Chapter 95

The Demon's Thread (95)

What was so unsatisfactory that Yamsa-in glared at Jangsam with a sullen expression?

Then, at some point, his face brightened.

He had noticed Choeakryang walking slowly behind Jangsam, as if on a leisurely stroll.

"Did you sleep well?"

In response to Yamsa-in's question, Choeakryang nodded.

"Thanks to you."

Choeakryang smiled quietly.

"I don't know how long it's been since I've slept so soundly."

"That's why hometowns are good."

Yamsa-in continued with a satisfied look.

"Why do they say that even old dogs turn their heads toward home when they die?"

Choeakryang chuckled and nodded.

Would it be any different for anyone else?

Though he didn't understand it in his youth, the older he got, the more the meaning of "returning to one's roots" resonated with Choeakryang.

Then, a sudden curiosity came to mind.

"By the way, about the scroll hanging in the bedroom."

"……?"

"There's no artist's signature. Did you paint it?"

"Who else would it be? I just doodled it out of boredom."

"Most people's skills stagnate as they age, but your painting skills are still improving."

"Is your martial arts skill at a standstill, then?"

"Indeed."

Choeakryang chuckled and looked at Yamsa-in with a hint of regret.

"To think someone who can paint like this is just dyeing cloth…"

"Just? Are you now belittling someone else's livelihood?"

Despite his words, Yamsa-in was smiling happily.

He wasn't displeased with his friend's praise.

"Have you ever thought about selling your paintings seriously?"

In response to Choeakryang's question, Yamsa-in shook his head.

"Enough. I haven't been properly trained, and I have no connections. Making ends meet with what I do now is enough."

Choeakryang smiled bitterly.

"But why haven't you taken on any disciples yet? With your skills, there must be many who want to learn."

"I'll have to stop this work when I die. It's not such a great thing. Dealing with high-ranking officials is one of the most tiring jobs."

To explain to the puzzled Choeakryang, Jangsam spoke up for Yamsa-in.

"The dyed fabrics personally worked on by Master are presented to the nearby government office. Thanks to this, the village can avoid harsh taxes."

"Is it a bribe, then?"

"Isn't that how it works wherever people live?"

Yamsa-in, who was smiling with a touch of self-mockery, was watched intently by Choeakryang. He felt guilty for bringing up a topic that might have disturbed his friend's heart.

"Shall we take a walk for a while?"

"Sure."

At Choeakryang's words, Yamsa-in brightened up as if he had been waiting for it.

Jangsam's sigh deepened as he watched Yamsa-in, who had suddenly become cheerful, walking briskly.

"Don't worry. I'll finish it by today."

Jangsam smiled bitterly at Yamsa-in's confident declaration, already far ahead.

"Yes, I believe you."

With the deadline approaching and the amount required by the officials still far from being met, he didn't want to ruin his master's mood, who was smiling after so long, so he swallowed his concerns.

The two left the estate and wandered around the nearby area without a specific destination. As they walked, chatting about various things, Yamsa-in suddenly stopped.

Noticing that he was looking at something intently, Choeakryang followed his gaze and turned his head.

In the distance, a small tributary winding around the village.

Along the stream that branched off from the Min River, long poles stretched out, and fabrics hanging from them fluttered in the wind.

The vibrant patterns and colors, freshly dyed, were captivating.

Then, the busy figures of the men moving between them came into view.

"Is that… batik?"

At Choeakryang's question, Yamsa-in nodded.

"It wouldn't be profitable if I did it like me."

Yamsa-in preferred the wax-resist dyeing method, which involved using beeswax or white wax to create patterns. However, the materials were expensive, and he had to draw the patterns himself, limiting the production.

In contrast, batik, which involved tying the fabric with threads before dyeing to create patterns, allowed for mass production, though the patterns were simpler.

At this moment, some of the men working by the river bowed respectfully in their direction.

"Hey, Guchil!"

Yamsa-in called out to someone, raising his voice.

After a moment, one of the men by the river hurried over.

"Did you call me, Master?"

Yamsa-in smiled warmly at the man in his mid-thirties, who bowed respectfully.

"How long have you been here? Is it ten years now?"

Guchil, called by this name, bowed his head in gratitude.

"Yes. In a month, it will be exactly ten years."

"Then come see me in five days. I'll give you the money you've saved up."

Guchil shook his head in surprise.

"Oh no, that's not necessary. I can just continue working here…"

Yamsa-in cut him off.

"There's no future for you in this village. Now that you've learned the ropes, go to a big city and open a fabric shop. It will be easier, and you'll earn more money. We'll supply you with goods, so don't worry."

"But if I leave…"

"The others will manage somehow. Haven't they been doing it all along?"

Still hesitant, Guchil was reassured by Yamsa-in.

"You have to think about your family too. I heard your wife is expecting your third child, right?"

At this, Guchil sighed.

"I understand, Master. I'll do as you say."

"Good thinking."

Yamsa-in, smiling approvingly, was repeatedly bowed to by Guchil, who expressed his gratitude.

Watching Guchil return to the river, Choeakryang shook his head.

"You said you were going to rebuild the village, but you're planning to dismantle it."

He finally understood why a village that once had over two hundred households now had only about fifty.

"You don't know. Once people start making a decent living, all sorts of people try to take it from them. What future is there in a place like this?"

"Sorts of people?"

Choeakryang, pondering Yamsa-in's words, tilted his head.

"Aren't there only government officials?"

"Many."

Yamsa-in sighed softly.

"Merchants who have exclusive contracts come every half month to buy the dyed fabrics at rock-bottom prices as payment for loans."

The dye workers, who didn't understand the ways of the world, were easy targets for them.

"Recently, even martial arts sects have approached, offering to protect this place."

"Martial arts sects?"

"They claim to be lay disciples of Qingcheng. They're expanding their martial school and plan to build it near here. It seems to be a well-known figure among Qingcheng's lay disciples."

"……"

Choeakryang, suddenly silent, made Yamsa-in smile bitterly.

"Isn't it exhausting? The river that might flood again, the officials who ignore starving people, and the Qingcheng Sect that made you a villain."

Still lost in his own thoughts, Choeakryang listened as Yamsa-in shared his thoughts.

"I'm just waiting for my death day, but what sin do they have to protect this place? Send them away while you can. So, let go of your greed."

"……"

"The hometown we thought of is gone. After that day."

"Indeed. The river will flood again someday."

"That's why I built this estate. To prevent creating more people like us."

Choeakryang looked up at the sky.

Memories from long ago came to mind.

But even after decades, they were as vivid as if they had happened yesterday.

When he was seven.

The Min River suddenly flooded, unlike any other year.

The disaster turned the fields and village into a wasteland.

The officials, fearing reprimand from their superiors, downplayed the damage and provided no aid.

But that was just the beginning. An epidemic broke out.

The government belatedly sent soldiers.

At first, he thought they had come to rescue them.

But they hadn't.

They sealed off the village with weapons, preventing the starving refugees from becoming vagrants and entering other cities.

When some of the village elders, unable to bear the sight of starving children, attacked the soldiers' outpost and stole the military rations, they were all beheaded.

After that, there was no resistance.

Extreme hunger and the fear of death.

Everyone died quietly.

The elderly, children, and women first...

When all hope was lost, an old man entered the village.

He drove away the soldiers surrounding the village and cleared a path for the villagers to leave.

The old man who took him out of the village, where he was crying over his father's body, was the same man.

Because of the vagrants, the government hastily invited martial artists from Qingcheng.

"Why did Qingcheng respond to the government's invitation?"

It was still a mystery to him.

For so long, the government and the martial world had kept their distance.

Of course, Qingcheng had its own justification.

Eliminating heretical and evil paths.

In fact, the old man was a descendant of the Moshan