The Dialogue of the Villains (7)
“Keep practicing.”
Yeon Geum-hong quickly dashed into the courtyard.
Standing side by side, the four of them wore tense expressions as they observed their respective brewing stations.
“The promise still stands, right?”
At Seo Seok-san’s question, the other three nodded in unison.
“Heh heh heh! I never thought the day would come when I’d hear you call me ‘Master.'”
Yeon Geum-hong scoffed at Do Pyeong-su’s words.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself. You should practice calling me ‘Master’ all night long.”
They each opened the doors to their brewing stations.
A subtle aroma of liquor spread in all directions.
The four men, with their keen senses, could instantly discern not only the state of their own brew but also the fragrance of the others’ liquor.
At their level of mastery, they didn’t even need to taste the liquor to assess its quality.
When they confirmed the state of their own brews, faint smiles touched their lips. But soon, their expressions soured as they detected the aromas of the other three.
“Looks like today won’t decide the winner,” Seo Seok-san remarked.
“Seems so. It’ll take a little more time.”
They had hoped at least one of them would fall behind, but it appeared the competition between the four would continue.
“Let’s keep it a secret from Master. No need to burden him unnecessarily.”
Yeon Geum-hong agreed with Seo Seok-san’s words.
“Of course. If Master finds out we’ve been scheming, we’re dead.”
“What scheming are you talking about?”
They had been so focused on the liquor that they hadn’t noticed Geom Woo-bin’s approach.
“Ah, nothing!”
“Is the liquor ready?”
Do Pyeong-su chuckled.
“Heh heh heh! Once our liquor is released, every other drink in Hangzhou will taste like ditch water.”
Yeon Geum-hong turned to Geom Woo-bin.
“Have you gotten the hang of throwing needles?”
“I can now hit close to where I aim.”
“Huh? Close to where you aim? How close?”
Geom Woo-bin picked up a needle.
“I’ll throw it over there.”
He pointed at a pillar about five jang (approx. 15 meters) away, roughly two hand-spans in width.
His arm moved.
The motion was small, but the needle flew with surprising force and embedded itself into the pillar.
“Whoa!”
Needles were among the lighter throwing weapons.
For beginners, shurikens were the easiest to practice with—they could stick into targets even when thrown carelessly and had enough weight. Needles, on the other hand, were tricky; they were hard to stick properly until one mastered the technique, and their lightness made them difficult to throw far.
Yet, after barely half a sizin (approx. 1 hour) of practice, Geom Woo-bin was already able to throw needles accurately from five jang away.
But the Blood Wind Four’s surprise didn’t end there.
Ten more needles left Geom Woo-bin’s hand, each landing within three chon (approx. 9 cm) of the first—up, down, left, and right.
This meant he wasn’t just hitting the pillar but aiming precisely at a single spot. When Yeon Geum-hong went closer to inspect, his jaw dropped.
The needles were embedded deep into the wood, nearly the length of a finger joint.
“He’s already this accurate and powerful after just half a sizin?”
Yeon Geum-hong looked at Geom Woo-bin with newfound respect.
He had known the boy had decent physical aptitude, but physical talent alone didn’t determine martial prowess. Even the best physique had limits if the mind couldn’t keep up.
But Geom Woo-bin was a rare talent—both physically gifted and sharp-witted.
“This innate skill can’t be limited to just needle throwing, right?”
Occasionally, there were prodigies who displayed genius in only one specific area.
“I shouldn’t use needle techniques until I’ve fully mastered them. A mistake could cost someone their life.”
Yeon Geum-hong pulled the needles from the pillar as he spoke.
“Of course. But in the martial world, failing to kill when you must only invites disaster.”
“I might not even become a martial artist. Staying here, brewing liquor with my masters and selling it sounds nice too.”
“That wouldn’t be so bad either.”
The four exchanged glances, all thinking the same thing.
Seo Pung-sik’s Pride
Seo Pung-sik took pride in being a connoisseur of liquor.
His tavern offered thirty different kinds of alcohol, and in his lifetime, he had tasted at least three hundred varieties.
From cheap rice wine to the finest modaeju, he believed no drink could astonish him anymore.
But today, that belief was shattered.
“This liquor… what’s it called?”
“Yeogeumju.”
“Yeogeumju… Yeogeumju…”
It was a name he had never heard before, but one he would remember until his dying breath.
“Try this one too.”
Geom Woo-bin poured another liquor from a different gourd into a small cup.
“I doubt any other liquor could compare to Yeogeumju.”
No other drink could delight his palate as much. He felt no need to drink anything else today—he didn’t want to ruin the lingering aftertaste of Yeogeumju with something inferior.
But when he caught the aroma of the second liquor, his mind changed.
This one, named Pungryuju, evoked the sensation of listening to a beautiful song by a lakeside—a different kind of intoxication.
Two more cups followed, each transporting Seo Pung-sik to another world of flavor.
For the first time, he realized happiness could be found in drinking.
“Are these really brewed by humans?”
It felt like he had stumbled upon a celestial drink accidentally left behind by immortals.
“Can I buy them?”
“Buy them? I should be begging you to sell them to me! I’ll take your entire stock, no matter the quantity!”
“I can’t give exclusive rights to just one place. I want as many people as possible to taste them. And they’re expensive—you might not afford all of them.”
“Well, liquor like this would be priceless. How much are you thinking?”
Geom Woo-bin pointed to a gourd at his waist, about a hand-span in length.
“Three nyang of silver per bottle seems fair.”
“Three nyang?! That’s the price of the finest modaeju!”
“Really? If liquor at that price exists, then my masters’ brew should be worth at least that much. No—three nyang is just the starting price. It might go up later.”
The price was steep, but the lingering taste made him think, “For liquor this good, three nyang isn’t too much.”
“Since we have a connection, I’ll let you pay later. Settle the bill after you’ve sold them all.”
“Are you sure?”
“It’s the least I can do for you, Elder.”
“Thank you!”
“I’ll bring them tomorrow. Don’t drink them all yourself!”
He couldn’t promise that.
“Could I really resist drinking them all?”
Seo Pung-sik stared blankly at his empty cup.
Hangzhou’s Pleasure Districts
Geom Woo-bin headed straight into Hangzhou’s bustling streets.
True to its reputation as a city of revelry, Hangzhou was overflowing with famous pleasure houses. Five of the Ten Great Pleasure Houses of the Central Plains were located here.
Geom Woo-bin sought out the largest establishments.
But an eight-year-old trying to sell liquor wasn’t taken seriously.
“We’re busy—stop bothering us and scram!”
Four different pleasure houses treated him the same way, not even letting him present his liquor.
“This won’t be easy.”
Geom Woo-bin had taken on this task because the Blood Wind Four couldn’t—they’d likely resort to fists at the first rejection.
But his age was a hurdle.
Dejected, he stopped at Wolha Gibang, one of Hangzhou’s Three Great Pleasure Houses, with three elegant pavilion buildings and a beautifully landscaped garden.
As dusk fell, the streets of Hangzhou lit up with artificial lights.
Impatient drinkers sought taverns while diligent courtesans busily prepared for the night’s guests.
Geom Woo-bin went to Wolha Gibang’s back entrance.
Staff bustled about, preparing for the evening. He approached what looked like a junior manager.
“I’d like to see the Chief Steward.”
The young man, barely in his twenties, squinted at him dismissively.
“What for?”
“I’m here to sell fine liquor.”
“You? Selling liquor?”
The reaction was no different from the previous four. The following words were identical too.
“We’re busy—stop bothering us and leave.”
“I just want the Chief Steward to taste it.”
“The Chief Steward isn’t idle enough to entertain strange kids.”
“It’ll only take a moment.”
“In-seok! Get rid of him!”
The junior manager shoved Geom Woo-bin’s shoulder.
But the boy didn’t budge—instead, the man lost his balance and fell on his backside.
“Huh? Did I drink too much last night?”
He scrambled up and grabbed Geom Woo-bin’s collar.
“You should’ve left when I asked nicely!”
Just as he was about to use force, a deep voice interrupted.
“What’s going on?”
Startled, the junior manager released Geom Woo-bin and bowed respectfully.
“Chief Steward! You’re here!”
A middle-aged man with a well-groomed black beard frowned.
“Why are you manhandling a child during work hours?”
“Well, this kid insisted on seeing you, Chief Steward…”
“Me?”
Chief Steward Ha Seok-mun recognized the boy.
“Ah! You’re the kid who came a few months ago asking for work.”
Geom Woo-bin bowed.
“It’s been a while.”
“Your name was… Geom Woo-bin, right?”
An eight-year-old seeking employment was rare enough, but the boy had even refused the coins Ha Seok-mun offered, leaving a strong impression.
“I came for work, not charity.”
Such dignity was unusual for a child.
“What brings you today? I already told you we can’t hire you.”
“I’m here on different business. Please prepare four clean cups.”
“Cups? Why?”
“If you prepare them, you won’t regret it.”
Curiosity got the better of him.
“Go fetch four clean cups.”
The junior manager scurried off and returned with four white cups.
Geom Woo-bin sat at the staff resting area and neatly arranged four gourds on the table. Ha Seok-mun took the seat across from him.
The first cup was filled with Seo Seok-san’s Pungryuju.
“Have a taste.”
Ha Seok-mun raised the cup but paused before it reached his lips.
“This aroma!”
Even before the liquor touched his tongue, its fragrance alone made his heart race—something he had never experienced before.
He took a small sip.
“Ah!”
Given his profession, he had tasted countless liquors.
Most were among the finest in the Central Plains. Yet, what Geom Woo-bin had given him was on an entirely different level.
There was no comparison.
Even Yeoa Hong, which sold for ten nyang of silver per bottle, paled in comparison.
Geom Woo-bin poured another liquor into the next cup.
The meager amount—barely a drop—left Ha Seok-mun disappointed.
“This isn’t the same liquor.”
“No. The first was Pungryuju. This is Hwagokju.”
“Wait a moment.”
Ha Seok-mun rinsed his mouth with water.
Never before had his heart pounded so fiercely while tasting liquor.
The second liquor, Hwagokju, also surpassed his expectations. If Pungryuju evoked a lakeside beauty’s song, Hwagokju stirred a man’s fighting spirit.
For the first time, he realized a single sip could evoke such emotions.
The four liquors Geom Woo-bin brought each left Ha Seok-mun in awe in their own way.
“Ah! Why am I only learning of these now?”
“That’s why your pockets still have money left, Chief Steward.”
Ha Seok-mun burst into laughter at Geom Woo-bin’s joke.
“Hah! You’re right! The drinkers of Hangzhou will go bankrupt!”
“Luckily, we can’t produce that much. Though they would have to worry about bankruptcy at these prices.”
At the mention of price, Ha Seok-mun’s eyes narrowed.
“How much are you thinking?”
“How much would you sell them for?”
“Depends on your price.”
“Hmm… then what’s the most expensive liquor in this pleasure house?”
The eight-year-old’s haggling skills were impressive.
“Yeoa Hong, at ten nyang of silver.”
“Then we can charge more, right?”
“Five nyang per bottle.”
Even Yeoa Hong, sold at ten nyang, cost less than three nyang to procure.
“I’ll give you five nyang for the first month. Next month, it’ll be ten. And the year after, fifteen.”
“In-seok! Only the Emperor’s Modaeju and Chilseongju are that expensive!”
“Isn’t the liquor I brought better than the Emperor’s?”
Ha Seok-mun couldn’t deny it.
