Chongqing
"What do you mean? Stole a person?"
"It's a long story."
The old woman straightened her hunched back slightly and tapped her waist a few times.
Hong Geolgae led her under the nearest tree. Unfortunately, it was a willow, which offered little shelter. Rainwater streamed down its drooping branches like countless waterfalls.
Still, it was better than standing in the open, pelted by the downpour.
The old woman began her tale.
"Do you know that long ago, there was a conflict here in Chongqing between the Righteous Faction and the Martial Faction?"
Hong Geolgae shook his head.
"This is my first time hearing of it."
"These days, if you say 'Beggar's Sect of Chongqing,' it means the Righteous Faction. But thirty years ago, the city was split nearly in half between the Righteous and the Martial Factions. Right now, the Deputy Chief of the Central Region, Red-Faced Old Beggar, is from the Righteous side. But back then, the deputy was Yu Bonggae, a man of the Martial Faction."
The old woman searched her memory and continued.
"The two factions never got along. The Martial Faction mocked the Righteous for forgetting their roots, while the Righteous jeered at the Martial for being stuck in the past. With no one to mediate, hostility only deepened."
Hong Geolgae listened half-heartedly. The story seemed to be straying far from Ma Jeonggae.
"Then one day, a great clash erupted between the factions. No one remembers exactly what sparked it. What mattered was that Yu Bonggae, the deputy chief in charge of Chongqing, was killed in the chaos. Once blood had been shed, there was no turning back. The Righteous Faction drove the Martial Faction out completely."
Hong Geolgae cut in. The tale, as it was, had no connection to Ma Jeonggae.
"And what has this to do with Elder Ma Jeonggae?"
"It has everything to do with him. Rumor spread that Ma Jeonggae fled Chongqing carrying away Yu Bonggae's son. The Righteous Faction scoured the city for him, but in the end, they never caught him."
Hong Geolgae froze like stone.
There had only ever been two beggars in Jueul Village: himself and Ma Jeonggae. The villagers always said Ma Jeonggae had brought a young Hong Geolgae there to settle.
No one else knew more about Ma Jeonggae and Hong Geolgae than Ma Jeonggae himself. Not even Hong Geolgae.
"Do you recall Yu Bonggae's son's name?"
"I believe it was Hong Jeong."
Hong Jeong. And Hong Jusan. Could the shared surname be mere coincidence?
Why had Jonggyeon abandoned that name and instead called himself Honggyeon?
Why had he raised Hong Geolgae as a son, yet insisted on being called his teacher?
The answer was simple. He could not abandon Yu Bonggae's son to die—so he rescued the boy and fled Chongqing.
Hong Geolgae's voice trembled slightly.
"…Do you know anything else about Elder Ma Jeonggae?"
"There wasn't much to know. Before he fled, he was hardly remarkable."
"Anything at all. Even something small…"
"Well…"
The old woman thought carefully, then recalled a faded memory.
"He once hid in a hemp field, spying on other beggars practicing martial arts. They caught him and beat him nearly to death. I suppose he really was a thief, after all."
"Ah…"
Hong Geolgae could not answer.
The old woman studied him for a long moment but did not press further.
Rising to her feet, she said,
"If you ever meet Ma Jeonggae again, tell him that an old woman surnamed Yong sends her regards. And tell him, if he wishes to meet, to return to Chongqing."
"Y-yes…"
Hong Geolgae hardly knew what he was saying. His mind was blank.
He sat dazed beneath the willow, watching as Old Yong disappeared into the rain.
Then he understood the meaning of the four knots Ma Jeonggae always carried.
In the Beggar's Sect, four knots marked a Guardian. One who protected the laws, the order—or a particular person.
Had he declared himself a Guardian for Yu Bonggae? No, that couldn't be—the man had already died before Ma Jeonggae ever claimed the title.
When he bore the name of Guardian, the only one at his side had been Hong Geolgae.
At last, Hong Geolgae realized why the martial arts Ma Jeonggae had taught him were so clumsy.
They had never been properly learned arts. Only fragments stolen by watching from afar, beaten for it, then pieced together.
Ma Jeonggae had taught from faded memory, passing on what scraps he had glimpsed from a distance. He knew nothing of internal arts, footwork, or cultivation.
And yet, knowing better than anyone how incomplete his understanding was, he had still chosen to teach Hong Geolgae.
What had he felt, carrying such a burden?
Hong Geolgae suddenly sprang to his feet and ran with all his strength. He did not know where he was going—he simply followed where his legs carried him.
He ran until he was breathless, until he reached the banks of the Yangtze. The place where Ma Jeonggae had once tied a rope for him, where he had set it afloat.
The river raged like a beast, waves crashing wildly. Rain hammered the surface in a deafening roar.
He saw logs tumbling, sucked down into the torrent, leaving only froth behind before vanishing. Even the strongest swimmer in his right mind would never plunge into such a river.
But Hong Geolgae dove into the Yangtze. He was not in his right mind. All he trusted in was the paltry swimming skill he had learned as a child, splashing and bathing in the brook beside Jueul Village.
The fierce current tossed his body like a kite with its string cut. Yet Hong Geolgae fought, straining every limb, eyes wide as he searched the depths.
Through the froth, shapes flickered: water plants, pebbles, silt blooming upward from the riverbed, fish darting into crevices. None of them were what he sought.
The rope.
If he swam far enough along the current, perhaps he would find the knotted rope Ma Jeonggae had once tied.
A wiser man might have thought of a better way. But Hong Geolgae was not that wise.
He drifted for a long time, swimming hard with the flow. Only when his lungs screamed for air did he break for the surface. Even then, the current made rising difficult.
"Hahh… hahh!"
He gasped deeply a few times, then thrashed his way toward the shore. When at last he reached it, his limbs trembled violently.
And then he dove back into the river.
Again and again—swept downstream, crawling back half-dead to shore, coughing up water, massaging his stiffened limbs, then plunging back in.
Each time he jumped, he thought he might never climb back out again.
But in Hong Geolgae's mind, there was only one thought—he had to get that straw rope back.
The only thing Ma Jeon-gae had ever given him was that rope, and the one who let it drift away had been none other than Hong Geolgae himself.
How long had he been scouring the bottom of the Yangtze like that?
At last, amidst the weeds on the riverbed, he saw something swaying.
Found it.
The rope had snagged in the weeds. A faint glimpse of its knot was visible.
It wasn't the inevitable result of persistence—it was nothing more than chance, a miraculous coincidence.
But it was a coincidence born of risk, and risk was what made the meeting possible.
Hong Geolgae dove down to the riverbed. Unlike the raging surface, the deep current wasn't so fierce.
His hand seized the rope. A few strands of waterweed came up with it.
And just as he began to swim upward, something slick and ticklish brushed his ankle.
Hong Geolgae looked down. His foot was tangled in weeds.
Panicking, he kicked and twisted his leg, but the weeds refused to let go.
He held his breath and thrashed, but the knot held tight.
And when he could hold no longer, he burst out his trapped breath.
Pinned to the bottom, he watched the bubbles drift upward, toward the glimmering surface.
I'm going to die.
At that moment, someone plunged into the water.
They tore away the weeds, grabbed Hong Geolgae by the scruff of his neck, and dragged him up toward the surface—toward the bank.
Hong Geolgae lay sprawled on his side, unable to even rise, coughing up mouthfuls of water.
This time, he had truly come close to dying.
Then he sucked in air—deep, ragged gasps.
Hhhk—hhhhh!
More coughing followed. Again and again he hacked up water, drew in air, hacked again.
Only after repeating this countless times could he grasp what was around him.
Kneeling at his side, hacking just as violently, was another figure. Tang Mujin.
Two fools who had thrown themselves into the Yangtze during a storm.
Coughing and retching together.
The idiot and the moron of Chongqing.
Tang Mujin was the first to recover. He kicked Hong Geolgae hard in the ribs.
"You brain-dead bastard, what the hell are you doing, diving in on a day like this?"
His nose and head throbbed from all the water he'd swallowed. Now his ribs hurt too.
And yet—somehow, he couldn't stop himself from laughing.
Clutching his ribs with one hand, clutching the three-knot rope with the other, still coughing up water, Hong Geolgae snickered and wheezed with laughter.
"What, did you swallow something weird and lose your mind?"
Tang Mujin's grumbling voice reached his ears.
He ought to explain—should he start with Sosamgu's request?
Or the tavern mistress's advice?
Or maybe the old crone's tale?
Then he felt it—the sodden weight of the knotted rope in his palm.
Right.
Long-winded explanations didn't matter.
If it were his master standing here, what would he have done?
The answer was clear.
That gap-toothed girl's bright smile.
If it were Ma Jeon-gae, he'd have gone straight to save So-seon.
Could he save her?
It would be hard.
But doing the right thing doesn't require certainty of success.
That had been Ma Jeon-gae's last teaching, as he stood against Jayang Ssangsal.
And here, in this vast city of Chongqing, who would help him?
No one.
The beggars of the Beggar's Sect would say the dikes had to be repaired and refuse.
The timid ones would just hide and tremble.
Only one man might.
A fool who would slip back after running from blades.
A fool dumb enough to leap into the Yangtze in a storm.
So Hong Geolgae spoke, praying Tang Mujin was just as much a fool as himself.
"Mujin… can you help me, just this once?"
"Idiot. I already helped you once, so now you should be asking me to help you again."
Tang Mujin didn't even ask what kind of request it was.
He just kicked Hong Geolgae in the ribs again and said—
"Whatever it is, I'll help. Let's go."
Hong Geolgae laughed, clutching his side as he rose to his feet.
And so, the two fools vanished into the rain of Chongqing.