Manggeumjangju ( Master of the Myriad Gold Manor)
Namgung Myeong's display of the Eighteen Dragon-Subduing Palms was not flawless like Geolseon's demonstration, nor did it possess the overwhelming power of Geolseon's execution.
But just as a tiger cub is still a tiger, what Namgung Myeong showed was undeniably the Eighteen Dragon-Subduing Palms. With tempering and refinement, it was certain one day to unleash a far greater might.
In fact, leaving the future aside, even the form he had just displayed was sufficient for others to watch and learn from without difficulty.
"The direction is a little off, but the talent is real."
Tang Mujin marveled inwardly, though he was not especially shocked. After all, he already knew that Namgung Myeong had managed to pick up the Emperor's Sword Form without ever formally being taught. If the fellow could steal that technique, there was no reason he could not also steal the Eighteen Dragon-Subduing Palms.
But Hong Geolgae, Yu Jingwang, and Wi Hwan were all struck with astonishment.
It wasn't merely that a supreme martial art's form should not be stolen—it was that it could not be stolen.
A martial form is not something one can reproduce after seeing it once. Even the simplest takes days at minimum, and more often months or even years of relentless practice.
In that instant, a thought flickered through Yu Jingwang's mind.
"…Didn't Namgung Myeong also witness the Sa-il Sword Art and the Splitting Light Thirty-Six Sword when he fought the Three-Eyed Buddha?"
But he kept that suspicion to himself.
***
The group moved slowly. Their numbers were small, but some were injured, and they wanted to give Hong Geolgae time to absorb the Eighteen Dragon-Subduing Palms through Namgung Myeong. Such fortuitous chances do not come easily, and once they appear, one must seize them fully.
The martial men of Jeomchang Sect occasionally stole glances at the palms, but none could reproduce them like Namgung Myeong. They were, after all, ordinary men of sound character and ordinary talent.
Three days later, a vast city came into view. For Tang Mujin and Dan Seol-yeong, it was a familiar sight.
The Gui Song Medical House, countless martial clans and families, and the main headquarters of the Martial Alliance were located there.
And also, the Myriad Gold Manor and its master, the Manggeumjangju.
The time they entered Luoyang was just past midday. Too late to head straight to the manor, too early to retire to an inn.
Tang Mujin asked Yu Jingwang,
"When will you be calling upon the Myriad Gold Manor? Today, or tomorrow?"
"It would be best to go immediately. I want to drink tonight with a clear mind, without burdens hanging over me."
Yu Jingwang, and indeed the other Jeomchang martial men, seemed of the same mind. They wanted nothing more than to cast off the shackles of debt as quickly as possible. Tang Mujin nodded.
"Understood. Though I cannot say if the Master of the Manor will receive us today."
"I know the way! Follow me!"
Dan Seol-yeong strode confidently at the lead.
Unlike Tang Mujin, who had spent his time in Luoyang cloistered inside Gui Song Medical House, Dan Seol-yeong had wandered here and there while apprenticing as a carpenter. Naturally, he knew the location of the manor well.
Soon, a high, sturdy wall came into view.
"That must be the Myriad Gold Manor. You can tell even from outside the wall."
The buildings within rose tall, their tiles unbroken and spotless as though newly laid.
The scale was so vast it rivaled several estates combined. Far from a family's residence, the manor looked more like a government yamen.
Dan Seol-yeong, having led the way, stepped back to Tang Mujin's side.
"I always thought this before, but it seems there are more people here than in Luoyang's central district."
"Of course. The greatest flow of money would be here."
Even a martial sect with little external contact would have heavy traffic if it commanded such resources. How much more so for the estate of a great merchant clan?
The manor's front gate soon appeared in the distance. Unlike the narrow gates of ordinary sects or families, through which only two people abreast might pass, the manor's main gate was wide enough for two great wagons to enter side by side.
As the group approached, the sound of hooves clattered behind them.
A large trade caravan—two draft horses pulling a wagon, followed by over twenty donkeys and mules—rolled out of the manor.
"Make way!"
The people of Luoyang parted fluidly, accustomed to such traffic. But Tang Mujin's party found themselves with nowhere to step aside. Dan Seol-yeong panicked.
"What now, where do we go?"
Tang Mujin lightly drew her out of harm's way, and the caravan just barely passed without mishap. Without that swift movement, Hong Geolgae might have been trampled.
The merchant riding the lead wagon scowled and spat.
"Bunch of bumpkins. Move quicker next time, will you?"
His words dripped with arrogance, born of multiple layers of confidence: in being a merchant of the mighty Myriad Gold Manor, in being at its very gates, and in the formidable number and quality of escorts surrounding him.
Unlike typical caravans—where third-rate guards abound and one or two second-rates pose as leaders—this one had second-rate experts in abundance, and the caravan master himself looked every bit a first-rate martial artist.
That kind of manpower came at five to ten times the usual cost, showcasing just how deep the Myriad Gold Manor's coffers ran.
The merchant's swagger emboldened his guards, who sneered irritably at Tang Mujin's group.
But the first-rate caravan master went pale. Unlike the ignorant merchant and lesser guards, he recognized the martial depth before him: three peak experts, five first-rate masters.
That kind of force could annihilate a mid-tier sect entirely. Not something an escort band could ever contend with.
His face twisted in panic as he clamped his hands desperately over the merchant's mouth.
"D-don't say that! Please, don't!"
"What? About them? Why not?"
"I said don't! It'll be the end of us!"
The master's eyes begged the party for forgiveness, as if pleading wordlessly. Somehow, everyone could tell exactly what he meant.
Yet Tang Mujin's companions didn't take offense. They weren't the sort to pick quarrels over such trifles, and the Jeomchang men had more important concerns.
Yu Jingwang thought to himself:
"If I let this insult pass with broad generosity, perhaps it will return to me as greater fortune later…"
When they reached the gate, a manor guard barred their way.
"You don't seem to be merchants. What brings you to the Myriad Gold Manor?"
"We've come to see the Master of the Manor."
The guard looked them over skeptically. From their shabby appearance, the chances of meeting the Manor Master seemed negligible. Only a handful of outsiders each year were granted direct audience.
But he didn't speak rashly. Unlike merchants who could pass disputes off to underlings, he would have to face the consequences himself.
"It won't be easy to meet the Master… but I'll pass word inside. Whom should I announce?"
"Say that the son of Yoo Gwan-il from Yunnan Province has come."
"…Very well. Please wait here."
The guard disappeared, and only after a long time did he return—accompanied by a neatly dressed middle-aged man.
The guard looked stiff with tension. Rarely did this man personally greet guests.
The newcomer introduced himself calmly.
"I am Seo, Chief Steward of the Myriad Gold Manor. An honor to meet you."
"Please just call me Yu Jingwang."
"So modest. Most martial men would boast of their sect and rank once they reach the first-class level."
"Everyone has a time before they are fully ripened."
Namgung Myeong nudged Tang Mujin with his elbow, unwilling to let even the smallest opportunity slip.
The steward asked Yu Jingwang, somewhat nervously,
"May I ask what business brings you to seek our Master?"
He knew well how deep Jeomchang Sect's debts ran to the manor. These reckless men might even demand their debts erased by force.
"Tell him I have come for the same reason my father once did."
"…I see. Please, this way."
He led the group into a reception hall.
It was only a reception hall, yet its refinement and elegance surpassed anything in Tang's Medical House or even the Yu Escort Agency.
As they looked around in awe, the steward returned.
"Master Yu, please come with me."
At his words, everyone in the hall stood up at once—Jeomchang men eager to witness their release from debt, Tang Mujin's group hungry to see the high-stakes gamble play out, even Chu Sam, normally dignified, couldn't resist joining in.
But the steward shook his head.
"The rest must remain here."
The others sat reluctantly, all except Yu Jingwang and Hong Geolgae.
The steward spoke again.
"The young man should wait as well."
That was harder for Yu Jingwang to accept than for Hong Geolgae. After all, the one to face today's trial was not him, but Hong Geolgae.
"If only one may go, then take Young Hong. I will remain behind."
"No. The Master specifically named you, Master Yu. He said to come alone."
Yu Jingwang's face was filled with bewilderment. Instead of Hong Geolgae, whom he had trusted, it was the unlucky him who now had to cast the dice.
But refusing to go was not an option. Yu Jingwang glanced at Steward Seo, then clasped Hong Geolgae's hands tightly.
"Young Hong, wish me luck…!"
"Ah, y-yes."
Drawing a deep breath, Yu Jingwang followed behind Steward Seo with the solemn expression of a general marching onto the battlefield, heading toward the chamber of the Manggeumjangju.
Contrary to Yu Jingwang's expectation that the master's room would be the largest in the entire manor, the Manggeumjangju's chamber was much smaller than the others.
Its interior was plain, with no unnecessary decorations—only a few essential items such as a desk and chairs. Rather than the room of the wealthiest man in the Central Plains, it felt more like the office of a frugal government official.
Across the desk sat an elderly man, waiting for Yu Jingwang and Steward Seo.
His hair was completely white, and he bore a kindly expression—but he had an unexpected feature. Even though Yu Jingwang and Steward Seo moved before his eyes, his pupils did not follow them at all. He was blind.
Yu Jingwang faltered, but the Manggeumjangju burst into laughter.
"Surprised? Everyone reacts that way the first time they see me."
"Ah… yes. It is an unexpected situation. Did some misfortune befall your eyes recently?"
"No. It has been quite some time—over thirty years, in fact."
"I never knew."
"Well, it's not something one boasts about. Steward Seo, wait outside."
With a respectful bow, Steward Seo stepped out at a leisurely pace.
"You must be Yu Jingwang. Will you compete in the same manner as your father?"
"Yes."
At Yu Jingwang's reply, the Manggeumjangju rose from his seat, moved to a side table, and retrieved a thumb-sized die.
So familiar was he with the space that his movements carried not the slightest hesitation.
"How much gold have you brought?"
Yu Jingwang placed a pouch heavy with gold on the desk. Thump. A dull sound resounded.
They were not all uniform coins or ingots, so the exact amount would need Steward Seo to verify.
But simply from the weight and sound of the pouch hitting the desk, the Manggeumjangju could roughly gauge the sum.
"Hmm. Your debt exceeds three times this but falls short of four. You'll have to win twice in a row wagering everything. Is that acceptable?"
"It is."
"Then I shall begin."
The Manggeumjangju rolled the die. As it tumbled across the desk, it landed showing three pips. A middling result.
At once, a question arose in Yu Jingwang's mind: how would a blind man confirm the die's result?
The Manggeumjangju used a very simple method. He asked Yu Jingwang directly.
"What did I roll?"
"…Three."
"A plain start. Now, your turn."
Yu Jingwang inhaled deeply and threw the die. The result was five. His fist clenched tightly. Never in his life had he felt such joy.
"And yours?"
"Five."
"Excellent."
The Manggeumjangju chuckled warmly, his voice devoid of any suspicion.
"Good. Let's go again. Strange to think that gambling could make me nervous about losing such a sum."
He rolled without hesitation. The result: five. Yu Jingwang's heart sank.
"And mine?"
"Five."
"Seems my luck is finally turning. Had I known, I might have wagered on a longer match."
As the master jested, Yu Jingwang cast his die again.
The result: two. Yu Jingwang felt as if his heart had stopped. At that moment, he had lost everything. All his luck amounted to nothing.
"What did you roll?"
The Manggeumjangju's eyes still stared at empty space, never at the die.
Yu Jingwang almost answered truthfully—but then he fell into the deepest turmoil of his life.
His heart said: A loss is a loss. Speak the truth like a man, accept defeat.
But his mind whispered otherwise: Think realistically. You only have to close your eyes once. This isn't for yourself. You endured three years in Jiangxi, you could endure seven more. You're not doing this because you can't bear it.
Your part is only until here. Others may only serve ten years, but why should the aftermath be your burden alone?
What about the others? What about your son? Your grandson yet to be born? Your father's honor? The men forced to leave their families behind? The women and children left waiting?
Did the brothers who died on the road from Kaifeng to here perish for nothing? Just because of a single lost throw of dice?
Sure, telling the truth would ease your heart. But that would be selfish. To comfort yourself, you would betray your entire sect.
And the Manggeumjangju? For him, this gamble is mere amusement. He has wealth tens, hundreds of times greater than our debt. Look at him—not even a hint of regret on his face.
Jingwang, don't be selfish. Close your eyes and say it. Do it for everyone.
The struggle dragged on, but the Manggeumjangju waited patiently.
At last, Yu Jingwang inhaled deeply and said,
"…Six. I rolled a six. I've won."
"Is that so? Congratulations. As of this moment, Jeomchang Sect's entire debt is erased. The difference shall be delivered through Steward Seo."
At that instant, Yu Jingwang was overcome with crushing self-loathing.
How could this be? One who served the heir of Qungshin, who swore to walk unwaveringly forward, how could he do such a thing?
Suddenly, he thought of his father. Even then, when his father wagered against the Manggeumjangju, the master had already been blind.
And if his father lost, that meant in this very same situation, his father had spoken the truth.
Why?
It was simple. That was the path a martial man of Jeomchang Sect must choose. An arrow may break or splinter upon impact, but it must never falter or bend.
Yu Jingwang's breathing grew ragged.
"No… Manggeumjangju, elder. The truth is—"
"No."
The Manggeumjangju cut him off.
"You won. I rolled five, you rolled six."
Yu Jingwang gasped like a madman, but no words came.
The Manggeumjangju placed the die in Yu Jingwang's palm. His expression bore no anger, no disdain—only warmth and kindness.
"Treasure it. This die of six eyes saved Jeomchang Sect. Someday, it will serve you well."
Yu Jingwang lowered his head and looked at the die. Its two pips stared back at him like human eyes.
His heart thundered madly. He felt as if he would collapse at any moment.
"It was enjoyable. I hope we meet again."
As the Manggeumjangju spoke, Steward Seo reentered.
"Steward Seo, Master Yu has won. Erase their debt completely and settle the accounts."
"Understood."
Led out by Steward Seo, Yu Jingwang stepped into the cold, dry winter air.
The others had not stayed waiting in the reception hall but had come all the way out. They immediately surrounded Yu Jingwang. Wi Hwan asked,
"…How did it go?"
When Yu Jingwang did not answer, Steward Seo replied for him.
"Master Yu has won. All debts of Jeomchang Sect are erased."
"Waaaaah—!"
The remaining Jeomchang martial men, along with Tang Mujin's party, erupted in joyous cheers.
Hearing the uproar, those passing through the manor turned to look, but the Jeomchang men cared nothing for the stares.
Yu Jingwang gazed blankly into the air, then let out a hollow laugh.
And he thought, It feels as though I've crossed a bridge from which there is no return.
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