WeTried Translations
Translator/Editor: Oblivious
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◈ Murim in my Hometown ◈
Chapter 6: Inn Attendant Gu Sam
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Pungcheon Inn, where I stayed for two days after returning to my hometown.
The clever-looking inn attendant I met there was named Gusam.
He wasn't a dog or a cow, so how could someone name a person “the third mouth to feed”?
It seemed cruel of his parents, but most poor families were like that. When children kept being born, worry came before joy.
They had to survive on the grain harvested in autumn after working themselves to the bone farming, all the way until the barley ripened in early summer of the following year.
Making it through the dead of winter, when everything froze over, was especially goddamn awful.
It would be nice if people could hibernate like snakes or bears, but you needed at least one meal a day to live. When food ran short, there was no choice but to reduce the number of mouths to feed.
It must have been on some tragic winter day that Gusam was abandoned in front of Pungcheon Inn.
Gusam barely remembered his own name. He did not know what his parents looked like.
Surprisingly, the innkeeper had not thrown Gusam out. He had taken him in and raised him. He was the sort of good person who was hard to find, then or now.
How did I know every trivial detail about an inn attendant who had nothing to do with me?
Even if I didn't want to know, I had no choice. Gusam came by every day and chattered endlessly.
“Wow, Great Hero. Are you really going to live here? This place is creepy. What if ghosts come out at night...”
“Get lost.”
“Hehe. You must be hungry, right? I brought you some food.”
Whenever I glared at him, intending to send him away because he was annoying, Gusam quickly held out the cloth bundle.
“You haven't had dinner yet, have you?”
My stomach was empty. I needed to eat something, but I didn't want to go all the way to the inn, so I had been chewing on my remaining dried rations and jerky.
If I accepted this again, I wouldn't be able to send him away coldly. But it wasn't right to disregard the effort he had made to bring food all this way, either.
While I hesitated between the bother of dealing with an unwelcome visitor and the bother of stepping outside my gate, Gusam hurried into the house.
When I followed him, he had already laid the food out across the table.
White rice, stir-fried vegetables with shredded chicken, dumplings, and tea in a bamboo tube.
Without a word, I took ten coins from my purse.
“You don't have to pay me.”
“Take it. Say you were paid for delivery. If you keep sneaking food out, you'll get beaten.”
“The owner doesn't hit me much.”
“Then you should treat him even better.”
There was a limit to how many times I could accept free food. Someday, he would inevitably be caught.
If people misunderstood and thought I had threatened him into bringing it, I might lose several taels of silver.
It was easier to call it a delivery.
Life had taught me that it wasn't only bad people who put me in danger. Sometimes, the goodwill of those who had nothing was more dangerous than the greed of those who had plenty.
“Have you ever seen the people who lived here?”
“No. This place was completely abandoned, so I never came anywhere near it.”
I didn't like him repeatedly calling my home, filled with memories, an abandoned house. My tone grew more curt.
“Can you leave the inn unattended?”
“Hehe. I finished cleaning and prepping all the ingredients before I came. There's still some time before dinner service.”
Why did this brat keep coming to see me so often? He never said it aloud, but one look at his admiring eyes was enough to give me a rough idea.
I pretended not to notice and kept eating. Gusam, growing impatient, watched my expression before opening his mouth.
“You're a martial artist too, right, Great Hero?”
“What is a martial artist?”
At that fundamental question, Gusam blinked stupidly.
“Well... someone who carries a sword?”
“Government officials carry swords too. Are they martial artists as well?”
“No.”
“What about bandits?”
“Absolutely not.”
Gusam shook his head.
“You knocked that thug down with one blow before, remember? Could you teach me how to do something like that? Hehe.”
“Is there a butcher shop in this town?”
“Yes, there is.”
“Go there.”
“Should I buy some meat?”
“No. Go there and learn.”
“Learn what?”
“How to use a knife.”
Gusam tilted his head with a baffled expression.
“Butchers and martial artists are the same. Butchers kill animals, while martial artists kill people. That's the only difference. Hmm, no.”
After saying it, I thought that was a little unfair.
“Right? It isn't, is it?”
“There are plenty of people worse than animals, so butchers might be better. That makes martial artists worse than butchers.”
“Come on, that makes no sense. You're a true hero, Great Hero.”
A true hero...
I stopped moving my chopsticks and looked up. Something about the bright shine in Gusam's eyes made me feel bitter.
If he had seen me drenched in blood, swinging my sword like an evil ghost, he would never say such a thing.
“Hero or not, anyone who wears a sword at their waist will eventually die screaming beneath someone else's blade.”
“Are you saying I should live long and thin?”
“You're not slow on the uptake.”
“I hear that a lot. But living thick and long is better, right? Old Physician Sang says thick poop is much better than thin poop, too. If your poop gets thin, old stool builds up in your intestines and the poop toxins rise...”
“Taking a thick shit can tear your ass...”
I froze as I reached for a dumpling and trailed off.
Talking about shit while we were eating. How had this conversation gotten so filthy...?
Frowning, I put the dumpling in my mouth.
“If you become half-decently strong, you'll only get beaten more.”
“Yes. That seems to be true.”
Gusam scratched his head and sighed. As I chewed my dumpling, I examined his face.
There was a clear bruise around his left eye that I hadn't seen yesterday. His cheek looked a little swollen too.
“How old are you?”
“Me? I think I'm around twelve. I'm not exactly sure.”
I killed my first person at Gusam's age. A worthless fake relative who ruined my life.
Even if Gusam had an enemy like that, it wouldn't be surprising. Debts of gratitude and resentment did not discriminate by age or status.
Thugs and martial artists often came to the inn as well. Living as a powerless inn attendant, he must have suffered many unfair things.
“Is there someone you want to kill?”
When I asked seriously, Gusam's eyes widened in surprise.
“No. Why would I kill someone?”
“Then?”
“There's a guy named Bang Hojin, the eldest son of the fabric shop. He's the same age as me, and that bastard is the boss of the alleys around here...”
As if he had been waiting for me to ask, Gusam heatedly launched into a long account of everything that had happened.
It seemed serious and dramatic to him, but it could all be summarized in one phrase.
A children's quarrel.
A laugh escaped me, but it wasn't something I could dismiss. A child's world could be just as fierce as an adult's.
You might think their little hands and feet, not even fully grown, couldn't hurt that much. But among the Black Path, there were those who put blades in children's hands and used them as assassins.
I had seen more than one person go to their grave after underestimating children. The fake relative who died by my hand had been one of them.
Ordinary neighborhood children like these could manage little more than untrained fistfights. Most would get hit once, feel pain and fear, then collapse crying.
If they had enough nerve and tenacity to get back up after being beaten and rush in again like a water ghost, they would at least stop getting pushed around.
“I've tried. I tried several times, but it doesn't work.”
He said they had fought twelve times already, and he had lost eleven. Yet he still intended to fight again. Gusam was more impressive than I had expected.
“You won once?”
“It was a draw... We were fighting, no, I was getting beaten up for a while, when the fabric shop's second son came running over and said, ‘Mother says if you don't come eat right now, she'll beat your butt with a broom until it catches fire.’ It was a draw, but it still felt like I lost.”
Gusam's swollen, bruised face fell.
Gusam did not want to become a martial artist. He was not aspiring to become a ruffian or hoodlum who wore a sword at his waist and committed every kind of abuse.
He did not dream of becoming a peerless master or the greatest under heaven.
Nor did he want to knock down the fabric shop's son, become the new alley boss, and rule Seochon's alleys.
He only wanted to escape being ignored as a parentless orphan, mocked for being an inn attendant, and bullied by the other children.
To do that, he had to defeat Bang Hojin, the eldest son of the fabric shop and boss of this neighborhood's alleys, in front of the other children.
Judging by his record thus far, that was impossible through his own strength alone. Unless a fortuitous encounter fell from heaven, the number of his defeats would only grow no matter how often he fought.
After slowly finishing all the food and rinsing my mouth with cold tea, I stood.
“Follow me.”
Outside, I stood facing Gusam in the middle of the yard.
I had cleared away all the clutter and finished weeding, so the yard was broad and clean enough to rival any training ground.
“Do you practice anything regularly?”
“Of course. Want to see?”
“Show me.”
Gusam confidently placed his fists at his waist and spread his feet hip-width apart. He bent his knees halfway, assumed an awkward posture, and braced himself.
“What are you doing?”
Gusam looked at me in confusion, as if asking whether I truly didn't know.
“It's a horse stance. They say it's the best for strengthening the lower body and learning the basics.”
“Who said that?”
“A guest who stayed at the inn before... Is it bad?”
“It would be useful as punishment. Never stand that stupidly in a real fight. You need to keep moving, endlessly moving, so your opponent's attacks miss. If you want to strengthen your legs, climbing mountains would be better. It builds leg strength and makes your body more nimble. Stand properly and take one step forward with your left foot.”
Gusam moved without thinking, then suddenly looked up at me as if he had finally realized something.
“Are you teaching me martial arts? Master, please accept my bow...”
“Stop.”
I firmly stopped Gusam as he tried to sneak in a formal bow.
“Do you even know what it means to form a master-disciple bond?”
“Well... it means carrying on the line of martial arts, doesn't it?”
“What else?”
I stared straight at Gusam as he looked blankly back at me and made sure he understood how grave and dangerous it was.
“There are many people who bear grudges against me. If they come seeking revenge and I have a disciple, they'll try to kill you too. They might hire assassins or swordsmen. Becoming someone's disciple means inheriting not only their martial arts, but also the debts of gratitude and resentment they carry. Can you handle that?”
“Is that... how it is?”
Gusam's startled face quickly darkened.
No matter how desperately he wanted victory, even Gusam could see that inheriting blood-soaked grudges was an absurd thing.
“Then I shouldn't do that...”
Disappointed, Gusam lowered his head and his shoulders slumped.
“Instead of martial arts, I'll show you a few basic Fist-and-Kick Techniques.”
“Aren't Fist-and-Kick Techniques martial arts too?”
“They're nothing so remarkable. Any martial artist who has made a living by the sword knows these methods. So don't go around saying you learned them from me. I'm only showing you.”
“Yes! Understood!”
Gusam brightened again and watched intently as I gave a light demonstration.
I stood with my legs hip-width apart. I took one step forward with my left foot and naturally angled my upper body to the right.
Pushing off the ground with my rear foot, I advanced five steps. Then, pushing off the ground with my front foot, I retreated five steps.
I pushed against the ground sideways with my left foot and moved five steps to the right. I pushed against the ground sideways with my right foot and moved five steps to the left. Then I returned to where I had started.
“Try it.”
Gusam looked bewildered.
He had expected to learn how to throw punches or perform impressive kicks, but instead he was practicing how to walk. He did not seem to understand.
Still, without complaint, he took his stance and moved as I had instructed.
He copied it easily after seeing it once. It was not because Gusam had exceptional aptitude. This footwork was simply meant to be extremely simple and clear.
After moving five steps in every direction, Gusam scratched his head and asked.
“What is this?”
“Footwork.”
“Will this help me fight?”
“It will.”
He did not look convinced. Suspicion filled the eyes that had sparkled with excitement and anticipation.
“Stand in front of me.”
Gusam hurried over and stood right before me.
“Hit me with your fist.”
“Hit you, Great Hero?”
“Who else is standing in front of you besides me?”
Gusam looked back and forth between his fist and my face.
“Will that be all right?”
“Why not?”
“What if I hit you?”
An incredulous laugh escaped me. This brat certainly dreamed big.
“That won't happen.”
“But there's always the slightest chance, right?”
“Even if you hit me, I won't retaliate. Start.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“...Really?”
“Have you spent your whole life getting beaten?”
“...Yes.”
Gusam sadly lowered his head.
“If you can lay even one finger on me, I'll teach you the Fist-and-Kick Techniques immediately.”
“Really?”
“Stop asking and move...”
Before I could finish, Gusam threw a punch. It was a strike meant to catch me off guard, but it was slow. I slightly twisted my upper body aside and let the fist pass.
“Huh?”
“What are you doing? I told you to hit me.”
“Yes. Here I come!”
Gusam rolled up his sleeves and charged.
As if to show him, I pushed off the ground with my front foot and stepped back once.
Since I truly wasn't fighting back, he relaxed and swung his fists freely.
I didn't flee far away. I stayed directly in front of him, moving with footwork and avoiding his punches.
Gusam struggled desperately to hit me somehow. He was earnest, but his movements were too large and heavy, making them easy to read.
Whenever he moved, his center of gravity tipped forward and he lost his balance. He used far too much unnecessary strength to move his body and change direction.
After wasting all that energy, he was soon panting heavily.
I remained relaxed, as though I were taking a stroll.
After entertaining him a little longer, I decided that was enough and pushed off the ground with my rear foot, closing the distance in an instant.
When my face suddenly appeared right before his nose, Gusam recoiled in terror. When I followed, he fled sideways. No matter which direction he moved, I clung close like a shadow.
“Aaaah!”
Gusam turned pale as though he had seen a ghost. Flustered, he fell backward.
When I waved the dust away with my hand, Gusam's dumbfounded face came into view.
“Do you understand now how important footwork is?”
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