Wuchang
Tang Mujin and Namgung Myeong turned westward and, in just four days, arrived at Wuchang in Hubei. It was thanks to occasionally employing their lightness techniques whenever the road grew desolate.
Wuchang was the largest city in Hubei. From here, a few days' walk could lead one into Henan, Anhui, Jiangxi, or Hunan—it was a crucial transportation hub.
Just as Luoyang, home of the Murim Alliance's headquarters, had an unusually large number of martial artists, Wuchang was overflowing with merchants who had gathered from every corner of the Central Plains.
No, it wasn't just merchants from the Central Plains. Here and there were even traders from the Great Western Kingdom, with dusky skin and thick, bushy beards.
Merchants would pull their carts along and, upon spotting something they fancied from another's cart, stop right there to trade goods on the spot.
A novice merchant might hesitate, afraid of being duped by counterfeits, but the traders of Wuchang all carried themselves with absolute confidence in their own judgment—never a moment of doubt.
Some of these merchants, having finished their day's dealings, strode lightly toward the guesthouses.
Tang Mujin and Namgung Myeong also wished to idle about for a day, but first they had to settle a matter: checking how much money they had and calculating the fare for Sichuan.
The two slipped into a quiet alley and sat facing each other.
"Brother Myeong, let's pool our money together first."
"Understood."
Namgung Myeong willingly turned out his coin pouch.
From Namgung Myeong's pouch came no more than twelve coins.
Tang Mujin had never once seen silver or gold inside his pouch.
Yet, curiously, it was always Namgung Myeong who paid for their meals, and though the number of coins rose or fell, the pouch never once emptied completely.
When entering a guesthouse, there might be ten coins, but after dining, he would hand the servant fifteen coins and somehow still have twenty left.
And the following evening, at another inn, the pouch might contain fifty coins. It was as if Namgung Myeong's pouch were a bottomless treasure gourd.
"Your turn, Brother Jin."
This time Tang Mujin emptied his pouch. Out spilled thirty-one silver taels. Despite drifting about, he had managed to save up a decent sum.
'Thirty-one silver taels…'
Back in Chongqing, when three people had boarded a boat, they had paid sixty taels for passage—twenty per person.
For two to board now, they would need forty taels.
Namgung Myeong's handful of coppers hardly mattered, so they still lacked nine taels.
But that could be managed. Namgung could help with chores on the boat, and Tang Mujin could earn by tending to sailors' and passengers' ailments.
"Is it enough?"
"A little short. But this much should be no problem. Let's secure a boat right away."
Confident, Tang Mujin led Namgung toward the harbor.
But when they found a boat heading upriver toward Chongqing, they were met with a shocking demand.
"Two people to Chongqing? Eighty taels."
"…What?"
"What do you mean 'what'? Forty per head. Eighty."
Twenty per person had already felt exorbitant, yet now the fare had doubled for reasons unclear.
Nine taels might be bargained away, but forty-nine was impossible. This was well beyond negotiation.
"Why is it so expensive? Last year, when I went down from Chongqing to Huining, twenty taels was enough."
The sailor snorted.
"Downriver follows the current. Upriver fights against it. Of course it costs more. Besides, winter's just ended, and plenty of folk are eager to pay a premium for passage. For merchants, it's the busy season."
"But double the price is too much."
"I don't set the fares. If you don't like it, find another boat. Or wait a month or two until late spring—then fares will drop to around thirty taels."
A sudden thought crossed Tang Mujin's mind: If I let Namgung go and boarded alone, maybe I could manage…
But he immediately dismissed it. He prided himself on being a man of loyalty.
"…We'll look around a bit more."
"Suit yourself."
As Tang Mujin turned away, the sun was already near the horizon, painting the sky red.
Watching the townsfolk disperse after their day's work, a thought struck him.
"Brother Myeong, at this rate, we'll have to earn our fare here in Wuchang."
Namgung immediately objected.
"Jobs paying that much are rare. It'd be faster to walk through Hanzhong and into Sichuan."
Fifty silver taels was no small sum. When working as a porter, Namgung's daily wage had been breakfast and ten coins.
Fifty taels equaled five thousand coins. Even if he skipped dinner every day, it would take over a year and a half of labor. With two men working, they wouldn't set sail until winter.
Better to walk to Sichuan.
But that was from the perspective of someone earning ten coins a day.
"It's fine. Even if we earn here in Wuchang, we'll arrive earlier than walking."
"You have a way to make that much?"
"Of course."
To avoid assassins catching their trail, wielding a sword or practicing medicine in Wuchang was out of the question. That could wait until Chongqing or Sichuan.
What remained was Tang Mujin's craftsmanship.
In truth, it was more profitable than swordplay or medicine. The question was—how to put it to use?
The first idea was to borrow a smithy and craft items for sale. With Wuchang bustling with merchants, materials were easy to obtain, and sales guaranteed.
But the timing was bad. Early spring was the busiest season for smithies, brimming with orders. Renting space, even for pay, would be near impossible.
The next option was carving wood trinkets on the street and selling them.
If he set up in a lively district and sold to drunken revelers, money would come quickly.
Tang Mujin suggested,
"Let's head to the tavern district and target the pockets of revelers."
"I didn't expect you to consider that… Good. One or two days at most, and we'll have enough for passage."
Namgung's sudden confidence made Tang Mujin uneasy.
"That's not what I meant. I intend to earn through fair trade."
"Trade?"
"If I carve wood, I can quickly earn a few dozen taels. I'll give you silver—fetch me fine-grained, patterned wood. Pagoda tree or holly will do."
Ordinary wood carvings sold on the street were worth a coin or two at most, rarely bought.
But Namgung figured there must be a reason behind Tang Mujin's confidence.
"So you're skilled in woodworking as well as metal?"
"They overlap in ways. I'll set up a spot. You bring the wood to the tavern street."
"Understood."
The two disappeared into Wuchang's bustling crowds.
***
Tang Mujin set up at a corner of the tavern street. It was still too early for drunks to stagger about.
He ignored the sober passersby—such folk would show no interest in carvings. Instead, he quietly shaved small pieces of wood, waiting for the right customers.
There is something curious about a father's heart: once drunk, he feels the urge to bring something home.
A snack a child craved, a hairpin a wife had been eyeing—or even some trinket he would normally never notice. Anything, as long as he could present it.
However, the carvings Tang Mujin first made were crude.
It was hard to tell whether a new carving was supposed to be a crane or a pigeon, and his four-legged animals barely resembled a cow or a horse. Namgung Myeong's face betrayed quiet disappointment.
"…Will such things even sell?"
"These aren't meant to be sold. They're just to show people that carvings are for sale here."
"Still, wouldn't it be better to make something a bit more refined to draw in customers?"
"It's fine. Rough goods have their own purpose."
Displaying something too exquisite could actually be harmful. Drunken fathers might loosen their purse strings, but only within the limits of spare coins.
If they thought they'd need to hand over ten or twenty silver taels—or even gold—for a piece, they would hesitate to approach. True business only began after catching the customers' attention.
At that moment, an official in uniform approached. The reddish tint around his cheekbones suggested he had been drinking since early in the day.
"These things, are they for sale?"
"Yes, sir."
"This one then. The chicken. How much?"
"Two coins… though the workmanship doesn't satisfy me. Since you're my first customer, for just one more coin, I'll make you something far finer."
"No, this is good enough for me."
"It won't take even fifteen minutes."
"Hm…"
The official felt a flicker of interest. After all, even a rough carving wasn't easy to produce so quickly.
Just then, Namgung Myeong slipped a broad plank beneath him, and the official reflexively sat down—he had been dizzy anyway and wanted to rest a while.
Once seated, his mood grew lighter. Just a few coins. Two or three made no real difference.
"What shape shall I make for you?"
"A rooster. With a tall comb and a long, splendid tail."
A rooster's comb symbolized official fortune, while a long tail represented longevity and prosperity. What better gift for a father to give his son?
Tang Mujin carved at an unhurried pace.
Unhurried for him, at least—others saw only impossible speed. A few strokes here formed the comb; a few there shaped the legs.
At first, the official leaned back with crossed legs, casually watching.
Before long, his spine straightened. The skill was extraordinary.
Gradually, his head leaned forward.
He had thought a vague chicken shape would suffice, but Tang Mujin had already moved beyond that—adding intricate detail.
The feathers etched into the body looked far too soft to be wood, and the rooster's eyes seemed ready to dart about in search of worms.
The official began to feel uneasy. The difference between the crude carvings earlier and this one was staggering. Could it be that the price wasn't three coins, but three silver taels?
Of course, he knew this carving was worth far more than three taels. The problem was that his purse wasn't nearly so deep.
"You there… Are you sure the price is only three coins?"
"Yes. I'm giving it cheap, since you're my first customer."
Relieved, the official rested his chin on his chest, watching intently.
Passersby began to gather. They weren't drawn by Tang Mujin's hands so much as by the sight of the official completely absorbed in watching him work.
Following the official's gaze, they too fixed their eyes on the carving, soon standing transfixed.
At last, Tang Mujin finished and handed it over.
It was exactly as requested—a long-tailed rooster with its comb proudly erect, its flowing tail feathers elegant and lifelike, brimming with vitality.
The official stared for a long time before finally looking at Tang Mujin with a strange expression.
"I've heard the world holds many eccentric geniuses, but I never thought I'd meet one myself."
"Then you're fortunate today."
When backed by true skill, even shameless words didn't grate.
The official grinned, at first reaching to hand over three coins, but then reconsidered.
Three coins? Impossible. His eye for value might not be keen, but this piece could easily resell for dozens or hundreds of times more.
His means were limited, but he wasn't so petty as to respond to rare skill and generous treatment with stinginess.
So instead, he untied his pouch and gave it over whole. Inside was only one silver tael and a few coins, but Tang Mujin accepted it as if it were only natural.
Rising to leave, the official noticed the crowd of dozens that had gathered behind him.
He was momentarily embarrassed, but then, understanding his final role, he smiled broadly and slipped away.
The customer was king.
But in Tang Mujin's experience, from the second customer onward, he became the king.
Crossing his legs arrogantly, he declared:
"Now then. Tell me what you want and name your price. I'll take the most expensive commission first."