The back alleys of the Western Village are wide. There were many taverns and inns, and of course, more than one or two gambling dens. The one Jeon-sang managed was the largest tile gambling den in the Western Village.
Coincidentally, it was the same place I had gone to kill the scoundrel who had beaten Gu-sam on that day of the downpour. The atmosphere was similar to that day, only without the rain. It was as dark and gloomy as the belly of a whale.
In the narrow alleys between buildings, discarded debris was scattered about, and someone was leaning against a wall, vomiting. Rats scattered, a cat leaped over a fence, and an unidentifiable dry stench clung to the tip of my nose like a stain. The tavern across from the gambling den, where I had first met Won Seo-gang, was still in business.
Though the weather was cold, the windows were wide open as usual, offering a clear view inside. Ruffian-like martial artists with menacing faces were planted at every table, their eyes fixed on the entrance of the gambling den. Their gazes were like those of crows waiting for a corpse.
Even if the Black Night Gang had changed, the nature and scenery of the back alleys remained the same. It was only natural. Things like this could not change.