Chapter 9
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Part 9: Empty Hunger
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In all his forty-five years of life, he had never seen a single person eat so much food.
He was certain that not even his father, who had passed the inn down to him, nor his grandfather, who had first opened it, had ever witnessed such a spectacle.
As if a literal Hungry Ghost had taken residence in his stomach, the slender young man had devoured a quantity of food that surpassed what a group of traveling merchants would consume, and he was still eating.
The first words the innkeeper managed to utter to his trembling waiter were:
"What about the money? You did get the payment upfront, right?"
He slapped the back of the heads of the two waiters who were staring at him with bewildered expressions.
Then, he hissed in a low voice, fearful that someone might overhear.
"You godforsaken bastards...! You really picked today to run this inn into the ground, didn't you?!"
The junior waiter, clutching the back of his head, whimpered as he replied in an equally hushed tone.
"It’s not that, Master...! That, that man was strange from the moment he first walked in...!"
"You crazy fools...! If he was strange, shouldn't you have demanded payment upfront even more?!"
As the innkeeper raised his hand again, the senior waiter hurriedly intervened.
"Master, that’s not what he means. It’s not just that he’s strange; there is something truly bizarre about him...!"
"Bizarre...?"
The innkeeper’s thick jowls twitched.
"Is he a Martial Artist?"
If he were a Martial Artist, one had to be cautious—always, and then cautious again.
Martial Artists and inns.
For some reason, whenever these two elements combined, it had the effect of pouring oil onto a burning fire.
Even the Luoyang Inn Association called this the "Inn Effect" and warned all its members to be extremely careful.
Was that not the very reason his own father had lost an arm?
"No, it’s not that...!"
The innkeeper frowned.
"Then, is he the son of some high-ranking official?"
It was easy to distinguish the children of high-ranking officials by their attire and behavior, but when trouble broke out with them, it invited an even greater catastrophe.
Had his own grandfather not been beaten with a cane by the authorities and died of infection after getting into a dispute with the son of a high-ranking official?
"No, it didn't seem like that either."
The junior waiter, who knew the faces of all the notorious high-ranking official's children in Luoyang by heart, shook his head.
"Then what is he...?!"
The waiter whispered as if having a seizure.
"I’m telling you, he’s a Hungry Ghost...! Didn't I tell you?! The Hungry Ghost that lives in hell...!"
"You bastards are just cowardly and talking nonsense."
The two waiters waved their hands frantically.
"Oh, Master, you only say that because you don't know...!"
At that point, the innkeeper could no longer just dismiss them.
Smacking his lips, he strode up the remaining stairs.
"I’ll have to go see for myself."
"Oh, Master, please be careful...!"
"Master...!"
Though they were worried, no one stopped him.
'Now that I think about it, it is strange.'
Even though they had tried to keep their voices down, there was no way the man sitting with his back turned—showing only a frail frame—could have failed to hear their conversation.
The man, dressed in the shabby robes of a scholar, seemed unaware that he was even approaching, buried as he was in devouring his food.
Had the creaking sound of the floorboards ever felt this grating with every step he took?
For some reason, the innkeeper wiped the cold sweat from his brow with his sleeve and tugged at the collar of his tunic, which felt as if it were tightening around his throat.
"Ahem, ahem!"
He stopped five or six paces away and cleared his throat, but the stranger showed not the slightest reaction.
"Master...! You need to get a little closer...!"
"Be careful...!"
'Damn bastards, it’s easy for them to talk when it’s not their business.'
For some reason, he didn't want to take another step, but he summoned the experience and grit he had accumulated over thirty-five years.
Each step felt like an eternity, but eventually, he stood right behind the scholar.
Even then, the scholar had not spared him a single glance.
He swallowed hard.
"E-excuse me..."
His eyes widened as he glanced at the scholar.
The scholar wasn't even using chopsticks; he was grabbing the food with both hands and shoving it into his mouth.
The innkeeper, unable to speak for a moment, wiped his sweat-slicked palms on his trousers.
His entire body was drenched in cold sweat.
But what did it mean to run a business in the heart of this massive Luoyang?
He was a man who had built up this inn even after seeing the fates of his grandfather and father.
"Excuse me, Young Master..."
Why did his voice sound like a mosquito's hum?
He tried to clear his throat again.
But just then...
"...This isn't it. This is not enough. This is not it. This isn't it. This is not enough..."
A chill ran through the innkeeper’s entire body.
The inn was clearly filled with the sound of the man greedily devouring his food, and he was watching him shove food into his mouth without a moment's rest, wasn't he?
Then, who was making that constant whispering sound?
"...This is not enough. This is not it..."
And if one listened closely to that whisper, it was fundamentally different from a human voice...
At that moment, the scholar’s hands stopped dead.
"...!!"
Then, the scholar’s head began to turn slowly toward the innkeeper.
The innkeeper’s pupils had long since dilated, and his legs trembled as if they were about to collapse.
He wanted to scream, but his body was already beyond his control.
As he stood there, unable to move or flee, the scholar looked at him.
And his mouth opened.
"I have eaten enough. How much is the total?"
"W-w-what...?"
The pale-faced scholar wiped the sauce from around his mouth with his sleeve and asked again.
"Are you not the innkeeper?"
The innkeeper replied reflexively.
"Y-yes, I am."
The scholar nodded and rose from his seat.
His clothes were filthy with spilled food and sauce, but he didn't seem to care in the slightest.
He calmly took out a money pouch and asked again.
"I asked, how much is it?"
Shortly after the scholar left, the waiters carried the fainted innkeeper on their backs and ran through the night streets of Luoyang to find a physician.
It is said that no waiter dared to stop the innkeeper the next day when he spent his entire fortune to hold a massive exorcism ritual.
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"Strange, truly strange."
Yeon So-hyeon, the scholar who had left the inn, repeated the word.
He had tried to eat to his limit as a test, but no matter how much he consumed, no sense of satiety ever came.
Furthermore, if he had eaten that much, he should have at least vomited.
Yet, everything he pushed into his mouth simply vanished.
It felt as if the food that passed his throat had disappeared into some void.
Deep down, he felt a certain conviction.
No matter how much of 'this' he ate, his hunger would never vanish.
He shook his head.
Then, what was he supposed to eat?
Just then, his nose caught a scent from somewhere.
'The smell...'
It was a scent he had never smelled before, an incredibly fragrant aroma.
It was an incredibly 'delicious' scent.
It was a scent that stimulated his hunger.
'What is this smell...?'
Regardless of his questions, he was led by instinct.
His footsteps turned toward the dark back alleys of Luoyang.
And his figure soon vanished, buried in the darkness.
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Luoyang, a great city with a history dating back to ancient times.
Though it had been caught in the flames of war several times throughout various dynasties, it still stood firmly as a massive city representing the Central Plains.
As a metropolis boasting a population in the millions, it also housed an enormous entertainment district.
Despite the late hour, the brilliant oil lamps that painted the streets in colorful hues made one forget the night in Luoyang.
However, where there is bright light, deep darkness follows.
Behind that beautiful entertainment district lay an equally ugly and twisted order.
If one were to name one of those many orders, it would be the leader of the underworld known as the Golden Leech, or Geum-jil.
And now, in this dirty, damp back alley, the order created by Geum-jil was functioning steadily.
"Strip him down and shake him clean."
"Understood, Boss!"
Whether it was misfortune or reaping what he had sown, the middle-aged man who had squandered his family fortune on gambling tried to put up a weak resistance.
"This bastard...!"
"Beat him to a pulp!"
Naturally, what followed was a brutal pummeling from the thugs.
A moment later, the middle-aged man looked little different from a pile of minced meat, save for the fact that he was still breathing.
"Found it, Boss!"
Finally, the thug who had found a piece of wood inside the middle-aged man’s undergarments held it up.
It was a *hopae*, an identification tag.
To have his identification tag—which contained his address and family details—seized meant that they were taking everything he had.
His small shop, his wife, his children.
"Ah... please..."
Despair deepened on the face of the middle-aged man, who resembled a pile of minced meat.
In contrast, cruel smiles deepened on the faces of the thugs.
Those in desperate straits, unaware that it was a rigged game, fell for it day after day, and they increased their wealth by disposing of such fools.
That was one facet of the order behind the scenes, known as Geum-jil.
"Did you think you could walk the streets of Luoyang unscathed after daring to stiff our boss?"
Of course, these thugs, including the man they called 'Boss,' were not even direct subordinates of Geum-jil; they had never even seen his face.
Their affiliation was merely one of the groups to which Geum-jil outsourced work.
But as long as they carried the name of that order on their backs, they were kings, at least in this back alley.
"Oh, please, masters..."
It was then.
"A whistle?"
It was a whistle with a strange melody.
If it sounded sorrowful, it was also desperate; if it sounded cheerful, it was also hopeless.
If one had to describe it, one might say it was imbued with madness.
"Which bastard is that?!"
The thug who had been gloating while holding the middle-aged man’s identification tag shouted in a booming voice.
Under normal circumstances, his companions would have enjoyed how his booming voice intimidated others.
For some reason, that shout sounded weak compared to the thin whistle.
The large man threw the identification tag aside and drew his weapon.
"Which bastard is it?! Come out right now!"
At that, the others also brandished their weapons convulsively and shouted in every direction.
"Do you want to die?!"
"Where do you think you're playing games?!"
"You fucking piece of shit!"
Just then, the man called "Big Brother" barked a low command.
"……Everyone shut up!"
At the sound of his voice, which had managed to maintain some composure, the other thugs clamped their mouths shut.
"Shut up and stay still……!"
Anxiety flickered in his eyes.
It wasn't that his subordinates were overreacting.
Even he had nearly joined in the shouting, unable to endure the sound of the whistle for a moment longer.
Whoever it was, the ability to shake a person’s mind and spirit with nothing but a whistle was, at the very least, a sign of immense danger.
He cupped his hands in a formal salute toward the surroundings as politely as he could.
"I do not know which master of the path you are, but do you have business with us?"
And as soon as his words ended, the whistling stopped, as if by magic.
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