Part 49 - As Usual
Wongakjeong, early afternoon.
As usual, Yeon Sang-hyeon was meeting with book brokers who had come to see him in the guest pavilion where he received visitors.
"Hmm."
Yeon Sang-hyeon ran his fingers over the leather cover of a book.
The book broker in round spectacles gave him a knowing smile.
"As expected of the First Young Master! A man whose learning none can match. It seems you've seen through this book's value at a glance!"
As Yeon Sang-hyeon skimmed the contents, he said.
"No. I was just thinking the cover looks like it's made of human skin."
At the words human skin, the broker's face went deathly pale.
In a hurry, he turned to the Semu merchant sitting beside him and asked something.
The man—red-haired, red-bearded, and sitting with a cowed politeness—answered carefully.
After a brief exchange in halting foreign speech, the broker immediately bowed his head deeply to Yeon Sang-hyeon.
"Ah, First Young Master! Please kill this lowly wretch who dared let your noble person touch such an impious object!"
"Save that 'noble body' talk for the imperial family. Next book?"
Brightening at those words, the broker rummaged through the red sandalwood chest he'd carried in.
"Now then, as for this volume—"
The brokers from his merchant guild were all skilled, but every last one of them talked far too much.
"Enough. Hand it over."
Yeon Sang-hyeon snatched up the wrapped bundle in the man's hands.
"Haha, decisive as always!"
Yeon Sang-hyeon carefully loosened the silver-thread cloth and drew out a worn old book.
With delicate hands, he examined the crumbling pages.
"This is…!"
At Yeon Sang-hyeon's reaction, the broker's eyes gleamed.
"Hoho. Just as I thought, First Young Master. That book is something I acquired with great difficulty—"
Ignoring him, Yeon Sang-hyeon turned to the Semu merchant and asked a question instead.
Hearing Yeon Sang-hyeon's fluent Dutch, the merchant startled—then broke into a delighted expression, adding gestures as he eagerly spoke back.
"…I see. As expected, First Young Master. You're even proficient in Dutch."
Feeling left out, the broker pulled a handkerchief from his robe and wiped the sweat running down his scraped forehead.
A short while later—
"Fine. I'll buy them all."
The broker practically leapt into the air.
"Your grace is boundless!"
"Grace, my foot…"
Yeon Sang-hyeon wrote out the receipt.
"…As before, shall we collect the payment from the inner court?"
Yeon Sang-hyeon let out a small laugh.
"The inner court doesn't like paying, does it?"
The broker shook his head frantically.
"Not at all! It's only that I—and our guild—aren't widely known, so small misunderstandings arise. The First Young Master's mercy, vast as the sea, is something this lowly—"
While he babbled on, Yeon Sang-hyeon exchanged greetings with the Dutch merchant.
Yeon Sang-hyeon smiled, and the merchant burst into laughter.
It was a remark along the lines of: Next time, come directly without this long-winded broker.
Of course, the broker—whose Dutch was too poor to understand—could only force a smile as he kept wiping sweat.
***
At the same time.
Jeong-a was filling the alms bowls of two elderly monks until they overflowed with food.
They wore ragged kasaya robes so worn that it was impossible to tell what color they had once been. Smiling broadly and showing white teeth, they spoke warmly.
"Ah, thank you. May you be blessed, young Bodhisattva."
"There's nowhere else with vegetables as delicious as this. Surely it's all thanks to the Bodhisattva's merit, is it not?"
The wrinkled old monks pressed their palms together again and again toward Jeong-a.
"It's nothing, venerable sirs."
A foul stench clung to them, and their breath reeked of rot.
But Jeong-a showed no sign of disgust. She returned their salute with solemn courtesy.
"If you ever need anything, please come by anytime."
Then one of the old monks looked at her with an oddly suggestive gaze.
"Did the young master of this house ask you to arrange any other alms on his behalf? What was it again…?"
Jeong-a clapped her hands.
"Ah! Please wait just a moment!"
Not long after, the old monks walked away lightly, now carrying even a chunk of smoked meat wrapped in oiled paper.
"Venerable sirs, please take care on your way."
They waved back at Jeong-a.
"Amitabha."
"Be blessed, young Bodhisattva."
"And give our regards to the master of the house."
The moment they'd gone a little farther, the silent triplet maids shrugged.
"I truly don't understand."
"A monk accepting meat as alms?"
"And did you see those white teeth? And the wrinkles—those were obviously a disguise."
Jeong-a turned to them.
"The meat they took is for the novice monks at the temple. Watch your words."
The girls shrank back at once.
"I-is that so?"
Then Sam-ryeong carefully spoke up.
"No, but… to begin with, where did those old monks even come in from?"
The other two twins clapped their hands.
"Now that you mention it—right?!"
"This is Wongakjeong, tucked away in the farthest corner of the Luoyang Sword Clan. Mendicant monks appearing out of nowhere?"
Jeong-a kept her palms together as she watched the old monks receding into the distance.
"Do you not know what mountain that is, the one you see over there?"
At her words, the triplet maids turned around.
The garden stretching beyond Wongakjeong became forest, and the forest, reaching farther, became dense woodland.
And beyond the woodland rose the jagged outline of a harsh, forbidding mountain range.
Without thinking, I-ryeong murmured the name.
"Mount Song…?"
At that moment, Il-ryeong cried out in alarm.
"No! Those insane monks are going into the Forbidden Zone!"
I-ryeong stamped her feet anxiously.
"Head Maid! Isn't that a demonic domain—designated a Forbidden Zone because not even a master has ever returned alive?!"
That was why Wongakjeong's garden could open toward nature without any defenses in that direction.
Jeong-a smiled.
"Don't worry."
As she spoke, the old monks disappeared into the forest.
"They came from there in the first place."
***
In cold winter weather, bright sunlight ought to have felt like nothing but a blessing—yet a chilly qi hung around Wongakjeong's main gate.
"Captain. Even so… isn't a suspension too harsh?"
They were talking about what had happened the night before.
When The Sword of Stealing the Ghost said nothing, the special operative—disguised as a guard—thumped his chest as if frustrated.
"No. It's true that guy was wrong to let Elder Yeom's steward pass on his own authority. But to report it to the higher-ups over something that small—how are we supposed to deal with that?"
Leaning against the wall, The Sword of Stealing the Ghost opened his eyes.
"That small?"
At last he spoke, and the special operative hurriedly tried to defend their disciplined senior.
"We were just trying to needle the First Young Master a little. Haven't we done that occasionally before?"
The Sword of Stealing the Ghost smiled coldly.
"The steward was carried out half-dead, and four promising young warriors lost their right arms."
His gaze fixed on the special operative.
"And you're calling that a prank?"
"Well, that's—"
The man's words failed him.
The other operatives, who had been listening in, also darkened in expression.
The Sword of Stealing the Ghost let out a sigh.
"Yes. Before, it could've been a prank. We'd never once seen the First Young Master get angry."
He looked around at them.
"But after the day all the servants were driven out—haven't you all felt Wongakjeong change? Felt the First Young Master change?"
No one answered.
"None of you here really know one another. But there's one thing I do know."
Their eyes turned to him.
"We've all spent our lives fighting to raise the name of the main house—and now, for our own reasons, we've each stepped away from the front lines."
He tapped his scabbard.
"So cherish the honor you've built."
Then he added briefly.
"And be careful not to be rude to the Swordless."
As soon as he finished, the special operative he'd been speaking with shrugged.
"If you'd left out that last line, it would've been perfect."
Others snickered.
"Hey."
The Sword of Stealing the Ghost tried to say more, but the operative was already turning back to his post.
Without even looking over his shoulder, the man replied.
"No more pranks? Fine—I'll follow orders. Remember our honor? Understood. But 'don't be rude to the Swordless'?"
Someone chuckled.
"Come to think of it, Captain—since when did you start calling the Swordless 'First Young Master, First Young Master' like that?"
One man who'd kept silent finally spoke.
"I was assigned a special mission. For ten years, I lived with the mountains of Yunnan as my roof and the forest as my front yard—and I never regretted it even once."
He clenched his scabbard.
Two of his fingers were missing.
"But when I returned home wounded, my lord was collapsed, the main house was in chaos… and the eldest son was nowhere to be found."
Someone scoffed.
"Not being able to practice martial arts? That can't be helped. Talent is talent."
The man who always wore a leather helmet had once suffered a severe head injury on a mission.
"But I can't stomach someone who enjoyed every benefit of being the First Young Master—yet bears none of the responsibility."
The man who did nothing but fixed gate duty had an irreparable injury in one leg.
"They say the lord ordered him into seclusion, sure. But to me, that's just an excuse. If it were you—if your father collapsed—would you really stay shut up inside the house?"
Even the man who usually spoke very little because of a wound to his throat opened his mouth, coughing as he did.
"Even if he'd inherited only half the blood of either his father or his mother… he couldn't have done that."
They were all men who had thrown their bodies into sacrifice for the Luoyang Sword Clan.
They spat onto the ground.
"..."
This time, The Sword of Stealing the Ghost had nothing to say.
Everything they were saying… weren't those the very thoughts he himself had once held about Yeon Sang-hyeon?
And wasn't that the underlying stance most warriors of the Luoyang Sword Clan took toward him?
What could he possibly say here?
That Yeon Sang-hyeon had created the famous Seonyeong Chalna?
That after seeing him last night, it seemed possible Yeon Sang-hyeon had learned martial arts?
As they'd said, whether or not the First Young Master had martial arts wasn't the core of the matter.
And besides, the subject of the First Young Master's martial arts wasn't something he could casually speak of.
A coward, a craven.
Should he say the Yeon Sang-hyeon he had seen was not that kind of man?
But how was he supposed to bring it up?
The way Yeon Sang-hyeon always carried himself with pride? The chilling look in his eyes, shown only at times? The actions that reminded him of their lord?
That wasn't nearly enough to overturn the fact that Yeon Sang-hyeon had lived in seclusion for so long.
And in the first place—
…Why am I trying to speak for the First Young Master right now?
Just then, a special operative posted outside looked toward the main road.
"One unidentified individual approaching."
"Male. Silk robes. Unarmed."
Another operative, sharpening his eyesight, recognized the approaching figure.
"Huh? That man is…?"