Episode 60. I Came to Collect My Tab
Drawing, like martial arts, demands sacrifice. You have to discard countless drafts before achieving one good piece.
The same goes for wanted portraits.
Commander Byeok had drawn the Radiant Seat’s face several times, but none satisfied me. I discarded each one. To reach a better result, one must keep throwing away the old.
While the underworld scum were gathering at Hua Hua Mountain Villa, plotting how to deal with me, I was just as busy refining that portrait with Commander Byeok.
“Commander, his cheekbones aren’t that sharp. The jawline’s more like mine. Try again.”
Byeok studied my chin. “Hair affects the impression too. Was it curly or sleek, like a woman’s?”
“You think I’d know?”
“Sleek, then. And the eyebrows?”
“Straight overall, but the ends curve out gently, like feathers.”
“He trims them carefully—a serious womanizer, then.”
After combining everything I’d described, Byeok finally completed a sketch that looked remarkably like the Radiant Seat. He smiled slyly. “Satisfied?”
“Good. Let’s use this. He’s from a noble family—one of the branch lines. Around twenty.”
“If he’s from a noble clan, that narrows it down,” said Byeok.
“Why?”
“They care about appearances. Never dress shabbily. If he’s also a womanizer, he’ll stand out. Filter by family, age, clothing, and match it to this portrait—we’ll find him soon enough. How’s his martial skill?”
“Stronger than most heirs his age.”
Byeok’s eyes widened. “Then he’s a formidable master.”
“Exactly. Once you locate him, report to me. My men can’t handle him.”
“Understood.”
Considering he was a branch member yet powerful, he’d likely caused trouble and drawn his clan’s resentment. If they saw him as a rival for succession, they would’ve buried him completely—forcing him into the Demonic Sect.
“Focus on finding him,” I said. “Leave the fighting to me. I’m better at that.”
“Yes, Lord.”
I glanced at the strategy board. “By tonight, the leaders at Hua Hua Mountain Villa will be drinking and discussing which territory to take and how to split profits.”
“Indeed. Once someone mentions money, those meetings never end,” Byeok said with a faint grin.
Ah, the underworld’s chronic disease—greed. Those who truly hold power seldom care about money.
I scratched my head. Some of my subordinates were still en route from Ilyang and the Black Line Fort. I’d have to wait till evening to assemble everyone.
Byeok hesitated before speaking. “Lord, may I speak frankly?”
“Go ahead.”
“Though we are an underworld faction, the people here in Namhwa are used to our presence. If we stop Daenachal’s brutal practices, they’ll welcome us. But if another group takes over, more chaos and blood will follow. Many of the Twelve Apostles still remain, and your forces are strong, so please act with caution, as a true commander.”
Perhaps he saw in my eyes the spark of youthful defiance. I nodded solemnly—then let his advice pass out the other ear.
“Of course, caution is key. You mean I shouldn’t do something rash—like attacking Hua Hua Villa alone because the enemy leaders are all there?”
Byeok bowed slightly. “I appreciate your understanding.”
“Right, you’re saying I shouldn’t march there with the Twelve Apostles, pretending it’s an archery contest, and shoot flaming arrows into the place. Wouldn’t want to start a forest fire. Flowers and trees are precious, after all.”
“An interesting tactic,” he said diplomatically, “but not quite suitable for a general commanding many troops. They have masters, too. It’ll come down to swords in the end. Still, yes—flowers and trees are precious.”
I nodded. “I was itching for a fight anyway, but you’ve enlightened me. Truly, Commander Byeok, you’re the backbone and strategist of the Black Cat Hall. Once you find that lecher, you’ll earn a fine reward. Write it down yourself and claim it.”
He clasped his hands and smiled. “Thank you, my lord.”
“Since the troops will take time to gather, I’ll visit the Moyong Medical House—check in on our good physician.”
“Ah, you’ve befriended the young doctor?”
“More like sworn brothers.”
“I see. I’ll keep an eye on them, then. Please take a carriage—it’s safer in times like these.”
“Good idea.”
Heading for the carriage, I muttered, “If he’s going to boss me around that much, he might as well be the Hall Lord.”
The coachman, thinking I’d spoken to him, asked, “Pardon?”
“Nothing.”
Once I boarded, he said, “Destination is the Moyong Medical House, yes?”
“Go ahead.”
But as soon as we turned the corner, I changed my mind. “I’ve reconsidered. The breeze feels nice. Let’s not go there.”
“Sir?”
“Drop me near the Cloud and Rain Society. Then return.”
Master Shui—the Radiant Seat—was likely at Hua Hua Villa right now. The coachman hesitated.
“Should I report to the officers or Commander Byeok before we go? The Cloud and Rain Society is dangerous, my lord.”
He wasn’t wrong, so I answered gently, “Yes, I said Cloud and Rain Society. Using the phrase ‘clouds and rain’ as your sect’s name—makes it sound like you’re always enjoying pleasures without me. Offends my sense of fairness.”
“Understood, my lord.”
Riding in a carriage is always pleasant. I watched the scenery roll by toward Ihwah Prefecture, where the Cloud and Rain Society resided. The warm spring sun and the cool wind made me feel like a madman on vacation.
Noticing the coachman’s concern, I reassured him. “Master Shui’s busy at Hua Hua Villa. No need to worry.”
“Yes, my lord.”
I spent the ride wondering what had really happened between Master Shui and the Martial Alliance—what crime had earned him beheading in the streets, and why the Alliance member responsible had been jailed. Had I known that man? Maybe. Maybe not. I’d returned to the past, but some stories I only knew the process of, others only the result.
Curiosity, that’s all this was. Nothing more.
“We’ve arrived, my lord. Ihwah Prefecture.”
The coachman had stopped in a discreet area. I nodded. “Good spot. You can return. If anyone asks, say I went to the Moyong House.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Here—take this.”
I handed him my black robe, revealing a plain martial outfit underneath—less conspicuous. Such robes were favored by martial artists for good reason: you could hide weapons, deflect blades, even reinforce it with inner energy. But its fluttering hem made it far too eye-catching for stealth.
After sending the coachman away, I wandered through Ihwah Prefecture, eager to see how strong Master Shui’s influence really was, and what kind of “business” the Cloud and Rain Society ran. The name itself made me curious.
I wasn’t here to start trouble. I just wanted to see.
The streets looked no different from Namhwa’s. The larger the underworld faction, the busier the city—since they all lived off commoners’ coin.
Then it struck me—Black Cat Hall was no different. The thought soured my mood.
So I decided to inspect myself. The method was simple: read the shopkeepers’ faces. You can tell who’s being extorted, who’s thriving, just by looking.
This was pride. If the people of Namhwa still walked with worry since I’d become Hall Lord, that was on me.
What kind of underworld leader was Master Shui, then?
I peeked into inns and taverns. The place was full of street vendors—hardworking folks who stayed afloat even in rough times, revealing little about the underworld’s hand.
Despising such people was how villains lost their humanity.
After a full circuit of the town, I finally found the Cloud and Rain Society’s headquarters. Its front gate had a small window inset—always a bad sign. Crooked sects love peepholes.
I knocked. Bang, bang, bang!
With a clunk, the little window slid open. “Who is it?” asked a voice, eyes peering out like a jail guard.
“Who’s there?”
I clicked my tongue. “I came to collect my tab.”
A thud, then creak—the small window shut, and moments later the entire gate swung open. So, they had a habit of not paying debts. The way they opened it—swift, precise, impatient—said everything. That tone of annoyance? I knew it well. The type that half-threatens the debt collector.
The gatekeeper tilted his head and said, “Come in.”
I kept my expression stiff. “If you’re in a bad mood, I can come back another time.”
“I said get in, you bastard.”
“Well, if you insist.”
This was the difference between light and shadow. When “I came to collect my tab” passes as a coded phrase, you’re in the underworld. In the righteous world, there are no tabs to collect.
Among the righteous, noble clans are too rich for debts, and sect disciples would rather eat wild herbs than owe a coin. That’s why most orthodox sects live on mountains—far from worldly greed.
That’s also why the righteous are more terrifying than the corrupt. Their pride runs deep as their roots.
The gatekeeper broke my thoughts. “Whose tab is it? Surely not the Master’s. The Vice-Master’s drinking again?”
I followed him inside, murmuring, “Damn, this place is scary.”
“What was that?”
He turned, frowning, eyes flashing with irritation. “What’d you just say?”
I answered flatly, “Just talking to myself.”
Maybe he’d been training confidently, because his open hand came swinging toward my face in a smooth arc. I caught his wrist and said calmly, “I told you, it was to myself.”
Letting go, I stared him down. “First one to blink loses. Loser gets a flick on the forehead.”
“…”
“For reference, I’ve mastered Tanzi Gong. My flicks aren’t ordinary—they’ll wake your ancestors. Specifically, the Violet Mist Finger Technique—one of the three greatest in the martial world.”
The gatekeeper widened his eyes, refusing to blink. His veins reddened with effort.
Then he asked through clenched teeth, “Where are you from?”