TSBIRBV Ch 107

Chapter 107 Mission Complete (3)

Senior brother, too, looked impressed.

“I’ve never seen a spirit creature obey human words so well… If it has a certain level of intelligence, even a beast seems to recognize a disciple’s character.”

“Exactly. Baembaem is very bright.”

Unaware the praise was partly his own, he remained absorbed in boasting about the companion spirit. Then, as if realizing that wouldn’t do, Yegyeol gauged Haryang’s mood and added lightly,

“And this is why Samrang trained him for situations like this.”

But senior brother seemed unbothered even if Yegyeol only praised Baembaem’s merits.

“Seems many exciting things were done.”

Haryang lifted the ledger and opened it. After tucking Baembaem safely into his sleeve, Yegyeol read over his shoulder.

“What’s written here… looks more like names than goods.”

Next to each name were not amounts, but rows of tally marks. Recognizing what the marks meant, Yegyeol knit his brows.

“Oh—this, I know. It notes how many months interest is in arrears.”

He vaguely remembered ledgers of the Red Blood Sect that Crooked Ear or Pit Viper had carried; since most heterodox drifters were illiterate, they used very simple symbols to check how much money and how many months were owed.

“Mm… so he’s dipped into money‑lending, too.”

“As the saying goes, old habits die hard.”

Je Haryang glanced at his disciple, who clicked his tongue, then asked,

“A few are marked with red crosses—know what that means?”

Frowning, Yegyeol hesitated over whether to speak plainly.

He knew that, as a chivalrous wanderer, Haryang had seen all there was to see; still, he disliked telling him such bleak things.

One cannot sing of blossoms all year, but even telling only the good and showing only the fine would be too little…

“It means they don’t need to pay anymore. Usually… it’s not because the principal was repaid; it’s when they’ve fallen so far they can’t even pay interest.”

“Then perhaps those children were taken in lieu of debt.”

Yegyeol nodded.

“That’s what I think.”

Zhang Qi had claimed the children were sent to lighten a household’s burden, but Yegyeol hadn’t believed it from the start.

Finding a ledger listing only people’s names—what more proof was needed.

“I’ll hold on to this.”

Haryang tucked the ledger into his robe. With his large frame and broad chest, a neatly stowed ledger showed not at all.

Yegyeol realized he had been staring blankly at that chest and squeezed his eyes shut.

Forgetting to keep a straight head—trouble.

“Let’s check what happened to the families marked in red and tip off the constables.”

That this was all he could think to say in order to hide that he had been tracing senior brother with his eyes—how poor.

In terms of chivalrous experience, Je Haryang was a veteran among veterans; even while Yegyeol was away from the martial world, Haryang remained, and would surely know the procedures of such matters better than anyone.

“Indeed.”

Haryang’s voice sank low.

“That’s as much as we can gain today. The meal was poor as well—best to return.”

With a sour face, Yegyeol looked at him.

Frankly, it was clear senior brother’s chief concern was Yegyeol’s safety. Such a man, sitting in the very heart of the enemy’s ground, pointed not to danger but to the shabbiness of the food—proof that Zhang Qi was truly nothing.

Zhang Qi wasn’t a master of any towering skill. Perhaps even in a former life, while a Kunlun disciple, Yegyeol could have beaten him; awakened now as an esper, it went without saying.

He felt anew how hard his fear had worked to swell itself.

“Thank you for waiting!”

Zhang Qi returned with a bright smile, lining up many fine wines. The bottles alone looked costly—he truly seemed to be staking all on sealing this deal.

“Seems it’s time to move on to the next appointment.”

Yegyeol spoke in regretful tones.

“What—another appointment?”

“It’s rare for someone to come all the way from Cheonghae to Hangzhou; many have asked to meet. At this rate there’ll be five meals a day before returning.”

Realizing the next appointment was a potential rival, Zhang Qi felt the heat he had forced down surge again.

He had buttered him up till his lips cracked, but the Cheonghae master barely reacted. He’d thought such a young pup could be goaded into an easy contract; as it was, money would be spent on entertainment and the deal scuttled.

Zhang Qi shut his eyes tight.

It was time to throw the final card.

“Just once more!”

As Yegyeol rose, Zhang Qi called to his back.

“Grant me one chance. If you wait but a quarter hour, I will show the dye masters I have gathered laying color on silk.”

He was almost grabbing at trouser hems. But Haryang blocked him, and Zhang Qi’s hand failed to reach its aim.

“What’s so special about dyeing.”

Yegyeol sounded indifferent, but inwardly cheered. With Baembaem’s help they had secured the ledger; if Seonye Workshop’s matter could be resolved as well, it would be two birds with one stone.

“Truth be told, our original target is the dye masters.”

Giving a glance to the chest that so profitably held extra gains, Yegyeol turned his eyes as naturally as he could.

“If you see it, you’ll be amazed. The dye masters our Wu‑Sam Consortium has secured make colors unseen anywhere in the Central Plains.”

After a pause, Yegyeol nodded.

“For the face of the Wu‑Sam master, I’ll trust once more. Lead on.”

As if he had made up his mind with great generosity, Crooked Ear sprang up and led them.

“This way, please.”

At the rear of the manor was a rather desolate annex. Seeing chain‑shaped grooves worn into the door handle, Yegyeol stared straight ahead as if not noticing.

When the door opened, dye odors surged. Rather than disgust, Yegyeol felt a familiar comfort at the sharp scent pricking the nose.

Workers who seemed from Seonye Workshop clustered in twos and threes.

They were spreading cloth busily in the yard. The silk boasted colors more vivid than Yegyeol remembered; but, perhaps for lack of proper drying, there were stains here and there. It was only natural—having smashed the workshop, they’d hastily patched together work to display.

“As you see, we can lay very bright color. With post‑treatment known only to these masters, the color won’t wash out even after repeated laundering.”

“Such vivid, bright tones—never seen their like.”

Half sincere, his praise. Decades had passed since he left Hangzhou, but Seonye seemed to have kept developing dyes.

Feigning meticulous inspection as he moved among the workers, Yegyeol pressed Zhang Qi—until the man relaxed—on the cost of base materials for dye, how long to fully dye a bolt of silk, and more.

Whatever coercion they labored under, those who seemed to be Seonye’s workers answered faithfully.

“My steward—discuss terms with the Wu‑Sam master.”

In other words, keep Zhang Qi busy.

“As if there’s a choice. Then—shall we talk?”

With a grin splitting his face, Zhang Qi followed Je Haryang. Thinking the steward held the practical reins rather than the too‑youthful Yegyeol, he glanced back at Yegyeol a few times, then stopped looking altogether.

At last, when Zhang Qi was some distance off, Yegyeol spread a length of silk and, pointing to a stain at the corner, murmured just loud enough,

“Old Huang would have flipped at a stain like this.”

A meaningful ripple came from the middle‑aged man standing closest. Hesitating, he checked where Zhang Qi was, then approached under cover of showing another silk and asked quietly,

“D‑do you know Old Huang?”

“Mm? And you are?”

Only after another glance toward Crooked Ear did the man answer who he was.

“Koo Young‑ik, of Seonye Workshop.”

“Seonye Workshop? Seonye? Hard to believe.”

Narrowing his eyes, Yegyeol barked,

“Few know I’m a distant relation of Old Huang. Did the Wu‑Sam master tell you?”

Je Haryang’s lips almost quirked; instead of asking after Old Huang’s whereabouts first, the disciple scolded him outright—his air so natural it was uncanny.

“Oh no, sir. We are not on good terms with the Wu‑Sam master.”

“What are you saying? You’ve brought me all the way to a back annex to show a ‘newly developed’ dye method.”

Though he sensed his senior brother’s stir, Yegyeol brazened the act out.

“We are all in debt to the Wu‑Sam Consortium.”

“True, minds differ when borrowing and when paying—but surely you’re not maligning Master Zhang for that alone?”

“Perish the thought.”

Koo Young‑ik’s eyes grew wet.

From that face, Yegyeol recalled a worker from when he had loitered about the workshop in youth—a young man who made many mistakes, yet with big, liquid eyes like an ox, was rarely scolded harshly.

Back then they called him “the young Koo”; it seemed his name was Young‑ik.

“He deliberately fastened debt onto us—onto Seonye Workshop.”

At his tremulous voice, Yegyeol’s eyes went cold.

As suspected.

No matter how polished a trading master he played, this was predictable.

Those who know the side roads never walk the highway; leaving such easy, convenient ways untraveled to keep the law—who but fools would do so?

“This is no ordinary matter.”

Yegyeol knit his brows.

“Tell me, in detail.”

Footnotes

 

• Dye annex as proof: Chain‑scarred handles, rushed stains, and sealed annexes indicate forcible control of artisans and stage‑managed demonstrations to impress buyers.