In the evening Hajin was trying to sleep as he laid in bed with his eyes closed for several minutes.
Eventually, right when he was about to fall asleep he felt something suddenly brushing on his cheek; he thought it was just his imagination.
Until the next second where he felt a series of sharp stinging hits across his entire face this time.
Without further ado he opened his eyes to see just what the Hell is going on.
This was when Hajin saw Yim The Drunk constantly muttering what he could only guess were insults as he kept thwacking Hajins head with 2 stalks of wheat (that he had recently procured from a neighbours small garden while he was on one of his drunken escapades).
Hajin: Ow ouch damnit oow! Ooii!? What the hell are you doin- ow get the hell out of my house you drunk bastard!
Yim responded with a scoff that was half snort and kept thwacking Hajins face, clearly Yim The Drunk is still bitter about before.
Hajin: Daaad the drunkie snuck into our house and is- ow ow hitting me with a goddamn...
*Thwack thwack thwack*
Hajin tried blocking it and at other times attempted to take the 2 stalks of wheat away from Yim, but the drunkard was surprisingly nimble for someone whose insides were practically pickled in cheap wine.
Hajin: "I don't even know what it's called—wake the hell up, Father! OW—get this crazy fucker outta here!"
Yim: "I'm not crazy! You're the one who's crazy!"
He burped, took another sip from the bottle in his left hand, and poked Hajin's eye with the wheat for good measure.
Randy stirred, mumbled for them both to be quiet, and rolled over to keep sleeping.
Thankfully, Hajin's mother woke up and, in her gentle voice, kindly asked Yim to leave.
Hajin stared at her, desperate for the weird bastard to obey.
Surprisingly Yim nodded and left while rambling that he wasn't crazy; that he was just giving some good advice back then.
That he was sharing excellent knowledge like a charitable saint, but that's all they could hear as his speech got quieter and more slurred.
Due to the ever increasing amount of alcohol in his system, but he kept rambling, sipping.
Sometimes forgetting he is in the middle of sipping; continuing his rambling which caused him to choke & cough a bit as he walked away drunkenly into the distance.
Hajin: ...
Hajins mother: ...
Randy: Zzzz
Across the dirt path, Sura The Gossip: *Peering nosily through the area that's supposed to have windows in her humble mud hut with her cheap half broken telescope that she had salvaged from a travelling scholars discarded junk sack*
She took in the entire scene that transpired as she was writing in her journal titled 'Gossip Worthy Shizazzle' with her left hand.
The one that wasn't preoccupied with holding the barely functioning telescope.
Both hands pudgy; their stubby fingers wrapped around their own somewhat respective devices.
Licking her lips she turned the page to continue scribbling with wild zeal.
Once Sura finished her writing she placed her Quill down (a feather she'd scavenged from a mid-air bird brawl).
Then she gave one last look at her journal, admired her handiwork that she confidently labelled a masterpiece. Then she let out a big satisfied huff through the nose which caused an immense yet concerning amount of steam to come out momentarily, like some sort of fat happy minotaur that just ate the heartiest & tastiest of meals.
Shortly afterwards, Hajin went back in his bed and his mother went to her own bed; they both agreed that they should invest in locks for their home.
Minutes passed until both of them eventually fell asleep.
The next day he made sure to state his case to his father with the help of his mother to have a more secure home.
Since Randy clearly wasn't going to do jack diddily squat while he was sleepy.
Because from yesterday nights incident, it was evident; painfully clear that he prioritized his shut-eye more than the safety of his family and home.
Randy reluctantly agreed & then his eyes suddenly shone brightly.
Which was a very rare occurrence indeed, due to how his eyes are usually even darker than a prostitutes future.
"Son you just gave me a brilliant idea!" He said excitedly.
Hajin: The hell's wrong with you, what do you mean; what's the big idea?
Randy: We should go to the market together this time, it'll help you gain experience in socializing with adults and improving your speaking skills, intuition & most importantly, haggling skills.
Hajin sighed, but reluctantly agreed.
Randy gave him a small bag of silver coins, a small bag of copper coins and a firm pat on the shoulder.
Thereuponward they began making their way to the market.
Erelong Hajin & Randy arrived at the market together; it was bustling to say the least, lots of merchants and even more crap.
Ranging from useless to somewhat useful crap.
The market was a chaotic cacophony of shouts and scents—sweat, blood, spice, rice; something's nice.
Yet mingled amid that medley were odours so foul they'd make you think twice—no dice, no matter the price.
Merchants bellowed over one another, till one or twain, hoarse of throat, were driven to scrawl upon cheap-looking parchment to make themselves understood.
One might with surety aver it was most like forasmuch as they had tarried there ere the rest; whenceforth, through overlong chaffering & clamorous barter, their voices were quite spent for the day.
"One copper for two leech cores - don't be stingy, old hag!"
"Two copper for the wolf tooth!" I grounded it myself - smell it if you don't believe me!"
Hajin stared blankly at a man sniffing the merchandise.
He didn't know whether to be impressed or horrified.
Everything here was alive or had been very alive much recently.
He leaned closer to a table lined with wolf or certain strange small reptillian/monster/obscure creature fangs; even some big insect mandibles, chitin, scales and the occasional claw nailed down like trophies.
A label scratched on a piece of bark read: "Small Spirit Boar Tusk - slightly cursed. No refunds."
Hajin: Slightly cursed? The fuck's that supposed to mean?
Randy: Be quiet and wisen up you rascal you need to focus, places like these are abundant with educational experiences, soak it all in with your eyes lad.
Randys tone wasn't mocking; it was one laced with good faith, one that had Hajin's best interest in mind.
They moved deeper in.
There were fewer stalls and more caution, most of the time people had to bring their own stools/chairs to the market.
Of reason that this market was much poorer than the usual ones in more distant places for this one was held by the residents that lived there or very near the area.
Which is about as poor or somehow poorer than middle aged kpop fans/worshippers sputum.
That's the reason why most of the customers were standing.
They either forgot to bring their own chairs or were expecting there to be chairs there.
However, the more veteran customers with more experience knew of this fact and came prepared.
Few of them brought their own chairs; some were musicians that hoped to one day become bards and used their drum as chairs.
There was one peculiar person there, a crack-eyed vagrant slammed a cane (he had recently stolen from an elderly person), into the ground.
Once the cane was wedged fairly securely into the ground he hung his weight over it.
Then he began throwing all sorts of miscellaneous stuff ranging from berries he picked from tall trees, short trees, berry producing bushes in his neighbours garden he entered without their knowledge.
Flowers, coins he had stolen, 3 pieces of string, 2 and a half fish, a single lizard and 2 wheat stalks—the same ones that he had thwacked Hajins face with just yesterday.
Yelling: Don't fuck me on this! Give me a good deal; God is watching! be generous! I want as much wine as all this is worth and perhaps an extra bottles worth if you're feeling charitable.
Yim The Drunk said with bloodshot eyes that were more concerned from escaping a few more seconds of partial sobriety rather than getting some rest.
This particular merchant had dealt with Yim before & Yim The Drunk liked his deals more than the others so he clung to this merchant ever since that day; only ever trading with him.
Hajin: What the actual fuck is Yim The Drunk doing here...
Randy: Quiet boy, don't mind him for he is a very troubled man. Just don't make eye contact; stay focused on the market.
With a sigh, Hajin listened to his father.
The Merchant gave Yim an excellent deal; plentiful wine, Yim shook his hands frantically with very strangely strong grip strength for someone with malnutrition and a raging alcohol addiction.
Before the merchant could yelp in pain and or try removing the excited drunkards hand, Yim let go to quickly pick up his winnings; darting off with glee & the grace of a very startled basilisk lizard on water.
Nearby, a woman traded blood pearls—still glistening red—for a sack of grain.
A man bartered three demon rat cores for a single bowl of rice, insisting the merchant cook it to "get the most bang for his buck."
The merchant complied, just to get rid of him.
And that was when Hajin realized something that sank into him icier than last year's winter breeze—'specially se early morning ones.
Most valuable things were loot taken from a life.
The thought left a bitter taste, but he pushed it down.
Turning to his dad "Why are merchants buying these strange things like demon rat cores, blood pearls and especially the small spirit boar tusks that the person warned was 'slightly cursed'?" Hajin asked in confusion & curiosity.
Randy pondered how to simplify it, but Hajin pressed on.
"Like I understand things like idk goat hide or something to use as blankets or the horns to create something with or just regular food in general; heck even valuable rocks and metals I get it, but I just can't wrap my head around the other much more strange, fucked up & seemingly useless plethora of miscellaneous things like 'cursed spirit tusks'."
Randy nodded, stroked his stubble with his rough fingers that were painted in scars from cuts inflicted on him in combat and burn scars from burning parts around his hands and arms due to the bastard ghosts who pissed off & deprived Randy of his sense of touch and pain.
Randy stopped stroking his stubble and answered slowly "There are quite a few reasons, but mainly: martial artists—and cultivators—heavily desire such items; ones procured from rarer, fiercer creatures & other less fairer sources then all the finer, it makes many people froth and drool from the mouth; especially the financiers."
Pausing for a moment before continuing his explanation he took a sip of water out of his gourd as his son looked at him with ears sharp; ready for enlightenment on the matter.
"Well Son, cultivators use them to grow stronger, or for other things—like extending lifespan albeit those ones are easily one of the rarest types of cultivation items ranging from artifacts to all sorts of other things like clothing, armor, weapons, ingredients, materials practically anything you can think of; yet they're so scarce that they're practically nothing more than myths & legends especially to people who haven't reached the start of the cultivation stage, non-cultivators usually those born with a golden spoon or procured one through heinous ways. These are the most precious & sought after commodities in the world, especially to those at the cultivation stage."
Seeing Hajin's eyes sparkling radiant in intrigue.
Randy instantly realized that he was accidentally pushing the floodgates; abruptly cutting his explanation short, right then and there before opening the floodgates that would surely pour down catastrophically & thus drown a man; much less a 7 year old.
This was far too dangerous a thing for a man to get interested, nor involved in.
As a father he needed to protect his dear Son, a 7 year old has no business in learning nor indulging in the most dangerous thing in this cruel yet fascinating world of Murim.