a Beggars' Sect disciple anymore, right?"
"…Well, technically, yeah. Why?"
"Ever heard of 'fine clothes and fine food'?"
The sky was still full of clouds, but for the first time in days the rain had stopped, and the streets bustled with people.
Tang Mujin led Hong Geolgae to a cloth shop he had noticed while moving between the smithy and the inn.
The shopkeeper scowled openly at the sight of a beggar entering.
"What's a filthy beg—oh! Honored guest from the Beggars' Sect, what a surprise to see you here!"
But the moment he recognized Tang Mujin, his face brightened.
Tang Mujin and Goiyi's eccentric deeds had become known not just among smiths, but also to the merchants near Pung's Smithy.
The shopkeeper rubbed his palms together obsequiously.
"How may I help you, sirs?"
"I want to buy this friend a fine set of clothes. Do you have something suitable?"
"Oh, you've come to the right place! With such a tall, handsome figure, a smart outfit will make him look like a new man."
Most cloth shops sold fabric rather than finished clothes, but in a large city like Chongqing, they often had ready-made garments too.
"What sort of price range are you considering?"
Tang Mujin opened his pouch and showed the silver he had.
Most of what he had earned so far had been taken by Goiyi, so there wasn't much. Still, it was enough for one fine outfit.
"Then only the finest will do!"
The shopkeeper bustled about, holding up various garments against Hong Geolgae, nodding and clucking until finally he presented an elegant suit of light attire.
It seemed a perfect fit for him.
"Would you like to try it on now?"
"No need. Hey, Hong Geolgae! Take it and come with me!"
Tang Mujin dragged him straight to a stream. Though not the Yangtze itself, the water was swollen from days of heavy rain.
"Hurry up and wash."
"Alright."
At Tang Mujin's urging, Hong Geolgae stripped and washed himself thoroughly.
When he emerged, Tang Mujin dressed him in the fine clothes and tied back his disheveled hair.
It was true what they said: clothes make the man. Before long, a respectable young gentleman stood there—if not for his awkward expression.
"Not bad."
Hong Geolgae peered at his reflection in the water.
He looked even more proper and refined than the village head's son back in Jueul. His chest tightened.
But Tang Mujin wasn't about to stop here. This was only the beginning.
Now that he had fine clothes (ho-ui), it was time for fine food (ho-sik).
"Let's go!"
He led Hong Geolgae to a street lined with inns and taverns. Somewhere, the sound of strings and a woman's song drifted through the air.
Hong Geolgae walked hesitantly at first.
Tang Mujin was not much different. Perhaps a little better off than Hong Geolgae, but he too had never set foot in Juru Alley.
For Tang Mujin, alcohol was something he only ever tasted in secret, sneaking sips when visiting the herbalist Jong Gwak.
Neither of them rushed into the wine shops. Instead, they staggered along Chongqing's night streets, letting themselves adjust to the atmosphere.
As time passed, their strides grew longer, and their once-hunched shoulders straightened.
Before long, the two of them looked every bit the part of young men suited to the lively, indulgent alley of pleasure houses.
Once sufficiently exhilarated, Tang Mujin pulled Hong Geolgae into the nearest wine shop.
"Welcome, honored guests!"
By chance, it was the very same Dungseonru that Hong Geolgae had visited only a few days earlier.
But the attendant did not recognize the newly tidy Hong Geolgae. The difference between the ragged beggar from a few days ago and the presentable young man now was that great.
"Please, have a seat. What may I bring you?"
Tang Mujin wasn't familiar with wine shops either, nor which side dishes were considered the best. Still, he put on a practiced air of confidence.
"Some good baekju, and a few rich side dishes."
"Very well! I'll bring something fitting at once."
The sharp-witted attendant asked no further questions and slipped away.
Soon enough, two respectable plates of meat and a bottle of baekju were set before them.
Tang Mujin couldn't identify the dishes—only guessing that one was pork and the other duck.
The liquor, too, was unfamiliar. Until now, the only alcohol Tang Mujin had ever tasted was cheap huangju, the kind that could be bought with pocket change snuck from his father.
"Let's drink!"
Tang Mujin filled Hong Geolgae's cup, then his own, until they brimmed.
The two downed their drinks together.
The nameless baekju hit their throats with a pungency far beyond anything huangju could muster, searing down into their stomachs.
It felt like their throats were aflame.
Tang Mujin forced himself to endure with wide eyes, while Hong Geolgae coughed and sputtered openly. At least, being a beggar, he didn't spit the liquor back out.
Hong Geolgae shuddered.
"Whew! That's fiery."
"It's always like that the first time."
Their chopsticks reached for the meat, tearing into it.
The rich, greasy flavors washed the bitterness of the alcohol clean away.
They drank again, then ate again. Though unfamiliar with wine shops, they found themselves swept up in its pleasures all the same.
Gradually, the voices of other patrons, loud and rowdy, began to filter into their ears. The lavish interior of the shop revealed itself to their eyes.
Somewhere, a string instrument was being plucked, accompanied by a woman's singing. Whether from upstairs or the neighboring building, they couldn't tell—and it hardly mattered.
For the first time, they were entirely free of another's shadow. The two young men savored that heady sense of liberation.
They drank and ate until Tang Mujin's speech began to slur.
It was then that a flicker of unease crossed Hong Geolgae's face.
"Hey, Mujin. Do you even have money? Didn't we spend nearly everything at the cloth shop earlier?"
"Money? Don't worry about it. We won't need any."
"You idiot, you think food and drink are free here?"
"I told you, it's fine."
Staggering to his feet, Tang Mujin headed for a small platform tucked in the corner of the shop—built for courtesans to play their instruments.
As he climbed onto the platform, the patrons' eyes turned to him.
In the past, such attention would have made him shrink away, but since arriving in Chongqing, he had grown used to it. After all, every day he had worked under the blacksmiths' eyes, hammering at the forge.
He tapped the wall with his hand.
Thump, thump. The wall was sturdy and thick.
Looking around, he saw several supporting pillars. Even if something happened to the wall, the building wouldn't collapse.
Good enough.
He drew a dagger from his robes and stabbed it deep into the wooden wall. The attendant, carrying dishes, saw this.
"Sir! What do you think you're doing?!"
The startled boy cried out, but Tang Mujin ignored him and drove the dagger into the wall again.
Lacking the courage to confront a drunken man with a blade, the attendant dashed outside, intent on fetching the two burly men who had escorted Hong Geolgae to the proprietor days earlier.
"Wahaha!"
"What's he doing now?"
The patrons roared with laughter.
There was no finer entertainment in a tavern than watching a drunk make a fool of himself. If it ended with the drunk being dragged away, all the better.
Soon, the two hulking men returned with the attendant. Just as they moved to drag Tang Mujin down, he splashed water across the wall he had been stabbing.
And then silence fell.
The soaked wall darkened, and a serene visage appeared. The form was so precise it was impossible to believe it had been carved through drunken hacking.
Tang Mujin gestured at the attendant and the two big men, then pointed at empty seats. Entranced, they sat. Now, three more audience members joined.
He stabbed again. Again and again, the dagger plunged into the wall.
Chips of wood piled high on the floor. Every patron on the first floor watched, spellbound.
The silence was so profound that even those on the upper floors—wealthy patrons—descended, drawn by the sense that something was happening.
They didn't know what they were witnessing, only that they could not look away.
Time passed. At last, Tang Mujin sheathed his dagger and fetched another bucket of water. He splashed it across the wall.
Shhhhhh—
The plain wall blossomed into a divine image.
A resplendent figure in ceremonial robes, dozens of arms spread in a perfect circle, sat in lotus position, gazing down at the patrons.
Someone whispered:
"Thousand-Armed Avalokiteśvara…"
Never before had anyone in Dungseonru seen such a flawless and breathtaking carving. And everyone knew instinctively that they never would again.
The hall was still. Chopsticks frozen, cups suspended, all eyes drank in the image.
Tang Mujin raised his hand toward the proprietor, who had appeared on the stairs to watch.
"Tonight's bill is settled with this. Would that be agreeable?"
The proprietor, without realizing it, nodded.