Chapter 18
by Wintermoon“My goods! Please, return my goods!”
A desperate shout erupted from the end of the alley. A man in tattered clothes, limping heavily, collapsed to the ground. Above him, a man draped in excessive silks and gaudy jewelry looked down with a sneer. As the silk-clad merchant attempted to keep walking—ignoring the fallen man as though he were invisible—the man on the ground lunged forward, clutching at his leg.
“Please, return them. Without those goods, I am a dead man.”
“If you want your goods, you must pay,” the merchant replied.
“But I gave you everything! I paid the full shipping fee we agreed upon!”
“No, no. I am speaking of the storage fee for the delay. I have taken great care of your precious cargo for a full month. Between the daily storage fee and the twenty percent interest on top of it, you still owe me a hundred nyang.”
“The only reason I couldn’t pay on time was because you suddenly hiked the prices, and it took time to scrape the money together! You only raised the fee because a typhoon blew through!”
“And I told you, that typhoon battered my ship! If you want someone to blame, take it up with the Heavenly Emperor who controls the weather!”
The merchant was so corpulent it looked as if his silks might tear at any moment. Patting a belly that seemed ready to burst, he gestured toward the heavens, shifting all blame for his extortion onto the gods themselves.
“Th-then, if you just release the goods first, I’ll sell them and pay you back! Even if not all of them… just give me half!”
“On what grounds should I trust a wretch like you? Bring the coin first. Now, out of my way!”
“Sir! I spent my entire fortune on that cargo! What am I supposed to do? Sir!”
“The storage fee is ten nyang a day, with twenty percent interest,” the merchant barked, stepping over him.
A group that extorted extra shipping fees because of a typhoon. A group that tacked twenty percent interest onto storage. In Ye-hwi’s estimation, to possess that kind of audacity, they had to be backed by at least a member of the royal family. Ye-hwi spared a glance at the man weeping face-down in the dirt, then turned away.
“Find out what that merchant’s cargo is as well.”
Price gouging was common practice for any guild, especially those with a monopoly. But there was usually a limit—a point where it was better to take some profit than to receive nothing at all.
However, the man with the greedy, unsightly face seemed to have no intention of ever releasing those goods. Hwi was curious. Why were they going to such absurd lengths to seize that specific merchant’s cargo?
“And the other matter I asked you to investigate?”
“The search is ongoing, Your Highness.”
“Report to me the moment you confirm anything.”
“At once.”
It was time to return to the annex. Ye-hwi walked slowly through the marketplace alleys, eventually coming to a halt in front of a meat skewer stall. They were ordinary skewers; the flavor wasn’t exceptional, and the quality of the meat was certainly bottom-tier.
“One,” Hwi said.
“Huh? Aren’t you that slave? You dare ask for food without a copper to your name? Piss off!”
When Geon-seo, standing at Ye-hwi’s side, tossed a silver coin onto the counter with a heavy thud, the vendor’s mouth snapped shut. He looked back and forth between the silver and Hwi, stammering.
“This… this is far too much for the price of a single skewer…”
“Consider it a tab,” Geon-seo explained on Ye-hwi’s behalf. “Deduct the cost every time he comes for one.”
“What? Ah, yes! Of course! Understood!”
The vendor nodded frantically, nearly tripping over himself to hand a skewer to Hwi. The silver coin Geon-seo had produced was worth thirty nyang—enough to buy a skewer every day for the next four years. Regardless of the math, it was a windfall for the vendor.
Ye-hwi walked along, twirling the skewer in his hand. He took a large bite and chewed, savoring the flavor for a moment.
“As expected,” he murmured. “It’s terrible.”
It wasn’t just bad; the meat was so tough it was a chore to chew, and the seasoning was scorched, leaving a harsh, charred aftertaste. He considered spitting it out, but Ye-hwi forced himself to swallow the meat instead.
Ye-hwi made his way back to the annex at a leisurely pace. However, before he could even cross the threshold, the sound of shouting from within brought him to a dead stop.
“Then explain it! Where did you get charcoal of this grade? I know for a fact you stole it! How dare you low-lifes lie to me?!”
Inside stood a man draped in silk robes, flanked by a servant who was currently screaming in the faces of Yong-rae and Nanny.
“We truly did not steal it.”
“Are you implying that our Young Master is a liar, then?!”
“That… that isn’t what I meant.”
Hwi watched as Nanny, who could barely sit due to her spinal injury, lay prostrate on the ground pleading her case. She had only just begun to recover; seeing her like this meant she had been dragged out of her room by force. At this rate, she might never walk again.
“Why are you doing this?” Yong-rae cried out. “There is no proof we stole anything!”
“Proof? If the Young Master says it is so, that is proof enough! Besides, who in this house doesn’t know that charcoal is never provided to the annex until the first snow falls?!”
It wasn’t even their own money being spent, so Hwi found it a mystery why they were making such a pathetic fuss. It seemed this was simply the wretched status of those living in the annex. However, as this was another family’s domestic affair and he had no desire to entangle himself in such petty squabbles, Ye-hwi simply leaned against the gate and watched.
The servant’s tone grew increasingly aggressive. Just as the barrage of curses was beginning to bore Hwi, the man standing quietly behind the servant—the so-called ‘Young Master’—spoke for the first time.
“Since you fail to understand simple words, you must find me quite ridiculous.”
Sensing a hidden, dangerous meaning in those words, the servant hesitated. Then, taking a deep breath, he grabbed a thick stick leaning against the wall and strode toward Yong-rae.
“Yong-rae. Just admit you were wrong.”
“But I didn’t do nothin’ wrong!”
“Yong-rae, hurry! Beg for forgiveness!” Nanny wailed.
“Why should I? I haven’t done a single thing wrong!”
“……You brought this on yourself. Do not blame me.”
At Yong-rae’s defiance, the servant squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then snapped them open and swung the stick with all his might.
Thwack! Thwack!
Dull, heavy sounds echoed through the courtyard. Yong-rae curled into a ball to endure the blows, while Nanny, weeping beside him, clung to the servant’s leg in a desperate plea.
“Stop! Please, stop! Oh, Yong-rae… Yong-rae!”
Her cries were futile. The beating continued unabated, Nanny’s screams echoing uselessly into the air.
Just as the thought crossed Ye-hwi’s mind that the boy might actually die, the man in silk walked over to Nanny. He crouched down to meet her eyes and whispered: “If you want to save Yong-rae, you must tell me what I want to hear.”
“Young Master…”
“You thieving wretches are certainly persistent.”
Foreigners often said the Mir were a rough, ruthless people who used their superior power to treat others as they pleased. Perhaps there was some truth to that; possessing power and using it to command authority was, after all, a natural instinct. But seeing this now, the people of Ansi—the Maru—were not much different.
Ye-hwi knew how these things ended. Situations like this only reached a conclusion when one of the servants was either dead or left a permanent cripple.
A tedious affair.
Hwi stifled a small yawn as he watched the man grab Nanny by her hair and begin slapping her across the face. Then, hearing a familiar voice from behind, he turned his head.
“What do you think you are doing!”
Yoo-ha’s shout rang out as he came racing from the distance. He rushed past Hwi, shoved the man in silk robes aside, and immediately checked on Nanny, whose left cheek was already swollen and bruised. Spotting Yong-rae lying unconscious beside her, he hurried to the boy’s side.
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