Chapter 10
A few days after receiving his father’s sword, Pung entered the Magistrate’s study, his resolve finally set.
“My lord,” Pung spoke, his voice steady.
“Thank you for clearing the fog from my mind. You spoke of the state military exams (Mugwa)—I accept my fate.”
The Magistrate looked up from his desk.
“What changed your mind?”
Pung raised the silk-wrapped scabbard with both hands.
“From my grandfather to my father, this sword has now been passed down to me. I will protect our lineage.”
A slow smile spread across the Magistrate’s face.
“I knew this day would come.”
Reaching into his personal drawer, the Magistrate pulled out a sheet of fine mulberry paper, wrote a letter of recommendation, and pressed his official magistrate seal into the red ink.
Handing the document to Pung, he said, “Take this recommendation letter (Seochal) straight to the Minister of War. With my official seal sponsoring your entry, no one at the capital exams will dare question your background.”
“Yes, my lord,” Pung bowed.
That evening, the Magistrate’s household held a send-off feast for Pung, joined by his adoptive parents and the local villagers.
Traditional drums resounded through the courtyard, women offered sacred red bean rice cakes (Susu-pat-tteok) to ward off evil spirits and bring good fortune, and bright silk ribbons were tied to wish him victory in the capital.
The next morning, Pung set off on the long road to Hanyang.
Eight days later, inside a Hanyang police bureau, the Chief Officer invited the old tiger hunter and Woon into his quarters to offer formal thanks for slaying the tiger.
“Thank you, young man,” the Police Chief said, eyeing Woon’s imposing frame.
“Your name is Woon, correct?”
“Yes, my lord,” the old tiger hunter answered with a quick, polite smile.
The Chief frowned slightly, looking directly at Woon.
“Can the boy not speak for himself?”
“Ah, my lord,” the old hunter chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, “my son speaks, but… he was not raised with refined court etiquette, so I keep him quiet.”
Woon’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching so hard his knuckles turned white.
The old hunter quickly placed a heavy, reassuring hand on Woon’s shoulder, silently warning him not to snap.
The Chief laughed loudly, his officers joining in.
As the afternoon wore on, several cups of rice wine loosened the Chief’s tongue.
He turned back toward the old hunter, his tone turning arrogant. This chapter was taken from g.com without permission.
“I heard a rumor floating around the ministry,” the Chief slurred, leaning forward.
“The King wants to recruit a select group of able-bodied men into his royal guard—even opening the doors to low-born peasants without a surname…”
One of the junior officers moved instantly, placing a hand over the Chief’s mouth while gesturing frantically to the old hunter that their superior was thoroughly drunk.
“Get your hands off me!” the Chief barked, shoving his subordinate away and staggering to his feet.
“Why would the King need extra security anyway?! I am more than capable of defending all of Joseon single-handedly!”
Recognizing the scene was degrading rapidly, another officer stepped in to escort the old hunter and Woon out the front doors.
“Hey! Stop them! I wasn’t finished talking!” the drunk Chief shouted from inside, his officers pinning him back down to his desk.
Outside in the afternoon sun, the old tiger hunter pulled a small wooden block from his sleeve and handed it to Woon.
“Here. You will need your identity tag (Hopae) from now on.”
Woon took the wooden tag, tracing the carved characters.
“San? What kind of surname is San?”
“It says San Woon,” the old hunter smiled, pointing to the characters.
“San for mountain, Woon for cloud. A perfect match decreed by heaven! Or have you never heard the old legend of the Mountain and the Cloud?”
“How would I know?” Woon grumbled, sliding the tag into his belt.
“The only thing you ever taught me was how to track beasts and kill tigers.”
“Well, I taught you to hunt tigers, but your terrifying combat skills? You brought those into the world yourself,” the old man grinned.
“Admit it—I’m an amazing mentor, aren’t I?”
“I have no idea what you’re babbling about,” Woon replied stoically.
“I have somewhere to go. I’ll see you at home later.”
Just then, a grand procession of young aristocrats entered the city gates, laughing as their servants carried their heavy luggage.
They were wealthy noblemen arriving in Hanyang for both the upcoming military exams and the rumors of the princesses’ eventual royal marriage.
The old tiger hunter watched them pass, then nudged Woon.
“Do you want me to buy you a fake noble lineage paper? Look at them—I bet you could snap any of those silver-spoon boys in half.”
Woon glanced at the nobles, then back at the old man.
“What about you? You claimed you came from a noble house.”
“But years ago, you turned it down. You told me if my family name possessed any real honor, I wouldn’t be living in the dirt hunting tigers.”
Woon turned away, stepping toward the bustling market streets.
“Just make sure you don’t spend all your coin on liquor. See you at home.”
Woon walked into the crowded market square.
Smelling freshly fried rice cakes at a nearby stall, he turned toward the vendor.
At that exact second, a tall young man clad in dark travel robes walked directly past Woon’s shoulder, merging into the dense crowd behind him.
Neither turned back.
Pung and Woon had crossed paths in the capital without ever seeing each other’s faces.
Pung walked straight to a quiet scholar’s residence recommended by the Magistrate.
After settling into his room, he carefully wrapped the hilt and scabbard of his father’s dragon sword in thick black cloth, ensuring no curious eye would recognize the legendary steel.
Around the Hour of the Monkey (4:00 PM), Pung stepped out to a local tavern for a warm meal.
As he sat at a corner table, eating quietly while mapping out his strategy for the capital, a heavy hand unexpectedly dropped across his shoulder.
“How are you doing today, my friend and lifesaver?” a voice boomed cheerfully.
Instantly, Pung grabbed the arm, shoving it off his shoulder with cold precision.
“Who are you?”
The young man held up his hands, smiling brightly.
“It’s me! Min Chae-woo, son of the Magistrate of Yeongwol! A few days ago, you saved me and those fragile noblemen from a mountain tiger attack! Remember?”
Pung eyed him with complete indifference.
“You have the wrong person, Master Min. I arrived in Hanyang from Miryang only an hour ago.”
Pung dropped a few copper coins onto the table to pay for his food, stood up, and walked out of the tavern.
“Wait!” Chae-woo hurried after him into the street.
“Now that I look at you closely… your facial features are remarkably similar to his! But your aura is entirely different… regardless, it is a pleasure to meet you!”
Pung ignored him completely, brushing past his shoulder without dropping his stride.
Chae-woo watched him go, a amused grin spreading across his face.
“Unbelievable… he even has the exact same icy temper!”
Chae-woo picked up his pace, trailing a few steps behind the quiet assassin.
Pung shook his head, looking up at the afternoon sky of Hanyang as he kept walking.
What is wrong with the people in this city?