Black-Clad Men
When Tang Mujin returned to the spot where he had first encountered the black-clad men, Goiyi and Hong Geolgae were already back, waiting for him.
Hong Geolgae looked at Tang Mujin and spoke.
"You're the last one, huh?"
"I had a little business."
From Hong Geolgae's expression, it was clear he was rather pleased with himself for finishing off his opponent faster than Tang Mujin.
But Tang Mujin felt no sense of defeat at all. Unlike Hong Geolgae, who would have simply beaten his opponent to death with a club as soon as the chance arose, Tang Mujin had granted his target a painless death and even bothered to bury the body before returning. If he had just taken the head with a single stroke, he would've been faster than Hong Geolgae without question.
Of course, Tang Mujin didn't bother explaining that. He knew that trying to justify himself like that would only be the most pathetic thing to do.
Instead, he offered a faint smile—one that carried a story behind it, and just enough meaning to be a little annoying.
Watching him, Goiyi clicked his tongue.
"Quit playing around and take their masks off. We need to know where these bastards came from."
Two corpses in black garb lay there. One was the man Goiyi had cut down at the start, the other seemed to be the one he had chased afterward.
"Will looking at their faces even tell us anything? They're not gonna have their affiliations written there."
"They are written."
"…What?"
"I said they are. Bastards who have something to hide under a mask usually carry at least one tattoo somewhere on their body."
Skeptical, Tang Mujin removed their masks.
Sure enough, just as Goiyi had said, crude tattoos were carved into their necks. In awkward, crooked letters it read: Wolf .
"Looks like they're from some group like the Black Wolf Gang or the Mad Wolf Gang."
"Are they famous?"
"No. But most underworld thugs come up with names about the same level, so I'm just guessing."
"Why bother with tattoos? Doesn't look like there's any benefit to them."
People didn't look kindly upon tattoos. They were often associated with criminal punishment.
Unlike Chongqing, where the righteous sects held power, in Chengdu the beggar clans accepted any beggar into their ranks.
But there were some beggars who couldn't mix with them and lived even more wretched lives. Most were thieves, caught stealing from other beggars.
Yet some were excluded even when their hands weren't sticky. One man bore the character 奸 (rape) tattooed on his forehead—marking him as someone who had assaulted a woman.
Of course, not all tattoos were punishments. Soldiers dragged to war or sailors about to voyage sometimes carved tattoos on themselves as charms for survival.
Still, people didn't look at those kindly either. Tang Mujin was no different.
"They'll tell you it's for belonging or pride. But that's just talk to lure fools in. The truth is, it's so the organization makes sure they can never live a normal life again."
Tang Mujin and Hong Geolgae didn't really follow. Goiyi clicked his tongue again and elaborated.
"Think of it this way. You're the leader of these masked men. Which would you rather have—someone who can run off and wash his hands clean whenever he wants, or someone who, whether he likes it or not, has to bury his bones in your organization?"
"…Naturally, the one who has to bury his bones."
"Exactly. Once you tattoo them, there's no going back to normal society. It's the perfect method."
A horrifying thought. Once a man fell into the underworld, he had to remain there forever.
"Anyway, this means they're not from some major sect, right?"
"Right. If they're sending out four second-rate fighters as trackers, then they're not a large or powerful group. From the way they ran their mouths behind masks, they're not even professional assassins."
That shocked Tang Mujin and Hong Geolgae.
"Second-rate?"
"What, did you really think you beat first-rate opponents? Dream big, kid."
"That's not it—I thought they were only third-rate. I barely had to try against mine."
Tang Mujin glanced sideways. Hong Geolgae also didn't seem to have had much trouble with his opponent.
Goiyi made a twisted expression as he replied.
"Look at you sugarcoating it. Just ask me to praise you outright."
"That's not what I meant! If I beat a second-rate martial artist so easily, doesn't that mean I'm already first-rate?"
As a martial artist, Tang Mujin's goal had always been to become first-rate. Among the martial artists he was personally acquainted with, the highest was Jin Song, the Chief Instructor of Cheongseong Sect's Chengdu Branch. Jin Song was a first-rate martial artist.
In Chengdu, Jin Song was said to be second to none, bowing to no one but his own master, the elder Cheongryeongja.
Some whispered that certain leaders of mid-sized sects were stronger than Jin Song, but even so, he never bowed to them. His achievements weren't inferior, and the authority of belonging to Cheongseong Sect far outshone those sect leaders.
Tang Mujin had always thought it would take years of backbreaking effort before he could even dream of first-rate. But had he already reached it? His shoulders lifted with pride.
How would people in his hometown look at him now?
He imagined showing his martial prowess to those who once sneered, showing off his scars to swindle cheaper medicine, and watching their faces twist in awe at a true first-rate master. The thought thrilled him.
But Goiyi's next words shattered the dream.
"First-rate? Standards differ from person to person, but I wouldn't call you or Hong Geolgae first-rate just yet."
"Why not? If I beat a second-rate easily, doesn't that make me first-rate?"
"Not exactly. The most common measure is the flow of qi. When every technique you use naturally follows with the support of your internal energy, without conscious effort—that's when you're called first-rate. You're not there yet."
Tang Mujin wilted. Even Hong Geolgae, who had been listening silently, looked dejected. Goiyi added one last remark.
"Don't obsess over ranks like first-rate or second-rate. They're just arbitrary standards people made up. Plenty of martial artists have died to people weaker than themselves. Whether the blade carries qi or is swung thoughtlessly, if it cuts the throat or pierces the heart, it kills."
Still… Tang Mujin wished he could have heard someone call him first-rate, just once. He nodded with mild disappointment.
"Anyway, do you think these are the bandits the merchants mentioned up on the mountain?"
"Almost certainly."
Because there had been about a year's gap between the bandits' settlement and the opening of Oseoksan's trading post, the merchants hadn't thought to link the two. But if the Namga Clan Leader was in league with the bandits, it all made perfect sense.
They took over the mountain to cut off the mining village's lifeline, then used its resources to let their lackeys peddle Oseoksan for profit.
And finally, by forcing the starving villagers to serve as sellers, the bandit gang could rake in money with ease.
Even this alone was convincing, but the moment the Namga Clan Leader was killed, the bandits sent trackers after them. No doubt they were one and the same crew.
After a moment's thought, Goiyi spoke.
"Looks like we'll need to head back and deal with the bandit gang. If we didn't know before, fine. But we can't just let the ones making Oseoksan run free."
It was expected. Goiyi's temperament might be erratic, but his principle of action was brutally simple.
Reduce the number of people suffering from illness. That was just about the only rule Goiyi lived by.
"What can just the three of us even do?"
"There's no need to be afraid. Their numbers won't be that large."
"How do you know that?"
"The trackers they sent were weak. They've been leeching off small-town merchants to survive. And this is Henan, the very heart of orthodox martial society. If their band grows too big and word spreads, there'll be no shortage of people rushing in to cut them down. The Beggar Sect's main hall and Shaolin itself are both here in Henan."
At the mention of the Beggar Sect's main hall, Hong Geolgae's ears perked up. There was even the chance he might encounter Gulseon, one of the Six Elders.
"There's no need to slaughter them all. Just kill a few of the higher-ups who know how to make Oseoksan and slip away. Or pour oil or poison over the stockpiled ingredients to make them useless. If we smash their operations a few times like that, they'll eventually pack up and leave on their own."
"Hm."
Tang Mujin and Hong Geolgae both nodded.
They too had been feeling uneasy about the matter.
The three arrived near the village where they had parted ways with the merchants, then began making their way up toward the mountain peak.
"Where do you think they'll be?"
"They said bandits had cut off the stream where placer gold and iron sand were collected. Let's follow the creek upstream first."
Suddenly, Tang Mujin recalled Jueul Village. Back then too, they had followed a creek upstream.
The ankle-deep stream gradually deepened until the water reached their knees and thighs. The current was decently strong. This must have been where the villagers once panned for gold.
Relying on moonlight, the three surveyed their surroundings. Not far from the stream stood a modestly built hut.
"Could that be it?"
"Looks like it."
And it wasn't just one hut. Several were scattered at wide intervals across the area.
But there wasn't a single guard in sight.
"Figures. Men like these don't bother with strict vigilance. First let's see where they're storing the materials."
The three pushed through waist-high weeds as they approached the huts. Suddenly, Tang Mujin's foot stepped on something soft.
"Which bastard…?"
A man stirred awake with a mumble. Looking down, Tang Mujin saw the sun-darkened face of a fellow who had apparently dozed off outdoors in the heat.
Tang Mujin's eyes went straight to the man's neck. As expected, there was a tattoo.
The moment Tang Mujin's hand moved toward his sword hilt, Goiyi rushed in and stomped on the bandit's throat.
Crunch.
"Guh!"
Before the man could even writhe more than a couple times, Goiyi drove his blade into the bandit's heart. The man gurgled, coughed blood, and fell still.
"There's no need to check for tattoos one by one. The fact that they're here already means they're part of the same crew."
"Got it."
Goiyi looked eastward. The sky was beginning to pale, the first hint of dawn showing. Within an hour or two, the sun would rise.
"Let's split up and search. If there's trouble, give a signal."
"A signal?"
"Imitate a birdcall or something. Figure it out."
"Understood."
Tang Mujin crouched low, circling around to examine the huts. It was a nerve-wracking task, since here and there men were sprawled asleep on the ground.
For a moment, Tang Mujin considered leaving them be. But then he decided to act as Goiyi had. If anything happened, these men would surely turn into enemies. Better to cut off the threat beforehand.
So Tang Mujin, like Goiyi, stomped down on their throats with his heel and stabbed their hearts with his sword. To be safe, he had even smeared paralysis poison on his blade, so the bandits writhed only briefly before dying.
Still, unlike when he had fought the black-clad men earlier, killing defenseless foes left him uneasy.
It can't be helped.
He quietly dispatched two such men sprawled on the ground, then moved to search inside one of the huts.
Just then, from the direction Hong Geolgae had gone, came the clumsy imitation of a mountain dove's call.