Chapter 99

Cheong considered Bukgung Cheon an odd man.

He now stood on the brink of disaster.

All the guards who had protected Bukgung Cheon were slaughtered by unknown martial men.

To make matters worse, even the faction that followed him had turned its back and was negotiating behind the scenes with his brothers.

A house built on sand.

Everything Bukgung Cheon had constructed to become Family Lord collapsed overnight.

People whispered; everyone knew.

That he had lost the contest for the Family Lord.

But Bukgung Cheon did not yield to despair.

Even now it was the same: having lost everything, he requested bodyguards at the main hall and was heading for Suzhou.

In Suzhou, his half-brothers were holding a meeting.

“Hey, Cheong. How far to Suzhou?”

“We’ll arrive in two days. And please don’t call me that.”

“Good. Tonight we’ll stay at a fine inn. We’ll eat well and drink.”

“Didn’t you do that yesterday?”

“Yesterday the food was awful. The place looked flashy, but the cook had no skill.”

Cheong, who drove the carriage, felt those words rise in his throat.

‘Is now the time for the young master to act like this?’

He swallowed the remark. Cheong wasn’t Bukgung Cheon’s retainer; his mission was simple: escort him safely to Suzhou and then take him back to Taiyuan. After Suzhou, Cheong thought, the return would be impossible. Even if two left, likely only one would come back. It wasn’t his duty to stop the reckless young master from walking into danger.

“Come on! Let’s go! Tonight I’m footing the bill!”

Cheong shook his head and urged the carriage forward.

“Whoa!”

Bukgung Cheon’s promise to pay was no lie. As soon as they reached the village he stopped at the largest inn and announced, “Tonight’s on me. Meals and a room for everyone.”

The innkeeper, who had been fanning himself with a sullen face, cried out in delight.

Cheong did not intervene this time either. To him it looked like a fool spending his money before his death.

“Bring the best wine and food.”

At Bukgung Cheon’s words, the beaming innkeeper hurried to the kitchen and scolded the cook. Soon the dishes were set out. They weren’t on par with the Bukgung Family’s fare, but they were prepared with care.

“Won’t you join?”

“I’ll eat after the young master finishes.”

“Won’t it get cold then?”

“When on duty, I don’t mind cold food.”

“How dull.”

Bukgung Cheon said, crunching on a chicken leg.

In the quiet inn, only the solemn sound of Bukgung Cheon’s cup being filled echoed.

He hummed, commented on the food, and muttered to himself with folded arms, sometimes appearing almost unhinged.

Clink. Glug glug.

Cheong sat opposite and refilled the empty cup. Bukgung Cheon brightened and asked, “Oh, care for a drink?”

“It seems you’re drinking alone, so I’ll top it up.”

“You’re really no fun.”

Clink.

Their cups met. Bukgung Cheon drained his at one gulp and let out a long, satisfied groan; his face flushed red. Cheong had noticed over the past few days that Bukgung Cheon was weak with drink.

“Why are you going to Suzhou?”

“Do you think I’m going for sightseeing?”

“Are you going to meet your brothers?”

Bukgung Cheon nodded while chewing a squid leg. From watching him, Cheong knew he would eat anything; the man had an untroubled appetite.

“What do you intend to do when you get there?”

Bukgung Cheon’s jaw stopped moving. He stared at Cheong and asked, “Why?”

“Well…”

“Because it looks like you’re going to die a senseless death?”

“…No.”

Cheong bowed his head immediately. “I’m sorry.”

From his observations, Cheong felt Bukgung Cheon had a disarming quality. He wasn’t domineering—he was unpretentious and composed. Watching him made people step across boundaries they normally wouldn’t.

At Cheong’s apology Bukgung Cheon waved it away and said, “Cheong, do I look like a corpse?”

“No.”

“I’ve lost my strength. I’ve lost my sword. Having lost everything, that might make sense. To others it’s tragic: born to pursue power, failing to seize the Family Lord—life becomes as fleeting as a mayfly. Isn’t that so?”

“I went too far.”

“No. You saw it clearly. Not only you, but everyone in Taewon would think so. But do you know this?”

“…?”

“I have no intention of being crushed by my misfortune.”

Bukgung Cheon went on. “If there’s one thing I’m better at than my brothers, it’s learning how to rise after falling. Those born to high positions find it hard to understand this: the strength to stand on two legs even when everything is taken. A strength common folk don’t have. Cheong, do you see it too?”

He cast his gaze toward the inn’s entrance and asked. Cheong didn’t look back; he could sense people without turning.

“Yes, I see them.”

“Those who would crush my life with misfortune have come.”

Bukgung Cheon grabbed Cheong’s cup and put on a playful face. “One who intends to use a sword shouldn’t be drinking.”

“Excuse me for a moment.”

Cheong rose from his seat.

Martial men were entering through the inn’s doorway—roughly five. Whether the number matched Bukgung Cheon’s brothers by coincidence was anyone’s guess.

“Innkeeper. Is the money I gave you enough? Tonight’s festivities will be quite loud, I think.”

Seeing who had entered, the innkeeper let out a different kind of scream.

“Hong Taek Five Fiends!”

“Oh ho, so they’re well-known fellows?”

“Sir, these men are notorious across Hongtaek! I won’t accept any money—please, just leave…”

“Innkeeper.”

Bukgung Cheon said calmly, “When receiving a lot of money, one must measure its weight.”

At that cue, the Hong Taek Five Fiends and Cheong drew their weapons simultaneously. Bukgung Cheon, like a bored drunk uninterested in a mediocre musician’s performance, kept filling his cup.

“There’s a price of one hundred thousand coins on their heads.”

“That much bounty?” One tilted his head.

Swallowing his drink, he grinned and added, “I suppose I should repeat what I just said. When receiving a lot of money, you must gauge its weight. A human head for a hundred thousand coins—doesn’t that strike you as strange?”

Whether a hundred thousand or a million, it was meaningless—money that could never realistically be collected. How could they hope to harm someone guarded by members of the Bukgung Family’s Shadow Edge Troops?

The Hong Taek Five Fiends didn’t know this. A similar smile spread as they saw Bukgung Cheon. The Five Fiends seemed like brothers—each looked much the same, perhaps to the point of being indistinguishable, so each used a different weapon: sword, saber, spear. Listing them felt pointless; their days left would not exceed an instant.

“Attack, you lot!”

Sleee—.

Compared to the fiends’ clamor, the sound of Cheong drawing his blade was almost inaudible. The Shadow Edge Troops’ blade wasn’t meant for duels but for tracking and killing.

When the first fiend took one step, the youngest’s head fell; at the second step, the fourth’s and third’s heads; at the third step, the second’s head.

“Aaaah!”

The First Fiend watched his brothers slump. Then with a roll, four heads tumbled forward in unison. Cheong booted them away so they wouldn’t touch Bukgung Cheon.

“…!”

The lone remaining First Fiend finally grasped the situation. It wasn’t about the hundred thousand coins. Whether a hundred thousand or a million, it’s just worldly coin. Their opponent had been a master beyond their league from the start.

“Please spare my life!”

“No.”

Bukgung Cheon, poking pork with chopsticks, answered instead. “Those who plead that way usually don’t live.”

And so it went.

The First Fiend’s head joined his brothers’, rolling on the floor.

“Too crude to be called an assassin, too clumsy to be a hired killer.”

Cheong sheathed his sword and went to the innkeeper. “Please take care of the cleanup. It would be unwise to leave the premises tonight.”

The innkeeper, eyes wide, nodded frantically.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

“As expected—Shadow Edge Troops!”

Bukgung Cheon applauded and greeted Cheong. “Now give me a drink.”

“I don’t drink while on duty.”

“You killed five; no more will come, I reckon.”

“If they truly intended to take the young master’s life, they may have hired more.”

“No.”

Bukgung Cheon shook his head. “If they wanted my life, they wouldn’t have sent such shabby men.”

“…”

“They weren’t trying to kill me, but to warn. Don’t come to Suzhou. If you come closer you’ll get hurt. They hope we’ll be scared and flee.”

“How do you know?”

“How do I know?”

Kruu! Bukgung Cheon finished his last drink. “Because we’re family, you see. Cheong, what does that mean?”

“I don’t understand your meaning.”

Bukgung Cheon poked a fallen fiend’s corpse. “A warning not to come near me means they don’t want me coming near.”

He rose and said, “So we must go. To our brothers we are willing to die. Isn’t that duty as family?”

The drunken Bukgung Cheon swayed, then asked the innkeeper struggling to carry the corpses, “Hey, innkeeper! We probably won’t sleep here tonight—will you waive the room charge?”

“…So?”

Bukgung Yoon was so engrossed in the story her cheeks flushed. Her attentive manner made the storyteller more animated.

Just as Cheong was about to continue, a Shadow Edge Troops member approached them.

“Leader.”

“What is it?”

“The Family Lord requests your presence.”

“The Family Lord?”

The summons was unexpected. The Bukgung Family Lord rarely called for the Shadow Edge Troops’ leader unless something special was afoot. Perhaps a report that Bukgung Yoon had visited had reached him.

“Oh dear…”

Dismay crossed Cheong’s face. He had expected this, but the summons stiffened the back of his neck.

“Miss, I must be going now.”

“You haven’t finished your story yet.”

“The Shadow Edge Troops must respond immediately to the Family Lord’s summons in any circumstance.”

“How boring…”

As Cheong prepared to leave, he froze and looked at Bukgung Yoon.

‘Come to think of it.’

On the day Bukgung Yoon was named a candidate for Family Lord, Cheong had been present. He had listened behind the curtain to the conversation between Bukgung Cheon, Bukgung Yoon, and Yeon Mujin. Suddenly, something Bukgung Cheon had said long ago overlapped with what Bukgung Yoon had said that day.

—I have no intention of being crushed by my misfortune.

Thus spoke Bukgung Cheon. And then:

—Family Lord, you cannot reproach me.

These were Bukgung Yoon’s words.

“…”

All the other sons bore some resemblance to Bukgung Cheon. One young master was sly, another persistent, another bold. But Cheong, who had served the Bukgung Family for years, felt an incongruity only he noticed: an intuition that none of them seemed fit to be Bukgung Family Lord.

And yet.

“…Is there something on my face?”

“No.”

‘A disease of old age—saying things I shouldn’t. Best stick to my place.’

Cheong felt, for some reason, that Bukgung Cheon and Bukgung Yoon resembled each other strangely. For unknown reasons. One of the ailments of age is speaking when one ought not to. It was a talkative day; since he was talkative anyway, he thought it wouldn’t hurt to add one more remark.

“Miss.”

“Yes.”

“There’s one thing the Family Lord told me just before we arrived in Suzhou that day.”

“What is it?”

A single remark Cheong left behind before he departed.

“When you have no strength, you threaten no one. A well-sharpened sword is not the only sword. The bladeless sword. I hold that.”