Execution of the Wicked (9)
Jo Cheol-jung asked, “Is this the brewery where they make the ‘Sagiju’?”
“Sagiju? Well, I’ve heard people call our liquor that. Suppose it is. So what?”
Despite six rough-looking, burly men riding into the courtyard, the middle-aged man showed no sign of tension. Instead, the corners of his lips twitched as if he were suppressing a smile.
“We heard the liquor tastes great, so we came to learn the secret recipe.”
“You want to become disciples?”
“Disciples? With the reputation of the Black Society? Just hand it over. Then we’ll let you off with just turning that half-bald head completely bald. Kehahaha!”
The men burst into raucous laughter at the crude joke. But at the mention of his hair, Seo Seok-san’s expression hardened.
“Not satisfied with digging your own graves, you’re crawling into them willingly.”
Just as Seo Seok-san was about to act, Yeon Geum-hong’s voice rang out.
“Oh my! Looks like we have guests!”
As she stepped out with a bright smile, the thugs’ eyes widened.
“You didn’t mention there was a beauty like this here! This is killing two birds with one stone!”
While Jo Cheol-jung wiped the drool from his lips, Yeon Geum-hong asked Seo Seok-san, “Brother, what brings these guests here?”
“Brother? Is this hag out of her mind?”
“H-Hag?!”
Yeon Geum-hong, about to flare up, forced herself to calm down.
“Hohoho! Brother, you’re quite the joker.”
“You heard everything inside. What’s the act?”
“Act? I was bored, and toys came knocking. Might as well play with them. Six of them—perfect for two each.”
“Those bastards insulted my hair! What right do you have to take a share?!”
“Who said you couldn’t have any? Since when is honesty a crime?!”
Just then, Jang Man-dok emerged into the courtyard and moved toward the thugs.
“Hey! What are you doing?!”
Jang Man-dok was as silent as ever. Only the thugs’ screams followed.
The sound of bones breaking.
Crunch! Snap!
“Agh!”
The thugs tumbled off their horses, their arms and legs flailing like broken puppet limbs.
Seo Seok-san, whose resentment reached the heavens, and Yeon Geum-hong, who had planned to play with three each, saw their plans shattered.
“Jang Man-dok! How dare you hog all the fun?!”
As Yeon Geum-hong yelled, Seo Seok-san approached the thugs writhing on the ground.
“You’re still alive, so you’ll pay for insulting my hair.”
Jang Man-dok pointed toward the road.
“What? Speak! Do you think we’re mind-readers?!”
Since Do Pyeong-su was shadowing Geom Woo-bin, he couldn’t communicate with Jang Man-dok.
Jang Man-dok pointed to his own ear.
“Your ear? Why?”
Before Yeon Geum-hong could finish, she sensed approaching footsteps from the house.
“Ah! It seems the Master is returning!”
“Is it already that late?”
Geom Woo-bin wouldn’t be pleased to see this mess.
“Quick, silence their screams!”
They hurriedly pressed on the thugs’ pressure points.
“Shall we kill and dismember them?”
Seo Seok-san’s suggestion was ignored by Yeon Geum-hong.
“Who has time for that?!”
Looking around, Yeon Geum-hong grabbed one thug by the scruff and hurled him toward the river. Seo Seok-san and Jang Man-dok followed suit, tossing the rest into the water.
Without even a scream, the six men were swept away downstream.
“Huh? What about these horses?”
With no time to deal with the horses the thugs had ridden, they were left behind.
“Hm? Ah! Hohoho! I suppose the Master should start learning horseback riding soon.”
“With qinggong, wouldn’t that be much faster? Why bother with riding?” Seo Seok-san said.
“A refined scholar should at least know how to ride.”
“But why six horses? There are only five of us.”
“Well… an extra one wouldn’t hurt.”
“Right, right.”
Geom Woo-bin noticed they were hiding something but didn’t press further.
“Man-dok needs the Ten-Thousand-Year Royal Ginseng.”
At this, Yeon Geum-hong flipped through the Manbo Chongram.
“It should be in Jiangxi or Shaanxi Province.”
“Shaanxi is too far. Let’s go to Jiangxi next door.”
“Geographically, Jiangxi is closer, but the Nanchang Quan Family holds it there.”
“The Quan martial arts family, where Quan Do-baek is the family head?”
Yeon Geum-hong nodded at Seo Seok-san’s question.
“What’s so great about the Nanchang Quan Family? I’ll go get it myself.”
Do Pyeong-su shifted as if ready to leave, but Yeon Geum-hong stopped him.
“Taking it by force is nothing, but it’ll cause a commotion, and rumors will spread in the martial world. Imagine if the Master hears those rumors.”
The kind-hearted Geom Woo-bin would disapprove of such methods. Worst case, he might refuse to take it. It’d only create unnecessary trouble.
Above all, what the four feared most was Geom Woo-bin’s disappointment.
“Do you really think such rumors would reach the Master’s ears?”
“Taverns are where gossip gathers, and the Master sells liquor there.”
“Good point. Then… is there a way to steal it quietly?”
Seo Seok-san snapped his fingers as an idea struck.
“We don’t have to be the ones to take it.”
“If not us, then who?”
“Ever heard of the guy who even stole the Empress’s hairpin?”
Do Pyeong-su recalled a name.
“Divine Thief Mao Liang?”
“If it’s him, he can steal the ginseng without anyone noticing.”
“Do you know where Mao Liang is?”
“Would I bring it up if I didn’t? He’s in Jiangxi right now.”
Of the six men thrown into the river, three were unlucky.
Among the three who met their demise was Jo Cheol-jung—younger brother of Jo Man-jung, leader of the Night Demon Society.
Jo Man-jung stood vigil over his brother’s bloated, unrecognizable corpse for a long time.
Just as the towering man’s pent-up rage was about to explode, his subordinates arrived.
“Leader. We’ve brought him.”
Dragged in by the subordinates was Kwak Jeong-man, his arm bandaged, face covered in fresh wounds.
“Who killed my brother?”
The Night Demon Society was the largest of the twelve Black Societies under the Muyeonghoe, which ruled Hangzhou’s underworld.
In Hangzhou, it was said one could kick the King of Hell’s balls but must never provoke Jo Man-jung—a man as vicious as his reputation suggested.
Before him, Kwak Jeong-man barely dared to breathe.
“I asked who killed my brother.”
“I-It was the bastards from the Sagiju brewery!”
“Those bastards?”
Kwak Jeong-man recounted the fragmented events.
“So you’re saying those brewers broke your limbs and threw you into the river twenty jang away?”
Kwak Jeong-man nodded so hard his neck could’ve snapped.
“You little shit! Make sense! How could mere brewers do that?!”
“I-It’s true! It was so fast I didn’t even see how my arm broke!”
“Oh? Then you’re lucky this time. You’ll get to see your neck snap clearly.”
“Brother. You’re targeting the wrong people.”
A slender voice interrupted—Jo Hae-jung, the third brother.
Unlike his brutish brothers, he had delicate features resembling his mother’s.
“I’ll kill this bastard and chew the brewers’ guts out!”
“Kill them if you must, but don’t eat their guts. Unless you want to skip rope with them.”
“Your second brother is dead, and you’re joking?!”
Jo Hae-jung stared at Jo Cheol-jung’s corpse.
“Revenge requires a hot heart and a cold head. You have the heat, so I’ll provide the cold.”
Though Jo Man-jung led the Night Demon Society, Jo Hae-jung was its true strategist.
“His story sounds absurd, but caution never hurts. Let’s hear from the two unconscious subordinates before acting.”
“Who knows when they’ll wake up?! I won’t wait!”
Though Jo Man-jung usually heeded his brother’s advice, this time he refused to relent.
“Then why not take the safe and easy way?”
“Safe and easy?”
“I’ve learned a child who sells their liquor is their nephew. Let’s capture the nephew first to tie their hands.”
Geom Woo-bin tucked away a pouch heavy with silver.
“To think such expensive liquor would sell out. Hangzhou truly has wealthy drinkers.”
Muttering, he tightened his collar against the biting wind.
As he hurried down the alley, something felt off.
Normally bustling, the alley was eerily quiet today. The shops lining the street hastily closed as he passed.
“What’s going on?”
Then, two burly men stepped out from a fabric shop.
“Kid. You’re coming with us.”
At both ends of the alley, more imposing figures blocked the way.
“What’s this about?”
Bandits after his money seemed likely, but the man’s words dismissed that.
“Once we settle things with your uncles, we’ll let you go.”
So it was about the Blood Wind Lion.
“Alright, let’s go. Auntie! Don’t intervene!”
The two men looked baffled. His calm demeanor was odd enough, but his last words made no sense.
“‘Don’t intervene’? Who are you talking to?”
“Never mind. Let’s go.”
Shaking their heads, the men led Geom Woo-bin into the shop.
Yeon Geum-hong could only watch.
Since when did the Master know we were guarding him?
All this time, Geom Woo-bin had been pretending not to notice their covert protection.
“Still, this is troublesome. Seems like the thugs from the brewery.”
Geom Woo-bin wasn’t worried.
These were mere underworld lackeys—no threat to him now.
“Our throwing them in the river must’ve gotten out. Not that we did anything wrong.”
Led (?) by the men, Geom Woo-bin entered a basement.
In the center stood an iron chair, beside a table lined with hammers, awls, and pliers.
Bloodstains on the floor and walls spoke of the room’s purpose.
“Welcome. First time in a torture chamber?”
A man with delicate, almost feminine features smiled at Geom Woo-bin.
“I’m Jo Hae-jung. Younger brother of Jo Cheol-jung, whom your uncles killed. Sit here.”
He patted the iron chair. Geom Woo-bin, stroking his chin, sat without hesitation.
“Judging by your expression, you don’t grasp the situation yet?”
“What I don’t grasp is why my uncles killed your brother.”
“Why? Kid, sometimes ‘why’ doesn’t matter. Your uncles messed with the wrong people. Now, the question isn’t ‘why’—it’s ‘who.’”
“Then do you know who you’re messing with?”
“Bold kid. Fine, I’ll tell you. Who are we messing with?”
“Tell me the ‘why,’ and I’ll tell you the ‘who.’”
Not just bold—confident. Only someone with absolute certainty could react this way.
Jo Hae-jung picked up a pair of scissors.
“Maybe I’ve been too kind. We need proof you’re in our hands, so let’s start with a finger. I’ll let you choose which one. But don’t pick the pinky—it’s useful for nose-picking.”
Geom Woo-bin sighed, unchildlike.
“No need for reasons, then. Someone who’d cut a child’s finger can’t be good. I’ll show you the ‘who.’ Or rather, see for yourself.”
He nodded toward a corner of the basement.
