Chapter 443: Every Treasure Has a Sad Legend (4)

The Shandong Peninsula, often called the land that hurled itself into the sea.

Indeed, like a continent reaching out its hand toward the ocean, this peninsula had, peculiarly enough, a great stone mountain jutting out of it.

That was Mount Lao.

And beneath Mount Lao lay a small port town: Qingdojin, Qingdo.

In Qing’s homeland, that very place would someday become famous for beer.

Brewed with Mount Lao’s pure spring water, its beer seemed destined to conquer the world, though in the end, it would become renowned for reasons other than taste.

For now, Qingdo was nothing more than a tiny rural village.

“Eh? Qingdo is countryside?”

“Of course. What, you thought it was some great city? Well, people might stop by to taste Mount Lao’s sacred spring water, but that’s about it.”

“What? Isn’t it supposed to be famous for beer? Ah. Beer. Right.”

The moment food was involved, Qing’s head worked fast—she grasped it at once.

Come to think of it, beer wasn’t a Chinese drink at all.

How on earth did Qingdo end up famous for beer?

Well, perhaps someday colonialism and its stories would bring it about.

Foreigners—beer-guzzling bastards whose veins supposedly ran with ale instead of blood—might illegally seize the place and whatnot.

But Qing didn’t know, nor did she care, and besides, none of that had happened yet in the Central Plains.

So whatever. That was none of her business.

What mattered was the purpose of the present.

Why had she come all the way to this farthest tip of the land, where the continent stretched out to the sea?

The answer was simple: grilled clams!

She was here to eat grilled clams!

Not really because she wanted them, of course, but because it was a precious food tied to Jangmyeong’s memories. Yeah. Yeah. That was it.

So she claimed a table in the finest inn overlooking the sea.

Only the special room was left, they said, so she quickly took it and dropped off their luggage.

When they’d first entered Jimo County, the rain had been nothing more than a fine mist, like spray from a hand sprayer. But by sundown it came down in earnest, pouring furiously.

Well, it was late August, after all.

In a year with an intercalary month tucked into winter, summer was already ending, but here on the Shandong Peninsula, half the lunar month was a season of rain.

And the finest inn was, of course, also the finest tavern and restaurant.

Ahh—good atmosphere.

Scallops and great clams, maybe blood clams? Along with smaller clams piled high like a mountain on a massive platter.

On top of that, dishes with names Qing didn’t recognize at all—tangchu, huangmenji, baegol mibap—popped out one after another on the waiter’s recommendation.

“Huh?”

She hadn’t expected much from the side dishes to go with clams.

But what was this? This flavor? So familiar, so fitting to her palate.

Of course, there was no such thing as a dish that didn’t suit Qing’s taste.

Still, this somehow felt better matched to her than food she’d eaten elsewhere.

A tall woman and a little girl busied their hands devouring food, while an old man watched them as entertainment, sipping his wine.

And so, on a summer night, rain fell in sheets, drumming loudly all around.

Thanks to that, savoring true delicacies by the cool seaside night—

“Ha, feels good to be out, doesn’t it?”

“Mm.”

“Master, why do you keep pouring yourself drinks alone?”

“You’re eating so busily I can’t even see your hands. And now you’d pester me to pour your wine too?”

“Come on. No matter how busy I am, I still have time to fill my Master’s cup. Here, receive your disciple’s offering.”

Gurgle, gurgle. Clear liquor filled the cup, Qing having told the waiter, “Bring your best wine.”

Though he grumbled, Elder Cheon Yuhak looked content as he accepted the cup she poured.

At ease, he too let himself enjoy the scenery.

A truly carefree life. Unlike Yan Hui, he was not poor, for he had ample gold and silver, but still—

He tried to summon a verse that might suit the moment, when suddenly a thought struck him.

Why was he so relaxed and happy, after so long?

Ah, right. For months he’d spent every morning lecturing, every afternoon and night poring over maps until bed.

Day after day, endlessly.

Why had he busied himself so?

Even simply enjoying a small banquet like this together was so delightful.

And why was it only here, so far away on Shandong soil, that he was realizing this truth?

If he’d known earlier, he could have spent happier times together back in Taewon.

“...?”

“Oh, is your bottle empty? Shall we order another? Hey—”

“No. Enough with the wine.”

He remembered, suddenly. They weren’t here to play.

Qing had led the group so naturally that even he had been swept along by the mood.

But what was he doing, drinking and laughing when the Divine Thief’s sacred duty was to eradicate the vile demonic art, Saljungsal (kill-within-kill)?

He opened his mouth to chastise her.

But what could he say in a crowded tavern?

Should he announce to the whole inn that they were here to search for a treasure? With so many ears listening?

Then it hit him.

So many ears. Why hadn’t he noticed before?

At this table, they were the only ones laughing and talking freely.

All around, people ate and drank in near-silence, glancing sideways, wary. More than half the crowd.

And why was the tavern so full in the first place?

This was Shandong in August.

For sightseers, August was the worst time to climb Mount Lao.

Sweltering heat, clouded skies, constant rain. If unlucky, ferocious storms.

A miserable, dangerous season.

If not for his sharp disciple pretending to be a wealthy tourist, they’d never have blended in.

Suppressing his unease, Elder Cheon Yuhak forced a smile.

“No matter. When else will we taste true Laojian liquor here in Jimo? Order more.”

“Right? Hey waiter! Another bottle of Laojian—no, two more!”

“Yes, sir! (Hhhaaaa!) TWO BOTTLES OF LAOJIAN!!!”

The overjoyed waiter shouted so loud the entire inn shook.

Laojian was among the most famed liquors not just of Shandong, but of all the Central Plains—thus also among the priciest.

Even here at the source it wasn’t something an ordinary man, no matter how padded his purse, would order casually.

The rest of the tavern swallowed their envy and resentment along with their saliva, staring at Qing’s table piled high with clam shells.

It looked like a shell mound from primitive times.

And so, having bestowed great happiness on the innkeeper and waiter alike, Qing finally finished her grand feast and went up to the best room at the top.

“Ugh, my belly’s gonna burst.”

“Me too.”

No sooner had they entered than Qing sprawled on the bed, arms and legs flung wide.

Jangmyeong collapsed beside her in the exact same pose.

From the first meeting, Jangmyeong had looked ten, maybe eleven at most, her build so small. And it seemed she had missed her growing years entirely, for she was still the same little sprout.

Beside the tall woman, she looked exactly like a daughter lying next to her mother.

“You brat. Eat with some restraint. Your belly’s sticking up higher than Mount Lao.”

“Oh, come on. It’s a rare chance. Back in Taewon I could only nibble from being so self-conscious.”

The shocking truth: eating three bowls when others ate one was “a little.”

No wonder every scholar gasped in horror, wondering where all that food was going—and perhaps, with flushed faces, realizing just where.

“Enough of that. At least you noticed. Looks like things have turned nasty.”

“Eh?”

That face of hers—Elder Cheon Yuhak realized his mistake.

Damn it!

This girl had truly been eating and playing without a thought!

She hadn’t noticed the strange crowds or pretended at tourism out of caution. She just didn’t care about the Treasure Map at all!

He let out a deep sigh.

Not that it was news.

By now, he knew his disciple was not only flawless in skin, but smooth and wrinkle-free in brain as well.

If he cracked open her head, perhaps he’d find the most beautiful brain in the world.

Or maybe nothing at all, considering how she so often seemed to have no thoughts.

Which meant—he had to explain.

“Seems the Treasure Map had more than one copy. If there was one, of course there could be two, three.”

“What does that mean?”

“This is the worst season for climbing Mount Lao. When the sun’s out it’s scorching, and being all rock, there’s no shade. When it rains, you climb for nothing—you won’t see any scenery.”

“Oh. So this isn’t the peak season.”

A new phrase. Elder Cheon Yuhak had never heard it before, but he found it amusing.

The season when people flocked in search of something? A clever expression indeed.

Strange. His disciple never seemed to think at all, yet occasionally she showed poetic talent... no, no, that wasn’t the point.

“Treasure Map searches always go like this. With multiple copies, problems are bound to arise. Unless every holder was skilled and tight-lipped—”

The loose-tongued could never resist boasting of the map in their hands.

Still, better them than the incompetent.

The incompetent, convinced they’d never find it, would sell the Treasure Map outright.

And what merchant ever limited himself to one customer?

“So when the only room left in such a fine inn is the very best suite... doesn’t that mean the whole place is filled from bottom to top?”

“Whoa. Are you saying the whole city’s crawling with treasure hunters?”

“Exactly. If they’re just chasing gold and jewels, fine. But—”

His words trailed off.

Those seeking ordinary riches were one thing.

Those seeking Saljungsal, the worst of demonic arts, were another entirely.

Why did the Divine Thief steal treasures?

Because some treasures could only unleash bloodstorms upon the Martial World: infamous divine weapons, supreme manuals, vile demonic arts.

And Absorbing Qi Demonic Art?

Qing’s expression finally turned grave.

She’d thought it was just a matter of climbing the mountain, finding the secret manual, and burning it.

“Then what should we do? Sneak in and destroy it first? Should we go now?”

“Ha. You mean climb in the pouring rain, in the dead of night? You can’t find what you can’t see.”

Even with Qing’s superhuman eyes, nothing was visible without light.

Scientifically, sight required photons reflecting into the eye. Not that she needed science—if it was dark, nobody could see.

“Then what?”

“We prepare carefully, enter quietly at dawn, search in silence, and leave unnoticed. Otherwise, disaster.”

Qing’s face soured.

So they were going to live in the mountains, camping out in the rain while searching for treasure?

She had thought they could climb by day, descend by night, and rest comfortably.

Why did nothing ever come easy?

****

And thus—Mount Lao!

Though its highest peak was said to be less than four hundred jang tall, and thus not high by Central Plains measure, a mountain rising directly from the sea stood that full height above the waves, making it truly lofty.

And being a mountain of stone, its peaks were all sheer cliffs and grotesque rock formations, giving it immense presence.

Moreover, though it rose alone amid flat plains and sea, its ridges sprawled out on a massive scale.

Mount Lao was broad.

Very broad.

Measured in the traditional Korean unit—its area was one hundred fifty-four times that of Yeouido.

Yes, one hundred fifty-four Yeouidos.

For reference, Yeouido was an official unit of measurement in Korean documents, though no Korean alive truly grasped its size.

So if you told a Korean,

“Mount Lao is one hundred fifty-four Yeouidos wide,”

they wouldn’t know whether that was wide or not.

Instead, you had to say,

“It’s seven-tenths of Seoul. Three-quarters of Seoul.”

Then they would exclaim,

“Wow, what an enormous mountain! You mean we have to search that? If it were me, I’d just die instead!”

That was precisely Qing’s sentiment as she looked toward Mount Lao.