Episode 47. The Art of Having Nothing—And Giving Nothing
After changing out of my blood-soaked clothes and washing my face, I sat down with the captains to drink. I lost track of how many cups I’d had when Dokgo-saeng, who’d been drinking in silence the entire time, suddenly started laughing.
I squinted at him. “You lose your mind? What’s so funny?”
The captains all shook their heads, just as confused. “No idea.” “First time we’ve seen it.”
It was indeed a rare sight—Dokgo-saeng laughing. He looked as if he were practicing laughter by force, trying to imitate what joy sounded like. The sight was so bizarre I cursed quietly to myself.
What a lunatic.
After a few bursts of that awkward laughter, he returned to his usual expressionless self and drank again. He didn’t say what had made him laugh, and I didn’t ask. If a man feels like laughing, let him laugh. Nothing more to it.
But perhaps embarrassed, Dokgo-saeng muttered, “I won.”
“Won what?”
“I was kidnapped here as a kid. Never thought I’d see this day.”
I looked between him and the captains as he went on. “The ones taken with me—all dead. Some sank with the boats, others were murdered. I just wanted to survive. My wish was to outlive the old bastards. If I got strong enough, I’d kill them myself. You robbed me of that, but still… I won.”
If surviving counts as winning, then yes—he was right.
After another drink, he asked, “So what kind of sect is the Haomun? Never heard of it.”
I took a sip before answering. “We’ve got courtesans, errand boys, innkeepers, blacksmiths, builders, outlaws, lazy drunks, and workaholics. A bit of everything.”
“Sounds like a mess.”
“It is.”
A foolish captain chimed in, “We’re a mess too.” Everyone nodded in agreement. “That’s true.”
Even as I drank, I let them talk more than usual. Dokgo-saeng, true to his name—solitary and alone—had always been a loner among them. Killing those elders on the ship must’ve been easy for him; they were the old master’s men. I didn’t bother asking.
That was simply who he was.
When I felt the moment was right, I stood. “Drink moderately. Those one-armed elders might start plotting.”
Dokgo-saeng shook his head. “Useless. All the strong elders lost their arms. Even if they gather their underlings, nothing will change.”
So he’d planned it that way. No wonder he’d laughed at that elder earlier.
“I’m leaving.”
Dokgo-saeng rose and ordered the others to wrap up the gathering. “I’ll see him off.”
No one tried to stop him this time.
I glanced around the compound. To return quickly, I’d need to go by boat. Dokgo-saeng said he’d escort me down to the mouth of the Iryong River, so we boarded together.
“Once things settle, should I report to Ilyang-hyeon?” he asked.
“If the Black Cat Hall is empty, yes—go to Ilyang-hyeon.”
“Black Cat Hall?”
“I’m the Black Cat Master.”
“Weren’t you one of the Twelve Zodiac Generals?”
“I’m pretending to be.”
“To kill Daenachal?”
I nodded. He gave a small grunt of interest. “They say he’s strong.”
“Probably.”
“If you die, what should we do? Just live freely as you said?”
“Do I look like I’m going to die?”
Dokgo-saeng studied me briefly and replied dryly, “Not really. But debts should be repaid, and grudges avenged twice over. If you ever go after Daenachal and need help, call me.”
“You’d help me?”
“You doubt me?”
“You’re helping just by staying alive. If you die, Heukseonbo falls apart. Live your way. I’ll live mine.”
When we reached the river mouth, I disembarked, and Dokgo-saeng stayed aboard. He didn’t bother with farewells.
“If we tear down the wall, do you think life will get better?”
“Maybe not right away.”
“You think so?”
“When I came through the compound earlier, I saw plenty of children. They’ll live better than you did.”
Dokgo-saeng nodded once. “Then that’s enough.”
It hit me again—the man who now led the former Heukseonbo was Dokgo-saeng.
I met his blank expression and nodded. “We’ll meet again, if we’re both alive.”
I walked off, but after a while, I felt a strange heat on the back of my neck and turned around. Dokgo-saeng was still at the bow, arms crossed, glaring after me.
Good grief.
He finally uncrossed his arms and waved twice. I’d never seen anyone greet—or rather, farewell—so awkwardly. As the boat drifted away, he suddenly shouted,
“Ijah!”
“What?”
His mouth twitched into an odd smile. “From now on, you can keep talking down to this hyung. Take care.”
As the boat vanished downriver, I muttered, “…Rude bastard.”
When I reached the Black Cat Hall, I immediately sensed something off. Even if it was evening, there should’ve been the usual shouts and screams from training—but it was silent.
Someone’s here.
I almost climbed the wall but decided against it. A true expert would sense me right away. So, just as on my first visit, I knocked on the front gate. Moments later, a slot opened, revealing two startled eyes. The guard recognized me instantly and opened the gate without a word.
As I stepped inside, he stared at me up and down. Hard not to, since the master who’d left in crisp white robes had returned in wrinkled, dirty clothes.
I asked quietly, “Who’s here?”
“Geumhae.”
The Golden Boar—one of the Twelve Zodiac Generals. Gluttonous to the core. Whether he was greedy because of his name or named because of his greed, no one knew.
His strength ranked around seventh or eighth. Some said he became Daenachal’s disciple for his brute power, others—like Wall Chief Byeok—claimed his wealthy merchant family bought him the spot.
Either way, he was a spoiled rich pup who paid the most tribute to Daenachal. At least, he wasn’t known for cruelty like Hwang-oh or Nok-sul.
I entered the main hall and stopped dead. A long banquet table was piled high with food, and a man wearing a golden boar mask on his head was eating noisily.
He looked like an actor mid-break during a mask performance—or Zhu Bajie from Journey to the West enjoying his dinner.
Mistaking me for a servant, he chewed noisily and said, “Hey, bring me some water.”
Fetching water was a former errand boy’s specialty. “Yes, sir,” I said immediately.
As I picked up the pitcher and approached, Geumhae pinched his nose. “What’s that stench? Leave the water there.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And step back. Ugh, what a smell. What are you, anyway?”
This was the kind of moment where the right answer mattered. Luckily, I’d been an errand boy. “I’m sorry, sir.”
“Disgusting. Go away. Gods, what a smell. Don’t people here ever bathe? No wonder you’re a servant.”
Some people are just born assholes.
“Go wash up,” he ordered, waving dismissively. “Tell the others to serve me. Where are they all?”
“Who knows, sir. Probably in the kitchen, eating leftovers.”
His eyes narrowed. “Unbelievable.”
“Then I’ll go wash up now.”
“No need. Just never show your face again.”
He went back to eating—enough food for ten men. I went to wash, changed into clean clothes, and realized why my men had disappeared. Even if they could take him on together, they wouldn’t risk it—not against one of Daenachal’s disciples.
I donned the Black Cat mask and took the whip-sword before returning to the hall.
Geumhae let out a satisfied belch and looked up. “Brother Myo, long time no see.”
So they’d known each other. He didn’t seem the least afraid of the Black Cat.
I gestured to the food. “Eat as you please.”
No need to ask why he’d come. The man clearly loved talking.
“Your maids cook well,” he said through a mouthful. “Always a feast when I visit.”
I suddenly thought I should recruit those maids for my own inn later. Chunyang Tavern could use the help.
Geumhae gulped down water, gurgling before swallowing. “You haven’t fought Brother Baekyu yet, right? Our merchant guild just got a new elixir—from the Western regions.”
“And?”
“And what? If the master hears about it, he’ll just take it. So I thought I’d offer it to you first—at a friendly price.”
“What is it?”
“White Flame Grass. We found some hundred-year ones mixed in—maybe even three or four hundred years old, according to my expert.”
“Expert?”
“Smart guy from my town.”
“Who exactly?”
“Why do you care about the appraiser? Interested in medicine, not business?”
“I just want to know if he’s a fraud.”
“I’ve done business for years—don’t insult me. If you’re suspicious, don’t buy. I’ve got other customers. Just thought I’d offer it to you first, since you need it most.”
“How much?”
He lowered the mask over his face, a grin visible beneath it. “Three hundred White Flame roots fetch sky-high prices. But since we’ve done business before—fifty gold. I’ll throw in ten boxes of regular ones too. Feed your subordinates.”
“Bring it.”
“Good choice. Honestly, if you refused, I’d have gone straight to Brother Baekyu. I’ll delay your duel if I can—make sure you take it before the fight.”
He even mimed martial moves, puffing air through his lips. “Practice your breathing, eh?”
“Get out.”
Rich kid or not, he had quite the mouth on him. After he left, I looked at the ruined table. Felt like a pig had trampled it—fittingly enough.
But then reality struck me: I had no money.
None. Not a coin.
And even if I did—none.
I wasn’t a beggar of the Beggars’ Guild, but I could pass for one when it came to paying bills. I closed my eyes and mentally erased all my assets—from Ilyang-hyeon, from the Black Cat Hall. Gone.
An errand boy is, at heart, a pauper.
Even if I have it, I won’t give it.
Peace settled over my heart.