Do It. Don’t Waver (3)

Jinan. Five Dragon Pool.

An old man with a wrinkled face sat in a red pavilion built at the edge of a tranquil lake.

The leaden lake rippled gently; the old man’s back to the water looked like a painting.

His neatly combed snow-white hair, pinned with a hairpin, and the blue crane cloak he wore marked him as a man of rank.

The old scholar, who had long stared at the lake in silence, slowly recited a short poem.

The old one already rode the yellow crane and departed, leaving only the empty Yellow Crane Tower here.

As his gaze sank deeper after the low-voiced recitation, someone cautiously entered the pavilion.

“My lord.”

The man bowed respectfully, but the old man’s eyes did not leave the lake.

“The Black Fish Clan has been annihilated.”

The old man’s white brows twitched.

He remained silent; the messenger bowed and waited as if the news surprised him not at all.

Only after a long while did the old man speak.

“You say they were annihilated?”

“Yes.”

“Strange.”

The old man muttered in a rasp, eyes fixed on the lake.

“I did not think Poison Scorpion’s strength reached such a level. Were they capable of swallowing the Black Fish Clan?”

“I apologize, but it was not Poison Scorpion who annihilated the Black Fish Clan; it was disciples of Mount Hua from Shaanxi.”

“….”

For the first time, the old man’s gaze left the lake.

“Mount Hua?”

“Yes, my lord.”

The old man furrowed his brow slightly—not so much in displeasure as in puzzlement, as if the name Mount Hua meant little to him.

“Mount Hua… when you say Mount Hua?”

“It was once one of the top ten sects in the rivers-and-lakes world. It declined for certain reasons, but lately it is said to be regaining its lost reputation.”

“A sect of the Way…”

The old man closed his eyes and murmured.

“My lord. How shall we handle it?”

He shook his head slowly.

“Leave it be.”

The man glanced for confirmation, then spoke again.

“But my lord. The losses are not small. We invested much time and effort to raise them. At this rate the damage will be enormous. Shouldn’t we punish those who caused the problem?”

Again the old man shook his head.

“A gentleman seeks the cause within himself; a petty person seeks it in others.”

“….”

“How can we blame them for acting righteously?”

The man fell silent and lowered his head.

“Leave them be. They were merely punished for briefly setting foot on a path not of the Right Way.”

“Understood.”

The man answered immediately; when the old man decided, his retainers followed without question.

“However… if so, Poison Scorpion will fill the vacuum left by the Black Fish Clan. Won’t their power become too great?”

“If the tripartite plan failed, we have no choice but to split the spoils.”

“Understood, my lord. I will handle it that way.”

He bowed deeply and turned to leave, but hesitated. The old man noticed and asked gently,

“Do you have anything more to say?”

“…It’s nothing important. I’m not sure if I should even mention it.”

“Speak.”

“That child…”

The old man’s expression changed at the words “that child.”

“He has recently been studying letters.”

“That child, you say?”

“Yes. That’s right.”

The old man fixed his gaze on the lake and fell silent for a long while. The man stood like a statue, waiting for his lord’s response.

“Is that so… he doesn’t know, does he?”

“….”

“Leave it be. He’ll know soon enough. So will that child.”

The man nodded and bowed once more.

“I will take my leave.”

The old man did not answer and continued to stare at the water. Satisfied, the man carefully backed out of the pavilion.

Alone, the old man’s gaze sank heavily. By then the leaden lake had been dyed red by the sunset.

A short sigh escaped him.

“He didn’t even tell his own child.”

Yes. That’s right. If one must forget, better to forget without regret. For those who remain, it’s the kindest choice.

But what of the one who must go? To die with such bitter resentment—how could that be an easy decision?

“So the Yu is the Yu… just like your child, indeed.”

Muttering to himself, the old man closed his eyes again.

Whether because he disliked the red-dyed water or because his wrinkled hands felt futile, one couldn’t tell.

“The old one already rode the yellow crane and departed…”

He wished, as the poem put it, that only an empty Yellow Crane Tower would remain; instead the restless spirit that could not leave wandered the world bitterly.

“Why must we be filial to our parents?”

“Because they give you food?”

“Why must we be loyal to our lord?”

“Because he gives money?”

“Why should we show kindness to those below us?”

“So you can exploit them without paying?”

“Hey!”

Jo Gul snapped, flipping the study table in a burst of pent-up anger.

“You bastard! Is spitting out whatever the same as speaking? Is it?”

“No, you asked me to state my thoughts.”

“What on earth must be in your head for you to call that an answer!”

“…It doesn’t seem entirely wrong, though.”

Yu Han-Bin stuck out his lip and muttered. Tears pricked Jo Gul’s eyes.

No, this is…

This kid was hopeless. His head was odd from the start. If he were giving sarcastic answers because he hated studying, perhaps there’d be a way to fix it, but Yu Han-Bin was answering as best he could—and the result was maddening.

“Tsk tsk. Why are you getting angry at the kid?”

“Look at that temper.”

Hearing the interjections around him, Jo Gul barked angrily.

“Be quiet! You’re just gawkers!”

Baek Cheon smiled gently.

“Then tell me what I can do besides watch.”

“…”

“Shall I help? But would it even help?”

“Ughhh.”

Jo Gul tore at his hair, feeling he would wither away in this foreign land if this continued.

“So what.”

“What do you mean?”

“Can he pass the state exam?”

“The state exam? You mean now, the state exam?”

Jo Gul’s eyes reddened as he glared at Baek Cheon.

“This bastard will pass the exam? This bastard?”

“…No. How can you point a finger at someone like that?”

Jo Gul pointed at Yu Han-Bin, choking as if he might suffocate, and thumped his chest hard.

“It’d be easier for Monk Hae Yeon to grow his hair and become a cultured scholar! How could this brat pass the exam! Judging by his answers, if he passed, Confucius himself would jump out of his grave and slap him!”

“That fellow had quite a gruff temperament.”

“I’ve heard he was a bit rough in life.”

“Indeed. To instill manners into kids who don’t even know what courtesy is, fists are essential. In that regard he’s somewhat similar to Chung Myung.”

“What kind of bullshit is that… ugh…”

Jo Gul slumped, drained of the energy to argue. Watching him, Baek Cheon shook his head.

“This clearly won’t do.”

“…You didn’t just realize that now, did you?”

“I’ve thought so for some time. In any case, it looks beyond that kid’s capacity.”

Baek Cheon smacked his lips.

“When is the next state exam?”

“In half a year.”

“Can that guy pass in six months?”

Everyone who glanced from Yu Han-Bin to the collapsed Jo Gul smiled faintly; it seemed more likely they could train a passing mutt to defeat a Baek Ah.

Yoon Jong sighed.

“What is impossible in this world? We’ve experienced that if you try, things can be done.”

“That’s true… but certain conditions must be met.”

Baek Cheon rubbed his forehead and said firmly,

“You need a proper teacher after all.”

Mount Hua’s rise from a third-rate sect to its current standing owed much to Chung Myung. His character might be useless as fertilizer, but his martial skill and cunning were real.

Likewise, Yu Han-Bin needed a proper teacher—not just someone who yelled, but someone learned enough to logically persuade him and point out the right path.

“Chung Myung.”

“Hmm…”

Chung Myung chewed his lip, deep in thought.

“It seems we must somehow find and bring a teacher.”

Yoon Jong hesitated.

“But can we do that? That guy’s reputation isn’t ordinary.”

Baek Cheon spoke up abruptly.

“Wouldn’t giving a lot of money do the trick?”

“Will money alone suffice? To teach him you’d need a renowned scholar, and such people don’t move for money alone.”

“Then give even more money, won’t that work?”

“…You speak so casually as if it isn’t your money, sasuk.”

“No, it’s because there is no other way.”

Jo Gul couldn’t handle Yu Han-Bin by himself; they needed to bring in a teacher steeped in Confucian learning.

But even that might not solve everything—would Yu Han-Bin listen once they left?

Baek Cheon, after much thought, turned to Chung Myung.

“What do you think?”

“Hmm.”

Chung Myung narrowed his brow and nodded.

“So the problem now is that we need a proper Confucian scholar—preferably someone who has passed the state exam.”

“Even if he hasn’t experienced passing the exam, someone well-versed in Confucian learning would be good.”

“Add one more condition: someone who, in an emergency, can beat that brat into submission.”

“…That would be ideal, but is there such a person?”

Baek Cheon sighed as if in pain. To them, if they wished, they could hang Yu Han-Bin upside down from a tree anytime, but to a lifetime scholar the boy would be uncontrollable.

Someone who could subdue him both academically and physically would be hard to find.

“You know.”

“Hm?”

“There is one. Someone sasuk is well acquainted with.”

“No way, I’m far from Confucian studies. Among the people I know, such a one…”

Baek Cheon fell silent, an image of a person suddenly rising in his mind.

“Huh? That… no, that is… huh?”

Realizing something, he looked at Chung Myung with trembling eyes.

“Surely not… ah, no?”

“Why?”

“You’re not thinking of calling that person now, are you? Right?”

“Oh, what are you talking about.”

At Chung Myung’s casual reply, Baek Cheon breathed a sigh of relief.

“Yeah. That’s better. No matter how urgent…”

“Not ‘thinking of calling’—I’ve already called him.”

“…Huh?”

“When? Damn it, when?”

“Let’s see. I called him two days ago. He should be arriving around now, don’t you think?”

It was that moment.

Bang!

The closed door slammed open violently.

Creeeeak.

Hinges screeched as the board Mount Hua’s disciples had fixed to the frame as a makeshift door swung and gave an eerie sound. Everyone in the room stared dumbfounded at the man who appeared in the doorway.

A faded green crane cloak, a half-dented old hatbox, skin so pallid he seemed never to have seen color.

“Ah, no. W-why are you here?”

“Huhuhuhu.”

Shwaaaak!

The man who stepped through the door spread open a holed fan as if to flaunt it and grinned broadly.

“I heard you’re looking for a Confucian scholar here.”

“….”

“If that’s the case, you should have called me sooner. Isn’t that so?”

He hurried into the room, spread his arms, and smiled brightly.

“Here I am. A flower blooming from the mud! The world’s most perfect scholar-student. Huhuhuhuhuhuhuh!”

“….”

At that moment, the Green Forest King, Im So-Byeong, arrived in Jinan.