His fingertips stopped.
It was the paper tucked inside his clothes. Jang Isu had not taken it out once all morning—the thing he had found lying in the alley last night. He had only rubbed its folded edge through his clothes a few times. A small sword inside three concentric circles. It was a crest he had seen exactly once, on that night ten years ago.
The area before the red gate looked the same as any other morning. Carts came and went, and servants crossed the courtyard. Only the passersby’s gazes had changed since yesterday. Until yesterday, they had not spared the Gatekeeper even a glance. Today, they went by looking sideways at him.
“That’s the one,” one of two passing servants whispered. “The one who shoved the Vice Chief’s face into the soup.”
“That’s not all. I heard he put four sword-wielding men down by himself in the alley last night.”
“Four? Without even touching them?”
Jang Isu did not change expression when he heard them. He tucked the paper deep inside his clothes again, picked up his broom, and swept before the gate. It was a task he had performed every morning for three years. Today was no different.
Laughter drifted over from the far side of the courtyard between the strokes of his broom. The servants seemed to be retelling the moment Jwa Woryang’s face had been shoved into the soup bowl last night for the umpteenth time already. For three years, he had counted countless faces from this spot before the gate. Not one of them had ever stared at him for as long as they did today before moving on.
Before noon, familiar footsteps approached from inside the wall. It was Wang Ho. Unlike yesterday, he was properly armed, but his face looked ten years older after a single night.
“Isu.” He lowered his voice. “Give me that paper.”
“What paper are you referring to?”
“You picked it up in the alley last night, didn’t you?” Wang Ho’s hand trembled. “The Vice Chief wants it back. Nothing else matters. He said that if you return just that, he’ll consider both what happened last night and the overturned table to have never happened.”
“Can something that happened simply become something that didn’t?”
“…At least it won’t get any bigger.”
Wang Ho pulled a small pouch from inside his clothes and held it out. Silver coins clinked together.
“This is from me personally. No one else has to know. It’s more than enough for a single sheet of paper.”
“I don’t need it.”
“…Then what do you need?” Wang Ho’s voice cracked. “Tell me. What do you want?”
“Why don’t you tell me what the paper is first?”
“How would I know that?” Wang Ho raised his voice, then noticed a passing servant and lowered it again. “I was only told that it was something the Vice Chief’s people couldn’t afford to lose. That’s all I know.”
“You’re running an errand without knowing what it is.”
“When have I ever run an errand knowing everything?” Wang Ho blurted out. Only after saying it did he look startled at himself. He must have been the same on that night ten years ago. He had not opened the gate because he knew. He had opened it because he chose not to know.
“For three years, I’ve treated you as my inferior.” Wang Ho collected himself and changed tack. “But just for today, I’ll set that aside. I’m asking you, Isu. All you have to do is hand over that paper.”
“You said you’re asking me?”
“…Yes.” Wang Ho clenched his teeth. “I’m asking.”
“If asking doesn’t work, what will you come with next time?”
Wang Ho could not answer.
“I can’t return it.”
“Isu.” Wang Ho lowered his voice. It was almost pleading. “If the Vice Chief can’t find this, I’m finished too. Those things were originally carried by people he hired from outside. They weren’t swordsmen of the mountain estate, and they weren’t official members of the Celestial Blossom Gang either… They were men from the Black Wind Stronghold. If word gets out, neither the Vice Chief nor I will be safe.”
Black Wind Stronghold. It was a name he had never heard before, but Jang Isu’s expression did not change. The Vice Chief, who pretended to belong to the orthodox sects, had secretly borrowed the hands of the martial underworld beyond the orthodox sects. If the Celestial Blossom Gang found out, Jwa Woryang himself would be the first to lose his position.
“I have no intention of causing trouble for the Vice Chief with what I possess.”
“Then give it back!”
“That’s a separate matter.”
“Don’t play word games with me!” Wang Ho’s face twisted. “How can you refuse to hand it over when you don’t even know what you’re holding?”
“Because I don’t know, I can’t hand it over carelessly.”
Wang Ho said no more and reached out. His hand was aimed for the inside of Isu’s clothes. It was neither fast nor precise. It was simply desperate.
Jang Isu did not retreat. He turned only the tip of his foot, half a step.
When Old Man Yu was still alive, Isu had asked him exactly once: Why do you always stand only at the gate, Master? A gate isn’t a place for opening. It’s a place for standing. Back then, the words had sounded like an excuse made by a coward.
Now, he thought he understood. Someone who guards the place where he stands has no need to open someone else’s gate just to look inside.
Just before Wang Ho’s hand reached inside his clothes, it cut through empty air. The place where Jang Isu had been standing was already empty. The weight of Wang Ho’s outstretched hand pitched him forward. His body followed, throwing him off balance.
A stone incense burner beside the gate blocked his path. Wang Ho failed to see it. His shin caught on the edge, and he pitched forward headfirst. The incense burner toppled, scattering ash in every direction. Wang Ho slammed his face into the dirt.
Something fell from inside his clothes with a soft thud. It belonged to him. A folded letter. The impact had opened his robes and shaken it loose.
A passing cart driver and several servants stopped at the sound. They all saw the swordsman sprawled face-first in the dirt. One of the mountain estate’s thirty-six swordsmen, rolling around before a Gatekeeper without even a finger laid on him.
Wang Ho hurriedly pushed himself up and tried to pick up the fallen letter. But he was too late. The letter had fallen open on the ground. Someone was watching from several paces away. It was the Escort Bureau Master who had spent yesterday doing nothing but pouring liquor down his throat in a corner. Today, he happened to be passing by in a sedan chair.
The Escort Bureau Master’s eyes turned toward the letter on the ground. He did not look for long. But a merchant’s eyes never needed much time.
“…Are you all right, Swordsman?” the Escort Bureau Master asked calmly from inside the sedan chair. There was laughter in his voice. “Judging by the way you’re dropping silver coins as you walk, you must be busy again today.”
Without answering, Wang Ho snatched up the letter and silver pouch and stuffed them both into his clothes before getting to his feet.
“It’s nothing.” Wang Ho brushed the dirt from his robes and spat the words out. His voice was hoarse.
The sedan chair began moving again. As he passed, the Escort Bureau Master gave Jang Isu a brief nod. Whether it was a greeting or meant something else, Isu could not tell.
Wang Ho stood there for a long while, his face covered in dirt. The incense burner lay on its side, ash scattered around his feet.
“…That paper.” He finally managed to speak. “You really intend not to give it back?”
“The paper I possess has a separate place where it belongs—before the Vice Chief.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“If the Vice Chief comes in person, I’ll tell him.”
“Come in person…?” Wang Ho let out a hollow laugh. “Do you think the Vice Chief is the sort of man who would come all the way to a place like this himself?”
“He can come. Or he doesn’t have to. That’s his concern.”
Wang Ho looked as though he could not fully grasp what Isu meant. But he seemed to understand one thing: this was no longer something force could solve. Without even thinking to set the incense burner upright, he limped away and disappeared inside the wall.
Jang Isu righted the toppled incense burner himself. As he swept the ash together with his hand, he rubbed the callus between his right thumb and index finger once.
Black Wind Stronghold. One more unfamiliar name had been added to the list. The fact that Jwa Woryang had borrowed the hands of the martial underworld instead of those of an orthodox sect meant he might have sold more than just the Sword Pavilion. The scales were now weighing Jwa Woryang himself.
Tomorrow, instead of sending someone, it would be Jwa Woryang’s turn to stand before this gate in person.
The sun slanted west. Jang Isu finished tidying the incense burner and returned to the front of the gate. The last lanterns were being lit in the inner courtyard.
Neither the sedan chair, nor the swordsman, nor the hand of the martial underworld had made it past this threshold. The only thing that had crossed it was the single sheet of paper in his possession. With that alone, Jwa Woryang’s position had already tilted by half a notch. The remaining half would be filled by the footsteps of Jwa Woryang himself as he walked all the way to this gate.
The red gate was still open, and the night when Jwa Woryang would walk through it of his own accord was drawing near.