While Gu-sam grew stronger with each passing day, I had not been idle myself. I never slept late. As soon as the sun rose, I would awaken, fold my bedding, and step outside.
After breathing in the clear, cold air that drifted down from the mountain and loosening my limbs, I would pick up the water pails and head out the main gate. I would go to the well, wash my face, and fetch the day's drinking water.
A handful of dry rations and a cup of warm tea was my simple breakfast before I began my daily routine. I would pull the weeds sprouting here and there and toss them over the fence. Then, until Gu-sam arrived with my meal, I would spend the entire day practicing the Nameless Saber Technique with my long blade in hand.
When I made my living as a swordsman, I had neither the time nor the peace of mind to train my sword art. I didn't even have a training ground where I could practice my blade away from prying eyes.
Now, with ample time and space, I could immerse myself in my training with a peaceful mind for the first time since learning the sword art back in Hangzhou. It was a sword art I had used countless times in real combat over the past three years.
I thought I had mastered it to the point where I could execute it freely with my eyes closed… but I was wrong. As I slowly broke down and examined each form one by one, I realized I had only been scratching the surface until now.
The one-armed swordsman of unknown name I met in Hangzhou did not teach me the entire sword art. He showed me only eighteen forms, and that was it. He had said that would be enough.
Then again, I wasn't a formal disciple, so I was lucky to have learned any forms at all. It was more than enough in exchange for buying him drinks and meals. The swordsman wasn't wrong.
With just the sword art I learned then, my skills improved dramatically, and wherever I went, I was treated as a first-rate swordsman. As my value increased, the situations I was hired for brought me closer and closer to the King of the Underworld. I had cheated death countless times.
There were times I met masters a cut above me, sending shivers down my spine, and times I was surrounded by a mob of swordsmen, my vision going dark. Each time, I desperately brandished this Nameless Saber Technique and barely survived. I was cut, beaten, and broken here and there, but I never suffered a fatal wound.
I didn't lose any limbs or become a cripple. Even my unremarkable face remained largely unscathed. Meeting that one-armed swordsman in Hangzhou was one of the few strokes of good fortune in a life ruined by misfortune and malice.
After completing the final, eighteenth form, a sense of longing lingered more deeply than satisfaction. It felt like there was something more. Holding the final stance, my long blade still extended, I stared at its tip.
A faint, ticklish sensation, as if something was on the verge of being understood, just within reach but not quite. Could this be what masters often call hitting a wall? I didn't know.
I had seen such masters, but never interacted with them. Whether a higher realm of enlightenment or a blade-wielding robber waited beyond the wall, I would only know by crossing it. If this truly was a wall.
I began the sword art again from the beginning. Slower than usual… even slower… matching my breath to the forms with long inhales and exhales. Then, I rushed through it as fast as I could.
I also attempted various variations of the forms, from every possible angle and in every shape. The sound of someone knocking on the main gate and calling out brought me back to my senses. It was late afternoon, and the sun was beginning to set.
I sheathed my knife, wiped the sweat from my brow, and opened the door. Gu-sam, in a manner unbefitting him, cupped his fist in a polite gesture and bowed deeply. It seemed he'd been in another fight.
His lip was split and his face was bruised, still flushed with an excitement that hadn't yet faded. His torn and dusty clothes alone made it easy to picture just how intense the brawl must have been. He was in much worse shape than after his last fight, but Gu-sam beamed, his face filled with joy.
"I won!"
His efforts had finally paid off. In front of all the neighborhood kids, after a fierce and bloody struggle, he had knocked down the son of the cloth shop owner, the boss of the alley.
"It is all thanks to you, Hero. Thank you again. Tonight's dinner is on me."
It wasn't something I did expecting anything in return, but I couldn't ignore his sincerity. Humming a tune, Gu-sam came into the room and opened the food container. Dumplings and egg drop soup were followed by an exquisite chicken dish that looked delicious at a glance, all laid out on the table.
"I was wondering what I should treat you to and decided on this."
"Is this Kung Pao chicken?"
"Please, have a taste. This is no ordinary Kung Pao chicken. The innkeeper is from the capital of Sichuan, so it's completely authentic."
"I was going to get a pork dish, but I chose our inn's most famous chicken dish. Aren't chickens famous for repaying their debts of gratitude?"
"... Chickens?"
I tilted my head, having never heard such a thing in my life. Smiling with his scraped-up face, Gu-sam took out a bottle of white liquor. The pristine white bottle itself looked far from ordinary and seemed quite expensive.
"How much was that?"
"Hehe, a whole half a silver tael. Half a tael."
"You didn't steal it, did you?"
"No. I bought it with money I'd saved up. Here, let me pour you a drink. Please, accept my cup."
Gu-sam filled the small bamboo cup he had brought with liquor. When I brought the cup to my nose, the aroma was faint. But with one sip, the scent of concentrated grains exploded, filling my mouth.
A sigh of pleasure escaped me as the warm spirit slid down my throat.
"Kaaah, this is good."
"Right? There are only a few bottles of this left at the inn."
While I ate, Gu-sam sat across from me and spun the tale of that day's victory, a story he would take to his grave, stretching it out as grandly as possible.
In the end, it was just a neighborhood kids' fight, but to hear him tell it, it was no less than a life-or-death duel between the Heavenly Demon and the Alliance Leader. He had such a knack for words that when he grew up, he might do well to quit being a waiter and become a storyteller.
His tongue seemed sharper than his fists.
"Was the cloth shop owner's son hurt badly?"
Gu-sam, who had been excitedly boasting and chattering, paused and grimaced.
"He took a good beating and got a bloody nose. But that's nothing compared to what I've endured all this time."
"No broken bones?"
"I saw him walking home just fine with his younger brother, crying his eyes out. Anyway, where was I? Oh, right. I landed a punch on his lower stomach and took a step in, and that bastard..."
Gu-sam, lost in the thrilling sense of liberation and triumph, plunged deeper into his story, embellishing it more and more. It seemed to be a process of all his pent-up emotions finally bursting out and finding their place.
This was his first small achievement since returning to his hometown, and I felt pleased as well, so I listened to the end without interrupting him. He lost track of time telling his hero's tale, and only after the sun had set did Gu-sam hurry back to the inn, promising to tell me the rest of the story tomorrow.
* The next day, it began to rain at dawn. When I opened the window, a light mist drifted in. I boiled water and sipped warm tea, idly appreciating the scenery drenched in the drizzle, and spent the day in quiet.
Even as evening fell, Gu-sam did not come. Though he had achieved his goal in training, he had agreed to continue delivering my meals. I thought the inn must be very busy and didn't think much of it.
I made a rough meal of dry rations and sipped the remaining white liquor with some jerky as a snack. The next day, the rain grew heavier. The food delivery did not arrive, not even as dusk fell under the cloudy sky.
It was then that a sense of unease washed over me, a feeling that something was wrong. I stared blankly at the empty white liquor bottle, into which I had stuck a pinwheel, and was lost in thought. Could that have been the cause of the problem?
No matter how generous the innkeeper was, half a silver tael was too much money to simply overlook. He might have taken up a rod to cure the boy's habit of stealing. I strapped on my long blade and grabbed my pouch.
After checking the rainfall, I put on a worn oilskin cloak and a bamboo hat. I headed for the Wind River Inn through the rain. Thanks to the oilskin cloak my body stayed dry, but the wind was quite strong, and my trousers and face were soon soaked.
With every step on the mushy, crumbling dirt path, cold, muddy water seeped into my worn leather shoes. As I entered the Wind River Inn, a man who looked three or four years older than Gu-sam greeted me.
"Welcome!"
It was a face I hadn't seen before, but the voice was familiar. It was the cook who had been talking with Gu-sam in the kitchen.
"Where is Gu-sam?"
The cook swallowed nervously, his eyes wide with surprise that a martial artist with a sword was asking for a waiter.
"I have food delivered every evening, but he didn't come yesterday or today. Is he sick?"
The cook, who had been clutching a dishcloth and watching me warily, let out a sigh of relief.
"Ah, you must be that hero. My apologies. That kid Gu-sam got himself into some trouble."
"Trouble? Where is he now?"
I followed the cook to the narrow quarters behind the inn. When I saw Gu-sam lying on a bed wrapped in bandages, I was at a loss for words. I walked over, dripping rainwater onto the wooden floor, and checked his condition.
He had been beaten so badly that his face was swollen, and his head was also bandaged. Even when I called his name, he didn't open his eyes. He was breathing, but unconscious.
My worst fears had become a grim reality, and my heart grew heavy. If I hadn't taught him how to fight, maybe this wouldn't have happened. I stared at the pinwheel placed by the head of the bed, then clenched my fists and stood up.
It was only then that I noticed the splint and bandages on Gu-sam's left arm. It seemed his arm was broken, but it was clear that a proper expert had treated it. Someone behind me cleared their throat.
It was a middle-aged man with a timid impression and kind eyes.
The innkeeper.
"Are you the customer who has food delivered every evening?"
"That's right. Have you called a physician?"
"Of course. With the boy in that state... sigh."
The innkeeper clicked his tongue and sighed.
"Old Physician Sang said he did everything he could. He said we'll have to wait a few days to see if he wakes up or not."
"That old man is a former military physician, so there's no one better around here for treating breaks and injuries. His bone setting and massage therapy are first-rate too."
"What happened?"
"Sigh, well..."
The innkeeper, in a vehement tone mixed with regret and anger, explained the whole story. Hearing it made my head spin.
"So... the uncle of the cloth shop owner's son came here?"
"Yes. He said he was getting revenge for his nephew who came home beaten, and just like that, he turned the boy into this. The bastard was so violent, I didn't even dare try to stop him."
"Where is the cloth shop?"
The innkeeper, who had been venting his frustration, flinched.
"Hero, that place is..."
"Where is it?"
Seeing the sharp look on my face, the innkeeper could no longer try to dissuade me. I left the inn and walked down the dark, rainy street. The inns and shops were closed, but the taverns had their windows open, their lights shining brightly.
The wind-driven rain struck my face under the bamboo hat. Bitter thoughts bloomed in my mind. Did I do something I shouldn't have?
Should I have just ignored him? Should Gu-sam have continued to live being mocked and tormented? Does Gu-sam regret learning how to fight from me?
He was a cheerful and friendly boy, unlike an abandoned orphan who didn't even know his parents' faces. Even though he got beaten every time, he never avoided a fight with the cloth shop owner's son. He practiced his footwork until his legs trembled and he collapsed, and he threw punches and kicks with grim determination.
What Gu-sam was truly fighting against with such desperate struggle might have been his own fate, over which he had no choice. The fate branded into the two characters of his name, Gu-sam, the one abandoned to have one less mouth to feed.
Recalling how he had finally returned victorious, puffing out his chest and swaggering as if he owned the world, I was certain. Even if he were to die right now, hovering painfully at death's door, Gu-sam would not regret it.
Even in the underworld, he would probably be excitedly chattering about his own tale of valor, a bright light in the middle of his short, harsh life. So I decided not to regret it either. Not my connection with the boy, nor what I was about to do.
The cloth shop had not yet closed.
"Welcome. Is there something you're looking for?"
The well-worn smile of a merchant greeted me from under the long eaves. I lifted the brim of my bamboo hat and confirmed his face. It was just as the innkeeper had described.
"Do you happen to know a boy named Gu-sam? The waiter from the Wind River Inn over there."
It seemed he did. The smile vanished completely from the cloth shop owner's face.