144

Chapter 144 - Crisis at Daso-Gak - 4

Have I been found out to be Hophil?

The gaze of the head of the medical center on me contained a certainty that seemed to know everything. What clue did he find that led him to suspect me to be Hophil? Or was he trying to pin it on me because Hwareen might have taken the fall for it?

"Hophil? What are you talking about?"

I wasn't like a shadowy figure in a detective comic who would admit to being the culprit upon a sharp accusation by the protagonist—'Yes, it was I. I am the murderer who practiced tap dancing every evening after work upstairs.' So, for now, I denied it.

"The manuscript of 'Dangga Style Storm' right here, and that intense ink scent coming from this child... Initially, I did not suspect that this child could be Hophil."

Wasn't that bluffing? The way the head spoke felt like it was straight from the conclusion of a detective comic.

"I'm not sure what misunderstanding you're having."

While holding my wrist, the head of the medical center shook his head slightly side to side and then began to speak.

"Learning medicine allows one to grasp the viscera and meridians of a person instantly. There are also things that can be discerned from one's appearance."

He couldn't possibly be using physiognomy to deduce that I was a culprit, could he? Doesn't he know the ironclad law of detective stories? It's never the one who looks most like the culprit.

"Are you saying Yoon Ho looks like Hophil or what! Let go of Yoon Ho's wrist! Ahh!"

As Hwareen approached the head of the medical center, he caught her wrist as well.

"I observed this child's hand closely when I took his pulse earlier. I could see signs that the child had diligently cultivated the poison skills and secret arts of the Sacheondang family for a long time."

The head showed me the palm of Hwareen's hand as he said this.

Shoot. I realized what the head was trying to say – he had caught on from there.

"So what? Let go!"

When Hwareen resisted, the head released her hand gently and then looked at me.

"You seem to have realized it. Indeed, this child lacks the calluses that come from writing for long hours. But you, on the other hand, possess them. Are you still going to deny it, Hophil?"

The head showed me the calluses on my hand and then released his hold on my wrist. To think he would present conclusive evidence. The head of the medical center was not just for show.

"Ha-ha. When one runs a bookstore, it's common to handle the brush often."

"I heard you were a storyteller. That's right. Knowing about an incident from 20 years ago and turning it into an entertaining story are surely separate matters. If one is a capable storyteller, then turning the incident that this child spoke of into a story would have been no difficult task. Isn't that so?"

Despite my denials, the head looked at me with conviction that I was Hophil.

I was backed into a corner. If the 'Dangga Style Storm' manuscript were here, it would only be either me or Hwareen who resides here. With the evidence and circumstances pointing to me as Hophil.

"No, it's not true! I am Hophil!"

Hwareen, perhaps sensing that the situation was growing serious, defended me one step too late.

"Child. Even though you are considered a barbarian, the thoughtfulness you show for a friend is touching."

This head of the medical center, he's too much with the differential treatment. He looks at Hwareen with the warmth one would show to the youngest granddaughter but treats me as if I was a barbarian mongrel?

Is it proper for the orthodox faction to act only among our own people and consider barbarians as nothing at all?

"Bullshit. I'm telling you, I'm Hophil!"

"Fine. If you say so, prove it."

"What?"

"Vice-head, didn't you highly praise 'Dangga Style Storm'?"

The head called the vice-head who had been silently observing the situation from behind.

"It's embarrassing."

"I didn't call you to scold you. As you know 'Dangga Style Storm,' ask this child to write down just one line from it on the paper on the desk."

"Yes? Yes. I understand. Then, write down 'Welcome. To my toxic practice space-' here."

The vice-head quickly prepared a blank piece of paper and a brush on the desk, then called Hwareen. I understood what was happening. It was a confirmation shot.

"Yoon Ho...."

Whether she realized what was happening or not, Hwareen looked up at me, uncertain about what to do. I wanted to refuse, but there was no justification. No justification.

Realizing there was no way out, Hwareen began to write down the dictated line, looking at the papers I had written around her.

"You tried, but as expected, the handwriting is different. Are you willing to admit it now?"

The head approached the desk and lifted the paper written by Hwareen and the 'Dangga Style Storm' manuscript I had personally written. Hwareen's line and my manuscript. It was evident to anyone that the handwriting on both papers differed.

Hwareen and I had nothing to say in the face of the clear evidence.

------------------

"It looks like this will be resolved with just one arm."

A brief silence. The head shattered that silence with a bolt from the blue declaration.

"What?"

End it with what?

"Vice-head, draw your sword."

"What are you doing! I said I'd write, so why cut off Yoon Ho's arm!"

Hwareen, with a start, leaped in front of me and blocked the vice-head.

"I wrote it just for Hwareen."

Now that I was found out, I might as well try for some sympathy.

I wrote it only for a friend, without any selfish motives. Why treat me this way? I appealed earnestly to the head of the medical center.

"Right. I understand. I promise on my name to protect this child, as you wish."

"While you're at it, you might as well protect me too."

"This child must be protected, belonging to our family. However, if there is a sin, it's that the old snakes of the family who cannot let go of their obsession with power will seize any pretext to target this child. So, barbarian, take all the blame and present your wrist. Preferably, the one you use for writing."

You sure you want to offer both wrists?

That they'd be ready to sever a barbarian's wrist to protect the precious illegitimate child of our house. I should have recognized from the beginning when they began shaking their heads that this was outright discrimination against barbarians.

I may have been mistaken about their so-called upright orthodox faction behavior. The Sacheondang family, striving to uphold righteousness as an orthodox faction. That righteousness included the distant illegitimate child of the house, but apparently not the black-haired barbarian.

"If 'Dangga Style Storm' is the problem, I'd rather go to Dangga with Yoon Ho and explain the situation!"

"Child. I understand your heart towards your 'barbarian' friend, but that's because you do not understand the Sacheondang family."

The head of the medical center looked at Hwareen with pity as he spoke.

"What?"

"The Sacheondang family has many ways to make a sinner talk. During such a process, you as someone born of their blood may escape unharmed, but this barbarian could end up crippled. Moreover, if subjected to interrogation, both of your crimes would inevitably come to light. Offering up an arm here is a way to avoid such an ordeal."

"Stop talking nonsense."

"Ha-ha. Child. Do you really think I take pleasure in cutting off your friend's wrist? I must do this so that when I vouch for Hophil's penalty to the Dang family, I can fervently defend him. So step aside. Do you want to be punished and refuse treatment?"

"And Yoon Ho? Yoon Ho needs to keep writing in the future!"

"Even if we cut off the wrist, he might not be able to practice martial arts, but he can still hold a spoon, and for writing... someday he may be able to write again. Vice-head."

"No. Way."

As the vice-head took a step forward, Hwareen screamed with lethal energy in her voice.

"Hophil. You're silent."

"..."

The head of the medical center, ignoring the murderous aura from Hwareen, spoke to me, who had been quietly watching the situation unfold.

"I understand your frustrations are leaving you speechless. However, I have heard that in the land of barbarians, they cut off the hands of thieves. As a barbarian yourself, you would know this well. Having committed a crime, if you simply hand over one wrist, I'll ensure that this child is protected and that you can live without worry at this bookstore. Don't make things more difficult."

In Joseon, if you were caught stealing, you'd be punished with the cane, not your hands cut off. This guy... what is this, Hammurabi's Code? The primitive laws where thieves have their hands cut off?

"Yoon Ho, never agree to it."

Hwareen. It seems you've mistaken my silence as consent to offer my wrist, but I have no such intention.

I've been looking for a way to survive.

------------

The price of using a trick.

A tangled knot of misunderstandings. I had cut through this Gordian knot with a new misapprehension, but the unresolved knot now lay on the ground, tripping me up.

The head of the medical center's words seemed rational.

Even if wrapped in benevolence, a sin doesn't just disappear.

If not everyone can be happy, then someone must sacrifice. Just a barbarian's forearm. To the head, it seemed a cheap penalty.

'Should I hand over my wrist?'

I looked desperately at Hwareen, who was trying to protect me.

'It's not what I expected, but there's still one method left to use.'

The problem is contemplating whether it's right to use it.

If I use this method, instead of losing an arm, I might throw myself into the tiger's den.

Give my wrist to the tiger? Or stick my head in its mouth and hope not to be devoured?

Even in this protective moment from Hwareen, I was still plagued by doubts.

"Just one more step forward."

I snapped out of the swamp of my contemplations with the sound of Hwareen's murderous voice.

"Child. It's just a barbarian's wrist. If you go to the Sacheondang family, you can make better friends. If it is affection you seek, I can introduce you to a good child."

"Cut the crap. Don't speak wantonly. There's only one man like Yoon Ho."

Hwareen. I'm not easily moved, but that statement touched me.

If it weren't for the situation, I'd be buying dinner tonight. Instead, I'd mimic Hwareen's declarations, watching her face turn red with anger and probably laughing. What a pity.

"Ha-ha. Whether it was 20 years ago or now. Why on earth would you squander your personal feelings on a barbarian and mess up big plans?"

The head of the medical center, recalling some past event after witnessing Hwareen's behavior, sighed in dismay.

Now is the chance to employ a plan.

"Hwareen. Step aside for a moment."

"No. Don't."

"It's okay. Just trust me."

I carefully took Hwareen's shoulder and pushed her to the side. She looked at my actions anxiously, but at my plea for trust, she reluctantly moved aside.

"So you have resigned yourself. Once you offer your wrist, I promise once more there will be no further harm."

The head of the medical center, assuming I had stepped forward to offer my wrist, confidently stated.

'To give my wrist to the tiger, or to put my head into the tiger's den.'

From the days of eating crumbs while homeless and living without hope, through my time as a barbarian storyteller, to my current position as the barbarian scribe Hophil.

I had finally found my footing. I had hope for moving forward.

And now they want to cut off the hand that writes.

While you might think you're cutting off the wrist of a barbarian, what you're really cutting off is my hope.

To live without hope is not to live, but it is to rot away.

Wrist or life.

The answer is already clear.

"Sir Head, have you read all of 'Dangga Style Storm'?"

I asked the head of the medical center, looking at him resolutely.

"I have read it all."

"Then you must remember the Korean courtesan, Doo Eung-hyang, who appears in Volume 2. Do you recall her original stage name?"

The head of the medical center mentioned Doo Eung-hyang as though she was a real character.

The colorful incident is a private affair. However, if he knows it in detail, it means he either accompanied the hunt for the color devil or knows someone similar to Doo Eung-hyang.

"How should I remember the stage name of a barbarian courtesan from 20 years ago?"

The head of the medical center chuckled at me, as if asking how he could possibly remember such a thing.

No. You would remember. Even if you don't, I will make you remember.

"Hyang-a. It was 20 years ago. The name of the apprentice courtesan with whom the current head of Dang shared love."

"…Right. That was the name. Wait a moment...? How do you know she was an apprentice courtesan?"

The head of the medical center's eyes widened as he looked at me.

How do I know? I know. I have to know.

"I am pressed for time now and must leave, but when I return, I will take you with me and formally make you a member of the family. The head of Dang said these words as he parted from his first love, Hyang-a."

"How do you know that!"

Ignoring the shouting head of the medical center, I confidently walked over and drew something from the desk drawer. 

What I pulled out was a bracelet.

It was something I had obtained from a dead Korean on the way to Sung's house with Cheon Sohee. The name of this bracelet was...

"Boolmanghwan (不忘環)?"

"Yes. The Boolmanghwan."

Let's change our approach from here.

I tossed the bracelet engraved with the totem of the jimsonweed to the head of the medical center without much care.

"How... how do you possess this?"

"The head of the Dang family couldn't let others know, but in truth, there was a child born between those two."

"What?"

"He couldn't leave his name due to a secret mission. Should my task take too long, come to Sacheondang family with this Boolmanghwan. The young head of Dang had said that before he departed."

"You mean to say now..."

The head of the medical center looked back and forth between the unmarked Boolmanghwan and me with startled eyes.

Enter the tiger's den, but stay alert, and you may survive.

No. When have I, Kang Yoonho, ever let my guard down enough to be bitten by a tiger?

If the tiger tries to bite my wrist, I'll scold it; if it

targets my neck, I'll make it bow.

By deceiving the tiger.

I'm used to fooling a tiger that's after my neck. And the tigers to be fooled this time...

"The child born 20 years ago between the head of the Dang family and the Korean courtesan, Hyang-a. That person is me."

I am Sacheondang.