It was about time to return to the Eunhae Merchant Group.
With the new year underway, I needed to review and launch those carefully laid plans.
“Senior Brother, are you going home already?”
“When will you come visit again?”
The children clustered around me with wistful faces, tugging gently at my robes while they whined.
After all the dedicated playtime I’d shared with them over these past days, a real fondness had clearly blossomed.
“Does leaving me behind make you all that heartbroken?”
“Yes.”
They nodded with solemn conviction at my gentle question.
“I’ll feel your absence keenly too. But remember, the harder this senior brother works, the more delightful treats I can bring next time.”
Flashing a warm, reassuring smile, I made my promise.
“I’ll be back before you know it.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely.”
These weren’t empty words tossed into the wind.
With pressing business in Hangzhou stretching ahead, I’d have ample reason—and opportunity—to return soon.
Hm, before departing, a small parting gift for each one seemed essential.
Even with the steady support from the Changin Escort Bureau and Northern Sea Ice Palace, nurturing a flock of children demanded no small fortune.
Since Master had entrusted me with full authority, I bore both the obligation and prerogative to scrutinize the Yangyang Hall’s finances.
Perusing the ledgers left me quietly impressed, a nod of admiration escaping me.
Every entry reflected meticulous care and ruthless efficiency in stretching scarce resources.
That approach was no accident.
The budget ran perilously tight, leaving little room for excess.
Merely ensuring the children avoided empty bellies had been the utmost priority, so indulgences like snacks might surface once or twice a year at best.
No wonder they’d thrown themselves so eagerly into our games when I dangled tanghulu as rewards.
Ah, this explained why Hall Master Yeom had earned his predecessor’s trust.
Only someone capable of such thrifty stewardship could navigate those lean times.
If the factions that razed Snow Wind Palace ever uncovered the hall’s hidden existence, this sanctuary would face swift peril.
Thus, in those shadowed days of caution, appointing a prudent leader like him had been the wise safeguard.
“And before I leave, is there anything you need? If it’s within my power to buy, I’ll handle it right now.”
“Something we need?”
“Yeah.”
“Anything goes?”
“I’ll listen first. If it strikes me as truly useful, I’ll get it; otherwise, no dice.”
“Let me think for a moment.”
The children dashed off to a distant corner, huddling together in hushed whispers.
They aimed for secrecy, keeping their voices low and conspiratorial, but the hall’s modest size betrayed every word.
Their discussion, however, took an unexpected turn…
Typically, young ones would clamor for toys or sweets, so why this peculiar choice…
Moments later, as their conference wrapped up, a bold representative stepped forward with their verdict.
“We’ve decided. For gifts, please buy us paper.”
“…Paper?”
“Yes. We want to pen letters to our senior brothers guarding the escort routes and to our mothers back at the Northern Sea Ice Palace.”
Paper itself wasn’t rare, but the fine, sturdy kind suited for formal correspondence carried a hefty price.
It demanded a sleek surface to cradle ink smoothly and enough thickness to resist smudges.
Now that I reflected on it, I’d often spotted faint characters scratched into the courtyard’s dusty earth—humble attempts at practicing script without proper tools.
And those heartfelt letters? They’d gone unsent for lack of the right medium.
Raised in the opulent folds of a major merchant clan, I’d taken such basics for granted, blind to the quiet struggles of scarcity.
I hadn’t paused to imagine children tracing letters in dirt or longing to reach out to loved ones without the means.
As the one Master had charged with rebuilding Snow Wind Palace, overlooking these tender details left a faint sting of embarrassment.
“Understood. I’ll stock up generously.”
“Thank you!”
Yet necessities like paper scarcely qualified as mere gifts—I should have tended to them from the start.
“Anything beyond that?”
“Uh…”
Their expressions betrayed the surprise of uncharted territory.
“Then take until tomorrow morning to reconsider. I’m stepping out to consult the hall master.”
With those parting words to the children, I made my way to the office.
“Come in.”
Stepping inside, I found Hall Master Yeom immersed in a whirlwind of tasks, his brow furrowed in focus.
Orchestrating a move for two hundred souls naturally spawned endless preparations, from logistical tangles to stacks of administrative scrolls.
“You seem utterly swamped.”
“Hahaha, you could say that. If you’d spare a moment?”
“Should I circle back later?”
“No, no—it’ll wrap up swiftly.”
Settling into the seat opposite, I watched as he neatly concluded his paperwork before approaching with a weary but attentive gaze.
“What’s on your mind?”
“I’m planning to depart for Hubei in a couple of days, likely before the hour of the rooster (5-7 PM) or hour of the dog (7-9 PM).”
“So soon?”
“Yes, the new year brings a mountain of duties.”
“Indeed—with your heavy responsibilities, it adds up.”
He nodded thoughtfully, his tone laced with understanding.
“So, I aim to leave gifts for the children and disciples here. They mentioned needing paper.”
“For what purpose?”
“To compose letters.”
“Ah…”
Hall Master Yeom’s features softened with a flicker of poignant regret as he inclined his head.
“It’s rather shameful. As you’re aware, quality paper runs rather dear…”
“I’ll procure plenty before I go. Which leads to my visit—might there be other essentials I should address?”
I’d come seeking his insight, wondering if further needs lingered among the young ones.
“I’m not fully versed in what would serve them best, so if you could advise on truly helpful provisions…”
Before I could finish, he leaned forward eagerly.
“Then, please have a fresh set of clothes tailored for each child!”
“Clothes… you say?”
“Precisely. Their winter garb hangs threadbare and insufficient. They possess a few pieces, but this season’s chill promises to bite deeper than most.”
Mid-explanation, awareness dawned on him, and he chuckled awkwardly.
Fabrics commanded a premium, after all.
He hastily appended,
“Ah, that may overreach as a request. Perhaps, instead, you could supply fuel to stoke the braziers a touch warmer…”
His earnest concern drew a genuine, uplifting smile from me.
Hall Master Yeom was, at his core, a profoundly kind soul.
“Consider it done.”
.
.
.
That late afternoon, under skies dimming with the day’s close, I sought out Shopkeeper Wi Jun-deok.
“Deputy Merchant Lord! What winds blow you all this way? A mere summons would have sufficed for this humble servant.”
“I craved the simple pleasure of a stroll.”
“We all have those moments, from time to time.”
“I’m slated to return to headquarters around the geng hour. I’ve come bearing a favor to ask.”
“Yes, speak your mind.”
I tasked him with sourcing winter clothes for the children, ample writing paper, wooden practice swords for their martial drills, and sundry essentials.
“Here’s the fund—expend it on these needs. I’ll return in a few months; if it proves insufficient, we’ll adjust then.”
He tallied the silver with quick fingers and shook his head firmly.
“Insufficient? It overflows with generosity.”
“For the finer details, confer with Hall Master Yeom at Yangyang.”
“Understood.”
With a reliable ally to delegate to in my stead, a solid sense of security settled over me.
“Oh, have you caught wind of this?”
“Hm? Of what?”
“Recall that modest sect’s building among the properties I guided you through?”
“Ah, yes—the one with the dwindling ranks. I remember it well.”
“They’ve withdrawn the sale. They intend to remain rooted here.”
“Is that so?”
A quiet relief washed over me, perhaps.
In truth, while chatting with Shopkeeper Wi about their woes, I’d detected subtle rustles from beyond the nearby wall.
I’d raised my voice just enough to carry, hoping my words might plant seeds of doubt…
In any event, glad their resolve had steadied.
“What, in your view, eroded that sect’s once-firm standing?”
“Reputation, plain and simple.”
“Reputation… meaning prestige and renown?”
“Precisely. Decades without a standout figure emerging has left their influence fading like mist.”
Shopkeeper Wi clicked his tongue with evident sympathy.
“I’ve followed their story closely, so the decline pains me. Among the three disciples left, one sparkles with rare promise—poised to shine at the Young Heroes’ Martial Assembly. Yet scraping by until then eludes them.”
If Shopkeeper Wi praised him so, the youth must harbor exceptional martial gifts.
“Should this Jong-sam claim acclaim at the Young Heroes’ Martial Assembly…”
I tilted my head, a thread of recognition tugging at my memory.
Jong-sam? The name echoed from somewhere distant.
“His full name is Jong-sam?”
“Bo Jong-sam, actually. Their sect forgoes the usual generational naming rites.”
Bo Jong-sam? Ah, the pieces clicked into place.
He’d later ascended as a chieftain among factions that openly defied the Murim Alliance.
A warrior of formidable prowess, he’d attacked the Alliance relentlessly, or so my past life recalled.
To think his roots lay here, in this unassuming corner.
“With such evident talent, why does he cling to a minor sect like this?”
“The sect leader once sought to propel him toward a grander school. But Jong-sam resisted fiercely, vowing never to abandon his master.”
“Some deep-seated reason, then.”
“Indeed—the leader stands as a father figure in his eyes.”
From the tale Shopkeeper Wi spun, about a dozen years prior, the leader had returned with a ragged young boy in tow.
The lone survivor, it seemed, from a bandit village reduced to ashes.
That shadowed it all.
Now the puzzle of Bo Jong-sam’s enmity toward the Murim Alliance sharpened into focus.
As I’d surmised, they’d dangled the lure of “Alliance aid” merely to ensnare and exploit the vulnerable.
Awakening to the ruse in time, Bo Jong-sam had forged his path as their adversary.
If that held true, this sect brimmed with investment potential.
Sowing goodwill with a future luminary of the martial world? A prudent seed indeed.
“Insightful information—my thanks. What a heartrending saga. In light of it, I’d like to extend modest patronage, enough to sustain the sect through leaner days.”
“Truly?”
“Certainly. Isn’t that the very intent behind your sharing their plight with me?”
“Hahaha. No secrets slip past you, Deputy Merchant Lord.”
“I recognize it as a gesture to aid me.”
With my foothold here still too shallow for bold maneuvers, he’d offered what might prove a strategic bridge.
“Would you bridge the way?”
“Gladly.”
I requested he arrange a swift audience with the sect leader by the morning, then turned my steps toward West Lake.
To reward Palgap and the Escort Guards with a lavish meal before my departure.
Tomorrow’s meeting might devour the day entirely.
I guided the group into a pleasure house I’d long eyed.
Qingbo Tower.
A storied haven of repute, among the scant few to weather the great famine five years past unscathed.
Its endurance stemmed not just from the owner’s shrewd hoarding of coin, but from an unwavering caliber of refinement.
Countless so-called pleasure houses devolved into little more than veiled brothels.
This one, however, graced patrons with courtesans of authentic artistry, alongside exquisite wines and savory dishes.
Even amid the era’s strict liquor bans, their talents and culinary finesse had preserved it.
Curiously, it evoked echoes of our Eunhae-owned Lotus Pavilion—though the latter chased loftier ideals.
“Welcome, honored guests.”
A sharp-eyed server approached with a courteous bow.
“Have you a reservation? Without one, seating grows precarious on this bustling evening.”
Fitting—its fame packed the lower levels solid, bookings or not.
Yet paths opened even for the unreserved.
“We seek the fifth floor.”
“Ah! Right this way, sirs.”
“Surely that’s spoken for as well?”
“Far from it! Follow me, please.”
Naturally, the pinnacle tier exacted a steep toll.
Few could summon such means, leaving its airy heights often serene and vacant.
Escorted upward, we ascended to that lofty perch.
“Wooow!”
Palgap’s voice burst forth in raw wonder, his eyes wide.
“Utterly breathtaking, Young Master!”
“Is it now?”
“Absolutely! There’s true merit in serving a lord of such refined tastes.”
I let out a soft chuckle at his gusto.
“Then tend to me with that same zeal.”
“Of course—how could I not?”
Casting a fond glance over the Escort Guards, I saw their faces slacken in mesmerized awe at the lake’s timeless sprawl below.
Worth every step to bring them here.
Some ascetic soul might decry the extravagance, urging the silver be funneled to the hall’s coffers or other suffering kin instead.
But such reckonings spiraled into infinity.
Before extending hands to distant strangers, ought I not first nurture those steadfast at my side?
Charity and alms held undeniable virtue, of course.
Yet cherishing one’s inner circle took quiet precedence.
“Shall we order?”
At the server’s polite prompt, I produced a pouch of silver and declared with easy confidence.
“The house specials for six, if you please.”
“Understood. And for beverages…”
“Tea for the table will suffice.”
“Very well.”
“Oh, one more thing…”
Tucking a discreet tip into his palm, I murmured a personal favor; he dipped his head in swift assent.
“Of course, sir.”
Even junior brothers deserved to dine well.
Soon, steaming platters began to grace our table.
The crisp winter air nipped outside, but the scattered braziers chased away the bite, leaving Palgap content and uncomplaining.
We lingered over the feast, drinking in West Lake’s ethereal beauty with every bite.
In this tranquil interlude, memories stirred of my parents and brothers, their faces vivid in my mind.
During my next visit, I should bring my family along—time allowing, though that remained a hopeful uncertainty.
.
.
.
Sated and spirits raised, we descended as the sun dipped low, painting the horizon in amber hues.
The hour of raucous drinkers loomed now; the clamor would soon drown all serenity.
Midway to Yangyang Hall, a delicate scent wafted on the breeze, drawing a puzzled furrow to my brow.
Hm? This faint orchid perfume… it tugged at some buried familiarity.
I’d inhaled it recently—during my encounter with Bing Hae-rin, the young palace lord of Northern Sea Ice Palace.
Could it truly be?
Drawn by the elusive trail, I pursued it through the fading light.
The fragrance converged at none other than the hall’s former grounds, now eerily quiet.
There, before the grand gates, stood a lone woman, her posture rigid with evident unease, shadows playing across her troubled features.
A face I knew all too well.
“Pardon me, but are you Lady Bing Hae-rin?”
–TL Notes–
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