OGHOU C33

Chapter 33

“What, you’ve made a mistake again? The ledger doesn’t match the money at all.”

“…I’m sorry, Chief Steward.”

Cheongyeon bowed his head before Haeryeong’s anger. At this rate, it was no longer clear who was the innkeeper and who the employee.

Having grown into a capable adult, Haeryeong had risen to the position of chief steward of Cheongyeon’s Inn, and she was competent beyond compare—but correspondingly strict and unyielding. With business having grown so busy these days, Cheongyeon had made several errors in the accounts, leading once more to stern rebuke.

Avoiding her gaze, he muttered excuses in a voice that barely carried.

“…But wasn’t this originally your responsibility?”

“I asked you to oversee it only while I handled a guest’s complaint. And in that brief time, you muddled it again.”

“…I’ll make the correction.”

All mistakes were but the fault of an incapable innkeeper. Cheongyeon grumbled inwardly before asking,

“So—what was the guest’s complaint?”

“The second room on the second floor. They say the ceiling leaks water. Upon checking, I found a hole in the floor of the room above.”

“What? Again? Who swung a sword indoors this time?!”

“I don’t know. In any case, I’ve already summoned a repairman.”

Cheongyeon raised his head and glared at the third-floor guest rooms. The expansion had barely finished, and already there were holes in the floor. Perhaps he should simply ban martial artists from entering altogether.

At the very least, he needed to publish a notice forbidding such behaviors. “No dueling atop the roof.” “No leaping from second-floor railings.” “No catching poisoned darts with chopsticks.” “No slandering popular martial artists lest they overhear and start a brawl.”

“Innkeeper!”

Just then, one of the newly hired errand boys, a sixteen-year-old, dashed in, face flushed with embarrassment.

“The privy door won’t open. It seems someone has barred it from within.”

“…Who this time? Don’t tell me it’s that fellow again.”

“That fellow?”

“Yes. The one who locked himself in there last time—said he was cultivating in seclusion inside the privy. He made such a scene, yelling that no one must intrude lest he suffer qi deviation.”

“E-excuse me? Seclusion… in the privy? What sort of nonsense is that?”

“I’ve no idea. Something about the ground there being especially auspicious.”

Unbelievable? Indeed. He hadn’t wanted to believe it either.

Cheongyeon sighed deeply.

“Go on—just keep knocking.”

“What if he really does go into qi deviation?”

“Then let him die.”

“…Yes, sir.”

The boy scratched his head and shuffled back toward the outhouses. Another item added to the list of prohibitions: “No absurd practices inside the privy.”

At that moment, a guest nearby looked about hesitant to order. Cheongyeon approached with a polite smile.

“Would you like to order, sir?”

“Tell me… is it true you serve late breakfasts here?”

“Yes. We serve until noon.”

“Well now, that’s splendid. I’ve always been prone to sleeping in and missing proper meals.”

In ancient Zhongyuan, most people ate but twice daily—morning and evening. Inns, accordingly, closed their kitchens at midday.

Cheongyeon, however, had exploited the gap. He kept breakfast available until after one o’clock, targeting those who began their day later than most. To give this novelty a distinguished name, he coined the phrase “Buyeonchi” (不言治)^1 instead of calling it “lunch.”

The result was a resounding success. Wealthy patrons with time to spare flocked to the inn during quiet late mornings, seeking unhurried meals away from the bustle of breakfast crowds. With the inn gaining a reputation as the favored choice for well-off clients, more expensive dishes began to sell alongside the usual noodles and dumplings.

“With extensions built, what more need I say?”

Satisfied, Cheongyeon carried the order slip to the kitchen. Within, Haewoo and the deputy cooks were moving briskly at their tasks, and the sight warmed his heart.

“I have truly chosen my staff well.”

Through hardship and trivial troubles alike, Haeryeong and Haewoo had remained by his side over these five years, diligent and dependable. For that, his gratitude was deep.

“Order’s in—one twice-cooked pork.”

“Yes, innkeeper!”

Leaving the busy kitchen, Cheongyeon returned to his room; it was time to take his medicine.

He had long continued to brew the decoctions prescribed by Somyeong. Thanks to them, his health had markedly improved since the day he had first possessed this body. Though still frail, at least he no longer collapsed spontaneously wherever he stood.

Yet his past remained shrouded in fog. Since the dream of Sehwa’s departure from the snowy mountains, his dreams had grown fewer and fewer, until now they scarcely came at all. All his inquiries into Sirang or the elder sister had borne no fruit.

Sipping his medicine, he thought of Jeha. Even now, the boy visited quarterly, each time taller than before—frightening in his growth. As in the original tale, he steadily progressed along the destined path: seizing fortuitous encounters wherever he went, drawing hearts with his upright character, beloved already by many.

Cheongyeon had once worried—would his own intervention five years ago, saving Jeha in Somyeong’s place, sour their relationship? Fortunately, it had not. Jeha revered his master, and Somyeong, though stern, had softened somewhat toward his disciple. Their bond was visibly deepening.

Of course, Cheongyeon could not read Jeha’s innermost feelings. But at sixteen years old, he suspected the boy was on the cusp of recognizing emotions that had long lingered beneath.

The so-called “second lead,” Dokyeong, too, sometimes visited the inn. In their wager over the martial tournament, Cheongyeon’s prediction had proven right, and so Dokyeong ceased his attempts at poisoning. He had veered far from the “original” version of himself—beginning, however slowly, to learn martial skills. Step by patient step, he was discovering the satisfaction of progress.

Amazingly enough, Jeha and Dokyeong got along quite well. Encounters were infrequent, yet whenever they met, they bickered offhandedly with a strange harmony, even seeming like true companions.

And then a thought, ominous as lightning, flickered in Cheongyeon’s mind.

“What if—in the future—the main character and the second lead ended up together…?”

No, impossible. Surely not.

Shaking his head, he dispelled the unwelcome image. What mattered most was their happiness. Still, the notion of the love-lines deviating so sharply from the original plot made his chest tighten. If the storyline warped, even he could not predict what fate Zhongyuan might face. Perhaps even the Great War of Righteous and Demonic Paths…

“The Great War…”

What of Muho?

By now, the boy must be twenty. In five years, he would ascend as the Demonic Cult’s leader. If it could be averted, how good that would be—but it seemed impossible.

Before then, he needed preparations. Perhaps gather every coin, sell the inn, flee and vanish.

And if flight failed…?

What if, when they met again, and Muho had become the Heavenly Demon, he could not sway him? Just imagining the future left his head aching. For the man Muho would become would not be the man he once knew, but a monster driven mad by bloodshed, hell-bent on slaughter and conquest.

Would he truly imprison him, torment him, and let him die in misery—as he had in the original tale?

Knock, knock.

“Hm?”

Someone rapped upon the door. Haeryeong? As Cheongyeon rose to answer, a cheerful voice came through the panel.

“Innkeeper, it’s me.”

“…What?”

“Please, open the door.”

Samcheonoh crawled on all fours, limbs trembling violently. His hands and knees grew soaked in pools of blood spread across the floor.

Everywhere his gaze fell lay corpses. Limbs torn away. Bodies riddled with holes. Necks, severed clean. This vast training hall was suffocated by death; not a breath of life remained—save one.

His terrified eyes fixed on the lone figure standing motionless in the distance.

Though clad only in standard-issue garments, the aura he exuded was overwhelming. His towering frame, broad shoulders, corded muscles, and that cascade of black hair spilling like a dark waterfall—all pressed down upon Samcheonoh’s chest until he could scarcely breathe.

He had heard the man was barely into his early twenties. Yet if this was the power he wielded at so young an age… If even from afar his presence crashed forth with such violence…

In the future… what heights would he reach?

As if struck, Samcheonoh shuddered when those eyes turned slowly upon him. Meeting that gaze, his head instantly bowed, for they gleamed like a predator’s, finding the last morsel still alive among carrion.

Now he knew. This was the side to cling to, if he hoped to survive even for a few breaths more.

He scrambled, clambering over bodies, crawling through the blood until he reached the man’s feet. A colossal shadow engulfed him, darkening the world. From up close, the pressure was so unbearable his teeth clattered against each other.

Emotionless black pupils looked down upon him. Fixating on the scar carved across the man’s left eye, Samcheonoh pressed his forehead into the blood-soaked ground.

“My lord.”

“……”

“M-my lord, permit me to serve. Wherever you walk, I will follow behind.”

Uncaring of the blood painting his brow, Samcheonoh pledged loyalty at the man’s feet. For a long moment, the other only stared. At last he spoke.

“Your name.”

“S-Samcheonoh, sir.”

“Not that.”

“…What?”

Samcheonoh dared to raise his head to look up at him. Crimson droplets slid from his brow, but he no longer noticed. The man’s low voice rumbled again.

“Your true name.”

Footnote:

1. Buyeonchi (不言治): Literally, “rule without words,” borrowed from classical philosophy. Here, humorously reinterpreted as a refined term for “late breakfast.”