WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Oblivious

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◈ Murim in my Hometown ◈

Chapter 8: Tale of Martial Prowess

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While Gusam grew stronger by the day, it was not as though I had spent my time idling around.

I stopped sleeping in. Every day, I rose with the sun, folded my bedding, and went outside.

After loosening up while breathing in the clear, cold air descending from the mountains, I took a water bucket and left through the front gate. I washed up at the well and fetched the day’s drinking water.

I had a simple breakfast of a handful of travel rations and warm tea, then began my routine.

I pulled the weeds that had sprouted everywhere and tossed them over the wall. Then, until Gusam brought my meals, I spent the entire day practicing the Nameless Saber Art with my long saber.

When I made my living as a blade-for-hire, I had neither the time nor the peace of mind to train my saber art. I also had nowhere I could swing a blade without drawing attention.

Now that I had both ample time and space, I could finally devote myself to training with an easy mind for the first time in a very long while, since learning this saber art in Hangzhou.

I had used this saber art countless times in actual combat over the past three years.

I had thought I had mastered it well enough to perform it freely with my eyes closed.

I had not.

As I slowly unraveled each form and examined it, I realized that I had only ever skimmed the surface.

The nameless one-armed saber wielder I met in Hangzhou had not taught me the entire art. He had taught me only eighteen forms, then stopped.

He said that much was enough.

Then again, I was not even his formal disciple. The fact that he taught me any forms at all was more than enough payment for food and drink.

Nor had the saber wielder been wrong. The saber art I learned then had improved my skills greatly, and I was treated as a first-rate blade-for-hire wherever I went.

As my price rose, the places I was hired to enter drew steadily closer to King Yama.

I escaped death countless times.

There were times when I met masters more skilled than I was and felt a chill run down my spine. There were also times when I was surrounded by numerous blade-for-hires and everything went dark before my eyes.

Each time, I desperately wielded this Nameless Saber Art and barely survived.

I was slashed, beaten, and had bones broken in all sorts of places, but I never suffered a fatal injury. I did not lose any limbs or become crippled.

Even my otherwise unremarkable face remained intact without any serious scars.

Meeting that one-armed saber wielder in Hangzhou had been one of the few strokes of luck in a life ruined by misfortune and malice.

Once I finished the eighteenth and final form, regret outweighed my satisfaction.

It felt like there should be something more...

Holding the final stance, I extended my long saber and stared at its tip.

A ticklish sensation flickered before me, as though something might unravel, as though I might almost reach it.

Was this the feeling of being blocked by a wall that masters often spoke of? I did not know. I had seen masters of that caliber, but never associated with them.

Whether a higher realization awaited beyond the wall or a saber-wielding bandit did, I would only know after crossing it. If this truly was a wall.

I began the saber art again from the start.

Slower than usual... slower still... drawing in and releasing long breaths in time with each form. Then I unleashed it as quickly as I could.

I tried variations in every possible direction and shape.

I came to my senses at the sound of someone knocking on the gate and calling for me. It was late afternoon, and the sun had begun to sink.

I sheathed my saber, wiped away my sweat, and opened the gate.

Gusam made an oddly formal fist-and-palm salute and bowed deeply.

It seemed he had fought again.

His split lip and bruised face were still flushed with excitement. Just looking at his torn, dust-covered clothes made it easy to imagine how fierce the brawl had been.

He looked far worse than after the last fight, but Gusam beamed with delight.

“I won!”

His efforts had finally borne fruit. After a fierce battle in front of the neighborhood children, he had knocked down the cloth merchant’s son, the leader of the alley brats.

“It’s thanks to you, Great Hero. Thank you once again. I’ll treat you to dinner tonight.”

I had not done it expecting anything in return, but I could not ignore his sincerity.

Humming to himself, Gusam entered the room and opened the lunch box.

Along with dumplings and egg soup, he laid out an exquisite chicken dish that looked delicious at a glance.

“I wondered what would be best to treat you to, so I chose this.”

“Kung Pao chicken?”

“Please try it. This isn’t ordinary Kung Pao chicken. The innkeeper is from Chengdu in Sichuan, so it’s the real thing. I was going to get a pork dish, but I chose the chicken dish our inn does best. Chickens are famous for repaying kindness, aren’t they?”

“...Chickens?”

I tilted my head at something I had never heard before.

Grinning through his bruised face, Gusam brought out a bottle of baijiu.

Even the pure-white bottle looked unusual. It seemed quite expensive.

“How much did that cost?”

“Hehe, a whole half tael of silver. Half a tael.”

“You didn’t steal it, did you?”

“No. I bought it with the money I saved. Here, let me pour you a drink. Take your cup.”

Gusam filled the small bamboo cup he had prepared.

When I held it beneath my nose, its fragrance was faint. But after one sip, the scent of concentrated grain burst across my mouth.

The fiery warmth sliding down my throat drew a sigh from me.

“Ahhh, that’s good.”

“Right? There are only a few bottles of it left at the inn.”

While I ate, Gusam sat across from me and spun out that day’s fight at the greatest possible length, as though he would carry the story to his grave.

It had only been a fight between neighborhood children, but from the way he told it, it was no less than a duel to the death between the Heavenly Demon and the leader of the Martial Arts Alliance.

He had enough skill with words to quit being an inn attendant and become a tale-seller when he grew older. His tongue seemed likely to be sharper than his fists.

“Was the cloth merchant’s son badly hurt?”

Gusam, who had been excitedly boasting away, paused and frowned.

“He got beaten thoroughly and had a nosebleed. But compared to everything I’ve suffered from him, it was nothing.”

“Nothing broken?”

“I saw him walking home just fine with his younger sibling, crying his eyes out. But where was I? Ah, right. I punched him in the lower belly and stepped in, but that bastard...”

Drunk on the thrilling sense of freedom and satisfaction, Gusam became increasingly absorbed in his story, embellishing it more and more.

Perhaps it was a process of emotions, suppressed all this time, finally bursting out and finding their proper places.

It was the first small achievement I had made since returning home, and it put me in a good mood as well. I did not interrupt him and listened until the end.

Gusam went on about his tale of martial prowess without noticing the time. Only after the sun had set did he hurriedly return to the inn, saying we could continue the story tomorrow.

* * *

Rain began falling from dawn the next day. When I opened the window, a thin mist drifted inside.

I boiled water and drank warm tea, spending the day quietly admiring the scenery dampened by the drizzle.

Even when evening fell, Gusam did not come. He had achieved the purpose of his training, but we had agreed that he would continue delivering meals.

Thinking the inn must be busy, I did not think much of it.

I filled my stomach with travel rations and sipped the remaining baijiu with dried meat as a snack.

The next day, the rain grew heavier. No food arrived, even as dusk settled beneath the cloudy sky.

Only then did a sense of unease strike me.

I stared blankly at the empty baijiu bottle with the pinwheel stuck in it and fell into thought.

Had this caused a problem?

No matter how kind the innkeeper was, half a tael of silver was too much to simply overlook. Perhaps the innkeeper had taken a stick to Gusam to cure his habit of stealing.

I strapped on my long saber and gathered my coin pouch. After checking the rain, I put on an old oilskin coat and a bamboo rain hat.

Then I headed for Pungcheon Inn through the rain.

The oilskin kept my body dry, but the wind was strong enough that my trousers and face soon became damp.

Every time I stepped on the soggy, crumbling dirt, cold muddy water seeped into my old leather shoes.

When I entered Pungcheon Inn, a man who looked three or four years older than Gusam was serving customers.

“Welcome!”

It was an unfamiliar face, but I recognized the voice. He was the cook who had spoken with Gusam in the kitchen.

“Where is Gusam?”

The cook swallowed nervously when a martial artist with a saber suddenly asked for an inn attendant.

“He delivers my meals every evening, but he didn’t come yesterday or today. Is he sick?”

The cook, clutching a dishcloth and watching me cautiously, let out a sigh of relief.

“Ah, you’re that Great Hero. I’m sorry. Something happened to that Gusam brat...”

“Something happened? Where is he now?”

I followed the cook into the narrow quarters behind the inn. The sight of Gusam lying on a bed, wrapped in bandages, left me speechless.

Rainwater streamed from me onto the wooden floor as I walked over and checked his condition.

His face was swollen from how badly he had been beaten, and his head was bandaged as well. He did not open his eyes even when I called to him. He was breathing, but unconscious.

The fear I had hoped was unfounded had become a grim reality, leaving my heart heavy.

If I had not taught him how to fight, perhaps this would not have happened.

I stared at the pinwheel by the head of his bed, then clenched my fist and stood.

Only then did I notice the splint on Gusam’s left arm, wrapped in bandages. His arm appeared to be broken, but it had clearly been treated by a proper expert.

Someone behind me cleared their throat. It was a middle-aged man with a timid appearance and kindly eyes. The innkeeper.

“You’re the guest who has meals delivered every evening?”

“That is correct. Did you call a physician?”

“I did. The child is in that state, after all. Haaah...”

The innkeeper clicked his tongue and sighed.

“Physician Sang said he did everything he could. He said we would have to watch for several days to know whether the boy would wake up. He used to be an army physician, so there is no one around here better at treating broken bones and injuries. His bone-setting and therapeutic manipulation are excellent.”

“What happened?”

“Haaah... It’s just...”

In an agitated voice mixed with sorrow and indignation, the innkeeper explained what had happened.

By the time I heard it all, my head was spinning.

“So... the cloth merchant’s son’s uncle came here?”

“Yes. He came to avenge his nephew, who had come home beaten, and beat the child into that state without warning. That son of a bitch was so vicious that I didn’t even dare try to stop him.”

“Where is the cloth shop?”

The innkeeper, who had been venting his anger, flinched.

“Great Hero. That place is...”

“Where is it?”

The innkeeper saw the sharp look on my face and could no longer stop me.

I left the inn and walked through the dark, rain-soaked streets. The inns and shops had closed their doors, while only the taverns kept their windows open and brightly lit.

Wind-borne rain struck my face beneath the bamboo rain hat. Bitter thoughts rose in my mind.

Had I done something unnecessary?

Should I have ignored it? Should Gusam have continued living while being mocked and bullied? Did Gusam regret learning how to fight from me?

He was an orphan abandoned without ever knowing his parents’ faces, yet he always smiled and got along easily with others.

Even though he was beaten every time, he never avoided fighting the cloth merchant’s son. He practiced his footwork until his legs trembled and he sank to the ground, desperately throwing punches and kicks.

Perhaps what Gusam had truly wanted to fight against so desperately was his own fate, one in which he had never been given a choice.

The fate engraved in the two characters of his name, Gusam, literally “Mouth Three,” was that he had been abandoned so there would be one less mouth to feed.

Remembering how he had finally won and returned puffed up as if he owned the world, I became certain.

Though he was now suffering in agony at death’s door, even if he died like this, Gusam would not regret it.

Even in the afterlife, he would probably excitedly tell everyone about the tale of martial prowess that had shone brightly in the middle of his short and bitter life.

So I decided not to regret it either. Not the bond I had formed with him, nor what I was about to do.

The cloth shop was still open.

“Welcome. Are you looking for something?”

The weathered smile of a merchant greeted me beneath the long eaves. I raised the brim of my bamboo rain hat and checked the man’s face. It matched the description the innkeeper had given me exactly.

“Do you know a boy named Gusam? He’s an inn attendant at Pungcheon Inn.”

He clearly knew him. The smile vanished entirely from the cloth shop owner’s face.

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