#35: Kinds Of Power (1) — The Patriarch of Sichuan

“……”

A bead of sweat quivered at the tip of the woman’s chin as she stood with her hands clasped behind her back.

Sscrt. Ssscrt.

The brush made a pleasant sound as it moved carefully over xuan paper¹. To the woman, that sound felt like a blade slicing flesh.

The man, as if he was displeased about something, painted orchids dozens of times and tossed each aside in a crumpled heap.

Sscrt.

Finishing the last stroke, he studied the painting, then wrote a poem beside it in elegant cursive script.

“Mm. Good.”

A smile spread over his face.

It was so pure one might take it for a child’s. When brooding, he looked past forty, but with that bright grin he could pass for early thirties.

“With calligraphy and painting, you can scribble any which way and to the untrained eye it looks decent.”

“……”

“But to the devoted eye, it’s different. Be it a single brushstroke, or the size of a character, all must carry intent—only then are you a true artisan. How many in our time have honed their art to that height?”

The woman couldn’t answer. She didn’t know—and she dared not hazard a reply.

Drying the ink with a flick of his sleeve, the man asked,

“And to you—how does this piece look?”

“It looks beautiful.”

“Does it?”

“Yes.”

“Then do you think I’m satisfied with it?”

“…I don’t know.”

“Hahaha!”

His hearty laughter cut off; his face hardened.

“It’s trash.”

“……”

“A few careless strokes, a few careless words. It only looks the part. In truth, it’s nothing but trash—nowhere near art.”

“……”

“I was like that in the past. I learned fast. Glance, mimic, and I was as good as anyone. But after thirty it changed. The old feel I had wouldn’t come. Busy with work, I glossed over the unimportant, making it look presentable and moved on.”

He looked at the woman.

He wasn’t glaring, yet it felt far more cutting than a glare.

“I should have disciplined and taught you then. Who knew the rice I failed to raise right would spit out rotten grain.”

She swallowed.

“I’m sorry.”

“How are you now any different from this trash piece of art?”

“……”

“Come to think, you’re like me. You’re good at what merely looks decent. The difference? You’re cruder and more vulgar.”

Each word felt like a dagger, pricking her heart again and again.

Yet she felt relief. It was better that her master vented out his anger. When he truly exploded, he smiled like he did right before.

“So you swallowed that brat’s words whole and bolted?”

“Yes.”

“At least you answer well.”

“……”

“The bladesmen?”

“I dispersed them.”

“…At least you move quickly.”

He let out a long sigh.

“How can I value you with such clumsiness?”

“I’ve no excuse.”

She made no shabby excuses. It was precisely this that made him keep her despite several past mistakes.

He clicked his tongue.

“I thought he was just a line tossed by that Five Tigers Merchant Guild rabble, and gave it a tug, but it turns out he’s no ordinary fellow. Without a keen read on the times, one wouldn’t respond like that.”

“……”

“Even if someone coached him, that’s a problem. It means he’s got someone sharp beside him. We should have moved more carefully.”

The woman kept her head bowed.

He waved his hand.

“Withdraw until I call you again.”

“Yes.”

After she left.

The man stood by the window, eyes cooling as he gazed at the moon.

“I wonder if that brat knows I belong to the Sichuan Branch.”

Unless he’d been there, he couldn’t know.

But he had to assume he did. Only then would his action not backfire.

‘Time is tight. In four days at the soonest, six at the latest, the main office martial examiners will arrive.’

He frowned.

‘Must I move myself after all?’

There were plenty who’d taken Mighty Tiger’s money besides him. Most of them even outranked him.

‘Have they not made their move yet? I half-expected assassins.’

Even if the Five Tigers Merchant Guild had stockpiled strength, stopping professionals would be hard. Weren’t they still over in Yibin?

In short, the fact that Jin-hyeon lived meant no one had acted.

‘So, does this mean I truly have to step in?’

He knew a few who’d taken bribes. But he couldn’t go consult them. He had hidden his own bribe-taking thoroughly.

If his superiors learned of it, they’d put him out front and lop off the tail at once.

Whichever way, the end was miserable.

‘I haven’t advanced in over five years. The higher-ups are blocking me.’

A sinister killing intent flickered over his face.

‘If every path ends in the gutter, it would be best to get that ledger from him and shake my superiors by the throat.’

If possible, that wouldn’t just be best—it’d be ideal.

Of course, the safest would be to bring a fortune to a trustworthy superior and entrust his fate to that superior.

But that was the problem. He had no such superior.

If he had, would he have stagnated five years in this seat? Besides, he loathed showing weakness.

After a long think, he spoke.

“Gamsal, are you there?”

“Yes, Hall Master.”

“Bring five of the boys as guards. And have the blades sharpened.”

“Who are we killing?”

“The woman you’ve been smacking your lips over.”

“Are you sure? She’s served you a long time.”

He snorted.

“She’s made too many mistakes. Lately she seems to have given up thinking. If I toss her out and that stupid wench spills about me, it’ll be a headache.”

“Understood. Shall we start now?”

“Still, seeing that there’s some sentiment between us, let’s give her a final task. Use her as a messenger, then see to it that the matter is settled without complications.”

“…Thank you.”

He looked at the moon once more.

“The night is long. Is it the hour of the Ox now?”

“The Hall Master of the Finance Hall?”

“Correct.”

Dam Jun produced a small slip and handed it to Jin-hyeon.

“Fourth-rank tax officer of the Sichuan Branch. Name: Gwan Hong, age forty-three. Although he’s not outstanding in martial arts, he’s reputedly quick-witted and skilled at financial management.”

“Quick-witted, is he?”

“…In work matters, that is.”

The slip listed Gwan Hong’s particulars—especially detailed notes on his personality.

After reading, Jin-hyeon shook his head.

“Don’t write it like this again.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t record ‘personality’ like this. List examples from which to infer it—note concrete words and actions. That way the reader can picture him.”

“?!”

“When a report is full of personal opinions, it breeds bias. Information filtered through the writer’s perspective may be worth ten nyang, but it’ll only fetch three in value.”

Jin-hyeon eyed Dam Jun.

“You people aren’t the type to make rookie mistakes. Why is this report like this?”

With admiration in his eyes, Dam Jun bowed and said,

“Our intelligence arm is poorly placed to probe the Heavenly Will Alliance deeply.”

“I know. Let one tail slip and you could lose a whole region. All the more reason to dig harder. You don’t skimp on that if you want the organization to last.”

“Agreed. That’s why I came.”

“Mm?”

“My predecessor, the Stone Pillar, was overly passive about the Sichuan Branch. He vetted the key figures, but excluded as many lower ranks as possible.”

“So it’s because of labor cost, then.”

“That, and he likely deemed the top-tier probe sufficient.”

“Fresh way to think. Incompetent or competent, which is it?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure. Even the Gold Pillar shook his head.”

“True—every organization has someone who makes trouble.”

“The thin report on Finance Hall Master Gwan Hong is because it was compiled by a new recruit inside the Sichuan Branch. He’s only seventeen.”

“You sent him out without training—no, you didn’t send him; you turned an insider into an informant.”

“Impressive. That’s correct—and we couldn’t train him properly.”

“Pebble, you’ve got a strong heart.”

“That much was necessary.”

Jin-hyeon flicked the slip.

“The one at the very top is the Sichuan Branch Chief, right?”

“Yes.”

“Start over from there and vet thoroughly. If your last Stone Pillar’s talent stopped there, what faith can you have in the pile you’ve built?”

“Yes, that’s the plan.”

“Unasked advice, then. Anyway.”

Arms folded, Jin-hyeon’s eyes sank.

“So, the Finance Hall’s master… In charge of the coffers, and he swallowed that many bribes?”

“He’s where money flows, but I hear it’s not a money-making post.”

“In swift water, more spray flies. He must’ve skimmed plenty on the sly—yet still took that much in bribes.”

Jin-hyeon smiled.

“No promotion in over five years… It doesn’t sound like he’s bribing up the chain.”

He thought of the woman and bladesmen Gwan Hong had sent.

However important the target, sending fighters of that caliber meant his privately-run men were formidable.

“I don’t know his temperament, but he must be burning up inside.”

Just then—

Dam Jun’s eyes flashed.

Jin-hyeon realized an informant nearby was signaling him.

It wasn’t sound transmission. Unless rigorously trained, even a first-rate fighter struggled with that. For an ordinary informant in a group that didn’t wager lives on intel to use it, made no sense.

Instead, faint clicking sounds could be heard. The sounds came in patterned intervals.

Moments later, Dam Jun said,

“Gwan Hong’s messenger is on the move. They’re headed for this marketplace. Moving fast.”

Jin-hyeon glanced out the window.

“Right at the Ox Hour. So much for sleep.”

“Gwan Hong has also left the Branch. He’s heading west, not toward this market.”

“Bodyguards?”

“No word yet, but he won’t be alone.”

“Of course.”

Jin-hyeon rattled the wine bottle at his side.

“Go do your thing. They’ll find me.”

“Be careful.”