Chapter 312: The Fire in Chang’an (14)

At that, the crowd in Chang’an gulped in unison.

Wasn’t it said that the sin about to be named was too filthy even to speak aloud?

Just what kind of enormous crime had been committed, that the preamble was dragging on like this, stretching the silence with heavy anticipation?

“Have you heard the news that a flood disaster struck the land of Nangnyeong? Last night, a great deluge surged in at once, so fierce it shattered the city gates.

As a result, two thousand people perished in Nangnyeong, and over a thousand more vanished, their bodies not even found. In one night alone, more than three thousand lives were wiped from existence.”

Since it wasn’t our territory, to those in Shaanxi Province, the disaster in Henan was something to click their tongues at in pity—perhaps take another look at our own embankments, and that was that.

But the number three thousand dead gave everyone a chill. When a flood swept through the Central Plains, it was never just someone else’s tragedy. It could be anyone’s fate.

“The reason the damage was so devastating is because the newly completed embankment, built that very winter, collapsed. Had the river been allowed to flow freely, the city might have simply flooded a little and that would’ve been the end of it.

But they blocked the water path, and it all came rushing in one burst. Now, this embankment was originally a gift of grace from His Majesty and should never have failed—but because it collapsed, more than three thousand lives were taken instead.”

At Cheong’s final words, the entire plaza fell so silent it was as if even the sound of blood draining from faces could be heard.

He was saying that the embankment was unnecessary to begin with, that it was the flood control project itself that caused the disaster, and that the fault lay with His Majesty for ordering the construction.

That was something only a traitor would dare say.

We shouldn’t be hearing any more of this.

People began glancing around nervously, looking for a way to quietly slip away—

—when Cheong smoothly redirected the blame.

“Of course, His Supreme Majesty ordered the project with nothing but a parent’s love for his people in mind. That benevolence is engraved into our very bones, unforgettable and eternal. And in His Majesty’s gracious oversight, isn’t it right for us all to raise our voices in gratitude and cry ‘Long live the Emperor!’?”

Whew.

So he wasn’t inciting rebellion after all.

A collective sigh of relief burst from the crowd, the soft exhale swelling through the square like a passing typhoon.

“But the embankment did burst. More than three thousand people lost their lives, even more lost their families, and countless others lost their homes.

And yet—there was a specific reason the embankment, gifted by His Majesty, gave way. That reason is—”

Cheong paused there, sweeping his gaze across the crowd and locking eyes with them.

A sea of gulps answered him.

Yes, we’re listening.

Cheong let the silence ripen a moment longer—

—and then finally spat it out.

“It was designed to collapse from the start!

Less than half—yes, not even half!—of the necessary materials were used.

They left out more than half of what should’ve gone into the structure!

It couldn’t withstand the heavy rain!

Three thousand people were slaughtered so someone could pocket gold and silver!

There are those who deliberately built the embankment to burst, just to make money!”

“H-Heavens...”

“Are you saying someone intentionally made the embankment collapse!?”

“Who in the world could do something so monstrous!?”

“All for profit, they caused a disaster!?”

Voices of outrage echoed from every direction—

People who raised their voices louder than anyone else, though Cheong didn’t know it, were wind-catching agitators who had stepped forward of their own accord upon learning that these were words spoken on behalf of the Honored Celestial Demon Supreme.

“So who was it?! Who did this!?”

“The flood control project in Nangha was handled by none other than Jangheung Guild, a name I’m sure many of you are familiar with.”

The crowd gasped again.

Jangheung Guild—Shaanxi’s number one guild, the most prominent in the region.

Its name meant ‘May Chang’an prosper’—it was a symbol of pride for the people of the city.

“Th-That can’t be!”

“Do you have proof?!”

The crowd grew increasingly agitated.

Cheong waited patiently, letting them vent—

—and once the attention returned to him, he finally parted his lovely lips again.

“The very witnesses are here before you. Are there any members of Chuga Woodworks present? This is Yeom Hansu, the Master Carpenter of Chuga.”

One of the men standing on the stage stepped up to Cheong’s side.

Though, truthfully, his face was so swollen and beaten it was nearly unrecognizable.

Of course, the real Yeom Hansu had been killed by an assassin’s blade.

His entire family had perished alongside him—though depending on the karma of their respective sins, whether they could reunite in the afterlife remained uncertain.

At any rate, thanks to that, there was no one left alive sensitive enough to question whether this man impersonating him was the real deal.

“I am Yeom Hansu, Master Carpenter of Chuga Woodworks!

Under the orders of Jangheung Guild, I halved the materials used in the project design!

I replaced earth with sand, replaced gravel with pebbles!

All of it was done to swap out the original materials for cheaper alternatives!”

Another ripple of gasps surged through the crowd.

Chuga Woodworks was one of the most reputable woodshops in Xi’an, and there were only a handful of master carpenters even within that guild—so plenty of people had heard Yeom Hansu’s name.

A public accusation in broad daylight.

No one could have imagined someone would bring out an impersonator of a dead man just to fabricate a story.

His face was too mangled to confirm, but he looked like a bastard who deserved a beating anyway—who’d question it?

It was then—

A sharp cry tore through the crowd.

“That’s impossible! That man isn’t Yeom Hansu! He’s a fake!”

More murmuring spread like wildfire.

Oh? So someone actually recognized him.

Cheong inhaled softly.

“Just now—who was that? Who claimed Master Carpenter Yeom is a fake? Please, don’t hide. Step up and speak your piece openly.”

“This guy!”

“It was this man!”

Thanks to the primitive entertainment culture of the Central Plains, no one in the crowd was willing to miss such an exciting confrontation.

The man who’d shouted was immediately shoved forward from the crowd, stumbling into view.

His expression was flustered, but he soon cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and opened his mouth to say something—

CRACK!

Cheong’s foot whipped across the man’s shin just as he was about to speak, a clean blow so sharp that he could feel the crisp snap of bone reverberate through his instep.

He had to fight back a smile.

Kicking a guy and grinning about it wouldn’t exactly fit the image of a righteous accuser.

As the man crumpled, Cheong seized him by the collar and with a flourish, tore both arms wide.

Before the rebellious force of a street rebel’s strength, mere clothing was no match.

In an instant, the man had been stripped bare-chested.

Cheong leapt elegantly back onto the platform.

“Everyone! Do you see this tattoo?! These two characters—Ishim—are branded onto the flesh of the Salmak assassins, cannibalistic monsters who make their living by killing people!”

His face was too swollen for anyone to clearly recognize him as Yeom Hansu or not.

Yet someone had claimed, “That can’t be him.” Called him a fake?

Even the slaughtered family, had they been here, wouldn’t have recognized the man—yet somehow, this guy did?

Unless he was the one who killed the real one—or someone connected to the crime—how the hell would he know if Yeom Hansu was dead or not, or if this was really him?

No one thought someone would be dumb enough to walk into a trap that obvious.

And yet, here it was.

“Everyone! Did you know there’s been a string of deaths in Master Carpenter households recently!?

That’s because Jangheung Guild, trying to cover their tracks, sent assassins after the carpenters involved in the project!

If any of you work in woodcraft, you’ll know this is true—well-known master carpenters have either died or vanished!”

Another round of chatter.

Among the crowd were actual woodworkers who recognized the truth in Cheong’s words and raised their voices in agreement.

“Yeah! That’s right! Wang the Master Carpenter and Kang the Master Carpenter—both gone!

Jowang Woodworks had to shut down because they lost both their master carpenters!”

Granted, the high number of woodworkers in the audience was no coincidence—zealous followers who had ‘possessed’ themselves with the spirit of carpentry in faith were doing an excellent job as agitators.

“All these shirtless men are cannibal assassins from Salmak!

They all bear the Ishim tattoo below their left chest—this is your proof!”

Some might scoff, who the hell gets a tattoo saying “I’m an assassin”?

But in reality, it’s precisely groups like this that brand themselves to ensure loyalty and signal membership.

In this primitive and ancient Central Plains, there was only one kind of person who wore tattoos.

Criminals.

A criminal who’d been caught would be tattooed in plain sight, so the world would know their shame.

Criminals who hadn’t been caught yet tattooed themselves to foster loyalty and prevent betrayal.

If someone tried to run, all you had to do was spread the word—

“That guy in your village? He’s a criminal. He’s got a tattoo—look and you’ll see.”

Once marked, there was no escape.

This was why the first thing such scum-ridden groups did was choose a name—and the second thing was decide their tattoo.

This is why tattoos have long been reviled in both East and West.

In the earliest days, tattoos were for primitive shamanic rites.

Once people had society, they became a mark—nothing more than a branded curse.

“I am Cho Junam, an assassin from Salmak.

I had been living disguised as a rice seller in Ogamigok, but in truth, I am a human-class assassin who’s taken on more than fifty jobs—argh!”

Cheong smacked the assassin on the back of the head and growled.

“Fifty jobs, my ass. Say it right.”

“I’ve killed over fifty people for gold! This time, I was hired by Jangheung Guild to assassinate Master Carpenter Wang Jung-sam, who worked on the flood control project!”

One after another, the assassins—missing fingers, sometimes even wrists—stepped forward to state their names, fake identities, and the names of the carpenters they had killed.

Cheong was a man of his word.

These men would live, in return for their false testimonies.

Granted, he’d already wrecked their right hands, and who knew how long a traitor to Salmak could actually stay alive?

But hey, that wasn’t his problem.

If they were lucky, they’d survive. If not, well, they’d die.

What did he care?

By this point, the picture was clear.

Jangheung Guild had embezzled half the materials from a flood control project, resulting in thousands of deaths.

Fearing the truth would come out, they’d hired assassins to kill the carpenters involved—

—even though those carpenters had worked with them for years.

A truly monstrous crime, deserving the wrath of heaven.

“Everyone, now I am going to Jangheung Guild to demand who planned this vile crime and how they intend to pay for it!

I hope all of you will bear witness to the consequences of such a wretched, filthy atrocity!”

And with that, Cheong leapt gracefully from the platform.

As he walked forward, the crowd parted hesitantly to let him through.

Employees of Seolga Merchant Association each grabbed hold of one Salmak defector, striding behind Cheong with proud, almost smug expressions—faces of people who felt like kings of the world.

The agents of the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult who’d previously just been helping stir up the crowd watched Cheong with eyes full of pure envy.

And thus, one after another, the agents of the Secret Tactics Division followed Cheong—

—and behind them, the people of Chang’an poured into the wide boulevard in a great procession.

At the front stood Cheong.

He glanced at Seol Iri walking beside him, let out a deep sigh.

Then, looking toward the old man flanking the other side, he quietly asked—

“Grandpa, this is the way to Jangheung Guild, right?

Come to think of it... I have no idea where it is.”