I was awakened at dawn by the sound of rain tapping against the window. The moment my eyes opened, I reached under the covers. When my hand touched the long blade, I moved only my head on the pillow to check if the door and windows were shut.
I closed my eyes and let out a sigh.
“Huuuuu.”
I felt like I’d had a dream, but I couldn’t remember it. After lying there for a long while, trying to grasp the dream, I threw off the covers and rose. When I opened the window, a wave of damp, cold air rushed in.
Through the hazy, dim light of dawn, I saw fine streams of rain falling upon the autumn barley sown in the fields. Children raised on farms tend to be light sleepers. When a storm breaks in the dead of night, they must leap from their sleep to dig channels for the water and secure the rice sheaves.
If a cow lows in the stable, they must grab a club and rush out to catch the rustlers. A heavy sleeper would not survive. Having lost my parents in a flood, I was even more sensitive to such things.
Thanks to this, in my days as a wandering swordsman, I was always able to land the first blow on any scoundrel who tried to sneak into my room. Even when sleeping in the mountains, I could sense the faintest presence approaching in the dark and would wake faster than anyone.
The chill in this autumn rain signaled that winter was about to begin in earnest. Shivering, I found my tinderbox and kindled a fire in the ash-filled brazier. I set a kettle on the fire and chewed on some jerky, gazing blankly at the falling rain.
For the past several days, I had been shut in, completely absorbed in my training. I replayed the life-and-death battle with Pyo Hol-deuk in my mind, going over every detail again and again. Pyo Hol-deuk’s sword technique, empowered by inner energy, was beyond ordinary, with its speed, power, and seamless chain of forms.
Focusing on this, I pushed the forms of the first eighteen forms to their absolute limit. As I did, I could feel the threads of martial truth I had glimpsed in the latter eighteen forms begin to draw out the latent potential of the first eighteen forms.
The latter eighteen forms was an abstract art, a condensation of the Blue Mountain Sect's martial principles within the framework of a saber technique. I felt I was finally beginning to understand what Do Gwang-il meant when he said, ‘Take the martial principles of the latter eighteen forms as your master and forge the first eighteen forms.’
Just as I grasped this thread and began to make progress, a vexing problem kept holding me back.
Inner energy.
Even though the amount was minuscule, the simple act of channeling inner energy into the forms consumed it, bit by bit. No matter how much I meditated and circulated my energy, it wasn't enough to recover what I had spent. And yet, without infusing inner energy, the latter eighteen forms were nothing more than a series of limp, dance-like movements.
The result of my zealous, unplanned training was that I was now left with only four pills and four-fifths of another. The more I devoted myself to training, the faster my supply of pills would dwindle.
Once I consumed the very last piece, I would have to stop any training that required inner energy until I could find another spiritual herb. The inner energy remaining in my energy core had to be saved as a last resort, a life-saving technique for a dire situation.
I never knew when or where some martial artist, like Pyo Hol-deuk, might suddenly unleash their inner energy. Couldn't a spiritual herb just drop from somewhere... These past few days, whenever I wasn't holding my blade, my mind was consumed with the thought of finding a spiritual herb.
I was well aware of my own obsession with inner energy. And it was worth obsessing over. Had I never possessed it, I wouldn't have known the difference.
But having tasted its power, I couldn't possibly give it up. I was so desperate that I even considered entering a martial arts tournament, something I had avoided my entire life. The wind blew rain into the room.
As I snapped out of my thoughts and closed the window, I heard a faint, peeping sound in the distance. It was small and faint, yet it echoed ceaselessly through the rain. Nowhere in the rain-soaked landscape could I see anything that might make such a sound.
I could have ignored it, but with nothing else to do, I tucked my long blade into the back of my belt. Pulling on my oilskin cloak, I crossed the yard and opened the gate. The wide fields were empty.
The sound was coming from the foothills of a nearby mountain. A small boar piglet was crying desperately. I had never heard a piglet cry before.
It was so different from what I'd imagined—strange and intriguing. Was it calling for its mother? I scanned the area, but there was no sign of an adult boar.
I'd only eaten wild boar meat once. It was tough and had a strong, gamy smell, but it was better than starving. I hadn't had the chance since.
And I had no desire to eat it again. So, I had no intention of catching the piglet. Just as I was about to close the gate, our eyes met.
Instead of fleeing, the piglet cried out even louder when it saw me. As if it were pleading for help. It was strange.
Young animals don't cry out in the presence of predators. They usually fall silent and either flee or hide. Why was this one different?
My curiosity piqued, I stepped out of the gate. Up close, the piglet was rather cute and round, nothing like the ferocious adult boars. It trembled as it looked at me.
Not just from the rain. The small, frail creature knew by instinct that humans were dangerous. So why had it risked its life to call out to me?
The piglet scurried up the mountain path, then stopped by a rock and looked back. As if telling me to follow if I wanted to know. Without thinking, I started walking.
The piglet took heart and scrambled up the slope. Following the piglet up the mountain path in the rain, I wondered what in the world I was doing. Yet I didn't stop.
I just kept following. Halfway up the mountain, deep in a forest, a scene I had never witnessed yet could easily have predicted awaited me. A large, adult boar lay on the ground, gasping for breath.
With every struggle, the snare around its neck dug deeper into its flesh, choking the life out of it. The piglet circled its mother, crying out at me. I didn't know what it wanted from me.
To save its mother? Or to end her suffering? They surely knew what humans represented, so it had to be the latter.
No matter how much the piglet cried, I couldn't free its mother. A nearby farmer had likely set this snare. A good harvest this year didn't necessarily mean an easy life for the farmers.
After taxes and debts, they would struggle to make ends meet until the barley ripened early next summer. When winter set in, farmers deep in debt often had to reduce the number of mouths to feed, just as Gu-sam had been abandoned in front of the Wind River Inn.
This snare was the fruit of a farmer's labor, set right after the harvest in the hopes of putting a piece of gamy meat in his children's mouths and keeping his family from being torn apart by poverty. I had no desire to indulge in some misplaced sentiment on a rainy day and kick over a family's meal.
Still, there was something I could do. Fortunately, the rain would keep the scent of blood from spreading too far. The farmer who set the trap would likely find it before other animals did.
I drew my long blade and thrust it deep into the mother boar's throat.
Kkueee…
Perhaps exhausted from struggling all night, the mother didn't scream, but let out a sound like air hissing from a punctured bladder. Her pained gasps and struggles ceased, replaced by a quiet stillness. The piglet stopped crying.
It only rubbed its face against its mother's soft belly, over and over. I flicked the blood from my blade, sheathed it, and descended the mountain. Beneath the loud drumming of rain on the leaves, my footsteps on the wet earth echoed with unusual clarity.
* The rain finally stopped the next afternoon. The air was cold enough to see my breath, a clear sign of early winter. After practicing my saber forms since morning, I left the house around noon.
Won Seo-gang was not in his detached house today either. I slipped a note I’d written earlier into the doorframe, asking him to meet me at the Wind River Inn upon his return, then turned to leave. I paused in front of the detached house where the Tang Clan members were staying.
I still hadn't been paid for escorting Tang Hye-seo to the black market. They wouldn't cheat me out of it, would they? It seemed like more trouble than it was worth to go in there again, so I simply walked away.
I went to the Wind River Inn, where I relaxed with warm tea and wheat cakes. Perhaps because of the chill, the streets were less crowded than usual, and the mood was somber.
“Winter is here.”
Gu-sam nodded as he chewed on a wheat cake.
“This year is almost over. The number of child beggars in the Western Village alleys has grown these last few days. They must have drifted in from villages with poor harvests…”
An increase in child beggars in the back alleys was one of the bleak sights of a hungry winter. If the innkeeper hadn't taken him in, Gu-sam would likely have lived and died a beggar on the streets. Just as I was thinking of leaving and finishing my tea, Won Seo-gang entered the inn, shrugging off his long robe.
Without a word of greeting, he plopped down across from me and let out an exhausted sigh. I poured him a cup of tea and asked, “How is gathering the men going?”
“I barely managed to find one more man. I didn’t realize it would be this hard to find anyone competent.”
Won Seo-gang still seemed intent on his plan to scale the walls of the Black Night Gang.
“Can't you postpone it for a while?”
“My dear Brother Jeong, I hear you've been spending quite some time with Bok Ha-gyu in my absence. Did you join the Black Night Gang?”
“I'm just doing what I must to get a look at Jeok Chu-yeong's face.”
“There is an easier, faster way. Why are you determined to take the long road?”
“Master Jeok is currently bedridden. They say he’s in no condition to talk, even if I did get over the wall.”
“So there was a reason for his two-year seclusion. In that case…”
Won Seo-gang’s voice grew serious.
“We need to hurry. If Master Jeok suddenly drops dead, all this will be for nothing, won't it?”
“He won't die easily.”
Bok Ha-gyu is doing everything in his power to keep him alive. He won't be allowed to die, even if he wants to.
“There are many ways to die. Just because a man is bedridden with illness doesn’t mean he’ll die from it.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Black Night Gang is on the verge of a civil war. They haven’t openly clashed yet, but they've already split into three factions.”
“You mean the three masters?”
“Who else would it be? They say Bok Ha-gyu was the first to follow Jeok Chu-yeong. He’s simple and loyal, but the other two are not.”
“Im Ja-gyeon and Seon Do-mu?”
Won Seo-gang's eyes grew cold.
“Those bastards are true followers of the dark path, black to the bone. They knelt and obeyed only because they were overwhelmed by Jeok Chu-yeong’s martial arts and authority. They aren't loyal servants like Bok Ha-gyu. Now that Jeok Chu-yeong is bedridden, their heads are slowly rising, and they're having other thoughts. That's just how the dark path is. Isn't insubordination their basic tenet? It's amazing they've held back for two years.”
“You know Bok Ha-gyu swallowed up the Blood Snake Gang, right?”
“Is there anyone who doesn't?”
“Then the other two won't be able to make a move so easily.”
Won Seo-gang shook his head.
“It's the opposite. It makes the situation even more urgent. Brother Jeong, if you were Im Ja-gyeon or Seon Do-mu, how would you be feeling right now? Would you just stand by and watch as one of the men you stood shoulder to shoulder with suddenly surges so far ahead?”
What would happen once Bok Ha-gyu fully digested the wealth and manpower of the Blood Snake Gang? He would undoubtedly grow stronger. If Im Ja-gyeon and Seon Do-mu had any ambition, they would have to strike before that happened.
This meant that whether I went through Bok Ha-gyu or over the wall, I had to meet Jeok Chu-yeong before all that happened. * After a deep discussion with Won Seo-gang about infiltrating the Black Night Gang, I left the inn.
I headed for the brewery to find Jin Seok-man, intending to get a clear picture of the Black Night Gang's internal structure. Before I reached the main street, someone waved and approached me.
“Well now, it's been a while. Have you been well?”
It was Pung-chil, who had left to find work in another region. A child standing next to him bowed his head. It was twelve-year-old Pung Oh-bok, who had passed the entrance exam and was now a proper disciple of the Blue Cloud Martial Academy.
“It's been a while.”
“Have you been well, Hero?”
Though it had only been a few months, Pung Oh-bok had clearly changed. I didn't know what kind of martial arts he was learning at the Blue Cloud Martial Academy, but his eyes shone with a tenacity and grit that was unsuited for a child. The air about him was also quite sharp.
He seemed like a miniature adult, so mature that it was hard to believe he was the same age as Gu-sam. When our eyes met, Pung Oh-bok flinched and quickly lowered his gaze.
“Oh-bok got a few days of leave to come home. You know, he came in first on the martial arts exam this time…”
Pung-chil went on and on about his son, as if showing off his most precious and dazzling treasure. After standing on the roadside listening for a long while, we exchanged farewells and parted ways. Before I had taken more than a few steps, Pung Oh-bok called out to me.
“Uh… Hero.”
When I turned, Pung Oh-bok hesitated, then bowed his head again.
“What is it?”
After a long pause, Pung Oh-bok forced a smile and shook his head.
“It’s nothing. The weather is cold, please be careful not to catch one.”
He bowed deeply and hurried to follow his father. It seemed he had something to say, but had decided it wasn't for me to hear. I couldn't take my eyes off Pung Oh-bok's retreating back.
I shook my head and turned away. It was just a feeling. It had to be.
But I couldn't help but be reminded of the piglet from yesterday.