Episode 95. I Underestimated the Dumpling
In a lonely pavilion standing in a desolate area, two men faced each other.
The man dressed in black placed a gold ingot on the table, then carefully stacked another atop it, one by one, until ten ingots formed a neat little tower. He finally spoke.
“The Lord of the Paegeomhoe is furious this time.”
The man sitting opposite him, plain-faced and calm, replied, “I’ll hear the details.”
“His name’s Lee Ja-ha — claims to be the Master of a group called the Hao Sect. Have you heard of him?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“He’s settled in one place — took over something called the Black Cat Hall. Supposedly has a fair number of subordinates. You know Daenachal?”
“I do.”
“Killed by Lee Ja-ha. Others too — that dark-world bastard Teacher Su, and the like. Anyway, the kid’s strong enough to kill Daenachal, so take that into account.”
“What exactly should I bring back after killing him?”
“His head would be best. Or at least proof that he’s dead.”
The man in black studied his counterpart. “Is Lee Ja-ha’s name already on your list?”
“No.”
“Then do I have to pay extra for you to scout him first, check his skills and all that?”
“All included.”
The black-clad man nodded, gesturing to the stack of gold on the table. “…How much more will it cost?”
“One hundred standard gold ingots.”
“That’s a steep price. He’s not even a famous name in the martial world.”
“Not steep at all. If we fail, all hundred gold ingots are returned to Paegeomhoe.”
The man blinked in surprise. “Returned in full?”
“Of course. Failure means we take responsibility. But you’re welcome to reassign the job afterward. Naturally, a stronger assassin will be dispatched the second time. Whether you keep trusting us or go elsewhere — your choice.”
“And if I reassign it to you again?”
“Then the fee doubles.”
The man grimaced. “Two hundred gold? That’s outrageous.”
“It isn’t. If we fail again, those two hundred gold will also be returned to you in full.”
“Ah, I see how it works. But two hundred gold — that’s enough to kill Sa Doh-haeng himself, isn’t it?”
“Not quite. Sa Doh-haeng’s constantly guarded, always on alert. Especially now — he’s wary of assassins hired by Paegeomhoe. Killing him would cost far more.”
The man in black nodded. “Fine. It’s a deal. One hundred gold for Lee Ja-ha.”
“Payment first.”
At a snap of his fingers, an attendant approached the pavilion, carrying a box. He placed it on the table. The assassin representative opened it and examined the glittering gold within.
“Bring me that portrait sketch,” the man in black said to his attendant. “Might as well hand it over while we’re at it.”
“Yes, sir.”
The attendant produced a rough drawing — Lee Ja-ha’s likeness, his attire, the vague impression of his aura.
Pointing at the sketch, the man in black said, “That’s him. The brat who made our Lord furious. Doesn’t he just look like an insolent bastard?”
“We’ll take it for reference,” said the assassin.
“What do you make of his face?”
“Hard to tell until I meet him.”
The man in black twirled a finger near his temple. “I read faces a bit, and this guy’s not all there. Look — the artist emphasized the eyes too much. That’s the look of a madman.”
“Then we’ll begin and report once it’s done.”
“Very well. Oh, by the way — I was introduced to you through one of our merchants, so I don’t actually know much. What’s your organization called? I should have something to tell my Lord.”
“We’re called Ilwido-gang — ‘Crossing the River on a Single Reed.’”
“A refined name, for an assassin group. I like it. Do it well — things are tense with Namcheon-ryeon lately. Times like these, it’s good to have money to throw around…”
Before he could finish, the assassin stood, bowed lightly, and left the pavilion with the gold box in hand.
“Safe travels,” the man in black muttered.
As the assassin vanished from sight, he turned to his subordinates. “So, what do you think? Are they any good?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“They won’t want to return the money, will they?”
“Ah, that’s true.” He chuckled. “Then they’ll do a fine job. Or maybe they’ll deliberately fail and collect double next time?”
“Raising a single assassin probably costs more than that, sir.”
“Fair enough. Let’s go. Lee Ja-ha’s a dead man walking — forget about him.”
“Yes, sir.”
Two days later, a man pushing a cart passed by the Black Cat Hall. The next morning, a young rice-cake vendor strolled by. That afternoon, a peddler lingered as if lost, then disappeared. That night, rain fell. By the next morning, the skies had cleared again.
A man in plain clothes passed the wide-open front gate of Black Cat Hall without stopping. Inside, shouts and groans of training echoed through the air, making pedestrians glance curiously before moving on.
By evening, the main gate closed.
On the third day, from a distant building, an assassin of Ilwido-gang set down a piece of jerky and peered out the window toward the gate.
There — Lee Ja-ha, presumed leader of the Hao Sect, stretched lazily before the entrance.
Someone called from inside. “Where are you going, sir?”
“For a walk.”
“Shall I join you?”
“No.”
The assassin listened quietly and jotted notes in a small notebook.
– Speaks curtly.
– Sword at hip.
– Young.
– Looks sleep-deprived.
– Bloodshot eyes.
– Handsome.
– Likely bad temper.
Once Lee Ja-ha’s direction was clear, the assassin put the notebook away and slipped out of the building, following from a distance.
He was passing through the market when a cloud of steam blew toward him from a dumpling stall — and just then, Lee Ja-ha appeared out of nowhere, chewing a massive dumpling.
The assassin kept walking calmly.
Behind him, a voice exclaimed, “Damn, that’s good.”
The dumpling vendor called out, “Master, shall I pack some for you?”
“Why? I’m eating alone.”
“Ah, yes, sir.”
The assassin kept his eyes forward, pretending to ignore the ridiculous tune Lee Ja-ha started humming.
“I eat alone, I chew dumplings alone, I sing alone…”
“Take care, sir,” the vendor said.
“Mm.”
The assassin walked past a few taverns, teahouses, and inns before entering a quiet roadside inn. He sat by the window.
‘…Is this guy insane?’ he thought.
The innkeeper’s boy approached. “What can I get you?”
“Got any jerky?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And wine?”
“We’ve got Dukang and Murung wine.”
“Murung, then.”
“Right away.”
Old-school assassins hid in latrines or dug holes underground. Ilwido-gang was different — they prized blending into daily life. Eat when hungry, drink when it’s time, visit brothels if needed, watch the target casually, then strike at the perfect moment.
As the boy returned with wine and jerky, he greeted someone outside. “Master, going out again?”
“A walk.”
“A walk?”
“Inspection, spying, wandering, scouting, drifting, exploring.”
“Wow, that’s a lot at once. As expected of you, Master.”
“That’s me.”
The assassin recognized the voice — Lee Ja-ha again — but didn’t look.
“…”
The boy kept chatting. “Master, no drinks lately? Have a cup of Dukang before you go.”
“I quit drinking.”
“Don’t lie.”
The assassin frowned. ‘What kind of servant talks to him like that?’
Still, he poured himself a cup of wine and listened.
“Few days ago,” Lee Ja-ha said, “we had a big feast. Nearly died.”
“Why?”
“Everyone passed out drunk. Vomiting, collapsing — total chaos.”
“Including you?”
“Except me. I stood guard all night.”
“That’s outrageous! A sect master standing watch himself?”
“Exactly.”
“And you declared war recently, didn’t you? I read the notice myself. Drinking in such times?”
“That’s why I quit.”
“Ah… have a nice walk, then.”
“Good work.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Report any strange people you see.”
“If I do well, can I join Black Cat Hall?”
“Keep dreaming.”
“Yes, sir.”
When the chatter stopped, the assassin sipped his wine and finally turned to glance — just in time to see Lee Ja-ha’s back disappearing down the street.
The boy noticed his gaze and asked, “First time seeing the Master?”
“That’s the Black Cat Hall’s leader? I heard he wore a mask.”
“That was the previous master. He’s dead.”
“I see.”
“Don’t stare. Go ahead and eat.”
“Fine.”
“Oh, sir, one question.”
“What is it?”
“Who do you think will win — Paegeomhoe or Namcheon-ryeon? Everyone’s talking about it.”
“What do people say?”
“Some think Paegeomhoe’s money gives them an edge in a long war. Others say Namcheon-ryeon’s leader, Sa Doh-haeng, is stronger — that he’ll win.”
The boy slid into the seat across from him as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
The assassin smirked. “Everyone loves other people’s battles.”
“What else do drunkards talk about? Pour me a cup too.”
Too smooth to refuse, the assassin poured him one. The boy accepted it with both hands and bowed slightly. “Thank you.”
“And you? Who do you think wins?”
“Let me drink first.” He downed it in one gulp, wiped his mouth, and said, “Paegeomhoe’s doomed either way.”
“Why?”
“Rumor says our Master’s going to crush them first. Heard that one?”
“And why’s that?”
“Because they’re scum. Too much money — hiring assassins left and right.”
“…”
“They even resort to secret killings. At least Namcheon-ryeon’s leader still fights fair duels like old warriors used to. So our Master plans to destroy Paegeomhoe completely. Did you know? Every local dark sect leader here died by his hand.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Man, there’s a whole story behind it.”
“Still, Paegeomhoe’s massive — several dark factions united. Can a small hall like Black Cat really stand against them?”
“They’re that big? I wouldn’t know.”
Before the assassin could reply, he noticed movement — Lee Ja-ha, hands clasped behind his back, returning from his ‘walk.’ The boy saw him too.
“Back already, Master?”
“Hey.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Get me some Dukang wine. The dumpling’s stuck in my throat. I underestimated it. You can’t underestimate dumplings.”
“Right away!”
As the boy hurried inside, the assassin found himself staring at Lee Ja-ha again, unsure what to do.
Moments later, the boy returned at lightning speed, carrying a bottle. “Here you go, Master! Oh, this guest and I were just talking about Paegeomhoe and Namcheon-ryeon — why not join us?”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Sure, everyone should know each other!”
He placed the bottle on the assassin’s table and smiled. “Sit down, Master. You don’t mind, right, sir?”
The assassin sighed quietly. Then—
“Jang Sam,” Lee Ja-ha said.
“Yes, Master?”
“Go inside.”
“Uh, yes, sir.”
The boy hesitated under his gaze, then slipped back into the inn.
The assassin finally lifted his eyes from the table — and saw Lee Ja-ha take the seat opposite him.
“…”
After a pause, the assassin tried to sound casual. “Let’s drink together, then. The boy told me who you are — the Master of Black Cat Hall.”
Lee Ja-ha smiled faintly. The assassin asked, “Why are you smiling like that?”
“Where are you from?”
“Ah, I’m from Seokpyeong. Just passing through to—”
“No, no, no.”
“…”
“Who sent you?”
The assassin fell silent. Lee Ja-ha poured himself a cup of Dukang, drank it in one gulp — then drew a dagger from his sleeve and drove it into the table with a sharp thunk.