Chapter 1638: Even Beasts Know Gratitude (Part 3)

Swiftly.

On the narrow alley ground, filthy sewage scattered under indifferent steps.

A tapered alley barely wide enough for two to walk shoulder to shoulder. A common environment seen everywhere, yet this place was different.

Each shop lining the alley emitted piercing red lights, and an inexplicable, pungent, scent lingered in the air, making hairs stand on end.

But that wasn't all. Laughter and screams echoed incessantly, scratching at the nerves. Moreover, an indescribable sense of malice and wickedness hung thick in the air, making it uncomfortably eerie.

Indeed, it was a street of debauchery. Alcohol, women, gambling, and violence.

A place sought by those who couldn't find excitement in ordinary life. Therefore, more dangerous than anywhere else, this alley enticed people with its dense red glow as usual.

Step by step.

And into that alley, one person entered.

The gazes of those drowned in drink turned towards him.

Though the alley was narrow, how many people came, like moths drawn to a flame? The arrival of a new face wasn't particularly noteworthy.

Yet, the man standing at the entrance clearly captured the attention of others. For one, his attire didn't quite fit in with this place.

Eyes that didn't quite focus pierced through his clothes of the person that stepped into the alley.

Scholar's attire. The clothing preferred by scholars and civil servants, those who pursued Confucian studies.

In any grand avenue, such clothing wouldn't stand out, but here, it became an extraordinary garment.

This place was precisely what scholars referred to as a den of worldly desires, where all human desires tangled together.

Eyes that had been relaxed suddenly sharpened.

People naturally guard against and distrust those different from themselves. The appearance of someone with unfamiliar attire was enough to disturb the fragile peace maintained amidst chaos in this place.

Hostility began to emanate from various corners.

If the person standing at the narrow alley entrance had been an ordinary scholar, they would have likely turned away from the pouring hostility, unable to bear it.

Step.

But instead of stepping back, he walked further in. Filthy sewage splashed under the detached steps, dirtying the scholar's ankles.

As threatening glares continued to follow him, he walked as if he felt nothing at all. Or perhaps, to him, all those gazes were simply meaningless.

Those who guarded the alley furrowed their brows and looked at him more intently. Only now did they begin to notice other subtle details, not just his attire.

The first striking observation was that the scholar's well-made attire seemed oddly dirty, given its apparent lack of value.

The term 'shabby' wouldn't be appropriate. 'Shabby' implies that the garment has become worn and aged due to poverty and the passage of time.

However, the scholar's attire didn't give off a sense of age or weariness. It rather suggested that, perhaps, in recent times, he hadn't had the opportunity to care for his appearance. This speculation seemed more fitting.

In short, it was a puzzle that aroused curiosity.

But as their gazes lifted to the scholar's face, they couldn't focus on his attire anymore.

If one were to describe him, he was ordinary. His face suited the word 'youthful,' but there was nothing particularly remarkable about it. A face one might forget after passing by on the street, becoming blurry in memory.

Yet, his expression and gaze were not ordinary.

Should it be called expressionless? Emotionless?

'Cold' wouldn't suit him either. His face literally showed no traces of emotion. Rather than the silent faces of introverts, it seemed as though something had been lost from this person. It felt like something essential had slipped away.

What about his gaze? Though often cloudy and opaque, occasionally a sharp, venomous glint flickered. At such times, the scholar, who seemed utterly out of place, somehow blended seamlessly with the dense gloom of this space, as though he belonged to it.

Step.

The scholar continued to walk down the alley without pause.

His weary body staggered occasionally, but as if walking this path was an irrevocable duty, he never stopped.

"Hey."

One of those watching him with a menacing gaze finally spoke up.

"Why are you here? This isn't a place for a brat like you to wander around recklessly."

"...."

The scholar didn't even spare a glance at the man approaching him. He simply kept walking. Perhaps, to him, the gazes were all just meaningless.

This apparent disregard was enough to provoke the man, whose expression darkened in an instant.

Those who couldn't foresee their future tended to cling fiercely to their pride.

"Who is this bastard..."

As the man reached out with a rough hand to grab the scholar's shoulder, a hand suddenly emerged from behind and stopped him.

"What's this?"

As the man turned around, he saw the face of someone who had quietly intervened.

"What, Hong-hyung?"

"...Let him go."

"Let this brat go?"

"Just let him go."

Reluctantly, the man nodded with an expression of displeasure. By the time he turned his gaze again, the scholar was already far away from him. It likely meant that he didn't care about the man's words or actions in the first place.

"...Do you know who he is?"

"I don't know his name, but I know his surname."

"What's his surname?"

"Ho."

"...Ho (扈)?"

The man's expression changed slightly.

"Then, perhaps..."

"Yeah."

As the man silently stared at Hong, he slowly nodded.

It made sense. That was why he had been advised to leave the brat alone.

If his surname was Ho, then they shouldn't provoke him now. At least not if one still claimed to be human.

The man's gaze lingered on the scholar's unsteady retreating figure.

Step.

The heavy steps resumed their course.

- Give it up.

The corners of the scholar's lips twitched. 

- He's not someone the likes of you can handle. Don't you know that?

Of course, he knew.

He wasn't foolish. In this world, there were people whom, no matter how hard one tried or how much evil one committed, could not be dealt with.

Breathing the same air, treading the same land, the scholar's world and his were different.

- No one will pity you, let alone help you. Even if you know it's unjust.

A faint smile crossed his face. It was a clear mockery, but whether it was directed at the one who spoke those words or at himself, who couldn't say anything even after hearing them, he couldn't tell.

- If revenge is what you desire, then perhaps continue as you have been until now. Licking the crumbs, until the day you personally have the chance to eliminate him.

When would that be?

After he grew old and died? Should the one who committed sin enjoy the fruits of his wrongdoing in luxury, while those who licked crumbs were left to gnaw on the flesh of his unfortunate children? Was that what was called "revenge"?

- The world is unjust. That's why people like us exist. We must right this unjust world. We mustn't deny everything with petty emotions. No matter how distant and difficult it may seem, aren't those who walk that path Confucians?

- I don't believe he'll enjoy his current power forever. Sins demand payment at any time. Even if you don't dirty your hands, he will inevitably fall someday.

- Isn't it a waste of your future to ruin everything with petty emotions? Aren't there things you can do that you would regret missing out on? You must look to righteousness, to justice!

Step.

Sewage water splashed onto his ankles. In the past, he might have been disgusted, but now, even as the sensation of his ankle becoming damp crept in, he didn't even glance down.

What was dirty and what was clean?

Was the wealth gained by the powerful, not necessarily remarkable to them, through ruining families clean? Then were the family members who suffered due to the tyranny of the powerful dirty?

What about those who always discussed righteousness and justice with their mouths but remained silent in the face of clear injustices? Were they truly clean?

A wave of nausea hit him. What did he learn and study?

The principles and laws he had learned throughout his life. The systems and goodwill toward the powerless that he had pondered with all his heart.

Where were all those things now?

He had lived cherishing hollow things like shrines. If only he hadn't, if he had the courage to laugh at those hollow things, he might have been able to die miserably alongside his family.

When his father's throat was cut, he discussed the principles of war.

When his sister was murdered, he recalled the teachings of the saints.

Who deserved judgment?

Was it the dirty scoundrels who destroyed his household with selfish greed, or was it he himself, who laughed and chattered without even knowing of their deaths?

Confucius said:

The gentleman seeks solutions from within himself, while the petty man seeks them from others. If that was true, then surely the one who truly deserved judgment was the scholar himself.

But he could not die yet.

As long as the filthy scoundrels lived. As long as they breathed. As long as they filled their bellies with the grain of his household and drink from the cups of his household, he could not die.

Step.

The scholar, who had been walking with firm steps, finally stopped.

Before him stood a large red-painted door. There was no proper signboard, but the scholar didn't doubt for a moment that this was the place he had been aiming for.

After all, no revelers were visible in front of this place.

Not even those staggering from drunkenness, nor the fearless rogues dared to step foot here.

Eventually, the scholar knocked forcefully on the door.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Pounding on the door until his hands nearly broke, he seemed to have no patience to wait for an answer as he simply yanked the door open. The latchless door swung wide open immediately.

Beyond the red door, it was silent, and the atmosphere was heavy. Without hesitation, he stepped inside.

"What do you want?"

A man who had been lying sprawled in a corner of the garden, intoxicated, sat up.

Unlike the large man the scholar had seen earlier, this one was on the skinny side. But the moment the scholar faced him, he instinctively felt his body shrink.

There were those accustomed to murder.

Yes, he had heard. It was said that here gathered humans who killed as easily as they breathed. That man probably didn't have a day without blood on his hands.

But the scholar didn't turn back. He couldn't have fear anymore.

He had lost the right to feel fear long ago. There was only one thing left for him.

"I am..."

A venomous glint filled the scholar's eyes.

"I am Ho Gakmyung."

"Ho Gakmyung?"

"Guide your leader to me."

As he spat out the words "Ho Gakmyung," the scholar added:

"With the White-Faced Ghost (白顔鬼)... I came to make a deal with Jang Ilso."