Work Text:
The shared administrative office at Mount Hua was unusually quiet that afternoon.
Im Sobyeong set down his brush, the final ledger entry complete.
He glanced at his companions—Tang Gunak remained buried in correspondence, while Cheongmyeong scowled at a budget report with the intensity of a man contemplating murder.
Perfect timing.
Sobyeong stood, stretched casually, and moved toward the door.
"Leaving early, Nokrim King?" Tang Gunak asked without looking up.
"A personal matter. I'll not return today."
He sneaked out.
. . .
ARF!
. . .one woof from the Beast Palace puppy later.
Tang Gunak observed Cheongmyeong abandoning his paperwork and heading for the same door.
"You're going to follow him, aren't you?"
Cheongmyeong paused. "...Toilet."
"Have a safe trip." Tang Gunak returned his attention to his letters, utterly unsurprised.
++
Im Sobyeong was running.
Not the leisurely like someone traveling.
RUNNING with qinggong.
Through the plum blossom groves.
Over the southern ridge.
Across the river with barely a touch to the water's surface. (A bit show off)
'Did he notice? No, impossible. I was careful—'
He pushed harder, diving into a bamboo grove, using the dense growth to mask his passage.
Behind him, silent as death itself, someone followed.
Tree to tree.
Shadow to shadow.
His footwork was so refined it made no sound.
Not even the whisper of disturbed leaves.
Im Sobyeong emerged from the bamboo and launched himself toward a waterfall, using the spray as cover.
He could feel it.
That peculiar weight of attention that came from being tracked by someone with predatory instincts.
I'm still being followed.
. . .
'This is absurd. He should be finishing that budget report—'
Finally, on a riverside boulder near Huayin, Im Sobyeong stopped.
Not because he'd lost his pursuer.
Because his lungs were screaming and his side had developed a painful stitch.
He landed heavily, one hand pressed to his ribs, wheezing.
.
.
.
Three seconds later, Cheongmyeong landed beside him.
Not sweating.
Breathing normally.
Looking extremely pleased with himself.
"Dojang—" wheeze "—what are you—" wheeze "—doing?"
"Following you. Obviously." Cheongmyeong crossed his arms. "Where are you going, Bandit?"
Im Sobyeong straightened, attempting to reclaim some dignity while still catching his breath. "...Personal business. In Xiyang."
"What KIND of personal business?"
wheeze "—investment."
"LAUNDERING MONEY THAT YOU EMBEZZLED FROM MAEHWADO?"
THWACK.
Cheongmyeong punched his shoulder that he launched into the ground three zhang away from his past spot.
. . .
Sobyeong realized with perfect clarity that he had two options.
Continue this conversation while wheezing like a consumptive.
Or...
Accept the inevitable.
He chose pragmatism.
And sat on the ground, and pacing his breathing to normal.
"Would you care to accompany me, Dojang? Since you've already followed me halfway across Shaanxi?"
"ACCOMPANY? Am I sort of mercenary to hire?"
"No, Dojang... you're not a mere mercenary, you're the best swordman in Kangho, and I'd be glad if you joined me.
Cheongmyeong wiped his nose as he grinned. "Huh, yeah Bandit. Let's go."
They began walking.
"You're pretty fast," Cheongmyeong observed.
"Not fast enough, apparently."
"Yep, train more."
"..."
Sobyeong wanted to say something, but he swallowed it. Training cannot help him to successfully escape from Cheongmyeong.
++
The market district hummed with end-of-day commerce.
Merchants calling final prices.
Buyers haggling with increased desperation.
Im Sobyeong steered them toward a clothing shop, its entrance marked by bolts of fabric hanging on display—silks, linens, and cottons in every shade imaginable.
"A moment, Dojang. We need to make a purchase."
Cheongmyeong followed him inside, looking suspicious. "Why?"
"Because—" Im Sobyeong gestured delicately at Cheongmyeong's chest. "—your current attire is problematic."
Cheongmyeong looked down.
The combination of their river crossing and the afternoon sun had left his black Hwasan robes in a state that could charitably be called conspicuous.
The fabric clung to his frame in ways that emphasized every line of muscle.
"We're going somewhere that would benefit from a degree of anonymity," Im Sobyeong continued smoothly.
And more importantly, the Hwasan plum blossom insignia on Cheongmyeong's chest was impossible to miss.
"And your robes are currently advertising your sect affiliation while also providing a rather... detailed outline of your physique."
"Are you saying I look—"
"I'm saying the wet fabric is clinging inappropriately for public viewing." Im Sobyeong's tone was perfectly neutral, though his eyes had definitely noticed the detailed outline in question. "It would be inadvisable for Hwasan Geomhyeop to be recognized at our destination."
Cheongmyeong scowled but too lazy to argue.
"Fine. But I'm not spending money on—"
"I'll handle the purchase." Im Sobyeong was already moving deeper into the shop.
The shopkeeper, a rotund woman with sharp eyes and quick hands, approached. "Can I help you, gentlemen?"
"We need two robes," Im Sobyeong said. "Well-made but not ostentatious."
She nodded and gestured to her displays. "What styles interest you?"
Im Sobyeong's gaze swept the available fabrics with detailed assessment. His eyes lingered on a bolt of silk in an unusual color—something between deep rose and burgundy, the kind of shade that shifted depending on the light.
In shadow it appeared almost dark red, but when the afternoon sun caught it through the shop entrance, it took on a vibrant, luminous quality.
Like plum blossoms at peak bloom.
Like Cheongmyeong's eyes.
He moved closer, examining the fabric more carefully.
The weave was excellent—substantial enough for durability, fine enough for elegance. And embroidered throughout in darker pink thread were small plum blossoms, subtle enough not to be ostentatious but detailed enough to be notable on close inspection.
"This one," he said decisively. "Do you have this in his size?" He indicated Cheongmyeong with a subtle gesture.
The shopkeeper assessed Cheongmyeong—height, build, and shoulder width—and nodded thoughtfully.
"I have something similar. The embroidery pattern is slightly different, but the color and quality match. Let me fetch it."
She disappeared into the back room.
Cheongmyeong crossed his arms. "I could've picked my own robe."
"You could have," Im Sobyeong agreed mildly, already selecting a light green silk for himself—the color of new spring leaves and fresh bamboo.
"But you would have chosen based solely on practicality and picked the first acceptable option. This is better quality."
"It's also more expensive."
"As I said, I will pay."
"Are you bribing me to shut my mouth about your dirty business?"
"Cheongmyeong Dojang." Im Sobyeong's voice was patient. "You've stolen two of my winter robes. You've kicked me approximately twenty-seven times since returning from closed-door training. You've threatened to destroy my buildings skeleton at least three times. Allow me this small gesture without argument."
"I love freebies."
"Yes, I know."
The shopkeeper returned with the robe draped carefully over her arms.
The silk caught the light beautifully, that distinctive color shift from deep rose-red in shadow to vibrant plum-blossom pink in sunlight.
The embroidered blossoms traced elegant patterns along the sleeves and hem.
Im Sobyeong examined it with the attention he usually reserved for important contracts.
The stitching was impeccable. The fabric weight was perfect. The embroidery work showed genuine skill.
"Acceptable," he pronounced, then turned to Cheongmyeong. "Try it on."
Cheongmyeong took it with visible reluctance, his fingers registering the quality of the silk even as his expression remained skeptical. He moved behind the changing screen.
While he was occupied, Im Sobyeong changed into his own light green robes behind the adjacent screen.
The color made his complexion seem even more refined. It looked expensive, but the vibe was someone trying not to show off.
Then he approached the shopkeeper's display of accessories.
"Any hair ornaments?"
She gestured to a section displaying various ties, pins, and tassels.
Im Sobyeong' eyes found what he wanted almost immediately.
A hair tie with a tassel in light green, almost the exact shade of pale nephrite.
When Cheongmyeong emerged, the transformation was striking.
The plum-blossom-colored robe suited him in ways Im Sobyeong had anticipated but hadn't quite prepared for.
The color complemented his complexion, made it seem warmer, and made his unusual pink eyes seem even more vivid.
The embroidered blossoms created a subtle visual echo of his sect affiliation without being obvious.
In shadow, he looked dangerous—all dark red silk and sharp edges.
In sunlight, he looked...
Im Sobyeong completed that sentence privately.
Cheongmyeong looked at his reflection on the bronze mirror with an expression caught between annoyance and grudging approval. The silk moved like water, responsive to every shift of his body.
"...It fits."
"Of course it fits.
Im Sobyeong stepped forward, the light green hair tie held loosely in his fingers.
"I wouldn't have selected it otherwise."
He extended the tie toward Cheongmyeong.
"Here. Another hair tie from your ally."
Cheongmyeong's eyes flicked to the tie adorned with translucent light jade on its ends, then to Im Sobyeong's face.
He was cognizant of the color's significance.
"I don't need another hair tie." His voice carried less refusal than the words suggested. "I already have one from Tang family."
That dark green tie he had worn consistently since their friendship had solidified. A visible marker of closeness, of trust between allies who'd become friends.
"I'm aware," Im Sobyeong said calmly.
He took Cheongmyeong's hand smoothly that it bypassed resistance—and placed the light green tie directly into his palm, folding Cheongmyeong's fingers gently over it.
"Consider it an expansion of your collection."
His hand lingered for a moment, warm against Cheongmyeong's, before withdrawing.
Cheongmyeong stared at the tie in his hand.
The light green tie seemed to glow faintly in the afternoon sun filtering through the shop entrance. The same color as Im Sobyeong's eyes—pale nephrite, spring leaves, new growth.
"Tsk, so annoying."
Then, he tucked the tie inside his new robe, against his chest, where it disappeared from view but not from awareness.
Im Sobyeong's smile was subtle and genuinely pleased, like he'd won something, though what exactly remained unspoken.
"You're welcome, Dojang."
He turned to the shopkeeper and paid.
"For both robes and the hair ornament, keep the change."
"Thank you, sir! Very generous!"
She wrapped their damp robes in paper parcels—carefully, so the water wouldn't seep through.
. . .
As they stepped back into the street, Cheongmyeong's hand unconsciously moved to his chest once, pressing briefly against where the light green tie rested hidden beneath the plum-blossom silk.
Im Sobyeong noticed but said nothing.
The gesture spoke volumes that neither of them needed to acknowledge aloud.
That's when they heard the voice.
"Hwasan Geomhyeop! Nokrim King!"
They turned.
Namgung Dowi approached with several Namgung family members trailing at a respectful distance.
He was dressed in a practical but still obviously expensive traveling robe. He carried himself with that particular stiffness of nobility, trying very hard to appear casual.
His eyes flicked over their new attire with visible curiosity.
The coordinated light green and plum blossom shades, the obvious quality, and the fact that they were both dressed in freshly purchased robes from the same shop.
But Namgung Dowi was far too well-trained to comment on what might be implications.
"Namgung Sogaju." Im Sobyeong offered a courteous nod. "A pleasant surprise."
"Oi!" Cheongmyeong's greeting was considerably less formal. "What are you doing in Shaanxi?"
"Supply arrangements for our new estates." Namgung Dowi's gaze flickered between them with barely concealed interest. "I've concluded for the day, though. Where are you two headed?"
Im Sobyeong and Cheongmyeong exchanged glances.
"Xiyang," Sobyeong said carefully. "Personal matters."
Namgung Dowi's expression brightened with poorly hidden hope. "May I join you? I've been hoping to—" He hesitated, clearly struggling with how to phrase it. "—spend more time with both of you. As allies."
Translation: I want to be friends but don't know how to say it without sounding desperate.
Cheongmyeong looked at Im Sobyeong.
Im Sobyeong looked at Cheongmyeong.
Both were thinking the same thing.
'This will be... educational for him.'
"Of course, Namgung Sogaju." Im Sobyeong's smile was perfectly serene. "You're most welcome."
+++
The three of them fell into step together, heading west toward Xiyang.
Namgung Dowi produced a cloth-wrapped package from his bag. "Please, help yourselves. My family's kitchens prepared these this morning."
He unwrapped it to reveal an array of expensive snacks—candied lotus seeds, premium dried apricots, honey-glazed walnuts, and delicate tea sweets that probably cost more than most people earned in a month.
Cheongmyeong immediately took several. "Thanks."
Im Sobyeong accepted one piece of candied lotus with appropriate politeness. "Very kind, Namgung Sogaju."
They walked with loaded silence.
Until...
Namgung Dowi made conversation with the careful determination of someone who didn't have much practice at casual friendship but was trying very hard.
"Green Forest's integration with Cheonumaeng—are there still difficulties with acceptance?"
"No, everything went fine."
"The weather has been unusually mild this year, hasn't it?"
"Yes, indeed."
"You know, Namgung Sogaju," Cheongmyeong said around a mouthful of candied lotus, "you don't have to be so formal all the time."
Namgung Dowi stiffened slightly. "Force of habit." His family training emphasizes proper courtesy in all interactions.
"A commendable habit," Im Sobyeong interjected smoothly. "But Cheongmyeong Dojang is correct. We're allies. A degree of familiarity is both acceptable and, perhaps, preferable."
Namgung Dowi's expression softened with genuine pleasure. "...Thank you. Both of you."
Nobody told him where they were actually going.
He didn't ask.
He was simply happy to be included.
+++
Xiyang's market district gave way to narrower streets.
Then to alleys.
Then to the kind of neighborhood where respectable people didn't linger after dark.
"...Nokrim King?" Namgung Dowi's voice carried a thread of concern. "Where exactly are we going?"
"A recreational establishment I've been researching."
"What kind of—"
They turned a corner.
The building ahead was unremarkable from the outside. Weathered wood, minimal signage, but the sounds emerging from within were...
Shouting.
Cheering.
The clang from the rapid-fire exchange of money changing hands.
And underneath it all: SQUAWKING.
Namgung Dowi stopped dead in his tracks.
"Is that... is that cock fighting?"
"Apparently," Cheongmyeong confirmed, looking more amused than concerned.
"This is—this is illegal in most provinces—" Namgung Dowi's voice climbed half an octave.
"Technically it occupies a grey area in Shaanxi's legal code," Im Sobyeong said calmly. "The local magistrate receives certain... considerations... to maintain that ambiguity."
Namgung Dowi stared at him. "You're saying he's bribed."
"I'm saying there's a mutually beneficial arrangement regarding regulatory oversight."
"That's just a more elaborate way of saying bribed!"
"Perspective is everything, Namgung Sogaju."
Namgung Dowi looked at the building. Looked at them.
An internal struggle played across his face. Duty versus curiosity, propriety versus the desperate desire to actually do something with these two people he was trying so hard to befriend.
"I shouldn't be here."
"Want to leave?" Cheongmyeong asked, entirely without judgment.
"...No." Namgung Dowi straightened his shoulders. "I'll stay. For observational purposes. To understand local... customs."
Im Sobyeong's lips twitched with a hidden smile. "A scholarly approach. Very commendable."
They entered.
+++
Inside the den, the interior was controlled chaos.
Pressed earth floor. Rough wooden benches arranged in tiers around a central fighting ring.
The air thick with tobacco smoke, sweat, and the sharp, distinctive smell of birds.
Men of every social class crowded together. Wealthy merchants beside common laborers, minor officials next to farmers. All united in their focus on the ring where two roosters were currently attempting to murder each other.
Namgung Dowi stuck close to Cheongmyeong and Im Sobyeong like a duckling following its parents into dangerous territory.
A rough-looking man with ink-stained fingers—the bookmaker—spotted Im Sobyeong and grinned with genuine pleasure.
"Green horn! Back again? Which bird are you backing today?"
Of course they know him here, Cheongmyeong thought.
"The black silkie in the next match," Im Sobyeong replied smoothly.
Namgung Dowi leaned close and whispered, "They know you here?"
"I've been conducting research on potential investment opportunities."
. . .
Namgung Dowi said nothing, but his expression suggested he was rapidly recalibrating his understanding of the Nokrim King's "legitimate business operations."
They were shown to the preparation area where the fighters for the next match were being readied.
The first bird was a Shamo rooster.
Massive, easily twice the size of a normal chicken, with rust-red plumage and the dead-eyed stare of an animal that had killed before and would kill again.
His handler was checking his spurs, wicked natural weapons that had been carefully sharpened.
The second bird made Namgung Dowi do a double-take.
A black silkie hen.
Every visible part of her was black—feathers like dark silk floss, skin underneath black as night, and even her bones that visible where the handler had her wing extended were black.
She looked like a gothic puffball, absurdly fluffy and entirely non-threatening.
Except for her eyes.
Those eyes tracked movement well, and her stance—even held by her handler was perfectly balanced.
"That one," Im Sobyeong said. "500 nyang on the silkie."
Cheongmyeong studied the black bird for a long moment. Something about the way she held herself, the absolute stillness before movement, reminded him of a certain type of martial artist.
The dangerous kind.
"1000 nyang on the silkie."
Namgung Dowi stared at them both, then looked at the massive Shamo rooster.
"...The large one seems more capable. It has size, reach, and, according to the handler, six victories in the last month."
"Appearances can be deceiving, Namgung Sogaju," Im Sobyeong said mildly.
"The Shamo has clear physical advantages. The silkie is..." Namgung Dowi gestured helplessly. "...fluffy."
"The silkie has technique," Cheongmyeong said with the certainty of someone who recognized a fellow warrior regardless of species.
Namgung Dowi remained unconvinced. "I'll place 1000 nyang on the Shamo."
Im Sobyeong placed a gentle hand on his arm. "Perhaps start with a smaller sum? For your first match?"
Namgung Dowi's pride bristled slightly. "I can certainly afford—"
"Of course you can afford it, Sogaju. I'm suggesting caution for educational purposes. Learning through smaller losses is less painful than expensive ones."
Namgung Dowi hesitated, then nodded slowly. "...100 nyang on the Shamo."
"A wise compromise." Im Sobyeong's approval was genuine.
'At least I tried to minimize his losses.'
The Match
They positioned themselves at the ring's edge.
The noise level was extraordinary—shouts, jeers, encouragement, and the constant exchange of last-minute bets.
The black silkie was released into the ring first. She settled immediately into that perfect ready stance, weight distributed ideally, head cocked to track her opponent.
The Shamo entered like a storm—all aggression and overwhelming force.
The bell rang.
The Shamo charged immediately, exactly as his breeding and training demanded.
Pure overwhelming violence.
The silkie sidestepped.
"She's not engaging?" Namgung Dowi's voice carried confusion.
"She's assessing," Im Sobyeong murmured. "Watch."
The silkie circled.
The Shamo charged again, frustrated by the lack of immediate combat.
Another dodge.
Another circle.
"She's waiting," Cheongmyeong said, leaning forward with intense focus.
Then—She striked.
The silkie darted in faster than should have been possible, targeted the Shamo's leg joint, and withdrew before he could counter.
"Precision over power," Im Sobyeong observed quietly.
"She's fast." Cheongmyeong's grin was fierce.
The Shamo was limping now, which only made him more aggressive. Desperation masquerading as increased violence.
The silkie waited.
Another charge.
Another opening.
She went for the eyes.
Three minutes after the match began, the Shamo submitted.
One eye bleeding, both legs compromised, he backed into the corner and refused to continue.
The black silkie stood in the center of the ring, looking like a demonic puffball of death.
The crowd EXPLODED.
Cheongmyeong and Im Sobyeong collected their winnings.
Namgung Dowi stared at the 100 nyang he'd just lost with the expression of someone receiving unexpected education.
"...The fluffy one won."
"Told you," Cheongmyeong said, pocketing his earnings with satisfaction. "Technique beats size."
Im Sobyeong's tone was gentle. "In combat—whether human or poultry—strategy, technique, and precision often overcome brute force."
. . .
Namgung Dowi was quiet for a moment, then smiled ruefully. "I should have listened to your advice."
Cheongmyeong clapped him on the shoulder with surprising camaraderie. "First-time losses are the best teachers. Now you know."
"I suppose 100 nyang is reasonable tuition for this education." Namgung Dowi's ability to reframe his loss positively spoke to genuine flexibility beneath that noble upbringing.
"An excellent perspective," Im Sobyeong approved.
Cheongmyeong was still staring at the ring where the black silkie was being retrieved by her handler. "That chicken has real technique. How much to buy her?"
Im Sobyeong raised an eyebrow. "You want to purchase a fighting hen?"
"She made me 1500 nyang and she fights smart. That's worth investing in." Cheongmyeong's logic was, as always, entirely mercenary and somehow still compelling.
Im Sobyeong considered. The bird was exceptional. And Cheongmyeong's interest meant... well. It meant something.
"I'll purchase her. Consider it an investment in our—" He paused. "—shared interests."
"Great. I'm naming her Hēi Jīng."
"Dojang? You're naming the chicken?" Dowi asked.
"She's a warrior. Warriors get names."
Im Sobyeong couldn't argue with that logic, strange as it was.
They left the establishment as evening settled over Xiyang.
Im Sobyeong had arranged for Hēi Jīng to be delivered to Green Forest Pavilion within the week, along with appropriate housing.
"So you come here regularly?" Namgung Dowi asked, still processing. "To research?"
"I'm evaluating whether Green Forest should invest in similar operations. Today's visit confirms the profit margins, but..." Im Sobyeong paused thoughtfully. "...the operational details are less clean than I prefer. The regulatory ambiguity, the violence, the clientele."
"So it's a hobby," Cheongmyeong said.
"...Perhaps. Occasionally. When time permits."
"And you—" Namgung Dowi turned to Cheongmyeong. "—you've done this before?"
"First time. Made 1500 nyang. Pretty good afternoon."
Namgung Dowi took a breath. "Please don't tell my family I was at an illegal cock fighting establishment."
"Please don't tell anyone from Hwasan," Cheongmyeong countered.
"Please don't tell Tang Gaju," Im Sobyeong added.
They looked at each other.
Mutual understanding took shape.
"HAHAHAHA" Namgung Dowi laughed. "...This is the strangest afternoon I've had in years."
"Good strange or bad strange?" Cheongmyeong asked.
"Good strange. Thank you for letting me join you, Both of you."
Im Sobyeong inclined his head. "You're welcome anytime, Namgung Sogaju. Though perhaps next time, bet on the bird we recommend."
"Noted." Namgung Dowi's smile was rueful but warm.
+
Hēi Jīng (黑荆 Black Thorn) arrived at Green Forest Pavilion in a specially constructed coop.
She settled in with the same calmness she'd shown in the fighting ring, immediately establishing herself as unquestionably in charge of her new territory.
'I'll need to acquire a male silkie as well,' he noted mentally. 'For breeding purposes. Champion birds and fresh eggs for breakfast.'
Im Sobyeong added to his list of priorities
++
Cheongmyeong visited that same afternoon.
"You actually brought her here."
"You expressed interest. It seemed prudent." Im Sobyeong gestured to the coop. "She's yours as much as mine."
Cheongmyeong ignored that and approached the enclosure.
Black Thorn regarded him with those predatory eyes, then made a soft churr sound that might have been a greeting or threat assessment.
"Hey, Hēi Jīng." Cheongmyeong pulled some grain from his pocket. He'd come prepared and offered it through the gaps in the coop.
The hen ate delicately from his hand.
"She likes you," Im Sobyeong observed.
"She's a professional and she needs a sparring partner. Get a tough-looking rooster. One that won't die too easy."
"On progress."
From that day forward, Cheongmyeong stopped by regularly to feed Black Thorn.
Sometimes multiple times a day.
He'd sit by her coop, offering grain and dried crickets, talking to her about training, alliance politics, birds, or nothing in particular.
Im Sobyeong would watch from his office window, that smile playing at his lips.
One Month Later
A message arrived for Namgung Dowi:
Quarterly Monthly inspection scheduled.
New establishment.
You're welcome to join us.
Nokrim King
---
Namgung Dowi showed up.
This time he bet 300 nyang on Im Sobyeong's recommendation. A scarred fighting hen with one eye and a documented history of dirty tactics.
She won in under two minutes.
Namgung Dowi collected his winnings with barely concealed delight.
This became their thing.
The three of them.
Shared secrets and questionable investments and the slow, careful building of something that looked surprisingly like friendship.