CH 22
That night.
Chwiseonru was brighter and more bustling than ever.
This was due to a feast held to soothe the people’s anxieties after the recent Slaughterhouse incident.
Thanks to this, the first floor had been opened, and long tables were set up along the outer streets, laden with alcohol and sumptuous dishes for the followers.
The Black Dragon Faction and Chwi Hong-ran, who had labored to prepare the event, were also present alongside Mao and Jang I-seo.
“To think you’d dismantle the Slaughterhouse—even their executive Makgui—so thoroughly! Truly, I never imagined it. Yes! The man Yongtae hereby vows to serve you as his elder brother!”
Yongtae thrust his thumb upward in salute. Jang I-seo shook his head, draining his cup.
“I’m clearly younger than you, aren’t I?”
“Respect makes you my elder! The man Yongtae isn’t so archaic.”
“Just drink.”
“Yes! With my elder brother’s permission—let’s drink!”
“Wahhhh!”
True to his troublemaker reputation. As Jang I-seo chuckled and set down his empty cup, Chwi Hong-ran beside him grinned and raised her glass.
“Allow me to pour for you.”
“Ah, thank you. Ru-ju should drink too. I’ll pour yours.”
“I accept.”
The amicable exchange painted a heartwarming scene.
Save for one person: Chil Gongja, scowling like a yaksha and sulking alone.
And for good reason.
After sprinting nonstop to Inwangsan’s summit and back, he’d returned to find Jang I-seo casually hosting a banquet.
Finally snapping, he overturned the table and roared:
“You… You dare usurp the host’s role?! Who’s in charge here? Me! The genius among geniuses, Mao!”
(Role reversal, not challenge.)
“Why flip the table pointlessly? Do you know how hard we worked?”
“Gwaaaah! Silence! Show me proper respect!”
“Very well. After all, today’s feast exists thanks to you.”
“Who?”
When Jang I-seo gestured at him, Mao blinked and pointed at himself.
“Me?”
Jang I-seo smirked and stood, addressing the crowd beyond the railing:
“You’ve endured much lately. Today, feast without worries—all provided by Chil Gongja-nim here!”
What nonsense. What did I—
“THANK YOU, CHIL GONGJA-NIM!”
“WE’LL FEAST WELL, CHIL GONGJA-NIM!”
As Mao gaped, Jang I-seo nudged him.
“Managing public sentiment is a sect leader’s duty. See how they rejoice?”
Indeed. Their gazes differed completely from before—no longer fearful, but radiant with cheers.
Why?
“People’s hearts are complex yet simple. To become sect leader, first change how they see you. One act won’t suffice—they’re merely intoxicated by the mood. So protect them sincerely. In time, they’ll become staunch allies.”
“Staunch allies…”
Mao’s vision blurred as if new ripples disturbed his mental walls.
The madman Chil Gongja—had they truly feared him? No, they’d bowed to his title.
And as Jang I-seo insisted: relying on that would never win the leadership struggle.
True power came not from fear, but respect mingled with awe.
That was the beginning.
“But… I’ve no money to give.”
Mao tilted his head in his trademark self-objectification.
“Borrow for tomorrow. Just wave for now.”
“But I don’t want—”
“Now.”
Under Jang I-seo’s urging, Mao awkwardly waved.
WAAAHH! The crowd roared louder.
Mao’s lips twitched upward, his grin widening until gums showed.
Yes. This was how to sway hearts and ascend toward herohood.
‘All expenses will be under your name at Chwiseonru. Interest: five percent.’
Jang I-seo waved cheerfully alongside him.
Then—
“How unusually rowdy.”
A melodious voice flowed from the stairs.
Another invited guest.
“You came.”
Jang I-seo grinned, waving.
Sharp eyes contrasted her plump figure.
“Hmph.”
Jinsan Papa—no, Third Princess Sahaeryeong, wearing her human-skin mask, graced the gathering.
“Ah… H-how…?”
Mao reacted most visibly.
“Hm? Chil Gongja-nim knows this woman? Strange, given your usual aversion.”
Of course—they were acquainted. This was Sahaeryeong’s disguise for covert operations. As her aide, Mao instantly recognized his elder sister.
[Don’t fuss. I merely stopped by en route.]
Jinsan Papa glared at tactless Yongtae before transmitting to Mao.
(Where could Wolha Village’s outskirts lie on any sane route? Fortunately, Mao wasn’t one for deep thoughts—a trait Sahaeryeong appreciated.)
“Ah! You stopped by while passing!”
“Huh? What do you mean, Chil Gongja-nim?”
“Huh? What?”
His shallow thinking remained problematic. Jinsan Papa snorted coldly, surveying the room.
At the round table’s right end sat Chwi Hong-ran, Jang I-seo, Yongtae, Maegi, and Mao.
Without ceremony, she stomped over and settled between Jang I-seo and Yongtae.
As she sat gracefully, Chwi Hong-ran to her left queried with a peculiar expression.
"Excuse me, may I ask your name?"
"Ah, hello. We haven’t met before, right? This is Jinsan Papa. She’s my assistant examiner."
"And she’ll also be our dependable shield." As Jang Yi-seo answered with a smile, Chwi Hong-ran’s expression grew even more awkward.
"You’re too young to be called ‘Papa’ (old man)."
"True. Let’s just call her Jinsan. It has a good ring—masculine and fitting."
"Why are you deciding that? And I’m not male."
When Jinsan Papa glared sharply, Jang Yi-seo chuckled, emptied his glass, and slid it toward her. Then he poured her a drink.
"Isn’t this the one you were drinking from?"
She frowned but didn’t refuse, grabbing the glass and downing it in one gulp.
"Thanks for coming, Jinsan."
Wait, did that punk just sass her? Mao’s eyes bulged, but the two exchanged casual small talk as if nothing mattered.
"I heard the news. You handled quite the ordeal."
"Ordeal? Just some chores."
"Calling the Slaughterhouse’s Mad Dog a ‘chore’ is modesty."
"Oh? Hearing that makes my chest warm and shoulders straighten."
"Tch. Don’t get cocky."
"Haha! Drink up."
The overly friendly scene left Mao gaping as he rubbed his eyes.
Meanwhile, others took turns greeting her:
"I’m Hong-ran, managing Chwiseonru."
"Yong-tae. The black dragon on my right arm? Makes me famous here."
"Meeeeegi."
Why’s this guy’s greeting so weird? Jang Yi-seo glanced at Megi, whose glazed eyes betrayed his drunkenness. The liquor was strong.
Next was Mao’s turn.
When all eyes fell on him, he froze awkwardly—unable to call her Noona (older sister).
"Ahem... Maaaaao."
Why’s he like this?
"What are you doing?"
"Uh. Nothing."
After greetings ended, Jinsan Papa merely nodded. It might seem aloof, but this was her nature—indifferent to strangers, forgetting faces unless they mattered.
Mao struggled to believe it: her attending a feast, drinking from another’s cup, tolerating casualness?
This is fishy. Wait—Noona sent him here! She’s even hiding her face with a mask!
Mao glared suspiciously between Jang Yi-seo and Sahae-ryeong before his eyes lit up.
She’s monitoring Jang Yi-seo! To see if he treats me well!
His simplicity was endearing.
With Jinsan Papa joining, drinks flowed freely. Chwi Hong-ran went upstairs for more liquor and snacks, followed by the thoroughly drunk Megi and Yong-tae. Mao, swept up in the mood, arm-in-arm with them, descended to mingle with disciples.
Only Jang Yi-seo and Sahae-ryeong remained. Silence settled as they gazed outside.
Under a moonless sky, stars shimmered like a galaxy. Below, Mao—now the life of the party—danced with disciples.
"Never thought we’d feast with followers," Sahae-ryeong said flatly, his toneless words conveying supreme praise and gratitude.
It had been ages since Mao laughed so freely with others—a reminder of his once-vibrant, sociable self.
"I told you I’d reel him in within three fingers [quickly]. First, we had to shed his ‘reckless’ label. Would the Sect Master acknowledge the Seventh Prince if others didn’t?"
"Impossible."
Sahae-ryeong drained his cup. Yes—this was natural. Hence why he’d accepted Jang Yi-seo’s bold invitation, sent even to Sansogung. He’d wanted to praise him.
"Through Horyong Hall, you demanded an apology from the Sa brothers. Reckless."
"Reckless? Easier than dying."
"Sounds like you’d have beaten them too."
"Wouldn’t be hard."
"Still brimming with confidence."
"Certainty."
Pfft! Sahae-ryeong laughed involuntarily before schooling his expression.
Jang Yi-seo smiled earnestly. "To the Anti-Espionage Unit’s Third Squad, defeating the Mad Dog seems grand. To an assistant? Mundane. The Seventh Prince can’t succeed through effort alone—nor can I. To earn recognition, we must crush the Sa brothers. However."
Sahae-ryeong’s eyes widened. He knew Jang Yi-seo was sharp, but not this introspective.
Not bad. Impressive, even.
"Still, you did well."
Jang Yi-seo raised his glass with a sly grin. Cheeky brat.
A smile crept onto Sahae-ryeong’s lips.
#Moving Forward (2)
