Episode 48. You Know What I Mean?
I rested my chin on my hand and stared at the boxes of White Flame Grass. The smaller one held the century-old roots, while the two larger boxes contained the ordinary ones.
Geumhae, who had climbed down from his carriage a bit late, strode confidently into the hall. “Brother, you should at least check the quality,” he said as he took a seat across from me and opened the larger box first.
“Ah, these are hard to come by nowadays.” He waved his hand gently, sniffing the aroma that rose from within. “You can almost feel the heat in the scent. These don’t keep well, so best to consume them quickly.”
I glanced at the ordinary White Flame Grass. Elixirs never looked like much—most resembled ginseng or ordinary herbs you’d find in a kitchen garden. What mattered wasn’t the shape but where they were found—just as people are shaped by their environments.
In truth, White Flame Grass didn’t come from the Western Regions at all but from the southern forests of Seojang. It had no side effects and was excellent for cultivating inner energy. The older it was, the higher the price.
I picked one up and slipped it beneath my mask, chewing slowly.
Assuming I’d buy them all anyway, Geumhae asked, “How is it?”
I nodded. “Not bad.”
“Oh? You’ve had White Flame Grass before?”
In my past life, my years of training were short compared to the true masters of the martial world, but I had sampled nearly every kind of elixir—though not the extreme yin ones like Snow Ginseng. I’d eaten White Flame Grass once when I was dragged to the southern forests, and I could never forget its taste.
The ordinary ones were genuine. The question was the century-old batch…
As I reached for the smaller box, Geumhae pressed it down with a finger. “Brother, we may be close, but you should at least put some money on the table before checking. Not that I don’t trust you—it’s just business etiquette.”
“Wall Chief, bring the gold.”
“Yes, Master.”
Business should always be straightforward. As Wall Chief dragged the heavy chest of gold across the floor, I said, “Still, we should verify the quality. Wall Chief, you take a look.”
He set the chest on the table. “Shall I?”
Geumhae eyed him. “You know your herbs?”
“Of course.”
I pointed at him. “He’s been in the martial world over thirty years. A legendary appraiser—an elixir expert, prodigy, the Grandmaster of Herbs himself. He can spot an elixir from a hundred li away and smell it from twice that distance. Became a martial artist just to pursue the art of identification—that’s Wall Chief.”
Wall Chief clasped his hands respectfully. “You flatter me.”
And yes, I did.
Geumhae chuckled. “Is that so? Impressive. Go on, then.”
Wall Chief opened the box and flared his nostrils. “Three roots. The scent checks out. However, one root seems to have been bitten off—someone’s taken a sample.”
He glanced up at Geumhae, who snapped, “I asked you to appraise, not babble nonsense. Genuine or not—that’s all I want. Selling three roots for fifty gold is already generous. Push me again, and I’ll take it straight to Brother Baekyu.”
His tone turned sharp, and Wall Chief bowed slightly. “My apologies.”
He turned to me. “Still, Master, the decision is yours. They’re genuine White Flame Grass. Sending men to Seojang to fetch more of this quality would be near impossible. Transport alone is a nightmare—Geumhae’s words hold truth. If there had been six roots, he could easily have demanded a hundred gold.”
I nodded. “That so?”
Geumhae’s mood instantly brightened. “Wall Chief, I thought you were just some perverted painter, but you know your herbs too.”
I pointed at the box. “Check the gold and take it.”
He opened the chest and sifted through the bars with care. “Looks fine. By the way, I think this time Brother Myo’s going to win. What a shame.”
“What’s a shame?”
“Ah, nothing.”
“Say it.”
He tilted his head. “Well, think about it. If a wager were held on your duel, most would bet on Brother Baekyu, right? You’d be the underdog. But if you take this elixir, I’d say you could at least draw—maybe even win. If we make the betting big enough, fifty gold will be nothing. You know what I mean?”
“You’re planning to gamble on a fight between the Twelve Generals?”
He pointed at me. “Exactly. You get it now? A gold mine. And Baekyu’s one of the Four Death Generals—imagine the odds. I’ll think of how to make it work. If the wager happens, you could win back hundreds. You’d basically get the elixir for free.”
I asked casually, “And the Master?”
“The Master? I’m treating him well as always, don’t worry.” Geumhae laughed, and Wall Chief joined in awkwardly.
“Ha ha! No wonder they say among the Twelve, Geumhae ranks highest in wit!”
Geumhae turned his head slowly. “Wall Chief.”
“Yes?”
“Who told you to spew useless flattery?”
Wall Chief bowed again. “Forgive me. I’ve overstepped myself several times today.”
I decided Geumhae was crossing the line. “Brother, enough.”
He stood. “I’ll take my leave then. You should consume it soon—the potency fades when exposed to air. Wall Chief.”
“Yes.”
“Since Brother Myo will be meditating all day, make sure no one disturbs him. Not even an ant gets in, got it?”
“Understood.”
“Until next time.”
As he turned to leave, I stopped him. “Wait.”
He turned his head.
Without a word, I took the three century-old roots and shoved them beneath my mask, chewing them whole.
“……”
Thanks to the Celestial Core inside me, I didn’t need to meditate immediately. The Core would first absorb the elixir’s essence, and I could draw on that energy later at my own pace. I was probably the only person in the world who cultivated that way.
I nodded. “No doubt about it—genuine century-old White Flame Grass.”
Geumhae smiled beneath his mask. “Congratulations in advance, Brother. Until we meet again.”
Once he was gone, Wall Chief asked, “Are you sure it’s fine to delay meditation?”
I removed my mask. “I’m fine. What about the other men?”
“They’re stationed along every route as instructed. But, Master, if you’re taking matters into your own hands, doesn’t it concern you that Geumhae’s seen your face?”
“He’s a clever pig. He’ll remember.”
“Could that be a problem? His merchant guild commands many fighters.”
I set down my whip-sword and began removing my clothes. “Wall Chief, I’m not a planner. What matters most…”
“Yes?”
“…is having the courage to take back what’s mine. The will to seize it. Courage, spirit, ferocity, initiative. Planning isn’t important—heart is. Worry ranks far below both.”
“Understood, Master.”
A maid brought fresh clothes but quickly looked down when she saw me half-naked. I changed into a clean white robe and said, “Tighten security. Officially, I’m in seclusion for meditation.”
“As you command. Shall I prepare a blade?”
“A servant doesn’t need one.”
Inside his carriage, Geumhae removed his mask and sighed. “That fool’s suspicious of everything. Tiresome.”
His guard, seated opposite, smiled. “You’ve done well, sir. Where to next?”
“To that chicken-brained brother. Busy day.”
The guard raised his voice toward the driver’s seat. “To General Baekyu.”
The carriage rattled along, and Geumhae tilted his head. “Feels different somehow.”
“How so?”
“He joked. Never does that. Think he’s losing it.”
“Nerves, probably. The duel with Baekyu must be getting to him.”
“Maybe.”
“So—will he take part in the betting?”
“Not sure yet.”
The guard grinned. “Selling three roots to the Black Cat, four to Baekyu, and running the bets? Brilliant as always, sir.”
Geumhae nodded. “Better to cozy up to the Death Generals than the rabbit. He won’t even know how he lost again. If he’s seriously injured, I’ll grease the Master’s palms and maybe take a shot at the ranking tournament.”
“That would put you in the top five, wouldn’t it?”
“Would it change anything?”
The guard shook his head. “Why stop at fifth? Take out one of the Death Generals and you could replace him.”
Geumhae pointed a finger. “Too impatient. The Death Generals aren’t easy prey. I’ve lost plenty to Daenachal’s lot already. No need to rush. My family’s never lost money—we always get it back.”
Just then, the driver shouted, “Whoa, whoa!” The carriage lurched violently as the thunder of hooves echoed outside, followed by panicked whinnies and a heavy crash.
Geumhae peered out the small window and bellowed, “What the hell is this?!”
He climbed down, scowling. Another carriage had nearly collided with theirs at the intersection, sending the horses into chaos. A sober driver couldn’t possibly have caused that by accident.
His guard tried to calm him. “Sir, please, put your mask back on. I’ll handle it.”
“No, I want to see for myself. Check if that driver’s drunk.”
“Yes, sir.”
“If he is, slap him twenty times.”
“Understood.”
From a distance, I watched the fireworks bursting in the air—our signal. Whether Geumhae headed home or to some brothel to waste his newly earned gold, my men would stall him at every junction until I caught up.
Judging by the flares, he hadn’t gotten far. I picked up speed, sprinting toward my dear disciple.
I had so much to say to him.
First—my money.
I still felt bad for saying “Yes, sir” when he asked for water. And come to think of it, he hadn’t even paid for that feast. No way I’d let that slide.
I’d also tell him to lose some weight—for his health.
And above all, he needed to learn some respect for his senior.
As I dashed forward, I suddenly realized I wasn’t wearing my mask.
That meant right now I was—
The errand boy from Ilyang-hyeon. The master of Haomun. The liberator of Heukseonbo. The servant of the Black Cat Hall. The innkeeper of Jaha Tavern.
In other words… I really hated rich brats.
Maybe it was the running—or maybe it was anger—but something inside me began to boil.
I tore through the wind, muttering, “Wait for me, my dear disciple.”
“I’m… coming for you.”