Longevity - Chapter 46

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 46: When a Nation Declines
The clash of steel faded into the distance down the northern road.
Jang Saeng sat in the middle of the path, still gripping the gong. The burns on his palms had split open again, bleeding and weeping fluid that stained the gong’s handle. His chest stung with each breath after his desperate cry.
The banner guards had chased the Yomuul into the deep mountains beyond the village—ground Jang Saeng’s legs could never cross. Yet turning back to the estate felt equally wrong. If the weasels shook off their pursuers and returned, he would face them alone in an empty house.
He stood paralyzed by indecision when a deep voice rolled down from the north.

“Jo Gilwoo, Gu Noei! You two head back and guard the cargo. This could be a false trail!”

“Yes, sir!”

The two men broke from the pursuit party and rushed toward him.
One was tall and lean; the other was short and stocky. Jang Saeng recognized them both. The tall one was the banner guard who’d spoken to him first at the estate gate. The smaller man was the one who’d pressed a piece of meat into his hand.
The shorter man slowed his pace and clasped his hands together in front of Jang Saeng.

“I’m Gu Noei. We owe our lives to you tonight. If you hadn’t sounded that gong, I don’t know how far we’d have been dragged.”

Jang Saeng tried to rise quickly, but his knees buckled.

“I did it to save myself. Those creatures wouldn’t have spared me once they came back for the rest of you.”
“True enough—but you could have run. You woke us instead.”

Gu Noei took the gong and mallet from Jang Saeng’s hands. Jo Gilwoo sheathed his blade and stepped closer.

“Much obliged, young monk.”

Jang Saeng shook his head, uncomfortable.

“I’m really not a monk.”
“Ah, that’s right. We’ll call you younger brother, then.”

Jo Gilwoo laughed and patted Jang Saeng’s shoulder. The moment his palm made contact, Jang Saeng’s face went rigid.
Jo Gilwoo looked down at his hand. Even in the dim firelight, the sticky residue—lymph and oil—glistened.

“Your burns are infected. If we leave this be, it’ll turn serious.”
“It’s not pus.”

Jang Saeng lifted his arm, offering it to be smelled.

“Weasel Oil. I applied it myself.”

Jo Gilwoo’s brow furrowed.

“That foul stuff? Why would you coat yourself in it?”
“It helps reduce the heat and pain of the burns.”

Gu Noei waved his hand dismissively.

“This isn’t the place for talk. Let’s check the cargo first.”

The three of them returned to the estate.
Jo Gilwoo and Gu Noei went straight to examine the wooden chest in the main hall, and only after confirming the seals and ropes were intact did they allow their shoulders to relax.
They added more wood to the brazier, coaxing the flames higher. Still rattled, they searched for liquor—but the water pouches they’d opened earlier lay empty on the floor.
Gu Noei retrieved a fresh jar of spirits and pressed a bowl into Jang Saeng’s hands.

“Have a drink. Calm your nerves.”
“I can’t drink alcohol.”

Jang Saeng declined with both hands. Alcohol was hot by nature, and his burns and fever needed cool respite, not more heat.

“Then eat something more, at least.”

Jo Gilwoo produced dried flatbread and strips of jerky.
Until moments ago, Jang Saeng had been nothing more than a child they’d happened to pass on the road. Now the two men asked where he’d come from and where he was headed.
Jang Saeng retrieved the answer he’d prepared.

“I’ve come from Jae-ju.

I’m traveling to Yu-ju

where I have relatives to visit.”
“Yu-ju

is still quite far.”

Jo Gilwoo tossed a branch into the fire as he spoke.

“We’re heading to Hyeong-ju.

Our paths aren’t identical, but we can travel together until the fork. By carriage, you’d cover five days’ walk in a single day.”

Jang Saeng didn’t answer at once.
A carriage would let him cover five days’ worth of solitary walking in a single day, and he’d escape the soldiers and bandits on the roads far more easily. Yet the name Taeopyeong Pyo-guk kept gnawing at him.
Gu Noei interpreted Jang Saeng’s hesitation as something else.

“You’re worried we’ll attract bandits?”
“That’s not it.”
“Don’t worry. Taeopyeong Pyo-guk is different from the smaller outfits. It’s run directly by Taeopyeong Gaekjan, so even Gangho people don’t dare mess with it.”

Jang Saeng’s fingers stiffened against his knees.
So Taeopyeong Pyo-guk truly belonged to Taeopyeong Gaekjan.
There was a good chance that Taeopyeong Gaekjan was searching for Na Yangja and Baturuu’s movements. All the more so after Song Bo’s death. Climbing aboard their carriage of his own accord could be dangerous.
Jang Saeng suddenly stood.

“I’ll be back shortly.”
“Where are you going?”
“I need to use the privy.”

He stepped outside the courtyard to buy himself time.
When he returned, the two men brought up the idea of traveling together again, but Jang Saeng said only that he’d think more about the route. Instead, he asked about the Yomuul from before.

“Have either of you encountered anything like this before?”

Jo Gilwoo shook his head.

“I’ve never seen it with my own eyes. I’ve dealt with Daoists escorting corpses back to their hometowns, and places cursed to loop in circles, but a Yomuul that completely bewitches a person? That’s a first.”

Gu Noei took a sip of wine and continued.

“Lately, though, the rumors have multiplied. People vanishing in the mountains, the dead walking the roads at night. I used to dismiss it as tavern exaggeration, but after what happened today, I can’t say I disbelieve it all anymore.”

The two men pressed more dried provisions on Jang Saeng. Noticing he had no Water Pouch, they handed him a Bamboo Water Container besides.
Jang Saeng thanked them profusely and returned to the western wing’s eaves. As he ate the newly acquired flatbread in small pieces, he weighed whether to travel with Taeopyeong Pyo-guk.
Dangerous connections and a safe road lay balanced on opposite sides of a scale. Alone, he’d need to scout for a hiding place at the slightest sound of another soul on the road. Under the banner of the Pyo-guk, at least, an outright bandit gang would hesitate before attacking. Yet that same banner could serve as a mark that delivered him directly into the hands of Taeopyeong Gaekjan’s people.
* * *
When half a watch-period had passed, the pursuit party returned.
The faces of the flag-bearers, which had burned with fury on their departure, had all turned rigid. Not one of them spoke of having caught the Yomuul.
Jo Gilwoo and Gu Noei rushed toward them at once.

“What happened?”
“Not a single one captured.”

The middle-aged man at the front answered curtly. He was Chuk Pyotdu of the Taeopyeong Pyo-guk.

“We found corpses in the Hu-san ravine. Hundreds of them.”

The gathering fell silent.
Chuk Pyotdu crouched before the campfire and traced two lines into the earth with the tip of his blade.

“There were two types of wounds. One showed small bite marks at the base of the skull, with punctures that had burrowed inward. The skulls were hollowed out inside. It was like watching a weasel take a chicken.”

He severed the second line with his finger.

“The other bodies had pairs of holes on either side of the neck. The interior wasn’t fully drained, but the entire corpse was withered as if all blood and flesh had been drawn out at once.”

Color drained from Gu Noei’s face.

“Is that also the work of those weasels?”
“No.”

Chuk Pyotdu shook his head.

“Something else is hidden in Hu-san. Something other than those three.”

Low oaths rippled through the guards. Now it was clear why the villagers had vanished without even closing their doors. At the mention of hundreds of corpses—children and elders mixed among them—even those who had cursed their failure to capture the creature moments before fell silent. Anger alone would not be enough to return to that mountain. They faced something beyond rage.
Chuk Pyotdu rose to his feet.

“We don’t stay. Hitch the wagons to the horses and depart at once.”

The men scattered without questions. Some cinched saddles, others extinguished fires and retightened the ropes on the wooden chests.
Jang Saeng gathered his staff and pack. All three weasels remained alive, and Hu-san harbored a creature of unknown nature. Any thought of remaining behind in the village had long since vanished.
Chuk Pyotdu approached him.
The middle-aged man clasped his hands together and bowed without speaking.

“Young benefactor, you saved the lives of all sixteen of us today.”

Jang Saeng started and waved his hands in protest.

“Please, don’t say such things. I acted out of my own danger. And Gu shared his meat with me first.”
“Who in this world weighs a single piece of meat against sixteen lives?”

Chuk Pyotdu caught the scent clinging to Jang Saeng’s body and asked,

“But why weren’t you affected by the bewitchment?”
“I’m not entirely certain. During the day, I applied Weasel Oil to treat a burn. The creatures must have mistaken me for one of their own because of the same scent, or perhaps the oil blocked their sorcery.”

Chuk Pyotdu didn’t believe him immediately. He scanned the area beside Jang Saeng until he found the Jil Hangari, opened its lid, and smelled the contents himself.
When the acrid stench spread through the air, he finally nodded.

“That much explains it. But next time, don’t test such things alone. Who knows if a creature like today’s will appear again?”

The wagons were ready.
The guards placed Jang Saeng in the first carriage. No one shied away from the smell on his body. When they saw his clothes singed by flame, they even found him a spare set. He was one of them now.
Jang Saeng changed into the fresh clothes in the corner of the carriage. Each time the fabric touched his burns, his face hardened, but having intact clothing to shield him from the wind brought a comfort he hadn’t known he was missing.
When the guards asked about his burns, he held nothing back. He spoke in turn of what had happened at the Seonghwang Myo—of the Jeon family, the Gaebang disciples, the fire, and the female Daoist.
Chuk Pyotdu drew a long breath as he listened to the account.

“Laying hands even on refugees stripped of their livelihood. The Gaebang may have earned a name throughout the realm, but their deeds invite the wrath of heaven and earth alike.”
“They kidnap children and sell them off with broken limbs. It’s something they do often enough.”
“But poverty doesn’t grant anyone the right to harm others.”

There was no lightness in the porters’ words. No one pried into the death of Jeon’s family like it was idle gossip.
Jang Saeng found himself reconsidering. Not everyone who belonged to the Taeopyeong Gaekjan was the same. Even under the same banner, those who offered a scrap of meat diverged from those who preyed on the weak. Song Bo had never intended to kill Na Yangja from the start. He had simply seen an opportunity and succumbed to greed. Character mattered more than the sign above the door.
Chuk Pyotdu asked Jang Saeng to confirm his destination once more.

Yu-ju,

wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“At the fork in the road toward Hyeong-ju, I’ll place two men with you. Jo Gilwoo and Gu Noei will take a wagon bearing a Pyo-gi banner and escort you all the way to Yu-ju.”

Jang Saeng started at this and rose up suddenly.

“That won’t be necessary. Just taking me as far as the fork in the road is more than enough.”
“I cannot repay a debt of life with so little.”

Chuk Pyotdu didn’t wait for a reply and called out to two men.

“Jo Gilwoo, Gu Noei. When you reach the fork, the two of you will take one wagon and a Pyo-gi banner and escort our young benefactor to Yu-ju.”

“Yes, Pyotdu!”

Both men answered at once.
Jang Saeng could offer no further objection and bowed his head.

“Thank you.”

The carriage rolled out of the village.
Out of concern that Yomuul might give chase, the Taeopyeong Pyo-guk quickened their pace. At first, people crowded around the wagon and spoke to Jang Saeng, but as he kept closing his eyes and lowering his head, someone brought a blanket and draped it over his shoulders.
Jang Saeng leaned against a wooden chest and closed his eyes. With fresh clothes and a blanket layered on top, the night wind no longer scraped directly at his wounds. Less than half a day ago he had lost consciousness alone beneath the city wall, and now he sat amid the sound of many hoofbeats and voices.
Each time the wheels caught on stone, his body jolted, yet it was far easier than walking. The porters around him kept watch in all directions while speaking in low voices about what had just happened.
The conversation began with the weasel’s bewitchment of a man and drifted toward rumors from other counties—strong men vanished on mountain paths, empty houses that wept each night, footsteps heard rising from graves. People who once would have laughed carelessly now held their tongues.
Chuk Pyotdu released a long sigh.

“Pyotdu, what troubles you?”

Someone asked.
For a long moment, no answer came. Only the sound of hoofbeats and wagon wheels filled the night road.
At last Chuk Pyotdu spoke quietly.

“It has always been said that when a kingdom declines, Yomuul flourish.”

His voice was weary and heavy.

“It seems the fortunes of the Dae Tang are indeed drawing to a close.”

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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