Episode 251: The Common Path

Just as Dang Mujin and his companions were finishing up tidying the blacksmith’s shop, a few locals wandered in, curious about the newcomers.

“Don’t think I’ve seen you around here before. Where are you folks from?”

“We’re from Johaeng Village, up northwest,” Dang Mujin replied, inventing a village name on the spot. Most of the villagers looked puzzled, but one man’s reaction was different.

“Johaeng Village… Ah, yes! The place with the big zelkova tree at the entrance, right? I think I visited about ten years ago. It was a nice village. I even remember having a meal there.”

Despite the fact that Dang Mujin had just made up the name, someone claimed to know it. It’s true; many people like to pretend they know things they don’t.

The zelkova tree he mentioned was a common sight in the area. In fact, it would be harder to find a village without one.

In situations like this, a person pretending to know can be quite helpful. Dang Mujin smoothly continued the conversation.

“Yes, it’s a small village, but you seem to know it. It’s gone now, but it used to be a good place.”

“Gone? What happened to the village?”

“Up until a few years ago, we were doing fine. But then martial artists started showing up, demanding things. We resisted a few times, but they kept coming back every year. Eventually, we all decided to leave.”

The man, who had been pretending to know, nodded sagely.

“Sounds like those rogue martial artists. Martial artists are all the same, but the orthodox ones are definitely better than the rogues. Once the rogues start taking, they don’t stop until they’ve bled you dry. It’s a good thing you got out when you did.”

It seemed that even in Pyeongnyang County, rogue martial artists didn’t have a good reputation.

Thanks to the man who liked to pretend he knew things, the villagers believed Dang Mujin’s story without question. It was an unintended but mutually beneficial situation.

Another man asked, “Are you planning to fix up the blacksmith’s shop and live there?”

“Yes, I learned a bit of blacksmithing, so I can make simple tools. Selling farming tools should keep me fed. There’s no owner of this shop, is there?”

“No, the previous owner left Pyeongnyang County long ago, saying business was bad. He mentioned having relatives somewhere east and planned to settle there. Do your friends know how to work with metal too?”

The villagers turned their attention to Hong Geolgae and Hyeon Gong. Dang Mujin waved his hand dismissively.

“That one was a beggar in Johaeng Village, so he came along when we left. No point in begging in an empty village. The other one is just a local loafer. He doesn’t know much, but I brought him along to make something of him.”

“Hmm.”

The five-knot middle-ranking martial artist was reduced to a village beggar, and the future leader of the Wudang Sect became a local loafer. But the explanation was so convincing that no one doubted it.

“Well, take care. Let us know if you need anything.”

Having a blacksmith in the neighborhood wasn’t a bad thing. It was convenient for asking small favors.

The villagers left, satisfied.

A small rumor began to circulate among the farmers of Pyeongnyang County. A young blacksmith who had settled from elsewhere was making decent farming tools.

However, there wasn’t a rush of people lining up to buy Dang Mujin’s tools.

Unlike weapons, farming tools don’t risk lives if they’re a bit dull. Farmers don’t rush to buy new tools unless their old ones are completely unusable.

Still, Dang Mujin’s blacksmith shop settled in faster than others, and business was reasonably good. For now, that was enough.

Naturally, no martial artists from the Common Path came looking for them.

While Dang Mujin and Hyeon Gong were busy mingling with the villagers and picking up gossip, Hong Geolgae roamed the streets freely.

One morning, Hong Geolgae sensed something flying towards him. He reached out and caught a ripe, red persimmon.

“Hey, have you eaten anything today?”

It was Myosun, a beggar Hong Geolgae had befriended in Pyeongnyang County, who approached him.

Myosun had a cleft lip, which is why he was nicknamed Myosun, meaning “hare lip.”

Hong Geolgae took a bite of the persimmon and replied, “I don’t go hungry.”

“I thought you might be, so I brought you a persimmon. You’re living well.”

“If you’re hungry, come by the blacksmith’s shop for a meal. My friends won’t mind.”

“Maybe I will.”

Myosun had already shared a meal with Dang Mujin’s group a couple of times and didn’t feel guilty about it. He was someone who could give back as much as he received.

“Sure, I’ll drop by soon. And if you ever get into trouble with the local thugs, let me know.”

“Got it.”

Unlike most beggars, Myosun was a respected member of the Beggars’ Sect, not just any member, but a two-knot Beggars’ Sect disciple.

His martial skills were decent enough to be considered second-rate, so the local thugs didn’t dare meet his eyes.

Of course, Myosun’s martial skills didn’t matter to Hong Geolgae. They were friends because they were of similar age and got along well.

Myosun looked at Hong Geolgae, then crossed his arms, showing off his muscular forearms.

“Hong Geolgae, why don’t you join the Beggars’ Sect and learn some martial arts? You’re not physically limited, so it could be useful.”

Accepting such an offer and learning martial arts from Myosun would be laughable.

Hong Geolgae waved his half-eaten persimmon dismissively.

“No, I’m good.”

“In a big town like Pyeongnyang County, it’s better to learn martial arts early. Beggars without martial skills have a hard time in old age. If you learn now, you can use it for the next thirty or forty years.”

“It’s fine. I don’t usually get into trouble with others.”

“No one knows what the future holds. And it seems like you’ll be with those blacksmith friends of yours for a while. You should learn some martial arts to prevent any future mishaps.”

Who was worrying about whom?

If Myosun knew who Hyeon Gong or Dang Mujin really were, his reaction would be interesting. But since they planned to keep a low profile in Pyeongnyang County, Myosun would never find out.

Despite the odd situation, Myosun’s offer was genuine. Hong Geolgae nodded.

“I’ll let you know if I ever want to learn martial arts.”

“Sure, no pressure.”

Hong Geolgae and Myosun headed to the outskirts of Pyeongnyang County, where many beggars gathered. Beggars often stayed on the outskirts and only ventured into town to beg.

Unlike Dang Mujin or Hyeon Gong, who went to great lengths to gather information, Hong Geolgae didn’t need to make much effort to hear about the Common Path.

Beggars didn’t have much to do. Whether full or hungry, they idled around, which meant they had plenty of time to share stories.

Hong Geolgae lay back like the other beggars, listening to the chatter. Various stories floated around.

“The blacksmith Song’s daughter-in-law looks like she’s due soon. We might get a chance for a feast.”

“Merchant Wang’s business seems to be in trouble. He was all smiles a few days ago, but today he just yelled at me when I went to beg.”

Most of the beggars’ stories were about opportunities to get food, which didn’t interest Hong Geolgae.

The next most common topic should have been the Common Path, given that Pyeongnyang County was within their territory.

But strangely, the beggars rarely talked about the Common Path.

In the past three days, not a single beggar had mentioned them.

Finally, Hong Geolgae decided to ask Myosun directly, keeping his tone casual and light.

“I thought I’d hear a lot about the Common Path in Pyeongnyang County.”

Myosun perked up with interest.

“Why? Are you interested in the Common Path?”

“Not really. It’s just that martial artist stories are always entertaining.”

“True enough.”

Myosun’s expression turned smug, as if he considered himself a proper martial artist and was proud of it.

“You know, there used to be a lot of stories about the Common Path.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, their people often came down to the village and caused trouble. The Common Path is orthodox, but most of their members are former rogues, you know?”

Myosun lowered his voice, as if sharing a secret known only to martial artists. In reality, it was common knowledge.

“I’ve heard that.”

“The Common Path has a lot of rough types. Usually, the newer members would sneak down to Pyeongnyang County and cause trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

When Hong Geolgae asked, Myosun whispered.

“Some would assault women or commit robbery, and there were even cases of murder.”

“What? Can they really get away with that?”

“Of course not. They couldn’t handle life as a member of the Gongdong Sect, so they caused a ruckus and tried to escape.”

“Wow. I bet the people they wronged had nowhere to turn.”

Hong Geolgae nodded in agreement, but Myosun shook her head.

“No, that’s not how it was. The Gongdong Sect would go to any lengths to bring back those who ran away. They’d make them apologize to the victims or their families and even compensate them by emptying the sect’s coffers.”

“Really? To that extent?”

“Yes. There are plenty of people in Pyeongnyang who dislike the Gongdong Sect, but no one accuses them of being irresponsible.”

“Hmm.”

“And that’s not all. The Gongdong Sect never forgives those who commit such crimes. Many end up dead, and others are left crippled.”

“Many die, you say?”

“Nine out of ten, I’d say.”

Myosun’s account was incredibly detailed, as if such incidents were common.

Yet, during his stay of over two weeks in Pyeongnyang, Hong Geolgae hadn’t heard a single story of the Gongdong Sect causing trouble.

He decided to mimic Hyeongong’s subtle way of questioning to draw out more information.

“I had no idea. Is this a common occurrence?”

“Common… Yes, it used to be.”

“It used to be?”

“About once a month, something similar would happen.”

“But not these days?”

“It’s been quiet lately. I think it’s been almost a year without any major incidents.”

A year, he thought.

Hong Geolgae pieced together his own experiences with what he’d heard at the Wudang Mountain meeting.

It was about two years ago that Yoo Jinkwang killed the former leader of the Gongdong Sect, Muryangja.

For about a year after that, someone named Sangyudo was the leader.

Then, about a year ago, Baek Yaho appeared at the Wudang Mountain meeting as the new leader of the Gongdong Sect.

The timing of Baek Yaho becoming the leader and the sect’s quiet period seemed to align.

‘There must be a connection.’

It made sense to him.

Baek Yaho, as Hong Geolgae had observed, was no ordinary person. Not only was he highly skilled, but he also had an unsettling presence.

The atmosphere of the Gongdong Sect under a weak leader couldn’t possibly be the same as under someone like Baek Yaho.

But probing further might arouse suspicion.

Was there a way to get genuine answers without raising any doubts?

‘There is.’

If Hyeongong were here, he would surely say this:

“Maybe the Gongdong Sect decided to turn over a new leaf last year.”

Instead of pressing with his theories, Hong Geolgae feigned ignorance.

Myosun laughed, as if amused by his naivety.

“Not a chance. Around this time last year, there was chaos in the Gongdong Sect. Things have been quiet since then.”

“Chaos?”

Myosun fell for Hong Geolgae’s—more accurately, Hyeongong’s—tactic.

With just a single question, she began to spill some rather sensitive information.

“Yes. I heard that some of the darker members of the Gongdong Sect caused a huge uproar. They eventually subdued the troublemakers, but many died or were left crippled. But thanks to that, life in Pyeongnyang has improved. They weeded out the problematic ones.”

“Wow…”

Today’s information gathering was a resounding success.

Hong Geolgae planned to return to the blacksmith’s shop and share what he’d learned with his friends.

“I’ve heard some fascinating stories. I should probably keep them to myself.”

“Yes, it’s best to be discreet. Oh, by the way, some of the Gongdong Sect members who were crippled are in that shack over there. Want to take a look?”

“I thought you said most of them died?”

“Well, one or two out of ten survived. It’s not easy for beggars like us to take care of others, so most of them died from infected wounds or starvation. But a few survived, those who were decent people.”

It probably wasn’t a pleasant sight.

But Hong Geolgae nodded.

He hadn’t come to Pyeongnyang for a leisurely visit.

Myosun led him to the shack.

Inside, a foul stench filled the air, so strong that even Hong Geolgae, a beggar, instinctively covered his nose.

‘The smell of rotting wounds mixed with waste. At least it’s not summer.’

Four or five people lay inside the shack.

Their skin was covered in bedsores. To prevent them, someone would have to turn them frequently, but the beggars had no reason to care for the Gongdong Sect’s criminals that much.

Just providing them with food to survive was already a significant kindness.

Their limbs bore clear scars, evidence of severed tendons.

But the injuries weren’t limited to their limbs. Most had been blinded, and through their parted lips, severed tongues were visible.

‘A gruesome punishment.’

Hong Geolgae shook his head, ready to leave.

But in the far corner, a face caught his eye, one that seemed oddly familiar.

’…Huh?’

Among the people in the shack, there was one woman.

Though emaciated and unable to open her eyes, Hong Geolgae could still recognize traces of her former self.

A Gongdong Sect warrior who had roamed the north, capturing rogue martial artists.

A woman as bold as any man.

Yaryul Dalum lay there in the shack.