The girl asked him to call her Sad Wolf. Even in the brief time he’d seen her—bright and lively—Jang Geon wondered why she carried that name, but she didn’t offer an explanation, so he didn’t ask.
The tent was small. Red Wind said they’d pitched this unused one just to tend him. Sad Wolf brought water and a thick porridge, then slipped out. Red Wind told him she was still embarrassed and to ignore it.
“I’d like to pay you back.”
Jang Geon spoke after emptying the porridge bowl. Red Wind laughed, broad and easy.
“Payback? You mean you want to compensate us? Then make it money.”
“…You use Central Plains money?”
“Not among ourselves. But if you go down to the lower village to buy things, you need it. Thanks to that, neighboring tribes use Central Plains money between each other, too. Once you start, it’s convenient.”
Jang Geon smiled faintly and reached for his clothes in the corner. From the money left after the gambling days, he kept a single copper and handed Red Wind the rest. Red Wind peeked in and grinned at the silver coins.
“Oh! You’re giving all this?”
“In return, let me stay a few days.”
“Stay as long as you like! Ah—your sword. I should return it. Wait here. I’ll fetch it.”
He ducked out. As Jang Geon watched him go, he folded his legs under him and set his inner energy in motion.
At his will, power rose from the dantian, ran the channels, threaded through the twelve primary channels and eight extraordinary vessels, and branched along the collateral vessels—heat flushing every acupoint. The Yeon Family spearman’s short spear had carried a strong poison; the through-and-through had worsened under it.
So he’d later unbound the sealed points and forced out dead blood—and with it the toxin stirring up his meridians.
He hadn’t expected to vent that much blood and had blacked out. Even so, when his will vanished, his inner energy had throttled his body down and pressed the wound toward recovery. If Sad Wolf hadn’t found him and brought him in, though, it would have taken longer.
He burned away the faint residue of poison clinging at the shoulder. At the same time he needled the nearby meridians to lift the body’s healing, then finished his breathing work, calm and even. The inner strength built from many teachers, his own experiments, and hard use sank heavy into his dantian.
He exhaled long and opened his eyes. His arm moved easier. He wouldn’t be here long.
He stood, shrugged into his clothes, and stepped out into the chill. Sunlight stabbed, hard and clean. He straightened from a squint and took in a village of timber huts and tents mingled together, white smoke puffing up. His tent stood at the outermost edge.
“Oh? You’re up already? You should rest more.”
He turned. Sad Wolf stood with Jojo, loosening the saddle and currying him. Jang Geon gave her a thin smile.
“The porridge hit the spot.”
“Ah—did it suit your taste?”
“A little bland.”
“…Usually even if it’s bad you say it’s good.”
“Bland is bland.”
She pouted at him.
“Then you can cook your own next time. I’m terrible with salt.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t good. I ate it with appetite.”
“…Really?”
Her pout flipped to a quick grin; she turned back to Jojo.
“Does he have a name? He’s clever. At first he tried to block me.”
“Clever or just sly. His name’s Jojo.”
“Jojo?”
At her murmur, Jojo instantly shoved his head at her and huffed, almost like a man chuckling. She just found it cute and smoothed his mane.
“Jojo. Jojo… I don’t know how you people name things. But it’s fun to say.”
“I thought it would be. The slyness keeps getting worse. Makes me think I named him wrong.”
“Why? What does it mean?”
“It’s not the meaning. The man it came from had… issues.”
She smiled, clearly not understanding, clearly asking for the story. He gave a wry smile back. There was no way to explain. How do you explain a history that’s gone?
Red Wind saved him from it. He came up with Jang Geon’s sword in his left hand.
“Oh, Jang Geon. Up and about? Good. Moving helps you heal anyway. Perfect timing.”
They both looked at him for the reason. He continued:
“I brought your sword, and the Elder wants to see your face. Since you’re awake, let’s go now.”
“The Elder?”
“He speaks with spirits. He’s our oldest. And he was the second-strongest voice insisting we treat you. First—well, you know.”
Jang Geon nodded. The village headman wanted a look at him. Red Wind led off. Sad Wolf, cheeks warming, tried to follow, but Red Wind stopped her.
“He asked to see him alone.”
She worked her lips, disappointed, but stayed and watched Jang Geon. As he followed Red Wind, he caught those golden eyes and turned back. He saluted with clasped fists.
“Thank you for pulling me out.”
She beamed.
“It’s nothing. Uncle says you weren’t that dangerous anyway. Tell me stories about the Central Plains later.”
****
Walking after Red Wind, Jang Geon felt the eyes. People passing through the village looked with caution—or curiosity. More curiosity than caution: some even stopped in the path to stare. All those glittering golden eyes wore on him.
Red Wind waved off would-be questioners with, “The Elder called him—we’re in a hurry,” and opened a path. They reached a small tent pitched between village and woods.
At the door, Red Wind caught his arm.
“You speak well enough that I trust you’ll mind your manners. Still—one thing. Don’t act on Central Plains assumptions in front of him.”
Jang Geon dipped his head, deep. Red Wind liked the taciturn answer; he smiled and looked toward the tent.
“Elder, I’ve brought him. May I send him in?”
No voice answered from within, yet the flap drew aside. Red Wind stepped to the side.
“Go on. I’ll return the sword afterward.”
The ease of it left Jang Geon a little off balance as he ducked in. If this was the tribe’s eldest and shaman, should it be this simple?
Inside, bright cloth, feathers, bone, and hide dressed the space. At the far end, facing the entrance, sat an old man arrayed like the tent—deep-cut wrinkles, eyes half-shut like floating, and yellow and red markings painted across his face.
As Jang Geon entered, the old man cracked one eye and stared. The iris was red. Jang Geon found it curious and folded his hands.
“I’m Jang Geon.”
The elder didn’t answer. He just watched with that red, single eye. Jang Geon weighed the silence, then dropped to a seat. The elder’s brow twitched.
“I didn’t tell you to sit.”
“The tent’s a little low to stand.”
The old man stared through the easy reply, then smirked.
“Your pronunciation is decent. Where did you learn our tongue?”
“Far to the southwest on the coast there’s a place called Celestial Port. Of the three cities the emperor planted here, it’s the largest. Many people of this land work there. Some teach tribal languages for pay.”
“Working under Central Plains men? Must be the stone people or the prairie people. They always had it hard. That’s why you have a southern lilt.”
The line carried a sense of distance—and grievance—between tribes. People were the same everywhere. He was thinking that when the elder went on.
“I’m One-Eye Cloud. I’ve lived here the longest. Long enough that some young fool must be wondering why I haven’t died yet. In all the nearby tribes there’s no elder older than me. The ancestors kept me, and still some said it had to be wicked sorcery. I didn’t leave those men be…”
The words ran on. Red Wind had warned him, so Jang Geon didn’t cut in.
“…Even between tribes, there should be respect. When those pups were red newborns, I was the shaman here. These days the only one who still respects age is Red Wind. Ah—meeting a Central Plains man again has me rambling. What did you say your name was?”
“…A pleasure, One-Eye Cloud. Again: Jang Geon.”
Maybe Red Wind and Sad Wolf were talkative because of this elder. Maybe the whole village was. A bad hunch. If he let this go, it would go on forever, so he asked quickly:
“I heard you pressed the hardest to treat me. Why?”
“Should I have told them to throw out what Sad Wolf carried in? Your horse followed you like a shadow. A man who has won a horse’s heart is not likely a villain. Helping the wounded and weary is right.”
“…I see.”
He lowered his eyes and smiled. Familiar reasoning.
“And I was personally interested.”
Jang Geon blinked. Interested—in a Central Plains man collapsed by a river?
The elder opened his other eye. In the dim tent, the eye rose slow and gleamed like a silver ring. Red right, silver left. The two, glowing softly in shadow, had a strange distance to them. They fixed on Jang Geon.
The old man spoke.
“So—how is your second life? Pleasant?”
Jang Geon met those eyes and said nothing for a beat. He didn’t fluster like a man caught out, didn’t ask how the elder knew. He held the gaze, calm, and answered in the same calm:
“Not all that pleasant. Like anything in the world.”
One-Eye Cloud searched him, deep eyes trying to bore through. Jang Geon didn’t budge. The elder let out a small sound.
“…Doesn’t feel like crooked sorcery or foul power. Yes… sometimes, very rarely, these things simply happen. I’d only heard of it. Never thought I’d see it. Live long enough and you do…”
Jang Geon smiled.
“That’s why you were interested?”
“If a man isn’t interested when he meets someone in a second life, is he even human? When I saw the face Sad Wolf hauled in, I nearly jumped out of my hide. I thought you were a demon.”
“I’m more curious about your eyes, Elder. Can you see my soul?”
“Hey! That’s not something you ask. Pull apart a working and you bleed its power out. Don’t your people risk your lives over the secrets of what you call martial arts?”
“…Most will teach them if you pay.”
He answered, a little sour. His own base had been built with money. The elder wiped away the gravity in an instant and brightened.
“Oh? Then do you teach for pay?”
“…My arts are awkward to teach. Too piecemeal.”
The elder barked a laugh.
“That’s fine. Then just face someone for us.”
“…Face someone?”
The sourness deepened.