Cheongun’s life in the martial world was truly miserable.
Because he was literally a beggar.
Living as a beggar in this beggar-like martial world, his life could only be just as miserable.
Cheongun racked his brains.
What was the most efficient way to get out of this wretched situation?
The answer was simple—money.
Can’t buy happiness with money?
So what?
Money might not be everything, but nothing else comes close.
If you can’t buy it with money, can you buy happiness with poverty?
What a laughable premise.
So Cheongun desperately saved up money.
When he was hungry, he set traps to catch rats or fished in the river.
No matter how much he grilled or boiled the rat meat, the gamey stench stung his nose the whole time he chewed.
And that wasn’t even the worst of it.
The yeoseo (sharp fish) caught in the Yangtze River were full of bones and had tough flesh, making them unpleasant to eat.
The hwang-bal-eo (old aged fish), despite being fish, reeked of ammonia like fermented skate.
The ancient saying that “even dirt tastes good when you’re starving” was a load of crap.
When even that failed, he resorted to begging on the streets.
But thanks to the territorial beggars of the Beggars’ Union, successful days were few and far between.
He lived like that for about ten years.
At first, he considered just ending it all, and often lamented his miserable situation.
But the human survival instinct, so thoroughly evolved, forced even someone as lazy as Cheongun to cling to life with a vengeance.
Maybe it was because he’d lived as a wretch for so long?
Cheongun had already been stripped of the dignity and morals a modern person should have.
All that remained was pure opportunism and material desire in the name of survival.
So he made up his mind.
Ah, this beggar-like martial world.
One day, the time will come—and when it does, I’ll make sure it pays for what it did to me.
After hearing all this, Jin Cheonwoo looked at Cheongun with a displeased expression.
“So what you’re saying is, I should pay for that ‘sin’ by giving you the clothes I’m wearing?”
“Yup.”
Jin Cheonwoo was a man.
A master from the demonic faction, bearing the title “Black Kill Sword.”
Naturally, he was outraged by Cheongun’s demand.
“What the hell? What kind of beggar-ass logic is that? Why the hell should I pay for it?!”
“What? Beggar-ass? Did you just call me a beggar? You think beggars are pushovers? Wanna see what a real beggar’s like?”
As Cheongun began drawing in his internal energy, Jin Cheonwoo instantly backed down and took off his clothes.
“…Please, wear them.”
“They’re kinda big.”
“That’s because I’m big.”
“With puny internal energy, though.”
“……”
Cheongun accepted the robe Jin Cheonwoo handed over.
It was a martial robe with red embroidery.
He took off his rags and draped the robe over himself.
The robe swept the floor due to their size difference, but he managed to tighten it around his waist with a belt.
Finally, the rags were gone!
If you want to live like a proper person, you have to start with appearances.
Cheongun was quite pleased to have scored some free clothes.
On the other hand, Jin Cheonwoo— who had his clothes snatched away— looked like he’d just lost everything.
It was an expensive custom-made martial robe, and now, thanks to some thug-like bastard, he’d been stripped of both his money and his clothes.
All he had left were the signature rags of a beggar that Cheongun had been wearing.
“You damn bastard… Just wait.”
Jin Cheonwoo bit back the curse that had risen to the tip of his tongue.
Since he couldn’t stay naked forever, he reluctantly threw on the tattered clothes Cheongun had been wearing.
Maybe it was because he was dressed like a beggar?
Even though he’d survived, he still felt like crap.
Just then—
“Sir Hero.”
The four men who had previously been facing off against Jin Cheonwoo cautiously approached.
Perhaps it was thanks to Cheongun’s intervention that they had managed to keep both their lives and their martial manual—their faces looked noticeably brighter.
The man at the front of the group bowed his head toward Cheongun in thanks.
“Thank you. You saved our lives.”
“That’s right. All thanks to me.”
“Haha, I am Yoo Cheongsan of the Ilwol Pavilion. May I ask your name, sir?”
“Cheongun.”
“And the lady next to you?”
“I’m Namgung Yul.”
“Oh! To think we would meet a young lady of the Namgung Clan here!”
They exchanged a few practiced martial greetings with ease.
Cheongun gave them a casual once-over.
Coming from the Ilwol Pavilion meant they were part of the orthodox sects.
And within that, they were from a rather reputable martial clan.
That’s probably why they were all starry-eyed when hearing the name Namgung.
After all, nowhere is the cartel system stronger than among the orthodox sects.
“They say wind gathers the clouds and fate brings people together. Meeting you, Sir Cheongun, must be a blessing from the heavens. Since this is surely a predestined encounter, we will not take it lightly.”
Yoo Cheongsan, was it?
He was expressing his gratitude— “thanks for saving our lives”— in the most roundabout and flowery way possible, all with a charming smile.
“We are in a hurry, so we will take our leave now. They say those who walk the righteous path shall find no road too treacherous. May peace follow your steps, Sir Cheongun.”
Having skillfully run his mouth, Yoo Cheongsan stood up.
So did the other three.
They really did seem to be in a hurry, already preparing to leave the inn as quickly as possible.
Then—
“Excuse me?”
“Yes, Sir Cheongun?”
“You haven’t paid yet.”
“Paid…?”
Cheongun nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“I told you earlier, didn’t I? You survived because of me.”
“That’s true.”
“So if I hadn’t been here, what would’ve happened to you all?”
“…We would’ve had to fight those black-path ruffians.”
“Exactly! And considering you were clearly outnumbered and weaker, there’s no question—you would’ve lost, right? And in situations like that, losing usually means dying.”
“Well…”
“And you wouldn’t have just died. You would’ve lost your martial manual, been humiliated by those black-path bastards, and then died. That means not only your honor but the reputation of the entire Ilwol Pavilion would’ve gone up in flames.”
“Hmm, that is…”
…It’s not exactly wrong?
“Saved your lives, saved your honor, got your manual back. I did everything. And now, after receiving heaven’s grace, what—you’re just gonna shut your mouths and leave, like nothing happened? Really? That sounds right to you? ‘Cause it doesn’t sound right to me.”
“……”
“—Or so I could’ve said.”
Cheongun’s sharp and eloquent critique left Yoo Cheongsan visibly flustered.
“…Is there something you’d like in return?”
Cheongun smiled, clearly satisfied.
Why ask something so obvious?
Of course I want something.
You think I saved you all for no reason?
Sure, I was annoyed that my meal got interrupted.
But it wasn’t just a spur-of-the-moment outburst.
I made a move for something much bigger—
For my own comfortable future!
And that is—
“Money.”
“…Excuse me?”
“How much do you have?”
“……”
When it comes to money, the more the better.
There’s no such thing as too much.
****
Cheongseongsan.
Jeongimeng Sichuan Branch.
The branch leader, Namgung Hwi, ran out barefoot as soon as he heard the news that Namgung Yul had returned safely.
Namgung Hwi was both the head of the Namgung family and Namgung Yul’s older brother.
After discovering evidence that the Black Forest Sect had been in contact with the Demonic Sect, he had sent her in as a spy. But since no reports had come for days, he had been burning with worry.
And now—
The younger sister he thought he might never see again appeared right before his eyes.
“Yul-ah!”
“Hwi Orabeoni!” (Orabeoni = older brother)
A tall man came running out barefoot and pulled her into a tight embrace.
As she was held in her brother’s arms, the tension in her body melted away.
Memories of what she’d endured flooded in, and in the end, the tears she had held back burst forth.
‘Such a fuss.’
Cheongun let out a quiet sigh as he watched them.
The emotional reunion didn’t last long—Hwi soon noticed Cheongun standing silently behind her.
“By the way, Yul-ah. Who is that boy?”
“He saved my life.”
“Saved your life? Who? That boy?”
“Yes. If it hadn’t been for Sir Cheong, I would’ve been dead.”
Yul wasn’t the type to speak nonsense.
The fact that she was openly and firmly calling him her lifesaver meant he must have helped her in a truly life-or-death moment.
Namgung Hwi calmed his surprise and listened to her story.
At first, the story sounded plausible.
But as it went on, things started getting weirder.
“Fishing… line…?”
Namgung Hwi’s voice trailed off.
Apparently, that ragged-looking boy emitted a refined killing aura and used a fishing line imbued with sword energy to skewer five assassins like meat on a stick.
If what she said was true, then this Cheongun had gone beyond the level of simply harming people with sword qi—he was using fishing line as a medium for sword techniques, a sign of a master beyond masters.
…Does that even make sense?
If Yul’s story was to be believed, this boy’s level was at least that of a supreme expert.
But just by appearances, he looked like an ordinary boy.
“There should be five assassin corpses buried near the Chang River by Mount Ami.”
Namgung Hwi frowned and let out a sigh.
It was too far-fetched to believe outright, yet too detailed to dismiss as a lie—there was evidence.
Regardless of Cheongun’s martial level, a lifesaver was still a lifesaver.
Determining the truth of the story could wait until after they confirmed the assassin corpses.
Namgung Hwi swallowed a breath and stepped forward to address the quietly watching Cheongun.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Namgung Hwi.”
“Cheongun,” he replied.
Cheongun, unusually, gave a polite smile in return.
He had no choice.
Because soon, Cheongun would become the owner of a gold certificate.
One geumwonbo? Worth 50 geumja (gold coins).
50 gold coins? Equivalent to 10,000 eunja (silver coins).
He had come this far for this very moment.
He’d gotten into a nasty spat with that Black Forest Sect or whoever they were, got attacked in the middle of a meal at an inn, and had to face threats to his life.
All those hardships flashed through his mind like a film reel.
And finally—
He could shed the life of a beggar.
At last, he could afford a proper home.
Now, I’m a rich man.
I’m the owner of a gold certificate.
The hero of a rags-to-riches story—that’s me, Cheongun.
As Cheongun was lost in his grand daydream, Namgung Hwi opened his mouth.
Sweat beading on his forehead, Hwi barely managed to open his lips in response to Cheongun’s eager demand for the gold certificate.
His answer was—
“…Well, at the moment, I’m afraid that might be difficult.”