“Are you talking about a person?”
The waiter stroked his chin.
“If you can pay the price, borrowing the help of the Beggars’ Sect or Hao Gate would be the easiest way.”
It was obvious advice anyone could give.
It was the first method Cheongwol had thought of as well.
However, assuming Han Seojin was traveling with Beggars’ Sect beggars, their help was out of the question.
The Beggars’ Sect wouldn’t leak information about one of their own to just anyone.
“...How do you get help from the Hao Gate?”
“Just keep wandering around and asking people like you’re doing now. Eventually, the Hao Gate will catch wind of it and approach you first.”
They might offer help, but the moment they extended a hand, a string of messy, complicated troubles would inevitably follow.
Cheongwol couldn’t make a decision and merely nodded.
“Thank you.”
The waiter hesitated before cautiously adding,
“Ah, miss. If it’s not rude to ask, is the person you’re looking for a man? Or a woman?”
“...A m-man.”
Saying it out loud felt strange.
The fact that she was searching for a man.
If the people of the Central Plains learned that Emei Sect’s Cheongwol was looking for a man, it would cause a massive uproar.
But the waiter, unaware she was Cheongwol, continued nonchalantly.
“Hey, in Chengdu, men are easy to find.”
“...Is that true?”
“Of course!”
The waiter said proudly.
“There’s a place in Chengdu called Yunmeng Tower that’s famous throughout Sichuan. Every man passes through it at least once.”
“...Yunmeng... Tower?”
“It’s a brothel. Four stories tall. A real flashy place. If you stake it out there, you’ll get tangled up with just about any man.”
Cheongwol shook her head without thinking.
“I’m not going to a bro...”
Her words trailed off.
...Or was she?
A sudden memory flashed in her mind.
Han Seojin splashing water on her body, teasing her.
‘...You look like a cheap whore, Cheongwol.’
As his words resurfaced, her expression gradually hardened.
Yet for some reason, she found herself making excuses.
“...No. He’s not the type of man who goes to brothels...”
“Who says you need money to go? Whores come in grades too. A cheap one is just the price of ten dumplings.”
“...”
Those words landed heavily on her.
Had she unconsciously viewed Han Seojin as her own kind of friend?
Or was it that she didn’t want to imagine him stepping into such a place?
“If you don’t want to borrow from the Hao Gate or Beggars’ Sect, just treat it like a loss and wait at Yunmeng Tower. You’ll find him in a few days.”
Soon after, the waiter treated her to dumplings and walked away.
Cheongwol couldn’t tell if the food was going in her mouth or her nose.
She no longer felt the hunger from before.
A brothel, of all places.
Could that pitiful, cowering, utterly lacking in confidence man from the basement really frequent such a place once he stepped outside?
The dumplings didn’t taste like they had that day either.
Instead, only the lingering guilt of breaking her self-imposed taboo by eating meat again remained.
Then a small voice whispered from within her heart.
‘What if he does go? So what?’
“...”
‘Why do you even care?’
It was true.
But just as true was the turmoil in her heart.
She poked at the dumplings roughly, irritably.
Her eyes narrowed more harshly than necessary.
The glances from the passersby annoyed her for no reason.
It was agonizing.
Cheongwol slammed a coin onto the table a bit roughly and left the inn.
No matter how reasonable the waiter’s words were, Cheongwol’s feet did not turn toward the brothel.
No, she couldn’t go.
Her pride wouldn’t allow it.
In the brief time she had spent inside the inn, Chengdu seemed even more crowded than before.
Having visited Chengdu several times already, Cheongwol could tell.
Far more people than usual had flooded into the city.
As she walked the streets, tilting her ear to listen, she quickly learned the reason.
‘...Will she come? I’m so curious.’
‘I hope the Ink Dragon shows up.’
‘What about the Yushin Sword? I’d love to see the face of Yeongcheon Dojang too.’
‘No matter what anyone says, it’s Emei Sect’s Thousand-Year Flower for me. Ha, now that she’s beaten Poison Phoenix, isn’t it time she got an official title?’
Cheongwol grimaced.
If it weren’t for Han Seojin, she never would have mingled among so many people like this.
What on earth was he that she had to go this far?
The way these commoners treated her as mere entertainment was especially unwelcome to Cheongwol.
Because she knew her status would be determined by their evaluations.
And with that, the Sect Leader’s expectations and her position in the sect would change.
Cheongwol had grown naturally adept at it by now.
If she failed to meet expectations, the Sect Leader, elders, and her master would be disappointed.
Her fellow disciples, who never minced words, would mock her.
This wasn’t why she had run so hard; coming to her senses, she felt like she was perched precariously at a mountaintop.
She knew it well.
The people of the Central Plains didn’t have many things they could truly call entertainment.
Even drinking required money, and visiting brothels required money.
For them, tales of the martial world were free amusement for men, women, and children alike.
So she understood why it had to be this way, but for Cheongwol—who had to swing a sword and risk her life—it was all loathsome.
...It was Han Seojin who had let her forget that, if only for a moment.
He was the one who freed her from the world’s expectations, her sect’s pressures, and the self-torment directed inward.
She wouldn’t say Han Seojin was an indispensable presence in her life.
But for now, he was the least uncomfortable person she knew.
...And such a person at a brothel.
‘...So what if it’s a brothel?’
The small whisper echoed again.
“...Hoo.”
Cheongwol sighed and steadied her heart.
...Let’s search a little longer.
Just as she started walking again.
“Cheap! So cheap! Sturdy ropes! Handcrafted one stitch at a time by an unknown artisan! Soft and tough! Leather goods too! Water skins! How about this water skin!”
Drawn by the voice, Cheongwol approached the shouting craftsman.
“Look! Not a single drop leaks... Huh.”
At the sight of Cheongwol, the merchant forgot his words and tensed up.
Bamboo hat and face veil. Clothes of unknown origin. Sword on his back.
A martial artist, but from an unknown sect.
The exact type of person Central Plains folk were most wary of.
“G-Great hero. I-Interested in the r-rope...?”
The merchant composed himself and asked.
Cheongwol quietly picked up the rope.
It differed in thickness from the three-strand rope that had bound her body.
...Yet she knew this cord.
The delicate finish. The soft texture.
Cheongwol’s heart pounded.
“Who sold you this?”
“G-Great hero. This humble one knows nothing. A-A man sold it to me, so I just bought it...”
“...Don’t be scared. I’m not interrogating you. Just tell me what the seller looked like.”
“W-Well... He was in ragged clothes. T-Tall, sturdy build, but his f-face wasn’t much...?”
Cheongwol let out a small chuckle.
Emboldened, the merchant continued.
“K-Kinda spacey-looking, and n-not very experienced! I-I got this rope cheap, yes. Young fellow, but his hands were rough, like he’d done a lot of work. His eyes had this weird lecherous glint, like—”
“—Which way did he go?”
“It was a while ago... But he headed that way first. Toward the east gate, north. That’s all. Really.”
“How much for this rope?”
“J-Just take it! Yes!”
“...No. Name your price.”
“Then... T-Two iron coins.”
Cheongwol handed the merchant four iron coins.
She clutched the rope to her chest and slowly brought the end to her lips.
Soft, a faint tickle.
The texture teased her lips, as if reviving a certain memory.
...Yes, you’re here, aren’t you?
She had entered Chengdu without a single trace and been frantic.
Now, a clue had finally appeared before her.
A few coins were well worth it.
Her chest still felt tight.
Yet holding this one rope gave her the illusion that her mind had eased a little.
She started walking again.
.
.
.
Night fell, and the Tang Clan of Sichuan arrived in Chengdu.
The city’s atmosphere erupted in an instant.
Crowds flooded the streets, welcoming the Tang Clan retainers with open arms, and soon Sichuan’s banners outshone the lanterns, dyeing the streets.
Cheongwol knew that with the Tang Clan returned, she should head to their residence for a change of clothes or rest at her lodgings.
...But she didn’t want to right now.
After the rope, not a single further trace of Han Seojin had appeared.
She had scoured Chengdu all day hoping for just one more lead, but it was all for nothing.
“Dang Soran, young lady! It’s fine! Even if you lost to Cheongwol young lady, we respect you just the same!”
“I’ll love only the Tang Clan of Sichuan my whole life! Don’t worry!”
It was a strange feeling.
Seeing martial artists through the eyes of a commoner.
Was this the emotion Han Seojin always felt?
Cheongwol looked around.
Was Han Seojin perhaps watching the Tang Clan procession?
And thinking that made her even more curious why he had come to this place.
A conquered worry, but what if it really was because of Dang Soran?
“...”
...Come to think of it, Han Seojin seemed to respect Dang Soran quite a bit.
Even before the match, he had scolded her, asking how she planned to beat Dang Soran, telling her to get her head straight.
Those words had been advice, perhaps his own form of sincerity.
But now, why did they sound like favoritism toward Dang Soran?
The care he had shown washing her feet, the sticky emotion in his eyes—it made her chest uncomfortable.
...The irritation kept building.
Dragging this stuffy feeling around all day was wearing down her patience.
...Still, no brothels.
Cheongwol told herself.
...No brothels, no matter what.
How could a woman—a nun of the Emei Sect, no less—walk straight into a brothel?