Episode 43: The Men in Black

When Tang Mujin returned to the spot where he first encountered the men in black, Gwei and Hong Geolge were already there, waiting for him.

Hong Geolge smirked as he saw Tang Mujin approaching. “You’re the last one back, huh?”

“I had a few things to take care of,” Tang Mujin replied nonchalantly.

Judging by Hong Geolge’s expression, he seemed quite pleased with himself for having dealt with his opponent faster than Tang Mujin. But Tang Mujin felt no sense of defeat. Unlike Hong Geolge, who would have likely bludgeoned his opponent to death at the first opportunity, Tang Mujin had ensured a painless death for his adversary and even took the time to bury the body. If he had simply beheaded his opponent, he would have been back even sooner.

Of course, Tang Mujin didn’t bother explaining any of this. He knew that explaining oneself was the least impressive thing one could do.

Instead, he offered a mysterious, slightly smug smile that hinted at untold stories.

Gwei, observing this, clicked his tongue. “Stop fooling around and take off their masks. We need to know who these guys are.”

There were two bodies clad in black at the scene. One was the man Gwei had killed initially, and the other seemed to be the one Gwei had followed.

“Do you really think we’ll recognize them just by looking at their faces? It’s not like they’ll have their affiliations written on them.”

“They do.”

“What?”

“They do. Anyone who skulks around in masks usually has something to hide, and they often mark themselves with tattoos.”

Skeptical, Tang Mujin removed the masks from the bodies. Just as Gwei had said, there were crude tattoos on their necks, the character for “wolf” (狼) scrawled in a jagged script.

“Looks like they’re from some group like the Black Wolf Gang or the Wild Wolf Clan.”

“Are they well-known?”

“No, not really. The names these underworld groups come up with are all pretty similar, so it’s just a guess.”

“Why would they get tattoos? It doesn’t seem to offer any advantage.”

Tattoos were generally frowned upon, often seen as a form of punishment.

Unlike the central regions dominated by righteous sects, the beggars in Tang Mujin’s hometown were more accepting. However, some beggars lived in even more dire conditions, often shunned for being caught stealing from others. There was one beggar who, despite having no such bad habits, was ostracized because of a tattoo on his forehead marking him as a rapist.

Of course, not all tattoos were punitive. Soldiers and sailors sometimes got tattoos as talismans for survival. But even those were not viewed kindly. Tang Mujin felt the same way.

“They might claim it’s about belonging and pride, but that’s just a story to keep the fools in line. The real reason is to make sure they can’t leave the organization and start a new life.”

Tang Mujin and Hong Geolge didn’t quite grasp the explanation. Gwei clicked his tongue again and elaborated.

“Imagine you’re the leader of these masked men. Would you rather work with someone who could run off and start fresh at any moment, or someone who, willingly or not, is tied to the organization for life?”

“Obviously, the latter.”

“Exactly. A tattoo ensures they can’t live a normal life. It’s a foolproof method.”

It was a chilling thought. Once you joined the underworld, you were expected to stay there forever.

“So, they’re not from a major sect, right?”

“Right. Judging by the fact that they sent four second-rate fighters as trackers, they’re not a large or powerful group. And from the way they were blabbering in masks, they’re not professional assassins either.”

Tang Mujin and Hong Geolge were taken aback.

“Second-rate?”

“What, did you think you beat a first-rate fighter? Dream on.”

“No, I thought they were third-rate. They were so easy to handle.”

Tang Mujin glanced at Hong Geolge, who seemed to have had no trouble with his opponent either.

Gwei’s expression twisted into a strange grimace. “Listen to you, fishing for compliments. Just say you want praise.”

“It’s not that! If I easily defeated a second-rate fighter, doesn’t that mean I’m first-rate?”

Tang Mujin’s goal as a martial artist was to become first-rate. The highest-ranking martial artist he knew, Jin Song, the chief instructor of the Chengdu branch of the Qingcheng Sect, was first-rate.

In Chengdu, Jin Song was considered second only to his master, Qinglingzi, and bowed to no one else. Some said leaders of smaller sects were stronger, but Jin Song never bowed to them either. His achievements were not far behind theirs, and his status in the Qingcheng Sect was more influential than theirs in their own sects.

Tang Mujin had thought it would take years of grueling effort to reach first-rate status, but had he already achieved it? His spirits soared at the thought.

How would people back home see him now?

He imagined showing off his first-rate skills to the martial artists who used to haggle over medicine prices by flaunting their scars. The thought was exhilarating.

But Gwei’s next words shattered Tang Mujin’s daydream.

“First-rate? Standards vary, but neither you nor Hong Geolge are quite there yet.”

“Why not? If I beat a second-rate fighter easily, doesn’t that make me first-rate?”

“Standards differ, but the most common measure is the flow of qi. To be considered first-rate, your internal energy should naturally follow every move without conscious effort. You’re not there yet.”

Both Tang Mujin and Hong Geolge, who had been listening quietly, looked crestfallen. Gwei added one more thing.

“Don’t get too hung up on labels like first-rate or second-rate. They’re just arbitrary standards people made up. Plenty of skilled fighters have been killed by those considered beneath them. Whether a sword is wielded with internal energy or swung thoughtlessly, a cut to the neck or a stab to the heart is fatal.”

Still, Tang Mujin had hoped to hear he was first-rate. He nodded, feeling a twinge of disappointment.

“So, do you think these men in black are the ones the merchants mentioned, hiding out on the mountain?”

“Almost certainly.”

The merchants hadn’t connected the dots between the bandits and the local lord, but the timing of the bandits’ arrival and the lord’s actions fit too well to be a coincidence.

The bandits had cut off the village’s livelihood by occupying the mountain, using its resources to produce a valuable stone, which they then sold through their own agents. The villagers, left with no other options, were forced to work for the bandits.

The circumstantial evidence was strong, and the fact that the bandits had pursued them immediately after the lord’s death left little doubt.

Gwei pondered for a moment before speaking. “We should go back and take a closer look at these bandits. We can’t just let them keep making that stone.”

It was expected. Gwei’s personality was unpredictable, but his actions were driven by a simple principle: reduce the suffering of the sick. That was his guiding star.

“Do you think the three of us can handle it?”

“Don’t worry. There probably aren’t that many of them.”

“How can you be sure?”

“The trackers were low-level, and they’re leeching off small-town merchants. Plus, we’re in Henan, the heart of the righteous martial world. If their group were large and notorious, plenty of people would come running. The Beggars’ Sect and Shaolin Temple are both here.”

The mention of the Beggars’ Sect perked up Hong Geolge’s ears. He might get a chance to meet one of the Six Elders, the Beggar Immortal.

“We don’t have to wipe them out completely. We could just take out a few key leaders who know how to make the stone, or destroy their stockpiles with oil or poison. If we disrupt them enough times, they’ll eventually move on.”

“Hmm.”

Tang Mujin and Hong Geolge nodded in agreement. They had been feeling uneasy about the situation as well.

The three of them reached the area near the village where they had parted ways with the merchants and began making their way up the mountain.

“Where do you think they are?”

“The merchants said the bandits blocked the extraction of gold and iron sand, so let’s follow the stream upstream.”

The memory of Juul Village came to mind. They had followed a stream there too.

The shallow stream that barely reached their ankles gradually deepened until it was up to their knees and thighs. The current was swift. This must be where the villagers had been panning for gold.

Under the moonlight, they scanned the area. A little way from the stream, they spotted a neatly built hut.

“Is that it?”

“Looks like it.”

There wasn’t just one hut. Several were scattered at a distance from each other.

But there was no one standing guard.

“These guys wouldn’t be thorough with security. Let’s find out where they’re storing their materials first.”

As they pushed through waist-high grass toward the huts, Tang Mujin’s foot landed on something soft.

“Who the hell…?”

A grumbling voice emerged as a man, tanned from the sun, woke up. He must have fallen asleep outside because of the heat.

Tang Mujin looked at the man’s neck. Sure enough, there was a tattoo.

As Dang Mujin reached for the hilt of his sword, the mysterious figure lunged forward, crushing the neck of the black-clad man beneath his foot.

A sickening crunch.

“Gah!”

Before the man in black could even writhe in pain, the figure drove a blade into his heart. The man let out a gurgling sound, then fell silent, blood pooling around him.

“No need to check for tattoos. The fact that they’re here means they’re all part of the same gang.”

“Understood.”

The figure glanced toward the eastern sky, where the first hints of dawn were beginning to appear. In an hour or so, the sun would rise.

“Let’s spread out and search. If there’s trouble, signal me.”

“Signal?”

“Imitate a bird call or something. Figure it out.”

“Got it.”

Dang Mujin crouched low, moving cautiously as he surveyed the huts. It was a task that required some care, as there were bodies sprawled out asleep all around.

He considered leaving the sleeping men undisturbed but decided to follow the mysterious figure’s lead. If trouble arose, these men would surely become enemies, so it was better to eliminate the threat now.

Mimicking the figure, Dang Mujin crushed the necks of his targets with his heel and drove his sword into their hearts. To be safe, he had even coated the blade with a paralyzing poison, ensuring the black-clad men couldn’t resist and died with only a few spasms.

Unlike the earlier confrontation, killing defenseless men left him feeling uneasy.

‘There’s no other choice.’

After dispatching two more men sprawled on the path, he inspected the interior of one of the huts.

From the direction where Hong Geolgae had gone, he heard a clumsy imitation of a mountain dove’s call.