Chapter 70
“Do you play janggi?”
“Janggi, you mean?”
“Yes. I’m not smart enough for go, but I can play janggi a little.”
At Cheon Mujin’s playful answer, Gong Mun-woo forced himself to calm the confusion in his head.
“…I play janggi well. If you’re only at a beginner’s level, there won’t be a fair wager.”
“Oh ho — that answer’s overflowing with confidence, beyond honesty.”
Cheon Mujin laughed and looked at Salseong.
“He says he’s good. What do you say, senior? If I beat him at janggi, will you grant me one favor?”
“Why are you asking me that?”
“You were the one who said not to kill these guys, weren’t you? If you accept the wager, I won’t kill them here. Don’t worry — I won’t ask anything unreasonable.”
Salseong looked at him for a moment and then nodded.
“All right. I accept.”
“Salseong-nim.”
“It’s fine.”
Salseong waved his hand lightly and gave Cheon Mujin a wry smile.
What a crafty bastard.
(He’s trying to save face while backing down — a rookie move.)
To simply back down would damage Cheon Mujin’s reputation. Even if Salseong intervened, rumors always spread in ways unfavorable to someone. Cheon Mujin, who had many enemies, would certainly be hurt by gossip turning against him — for example, that “Salseong looks down on Cheon Mujin.” Even that kind of whisper could harm him more than expected.
He’d spent his life as a rogue, and with Cheon Muyang’s talent being so outstanding, many forces chose neutrality; adding one more disadvantage for Cheon Mujin would never be a good result. Even those under him might grow uneasy.
But if Salseong accepted a wager and stepped back, that changed things. Cheon Mujin had proposed the wager and Salseong had taken it. That outcome couldn’t have happened if their relationship was truly bad — people who heard the rumor would naturally see things differently.
“All right then — it’s noisy here. Let’s go somewhere more suitable.”
“I’ll guide you.”
Replacing the passed-out patriarch, Gong Mun-woo escorted Cheon Mujin to a secluded spot of the clan and invited him into the pavilion where he himself rested.
“Oh? This is a rather fine place.”
“It’s where I rest.”
“Hmm? Is that so?”
Cheon Mujin chuckled and looked at the janggi board placed in the center of the pavilion.
“Playing janggi in a place like this will be pretty fun.”
When Cheon Mujin sat down smiling, Gong Mun-woo shot Salseong a worried look. Salseong nodded lightly, understanding the concern.
“Do as you please. If that guy loses, he won’t harm you.”
“Oh, I’m not that kind of person. A man should accept results like a man. Or — senior, would you rather play me instead?”
“No. I do it only as a hobby.”
Salseong knew his own skill. One reason he came here from time to time was to learn janggi from Gong Mun-woo. He wasn’t bad at the game, but he also wasn’t skilled enough to confidently wager against someone as cocky as this fellow.
When Salseong yielded, Gong Mun-woo took a deep breath and sat opposite Cheon Mujin. From his seat, Gong Mun-woo noticed the blood splattered on Cheon Mujin’s clothes. The image of his father being beaten—struck down—flashed in his mind; he swallowed dryly and spoke.
“Lord Cheon, I really am good. There’s a chance the wager won’t be established.”
He’d seen plenty of lunatics playing wagers — punches were common and knives occasionally appeared. There was no law preventing Cheon Mujin from reacting violently, so Gong Mun-woo decided to be as frank as possible. It was almost like insulting Cheon Mujin, but…
(…Is this right?)
(I don’t know either.)
Cheon Mujin’s men couldn’t bring themselves to scold Gong Mun-woo. After all:
“Have you ever seen the young master play janggi?”
“No.”
“Neither have I.”
None of them had even seen Cheon Mujin sit before a janggi board; for someone Cheon Mujin’s age to be good at janggi, he’d have to live with a board at his side or at least study books about the game — but none of that had been evident. While the men whispered with their eyes, Cheon Mujin smiled and set the pieces on the board.
“It’s fine. It’s fine. I play pretty well.”
“If that’s the case, I’ll start with three moves…”
“No need. If I win that way, I’ll feel guilty asking Salseong for a favor later.”
Cheon Mujin laughed, finished placing his pieces, and stopped. Gong Mun-woo finished his own piece placement a bit late, took a breath, and looked at Cheon Mujin.
“All right. Let’s begin.”
“Good. Start.”
Cheon Mujin smiled and moved first.
Move by move, Cheon Mujin placed his pieces without hesitation — the sort of careless, sweeping moves a novice might make randomly. But Gong Mun-woo didn’t move lightly. This was a match wagered on Salseong’s decision; he could not lose. Gong Mun-woo focused with a concentration he’d never shown before and moved his pieces carefully.
Naturally, Cheon Mujin ended up waiting longer between moves, but neither Gong Mun-woo nor Salseong noticed that. No wonder — after about an hour Salseong looked at the board and his eyes filled with astonishment.
“How…?”
Cheon Mujin’s advantage was now visible even to Salseong. Gong Mun-woo, who had been doing his best to hold on, visibly wavered at one move Cheon Mujin made. Then he bowed his head.
“…I resign.”
Gong Mun-woo admitted defeat.
“You play better than I thought.”
Cheon Mujin smiled as he reset the pieces.
“Another game? Best of five — three wins out of five.”
“…Thank you. I’m counting on you.”
“Arrgh! I lost again!”
“Heh heh — Cheonma, your impatience is your weakness. Your head isn’t bad, though.”
“Not really.”
The one-armed man laughed at Cheon Mujin’s answer.
“Most people in the world aren’t very bright. Truly sharp minds are rare.”
“Like you?”
“I’m not smart — this is the only thing I can do.”
The one-armed man placed the pieces on the board again.
“How did the battle from yesterday go?”
“It went as you said.”
“…Many died, I suppose.”
“Yes. Many died — both ours and those damned bastards.”
The man, expression chilled, tidied the pieces and made the first move.
“The chances of you winning are less than ten percent.”
“I know that.”
“If you flee now, some of them might live.”
“I know that.”
The man, moving his pieces with a blank face, looked up at Cheon Mujin.
“You who have been ruined by accusations of filial impiety — why are you so conscientious about saving lives?”
“I’m not being conscientious.”
Cheon Mujin made a move with a brisk sound and twisted the corner of his mouth.
“I just want to die like a man.”
At his confident laugh, the man sighed and continued.
“You’re dead, Cheonma. It’s a checkmate.”
“Huh?”
“You’re at 615 losses and 615 fights.”
“…One more game.”
“Argh! Damn it! Again! Again, Girowin!”
“Hoho, of course. I’ll play you as many times as you like, Your Majesty.”
Girowin, who learned the rules of janggi from Cheon Mujin, in only three days progressed to a level that overwhelmed Cheon Mujin. His species’ peculiar intelligence — a different kind of mental capacity from humans — produced this result. Girowin’s sharp mind soon found Cheon Mujin’s weakness.
“Your Majesty, you memorize quickly.”
“Memorize? All of these sequences? If I had that kind of head, I would’ve won at least one game already.”
“When Your Majesty’s moves are blocked, you play impatient, forced moves to break through. Isn’t that strange?”
“What do you mean?”
“Even when you fought with your life at stake, you never once made the wrong choice out of panic, did you?”
It was strange that Cheon Mujin would grow anxious at a blocked position in a game played merely for amusement.
“It’s because you don’t know. When an unexpected situation occurs, if you clearly know what choice to make, the panic disappears.”
“So you’re saying I should memorize?”
“Yes. The method isn’t hard.”
Girowin smiled and moved a piece to a decisive position. Noticing this, Cheon Mujin hesitated and set a move — when Girowin said, “Again,” he returned the piece to its original spot and smiled.
“You have plenty of time. Keep trying until you find the answer. Any answer sticks in the head best when you discover it yourself.”
(About forty years, maybe.)
It probably took Cheon Mujin that long to win one game against Girowin. The excitement when he finally won was indescribable. He continued steadily improving afterward. When his win rate against Girowin reached about fifty-fifty, Girowin was essentially his only opponent left — though he had many other interests. The games themselves were fun.
“…I resign.”
Remembering those old times as he waited for Gong Mun-woo’s move, Cheon Mujin smiled.
“You play well. You know how to accept defeat in the current situation.”
Despite Cheon Mujin’s praise, Gong Mun-woo could not speak. He had been wholly beaten. The match that had been 3-2 now ended up as Cheon Mujin’s fourth win. Gong Mun-woo couldn’t even bring himself to ask for another game.
Then Cheon Mujin said, “Then I won the wager, Salseong senior.”
“…All right. I’ll grant you one favor later. But remember — I won’t agree to anything unreasonable.”
“Of course.”
Cheon Mujin flashed a smile and tidied the pieces on the board.
“All right, the wager with Salseong is settled.”
He quickly cleared the board, looking at the dazed Gong Mun-woo with a grin.
“Now, let’s make a wager between you and me.”
“…Huh?”
“Gong Mun-woo.”
Cheon Mujin turned the board and handed Gong Mun-woo the first move, smiling.
“Ten games. Whoever wins more in those ten wins.”
“What’s the wager?”
“If you win, I’ll grant one favor of yours. But nothing unreasonable.”
“And if I lose?”
Cheon Mujin twisted the corner of his mouth.
“If I win, become my strategist, Gong Mun-woo.”
“Isn’t that odd? Having someone less intelligent than you as your strategist?”
At Gong Mun-woo’s objection, Cheon Mujin waved a finger.
“Is being good at janggi the same thing as being smart? A smart person can think across fields — that’s what it means to be truly clever.”
The “Patricide Cheonma”’s cunning. The wisdom of the discarded. “Discarded Wisdom.” These were the brains that had let Cheon Mujin wage war and lead forces for ten years. Unlike Geom Yujin, he never revealed his real name or origin until the end; seeing Gong Mun-do’s face around him, he hadn’t realized at once. Gathering those who were abandoned and with no clout, he had no luxury to argue whether someone was a spy or whatnot.
Of course, he had assumed they must belong to a famous brainy family or that side, and planned to check later when he was running a bigger organization. Who would have thought they’d be here?
Watching Gong Mun-woo move his pieces with trembling hands, Cheon Mujin laughed inwardly.
“938 fights, 934 losses, 4 wins.”
It’s going to take a long while to even out his win ratio.
