Chapter 26

A bustling street. Down it walked a fair young man and a celestial maiden in splendid silks.

“Mm.”

The silk felt awkward against my body.

A fair young man who can’t get comfortable in silk.

There was no disputing the celestial maiden. Whether there was a fair young man was rather less certain.

“Hey.”
“Hm?”
“What are you scheming?”

Moyong Rin, the celestial maiden walking along beside me, shot me a suspicious look.

They do say clothes are wings. Even plain training robes had never managed to hide her looks, and the moment she put on silk they opened into full bloom like a flower. Enough to make me wonder whether she really had stolen a celestial maiden’s feathered robe and put it on.¹

She is pretty, I’ll give her that.

I made a show of not noticing and let it pass as though it were nothing.

“Scheming, she says. The weather’s fine, so I’m saying let’s go out and enjoy ourselves for once.”
“….”
“Most people overlook this, but resting matters too. It’s like forging a sword — hammer away at it without a pause and it snaps before long. You have to let it cool now and then.”
“Hmph. What nonsense. I’d rather swing my sword a few more times than spend the hours on this.”

Moyong Rin, a training addict of the serious sort, gave a snort.

“I’m telling you, it’s true. Taking a break every so often actually gives you better efficiency for the time spent.”
“…Really?”

Moyong Rin looked over at me, her interest caught.

“Of course. There’s a thing called the Pomodoro effect — devote yourself to a single task for a long stretch and your brain goes numb to the stimulus, so your concentration actually drops. Slot short rests in and your concentration resets and holds at a high level. The Buddha himself agreed on this. Have you never heard of the principle of the Golden Mean?”
“….”
“And that is not all. Longer working hours do not raise productivity in proportion; past a certain point the output per hour drops off sharply, and the ‘law of diminishing returns’ adds its weight here as well. Rest lowers cortisol, the stress hormone, and so wards off cardiovascular disease, chronic fatigue and burnout syndrome. There is also a thing called the ‘Gippold error,’ which….”
“All right, all right.”

Is even a training addict helpless before research findings grounded in fact? I reeled off the academic case for the importance of rest, and Moyong Rin waved her hands at me in disgust.

“So basically what you’re saying is that I need a rest?”
“That’s exactly it. So you’re not a complete blockhead after all.”
“I get it, so give it a rest. We finally come out to enjoy ourselves and all you do is spout weird nonsense.”
“Foolish Moyong Rin. Do you turn the blame for your own want of learning outward?”
“What did you say, punk?”

Is she really a celestial maiden?

For a celestial maiden, her eyes are a touch sharp. I am the sort who steers clear of unnecessary conflict, so I quietly looked away.

It was absolutely not that I got scared. Really.

If there’s no fair young man here and no celestial maiden either,

then what on earth are the two of us?

Still, we did seem to be drawing eyes. I could feel the glances of the people on the street sliding over to us, and by anyone’s reckoning we had the look of a feckless young master and young lady of some rich house, out on an outing.

The looks did not seem to trouble her in the least, and Moyong Rin asked in an indifferent tone,

“What about Danho? Why didn’t you bring him along?”
“He’s recuperating, isn’t he.”
“Ah.”
“The Dragon and Phoenix Conference is coming up soon, I hear. I wonder whether he’ll be recovered before then.”
“He’ll be right again in no time. Danho’s a sturdy one, you know. I heard that when the Smiling Ghost got him this time he used a secret technique, so he wasn’t hurt all that badly.”
“A secret technique?”
“Any warrior worth the name carries one ace up their sleeve. Danho’s no different. Otherwise how do you think he took a saber strike from a master like the Smiling Ghost with his bare body?”

Now that she mentions it, that’s true. And he hadn’t simply taken it, either. He used his own body as a scabbard and held the Smiling Ghost’s saber fast, as though it were wedged in rock, so that it could not budge an inch.

“What sort of secret technique is it…?”
“Ask Danho yourself. However close you are, laying another warrior’s hand bare isn’t good manners. Even enemies don’t do it — try that and you’ll get a blade in you.”

I looked at Moyong Rin.

“Do you have one of those too?”
“Obviously. You’ve got one as well, haven’t you? A secret technique.”

As she said it, she threw a glance at my ring.

Secret technique. Short for “secret weapon,” was it?

“…I suppose I do.”

So Danho’s secret technique is Turning Hard, then.

Then what’s Moyong Rin’s?

“Yong-rin.”
“What.”
“What’s your secret technique?”

Moyong Rin’s face filled with disbelief, and she scolded me.

“You think I’d tell you? It’s a secret technique because it’s a secret. That’s as good as laying my own hand bare.”
“I told you mine.”
“Who asked you to? The one who gets found out is the idiot.”
“….”

That’s right. I laid my own hand bare. My gravest secret was found out, and it left me more vulnerable than before.

Moyong Rin is right. A truly wise murim warrior would look to their own safety and not care whether a comrade lived or died, because that is how you survive in the cold gangho.

But I don’t want to become that sort of murim warrior, the heartless kind with neither blood nor tears in them. If that’s the wise thing, then I’ll be the idiot.

“….”

There’s no telling how this will come back on me later.

Was there another way?

A way to keep the secret hidden, save Danho, and cut down the Smiling Ghost.

Big Bro Un-cheon might have thought of something.

Of course, Baek Un-cheon would have cut the Smiling Ghost down with a single stroke. Still, I couldn’t get it out of my head that even in a state as feeble as mine he’d have handled it briskly, one thing after another.

It was hard to picture Big Bro Un-cheon struggling at anything. He was that strong, and that refreshingly straightforward a murim warrior. The kind everyone wants to be like.

Could I ever become like Big Bro Un-cheon?

I was sunk in thoughts like that.

Perhaps something was weighing on her. Moyong Rin kept stealing glances, reading my face, and then spoke up carefully.

“Hey.”
“Hm?”
“I can keep my mouth shut.”
“…?”
“Just. That’s all.”

Then she suddenly picked up her pace and went striding off ahead of me.

Maybe it was the skirt she never wore. Her steps landed awkwardly, and at that rate I wouldn’t be surprised if she stepped on her own hem and went over.

I watched the back of the girl trotting away ahead of me for a while, then called out to her.

“Yong-rin, wait for me. You’ll fall like that.”
“Hmph! None of your business. Whether I fall or not.”
“….”

— Grumble, grumble.

Anyone watching would think I’d dragged her out here against her will. If she’s that put out she could have said no, so why did she come along so readily. She was the sort you think you understand and then don’t.

“Hm.”

In any case, we’ve come a fair way from the Moyong Family and there’s still no reaction. The family may be a great orthodox sect large enough to count among the Five Great Families, but it can hardly keep watch over every corner of Shenyang. That’s part of why they send missions out beyond the walls now and then, but by all accounts it falls hopelessly short.

Should we push further out toward the outskirts?

I picked up my pace and drew level with Moyong Rin. She glanced at me and whispered.

“We stand out way too much right now. And we’ve come a good way from the Moyong Family too. Keep this up and we’ll draw a swarm of annoying flies.”

I grinned.

“I know.”

Moyong Rin’s eyes widened, and then narrowed to slits.

“You — don’t tell me….”

That was when it happened.

“Weeell. Nice picture.”

Thugs came sauntering out, the kind who might as well have been wearing signs that read I am a goddamn black-path bastard.

I looked around. They closed in from every side and sealed off the retreat, and the shape of it was familiar beyond words.

Perhaps they sensed the violence coming. The people passing on the street scattered in a hurry.

Finally.

Back in my waiter days I’d have been frightened out of my wits, but now I’m actually glad of it. Have I become a murim warrior without noticing?

Feeling as though a whole age had passed between then and now,

I spoke with a smile spread across my whole face.

“Call me a fisher of men.”

The army under the imperial house’s direct command, carrying out its most solemn orders, and the mightiest faction under heaven.

The Imperial Army.

A soldier’s loyalty comes, in the end, out of the rice bowl. The first principle of running an army is to feed it; you cannot ask loyalty of a soldier with an empty stomach.

Which is why the kitchen responsible for the Imperial Army’s meals was staffed with the finest chefs in the gangho, the ones reckoned the best of the best. They labored always to make the finest dishes out of the finest ingredients the imperial house sent down.

And that kitchen of the Imperial Army had been turned upside down.

“G-General?”

At the pinnacle of the Imperial Army stood the Grand General, a power never left out when the gangho debated who was the greatest under heaven. The Ten Generals beneath him were supreme masters, every one of them said to stand comparison with the sect leader of a great sect or the family head of a great house. And one of their number had just walked into the kitchen unannounced.

“What brings you here…?”

The man who had come into the kitchen without so much as a word of notice was

General Hwa Mu-hong, the general of iron and blood. The Iron-Blood General, said to contend for the highest place even among the Ten Generals, and rumored far and wide to be so cold and pitiless that you could stab him and not draw a single drop of blood. They say he cuts down enemies by the hundred without batting an eye.

— …Gulp.

The kitchen’s chefs went taut with tension at the sight of the General’s sudden arrival.

“H-have we made some mistake…?”

At last the Iron-Blood General’s mouth opened.

“Red Persimmon and Egg.”
“Sir?”
“Make me Red Persimmon and Egg.”

The chefs’ faces went blank.

“Red Persimmon and Egg, sir?”

Red Persimmon and Egg, out of nowhere? He turns up without warning, and the thing he has to say is that he wants Red Persimmon and Egg made for him? Being clubbed out of nowhere in the dead of night would have left them less bewildered than this.

“Is it difficult?”
“N-not at all! We shall prepare it at once! What are you all standing about for! The General has ordered Red Persimmon and Egg! Move!”
“Yes, Head Chef!”
“General. If you would be so good as to sit here and wait a moment, we shall have the food out to you shortly.”
“Mm.”

While the Iron-Blood General settled himself at the table,

the kitchen’s chefs flew about as though the floor had caught fire under them.

“Red persimmons! Where are the red persimmons?”
“Here — the finest grade of red persimmon, grown in Jiangnan!”
“Not that low-grade rubbish! You mean to set a thing like that before the General?”
“Here — special-grade red persimmons, grown on the snow-clad plateaus of Tibet! Famed far and wide for being as sweet as honey out of heaven!”
“Bring them here! Where are the eggs?”
“Here! Eggs of the medicine chicken, raised on nothing but medicinal herbs in the pristine highlands of Sichuan!”
“Desist! How could we present the General with the egg of a mere medicine chicken? Use your head!”
“My apologies!”
“Eggs of the azure crane, which grows wild in the deep valleys of Mount Hua!”
“Bring it here!”

The head chef took hold of the pan.

“I will take the knife on this dish myself.”

— Fwoosh—

Flames leapt up, and the ingredients danced over the pan.

“Whoa.”
“The head chef, as ever.”
“Marvelous.”

The admiration was impossible to hold back. The chefs watched the head chef’s consummate craft with eyes full of nothing but respect.

At length the Red Persimmon and Egg was finished, cooked with every scrap of care the head chef could muster.

“Out of the way. I shall carry it to him myself.”

The head chef turned the finished dish out into a bowl, took it up in person, and approached the Iron-Blood General seated at the table.

“General. The dish is ready.”
“Well done.”

The Iron-Blood General slowly lifted his spoon and ate.

“Mm.”

— Gulp.

They swallowed hard without meaning to, throats moving on their own. Dozens of pairs of eyes watched, taut with tension, as the General savored the dish.

“He is bound to be satisfied.”
“Need it even be said? The head chef cooked it with their own hands, out of the finest ingredients there are.”
“There will not exist in this world a Red Persimmon and Egg more delicious than that one.”

Murmur, murmur. Words full of certainty passed among the chefs.

At last the Iron-Blood General’s mouth opened.

“This isn’t the taste.”

— Ka-boom!

Lightning came down on the chefs’ heads.

“Can it be that it did not suit the General’s palate?”
“And the head chef made it with their own hands. How could…!”

The Iron-Blood General asked the head chef,

“Can you do griddle cakes as well?”
“Of course!”

The head chef answered with a resolute face and turned away.

The chefs who caught sight of that face were startled. Sparks were flying from the head chef’s eyes.

The General has given me a chance. I will make it good, whatever it takes!

Once again the head chef reached for the finest ingredients, and brought out the best griddle cakes they were capable of making.

“Griddle cakes, sir! Please enjoy them, General!”
“Well done.”

General Hwa Mu-hong picked up a griddle cake and put it in his mouth.

Crunch— the sound of it breaking apart in his mouth was crisp.

A tense moment. Savoring the taste, General Hwa Mu-hong murmured.

“A little short.”

— Ka-boom!

Silent horror burst from the chefs’ wide-staring eyes, and the head chef was shaken to the core.

What in the world can the General have eaten, that even this will not satisfy him?

— Stagger.

“Head Chef!”
“I am all right.”

The head chef, who had swayed a moment before, quietly slipped free of the hands holding them up and asked in the most courteous of tones,

“General. If it is not an impertinence, might I ask where you have lately been?”
“I’ve been to the Moyong Family.”
“The Moyong Family!”

The head chef’s face went aghast.

There is a monster living in the Moyong Family!

“And where’s this young master come from who knows nothing of the world.”
“Doesn’t even know this is our Black Wind Gang’s turf.”
“Looks like a rich house’s daughter. Take her along. We can squeeze a fat ransom out of that.”
“Heh heh. This way, if you please. This lowly one will attend on you most respectfully.”

A little while later.

“The Black Wind Gang. Ever heard of them?”
“There are more than ten Black Wind Gangs in the gangho. It’s a common name for a black-path faction.”
“Is that so? Then report your crimes to me in full detail. Let’s see whether the crimes are common too.”

Their eyes swollen up like bruised chestnuts, the black-path nobodies trembled and reeled off the crimes they had committed, one after another. Whenever anything sounded a little off I gave an arm or a leg a twist, and the truth came pouring out.

Call me the truth thresher.

“Abduction of women, extortion and intimidation. Assault as a daily routine, plundering goods, arson, trafficking in hostages… genuine garbage, the lot of you.”
“Even somewhere the Moyong Family’s eyes don’t reach, how can scum like this run wild? I’ll have to speak to Father about it seriously the moment we’re back. What is the magistrate’s office even doing?”

Moyong Rin’s fine brows knitted into a merciless frown.

“So. What are you going to do with them?”
“Summary judgment. Am I allowed?”
“Obviously. The authorities look to have washed their hands of it. If we don’t step in, who will?”

Moyong Rin, black-path expert, explained that if we left things as they stood the people here would only be tormented by these men all over again.

“Mmm. If the authorities come asking questions, though….”
“The authorities? Ha!”

Moyong Rin gave a snort.

“Moyong Gwang-seon.”
“Hm?”

Her face went serious, and she said it word by word, hammering each one into my ear.

“Don’t forget. We are the Moyong Family. Do you think we care what some petty magistrate’s office makes noise about?”
“…!”
“Your name is Moyong Gwang-seon. Hold on to the weight carried by the two syllables in front of it.”

I stared at her, startled. I had forgotten it, but Moyong Rin was a warrior of a great and famous family, in name and in fact!

“What’s that? That look. Somehow I don’t like it.”
“It’s just your imagination. Then… ah, one more thing. Do you lot squeeze money out of inns as well? Under some ridiculous heading like protection fees?”
“Haha, that’s the basics, sir.”

Rage shot up to the very top of my head. I smashed my fist into the bastard’s ugly face on the spot.

“You absolute dogs, the lot of you!”
“Aaargh!”

— Whump! Whump!

“You truly are beasts wearing human skin! Extorting money people earned by the sweat of their trade, for reasons that make no sense at all? And you still call yourselves human?”
“Agh! Ah! Spare me, please!”

Moyong Rin’s voice reached me, muttering as though she couldn’t believe it.

“That’s the part that makes you angry…?”

I was laying into them with all my indignation behind it when I heard applause. I turned my head, and the people passing on the street had stopped and were applauding us.

“A chivalrous hero!”
“The Great Hero has beaten down those wicked punks!”
“Great Hero! Please beat down the Black Wind Gang for us!”

I blinked.

“Yong-rin.”
“Mm.”
“They’re saying that to us, right?”
“They are.”
“Why…?”

Moyong Rin knocked my shoulder and gave a teasing laugh.

“First chivalrous deed, rookie?”
“Chivalrous deed?”

I muttered it back with a dazed look on my face.

“That’s right, a chivalrous deed. What would you call beating down bad men, if not a chivalrous deed?”
“You beat someone and they applaud you for it? So this is what a chivalrous deed is…?”

An exhilaration I couldn’t put a name to welled up in me. I turned my head slowly and looked at Moyong Rin.

“Yong-rin.”
“What.”
“I… think I could come to love chivalrous deeds.”
“…?”

Then and there I seized the man I’d been beating by the collar and pressed him.

“Where is your stronghold? Tell me right now. Otherwise I shall practice ‘chivalry’ upon you.”
“I’ll tell you! Only please spare my life!”
“Hold your tongue. Whether you live or not, my ‘chivalry’ will decide.”

Moyong Rin trailed along at my heels as I headed for their stronghold.

“Hold on. I think something’s gone wrong with you.”
“What nonsense is this? I do but practice chivalry.”
“Wait a second. Your eyes have gone mad.”

I ignored her, unfolded the lightness arts, and arrived at the Black Wind Gang’s stronghold.

“What are you going to do?”

I took the tetrahedron out of my pocket and answered.

“Like this.”

I gripped it in my ringed hand and breathed ‘chivalry’ into it.

— Vwooom—

Half a bar of battery drained away, and ‘chivalry’ charged into the tetrahedron. I hurled the loaded ‘chivalry’ straight at their stronghold.

“This is a grenade!”²

— Flash—

A dazzling burst of light went off inside, and an instant later the explosion followed.

— KA-BOOOOOOM!!!

The Black Wind Gang’s stronghold blew apart in the blast, and the sight of it was beautiful beyond words.

“Aah.”

So a chivalrous deed is a thing of such deep meaning. I could almost hear the cheers going up from every waiter in the gangho.

From beside me, Moyong Rin’s voice came, full of horror.

“…Holy shit.”