Chapter v19c6

## A Hundred Years of Longing

– Meeting the Envoy (Continued)

“Hmph, how devious…”

A chorus of voices rose, each one eager to condemn the Machun Pavilion’s underhanded tactics. The barrage of criticism rained down on Lee Si-Geon like a hailstorm. But before he could even formulate a response, the elders dismissed him and returned to their own conversations. One of them spoke up again.

“Let’s assume, for the sake of argument, that they’re not fools. Though I still believe they are. Does the Military Advisor have any insight into their hidden motives?”

“I have a few ideas.”

“Oh, as expected!”

Exclamations of “Indeed! As expected of the Military Advisor!” echoed throughout the hall.

‘These old geezers!’

Lee Si-Geon seethed with anger. But even he, known for his arrogance, couldn’t lash out in this situation. He could only swallow his rage.

“What are they? We need to know about their schemes.”

Hidden motives had become schemes. The people were convinced that the Machun Pavilion had been plotting for a hundred years.

“Please listen without prejudice. Calmly, rationally…”

“We’re all calm!”

The elders replied, their voices laced with barely suppressed fury.

“Well… I suspect they’re trying to downplay the severity of the incident.”

“You mean…”

“Yes, they don’t want the incident at Mount Hwasan to become a major issue.”

Son Mun-Gyeong spoke as if he were reluctantly revealing a secret they had been desperately trying to conceal.

‘They’re trying to hide something.’

He didn’t say it out loud, but everyone in the hall heard it.

It was a breach of diplomatic protocol to speak so frankly in front of the envoy, but Lee Si-Geon couldn’t protest.

He knew it would only backfire.

‘What are they hiding that they’re trying so hard to bury it?’

That was what they would think, and it would only damage the Machun Pavilion’s reputation further. But staying silent would be just as disadvantageous. He decided to regain control of the conversation.

“That’s a misunderstanding. The Pavilion Lord expressed his sincere regret over the tragedy at the Hwasan Meeting.”

He could speak with sincerity because regret, regardless of its nature, was still regret. But Ma Jin-Ga frowned, clearly dissatisfied with his answer.

“Regret? I hope you haven’t forgotten who caused this disaster.”

Lee Si-Geon felt the sharp barb in his words.

“Of course not. It was someone from the Machun Pavilion.”

He didn’t add, “And my incompetent senior brother.” He was too young to become fodder for their gossip.

“I’m glad you haven’t forgotten. But if you haven’t, how is the investigation progressing?”

Words of regret were meaningless. Actions spoke louder than words. That was what Ma Jin-Ga was saying.

He had anticipated this question, so he had a prepared answer.

“The investigation is ongoing.”

Ma Jin-Ga’s eyebrows shot up, and a terrifying aura emanated from his massive frame.

“Still ongoing?”

He had expected this reaction, but the intensity was overwhelming.

‘Such pressure…’

The pressure was so intense that he felt like his head was about to explode. But he decided to trust the judgment of a man who had led a massive organization for almost thirty years.

“Yes, Headmaster.”

Silence fell upon the hall. Lee Si-Geon struggled against the relentless pressure. He fought to suppress his killing intent, to keep his weapons sheathed. The silence stretched on.

“…So you haven’t caught him yet?”

Ma Jin-Ga asked, sighing and leaning back on his throne.

“Jianghu is vast. And if you include the areas beyond Jianghu, its immensity is beyond comprehension. Our resources are limited. We’re doing our best to track him down, but it won’t be easy. It requires patience and perseverance. It’s not a problem that can be solved overnight.”

Lee Si-Geon was relieved that his head was still intact.

“I’m more worried that you’re deliberately hiding him.”

Ma Jin-Ga’s words were still sharp, but the pressure had lessened, allowing Lee Si-Geon to regain some composure.

“Hahaha, why would we do that? The damage wasn’t limited to Cheonmu Academy. We also suffered significant losses.”

“Maybe you’re afraid of revealing the mastermind behind it all.”

Ma Jin-Ga’s sharp gaze dissected him, as if determined to catch any slip-up.

‘He didn’t get to be Headmaster for nothing…’

Young people often dismissed experience as a sign of old age, but the wisdom gained through years of experience couldn’t be ignored.

“It’s understandable that you suspect us, but that’s an unfounded suspicion. It’s a groundless worry.”

Lee Si-Geon said firmly, trying to sound convincing.

“A groundless worry… Well, it’s natural to assume the sky won’t fall. But as someone responsible for the safety of many, I can’t help but worry. Even if it’s not our sky.”

He didn’t say it out loud, but it was clear he was referring to the “Demonic Heaven,” the Machun Pavilion.

“I’m worried about sending our children to such a suspicious place, a place that could collapse at any moment.”

Ma Jin-Ga sighed, his voice filled with regret and concern. Lee Si-Geon felt the weight of everyone’s gaze on him, and his neck itched. He was worried that someone might try to crack open his skull to see what was inside. He was on the defensive, but he had no other options. He decided to say something, anything.

“Suspicious? What’s suspicious? It is what it is. Or is there something specific you’re worried about?”

His thoughtless attempt to deflect the attention backfired.

“We’ve agreed that this incident is different from their previous attacks, both in nature and purpose.”

“What’s different?”

“Have you ever eaten bindaetteok?”

Lee Si-Geon blinked at the unexpected question.

“You haven’t?”

“Of course I have.”

“Have you ever made it?”

“I haven’t made it myself.”

He couldn’t understand what the old man was getting at.

“That’s a shame. Then I’ll explain the process.”

Lee Si-Geon tried to decline, but Ma Jin-Ga refused. He seemed to enjoy tormenting the young envoy. He began a long, detailed, and tedious explanation of the process, starting with planting the mung bean seeds.

By the time Lee Si-Geon stifled his second yawn, Ma Jin-Ga had reached the part where he was mixing the soaked mung beans with vegetables – the very vegetables that farmers had painstakingly cultivated under the scorching sun, battling pests and diseases – and clams – the very clams that haenyeo (female divers) had harvested from the tidal flats and transported over long distances – and octopus – the very octopus that a seasoned fisherman had caught in the rough seas, battling fierce waves. Of course, it had also traveled a long distance. He was about to pour the batter onto a hot, flat pan – a cooking tool that blacksmiths had forged through the fiery union of iron and fire – after coating it with oil – oil that was the product of many people’s hard work.

“Am I boring you?”

“Ah, um… No, not at all.”

He quickly closed his mouth, stifling his third yawn. Ma Jin-Ga didn’t reprimand him for his rude behavior.

“So you have to cook it thoroughly.”

“Hmm, I see.”

Lee Si-Geon replied, his expression suggesting he was already feeling nauseous.

“But what happens if you only cook one side?”

He vowed to himself that he wouldn’t eat bindaetteok for the next three years.

“It burns.”

He answered, stating the obvious.

“Exactly! That’s the difference!”

What difference? Lee Si-Geon stared at Ma Jin-Ga, wondering if the bindaetteok he had eaten yesterday had given him indigestion. The abrupt conclusion, following such a long and tedious introduction, was baffling.

He simply said,

“Huh?”

His bewilderment was expressed in a single syllable.

“I don’t quite understand what you mean.”

He lacked the imagination to connect bindaetteok to the Heavenly Calamity Feathers.

“It seems they’ve decided it’s time to cook the other side.”

Ma Jin-Ga elaborated.

“You mean flip it? Jianghu?”

He didn’t say “hot pan,” being a sensible young man.

“Flip it over!”

Ma Jin-Ga clarified.

Lee Si-Geon wanted to clap and shout, “Yes, that’s right!” But he stopped himself. His job was to create confusion, to make the truth seem false and the false seem true. Just like the Feathers had been doing.

“That’s a huge undertaking. Do they have the capacity for that?”

He spoke in a tone that suggested he was highly skeptical, hoping to sow doubt.

“That’s the key point. What do you need to flip a hot pan?”

“A cook?”

Ma Jin-Ga nodded.

“You need a focal point to flip it properly. Otherwise, the bindaetteok will scatter everywhere.”

Bindaetteok again? Lee Si-Geon, hiding his disgust, thought hard.

“So the cook has appeared? They were just heating the pan before?”

“We don’t know if he just appeared or if he was there all along, just watching it cook.”

“Who could possibly handle such a responsibility? To cook Jianghu to their liking and flip it at the right time? Such a person can’t be created overnight. Their absolute leader is still dead.”

And the dead usually didn’t come back to life.

He had lost control of the conversation again. He hadn’t been able to interrupt Ma Jin-Ga.

“We suspect there’s a large organization behind this incident.”

“A large organization? Surely not the ones from a hundred years ago?”

That organization had been officially disbanded.

“No, but you know there are groups claiming to be their successors.”

Of course, he knew. He knew too well.

“You mean the Feathers?”

Ma Jin-Ga nodded.

“Yes, the Heavenly Calamity Feathers.”

Ma Jin-Ga’s fists clenched, trembling with anger. The Feathers, despite lacking a physical body, had inflicted significant damage on Murim.

“Indeed. We thought the remnants of the Heavenly Calamity Feathers were just causing minor disruptions, nothing to worry about. Because they lacked a leader. But I think it’s time to reconsider. No one has seen the body of the one they claim is missing.”

That fact alone had caused countless cases of nervous breakdowns in Murim for a hundred years.