Chapter 22
Only Use Your Head for Headbutting
“An inn and beggars.”
Miyu’s lively red lips curved as she spoke.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Byun Ha-yeon frowned.
“You said you wanted to track something down, right?”
“Inn and beggars? And what am I supposed to do with that?”
Ha-yeon silently repeated the words, trying to puzzle them out, but couldn’t.
“If you want to find an item, you need to look at people, not the object itself,” Miyu explained gently.
“Objects don’t move once they’re hidden. And whatever it is, someone will be holding it.”
“That’s true.”
“So where do people come and go the most?”
“The roads?”
Miyu gave him a sidelong look that said really? before continuing.
“Everyone has to eat. Whoever hid the item isn’t likely to bother cooking for themselves. The best place to ask around is the taverns.”
Her quiet reasoning impressed Ha-yeon.
She scooped up Woo-yu, the little animal pawing at her shin.
“I heard there are about 270 guesthouses and taverns just in Songpa Market and the nearby ferry area. That means countless rooms and storerooms where something could be hidden. We need people who slip around like alley cats, listening for gossip and meeting all sorts of travelers.”
A chill ran over Ha-yeon’s skin; his heart thudded.
“…Beggars.”
“Inns and beggars. Got it?”
“Got it?”
“I’m asking if you understand.”
“Okay,” he echoed, still bewildered.
What kind of woman is this?
How can she think of such things so quickly?
Brushing dirt from Woo-yu’s snout, Miyu asked,
“If you’re a Japanese interpreter, you know the language, right?”
“Of course.”
“Nice.”
Her casual praise made him jump.
“Do you take me for a fool? I entered the Bureau of Translators at eight, studied Japanese until my eyes ached and tongue wore out, passed the exams, and became a certified interpreter. Watashi o mushi shinai de kudasai—don’t underestimate me.”
“How did an interpreter become so wealthy?” she asked without hesitation.
Ha-yeon stared at her, then looked skyward with an awkward cough.
“You’re strange, Lady Miyu. You figure out what others wouldn’t think of, then ask questions everyone already knows.”
“Guessing and hearing it from someone experienced aren’t the same. If I seem unusual, it’s only because I question even the obvious.”
Her answer sounded perfectly reasonable.
“A wise answer to a foolish question,” he said.
“Then give me a wise man’s explanation, Interpreter.”
He smiled.
“Our diplomacy with foreign nations is carried out by envoys. Hundreds travel for months, and the expenses are enormous. So we’re allowed to trade to cover those costs, and interpreters like me manage that trade and profit from it.”
Chinese silk, Japanese silver, and Korean ginseng all passed through their hands.
“When the Chinese envoys return home, in a month or two white silk flows through the Japanese trading post and Tsushima to Kyoto, Japan’s largest silk-weaving center. That Chinese silk is their finest material. In return, silver departs Kyoto, passes through Joseon, and reaches China, the world’s greatest consumer of silver.”
“A middleman trade,” Miyu said.
“Exactly. Old-fashioned yangban scoff that we grow rich by doing nothing but standing between nations, but they’re wrong. We are the road itself. Without us, the path between countries would close.”
For the first time Miyu saw him differently.
His usual playful smile masked a man brimming with pride and conviction.
“That’s admirable,” she said sincerely.
“What is?”
“Being proud of your work. It feels genuine.”
“Of course. Did you think I was just a braggart?”
He flicked open his fan.
Miyu held his gaze until he looked away, flustered.
Maybe he’s not the flirt he seems, she thought.
“So you want me to tell you if any suspicious guests come by?”
A young tavern mistress with hair wound high into a topknot smiled at Ha-yeon.
“That’s right.”
“But people from all over the country pass through Songpa Market. If you call ‘suspicious,’ everyone looks suspicious. Right now, even you look suspicious to me.”
“I know. But each has their quirks.”
“Like what? Melting hearts the way you do?”
“For example, wearing a brown robe over black jacket and trousers…”
“Black underneath, hmm…”
“Carrying something like a spear but really a changpo sword. Could be, might not be.”
“I see. And what do I gain from this?”
“You’ll be well rewarded.”
“It doesn’t have to be coins,” she teased, fluttering her eyes.
“Haha, we’ll settle up later.”
He smiled, then left the tavern, his face growing serious.
Have I checked every tavern in Songpa now?
He’d asked each to keep watch for such a man.
Next, the beggars.
Down by the river he spotted ragged children eating from chipped bowls.
Their hair was matted, their thin jackets filthy, bare feet dusty.
Despite their rags, each carried a cracked bowl for food.
The group was led by a sharp, confident thirteen-year-old named Yung.
Ha-yeon approached, then paused under a drooping willow, fanning himself.
Yung looked up, curious.
“Do you need something from us?” he asked around a mouthful of sweet potato.
“Eat first. Even a dog isn’t disturbed while eating,” Ha-yeon said, gazing over the broad Songpa River and the island of Jamsil.
When Yung finally brushed the dirt from his tattered clothes and stood, he grinned.
“Well, if it isn’t Master Byun Ha-yeon of the Confucian classics.”
“I’ve become your ‘master,’ have I?”
“For beggars, anyone with money is an elder brother.”
“Interesting. Have you seen me before?”
“Of course. That handsome face and flashy clothes strutting through Songpa—who wouldn’t notice?”
“Then why haven’t you come begging?”
“You’re an interpreter—real rich folks never give beggars a coin.”
Ha-yeon laughed. “You understand well.”
“So why would a real rich man want us?”
“I won’t give a penny to ordinary beggars, but to those who roam everywhere, seeing and hearing what others miss, I’ll gladly give a few.”
“You know something,” Yung said, intrigued.
“What do you mean?”
“In Songpa the ones who move around most are the beggars, and all of them belong to my crew. Among them, mine is the youngest.”
“Youngest—or just the most childlike.”
“Exactly. Because we’re young, we have to cover twice, three times the ground to survive among stronger adults.”
“And the more you wander, the more you might earn.”
“If there’s money to earn, we’ll work for it.”
“I don’t like giving something for nothing, nor people who expect it.”
“I’m not fond of Confucius either,” Yung shot back. “Adults quoting Confucius and Mencius aren’t my type.”
Their words traded rhythm like instruments.
“I don’t hand out free coins.”
“Give us a job, then.”
“Quick on the uptake. I’ll pay four coins a day—one each, and since you’re the leader you get one extra.”
The three children behind him clapped hands over their mouths, eyes wide.
“I need you to look for something,” Ha-yeon said.
“Like what?”
“A man in a brown robe with black clothes beneath, carrying a changpo sword.”
“A warrior, then.”
“And if you see any suspicious object—likely a large wooden chest—tell me. It might hold something important.”
He thought of the box of spices and buffalo horn, but didn’t mention the guns or sulfur.
Yung nearly asked what was inside, but swallowed the question.
One of the smaller boys squinted up.
“What kind of suspicious object?”
Yung silenced him with a glance and turned back.
“Understood, Brother. Don’t worry.”
Ha-yeon smiled.
“Sharper than you look. What’s your name?”
“Yung. Everyone, greet him.”
“Hello, I’m Cheonsam, thirteen like Yung.”
“I’m Gaettong, ten.”
“I’m Baekmi, eight.”
“Good to meet you all. I’m Byun Ha-yeon.”
The children gaped—an adult giving his name and greeting them was unheard of.
“I’ll be at the Nose-Chief Tavern morning and evening. Off you go.”
“Yes, goodbye!”
They scampered off, soon chattering:
“Wow, that’s the first time a grown man greeted us.”
“Yung, why didn’t you ask what the thing was?”
“Dummy, if Brother wanted to tell us, he would’ve said so.”
“Right! You’re the best, Yung.”
“Let’s find it slowly so we get a coin every day.”
“Yeah!”
Gaettong’s idea made Cheonsam nod eagerly.
“Do you think Brother’s a fool? He might overlook it a day or two, but not forever. We need to find it fast and prove ourselves. Otherwise we’ll miss out on warm white rice and meat and be stuck with cold barley and greens.”
The thought of steaming rice and savory meat made them all swallow hard.
“I’ll find it quick,” Gaettong vowed.
“Me too! I want meat!”
“Baekmi too!”
Yung shook his head.
“Listen, don’t use your heads for thinking—only for headbutts, got it?”
“Yes, Captain!”
“Yung-oppa, should Baekmi headbutt too?”
“No, Baekmi doesn’t headbutt at all.”
“Okay!”
Their chatter carried clearly to Ha-yeon.
Watching the clever young leader, he smiled warmly.
Miyu’s face suddenly came to mind.
A woman like her must be one of a kind in all of Joseon.
