Jang Il-nam
Not long after they left Chengdu, the rain stopped as if it had never been.
Tang Mujin shook the water off his soaked bamboo hat and raincoat, grumbling, “Why is the weather in Sichuan so unpredictable?”
As a child, Tang Mujin thought the weather was capricious everywhere in the world. But he soon realized that was a misconception. After traveling across the central plains, he found few places as fickle as Sichuan.
Hong Geolgae, carefully wringing out his drenched clothes to avoid tearing them, replied, “At least Sichuan isn’t particularly hot or cold. A bit of rain and clouds isn’t so bad.”
“Snow I can handle, but this rain is just a nuisance,” Tang Mujin said, handing his damp raincoat and hat to Hong Geolgae, who took them without thinking.
“Why are you giving these to me?”
“They’re wet. You’re wet too.”
Despite the rain having stopped, Tang Mujin looked immaculate. Hong Geolgae, however, disliked carrying extra baggage, so he never bothered with rain gear. He simply endured the elements.
“So what?”
“Well, if one of us can stay dry, that’s better, right?”
“Good thing your daughters didn’t grow up under your care.”
They both chuckled.
Hong Geolgae glanced back. Above them, the sky was a clear blue, but over Chengdu, dark clouds still loomed, releasing their rain.
Of course, Tang Mujin never expected Hong Geolgae to actually keep the raincoat and hat. Hong Geolgae hung them on a tree branch by the roadside, hoping someone heading into Chengdu might stay dry.
The two resumed their light-footed journey, moving faster than most could sprint, yet conversing in calm tones.
“You’re not thinking of taking a boat, are you?”
“Of course not.”
For those untrained in martial arts, the usual route from Chengdu to Dongting Lake involves taking a boat to the vicinity and then traveling a bit south. It’s faster and more convenient than walking, despite the fare.
But for martial artists like Hong Geolgae and Tang Mujin, who excel in light-footed techniques, running is much quicker.
“Think we’ll run into Woo Hobup on the way?”
“Hard to say.”
After Woo Hobup left Guangyeom, Tang Mujin met him after waiting for over two days. This meant Woo Hobup had a two-day head start. Catching up wouldn’t be easy.
“Since Woo Hobup doesn’t know we’re following, he might be taking his time. If we’re lucky, we might catch up.”
It was more hope than a prediction. Tang Mujin and Hong Geolgae quickened their pace.
Tang Mujin’s eldest daughter, Tang Yeong, sat on Jang Il-nam’s shoulders, her eyes wide with wonder.
“Wow…”
The endless expanse of blue water filled her view.
Tang Yeong had seen the Min River near Qingcheng Mountain and had her fill of the Yangtze on the way to Dongting Lake. But there was a crucial difference between those rivers and Dongting Lake: you couldn’t see land beyond the water at Dongting Lake.
Recalling a story she’d heard, Tang Yeong asked Jang Il-nam, “Is this the sea?”
“No, this is Dongting Lake. It looks like the sea, but it’s not.”
Jang Il-nam glanced to the side. Tang Iryeong and Tang Haewon were splashing their small hands in the lake, playing gleefully.
It wasn’t just the children who were excited. The entire Tang family seemed in high spirits, as if they were on a holiday rather than fleeing.
A somber atmosphere wouldn’t make them any safer, so neither Tang Jeseon nor Dan Seolyeong scolded them.
“Here we are at Dongting Lake. Is that the famous Yueyang Tower?”
“First, we should find a place to stay. I’ve heard there are many inns and taverns on the north side of Dongting Lake. Shall we head there?”
“Understood. Let’s move a bit more, even if we’re tired.”
As the Tang family discussed their destination, Jang Il-nam, unusually, offered his opinion.
“Perhaps we should head south instead.”
“South?”
“The north side of Dongting Lake is full of short-term lodgings for travelers. It’s expensive, and with so many people passing through, fights often break out. The south side is quieter and has places suitable for longer stays.”
Dan Seolyeong laughed at this.
“They say you were a legend in the southern martial world. You seem to know everything. Have you been around Dongting Lake often?”
“No, it’s been a long time since I last came here. Maybe twenty years or so…”
“Really? You spoke as if you knew it well.”
“I do know it well enough. The southern shore of Dongting Lake is my hometown.”
Jang Il-nam smiled shyly, a contrast to his rugged appearance.
Mok Wana asked, “You haven’t been to your hometown in over twenty years? Was there a problem?”
“Not really. I just feared being recognized.”
In the past, Jang Il-nam always hid his face with a bamboo hat. Even with his face covered, people would recognize him and challenge him to fights. He knew that if he showed his face, he’d never be able to put down his sword.
Given the circumstances, he couldn’t visit a hometown full of people who knew his face. But now, things were different. He had left his past behind and resolved all his old grudges.
Traveling among so many people, he doubted anyone would recognize him.
“Let’s move.”
Jang Il-nam led the way with a light step.
Following Jang Il-nam’s guidance, the Tang family arrived at a sizable village on the southern shore of Dongting Lake.
Though not as bustling as the north or west, the south was still lively and populated.
Nam Woong and Chu Sam disappeared somewhere and soon found a place for the Tang family to stay. It was a villa belonging to a high-ranking official, vacant until winter.
The rent was steep, but the Tang family didn’t need to worry about expenses.
“Wana, I’m stepping out for a bit. It might take a couple of days.”
“Alright, take care.”
While the family settled into their new quarters, Jang Il-nam left without his hat.
Though it was his hometown, he doubted many would recognize his aged face. Moreover, he didn’t expect martial artists to challenge him.
Thanks to Tang Mujin’s help, news of him laying down his sword had spread across the central plains.
Jang Il-nam bought some cheap liquor at a nearby inn and headed to a place from his memories.
Some people gave him curious looks, but most didn’t recognize him.
Jang Il-nam had left his hometown before he was twenty and always hid his face when he returned. Even those who remembered his past would find it hard to recognize him now.
He walked leisurely, reminiscing.
But as he retraced his memories, his steps slowed, and he stopped at an empty spot.
Looking around, he spotted an elderly woman.
In her face, he could see traces of the young woman she once was, but she showed no sign of recognizing him.
Jang Il-nam asked her, “Ma’am, wasn’t there a house here?”
Elderly people often welcome conversation partners. But the woman first scrutinized Jang Il-nam’s appearance. Only after confirming he carried no weapons did she respond comfortably.
“Too many rough outsiders came looking for it, so the villagers tore it down. Must’ve been fifteen or twenty years ago… Are you here for the Blood Rain Guest too?”
“No, just…”
“Sure you’re not.”
Instead of answering, Jang Il-nam gave a sheepish smile, then dangled his gourd of liquor and headed toward Dongting Lake.
He found a flat rock, a place etched in his memory.
Jang Il-nam sat on the rock, running his rough hand over its sun-warmed surface.
It was where his master always sat when they came to Dongting Lake.
“Il-nam.”
He could almost hear his master’s voice.
Nearly fifty years had passed, but Jang Il-nam could still vividly recall his master’s voice and face. The slightly uneven eyes, the sparse, scraggly beard.
Not a handsome face by any measure.
On sunny days, his master would sit on the warm rock, sipping liquor. Both Jang Il-nam and his master were lightweights when it came to drinking.
A little tipsy, his master would always say the same thing.
“Il-nam.”
“Yes, Master.”
“I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for now?”
“I never thought you’d become so skilled with the sword.”
“Hehe.”
Jang Il-nam’s master always apologized for his own shortcomings.
You should have learned from a real master, not a second-rate hack like me. You should have sought out a true martial arts expert. That was the story.
Yet, at the same time, Jang Il-nam’s teacher couldn’t easily let go of his beloved student. Though his martial arts skills were lacking, his resolve was even more so.
Similarly, Jang Il-nam wasn’t the type to leave his teacher behind.
“If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be living so well now, eating three square meals a day.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
“Besides, it’s not like I’m going to make a living with a sword.”
When Jang Il-nam said this, his teacher shook his head.
“A good swimmer becomes a fisherman, a skilled farmer tends the fields. You’re good with a sword, so you’ll surely become a martial artist.”
“A martial artist…”
In his early teens, like many boys, Jang Il-nam secretly admired martial artists. Looking back now, it seems laughable.
But at the same time, he couldn’t easily imagine himself as one.
In truth, Jang Il-nam’s dream wasn’t to be a martial artist but a chef. A chef working in the kitchen of an expensive inn north of Dongting Lake.
They earned a good salary, receiving room and board plus two silver coins a month. The best chefs could earn up to five.
Jang Il-nam replied playfully, “Maybe I can’t become a martial artist because I didn’t learn from a great master.”
“No. If that were the case, I wouldn’t have apologized. Fate isn’t so simple.”
“Really?”
“If you hadn’t learned the sword at all, it might be different. But since you have, you’ll end up a martial artist. Just a less impressive one because you learned from a hack.”
Young Jang Il-nam let his teacher’s words go in one ear and out the other.
Yet, those words turned out to be surprisingly accurate.
Jang Il-nam didn’t want to become a martial artist, but he did.
And he couldn’t just quit being one at will.
“That’s fate for you.”
Knowing he couldn’t fight fate and win, Jang Il-nam spent decades running from it.
He ran and ran until fate, exhausted, finally let him go. No one called him a blood-soaked wanderer anymore.
Pouring a cheap bottle of liquor on the spot where his teacher used to sit, Jang Il-nam thought, “Master, it took a while, but I’ve escaped the fate of a martial artist. You don’t have to feel sorry anymore.”
After emptying the bottle, he stood and looked south.
“They said Samgu Village is that way.”
He recalled the stories of Wi Jin-hyang.
Just a little south of Dongting Lake was Samgu Village, where Wi Jin-hyang had stayed for a long time.
A village with a dreaded cave, and where Kang Ji-so, whom Wi Jin-hyang treated like a daughter or a much younger sister, lived.
From the moment Dongting Lake became his refuge, Jang Il-nam planned to visit Samgu Village to tell Kang Ji-so about Wi Jin-hyang.
Jang Il-nam began walking south.
It took Jang Il-nam two days to visit Samgu Village and return.
As planned, he met Kang Ji-so and shared news of Wi Jin-hyang.
He even gifted her a portrait of Wi Jin-hyang he had drawn himself.
Jang Il-nam was skilled at drawing. Having spent so much time alone, he often drew in the dirt with sticks to pass the time when he felt lonely.
The portrait was so detailed that others admired it, though Jang Il-nam wasn’t satisfied.
“Wi Jin-hyang looks much better in person. I should’ve practiced more…”
Still, since Kang Ji-so promised to visit the Tang family estate after the Great Martial War, the portrait, despite its flaws, would suffice.
With that thought, Jang Il-nam returned to the vicinity of Dongting Lake.
But as he entered the village, he sensed something was amiss.
The atmosphere was heavy and somber, like a fog had settled over it.
The weather was fine, and it wasn’t late, yet no one was on the streets. The children who should have been running around were nowhere to be seen.
”…!”
Jang Il-nam burst through the gate into the villa.
A few people sat dazed, half-conscious.
Against one wall, Nam Woong sat, leaning and panting, with a sword wound. A doctor was tending to him.
Nam Woong and Jang Il-nam’s eyes met.
No complicated explanation was needed.
“Ah…”
Jang Il-nam realized too late.
That his relentless fate hadn’t given up on him after all.