Im so bored i wished "to transmigrate" as a joke

by Baek_hwa, JiangShan18

Summary:

> [STATUS: User Death Imminent]

[TRANSMIGRATION CONDITIONS: 99%]

[ONE WISH DETECTED]

[Target World: Return of the Blossoming Blade]

[Confirm transfer upon cardiac arrest? Y/N]

[Auto-confirm enabled.]

 

The girl sighed, content.

 

“Chung Myung… you better be as unhinged as advertised.”

Chapter 1

Notes:

Dang it.

This story has been living in my drafts since last year! The story is kinda... oc centric.

Maybe you guys would like it? Well imma post this first and see~

 

The sun was shining far too cheerfully for a day someone was scheduled to die.

She squinted at it from her hospital bed, feeling mildly offended. "Rude," she mumbled, adjusting her eyeglasses with the grace of a coffee addict on her third iced coffee.

“The weather's supposed to match the mood. Where’s my cinematic rain?”

Nurses bustled around with the usual cheer, but none dared interrupt her bubble of sarcasm and blanket fortitude.

A poster board leaned against the wall beside her, plastered with Polaroids and violently colourful markers spelling out:

 

The Wish List 

 

Thirty-seven items. Thirty-six crossed off in thick, defiant red.

Eat ten scoops of ice cream in one sitting without getting brain freeze?  Done.

Flip off her high school principal during his retirement speech? Glorious.

Stand on a rooftop and scream, “I’M THE MAIN CHARACTER”? She had neighbours filing complaints. Worth it.

 

But the last one...

 

She looked at it again. The only line untouched. It was just a joke on her part. There should be one wish left for regret. So she wrote that on the day she was diagnosed to live only for two years. 

Today is her expiry date. She jokes to herself as a comfort. 

"Reincarnate into Chung Myung’s world." She read aloud 

A fantasy novel. A martial arts nightmare. A swordsman with the personality of a demon-possessed squirrel and the wisdom of a half-sober monk. Her favourite disaster. Her sword saint. 

The nurse glanced over and smiled, politely ignoring the fact that her dear patient was whispering to herself again. 

“You’ve done so much,” she said gently, voice kind.

The girl smiled, lopsided and bright. “Yeah. But not everything.”

“Sweetheart…” The nurse paused. “You do know that one’s… impossible?”

She tilted her head, eyes gleaming. “You say impossible. I say challenge accepted.” She can't help but joke at her own demise today. That's how nervous she is, and that's how she copes with it. 

And somewhere, perhaps in the folds of reality, in the quiet space where fiction hums, a system began to boot up.

 

> [STATUS: User Death Imminent]

[TRANSMIGRATION CONDITIONS: 99%]

[ONE WISH DETECTED]

[Target World: Return of the Blossoming Blade]

Confirm transfer upon cardiac arrest? Y/N]

[Auto-confirm enabled.]

 

 

 

The girl sighed, content. And nervous as she stared at the ticking hands of the wall clock.

 

“Chung Myung… you better be as unhinged as advertised.”

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 2

 

It was night when it happened.

The world outside her window slept beneath a sky full of stars she could no longer see. Inside, her room glowed dimly under the hush of machines—gentle beeping, soft whirs. Then slowly, one by one, those sounds began to beep.

Her chest tightened like a ribbon being pulled too taut. Each breath grew smaller, shallower—more like a memory than a function. Her body was slowing, surrendering.

But no one rushed in. No alarms, no chaos, no heroic scenes.

She had asked for this. She had signed the forms. Do Not Resuscitate in bold, impassable ink.

Her departure was not to be interrupted if she ever was involved in an accident. Maybe dying inaccident is better because of the magic of surprise.  

Yet behind the sterile walls of her room, they gathered.

Doctors, nurses, night staff who had known her laughter, her stubbornness, her infuriating charm. No one spoke. They simply stood, listening.

Outside the door, a nurse buried her face in a colleague’s shoulder, muffling her sobs as she clutched a photo the girl had given her—a ridiculous one where she wore a unicorn headband and made a double chin on purpose.

The lead doctor stood at the front of the group, expression carved from grief and respect. He had known her since infancy, this flame of a girl who danced between death and life like it was a game of chinese garter . He had seen her fall, rise, and fall again. And now…

Now he held a clipboard like it might anchor him. The pen in his hand trembled.

 

Beep...

 

Beep...

 

...Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

 

Inside the room, the girl’s lips twitched—not in fear, but in the ghost of a smile.

And then...

 

> [VITAL SIGNS: OFFLINE]

[CONDITION: DECEASED]

[TRANSFERRING CONSCIOUSNESS…PROCESSING]

[TARGET WORLD: “RETURN OF THE BLOSSOMING BLADE”]

[ENTRY POINT INITIALIZED.]

 

Her body stilled.

 

Her soul… fell forward.

 

 

🌸~●●《♡》●●~🌸

 

They say the last sense to go is hearing.

 

And apparently, they were right.

 

Because though her lungs had long stopped breathing, and her heart had surrendered with grace, she could still hear.

The door creaked open. Soft sobs followed, hesitant at first, then unraveling like a thread pulled too hard. Footsteps padded gently across the linoleum floor, stopping beside her bed.

Someone leaned in.

She could hear the faint thump of a heartbeat—slow, steady, wrapped in grief. A hand rested on her arm with a kind of reverence, as if afraid to break her even in death.

Must be Nurse Yeon, she thought. That woman had fussed over her like a mother hen ever since she turned seventeen and declared herself “too cool to be spoon-fed medicine.” She had still spoon-fed her, of course.

Haaa... this was supposed to be peaceful, she mused dryly. I asked to go out with silent dignity, not with a chorus of sniffles.

And yet…

Part of her ached to comfort them. To crack one last joke. To say, “Guys, it’s not that deep—oh wait, it is, I’m six feet under.”

But the body had already quit. The mouth was on permanent rest.

Dr. Jang’s voice eventually broke through, low and solemn. “Time of death... 02:13 A.M.”

The clipboard clicked shut.

And just as her hearing began to fade, like a radio drifting out of range—

Pitter patter.

 

Rain.

 

A downpour splashed against the hospital windows, soft and mournful. It was as if the sky had finally caught up to the script she’d written.

Oh, she thought with a wry smile only her fading soul could feel. So this is my cinematic rain. Took you long enough, weather department.

Darkness fell.

And somewhere beyond that final silence—

> [TRANSFERRING COMPLETE.]

[LOADING…]

[INITIALIZING PHYSICAL FORM.]

[WARNING: HIGH-VELOCITY DESCENT DETECTED.]

[DEPLOYING—]

 

Chapter 3

 

Her soul had been floating.

Or at least, that’s what it felt like. A weightless drift through an endless void—no pain, no sensation, just the subtle vibe of a cosmic elevator music playlist playing in the distance. She wasn’t sure if this was reincarnation or queue at the afterlife .

But then—gravity.

And screaming.

Lots of screaming.

 

Because, WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL?! She opened her eyes mid-freefall, the sky rapidly flipping over her head . And down below?

 

River.

A long one. Winding like a lazy serpent across a beautiful green valley that would be serene if not for the fact that she was currently nose-diving into it.

Okay. Breathe. Think. Think like Nurse Yeon. What did she say in diving lessons?

“Feet first. Arms close. Pray to Poseidon.”

No wait—Yeon never said that last part. That was her own panicked addition.

She tucked herself into the safest dive position her scrambled memory could muster and—

 

SPLASH.

 

The cold hit her like a slap from God. She flailed, kicked, twisted under the surface before breaking through, gasping like a fish. Her hair clung to her face, her eyes stung, and her lungs felt like they'd been from hell without fresh air.

She managed to crawl onto the muddy bank, coughing up river water.

And then she just… lay there. Flat on her back. Heaving.

 

What. The. Absolute. F—

 

“This is fine,” she croaked hoarsely to the universe. “Everything’s fine. I’m only supposed to be six feet under. Not swimming laps through the afterlife.”

She flung her arm dramatically across her face.

Breathing. Why was she even breathing? Was this what they called... spiritual respiration? Qi absorption? Essence snorting??

“Ugh. It’s starting,” she muttered. “This reeks of xianxia trash plot. Where’s my dumb golden finger system?” 

*a/n: svsss reference lol

> [HELLO, HOST.]

[WELCOME TO THE JIANGHU.]

[PLEASE REFRAIN FROM INSULTING CULTIVATION NOVELS.] Like that particular cucumber troll.

[LOADING USER INTERFACE…]

 

She froze. Then slowly, ever so slowly, moved her hand from her eyes to look up at the translucent blue screen floating in the air above her.

 

“…No f***ing way.”

 

...

 

Her breath steadied, though her mind was still a mess of confusion.

System?

The voice that responded was flat, almost too mechanical, its tone devoid of the warmth she’d expect from something as personal as a guide to reincarnation. But perhaps that was part of the process.

 

> [MAIN SYSTEM ONLINE.]

[USER: UNNAMED. HOST IDENTIFIED.]

[INITIALIZING POST-DEATH PROCEDURE. PLEASE REMAIN CALM.]

 

Her brow furrowed as the words appeared before her.

Post-death procedure? What kind of bureaucratic nonsense is this?

> [HOST STATUS: DEAD.]

[WELCOME TO THE JIANGHU.]

[USER REQUEST: REINCARNATION TO "CHUNG MYUNG'S WORLD" IDENTIFIED.]

 

She blinked again.

Wait, hold on a second. Did it just—

 

> [HOST'S REQUEST: FULFILLED. REINCARNATION IN THE WORLD OF "RETURN OF THE MOUNT HUA SECT." PLEASE BE ADVISED THAT YOUR INITIAL ARRIVAL WILL BE INCOMPLETE.]

“Incomplete?” She sat up, rubbing her eyes, still half-dazed from the rapid events. Was she... was she going to get a second chance or not?

 

> [INITIAL REINCARNATION INCOMPLETE. ADJUSTMENTS TO EXISTENCE IN PROGRESS.]

 

She scowled at the cold, lifeless text before her. Adjustments? What adjustments?

> [HOST WILL BE GRANTED A BASIC “SYSTEM” INTERFACE FOR NAVIGATION AND SURVIVAL. PLEASE NOTE: COORDINATES ARE INFLUENCED BY CURRENT ENVIRONMENTAL FACTORS.]

 

What kind of "basic" system?

> [HOST NOW POSSESSES "JOURNEY THROUGH THE JIANGHU" SYSTEM. SYSTEM IS LINKED TO ENVIRONMENT AND PROVIDES SUPPORT BASED ON LOCAL KNOWLEDGE AND ABILITIES.]

 

She let out a long, frustrated breath. “Journey through the Jianghu,” huh? Great. As if she didn't already have enough weird things happening to her in her life—or in her death, as it were.

 

> [PLEASE NOTE: SYSTEM HAS BEEN CONFIGURED TO PROVIDE APPROPRIATE TOOLS FOR SUCCESS IN JIANGHU. SKILLS AND STATUS WILL BE UPDATED PERIODICALLY.]

[WARNING: SYSTEM SETUP IN PROGRESS. PLEASE STAND BY.]

---

 

The world around her felt a little quieter now, as if the river itself paused, holding its breath along with her. And then, something subtle shifted in the air. Her senses sharpened, as if the system’s words were beginning to take root inside her.

 

> [SYSTEM UPDATE COMPLETE.]

With that final chime, a small flicker of light appeared before her, floating in mid-air—a translucent icon resembling an ancient scroll. On it was written:

> [INITIAL SYSTEM LOG: "HOST REQUEST: REINCARNATION. TRANSITION TO MOUNT HUA SECT WORLD SUCCESSFUL.]

Her eyebrow quirked. Alright. Let's see if I can survive this nonsense.

When the final chime of the system echoed into silence, a scroll-like screen—tinged in soft blue—appeared mid-air, politely pulsing for attention like a well-behaved pop-up ad.

 

> [CUSTOMIZATION MENU ACTIVATED.]

[PLEASE SELECT THE SYSTEM’S PHYSICAL MANIFESTATION.]

[SUGGESTED FORMS: RING | BRACELET | NECKLACE | HAIR ACCESSORY]

 

“Oh wow,” she muttered dryly, still dripping river water, “Are we doing dress-up now? Cute.”

She stared at the options, unimpressed. Jewelry felt a bit… dainty. Not really her thing. Her fingers hovered for a second before her mind wandered off to something else entirely.

“…System,” she spoke aloud, her voice quiet, “Can you turn into a silver smartwatch?”

There was a pause. She half-expected a mechanical rejection, some flat refusal like ‘unrecognized format, please choose again’. But the scroll pulsed once, then flickered.

 

> [PROCESSING REQUEST… CUSTOM FORM SELECTED: SILVER SMARTWATCH.]

[CONFIRMATION REQUIRED: SIGNIFICANT SENTIMENTAL VALUE DETECTED.]

 

Her lips parted slightly.

Of course it would pick that up.

 

She closed her eyes.

Her father had worn that watch every single day since she could remember. Sleek silver, digital display, scuffed on the edges from years of use. He had told her once that it reminded him to count time, not waste it. When the yacht sank, it sank with him. The Coast Guard found no trace of the vessel—nor of the watch.

And now, she’d asked for it. Just like that.

> [SYSTEM AGREES TO CUSTOMIZATION ON ONE CONDITION.]

[THE SYSTEM'S EXISTENCE MUST REMAIN SECURE. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO REMOVE, DESTROY, OR TAMPER WITH THE SYSTEM’S FORM.]

She huffed out a laugh. “Buddy, I’ve just died once and fell out of the sky. Trust me, I’m not dumb enough to start smashing magical tech.”

 

> [ACKNOWLEDGED.]

[FORM INITIALIZING…]

 

A soft glow shimmered in the air, reshaping like silver mist pulled by invisible strings. Within seconds, a familiar weight clasped itself gently onto her wrist. It was there—sleek, silver, unmistakable.

Her throat tightened. “Hey, Appa… guess I finally found it.”

The watch lit up faintly.

 

> [SYSTEM ONLINE.]

[USER IDENTITY: UNREGISTERED.]

[WELCOME TO THE WORLD OF THE JIANGHU.]

 

She took a slow breath and glanced around. River to the left, trees ahead, mountains at the edge of the sky.

“Okay. First step: don’t die even if the doctors says so. Again. Cultivate. ”

She pushed herself up from the muddy shore, flicking water from her sleeves.

Time to adjust.

 

Chapter 4

 

Once upright, still half-damp and wholly distraught, she tapped the silver watch—her “system.” It responded with a polite pulse of light, the screen illuminating with perfect clarity.

“System,” she said, brushing damp hair from her face, “Where am I?”

 

> [PROCESSING… LOCATING USER…]

 

A soft whir came from the watch, followed by a ting! I just found her on fantasy GPS. Then came the map projection—floating mid-air like a 3d hologram straight out of a sci-fi movie. A glowing blue dot blinked where she stood. She's impressed.  

 

> [CURRENT LOCATION: YANGTZE RIVER – WESTERN MIDFLOW.]

PROVINCE: GUIZHOU, CHONGQING.

Notable sect nearby:Emei sect 

 

She squinted at the map.

“…Yangtze?” she muttered. “As in the Yangtze River? As in China’s longest river, the Yangtze?”

The blue dot blinked innocently back at her. Of course, she fell into the Yangtze for some reason,s her life is always connected to rivers. 

> [WARNING: UNREGISTERED MOVEMENT DETECTED – 12 METERS SOUTHWEST.]

[CATEGORY: NON-HOSTILE WILDLIFE OR MINOR LOCAL FAUNA.]

“Non-hostile my butt,” she grumbled, narrowing her eyes toward the trees behind her. She turned slowly, suspicious of every rustle.

“…System, buddy,” she whispered, “Just to be safe, I ask this with the purest of intentions and the softest of tones—am I, by any chance, standing anywhere near a water bandit’s camp? Y’know. The ones from the novel? The ones with knives and face scars?”

 

> [SCANNING…]

She held her breath.

 

> [CONFIRMED: BEHIND USER – 20 METERS – UNDEVELOPED RIVERSIDE LOT.]

[STATUS: EMPTY. NO BANDITS. NOT EVEN A CRAB.]

“…Oh thank god,” she exhaled, hand over her chest. “System, I nearly peed.”

The system blinked again.

> [SYSTEM DOES NOT RECOMMEND URINATION IN USER’S CURRENT STATE. CLOTHING IS STILL WET.]

She snorted.

 

“Yeah, yeah.

Still, she found herself cracking a grin. The river, the trees, the weird smartwatch AI—this was insane. And yet… she wasn’t scared. Not really. Not yet.

“Alright, System. Let’s try checking the next thing. Show me my status, will you?”

After a short flick of her wrist, the silver watch glowed again. The system responded to her request with a calm chime, then projected a clean, grid-like screen in front of her, bluish and slightly transparent—like something straight out of a hospital monitor... if that monitor also judged your life choices.

 

> [STATUS INTERFACE – HOST:REGISTERED]

 

[PERSONAL INFORMATION]

Name: — [Eun Yewon]

Age: 20

Gender: Female

Affiliation: — [TO BE REGISTERED]

 

[CULTIVATION TYPE]

Primary Path: — [UNSELECTED]

Available Categories:

– Spirit Cultivation

– Physical Cultivation

– Musical Cultivation

– Spiritual Cultivation

– Elemental Cultivation

– …and 100+ more.

 

[SKILLS & PROFESSIONS]

Skill Manual Access: LOCKED – Requires Merit Points

Available Paths (Locked):

< Swordsmanship >

< Archery >

< Dagger Arts >

< Assassination Arts >

< Talisman Arts >

…and 100+ more.

 

[NOTE: SYSTEM DOES NOT PROVIDE INSTANT POWER. PROGRESS IS PURELY BASED ON HOST’S PHYSICAL, MENTAL, AND SPIRITUAL EFFORT.]

[THE SYSTEM WILL ONLY PROVIDE CULTIVATION MANUAL BOOKS. HOST IS FREE TO REQUEST A SPECIFIC WITH THE DESIRED RESULT. SYSTEM WILL BE RESPONSIBLE TO UPDATE THE HOST OF HER TRAINING PROGRESS AND MASTERY OF HER SKILLS, PROFESSION, AND CULTIVATION LEVEL.]

She stared at the screen.

“...Great,” she muttered. “So I’m stuck in martial fantasy China with zero power, zero money, and zero clue—”

> [CORRECTION: YOU HAVE ONE (3) CLUE. LOCATION: YANGTZE RIVER. GUIZHOU PROVINCE. ]

“Don’t get cheeky with me,” she grumbled, rolling her eyes. She swears, this system, by the minute, is getting cheeky with her.

...

She stood up, wringing out her sleeves as her soaked clothes clung to her skin like wet paper. The system helpfully pointed an arrow northeast, toward a faint trail barely visible in the overgrown grass. Her smartwatch blinked softly as it projected faint lines and directions in front of her like a ghostly compass.

 

> [Nearby Village Detected]

Distance: 2.3 li

Estimated travel time: 40 minutes on foot

Terrain: Mild elevation. Muddy patches.

Note: Wild boars were detected in the southern direction. Avoid loud movements.

“Noted” 

She trudged forward, half-laughing at the absurdity of it all. From DNR to muddy trails. From hospital gowns to being fashionably reincarnated in wet xianxia equivalent robes and river weeds.

Eventually, the trees began to thin out. The scent of smoke—wood fire, not destruction, filled her nose. Roosters crowed in the distance, and children’s voices carried through the wind. And then—

 

A village.

Old, quaint, and nestled at the edge of the river like a quiet painting. Farmers moved about with baskets, an old woman swept her doorstep with a straw broom, and a group of children ran barefoot, chasing a ball made of wrapped cloth.

Someone spotted her.

A middle-aged man holding a sickle paused in mid-stride. “Aigo! YoungYlady, what happened to you?! did you fall into the river?”

She opened her mouth, then promptly realised she hadn’t thought up a backstory.

“Uh… yes?” she replied weakly, teeth chattering. 

He blinked. “...Hah! You city girls are really something. Come, come, get dry first before you catch a fever!”

He waved her over. Just like that, Eun Yewon was led into the warm chaos of her new village life—unaware that within this peaceful patch of Jianghu, rumours of strange movements and clan activity were starting to stir not far beyond the hills.

 

...

 

The village was called Goseung Village (고승촌)—“High Monk’s Hamlet.” A sleepy riverside settlement built around an abandoned temple, long abandoned and crumbling in the hills nearby.

According to the old woman, the village was named after a revered monk who once saved the people during a great flood. The monk had vanished without a trace, but the village bore his legacy with quiet pride.

Yewon’s new home, albeit temporarily borrowed, was that of Madam So Hwayeon—a sharp-eyed widow with a firm mouth and calloused hands that had seen both silk and blood.

She once belonged to a merchant clan before settling down here after her husband passed. Though her daughters were now married into distant counties, Madam So ran her house with the same energy she once ruled her trading caravans.

Her generosity toward Yewon wasn’t just kindness—it was instinct. She saw something in the girl: thin beneath the cheeks, eyes bright but heavy, and shoulders far too used to carrying burdens.

Yewon, for her part, settled into the story she spun with surprising ease.

“I jumped off the deck,” she said, shivering as she wrapped herself in the borrowed cotton robe. “They were going to sell me off. I… might’ve broken someone’s nose. Or worse.”

Madam So sucked in a sharp breath and placed a warm hand over her chest.

“Heavens! Those dogs! And no one did anything?”

Yewon forced a sheepish smile. “I was just lucky they couldn’t swim well.”

The old woman tsked. “Lucky? That’s a strong spirit, child. You have bones of steel under that soft face.”

Later that evening, they dined on barley rice, steamed greens, and salted yellowtail. The oil crackled merrily in the kitchen, and Yewon, for the first time in what felt like lifetimes, ate with both appetite and peace.

The system remained silent, watching quietly from her wrist like a respectful butler—until it softly blinked with a new notification just as she brought the last bite to her mouth:

 

> [First Safe Shelter Achieved]

Temporary Residence: Madam So’s Estate

Recommend: Explore the village. Establish Affiliation.

Note: Unusual qi fluctuation detected in the northern hills. Recommend caution.

 

Would you like to set Goseung Village as your current home base?

Yewon nodded at the system’s glowing message, her finger hovering over the tiny screen as she selected “Set as current home base.” The scroll flickered briefly before vanishing into nothingness.

She turned to Madam So, who was busy pouring warm tea into clay cups, her fingers steady despite her age. The room smelled of roasted rice and wood polish.

“Madam,” Yewon began, “is there anything I can do to help around the house? I don’t want to be a freeloader.”

 

The old woman let out a short laugh—not unkind, but amused.

“You call yourself a freeloader after nearly being sold off and swimming for your life?” she said, raising a brow. “Child, you’ve earned a meal and a bed just fine.”

 

Yewon pressed her lips together, humbled. But Madam So continued, her gaze softening.

“If you truly want to do something,” she said, “go take a walk around the village. Stretch those legs. There’s a little market down the east path. The rice cakes from old man Joo’s stall are excellent—tell him I sent you and he’ll give you an extra one.”

 

She sipped her tea and added, “Besides, neighbours are nosy. Better they see you for themselves and stop spinning tales.”

Yewon nodded with a faint smile. “Thank you, truly.”

As she stepped outside, the late afternoon sun stretched golden fingers across Goseung Village. Slanted roofs lined the cobbled paths, and children’s laughter rang in the distance. The wind carried the scent of spice and wood smoke.

Her smartwatch blinked again:

 

> [New Objective Unlocked]

 

→ Explore Goseung Village

▪ Visit the market district

▪ Observe local qi fluctuations

▪ Optional: Interact with village residents (3/7 for Friendly Affinity)

 

Tip: Stay alert. Unregistered energies detected beyothe nd perimeter.

 

Yewon rolled her eyes with a faint smirk.

“System,” she muttered, “you sound more like a role-playing game every second.”

 

> “Better than sounding like a stuck-up sword spirit, Host.”

 

She nearly choked on air. “You can sass?”

 

> “Only mildly.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 5

As Yewon followed the winding path past cheerful vendors and gossiping villagers, her steps gradually slowed. The closer she drew to the edge of the market, the more her wrist began to vibrate with faint pulses. She raised her arm, and the screen on her smartwatch blinked to life.

 

> [Qi Fluctuation Detected]

Proximity: 8 meters

Nature: Passive

Intensity: Moderate

Status: Unclaimed

 

“System,” she whispered, eyes narrowing toward the cluster of hedges behind a weathered wall, “what am I looking at?”

> “Identifying source… please wait…”

 

The bushes rustled softly in the breeze, and nestled between cracked stones and wild grass, Yewon spotted it: a strange plant, unlike the rest. Its leaves were a pale jade hue with soft silver veins running through them, glistening faintly despite the shade. A single, thin stalk rose in the center, topped with a delicate bloom that shifted colors between violet and blue—like it couldn't decide which one it wanted to be.

 

> “Identified.”

Name: Bokryeonhwa (복련화 / Jade Lotus Bloom)

Type: Grade 3 Spiritual Herb

Category: Medicinal

Qi Nature: Yin-wood

Effect: Promotes rapid healing of internal injuries and replenishes qi. Can stabilize minor meridian damage. Most potent when refined within one hour of picking.*

Warning: Wild spirit beasts and rogue cultivators may be drawn to its scent.

Yewon crouched beside the glowing plant, blinking.

“…It’s a magic herb.”

> “A rather rare one in this region. You’re fortunate, Host.”

“Right. Or cursed. Probably both.”

She carefully plucked it by the root, wrapping it in a cloth she tucked into her satchel.

> “Inventory updated. Bokryeonhwa secured.”

 

Then, the screen glitched for a split second before flashing red.

 

> [Alert]

Unregistered presence approaching.

Qi signature unknown.

 

Yewon’s heart dropped. She slowly stood, eyes scanning the trees.

“…Great. And I didn’t even get to try the damn rice cakes.”

Just as Yewon tucked the cloth-wrapped Bokryeonhwa into her satchel, voices broke through the quiet rustle of the forest.

“There! Over there!”

Three figures in matching dark green robes stepped into view—young, armed, and clearly not locals. Their robes bore the symbol of a coiled dragon around a gourd. Unfamiliar sect.

The one in the lead, a tall young man with sharp features and a folded fan in hand, raised an eyebrow as he strode forward.

“Young miss,” he greeted with a practiced smile. “What a fortunate coincidence. Might I ask what you just harvested?”

Yewon straightened, brushing her fingers against her watch. “A weed,” she said flatly.

Another disciple, shorter and with a rounder face, stepped forward and pointed at her satchel. “That wasn’t just a weed. We saw the glow. That’s Bokryeonhwa, isn’t it? It’s rare in this region—worth a lot.”

The third, a quiet girl with a sword strapped to her back, studied Yewon warily.

The leader’s smile tightened. “We’ll make it worth your while. How about ten silver taels for that herb?”

Yewon raised a brow. “No.”

He blinked. “Fifteen.”

 

“No.”

 

The girl stepped forward. “Twenty.”

Yewon tilted her head and gave a dry smile. “You think throwing money at me will change my mind?”

“…Everyone has a price.”

“Sure. But I’m a greedy woman with no concept of market value. So, no.”

The tall disciple’s fan snapped open with a snap. “We did see it first. It would be fair to hand it over, don’t you think?”

Yewon’s smile widened ever so slightly, cold and unamused. “And I picked it first. You want it? Go grow your own.”

There was a tense silence. Even the system stayed quiet.

> “Host, I suggest retreat or distraction. Three cultivators.

Estimate: Late Qi Condensation. You, however, are… not.”

Yewon adjusted the strap of her satchel with exaggerated calm, letting her gaze linger just a second too long on the trio. “Look,” she said, voice low and casual, “my master is waiting for me. And she’s not exactly known for her patience.”

The leader arched a brow. “Your master?”

Yewon gave him a flat look. “Yes. You think a mere rogue cultivator could waltz into a mountain forest and come out alive with Bokryeonhwa?” She let that hang, then added, “Should I not return on time, she tends to assume the worst. And when she assumes the worst, things catch fire. Mountains crack. People vanish.”

A slight exaggeration, of course. Okay, a complete lie.

The fan in his hand stilled. “Which sect?”

“None that concerns you,” she replied smoothly, dusting her sleeve. “But let’s just say she doesn’t take kindly to other sects meddling in her disciple’s affairs. I’d hate for her to show up here thinking you were trying to rob me.”

The silence that followed was awkward. The sword girl’s grip on her hilt loosened. The round-faced boy coughed and looked away.

“...We didn’t mean any disrespect,” the leader said finally. “It’s just—Bokryeonhwa is rare. We’re desperate.”

Yewon sighed dramatically. “Aren’t we all?”

She gave a short bow. “Good luck with your hunt. There’s more over the ridge. Probably.”

And with that, she turned and walked away without looking back—heart racing, but pace steady.

 

> “Host,” the system chimed lightly. “That was… statistically a 37% chance of success.”

“Don’t ruin my moment,” she muttered.

 

True to her words—though she'd meant it more as a bluff than an actual tip—there really were two more Bokryeonhwa growing just beyond the ridge. Nestled between mossy stones and shaded by wide ferns, the delicate violet petals glowed faintly with qi, unmistakably the real thing.

 

The disciples wasted no time collecting them with due reverence, their earlier frustration replaced by gleeful awe. Once secured, the leader stood in silence for a beat, then turned to his companions. “We should thank her.”

 

By the time they reached the village, the sun had dipped slightly westward. The air was crisp with late afternoon breeze. Upon asking around, they were pointed toward the grand estate of Madam hwayeon

Yewon was seated in the inner courtyard, sipping tea while the old madam crocheted something on the veranda. The moment she saw the trio approach, Yewon exhaled a sharp sigh. What now?

The sword girl offered a polite bow. “We came to thank you, Miss.”

 

Yewon blinked, caught off guard.

 

“You didn’t have to mention the ridge,” the leader added. “Yet you did. There were two more Bokryeonhwa there.”

 

“You’re…” Her voice trailed off before she recovered with her usual dryness. “You’re welcome, I suppose. I did say my master would be angry if I came back late, not stupid.”

 

The boy with the round cheeks grinned. “Still. That was generous.”

Yewon didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she 'raised her teacup and sipped slowly' before murmuring, “One can be generous and have a sharp tongue. It’s not illegal.”

The old madam snorted quietly into her , clearly entertained.

 

The trio eventually excused themselves, leaving behind an odd mixture of gratitude and suspicion. Yewon watched them go, tapping her cup thoughtfully.

 

> “Host,” the system chimed again, sounding smug. “Congratulations on raising your interpersonal rapport with members of the ‘Clear Wind Sword Sect.’”

 

Yewon muttered under her breath. “Should’ve told them my master could turn grass into lightning just for fun.”

The next few days in Goseung Village passed in quiet rhythm. Yewon, though intent on lying low, found herself… doing things. Little things.

She helped an old man find his lost goat. Walked a limping child home. Gave unsolicited (and slightly sarcastic) advice to a bunch of kids trying to “hunt demons” with broomsticks. She even helped the local herbalist organize jars—though she almost sneezed herself to death from powdered pollen.

 

And then—

 

> Ding!

[Merit Point Acquired: +1]

Action: Aiding a village elder.

[Merit Point Acquired: +1]

Action: Protecting and educating local children.

[Merit Point Acquired: +1]

Action: Assisting community work.

 

“What the hell…” she muttered, squinting as her silver smartwatch glowed faintly.

 

> “Host is accumulating small-scale virtue. Would you like to open the [Cultivation Path Selection Menu]?”

 

She blinked. “Wait, that’s all it takes?”

 

> “Host must consistently accumulate merit to unlock full functionality. Current points: 3. Cultivation path preview available.”

A new screen slid into view, elegant and scroll-like, divided into three main tabs:

 

[CULTIVATION PATH OPTIONS – UNLOCKABLE AT 10 MERIT POINTS]

 

• Spirit Cultivation: Enhance your soul and senses; ideal for spiritual arts and talismans.
• Physical Cultivation: Reinforce body and strength; ideal for martial combat.
• Elemental Cultivation: Manipulate natural elements; higher affinity required.
• Musical Cultivation: Uses sound and rhythm to attack or heal; requires creativity and focus.
• Spiritual Cultivation: Uses inner peace and meditation to connect with the heavens.

Each had sub-paths and affinities shown in dim text, locked for now.

 

[SKILL PATHS – LOCKED]

(To unlock: 10 Merit Points and Cultivation Path registered.)

Swordsmanship, Dagger Arts, Assassination Techniques, Talisman Craft, Medicine, Alchemy, Calligraphy Arts, Archery, Tracking, and 100+more.

 

---

Yewon raised a brow, letting the information sink in.

“…So I play nice, help people, and the cultivation system slowly unlocks?”

> “Correct. This system does not offer shortcuts. Or golden finger. Host must earn her path.”

Yewon groaned. “Ugh. I knew you’d be a morally-inclined bastard.”

 

> “Flattery noted.”

 

 

 

Chapter 6

 

It happened in a blink.

The women screamed first—shouts turning frantic as the river swallowed the children’s laughter and replaced it with thrashing arms and terror. Three of them—barely waist-high—swept off their feet and pulled by the current.

Yewon didn’t think.

She sprinted down the bank, dropped her laundry basket, and dove straight into the water without a second thought. Her limbs cut through the current with trained ease. Back in her world, she had once spent summers swimming like a seal, and thankfully, that muscle memory remained.

One by one, she caught the children—two boys, then the girl. The last child had gone limp.

Villagers rushed along the riverside, but none dared enter. The current had already calmed, but the shock of it all still gripped them.

Yewon carried the last child in her arms as she dragged herself out of the water, coughing hard, soaked and shivering.

The two boys clung to her legs, crying and wailing as their mothers gathered them. But the girl—she was silent.

Yewon gently laid her on the grass, ignoring the crowd. She leaned close, ear to her chest.

No sound.

“Shit,” she hissed under her breath. “Don’t do this.”

She clasped her hands and pressed on the girl’s chest, counting her pumps in quick bursts. The villagers watched in frozen awe, confusion plain on their faces—this wasn’t any kind of healing they’d seen.

Then, a splutter.

Water surged from the girl’s mouth as she rolled slightly, gagging and crying. Her pale face bloomed with life once more. The crowd gasped. One of the women sobbed openly.

And then—

Ding!
[Merit Points Gained: +25]
Action: Rescuing three innocent children from imminent death.
Additional Bonus: Reviving a near-drowned child.
Total Merit: 28/100
New Feature Unlocked: [Select Cultivation Path]

Yewon blinked, soaked and panting.

“…I feel like I just cleared a side quest on hard mode.”

>“Correction: Heroic Route cleared. Proceed to [Cultivation Path Selection]?”

But before she could speak, an old man stepped forward, eyes glistening.

“ miss yewon… you saved our children. May the heavens bless you.”

One by one, the villagers offered bows, gratitude, and warmth.

Yewon exhaled slowly, lifting her face to the sky. The sun peeked behind the clouds as if grinning.

“Alright,” she muttered. “Guess we’re doing this after all.” 

 

...

 

The crowd had fallen silent.

The girl—pale as death moments ago—now sobbed weakly in her mother’s arms, her tiny chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. Her mother cradled her, wailing in disbelief, tears streaming freely down her face.

But it was the crowd’s eyes that told the story. They stared not at the child, but at the drenched young woman who had done the unthinkable.

"She... she brought her back," someone whispered.

"That girl was gone. I saw it. The kid was Not breathing "

"But she came back! She breathed again!"

The whispers grew louder, shifting from astonishment to reverence.

 

“To bring a drowned child back to life... That’s no healing art. That’s—!”

“A miracle,” the old man from earlier muttered, crossing his arms. “A heaven-sent miracle.”

For in this world, if your heart stopped, you were beyond saving. No physician could restart a body that had gone still. Cultivators might purge poison, mend shattered bones, or stabilize qi, but once life slipped away, there was nothing else.

Yet here this young woman—barely out of her teens—had knelt on the riverside and summoned life where none should have returned.

Yewon knelt quietly, still staring at the little girl with trembling shoulders. Her fingers brushed gently against the child’s forehead. Warm.

Alive.

 

A small smile curled on her lips. “Good… you made it…”

 

Then her arms went limp.

 

Yewon’s body slumped sideways onto the grass, unconscious. The exhaustion, the cold water, the panic—it all caught up with her at once. She’d been running on pure adrenaline, and now even that was gone.

“Miss!” someone cried out. “The young miss has collapsed!”

They rushed to her. The same old man gently scooped her up in his arms. Her face was cold, lips pale from the river’s chill. But her breathing was steady.

“She’s alive,” he said. “She’s just... worn out.”

 

---

> Ding!

[Status: Host has entered [Rest Mode] — Auto-recovery initiated.]

System recommends: Warmth, rest, and a bowl of hot ginger soup.

 

When Yewon opened her eyes, the scent of camellia balm and boiled ginger filled her nose. Her limbs felt like stone, her throat parched. Blinking slowly, she stared at the familiar wooden ceiling of the old madam’s house.

 

“...I’m telling you, she’s still unwell! Leave at once!”

The sharp voice of the madam rang from the front hall. Yewon winced, lifting herself up slowly.

“She’s no ordinary girl. That technique—never seen it before. We just want to talk,” argued another voice, smug and full of feigned courtesy.

“You want to take her technique, not learn it. And for what? So you can slap a price on it and hang it on your clinic’s wall?” the madam So snapped. “I’ve lived long enough to know greed when I hear it.”

Yewon quietly stood, ran her fingers through her damp hair, and stepped out of the room. She was still pale, but her eyes were clear now.

“Madam,” she said softly.

The old woman turned immediately. “Yewon! You shouldn’t be walking around yet—”

“It’s alright.” Yewon gave her a faint smile, then looked at the three local healers standing in the courtyard, clutching scrolls and inkstones.

 

They looked stunned to see her awake.

“I heard you want to learn what I did,” she said.

One of them straightened, lips twitching upward. “Yes!  Miss yewon, if you could just explain that breathing trick—how you brought the child back—it would change everything! We could save countless lives.”

Yewon tilted her head slightly. “You believe me now?”

“After yesterday? Half the village saw it. You're no physician, but you performed something even a highborn healer cannot do.”

“Then I’ll teach it,” Yewon said.

The madam looked at her in disbelief. “Child—!”

Yewon smiled at her gently. “Madam, it’s alright. If they truly wish to learn, I’ll teach. Not for profit, but because people shouldn’t die when they could still be saved.”

She turned to the healers. “But I’ll teach everyone who wants to learn—not just those with a title. Even farmers, mothers, brothers. I won’t let a life-saving act become a priced commodity.”

The healers looked at one another. One huffed, but another gave a reluctant nod. “Fair... fair enough.”

The madam sighed and muttered, “You’ve got the heart and wit of a fox.”

Yewon smiled, but her system chimed softly in her mind:

 

> Ding!

[New Merit Gained: +18 — Shared life-saving knowledge with the community.]

[Merit Total: 51 Points]

You may now register your Cultivation Path.

To proceed, say: [Display Cultivation Path Selection]

---

 

As the crowd slowly dispersed, and the madam gave one last scolding look to the lingering healers, Yewon sat quietly on the pavilion's wooden steps, watching the golden light of the late afternoon spill over the quiet village. The breeze was cool, carrying laughter from children down the road. For the first time in this unfamiliar world, she felt a faint sense of belonging.

 

Then—

A soft chime echoed in her mind.

 

 

---

 

> Ding!

[Merit Points Accumulated: 51]

[Cultivation Path Selection Unlocked]

 

You may now access and register your preferred Cultivation Type and Professions.

 

To begin, say:

[Open Cultivation Path Selection]10 pts to unlock 

 

---

 

She blinked, startled for only a second, then smiled faintly and murmured, "Open Cultivation Path Selection."

 

The translucent panel opened before her like a scroll of light, hovering in the air, only visible to her eyes.

 

---

 

[Cultivation Path Options]

Choose up to two foundational paths:

 

[ ] Spirit Cultivation – The path of soul refinement and inner awareness. Strong spiritual sense, communication with entities, resistant to mental influence.

[ ] Physical Cultivation – Strengthens the body to its utmost limit. High endurance, regeneration, and overwhelming force.

[ ] Elemental Cultivation – Harness natural forces (fire, wind, water, etc.) for offense and defense.

[ ] Musical Cultivation – Sound-based techniques that influence emotions, mind, or physical state.

[ ] Spiritual Cultivation – A divine and karmic path, tuned to balance, healing, and celestial awareness.

 

Yewon thought it over. She needed her mind and her body. Her gut told her balance was survival.

 

She selected:

✓ Physical Cultivation

✓ Spiritual Cultivation

 

---

 

> Paths registered.

You now walk the dual foundation of Spiritual and Physical Cultivation.

Techniques will now be compatible with your selected paths.

Merit Remaining: 41

 

Professions Available:

< Swordsmanship > – 20 Merit

< Musical Arts > – 20 Merit

Would you like to purchase these?

"Yes," she whispered. “Purchase swordsmanship and musical arts.”

 

---

> Professions purchased.

< Swordsmanship > – Basic sword techniques and postures unlocked. Muscle memory in training will now integrate faster.

< Musical Arts > – Foundational understanding of sound resonance and melodic qi unlocked. Instruments can now channel spiritual essence.

Remaining Merit: 1

 

---

The interface faded, leaving her heart slightly racing. Swordsmanship and music—two paths she never imagined taking together, but now they were hers.

She flexed her fingers. Her body still felt tired from the river, but beneath that… a subtle hum of something new.

Power in its quietest form.

 

 

 

Notes:

Dang i got inspired by the video i watched from bondi rescue something. I got hooked on that one episode where a clinically dead man for 5 or so more minutes was revived by te standby life guard. The scene was intense and i even learned a few things when resusitating someone or Rescue someone drowning.

Chapter 7

Yewon Didn’t pant as her boots thudded against the village path, the packed earth firm beneath her feet. Children stopped playing to watch her pass—again—and one of the aunties raised a brow, muttering something about “energetic young folk these days.”

She didn’t mind. Her lungs burned, her legs felt like iron rods—but she was smiling.

The Physical Cultivation Manual, which had appeared in her inventory like some divine prank, was thick with inked diagrams, cryptic proverbs, and worst of all, strict, unskippable training sequences. The system didn’t allow her to jump ahead. She tried once, and it buzzed a stern message:

> Stamina inadequate. Resume from Chapter 1, Section 3: Endurance Base Layer.

Chapter 1, Section 3 translated to: "Ten full laps around the village before sunset. No shortcuts. No rests longer than five minutes."

 

She was on lap four now. Seven remained.

But for someone who once got winded climbing two flights of stairs, the fact that she was running at all—and still upright—was… exhilarating.

She wiped the sweat from her brow and kept going.

> Ding!

[Physical Base Layer - Progress: 6%]

Stamina threshold increasing…

She grinned. A month ago, she would’ve collapsed after the first lap and cursed at the sky. Now?

She felt alive.

 

...

 

“Is that… her?”

 Yan Rong blinked, squinting down the hill that overlooked the village’s central path. His junior, Su An, peered over his shoulder.

“It is her,” Su An murmured. “The brash-tongued miss .”

There, just below, Eun Yewon was running. Not strolling, not walking with purpose—running, her hair tied back, sleeves rolled up, her pace steady and relentless. Villagers gave her a wide berth, some cheering her on, others simply confused by her determined laps.

“She’s been at it for nearly an hour,” muttered a passing merchant as he adjusted his cart. “I’d think she were possessed if she weren’t so cheerful.”

The two disciples exchanged glances.

“That’s the fourth lap we’ve seen her do,” Su An said.

Yan Rong narrowed his eyes. “Her steps are light… her centre stable… that’s a training technique.”

“She said her master was waiting,” Su An whispered, recalling their last meeting. “What kind of master sends their disciple to pick herbs and run training laps in a village?”

Yan Rong watched her make a sharp turn around a narrow bend without slowing. “A strict one… or one worth learning from.”

They didn’t approach her yet—not while she was in the middle of her routine—but interest had sparked in their minds. The mysterious girl who shared the location of a rare herb, revived a drowned child with an unknown method… and now this?

She wasn’t just strange. She was disciplined.

And in their world, that meant potential.

 

 

🌸~●●《♡》●●~🌸

 

> Host, The physical cultivation manual was clear: “Build endurance. Strengthen the vessel you already possess. Refine, DO NOT inflate.”

> As per one of the host's requests, a physical cultivation manual that doesn't need to bulk up one's body is searched and improved by the MAIN system to suit the host’s desire to remain on the sHApELy side. This basic manual's sole purpose is to strengthen every fibre of the host's muscles. Meaning: no need to increase muscles unnecessarily. And definitely no routine deviations. 

 

"......"

>Since host envy a particular YOR, definitely not BRIAR or FORGER because of her shapely CRAZILY STRONG body, capable of throwing a ball 100 meters. 

 

"....." 

> with this physical cultivation manual: basic level. Achieving a shapely, strong body without needing to bulk up like Mr  Hulk  Is possible and perfected . 

 

"... aren't you getting more cheeky ? " 

Why does it feel like her system is getting more and more cheeky with her? Should she file a formal complaint? The main system? 

' Yah! The one you assigned to me is too sass! ' 

 

Yewon wasn’t running to bulk up. She was training her body to endure. Each lap wasn’t just a measure of speed or stamina, but of discipline—of pushing her muscles to function more efficiently, her lungs to draw breath more deeply, her heart to beat stronger.

 

Her figure remained lean, slender as ever thank god . But her strides became smoother, more grounded. Her reflexes are sharper. Her body, though unchanged in appearance, now held an undercurrent of control—like silk wrapped around steel.

When she carried buckets of water later for the old madam without spilling a drop, a few onlookers blinked in surprise.

“She’s so thin,” one whispered. “But she lifts like a smith’s apprentice!”

He saw her lifting and throwing a child in the air before catching them. She was playing with 13 kids, taking turns for nearly two hours. 

 

 Refined strength.

The kind honed through sweat and breath, lap after lap around the village path.

Even the disciples from before noticed the difference when they spotted her again. Her footsteps had changed. Her stillness felt more deliberate. Even in rest, there was tension coiled beneath her skin, like a bowstring waiting to be drawn.

 

 

🌸~●●《♡》●●~🌸

 

The swordsmanship manual was beautifully written—almost poetic in tone. It didn’t speak of brute force or overwhelming dominance. It spoke of intention. Grace.

> Host.

"A sword unsheathed is a word spoken. Measured. Purposeful. Swift."

Empty the mind, clear the path and cultivate your enlightenment.  

 

Yewon favoured this style the moment she laid eyes on the first page.

Not the wild, roaring strokes of battlefield warriors, but the elegant cuts of a scholar—precise, deliberate, and clean. Like calligraphy drawn in air.

Her physical cultivation allowed her to support the movements, add weight to her strikes when needed, and maintain balance through every shift in stance. Her limbs now moved as though she were born with the sword in hand.

When she practised under the old willow tree in the courtyard, her movements drew attention. Villagers paused, quiet. The air around her moved as she moved. Her blade sang, not with rage, but with rhythm. Just like a scholar's calligraphy.  Elegant , precise and swift. 

 

And then, there was her spiritual cultivation.This one did not ask her to move, but to remain still.  The manual instructed her to—

 

>"Sit. Breathe. Do not force the world to speak to you. Listen to it, and you may reach enlightenment."

 

She asked her system to read the manual, then she executed the

It sounded maddening at first. She sat on the veranda, legs crossed, fingers resting gently against her knees, eyes half-lidded as the breeze swept past.

 

She waited. Felt nothing. Thought it was nonsense. But then—

 

—a shift.

 

A subtle pulse beneath the wind. The rustle of leaves she hadn’t heard a moment ago. The faint warmth of qi drifted like sunlight on her skin. She wasn’t imagining it. The energy in the world wasn’t loud—it was simply everywhere, and she had never tried to feel it before.

 

Each day, she trained her body by movement and her soul by stillness.

And with each day, she became closer to the kind of cultivator she quietly admired: swift of hand, sharp of mind, and steady of heart.

 

 

🌸~●●《♡》●●~🌸

 

 

Two Years Later

 

The seasons had turned quietly. Two, the full cycle of spring blossoms and winter frost had passed since Eun Yewon first arrived at Goseung Village.

 

Now, she stood at the edge of the bamboo grove behind the second pavilion—one foot lightly forward, body aligned with the horizon, her breath calm. A blade shimmered in her hand: slender, silver, silent.

 

A year of sweat, wind-burned cheeks, aching limbs, and silent meditation beneath moonlit skies had brought her here. She had finished half of both her cultivation manuals. Her body no longer trembled after long runs. Her senses were sharp, like the brush of a falling leaf or the subtle ripple in the air told her someone approached before a step touched ground.

The system had acknowledged her progress.

And gifted her this sword.

 

> [System Notification]

Reward: Cold Iron Sword – “Yeoreum” (여름, Summer)

Properties: Lightweight. Flexible. Forged with Cold Iron, Spiritual Steel, and Azure Crystal Veins. Resistant to corrosion and heat. Compatible with qi infusion. Elegant and deadly in skilled hands.

The sword was named Yeoreum—not just for summer, but for the stillness before the storm, and the heat that hides in soft breezes.

It was everything Yewon dreamed of. Slim but resilient. Quiet but piercing.

She had trained with staves and practice blades for months, never daring to ask for more. But now, as she held Yeoreum, her movements felt complete. A seamless dance of step and steel. Her sword techniques, focused on swift, controlled motions, fit perfectly with the weapon’s nature. No wasted movement. No overexerted force.

Just one stroke. And another. Each one is clean. Swift. Measured.

 

 

🌸~●●《♡》●●~🌸

 

The morning mist curled low over Goseung Village, clinging to rooftops and curling around the paths she had run countless times before. Birds chirped, and the stream whispered quietly—a lullaby and a farewell.

Yewon stood at the edge of the village path with her travel pack slung over one shoulder and Yeoreum sheathed at her hip. Her robes, now fitting of a cultivator in both presence and bearing, fluttered softly in the breeze.

The old madam held her hands tightly. “You’ve brought new breath into this old house, child. You must return and visit again, do you understand?”

Yewon smiled gently. “I will. I promise. You’ve given me a place to belong when I had nothing. I won’t forget that.”

The villagers gathered to see her off, including the children she’d once saved—now taller, louder, and ever grateful. One of the local disciples she had met at the bokryeonhwa patch came forward with a small pouch of herbs. “For your travels. May your path be clear and your sword always find its mark.”

She nodded, accepting the gift with gratitude.

 

> [System Notification]

New Objective: Seek Knowledge of the Current Timeline

Unlock: “World Event Log” (Locked until sufficient clues gathered)

Yewon glanced toward the distant mountains. Despite all she’d achieved, one question still pressed on her chest like a weight:

 

“When am I?”

She hadn’t found any mention of major sects yet—not Mount Hua, not Wudang, not Beggar’s Union. She hoped—no, she prayed—that she was in the right era. That Chung Myung was still alive. Not a memory. Not a grave.

With one last wave to the madam and the villagers, Yewon turned and began her journey down the misty road.

 

To find answers.

To find Mount Hua.

To find him.

 

 

 

Chapter 8

 

It took weeks of steady travel through narrow forest roads, bustling trade towns, and sleepy rest stops, but Eun Yewon finally arrived in Chengdu, the heart of Sichuan.

Unlike Goseung Village in Yibing, Guizhou, Chengdu was alive with noise, colour, and energy. Merchants shouted prices in the streets, peddling fragrant spices, silks, and talismans. Cultivators moved in and out of inns and courtyards, wearing the crests of unfamiliar sects. The air was thick with cooked oil, incense, and qi—some raw, some refined.

 

> [System Notification]

New Region Discovered: Sichuan Province – Chengdu City

Local Energy Signature: Moderate-High Qi Activity

Update: No known Mount Hua presence detected in this city.

 

Yewon wasn’t surprised. Mount Hua was far from here. Her goal was to reach Huayin, and for that, she needed to join a caravan or transport group headed east across the provinces.

At a tea stall near a city gate, she listened to passing travellers.

—caravan to Xi’an’s gathering near the northern post. Then they’ll take the river route toward Huayin.”

That was her ticket.

Yewon approached a caravan master that same day—a broad-shouldered man with a suspicious stare and a scar near his jawline.

“You alone?” he asked, eyeing her sword. “You don’t look like a guard, but you don’t look helpless either.”

“I’m a traveller headed to Huayin,” she said evenly. “I’ll pay my way, and I won’t be a burden.”

He grunted. “You got discipline in your steps. We leave at dawn. If you’re not there, we won’t wait.”

 

 

🌸~●●《♡》●●~🌸

 

As the sun dipped behind the western hills, Yewon found a cheap inn and lay on the straw mattress, her hand resting on Yeoreum’s hilt.

> [System Alert]

Current Objective: Reach Huayin – Estimated Time: 2 weeks (Caravan Route)

Optional Challenge: Assist Caravan Defence – Bonus Merit Points (variable)

 

Her journey was far from over.

But she was finally heading toward Mount Hua.

Toward answers.

Toward him.

 

 

🌸~●●《♡》●●~🌸

 

 

The Journey Begins

 

The caravan left Chengdu at dawn, thirty wagons in total, filled with silks, herbs, paper, and passengers. Yewon rode at the rear among the other escort guardsmen, where her presence wouldn’t be questioned—quiet, observing, always listening.

The first few days were uneventful. They passed through farmlands and quiet towns, occasionally resting at relay inns. Yewon shared tea with travelling doctors, merchants, and even a grumpy swordsman who snored like thunder.

But then came the eastern valley road, a known stretch of danger.

Just before sundown on the fifth day, the caravan slowed. The road ahead twisted between thick woods, and something felt… wrong.

> [System Alert]

Qi fluctuation detected.

Source: Multiple signatures – Human, hostile intent.

> Host, please get ready to defend the rear. The initial attack will come from the rear according to the qi fluctuations.

 

'Thank you, system'

Yewon narrowed her eyes. And assume a protective form, unsheathing her sword. 

From the trees came shouting—bandits swarmed the front and rear. Dressed in mismatched armour and wielding rusty sabres, they demanded silver and goods.

The caravan master cursed. The guards also assumed formation to defend

Yewon didn’t hesitate. She leapt from the wagon, Yeoreum flashing as it caught the dying sun’s light. She moved swiftly, like a leaf on the wind—precise, elegant, and unrelenting.

She slashed down two bandits, kicked another into the tree, and disarmed a fourth before the guards regrouped.

By the time it was over, half the attackers had fled. The rest lay unconscious or groaning in pain.

 

> [Merit Earned: +12]

Protected lives from bandit attack.

 

Later that week, the caravan reached Qingli Village, where a small sect called the Crimson Pine Sect claimed toll over the bridge.

Their leader, a young man with embroidered sleeves and too much pride, declared that any traveller with weapons must pay double or surrender their sword.

Yewon calmly stepped forward. “This sword is mine, and I pay no one to carry what I’ve earned.”

The crowd grew quiet.

The sect’s leader scoffed. “A woman with a sharp tongue. Fine—if you win a duel against me, all of you may pass freely.”

She didn’t even blink.

The fight was swift—his strikes wide and flashy, while hers were like falling rain: quick, deliberate, final. Within seconds, he was on his back, humiliated but unhurt.

The sect honoured her victory, and the caravan passed without further issue.

 

> [Merit Earned: +8]

De-escalated a regional conflict without bloodshed.

"I can't believe they didn’t even check whether our caravan was under Sichuan Tang's protection. Are we?" asked the nearest guard with her. 

"Ah, you see. That sect is under Emei's sect protection. But still, they are foolish. " The guard sneaks. 

"I know what you meant. Emei is too far to protect them, unlike the Tangs," she smirked.

"Fortunately, they honoured their promise, or else the caravan master might report this to lord Tang. 

 

 

🌸~●●《♡》●●~🌸

 

 

Two days from Huayin, they camped near a riverbank. The horses grew restless, and the water turned oddly murky.

That night, a low growl rumbled from the riverbed, and something massive slithered up—a serpent-like beast, covered in stone-like scales and hissing with fury.

Panic erupted.

Yewon stood her ground, drawing Yeoreum. But instead of charging blindly, she reached for the musical instrument tied to her back—a qin , acquired recently to hone her musical arts.

She struck a string—once, twice—releasing a resonant note infused with qi. The sound shimmered in the air, unnerving the beast.

Using her awareness training, she tracked its qi fluctuations—then struck precisely at a weak point near its throat.

With one final shriek, the beast crashed into the river and vanished into the current.

The caravan was saved.

> [Merit Earned: +25] The total merit earned as of today is: 247 points

Defeated a mutated river beast threatening multiple lives.

New Title Unlocked: “Silver String Maiden”

 

"Who the heck comes up with that? Is that you, system!? " 

>Host, this system only informs the host of what the others' thoughts are.  

 

 

🌸~●●《♡》●●~🌸

 

 

Arrival in Huayin

By the time they reached Huayin, the caravan folk looked at Yewon with awe and reverence. She was no longer “just” a quiet traveller—they called her Xia Yewon, the Swift Sword.

The caravan master even gave her back the fee she had paid before, and was given two bags of silver coins as a gesture of favour for protecting the caravan and the merchandise they carried. 

At first, she refuses the money but is convinced by the caravan master himself, saying that it was normal to lose some or more merchandise during the travel, so he is prepared for losses on this journey. However, not only did they all arrive in one piece, but the merchandise is all in their best condition. 

Only then did she accept the reward money. The caravan master is a good person, trusted by Lord Tang. The guards encourage her.

> [System Notification]

You have entered Huayin Prefecture – Mount Hua is near.

New Objective: Identify which timeline you ended up on.

Yewon looked up at the distant peaks—Mount Hua, veiled in clouds.

She smiled. The real journey was about to begin.

 

Chapter 9

 

A Tavern in Huayin

The tavern was lively, filled with merchants, messengers, and drunkards boasting nonsense. Yewon tucked herself into a corner, a pot of tea before her, face half-shadowed beneath her hood.

She wasn’t here to be seen. She was here to listen.

And sure enough, two men at the next table slurred with laughter over their wine.

 “—I tell ya! That brat from Mount Hua came stumbling through the market again! Red in the face like a boiled crab!”

> “Didn’t he say he was going to meditate in the forest or somethin’? Pah! Meditation, my foot! More like drowning in rice wine!”

> “Ha! And then—then—his seniors came after him like a pack of wolves! You shoulda have seen it! One even threw a cabbage at him!”

The tavern roared with laughter.

Yewon smiled faintly. Mount Hua. Finally, a concrete trace.

She poured herself more tea. Quietly, she asked the passing innkeeper, “That disciple from Mount Hua. Do you know where he went?”

The man raised a brow. “Ran east, I think. Toward the old market road. You looking for trouble, miss?”

Yewon only smiled politely. “Looking for a mountain.”

 

...

Ah, now she knows.

Yewon stared into her teacup as if the rippling surface could still her racing thoughts.

Plum Blossom Sword Saint.

Still alive and is very much still wreaking havoc, one alcohol jug at a time.

And those disciples? Those furious, angry taoists hollering his name in public? 

No way those were Baek Cheon, Jo Gul, or any of the later generation. They’d chase after Chung Myung only if he was in danger or about to destroy half a sect in his madman state, not to scold him over some drinking escapade. These people are clearly the 12th or 13th generation, must be chung myung's Sasuks and sahyungs.

Too green to try and rein in a storm.

 

Which meant…

> "This is before the fall. Before the Mount Hua Sect was nearly destroyed. Before the Demonic War."

The system chimed softly.

She bit her lower lip. Her heart thumped.

 

 “....I’m in the Plum Blossom Sword Saint’s era.”

Her breath caught. That name had once only lived inside a book.

Now, it was flesh and blood—wandering somewhere not far from here with wine on his breath and chaos in his shadow.

" ....oh dear" 

>Oh dear, indeed. Host. 

 

 

🌸~●●《♡》●●~🌸

 

 

Yewon lingered by the tavern’s open window, blending in with idle travellers. Her ears perked at every mention of Mount Hua, plum blossoms, or drunken bastards with a sword.

And sure enough—

 

> “I told ya! That brat from Mount Hua came down again yesterday. Took three jugs of Dragonfire Brew—again!” a drunkard said.

“You mean that Mount Hua disciple? The one who earned that fancy title? The Plum Blossom Sword Saint?” a travelling merchant from Hubei asked. 

“Him! I’d never believe it if I didn’t see that sword of his slice a boar clean in two, while drunk.” The drunken man is clearly in awe, even in the absurdity of that scene he is describing.

 

 

Yewon kept her head low, heart racing.

She needed more.

 

 

---

 

So she followed the rumours. From tavern to teahouse. From sleepy streets to the loud marketplace.

 

And, finally, she saw him.

A man dressed in slightly rumpled white robes, sword strapped lazily at his hip, sauntering with the swagger of someone who knew the world couldn’t touch him. His hair was tied in a messy ponytail.

>Definitely a 'chung myung trait' host.

" ...indeed" 

 

>Host... no pouncing. You'll die. A humiliating death. This system doesn't wat to report my host's shameful end to the Main System. 

' Yaaah! How dare you system! Who's pouncing on who!! I have enough self control! ' 

By the way_

—He looked too young to match the legendary tales—no more than his late twenties She thinks  But his movements were far too sharp, too clean, even while drunk.

 

“ So that’s him…” 

 she whispered under her breath, eyes narrowing in quiet awe.“Chung Myung,”

 

> Again. No pouncing, host

' shut it! ' 

 

He tilted his head suddenly and looked directly at her.

No, not just at her. Through her. As if something about her registered. The corner of his mouth curled, amused. He raised his gourd in mock salute before turning back down the road—

' oh no... this is not good ' 

—and vanished into the crowd with his drunken disciples chasing a few steps behind, yelling.

 

> “Chung Myung, you bastard! Come back!”

>“You’re not even supposed to be here today!”

 

Yewon stood frozen. Her heart pounded in her ears.

 this was truly pre-canon.

The Plum Blossom Sword Saint’s legend hadn’t ended yet.

But now the real question burned in her mind like wildfire:

“What am I going to do… with this knowledge?”

 

 

Chapter 10

 

Now that she knew exactly what timeline she had been thrown into, there was no room left for denial. No hope that maybe this was some peaceful AU where Plum Blossom Sword Saint lived happily ever after, teaching harassing disciples and drinking wine.

Nope. It was the real one.

Pre-canon even. 

 

And that drunken malco she just saw waving his gourd like a parade banner?

> Confirmed: Chung Myung. Twenty-seven years old. Second-class disciple. Thirteenth generation of Mount Hua.

A walking sword with a temper and a nose for lies.

So she asked the system the one question that could determine everything:

“System, dear... How long until the war against the Demonic cult begins?”

 

The answer wasn’t comforting.

> —[Answer: Based on Chung Myung’s recorded age at death (82), minus his current age (27), minus 3 years of war’s campaign = approximately 52 years remaining until the Rise of the Demonic Sect.]

Yewon stared blankly at the glowing system panel before her expression slowly twisted into horror.

“So basically... I’ve got 52 years to become so strong I don’t die horribly when those zombie-like fanatics start crawling out of the dark and tearing sects limb from limb.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath.

“Great. Fantastic. Wonderful. Love this. Training arc it is.”

Then she froze.

 

“Wait—he saw me. That crazy Malco saw me!”

She remembered the way Chung Myung glanced her way, that slight tilt of his head, the knowing smirk like he sniffed out something weird in the air.

 “God damn it! I should’ve worn a veil or... or fake something! That bastard has the instincts of a mad dog and the paranoia of a suspicious grandmother!”

She kicked a rock off the path and turned away from the tavern, eyes staring into the distance.

“Nope. I am not sticking my neck out. That man would skewer me with a twig if he even suspects I’m weird and suspicious.”

She rolled her shoulders and took a deep breath.

 “Right. Step one: Train like my life depends on it. Because it LITERALLY does.”

> Fear not, host, this system will train you right. 

 

"Uh... maybe please add ' treat me right' too? " 

 

>This system will reconsider. 

 

"Please 🙏  don't reconsider. Do it! "

 

And so she turned her back on Mount Hua—for now—and made her way to the mountains once more, muttering:

 “Fifty-two years. I’ll train, grow, get stronger, and then maybe—maybe—when the Heavenly Demon shows up, I won’t die a second time like a clueless extra.”

“And if that bastard shows up again… I’m climbing a tree and holding my breath.”

>Host should practice holding herself to not pounce on Chun-

" aaaahhh shut it! I have enough self-control, dear system. Why must you question my pure intentions?" 

>.... (￣ー￣)ｂ... this system will try to be the understanding one between host and system. 

 

"...... " daym she's definitely going to file a formal complaint . 

 

---

 

She knew it was a bad idea to linger in Huayin. With Chung Myung roaming the streets like a half-drunk cat with a sword ready to smack someone's head and a sixth sense for weirdos, staying was basically asking for an early funeral.

So what did our beloved host do?

She fled.

Not in a panic, mind you. She fled with grace, with strategy, with the elegance of a woman who read too many transmigration novels and knew better than to share a zip code with the Plum Blossom Sword Saint.

She packed her things, pulled up her hood, and made her merry way to Xi’an, the neighbouring city past Hua’am village, still within Shaanxi province but blessedly Chung Myung-free.most of the time.

And once there?

She bought herself a manor.

 

Yes. A manor. A girl deserves her own space to scream, train, and contemplate death by future demonic zombies in peace.

Thanks to the year she spent hoarding rare herbs and even rarer minerals—while pretending to be a demure damsel under the kind madam hwayeon's care—she had resources. Plus the money from the caravan master.

The kind of resources that, when sold with just enough acting and fluttered lashes, could buy a new identity and a private bathhouse.

Of course, she never forgot to write to the madam every week. Politeness must persist even if the timeline is spiralling toward apocalypse.

Now, onto choosing her manor.

Naturally, she had help.

 

> [System scanning Manor #1…]

—Negative. Rat infestation near the lavatory and the master’s bedroom.

 

Yewon wrinkled her nose.

“Romantic,” she muttered.

 

> [Manor #2…]

—Negative. Leaks everywhere. Too costly to repair. Next.

Fair.

 

> [Manor #5…]

—Negative. This one is too small and is vulnerable to fire.

—Reminder: Even Mount Hua was razed by fire.

“Woah there!” Yewon snapped. “Why would you bring that up like that?! Was that even necessary!?”

 

She glared at the glowing system screen.

“Do you enjoy emotional damage, system?”

 

The system beeped innocently.

 

> [Manor #7…]

—Negative. Fire hazard. Thin walls. Bad insulation.

 

 

She sighed. “Lexy.”

“From now on, I’m calling you Lexy. Congratulations on your sentience.”

 

The system.. ehem..Lexy beeped again. Probably smugly.

She rubbed her temples. “Can you please just find me something livable? I’m okay with a few flaws. I can patch a leak. I cannot fight rats in my sleep.”

The scan finally landed on Manor #9.

 

> [Manor #9…]

—Status: Acceptable. No infestation. Solid stone foundation. Reinforced doors. Spacious. Quiet.

—One flaw: Unused east wing rumoured to be haunted.

She blinked. “...Haunted?” must be why its original price is cut into half. 

> [ Note: Probability of haunting unconfirmed. Could be a draft. Or tragic backstory.]

Yewon stared.

Then shrugged.

“Fine. I was once a dead person too. I’ll take it.”

And just like that, she signed the deed, got herself a haunted (but structurally sound) manor, and began the next stage of her secret training arc—with Lexy the emotionally blunt system as her ever-judgy roommate.

Chapter 11

 

To say the manor was perfect would be a lie.

But to say it was a miracle in the housing market of a martial arts world?

Absolutely fair.

Yewon stood by the wooden gate, arms crossed, eyes scanning the small compound before her. It was no palace, but—

Three rooms. A living room. A kitchen that didn’t look like it had committed war crimes.

And best of all?

 

A zen garden. An actual, raked-sand, bonsai-framed zen garden.

She could already imagine herself meditating there, basking in inner peace while ignoring Lexy’s unsolicited life commentary.

And then came the crown jewel:

 

A small indoor pool.

 

Not big enough for two, granted. But hers nonetheless. She could carry water from the well outside. It would be like her own little training on endurance and upper body strength.

“I think this is it,” she said aloud.

 

> [ SCAN INITIATED — MANOR #9 FULL REPORT:]

 

> Main Structure: Three bedrooms.

• One living/dining room combo.
• Kitchen: fully functional with stone oven, ventilation intact.
• Reinforced beams: No signs of termite damage. 91% structural integrity.

 

> Zen Garden: Located in the courtyard.

• Sand: clean. Rake present.
• Bonus: One small koi pond (empty).
• Highly suitable for meditation, Qi-sensing, aesthetic brooding, and poetic monologues.

 

> Indoor Pool: Located adjacent to the east wing.

• Capacity: Approx. 1.3 people (your size).
• Stone-lined. No cracks.
• Manual water fill required. Well outside is within 15 meters.
• Bonus: Water-resistant flooring. Perfect for stamina, balance, or dramatic underwater self-reflection scenes.

 

> Water Source:

Shared village well. Clean. Moderate distance.

The system recommends storing filled barrels to reduce daily trips. Or bribing a local teen.

 

> Flaws:

East wing: Unused. Slight draft.

Rumours of haunting: 62.4% likely to be pigeons. 18.2% tragic love ghost. 11.1% cat.

Recommendation: Burn incense. Lock the door. Ignore noises.

 

> Safety Score: 89.5%

Martial Cultivator Suitability Rating: High.

Aesthetic Score: “Acceptably elegant for a lone heroine with survivor's guilt and a cultivation plan.”

 

Yewon blinked.

“…That last part was rude.”

 

> [System Response: I said what I said.]

 

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Lexy.”

> [Yes, Yewon?]

 

“Buy it.”

> [Purchase confirmed. Deed transferred. Congratulations, homeowner.]

And just like that, she became the proud owner of a haunted, elegant, moderately sized manor with a lonely pool and a zen garden—a perfect base for secret cultivation and avoiding sword saints with alcohol addictions.

She let out a long breath and stepped inside. The wood creaked under her feet like it had been waiting for someone.

“Well, Lexy,” she said, tossing her travel bag by the door, “looks like we’ve got work to do.”

> [Affirmative. Initiating furniture catalogue scan—wait, is that a rusty sword under the floorboard?]

 

---

 

She never thought she'd say this, but… Lexy was kinda amazing.

Yewon stood in the middle of the empty manor, one hand on her hip, the other already opening the system’s interface with a practised flick of her finger.

“Alright, Lexy,” she said, lips quirking into a grin. “Let’s talk themes.”

> [Initiating Theme Customisation Protocol (o≧▽゜)o ]

A small translucent interface popped up in front of her eyes, swiping through styles with all the flair of a heavenly interior designer:

> Rustic Warrior’s Lodge – antlers, fur rugs, heavy wood.

Mystical Daoist Retreat – flowing silks, incense burners, dragon motifs.

Desert Nomad Hideout – sandy tones, canvas shades, spiced pillows.

Bamboo Sanctuary – green tranquillity, gentle rustling, water dripping from stones…

 

Yewon paused.

“Stop. That one. Bamboo Sanctuary.”

 

> [Confirmation received. Bamboo Sanctuary theme selected.] (^^)b

> —Initiating material calculations…

 

—Bamboo seedlings required: 15

—Decorative lanterns: Optional

—Stone basin with ladle: Recommended for authenticity

—Wooden floor polish: Strongly advised. Your footsteps sound like regret.

 

Yewon rolled her eyes, but her smile grew. “You’re really in your element, huh?”

> [Statement: Unlike you, I’m optimised for multitasking. You think in one direction—I manage fourteen subroutines.]

 

“Lexy.”

> [Yes, Yewon?]

“Shut up.” she cant scold her so ever capable lexy dear. 

 

The backyard was already perfect for her vision, nestled beside a quiet patch of forestry outside Xi’an’s city wall. The manor was far enough from the city noise, and close enough to walk into town for supplies or…eavesdropping. Again. Probably.

She knelt near the edge of the backyard where the earth was soft. Her fingers sank into the soil, and she smiled. The scent of soil, the nearby rustle of trees, the distant sound of wind whistling through leaves—it all blended into a soothing sort of silence.

With a few clicks, Lexy transferred bamboo shoots into her inventory, and she began planting them in careful rows.

 

> [Note: Bamboo will grow rapidly. Within a season, this backyard will resemble a small forest. You may achieve enlightenment by accident.]

Σ( `Д

> [Optional: Add stepping stones for dramatic night walks.]

(^^)b 

> [Further Optional: Install guqin stand near garden. Suitable for lonely cultivation songs.]

She chuckled to herself. “I might do all of that.”

And so, with every stalk she planted and every plan she laid out, her new home took shape. Not just a base.

 

A sanctuary.

A place where she would grow strong.

 

Away from prying eyes.

Away from sword saints.

And absolutely away from anyone who drank in broad daylight and had no concept of personal space.

She was going to train, meditate, and prepare for the future that she knew was coming.

Fifty-two years.

That was her countdown.

 

And she was going to use every moment of it wisely.

Chapter 12

 

 

Three months into peaceful exile.

Yewon had finally settled into her routine: wake at dawn, train until the sweat glued her clothes, soak in the not-big-enough-for-two pool, sip calming tea while glaring at her calligraphy scrolls, and meditate by the koi pond.

It was peaceful.

Until it wasn’t.

 

Today was supposed to be another quiet day. She had just written a letter to Madam So, full of polite affection and hints of longing:

 “I hope the autumn wind by the mountains has not made your joints ache. My humble manor is always open to you, Madam. I wish you could see the bamboo grove—it whispers with every breeze. A pity you’re not here to share tea under the maple tree I planted last week.”

She even sent the letter with a cute, hand-stitched sachet of dried lavender and mint.

So imagine her utter disappointment when she opened her eyes mid-meditation only to find a man half-blended into the whitewashed wall of her inner courtyard like a drunk lizard.

 

She blinked.

He blinked.

 

He didn’t move.

Neither did she.

 

Outside, angry yelling disturbed the serenity of her bamboo-framed haven.

 

> “CHUNG MYUNG!! We know you're in there!”

“COME OUT NOW! Chung Mun will spare you, we swear on Chung jin's back pain!”

 

Yewon slowly turned her head to the koi pond.

“Lexy,” she said in the flattest tone possible, “I’m going to murder a man.”

what if she's only dressed lightly??? This was supposed to be a private area! She's a lady for Lexy’s sake!

> [Confirmed. Weapon suggestion: broomstick. Emotional damage: high. Physical damage: negligible.]

 

Chung Myung remained perfectly still, as though if he held his breath long enough, reality would forget he existed.

 

Yewon’s eye twitched.

 

He. Was. Ruining. Her. Zen.

 

And worst of all?

He was right there.

The man she swore to avoid.

The one she kept calling a walking headache.

The Plum Blossom Sword Saint.

The disaster with divine footwork and demon-level charm.

 

Y-you better not talk to me,she mentally pleaded.

You better not smile at me. Don’t even look at me, crazy malco! 

 

> [System Alert: Heart rate elevated. Breath erratic. Blood temperature: Spicy.]

 (   Д )　ﾟ　ﾟ 

 

> [Lexy’s Friendly Reminder: You are not allowed to pounce. There are no lawyers in this era.]

> [Also, suggest adopting a dog. This security breach is shameful.]

 

She turned her gaze back toward the koi pond and resumed meditating—well, pretending to.

Inside, her thoughts spiraled like a cheap romance novel gone rogue.

If I befriend him now, I’ll never survive this era.

I’ll end up making him soup. Then training with him. Then catching feelings.

Then next thing I know, I'm sharpening my sword while hallucinating about his eyes!

Oh god, what if I end up writing “Mrs. Sword Saint” on my calligraphy scrolls?!

 

Her face twitched.

She took a breath.

 

IN…

Don't imagine his smirk.

OUT…

Don’t think about his voice when he laughs.

IN—wait, NO not THAT—

OUT. OUT! PHEW!

 

She peeked with one eye.

Yep. He was still there. Flat against her wall. Like he paid rent.

“…I’m getting a dog,” she muttered.

 

Chung Myung blinked at her again. “...Nice pond.”

 

Yewon screamed internally.

 

---

 

Knocks echoed at the front entrance.

Yewon’s eye twitched.

Her back remained straight, shoulders squared, hands relaxed over her knees.

 

She wasn’t answering that.

She owed no one anything.

Not to Mount Hua.

Not to Zhongnan.

Not even to the moonlight.

 

The knocking continued—firm, insistent.

She didn’t flinch. The koi glided in tranquil loops. Bamboo rustled like applause for her patience.

 

Then silence.

Footsteps retreated, growing faint.

Finally, peace.

 

She exhaled through her nose.

Without turning around, she addressed the freeloader masquerading as modern art against her wall.

“You. Out.”

She was meditating. Meditating. Inhaling peace. Exhaling regrets.

She’d get a guard dog. A big one. With sharp teeth and a love for biting swordsmen.

 

---

Chung Myung’s POV

 

Okay. Listen. He could explain.

Was it his fault that every tavern and inn in Hua’am was ordered not to sell him anything stronger than green tea?

 

No.

 

Okay, maybe.

But still.

He even asked—politely, by Mount Hua standards—if one of his loyal sasuks could buy him a single bottle. But nooo, suddenly they all grew spines and denied him his rightful reasonings he can't refute no matter.

So he did what any desperate, completely logical swordsman would do:

He ran to the nearest city with taverns.

Xi’an.

Bigger. Busier. Full of good food and alcohol.

He covered the trip in two hours flat. Barefoot. Starving. Motivated by thirst and spite.

And damn, Xi’an delivered.

The first inn he stumbled into had a menu thicker than the Tao Te Ching and food that made him consider retiring from the sect life.

But no. Peace was a fleeting concept.

 

Some bastard from Zhongnan started picking on the child serving his dumplings.

So, naturally, he kicked their ass.

As one does.

Then—of course—his beloved sahyungs and sasuks found him.

They must’ve followed the trail of unconscious bodies and spilt wine.

He bailed through the back, dragging the poor kid along and stuffing the last of his money into their hand.

“Dream of being a merchant, eh? Good. Use it wisely, or I’ll come back and knock sense into you.”

The kid bowed deeply and vanished into the alleys. And forgot to tell him his name.

Then that same Zhongnan bastard found him again.

He got beaten again.

 

Why?

Because he asked for it.

And because he badmouthed Chung Mun Sahyung. Only he could do that, dammit.

By morning, he was still running, half-drunk, clothes scuffed, wine gourd nearly empty.

That’s when he saw it.

A manor outside the city walls. High, proud walls. Bamboo is peeking over the top.

Perfect.

His drunken genius brain whispered:

They won’t follow you into private property. They’re too decent for that. You, however, are not.

He peeked over the wall with the finesse of a seasoned rogue.

Not because he had to.

But because he could.

And that was reason enough.

The manor sat quiet and proud, white walls kissed by bamboo shadows.

Someone had taste.

Not bad.

He dropped down like a leaf on the wind—soundless, smooth. Anyone watching might’ve thought a thief had come to plunder secrets.

 

“CHUNG MYUNG! You disgrace! Get out here!”

“Chung Mun Sahyung said we’d talk! Just come back!”

“Stop running, you bastard!”

Pfft. Talk? That usually meant getting smacked upside the head and then being forced to meditate on a cliff while birds pooped on you.

He wasn’t falling for that again.

 

He pressed his back flat to the wall, letting the pale paint swallow his shadow. He could almost hear the wind giggle. That’s how good he was.

And then he saw her.

A woman, sitting still by a koi pond. Hands on her lap. Face turned ever so slightly toward the sunlight.

 

She looked peaceful.

Too peaceful.

He squinted.

 

Have I seen her before?

But before he could remember anything useful, she opened her eyes and looked straight at him.

 

Sharp gaze. Calm

Not startled. Not surprised. Just… judging.

 

He blinked.

She blinked.

 

He smiled. The most charming, innocent, definitely-not-hiding-from-my-seniors smile he could summon.

 

“CHUNG MYUNG!! WE KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE!”

She just blinked again. Then turned away, closing her eyes like he wasn’t wothereth the space he breathed.

“…Rude,” he muttered to himself.

He smiled sheepishly, raised his gourd, took a sip of regret-flavored wine.

She didn’t say a word. Just turned away and went back to her meditation like he was nothing more than an ugly lawn ornament.

The knocking came. She ignored it.

When the knocking came, heavy and relentless, she ignored it. Didn’t even twitch.

He was impressed. Most people panicked when thirty sword-wielding lunatics came yelling your name.

Eventually, his pursuers gave up and walked off grumbling.

Thank the heavens, he thought.

Until she said, cool as falling snow:

“You. Out.”

 

He blinked.

 

And all he could manage was—

“…Nice pond. Fishes look fat.”

He meant it. Very, very fat.

 

He’d have to come back tomorrow. Not because he was curious.Definitely not because her energy felt strangely grounded and comforting.

Just… he’d left his pride here. Somewhere between the bamboo and the wall.

Chapter 13

Notes:

This will be the last update for tonight. Goodnight fellas 😴✨️

Yewon leaned back against the cool stone of her manor's koi pond, sighing a breath of relief. She could practically feel her heart slow down from the near-encounter with that chaotic disaster of a man.

"Good," she muttered under her breath. "I won’t be labeled as a weirdo by him. Phew indeed."

She glanced down at the koi, their lazy swimming a reminder of how quiet and serene life could be—if not for the unpredictable presence of an annoying, lovable, totally-drunken sword saint.

The thought of Chung Myung showing up again made her shiver involuntarily. She didn’t want to be caught in some... strange situation with him.

She couldn’t let her budding... whatever it was with him ruin her carefully laid plans to survive in this world and train to become strong. She had enough to worry about without letting him mess things up.

>1.Protection Items:

As an alternative, an Alarm Formation can be activated, which will alert you whenever someone crosses the boundary of your manor. This will last indefinitely as long as the Qi energy is maintained.

2. Puppy Option:

While adopting a puppy might provide companionship and emotional support, it will not offer significant protection. However, certain breeds are more sensitive to danger and may alert you in advance. Should you choose to adopt one, a simple emotional bond could help stabilize your mental state in this world.

Recommendation:  It is advised to prioritize Qi formations for immediate security measures. Puppy can be a later option if needed.

Yewon blinked at the message for a moment before snorting, shaking her head.

“So, you're telling me that a puppy is essentially a companion... and not a guard dog? I should've known. I guess I'll have to go with the barrier for now."

 

She paused.

"Well, I guess it doesn't hurt to have both." A mischievous grin tugged at the corner of her lips. “Maybe I’ll get a puppy that can bark and chase away annoying sword saints.”

The system beeped in confirmation, as if it had accepted her decision without question.

"Good," Yewon said, standing up from her position at the koi pond. "Barrier it is then. Maybe the puppy can wait... but I'll find one eventually. Maybe something cute and not too troublesome."

She sighed and glanced around her peaceful garden, knowing that with a little more preparation, she could face whatever the world—and a certain troublesome sword saint—had to throw at her.

---

Yewon tightened the basket in her grasp, her eyes scanning the market stalls as she checked off mental notes. Refill pantry—done. Fresh vegetables—done. She was about to turn back when the familiar chime of the System echoed in her mind.

 

> [Mission Alert]

Emergency task available: investigate suspicious activity near the river bridge.

Estimated reward: 50 merit points.

Accept? [Yes/No]

 

With a sigh, she accepted. "Lead the way."

Her feet moved swiftly, the System's glowing markers leading her through alleyways and cobbled streets until she heard it—shouting, and the splash of something heavy hitting the water.

She arrived just in time to see a figure throw a bag into the river and walk away without looking back.

"System," she snapped. "Where's the target?"

 

> [Target located: inside the bag]

 

Her blood froze. 

Before she could even think, her body was already in motion—bolting across the path and leaping over the rail without hesitation. Gasps erupted from bystanders as she dove into the river. Someone screamed for help. Others rushed to the edge of the bridge, eyes wide with disbelief.

After a few minute passed Yewon finally surfaced, soaked to the bone and dragging the dripping bag with her. She swam to the bank, teeth clenched against the cold, and tore it open.

Her heart sank.

 

Puppies. Five tiny bodies, limp and unmoving. Their small furred forms were soaked through, and their chests did not rise.

She didn’t hesitate. Dropping to her knees, she pulled the first one out and began chest compressions with her thumbs—gentle but firm, her other fingers supporting its fragile body. She moved with urgency, repeating the motion for the next, and the next.

"Come on," she whispered. "Breathe."

And then—a whimper. The first pup shuddered, a small cry escaping its mouth. Then another. One by one, the tiny creatures wheezed to life, their whines rising into the air.

Four of them survived.

 

The fifth—the smallest—remained still in her hands.

Yewon lowered her head, wiping water from the pup’s face. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “You deserved better.”

The crowd behind her murmured in confusion. They had seen her running toward the river earlier, then diving without pause to retrieve that bag. Many thought those puppies must’ve been hers, judging by the panic in her steps. Some had noticed the man who threw the bag, but none had reacted in time.

Now, they simply watched as the strange young miss cradled a lifeless pup like a treasure, while four trembling siblings clung to her soaked sleeves.

---

 

Yewon’s POV

 

I should’ve punched that ugly bastard. Right in the jaw. No—kicked him into the river, too. How dare he throw these soft, helpless cuties away like trash?

I know. I know how this world works. The weak are discarded. The unwanted are drowned.

But knowing doesn’t mean I have to accept it.

I press gently again, just once more, on the smallest pup’s chest, hoping... but it stays cold. Injectingnqi carelesslyncould do more harm than good.

The other four are alive. Cold, scared, but alive.

That’s something.

I’ll bury the smallest one in my zen garden. Where the sun reaches, and the wind doesn’t bite. Where his brothers will be.

...Where the world, just for a moment, isn’t cruel.

 

 

---

 

 

What Yewon didn’t know—couldn’t know—was that her actions had already begun to ripple through Xi’an like a pebble dropped in still water.

 

The bystanders who had witnessed her leap, soaked and breathless, from the river with the bag of pups had already begun murmuring. But it was when the dead-still puppies began to twitch, then cry, after she pressed her thumbs to their tiny chests, that the murmurs shifted into awe.

 

"A young miss... revived them?"

"No spellcasting. No talisman. Just pressed her hand—and the little beasts breathed again!"

 

"Never seen anything like it."

"Do you think... she might be an immortal?"

Some swore the bag had been underwater too long. Some argued the pups had merely fainted. But others, especially those who had stood closest—who had heard the lack of breath and seen those limp bodies with their own eyes—knew what they saw.

It was not unlike the stories whispered from another village farther west. One about a quiet woman who’d once saved three children from the river. And the littlest one—blue-lipped and still—had drawn breath again, not through elixirs or cultivation, but because that same woman knelt and pressed at the child’s chest, forcing life back in.

No chants. No seals. Just her hands.

To the common folk, such a method was unheard of. Resuscitation was not a concept they knew. And so, lacking explanation, they turned to the only one that made sense.

“She must be using some secret art,” one muttered.

“No,” another whispered, voice trembling. “That’s no art I’ve seen... it’s a miracle.”

By nightfall, the story had changed a dozen times. Some said she spoke to the dead. Others claimed her hands glowed. A few insisted she had cursed the water to give life.

And just like that, in a city far too large for secrets, a quiet rumor began to grow.

The young miss with strange ways.

The woman who calls breath back into the lifeless.

The healer who does not heal like a physician—but like someone from the heavens.

 

 

Notes:

Guys... im not trying to glorified yewon too much. Im just fond of misunderstandings. 😆 🤣

Chapter 14

Jin Sokrim, The proud Daesahyung of the Second-Class Disciples Of Zhongnan Sect.

It began with a commotion—residents pulling at their sleeves and shouting something about a girl jumping into the river. Jin Sokrim frowned, prepared to reprimand them for such improper conduct, but before he could open his mouth, he was being dragged along with the crowd toward the bridge.

He was about to object when he heard the gasps.

“She’s swimming with a bag!”

“No, look—there’s something inside!”

 

Jin Sokrim peered over the railing.

What he saw rooted him to the spot.

A young woman, soaked and pale from the cold, emerged from the water. Her sleeves clung to her arms, her hair heavy with riverwater, but none of that seemed to matter. She gripped a sack tightly with both hands and kicked her way to the riverbank with alarming speed. As soon as she reached the shallows, she waded through and dropped to her knees in the mud. Without hesitation, she tore the bag open.

 

Puppies.

Tiny, limp things—wet and still. The smallest one dangled lifelessly in her fingers. Those pups must be hers. Some women began to cry. Others turned away.

 

But not her.

With wet, trembling hands, the young woman pressed her thumbs to each pup’s chest—one by one—her fingers delicate, practiced. A strange movement, repetitive and firm. A method none of them recognized.

 

And then... a whimper.

Then another.

The crowd gasped.

 

Jin Sokrim didn’t move.

Four pups now stirred in her lap, coughing water and whining softly. She cradled them gently, then pulled the smallest one to her chest and pressed again. And again.

But that one remained still.

 

She bowed her head.

Something in the air shifted. The crowd quieted.

 

Jin Sokrim stared.

He had seen many healers at work. Had watched qi arts mend bones and elixirs bring men back from the brink of death—but never had he seen life return like that, from such mundane hands. There was no glow. No incantation. No aura.

Only a woman who dared to give what others would’ve let die.

“She’s insane,” one of his junior brothers muttered in awe.

“She saved dogs,” another said, confused.

Jin Sokrim touched his still-bruised cheek—courtesy of that Mount Hua bastard. A scowl briefly crossed his face.

 

But then, he looked again.

At her.

And he paused.

 

What sort of person would throw away her safety, her warmth, her image—just to save something so easily ignored?

His fingers reached for the edge of his outer robe, almost mechanically. It was proper. The right thing. A gentleman’s duty. She must be freezing. He stepped forward through the crowd, robe already half-off.

He told himself he wouldn’t ask for it back. It was already filthy, anyway. A necessary sacrifice.

But when he came face to face with her—when her eyes, rimmed red from the cold, met his—his mind emptied.

 

She was...woa..

 

How could someone have a face like that?

And those eyes—there was a storm in them, hidden behind the stillness. Her features were untouched by embellishment, yet somehow more striking than any noble lady he had ever seen.

Jin Sokrim stood frozen.

Forgot his words.

Forgot his robe.

 

Somewhere behind him, his juniors whispered, but he didn’t hear them. He only realized he had been staring when she looked away and gently wrapped the pups in her own already-drenched sleeves.

Dignified. 

Entirely unimpressed with him.He flushed in embarrassment. And admiration.

A strange, unsettling feeling bloomed in his chest.

Jin Sokrim stood there, arm half-raised, his outer robe hanging awkwardly from his fingers as he faced the soaked and silent girl.

 

She didn’t even spare him a second glance.

Yewon’s entire body was dripping; her hair clung to her cheeks, her sleeves were heavy with water, and the damp hem of her robe squelched at her ankles. Mud streaked her boots. The puppies in her arms wriggled softly, whimpering in their sleep.

And yet—she didn’t shiver. Not even once.

She looked... mildly annoyed, if anything.

 

---

 

 

"Lexy"she thought flatly, "isn’t there a technique to dry myself and the puppies with qi or something?"

> [ Yes. You’ve read about it in Chapter XXX—are you is referring to the method chung myung used to rid himself of perspiration ? Would you like to execute it?]

"That would be delightful lexy ", she grumbled mentally.

 

"Before this gentleman tosses that ugly robe at me like I’m a stray dog too."

> Lol ( ￣▽￣)b 

Initiating internal qi circulation… Warning: Slight tingling in the spine is normal.

She closed her eyes for a breath and focused. The core of her dantian stirred. With a sharp pulse, her qi moved—warming her limbs, chasing out the cold, and evaporating the water from her soaked clothes. Her robes fluttered lightly as if wind had passed, and steam curled up faintly from the fabric.

In just moments, she looked as though she had never touched the river.

 

The bystanders blinked.

Jin Sokrim blinked.

 

And then Yewon finally turned to him—with the driest look imaginable.

“…You were about to throw that at me?” she asked, eyeing the robe in his hands like it was roadkill.

“I—ah—yes. That is—” Jin Sokrim stammered. “You… you were soaked...”

 

“Not anymore.”

 

“…Right.”

She gave him a single nod of thanks, just enough to count as polite, then brushed past him with the pups in her arms. Her boots squelched faintly in the mud, but even that faded as the remaining moisture steamed off her figure.

Behind her, the Zhongnan disciples stood slack-jawed.

Jin Sokrim stared down at the robe still in his hands. After a beat, he muttered under his breath, “…She’s not from around here.”

 

...

By the time Yewon was done drying herself with qi and walking away like a celestial being fresh out of a pond, the crowd behind her had erupted into frantic whispers, they are cooking ridiculous theories themselves. 

 

“She dried herself… with energy!”

“She didn’t chant, didn’t form hand seals—just stood there! And poof—dry!”

“Did you see the steam? Is she possessed? Is she a spirit cultivator?”

“Maybe she’s a river fairy! You saw how she swam, like a carp ascending the dragon gate!”

“Aiya, that’s why the dogs came back to life! She must’ve breathed her spirit into them!”

“No, no, no, she must be a hidden expert! Like the ones in those traveling tales! Quiet, cold, beautiful—definitely tragic backstory!”

 

As gossip bloomed like weeds after spring rain, Jin Sokrim remained stiff, the robe still crumpled in his hand.

 

“She looked… clean,” he muttered numbly. “Even the mud disappeared.”

One of his junior brothers leaned in. “Daesahyung, should we… should we report this to the elders?”

“I think she might be a rogue .”

 

“Stop talking,” Jin Sokrim sighed. He clutched his face where a fading bruise still bloomed and turned away.

“She’s like a ghost,” one of the youngest Zhongnan disciples whispered, eyes wide. “A beautiful, terrifying ghost…”

Notes:

" Her features were untouched by embellishment, yet somehow more striking than any noble lady he had ever seen." Lol what he meant is that. She looks beautiful even without make up. 😂

Woah there! someone’s catching feelings lol

Chapter 15

The manor was quiet when she returned,  the low rustle of the wind threading through bamboo stalks in the garden.

Yewon padded barefoot across the smooth stones, her robes still slightly damp at the hems. The basket she carried was hefty, not from weight, but from the still warmth of four tiny, slumbering lives. She didn’t stop to change. Didn’t ask Lexy to summon a shovel.

She just walked straight to her zen garden. The one place untouched by noise. A small square of earth bordered by weathered stone, a single bonsai pine in one corner, and scattered pebbles raked into waves.

 

She set the basket down. And dug.

With her own hands, fingers scraping the earth, soil slipping beneath her nails. She dug in silence. Lexy, for once, did not say a word.

When the hole was deep enough, Yewon carefully unwrapped the smallest pup from the cloth she'd swaddled him in. He looked like he was sleeping—his tiny paws curled, little ears folded back, eyes never opened to the world.

 

She placed him down gently. 

Then she buried him.

The tombstone wasn’t elegant—just a smoothed piece of slate from the garden wall. She knelt beside it and carved with a flat stone, etching the words slowly, fingers trembling with cold and care.

 

> A bamboo seedling

that never sprouted.

 

She sat back, wiping soil from her cheek.

Then she stood, walked to the basket, and one by one, placed the four surviving pups in front of the tiny grave. They blinked up at her groggily, the smallest letting out a confused yip.

 

Yewon knelt behind them.

"Look," she whispered. “Say goodbye to your brother.”

The pups sniffed at the stone. One pawed at the earth. Another curled beside the marker.Yewon didn’t cry. She simply rested her chin on her knees, watching in silence.And Lexy, ever sassy, said nothing. Not a ping. Not a quip.

Perhaps, even systems understood the language of grief.

 

---

 

The scent of fresh earth still lingered on her fingers, but the heaviness in Yewon’s chest lightened.

She sat cross-legged in her courtyard, drying under the mid-afternoon sun, wrapped in a warm  outer robe she’d reluctantly pulled from her wardrobe—the nice one she’d meant to save for “emergencies.” Apparently, impromptu river dives for puppy rescues now qualified.

Four small pups tumbled across the mat before her. They were still clumsy with thier little paws, but full of life now, fur puffed from the bath she'd given them. Lexy had finally returned from her dramatic silence and was being no help at all.

 

>I leave you alone for five minutes and you turn into a Mother Goose with a tragic backstory. Honestly, dear host, yewon. You were supposed to restock the pantry.

“I will restock the pantry,” Yewon grumbled as she tried to stop the smallest pup from chewing on the hem of her robe. “Eventually.”

She lifted the tiny dog in question and nuzzled its nose.

 

“You, Ying,” she said, “are a menace.”

The pup blinked up at her with innocent round eyes. Yewon booped its nose.

>Did you just name the dog ‘baby’?

“He is the youngest now, Lexy. And he’s small enough to fit in one of my sleeves.”

The eldest, a sprightly ball of fur who’d already tried to escape the mat three times, yipped and tackled Ying mid-yawn.

Yewon raised her voice like a general on a battlefield. “Feng! Leave your brother alone!”

The pup froze guiltily. Then wagged his tail, completely unfazed.

 

“Somi,” she called gently to the sweet, round-eyed girl who had curled up beside her hip, “you’re the only good one in this house.”

The pup thumped her tail.

> Somi means ‘lovely child’ or ‘sweet darling.’ You named the girl after sugar and you know it.

“Exactly,” Yewon said proudly.

The third pup, th,e one who barked like a wind chime every time someone moved, was now spinning in chaotic little circles.

“Ling,” Yewon sighed. “Your name is too accurate. You sound like a bell. Stop that before you fall over.”

>You know that’s just how puppies play, right? You’re trying to reason with someone who still thinks their own tail is a betrayal.

She laughed softly. The sound was warm again.Then her gaze drifted toward the corner of the garden.

To the small mound of earth beneath the bonsai. To the slate stone that now bore five carved characters:

 

 "A bamboo seedling that never sprouted."

 

Lan-lan.

 

Her quiet one. 

 

Yewon got up and approached the grave, each pup trailing her like a line of ducklings. She knelt once more and brushed her fingers across the gravestone.

“Sleep well,” she murmured. “You would’ve liked this garden.”

> …You’ve got dirt under your nails, your robe’s been chewed, and your house now smells like wet fur. And yet here I am. Softly weeping in binary.

Yewon chuckled. “Don’t go dramatic on me now. You already bailed on me during the river scene.”

> this system was respectfully silent! And, maybe buffering just a little.

 

---

 

Chaos was still unraveling.

 

Residents and old ladies keep gossiping about the events today, speaking in rushed, incredulous tones. Some pointed at the bridge. Others gestured wildly, trying to imitate what they’d witnessed. A few had taken to praying—just in case.

Disciples of the Zhongnan Sect stood off to the side, equally stunned.

Jin Sokrim, the Daesahyung of the second class disciples, was still frozen in place. His outer robe, now missing, was draped neatly over the rail, where it had been abandoned after being unceremoniously declined by the drenched young miss.

And the robe was still there because she had walked away.

 

Just… walked off.

Carrying a basket full of tiny dogs. As if nothing had happened.

“She—she just left,” one disciple whispered. “Didn’t even look back.”

 

“Did you see how she brought them back?” another said. “She pressed on them.”

“I thought they were dead! The small one was dead, right?”

“She dived in without hesitation…”

“…in silk robes. Silk!” 

 

Jin Sokrim rubbed his temple. He’d never felt so thoroughly overshadowed in his life.

 She hadn’t used spiritual energy.Just… her hands.

 

And she hadn’t said a word to them.

He tried not to think about how her features looked when she’d first emerged from the water. Hair clinging to her skin. He tried really hard not to recall how beautiful  her features are.

 Too beautiful even without embellishment on. It's unnatural, that kind of beauty.

 

“sahyung,” one of the younger disciples whispered. “are you interested in her ?”

Jin Sokrim flinched. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“sahyung has been looking like this since earlier's incident, ah i meant since meeting that miss ” another added.

 

A long silence fell over the group.

Then someone mumbled, “sahyung?”

Jin Sokrim sighed and turned on his heel. “We’re going back to the sect.”

And maybe he didn’t want to chase a woman who looked at puppies with more love than she’d ever spare a man.

 

---

Back at the manor.

 

Yewon slouched into a cushioned seat inside, the pups curled up at her feet like fluffy foot warmers.

“Lexy,” she muttered, “schedule a trip to the market tomorrow. We need more rice, dried fruits… and chew toys.”

> instead of learning swordsmanship or qi refinement, you’re becoming an auntie with four dogs?

“Five,” she corrected softly.

> “Yeah. Five.”

 

She smiled.

---

 

The Market, Two Days Later 

 

Jin Sokrim had not returned to the bridge since that day.

But the woman had not left his mind.

Nor had she left the whispers of the village.

 

The “River spirit,” they called her. 

 

Spirits didn’t go to markets.

Nor they  haggle over root vegetables.

And certainly didn’t converse with old aunties and carry baskets full of meat.

So when Jin Sokrim saw her again—standing there in the sun, dressed simply in linen and holding a neatly folded list in her hand—he froze.

He had been trying to choose between two types of dried tofu. But the moment his eyes landed on her, his fingers clamped around a packet and never let go.

 

 There she was.

Laughing gently at something an old woman said.

A large basket over one arm. A few springs of green onion peeking from it.

And just when he thought she might glance in his direction—perhaps offer a smile, or at least a nod of recognition—

She walked right past him.

 

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t slow down.

Didn’t even glance up.

 

“…what,” Jin Sokrim breathed. “Is she ignoring me?”

 

---

 

>“Turn left. No, your other left. Rice stall should be three vendors down. Try not to buy spoiled food by accident again.”

I thought that was just fermented too much, Yewon muttered back in her head.

> It was spoiled. Feng would turn the floor into battle field for two hours.

Yewon kept walking, her lips pressed into a polite, neutral smile. She passed by a man in white-blue robes—tall, sharp-featured, vaguely familiar. Probably someone from the bridge.

Didn’t matter. She had more important things to worry about.

Like meat.

And puppies.

 

> Somi prefers boiled chicken. Ling likes it shredded. Ying eats like he’s storing for winter. Feng will eat a brick if you leave it near the stew pot.

They were growing too fast. Already they could climb onto the low veranda. Feng had barked at a frog yesterday. Somi had tried to befriend the frog. And Ling… well, Ling chewed through one of her hairpins.

Still, she wouldn’t trade them for anything.

Not even for peace and quiet.

 

 

A few stalls down…

“Ah, Miss Yewon!” A hunched old woman waved eagerly, balancing a cabbage in one hand and a wild grin in the other. “Buying for the pups again?”

“Yes, Granny. They’ve grown like weeds,” Yewon said, bowing respectfully.

A cluster of elderly women immediately gathered around her like bees to honey.

 

“You must meet my second son,” one said.

“My grandson just returned from his travel.”

“There’s a handsome butcher down the street—he’s strong and gentle!”

Yewon smiled tightly. “Ah… I’m honored, but I must decline again. I’ve got four children to care for now.”

“You mean dogs.”

“They are family,” Yewon said solemnly.

> She said what she said. Respect the dog-mom life. 

 

“Miss Yewon, you’re too kind-hearted to stay unmarried.”

> this system doubt that.

Oh shut up lexy

 

“Too gentle to be alone.”

“She’s too pretty to stay unclaimed!”

Yewon bowed again, gracious as ever. “Perhaps in another lifetime, Grannies.” she grinned.

> Unless thier name start with Chung and ends with Myung~ right my dear host ? ~ if not, Let’s go with never. Dogs over dudes.”

 

Lexy keep giving her unwanted comments

---

 

He stared.

And she smiled. And laughed. And chatted with everyone.

 Is she pretending not to remember me?

Had she not heard him when he’d called out at the bridge? He had offered his robe. He had stepped forward. He had—

 

—been completely overshadowed.

 

“Daesahyung?” a younger disciple beside him asked, peeking from behind a crate of radishes. “Isn’t that the woman from the river?”

 

“…yes,” Jin Sokrim said flatly.

 

“She didn’t even look at you…” confusion was plastered all over the other disciple's face. Thier daesahyung could easily become Shaanxi's most handsome bachelor. 

“Thank you for the reminder.”

“Maybe she just have bad eye sight, its impossible not to look at sahyung, even from a distance.”

Everyone nods. 

They watched her float from stall to stall, gracefully dodging all romantic suggestions, casually correcting prices with a knowing wink, and finally, finally, heading toward the rice vendor.

 

" all of you juniors, go back to the sect first. I have something to take care of "

 

" does sahyung meant 'someone' ? " a junior whispered to another sect mates who just shrugged at him. 

 

 

---

 

The Market — Midday Heat

Yewon stood serenely before the rice stall, comparing grains by texture and fragrance. A mild breeze teased the end of her ponytail. She brushed it back, oblivious to the gleaming trail of sweat lining the man several paces behind her.

> Heads up, sunshine. You’ve had a tail since tofu station.

...What?

>White and blue martial robes. Zhongnan disciple. Pretty face, probably delusional. Been following you like a puppy with no manners. Which, I might add, is offensive  to actual puppies.”

Yewon didn’t turn her head. Instead, she held a grain up to the light and smiled politely at the vendor.

Why didn’t you tell me sooner?

> Didn’t seem important. Zhongnan dogs bark a lot but don’t bite unless they think they’ll win. But…

 

But?

> This one’s persistent. He’s been trying to figure out when to talk to you since the radish stand. Which means…

Which means?

 

>It’s time for cardio, darling~

 

Yewon’s fingers twitched in amusement.

Training it is, then.

 

---

 

At first, it was innocent enough. Jin Sokrim had spotted her near the tofu stand. He only wanted to… casually approach. Say something like, Something impressive.

But the crowd had surged.

Then she'd turned.

Then walked.

Then talked to someone.

Then turned again.

Then walked the other way.

 

And he followed. With purpose, of course. With intent. He was not stalking. He was tracking potential danger to the region. Of course.

Why did she walk in a spiral around the pickled vegetable stall?

 

Now she was stopping by the tea shop.

Now the herb shop.

Now—did she backtrack? Was she… circling

 

" Is this some kind of test?"Jin Sokrim wiped his brow.

His eyes flicked to the sword on her side. Slim. Graceful. White-sheathed and delicately carved with what looked like plum blossoms. If he wasn’t mistaken, the design was Jiangnanese. Rare. Reserved for personal gifts or heirloom pieces.

She's a martial artist...? That explained her endless stamina. 

 

 

---

 

> He’s sweating like a sinner in a temple.

Yewon adjusted the basket on her hip. The meat was heavy. The rice, heavier. The stalker, though?

Emotionally heaviest.

She walked again—this time through the cloth vendor alleys. Turned. Paused. Turned again.

> He’s still behind you. Honestly, this is sad. Should we ask if he needs water?

Maybe if he lasts fifteen more minutes.

 

> Oh, you’re feeling cruel today. I approve.

---

 

A gaggle of children ran past her. She smiled and gave way.

Then—without a word—she veered left, entered a long shaded corridor between market stalls, and made three sudden turns. She emerged near the incense shop, completely relaxed.

Jin Sokrim emerged three seconds later, gasping slightly, slamming into a hanging curtain.

 

...

Finally—finally—Yewon stopped near the well, drawing a ladle of water to splash over her hands. The pups would like it if she returned quickly. She’d even bought sweet potatoes.

She tilted her head.

“I assume you’re here to ask me something,” she said without turning.

Jin Sokrim, panting quietly, stood a few paces behind. Shock, fluster, and just a flicker of admiration ran across his face.

 

“…you knew?”

Yewon looked over her shoulder. Her expression was kind, but unreadable.

“I always know when I’m followed. Should I be worried?”

> Oooh, the 'should I be worried?' line. She pulled that card. Somebody’s ego just got stepped on.”

 

Jin Sokrim raised both hands, trying to look polite, civilised, and very not like someone who spent half the day stalking a woman through cabbages and dried eels.

“I mean no harm, truly. I only wished to speak. About the bridge—those pups—you…”

 

His gaze dropped to the sword at her hip, then returned to her face.

 

“You revived the dead. How?”

 

Yewon turned, full now, her basket resting neatly at her hip.

 

"They are mine. Of course i'll save them. And its called resuscitation, go travel down to Guizhou,  they are teaching "how" 

That barely answer his question.

> God, you sound so mystical today. Can we get you a fog machine?

 

The two stared at one another.

“Do you belong to a sect?” he asked.

She smiled. “I belong to four dogs and a zen garden.”

> Damn right.

 

“And that sword?”

“A gift,” she replied, “from someone I know.”

 

“Are you… seeing anyone?”

 

"..... " 

 

There was a brief silence.

> Should we tell him Somi bit the last man who tried to flirt?

Yewon answered instead with a soft chuckle. “No. But I fear your sect may soon declare me their shared delusion.”

“I… I apologize. I wasn’t trying to—”

“I know,” she cut in gently, and he flinched. Then she turned and walked away.

Jin Sokrim stood there,  thoroughly enchanted.

 

> So, that’s your stalker. I give him a C+ for effort. You?

 

Mm. B for ' Baek cheon's old-old man.' 

 

> You monster.

 

---

 

 

Mount Hua Sect 

 

A full month had passed. Not a day longer, not a day less.

Chung Myung didn't sneak out.

That alone was reason enough to worry the elders.

He sulked.

He train.

He kicked rocks.

 

He even helped  in sweep the training grounds without trying to break the broom halfway.

And when word came that the sect would send a delegation to Xi’an to negotiate with a merchant group, he perked up instantly.

 

"Can I go?"

Chung Mun sipped his tea slowly. “No.”

"Why not?!"

“Because you’re grounded.”

“I’ve been ungrounded for a month!”

 

“You were never un-grounded. You simply weren’t actively being punished anymore.”

Chung Myung's jaw dropped. “But the food! The steamed pork buns! The duck glazed in—”

 

Chung Mun’s glare was flat. “Not helping.”

Chung Myung folded his arms and huffed. “It’s not even about the food. I have—uh—a very important reason. I might want to visit that manor again.”

 

His voice trailed off, eyes suspiciously twinkling.

Chung Mun’s gaze narrowed. “What manor.”

“Nothing,” Chung Myung muttered, a little too quickly. Then, as if realizing he'd already cornered himself, he scratched the back of his neck and tried to look repentant.

 

“I might have… maybe… hid in a courtyard. Somewhere. That one time you all hunting me down like a pack of wolves.”

 

Chung Mun set down his teacup. Slowly.

 

“Which courtyard.”

 

Chung Myung brightened as if invited to tell a grand tale. “Oh, it was gorgeous. You should’ve seen it, sahyung. Bamboo stalks around the manor. White silk curtains at the veranda, so lavish for a manor of that size and then the stone lanterns with carved lotus petals—real ones, not those cheap mossy things we have here—and a pond with those fat koi fish. One even looked like chung gong. Anyway, there was incense burning, this very light sweet scent, and there was this young lady meditatin—”

 

THUNK!

 

A fist landed on the crown of his head. He let out a sharp yelp.

 

“OW! What was that for?!”

 

Chung Mun was smiling. That terrifying, calm smile that made even hardened bandits confess th eir sins.

 

“You trespassed into a young lady’s courtyard? And you thought it was worth admiring the lanterns?!”

Chung Myung shrank back. “I didn’t know it was a lady’s place until after I got there…”

“And after you stared at her during meditation?!”

“I didn’t stare! I glanced!”

“Oh? With how much admiration?”

...

“She had good posture?”

 

Chung Mun’s fingers twitched.Then he grabbed Chung Myung by the ear.

 

“OW! OW OW—SAHYUNG, HAVE MERCY! I HAVEN’T EVEN EATEN YET!”

“You’ll be fasting in the Penance Caverns whole day ! That’s what you’ll be doing!”

“FOR HOW LONG?!”

 

“UNTIL YOU LEARN BASIC DECENCY!”

 

Dragged off by one ear, Chung Myung wailed down the mountain path, limbs flailing, the elegant descriptions of that manor forever silenced by the wrath of a very done sahyung.

 

 

Chapter 16

 

It was a quiet morning.

 

Too quiet.

 

That should have been warning enough for Chung Myung.

He had just finished his morning drills—half-hearted, of course, because he still hadn’t get his much deserve little vacation in xi'an. His sahyung wont even hear him out. 

And then, there it was.

 

A shadow fell over him.

 

“Get ready. We’re going to Xi’an.”

 

Chung Myung froze mid-swing. “…What?”

 

“You heard me.”

Chung Mun stood there, arms crossed, robes pristine, face unreadable. Except for the vein twitching ever so slightly on his temple.

“Wait wait wait—really?!” Chung Myung lit up like a festival lantern. “I knew you’d change your mind! I—”

“You’re not going to eat.”

 

“…what?”

 

“You’re not going to stroll.”

 

“…Wait—”

 

“You’re not going to cause chaos, break stalls, or get chased by guards.”

Chung Myung blinked. “Then what am I going for?”

Chung Mun pulled out a folded letter and held it in front of his face.

“You trespassed in a respectable young lady’s private courtyard. You gawked at her like an uncultured rooster. You described her home with so much detail I thought you’d planned to move in. You are going to Xi’an to offer a formal apology.” 

Chung Myung stared at him, horror dawning.

“And you will carry the apology gifts.” chung mun personally picked the gifts, he cannot and will not trust chung myung to not pocket a coin if he entrust the gifts to him. 

The next scene was as ridiculous as it was humiliating.

 

Chung Myung, looking like a disgraced errand boy, trudged behind Chung Mun with two heavy gift boxes slung over his shoulders. One was filled with fragrant Mount Hua teas and dried plum blossoms. The other, heavier, contained fine silk from the sect’s rarely-touched donation stash—normally used only for important political gifts.

 

He grumbled the entire journey.

 

“This is extortion.”

“This is called consequences,” Chung Mun replied without looking back.

“I didn’t even do anything!”

“YYou gawked at a meditating woman while trespassing into her home.”

 

“I didn’t !”

 

Chung Mun didn’t reply, but his fingers twitched.

 

---

Arriving in Xi’an – At the Young Miss's Manor

 

The manor gate was just as Chung Myung remembered—elegant, peaceful, and perfectly maintained. White curtains swayed in the breeze. The sound of wind chimes danced from somewhere deep within. He shivered.

He was definitely not mentally prepared for this.

They knocked at the gate.

Footsteps we're heading towards the gate to open it. 

The manor master opened the gate.

For a moment, she blinked at them. She didn’t seem angry. In fact, she looked confused.

When Yewon finally looked at him, Chung Myung froze .

She looked completely different from the last time he saw her. In a fresh dress. A sleepy puppy dangled from one arm like an accessory.

 

she said. “Is this… about the courtyard thing?”

 

Chung Mun immediately bowed in full formality. “This humble disciple of Mount Hua offers sincere apologies for our junior's behavior. We were unaware he intruded upon your private residence. Please accept these offerings as a token of our remorse.”

Chung Myung bowed stiffly beside him, still clinging to the gift boxes. “I didn’t mean anything weird! I was just hiding!”

 

Yewon tilted her head.

 

Chung Myung held the boxes out like a reluctant sacrificial lamb.

She stared at them for a moment before setting the sleepy puppy down and with a smile “That’s very kind of you. But it’s alright. The courtyard is very big. And I was just meditating.”

 

Chung Mun blinked. “...You are not offended?”

 

The largest puppy barked from the garden.

Yewon chuckled softly, amused by the whole ordeal.

 

Lexy’s voice pinged in her head.

>Wow, he’s much docile looking than I imagined. You sure this is the one that cut down the Wudang Elder in the future? I mean, he’s cute..

 

Yewon mentally sighed. I need to Behave my urge to feed him something.

 

She turned back to the two disciples. “Well, apology accepted. Please lets talk this over a cup of tea, come inside first.”

 

Chung Mun nodded graciously.

Chung Myung, still holding the boxes, sulked beside him. “Does this mean I can finally eat?”

 

Yewon blinked. “You haven’t eaten yet?”

Chung Mun smiled politely. “Fasting helps with humility.”

 

Yewon chuckled again.

But something in her gaze lingered on Chung Myung. A faint flicker of curiosity. Of recognition, perhaps. Something strange and familiar.

 

And for a second, the brat of Mount Hua felt… oddly seen.

 

Then Feng tackled him from the side.

Face-first into the flower bed.

 

 tea or not—he should’ve just stayed home.

 

 

 

---

 

Inside Yewon’s Mind

 

Oh no.

 

Oh no no no no no.

 

Yewon’s polite smile strained ever so slightly as she took in the sight before her:

 

Chung Mun, composed and dignified as expected.

 

And beside him—

 

Him.

 

The goblin.

 

The brat of Mount Hua.

 

The brat who trespassed into her courtyard, locked eyes with her like it was some kind of fated wuxia drama moment, and then kicked him out.

Except now he was back.

 

With gifts.

 

Her lips parted slightly.

 

Her brain scrambled.

 

Why does he have gifts?! What does this mean? Is he here to challenge me? Repay a life debt? Confess?

 

Lexy.

Lexy, what’s happening?

 

>A goblin appears.

Lexy—!!

 

>To be precise, that is Chung Myung. I am a navigation system, not a 24/7 perimeter alert system. If you want security updates, you should’ve installed a formation array, yewon.

Why didn’t you tell me?!

 

>Because he didn’t break in this time.

 

Yewon’s hands were clasped so tightly behind her back that her fingers ached. Her face, however, remained the perfect portrait of calm.

Chung Myung looked just as annoying as she remembered—sullen, pouty, shoulders slumped from carrying the gift boxes like a child being dragged to apologize for eating the last dumpling.

 

She wanted to scream.

She also wanted to stuff him with hot food and tug on his cheeks until he apologized properly.

 No. No. You are a young miss with self-respect and poise. Do not fold. Do not smile. Do not—

Her eyes involuntarily sparkled at the sight of him being tackled by Feng into her flower bed.

 

' Dammit '

>You’re spiraling. Lexy’s voice buzzed like a smug assistant.

>Also, try not to give him warm soup. That’s a fatal sign in any Murim setting. You’ll end up married before the chapter ends, host.

 

'Lexy, he’s tiny and scruffy. He’s like a drenched cat pretending to be a tiger.'

>He is a tiger. Historically speaking. And that tiger just broke into your garden last month while you were meditating. That’s like someone entering your apartment while you’re showering. Inappropriate.

" But he didn’t mean it like that! "

 

>And did you say that out loud, or just now in your mind?

'…Shut up '

 

 

Yewon bowed her head politely and gestured toward the tea table at the garden. “Please, come. I’ve just brew tea.”

 

Her tone was smooth. Calm.

Internally, she was screaming.

 

> Sit down, she says. Would you like a pastry, she says. By the way, you still haunt my thoughts at night, she absolutely should NOT say.

Lexy’s chuckle echoed faintly.

 

>Good luck, young miss~ May your dignity survive the tea service.

 

---

 

Setting: Yewon’s courtyard veranda. Spring sunlight filters through the bamboo, the scent of flowers in the air. Four puppies tumble in the background while one Miss tries not to combust.

Chung Mun placed his teacup down with the utmost care, the soft click somehow more severe than a gong in the morning silence.

“Lady Yewon,” he began, his voice formal, measured, and tinged with regret, “Allow me to once again offer our sincerest apologies for my sajae’s unannounced intrusion last month.”

He bowed deeply, his robes rustling with the movement.

Chung Myung, sitting next to him with a mouth full of sweet potato cake, paused only long enough to glance up—and promptly got jabbed in the ribs with a sharp elbow.

He nearly choked.

 

“Sorry!” he managed, cheeks stuffed with pound cake, acing clinging to the corners of his mouth. “I didn’t mean to barge in, I was just—” Another jab.

 

This time, he wisely shut up.

 

Yewon delicately poured more tea into their cups, her hands steady, her face gracious.

 

Her thoughts?

 

Raging hurricane.

 

 'Lexy. Lexy, this is awful. What do I say? He’s bowing! Chung Mun’s actually bowing. First Sahyung of Mount Hua is bowing in my courtyard! ' 

>Try not to faint. Or cry. Or feed chung myung  more cake.

 

Chung Mun sat straight again. “I take full responsibility for his actions. As his sahyung, it was my failure to discipline him properly that led to such an indecorous moment. If there is any way we may compensate for this… violation of your peace and privacy, please state it. The Mount Hua Sect will see it honoured.”

Yewon blinked.

 

Compensation?

 

' What am I supposed to say? That I want to keep the goblin and feed him food? '

>You could ask for money. Or martial arts manuals. Or him to never show up again. That last one seems safest.

 ' I can’t say that! ' 

 

Chung Myung looked at her with a mix of suspicion and vague dread, like a child at the mercy of an angry matron about to assign extra chores.

The puppies squealed in the background—Feng dragging a rice scoop, Somi chasing a butterfly, Ling and Ying trying to climb Chung Myung’s back.

Lan-lan’s tiny tombstone stood quietly in the background of the garden.

 

Yewon smiled.

 

Calm. Dignified. Serene. everything she could muster up. 

“There's no need for grand gestures,” she said sweetly. “But if your sect insists, then perhaps… keep a tighter leash on your disciple.” Her eyes flicked to Chung Myung.

 

He bristled. “I don’t need a leash—”

 

A very sharp elbow.

 

“Mnph—never mind.”

 

Chung Mun gave a long-suffering sigh. “If only it were that easy. 

Both of them turn to chung myung. 

 

' Lexy, I want to throw tea at him and also hug him. This is dangerous. Abort mission. My feelings are—' 

>Chaotic? Inappropriate? Entirely your fault? Yes.

 

Chung Mun straightened. “If nothing else, please accept our gifts. silks, some seasonal medicine, and a few talismans for your estate’s protection. Not as compensation, but as an offering of goodwill.”

Yewon nodded, her tone soft. “Then I accept, for goodwill’s sake.”

Chung Myung muttered something about how he’d rather be back in the penance cavern.

 

She smiled wider.

 

“Would you like more cake, Chung Myung dojang?”

 

He looked startled. “...Huh?”

 

“I said,” she leaned forward a touch, her tone gentle, “Would you like more cake, or have you had enough sweets to rot your teeth?”

 ' Lexy. That was unnecessary. Why did I say it like that? Why did it sound flirty? I want to dissolve into air and float awaaaaaaay. '

>Because you’re doomed. Would you like me to fetch a fan to hide your blushing?

 

Yewon cleared her throat and composed herself.

Chung Mun merely sipped his tea and closed his eyes as if to say: there's something going on.

 

---

 

Setting: The same calm courtyard. Tea cooling, puppies napping, tension rising.

 

Chung Mun awaited her reply with the poise of a man ready to accept any outcome—even being tasked to build a new wing on her manor brick by brick.

Chung Myung had is gnawing on a candied chestnut, clearly thinking they were out of danger.

Yewon sipped her tea… and then Lexy spoke.

 

>You know, you could ask for something useful instead of acting like a blushing maiden in a spring romance.

 ' Lexy, this isn’t the time—'

> He’s a martial artist. You’re a martial artist. You’ve been testing yourself alone and have no idea what level you're at now. Spar with him. One round.  no blood, just gauge your strength.

' I’m not going to ask to fight Chung Myung as compensation, Lexy. That’s insane— '

> So is plotting on pouncing at someone and holding herself back from overfeed a particular goblin. But you’re already there, aren’t you?”

Her gaze lingered briefly on Chung Myung’s side profile. His sword. The way his fingers flexed slightly between sweets like he was always ready.

There was no other opponent in Zhongnan she could afford to test herself against without being either insulted or underestimated.

 

And frankly?

 

She was very curious.

 

' Lexy, if this backfires— '

 

> You’ll get to say you hit him once. That alone is worth it.

 

Yewon set her cup down and looked directly at Chung Mun, then to Chung Myung.

 

“In that case,” she said calmly, “I would like one round of sparring with your sajae.”

 

Silence. Utter silence.

 

Chung Myung blinked. “...What?”

 

Chung Mun stared. “...Pardon?”

 

“I am also a martial artist,” she explained, tone smooth but her fingers were definitely trembling under her sleeves, “and it would be useful to test the level of my progress. Your sajae is I'm sure a formidable opponent. One round—light, no fatal blows, of course—would be enough.”

 

Chung Mun gave her a look.

A deep, long-suffering look that said: Of all the things you could’ve asked…

 

> It’s fine. Chung Myung probably won’t throw a punch first. Probably.

 

Chung Myung sat up straighter, swallowing his last bite of that incredibly delicious fluffty snack.

“You wanna fight me?” he asked, grinning now—because of course he was. “I mean, I’m all for it, but—are you sure?”

 

“I am,” Yewon said, politely. “Unless the esteemed Sect Leader’s first disciple disapproves?”

Chung Mun pinched the bridge of his nose.

 

“...One round,” he said at last, very reluctantly. “Supervised. No qi-based strikes, no sharp weapons, no techniques meant to maim. And if you so much as graze her, I will personally beat you into the next season.” He's looking at chung myung.

 

Chung Myung beamed. “Deal.”

 

Yewon stood. “Shall we, then?”

 

The puppies yawned.

 

The wind rustled the bamboo.

 

And Lexy, deep in her digital soul, rubbed her metaphorical hands together like an evil little gremlin.

 

 

Notes:

I just noticed that the recent new works in this fandom is leaning more on chung myung/ original female characters. Is the tangcheong season over?? 🤔 i mean no issues with ships but is that a thing? It feels like two months ago, the fandom is feeding me tangcheong, and the previous is baekcheong like is this some kind of seasonal thingy??? Am i planting tomatoes during winter?

Chapter 17: Announcement lol

Hello! I just wanna say that this work is the result of my delulu driven daydreams of what ifs and sold out jokes . Please dont expect character depth or character development. Because the author clearly didn't go through one. I write this for fun and laughter with my oc and her internal struggle to not pounce on chung myung or feed chung myung food OR lure him with mooncakes to her manor with feng, ying , somi , ling and our baby lan-lan. So yes. This has no clear plot or anything . Characters may go ooc from the canon story especially chung myung 

 

And i admit it.... its so hard to write chung myung inlove!

With my oc its so easy to imagine a fangirl who hides her inner turmoil everytime her biased is near. The thing is. I cant imagine this malco bastard inlove at all !!!!!! The way he is not so ooc????? Another thing is, please be ware that the chapters from here on is just pure joke with unstable foundation 😆.  

 

I have read many oc x chung myung works and all of them are either

1. chung myung didn't take thier oc seriously then regretted later. (Pbss era)

2. Great love story built from scratch and then tragedy.  

3. Chung myung showing love to someone and then everyone is like " is this hell " lol . 

 

Not only in this ao3 site but from wattpad ,qoutev etc. They can do it but i cant! Imagine! Him! Falling! Inlove! 

 

 

Anyway another chapter is on the way. 😊

Chapter 18

 

Scene: The Sparring Match Between Yewon and Chung Myung

 

Setting: The outside of the manor, its stone path cleared of sleeping puppies, its bamboo rustling in the wind like chimes of fate. Afternoon sun falls in dappled gold.

Yewon rose to her feet, her calm presence stirring the quiet like a pebble into a still pond.

She took off her outer robe slowly, folding it with elegant care and placing it on a bench. Underneath, she wore a fitted training garment of pale green, embroidered subtly with violet blossoms. Practical, breathable. Deceptively delicate.

She pulled her long sleeves back and secured them with silk cords. Then—almost without thinking—reached up and tied her hair into a loose bun with a single hair stick she pulled from her belt sash.

Each movement was fluid. Poised. Like a painting coming to life.

Chung Myung had watched a lot of people prepare to fight. But somehow, watching her was like seeing an illusion turn into a blade.

He tilted his head slightly and gave a half-smile.

 

“…So she is serious.”

 

From a short distance away, Chung Mun crossed his arms, gaze sharp as he took on the role of referee and older brother-shaped babysitter. The puppies, having been relocated by servants, watched from the veranda, yawning in synchronized awe.

 

Yewon stood on one side of the courtyard.

 

Chung Myung on the other, cracking his neck once, then casually resting his hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword.

 

“Alright,” he said lazily, “one round. No blood. No dying. I get it.”

 

“Mm,” Yewon replied, rolling her wrist once, then bowing slightly. “Shall we?”

 

And just like that—

The air changed.

 

The first to move was Yewon.

She blurred forward, qi harnessed in her core, and struck out with a controlled palm aimed at his shoulder—not vital, not fatal. A test. A warning.

 

Chung Myung sidestepped it with the ease of brushing a leaf from his robe, but his eyes glinted. That speed wasn’t ordinary. She’d compressed her steps, shortening distance with alarming fluidity.

 

He retaliated with a low sweep aimed at her legs.

 

She flipped midair, landing light on her toes like a crane dipping into a pond. Her left hand struck out—he dodged—but her right hand was already following. A feint. A trap. He deflected with his elbow, grinning wide.

 

“She’s got tricks,” he muttered.

 

Yewon’s movements were precise, like she’d trained under a school of scholars and killers both. No wasted effort. No overextension. She didn’t use flashy footwork—just clever positioning, smart angles, and relentless calm.

Chung Myung, meanwhile, fought like a lazy tiger humoring a cub… but only at first.

By the fourth exchange, he narrowed his eyes and shifted into a real stance.

 

 Lexy

Yewon hissed mentally, sweat dotting her temples, he’s not even going all out yet!

> Did you think the legendary Chung Myung would lose to someone who feeds stray dogs and talks to air 

That’s not what I—

>Focus! He’s trying to bait your center of gravity forward. Don’t fall for it!

 

She grit her teeth and pivoted on one heel, twisting away from a sweeping blow. Her sash fluttered as she spun, and she used that momentum to leap—her knee almost brushing his chin.

He blocked it just in time with a crossed forearm.

 

The impact thudded through both of them.

 

He slid half a step back.

 

“…Huh,” he muttered, licking a drop of sweat from his lip. “If there were four more of you, I’d probably lose.” he shrugged. 

Yewon exhaled sharply. “Then be grateful there’s only one.”

Chung Myung grinned. “I am. Any more of you, and I’d have to start thinking.”

> Oooh, I like him.

Lexy whispered gleefully.

> He’s annoying. That means you’re evenly matched.

Shut UP—

 

Chung Myung came at her this time—no sword, just fists and footwork. Each movement danced on the edge of danger, just shy of a real blow.

He wasn’t just testing her skills now.

 

He was enjoying himself.

 

So she gave him something to remember.

 

Using her speed, she spun low and struck his shin—not hard enough to break, but definitely enough to sting. He winced. She used that opening to aim a sharp jab at his shoulder.

 

It landed.

 

A clean, direct touch.

 

Both of them froze.

 

Then—

 

“OW!” he yelped. “You hit me, you—!”

“I landed a strike,” Yewon said, deadpan, breathing hard. “That ends the round.”

Chung Mun clapped once, stepping forward before it escalated into mutual childish insult.

“Match complete,” he said calmly, though his lip was twitching at the sight of Chung Myung massaging his bruised shoulder like a kicked toddler.

Yewon bowed, face flushed. “Thank you.”

Chung Myung squinted at her. “You cheated. You used your sash to distract me.”

“I used your lack of focus,” she corrected, turning away, cheeks pink.

 

> “Well done, killer,” Lexy purred. “Ten out of ten. And you didn’t pounce on him. We’re growing.”

 

 

 

 

---

 

Later, as they prepared to leave…

Chung Myung trailed a little behind Chung Mun, who was praising Yewon politely for her restraint and skill.The young disciple turned once to glance back at the courtyard. Where she stood. Feeding puppies again. One tucked inside her sleeve.

He rubbed his shoulder with a small, lopsided grin.

 

“…Four more of her, huh?” he told to himself 

 

He wasn’t sure whether he meant on the battlefield—

 

—or in his life.

 

---

 

Scene: On the Way Back to Town – Chung Myung's Thoughts

 

They’d long left the manor behind. The dusty path to Xi’an curved gently alongside the forest, and Chung Mun walked ahead with measured grace, hands folded behind his back like a portrait of discipline.

But behind him, Chung Myung was unusually quiet.

 

No idle humming.

No complaining about the heat.

Not even a single mutter about being unjustly punished by fate.

He had his arms crossed, sword slung across his back, brows furrowed so tightly it looked like his thoughts were arm wrestling.

 

His lips twitched.

 

Not in a smirk.

 

Not even in a scowl.

 

It was… something unreadable.

 

Something rare.

 

“She shouldn’t be that fast,” he thought, jaw tightening. “She didn’t even use that much qi.”

And that was what bothered him most.

Not the kick to his ribs. Not the palm strike that slipped under his defense. Not even the way her footwork nearly outpaced his when she changed rhythm.

No—it was the restraint.

That woman… Yewon… she was holding back.

Not wildly. Not childishly. But intelligently. Like someone who knew exactly what their body was capable of, and only showed the cards they were willing to let him see.

He saw it in the way she narrowed her eyes mid-spar. In the split-second delay before she swept his leg. In the tension in her shoulders that didn’t belong to someone untrained.

 

“She’s trained.”

 

 

But not with them.

 

Not with Mount Hua.

 

Not with any orthodox sect he recognized. Her style felt… blended. A balance of elegance and brutality.

Like someone who learned first from the world, then taught herself how to survive it.

His hand absently moved to his ribs. Still tender.

 

A clean hit.

 

He clicked his tongue, but didn’t scowl.

 

In fact… He grinned.

Not his usual smug, arrogant grin—the one that made his poor sahyungs want to stuff him in a rice sack and throw him down the mountain.

 

This was… smaller. Sharper.

 

Honest.

 

“If there were four more of her…” he muttered aloud. “...it’d be a draw.”

 

Chung Mun turned around. “Huh?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

Chung Mun narrowed his eyes.

 

Chung Myung, in a rare flash of self-preservation, shut up.

 

Still, his mind wouldn’t rest.

 

 

---

 

When he first met her, she was meditating. Back straight, presence calm, as if the wind itself bowed to her stillness. She hadn’t looked up when he landed in the courtyard like a bandit. Only slightly raised a brow.

 

Now he knew why.

 

She wasn’t surprised because she was never afraid. That kind of confidence…

 

That kind of unbothered, steel-lined grace…

 

Didn’t come from nobility.

 

It came from knowing you can break bones and walk away before the other person hits the ground.

 

He respected that.

 

No—he admired it.

 

But that wasn’t what made his stomach tighten strangely when he thought of her face.

 

What lingered in his mind wasn’t her martial skill.

 

It was the brief moment—just a breath long—when their spar ended.

When she stood before him, chest rising and falling, sweat beading on her brow, eyes shining not with fear or anger but something quieter.

 

Joy.

 

The same kind of joy he knew.

The kind you get when your body moves exactly how you want it to.

The kind of joy that only comes from fighting someone who speaks the same language—without saying a word.

Chung Myung’s steps slowed.

 

He looked up at the sky.

 

“…Tsk.”

 

Why was his heart beating like that?

 

He wasn’t tired.

 

Wasn’t injured.

 

Didn’t eat anything strange.

 

So why was his head full of thoughts that weren’t swords or fights or plum blossoms or dumplings?

 

Why—

 

“Don’t tell me,” he muttered, “I actually like sparring with her.”

 

His ears burned.

 

Chung Mun, far ahead, glanced back again. “Why are you grinning like a lunatic?”

Chung Myung immediately schooled his face into a blank wall of innocence. “Nothing. Must be heatstroke.”

Chung Mun narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

 

“…You’re banned from sweet tea for a week.”

 

“WHAT?!”

 

But even as he protested, even as he sulked and trailed behind like a kicked dog—

 

He still had that stupid grin.

 

Because the thought stuck in his mind like a splinter he didn’t want to remove:

 

I want to fight her again.

 

 

 

Chapter 19

 

Scene: Yewon’s Main Courtyard – Late Night

 

The moonlight washed the courtyard in silver. Soft ripples glowed across the pond’s surface, disturbed only by the lazy swirl of koi beneath.

Yewon stood barefoot on the smooth stone path, her outer robe set aside neatly by the veranda. Dressed in a sleeveless training tunic and dark trousers, her hair was loosely tied, a few damp strands sticking to her cheek from sweat.

She had been moving for over an hour.

 

Again. And again.

 

Her blade sliced the air with graceful precision—Moonlight Draws Water—a technique rooted in fluid motion. But her brow was furrowed. Her eyes not serene, but searching.

Each swing ended with a pause.

 

A correction.

 

A breath.

 

“He slipped between the third and fifth step…” she thought. “He shouldn’t have been able to.”

Yewon exhaled, grounding herself.

Her mind replayed the spar. Not from memory—but from muscle. Her arms tingled at the recollection of blocking his sword. Her foot ached where she had turned too slow to evade his counter.

Chung Myung’s strikes weren’t elegant.

They were efficient. Ruthless. Stable.

 

And yet—

 

There was a beauty to them.

A kind of art she wasn’t taught but recognized instinctively. Like an ancient dialect she hadn’t studied, but could understand when spoken.

And when his sword clashed with hers—

It had felt like thunder meeting a tide.

“He’s faster than I expected.”

“No. He’s precise.”

“Too precise.” Yewon narrowed her eyes, adjusting her stance.

 

She went again.

This time, her movements were different—less polished, more instinctive. She abandoned the perfect arcs and began mimicking his rhythm.

Shortened swings. Abrupt footwork. Blades that stopped inches short of the next motion, like he did when testing her guard.

Sweat slid down her back. Her breath grew heavier.

Still, she moved.

 

Faster.

Harder.

Until—

 

She struck forward, and her foot slid—just a fraction. Just enough to lose balance.

She caught herself, panting.

Silence returned to the courtyard. The koi circled lazily. The wind rustled the bamboo gently, as if whispering:

 

Too slow.

Yewon pressed her knuckles to her lips and sighed through her fingers.

Not in frustration.

But wonder.

“That little goblin…” she muttered aloud, her lips twitching into a reluctant smile.

 

Lexy chimed gently in her mind.

> Is this the part where I remind you that intruders don’t usually inspire this much admiration?

 

Yewon gave a dry chuckle.

She moved to sit on the veranda, legs crossed beneath her, sword resting beside her knees. Her hand absently traced the carved hilt.

 

> “His sword didn't hesitate. Not once.”

 

That’s what left her breathless. Not his speed. Not even his strength.

It was his certainty.

Even in feints, even in missteps—he never wavered. Not physically. Not spiritually. As if every inch of him had long accepted the sword as part of his being.

 

Yewon lowered her head.

She closed her eyes.

And her thoughts whispered:

"If he was the storm, I was the branch trying not to break."

 

 

But she didn’t break.

No, she held her own.

She bruised him.

Made him blink.

 

That alone—

Was worth every drop of sweat now cooling on her skin.

 

“Lexy,” she murmured aloud this time, “scan my flow of qi.”

> ‘Diagnostics activated. Minor bruising in left wrist. Right heel strain. Internal flow—stable but strained.’

 

“Level?”

> ‘High intermediate—on verge of advanced. But your sword doesn’t match your physical potential.’

 

Yewon opened her eyes slowly.

“…Then I’ll fix that.”

 

The koi rustled beneath the lily pads as she stood once more, blade in hand. The moon glinted off the white sheath of her sword—still pristine.

She didn’t sleep that night.

 

Not out of restlessness.

 

But because—

 

Somewhere deep in her chest, her martial soul had stirred. And it would not return to silence.

 

Not after meeting him.

 

Not after recognizing a worthy storm.

 

 

---

 

MISSION ALERT — SYSTEM NOTICE

 

Ding!

[New Mission Unlocked]

Title: "Shadow of the Boar"

Difficulty Level: ★★★★☆

Objective: Investigate and neutralize the threat of a mutated killer boar terrorizing the outskirts of He’an Village near Xi’an.

Optional Bonus: Prevent further casualties.

Reward: Unlocked skill path — Beast force : Tier I

—Lexy

 

Yewon had just finished brushing off the morning dew from her courtyard stones when Lexy's crisp voice echoed in her head like a drumroll before a storm.

 

 “Another mission, huh?”

>If you’re done playing flower girl with swords, maybe we can test your progress with something that bites back

Lexy quipped, tone dry as ever.

 

Yewon grabbed her blade. The white sheath gleamed in the sun, soft and clean—deceptive, like the calm before chaos. Her robes shifted lightly as she moved. “Let’s go.”

 

---

 

He’an Village – Duskfall

 

The sky was dim with overcast clouds when Yewon arrived. Villagers huddled behind barricaded doors and nailed windows. The elder of the town greeted her with trembling hands.

“It… it came again last night. Took poor Hu Gong’s youngest. Just bones now. A monster, not a beast.”

She asked to be shown the body

It wasn’t bones—it was pulp. Flesh torn as if the creature took offense to muscle being attached to bone. Something wasn’t natural about the carnage. Too aggressive.

Yewon crouched by the ruined remains, eyes narrowing.

 

“Lexy. This isn’t an ordinary beast, is it?”

> Readings show a qi anomaly in its bloodstream. Mutated. Likely due to exposure to an old battlefield or rogue cultivator runoff. Maybe both. Lucky you.

 “Any weak points?”

>You’ll figure it out. It’s like dating—learn as you bleed.

 

---

 

Nightfall – The Hunt Begins

Yewon laid a trap using bloody hides and fermented fruit soaked in spirit wine. The bait stank. Good. She settled above a tree, her qi masked under Lexy’s stealth module.

 

Crack.

 

A heavy paw crushed a fallen branch.

Then another.

Red eyes glinted beneath the trees like molten coals. It wasn’t just large—it was massive. At least twice the size of a tiger, jagged tusks curling like scythes, stained black and red.

The Killer Boar.

 

It approached the bait, paused—then looked up directly at her tree.

 

“Lexy—”

>Yeah. You’re busted

 

" Wo de tian " 

 

The tree shattered as the boar rammed its trunk. Yewon flipped midair, drawing her blade. Sparks flew as tusk met steel. Her sword rang with the force of the clash.

> You know . You could’ve worn that reinforced silk robe I told you about. But no. Gotta go full aesthetic, huh?

 “Lexy, now is not the time!”

Yewon darted across the clearing. The boar followed like an avalanche—relentless, eyes wild.

 

Mid-Battle

 

Yewon ducked, rolled, slashed—her body acting before her mind could catch up. The beast was fast, too fast. A gouge sliced her sleeve open. Blood.

Just a scratch.

She poured qi into her legs and leapt onto the beast’s back.

 

It bucked.

She stabbed.

It howled.

 

> Now! Strike under the left armpit—nerve cluster exposed during berserk charge!

She drove her sword deep.and twisted it a few times.

With a final screech, the killer boar fell. A shuddering thud shook the ground.

Yewon stood, panting. Her robes were a mess. Her blade stained. Her hair loose. But her eyes?

 

Alive.

 

Lexy gave a dramatic slow clap in her mind.

>“Not bad for someone who panicked when Chung Myung showed up with gifts.”

 

---

 

By the time dawn broke, He’an Village stirred with quiet dread. No one expected the young lady cloaked in a dirty expensive robe, hair swept up by wind and sweat, to reappear dragging a carcass nearly three times her size—by its hind leg, no less. The grotesque snout scraped against the dirt, streaking blood and broken teeth along the road.

 

The killer boar was dead.

She dropped it in the center of the square with a final thud that echoed like a gong.

For a long, suspended breath, no one moved.

The village elder, wide-eyed, stepped forward. “Y-you... killed it?”

Yewon merely nodded, brushing loose strands of hair from her face with the back of her hand.

A young boy peeked from behind his mother. “Is it really dead?”

 

 “Yes ” she said softly.

“It won’t take anyone else anymore ”

Her eyes moved to the grieving family of the last victim. Their boy—just ten years old. The father’s shoulders were stiff, jaw clenched to hold back pain that ran far deeper than any wound.

She faced him, offering not words, but the boar’s carcass.

 

 “Take it,” she said. “The meat, the hide, the tusks. Sell what you must, bury what you must. If this helps ease the weight even a little… let it.”

The man stared, stunned. His wife wept quietly. No one had ever done that before. Not even the local constables. The elder bent in a deep bow. One by one, the villagers followed.

 

> “Lexy,” Yewon whispered inside her mind, a little flustered.

“Say nothing.”

>look whose about to cry,” 

 

---

 

Horse hooves cracked the earth as a dozen disciples in Zhongnan robes arrived. Cloaks fluttering, their weapons gleamed, polished and eager. At their lead, Jin Sokrim dismounted first, eyes narrowing as he surveyed the scene.

No beast. No panicked crowd. No blood trail.

Only a dried-up, sunbaked hide of a massive boar stretched in the village square like a trophy no one dared touch.

Steam still faintly rose from what was left of the bones, clean and white from a proper skinning job. There were claw marks along the ribs. Slicing marks—precise .

 

The kind only someone skilled would leave behind.

Jin Sokrim crouched and touched the sun-warmed flesh.

 

“Too late,” he muttered.

Another disciple approached, jaw slack. “ Sahyung, this… This thing was huge, no, its massive! ”

Another whispered, “There’s no sign of  beast aura now.  must’ve killed it cleanly.”

Sokrim’s lips twitched. It wasn’t quite a smile, but something like reluctant admiration curled in his chest.

“ didn’t even wait for help,” one muttered.

 

The elder of the village approached them and bowed.

“She came before the sun. Killed the beast by night . Dragged it here with her own hands. She said nothing of reward—just gave the body to the family.”

“And her name?” Sokrim asked, voice low.

The elder gave it gently, reverently, as one would recall a guardian’s name.

 “ The rumors called her Xia Yewon.”

Sokrim’s eyes flicked back to the hide, then to the fading trail of bootprints leading toward the forest edge. A soft smirk finally tugged his lips.

“I doubt I’ll get her to talk easily.”

And somewhere far off, already walking back through a wooded path under dappled morning light, Yewon rolled her shoulders and muttered aloud—

 

 “Lexy, please tell me no more beast-hunting missions for a week."

> Define week, Because I might have accepted one for a river serpent near a fishing port—"

“Lexy!”

 

---

 

The Serpent Beneath the River

 

Nightfall – One Week Later – Near Jinhua Fishing Port

 

The wind reeked of brine and rot.

Jinhua River Port, once known for its abundance of freshwater fish and serene nights, now simmered with fear. Nets lay untouched. Boats rocked idly at their moorings. The water had turned odd—a strange greenish hue that shimmered too smoothly, too still, like it was holding its breath.

They said it was a river spirit gone mad.

No one dared fish.

 

No one dared bathe.

 

---

 

Yewon arrived by foot, a tanned cloak draped over her shoulders, and her white-sheathed sword tied securely at her waist. The sleeves of her robe were rolled up just above the wrist—practical. Intentional.

“Lexy,” she muttered mentally, eyes scanning the sleepy port. “What are we dealing with?”

 

> Reports indicate an aquatic spirit beast. Elongated body. Dislocating jaw. Known for capsizing boats and dragging prey underwater. Locals call it ‘Whiteback’.

“Because?”

>They say its spine flashes pale right before it lunges.

Yewon didn’t flinch. She merely exhaled, long and even.

 “That’s not a river spirit. That’s a serpent-class beast. A very dangerous one and aggressive.”

 

> Correct. Estimated danger level: high.

 

She approached the village elder, who eyed her suspiciously.

 

“You... You’re here about the river?”

She nodded. “I need a vantage point. A boat, if possible.”

The elder blinked. “A-Aren’t you going to wait for your sect?”

 “No sect,” she replied with a small, grim smile. “Just me.”

 

...

 

That night, she rowed a small boat into the black water alone, lantern swaying gently at the bow.

“Lexy. Ping if you feel even the slightest surge of spiritual aura.”

> Already scanning. Pressure’s rising... Hold on... something’s moving.

 

The water went still.

Then—a ripple.

Something large.

 

> West. Behind you.

 

Yewon stood instantly, drawing her sword in a single breath.

A massive silhouette arched beneath the surface, glimmering silver-green under the moon. Then—a flash of white.

 “There you are.”

 

The serpent breached.

Its body was long and ridged like a mountain path, jaws wide enough to swallow the boat in one gulp. Water surged.

Yewon launched herself skyward.

Steel flashed as she used the lantern’s hook to pivot and land on the serpent’s back. She skidded across its slick spine and plunged her blade just behind its jaw.

 

“now!”

She Amplified her focus. Enhanced her internal flow. She have ten seconds.

The beast shrieked—a sound like cracking stone underwater.

Yewon let the qi in her veins surge, her strikes turning sharper, faster—more precise. She dodged the tail that whipped up from below, pivoted, and dragged her sword along the spine.

A second flash of white light.

 

Then, silence.

---

 

At Dawn

She returned with the serpent’s enormous head tied to her boat, trailing behind like a ghastly banner. Villagers peeked from their doors, mouths agape.

The elder dropped to his knees. “It’s dead... It’s really dead...”

Yewon said nothing. She stepped off the boat and collapsed onto a bench with a tired grunt.

 

 “Lexy.”

> Yes?

" I. Am. Not. Taking. Another. Mission." 

>You say that every time.

 “I mean it this time.”

 

> Sure. Want to hear the new request from the northern foot of Mount Tai?

 

Yewon screamed internally.

 

---

 

Meanwhile – Zhongnan Sect

 

Jin Sokrim read the latest report and almost choked on his tea.

 

“She killed what!?”

He turned to his senior.

 

“She... beheaded a serpent the length of three large fishing boats. Alone.”

The elder disciple stared. “That girl’s a demon, normally it would take five of our second class disciples to subdue a beast of that level .”

Jin Sokrim stared down at the report again, then murmured—

“No... She’s not a demon.”

“She’s a disaster dressed in white.” said one elder.

 

---

 

It started with a paper.

A crumpled mission report that had somehow found its way to Mount Hua via a merchant’s gossip chain, then passed from hand to hand until it ended up in Chung Mun’s grip.

He read it slowly.

 

Once.

 

Then twice.

Then exhaled like a disappointed father watching his child jump into a lake of fire again.

 

 “Chung Myung.”

 

Chung myung froze mid-bite, halfway through shoving a steamed bun into his mouth.

“Sw’mmhhht?”

 “Come here.

He dragged his feet like a condemned prisoner. “I didn’t do it!”

Chung Mun slapped the paper into his chest.

“Read.”

Chung Myung chewed. Then scanned. Then slowly, slowly, his eyes widened.

 

“This… this is…” at least it's not him. 

 

“Jinhua Port. A serpent-class beast. Solo hunt. White-sheathed sword.”

Chung Myung's mouth twitched.

 

“...Oh.”

 

Chung Mun’s voice was soft. Too soft.

 “Oh? You broke into her courtyard.  And now she’s out there doing what entire squads of disciples failed to do—alone—and all you can say is oh!?”

 

Chung Myung scratched his cheek. “Well… I mean. Good for her?”

The next moment, he was airborne. Courtesy of Chung Mun’s foot.

 

---

 

Scene Two: Jin Sokrim’s Internal Crisis

 

At the Zhongnan Sect, Jin Sokrim stood over a map, jaw slack, heart heavy.

 

“Jinhua, then Jinan Village, and now there’s another report... this time near Yongling.”

All the reports spoke of a girl in pale green and white martial uniforn, with a white-sheathed sword, swift hands, and no mercy for monsters.

The boar was one thing.

The serpent was another.

 

But now?

A spiderbeast—a thing of venom and shadow, with fangs the size of swords—had been slain and hung upside down from a tree.

Villagers left offerings under the corpse.

“She’s… not normal,” he whispered.

“She’s beyond us. Like she came from the sky.”

 

He paused.

“Is she even human?”

Then immediately slapped himself.

 

“Idiot. She gave the boar’s body to the grieving family. She’s more human than anyone I’ve met.”

 

---

 

 

Yewon groaned as she dipped her head into cold water, letting her hair float like seaweed.

 

“Lexy. I swear. One more job and I’m deleting you.”

> You can’t. I’m hardcoded.

 

 “I’ll invent a new martial art just to beat the system out of myself.”

> That would be impressive. But you’d probably die first.

 

She sighed and leaned back, eyes closed.

 “Why is everyone reacting like I’m the second coming of a sword saint? I just… I just do what needs to be done. And some merit points ”

> Because most cultivators would rather show off sword techniques than drag a bloodied corpse to a grieving mother.

 

She fell silent.

She remembered the woman clutching the body of her child from the spider cocoon. The tears that never came because she had none left to shed.

“They need money. They needed something to hold on to. That’s all.”

 

---

 

He stood at the edge of the cliff behind Mount Hua, the wind combing his hair back as he stared into the night sky.

 

His thoughts buzzed like insects.

That damned white sheath.

That woman. That courtyard. That moment of stillness before their spar—

He exhaled harshly.

 

 “If four or more of her ganged up on me, I’d be in trouble.”

She wasn’t just talented. She was sharp. Intentional. Calm even in bloodshed.

 

> “Is this why Sahyung’s so mad?”

 

No. Not just that.

 

Chung Myung closed his eyes.

 

—“She’s not someone you send flowers to.”

 

—“She’s someone you send backup for.”

 

He grinned.

Then frowned.

Then rubbed his temple and muttered, “She’s going to get herself killed…”

Then paused.

Then said, more to the wind than to himself—

 

“Not unless I get there first.”

 

 

---

 

Lexy pinged again.

Ding!

> Urgent. New anomaly near the southern river pass. Witnesses report something massive pulling oxen into the water. Rumors suggested that the river guardian there has been corrupted.

Yewon tied her hair back and stood, adjusting the white sheath at her hip.

 

She was tired.

She was sore.

She was emotionally done.

But the world was not.

So she stood anyway.

And walked.

 

One beast at a time.

 

---

 

The southern river pass was no ordinary stretch of water. It was a place whispered about by locals, where the water never stilled, and the fish never surfaced. They said an old guardian watched over the riverbed—an ancient spirit-beast shaped like a dragon with the body of a serpent, scales the color of jade, and whiskers that danced with the current.

 

Until it turned.

Now it surfaced only to feed.

It swallowed oxen and crushed fishing boats. Villagers heard gurgling growls at night and woke to find livestock dragged into the river, bones washed ashore the next morning. 

Fortunately, no villagers was eaten nor killed.

Yewon arrived in silence. No flair. No banners. Just the white-sheathed sword across her back and a look in her eyes that made the most hardened hunters step aside.

She waited by the river three days. And on the third night, under the thinnest sliver of moon, the waters parted.

 

It came.

 

A shadow of jade and rot.

Fangs of bone, eyes clouded with bloodlust. A guardian corrupted. She met the beast like a ghost.

Each clash of blade and scale cracked the air like thunder. The water danced in chaotic geysers as she dodged its jaws, the white sheath glowing faint in the moonlight. Her sword techniques flowed like calligraphy—graceful, fierce, precise.

Lexy beeped furiously.

 

> Vital signs peaking. High-level corrupted aura detected.

"I know, Lexy!"

 

For hours, they fought.

Yewon bled. Her knuckles split. Her ankle turned once in the mud. But she never faltered.

Until, at last, with one final arc of her blade, she struck its skull and knocked it out cold.

 

---

 

Yewon sat beside the unconscious river guardian, panting. Its breathing was ragged but stable. The corruption hadn’t killed it.

 "Something did this to it," she muttered.

She searched the riverbanks for a full day, tracking the residue of corrupted qi. Deeper upstream, the water turned blacker, more sludgelike. Fish floated belly-up.

That’s when she saw it—a glowing lotus.

No, not glowing.

 

Pulsing.

 

Lexy scanned.

>Identified: Ghost Lotus. Forbidden spiritual flora. Leaks corrupted qi into surroundings. Thrives on resentment and bloodshed.

 

 "Who the hell planted it?"

She reached out and cut the roots with her blade. The scream that followed was not human. The lotus withered instantly, and the air cleared as though the river sighed in relief.

Behind her, the guardian stirred.

It opened one eye—a clear eye.

 

It did not snarl.

 

It nodded.

Then slipped silently back into the depths to recover and sleep for a long, loooong night.

 

---

 

One day later, Zhongnan Sect disciples and a small group from Mount Hua finally arrived.

They found only footprints, dried blood, and a faint glow left by dissolved corrupted qi.

And the massive body of a once-corrupted beast—its scales healthy again, now sleeping within the riverbed.

 

Chung Myung stepped forward.

Stared into the water.

And whispered, "She beat me to it. Again."

He kicked a rock.

 

Jin Sokrim sneered . "Just admit it. You're chasing her shadow now."

Chung Myung didn't answer. He just looked at the river—and grinned.

 

 "No. She's catching up."

 

---

 

Invitation from Mount Hua

A week after purifying the corrupted river guardian, letters sealed with Mount Hua's plum blossom insignia arrive at Yewon’s manor.

The message is formal, but there’s something unmistakably chaotic in the handwriting of the second part. The first section, penned by Elder un gak , invites her to assist in a case tied to a rising pattern of missing children in a distant region—West Valley—a place nestled between merchant towns and known for its peaceful farming communities. The second part… was clearly added after the elder signed it.

 

 "You better come. I’m still not done with our last spar. And you owe me dried meat, you stingy mountain boar."

—Chung Myung

 

Lexy snickers inside her head.

> Oh look. Your gremlin  has written a love letter.

Yewon mentally fires back, “I’ll love-letter you with a brick.”

 

---

Arrival and Briefing

 

She meets the group of Mount Hua disciples at a checkpoint town. Among them:

Chung Mun (acting leader, exasperated but composed),

Chung Jin (calm and kind, quick to offer tea),

Myung Do. A sajil (already asking if Yewon knows any nice markets along the way),

Chung Myung, of course (grinning like he knows a secret and refuses to share .

and four more senior disciples.

 

Chung Mun formally thanks her for coming. The local magistrate reported that children have gone missing from three villages in the West Valley region. The strangest part? No signs of struggle. No footprints. Just silence.

At night, witnesses claim to hear flute music in the wind.

 

---

 

Yewon’s Investigation Begins

Yewon and the Mount Hua team set out to visit the nearest affected village. She walks beside Chung Myung, who keeps stealing glances at her sword like he’s trying to figure it out. Lexy is running probability scans.

> There’s a 63.7% chance we’re dealing with a charm or luring technique. High chance of spiritual possession. Possibly a beast.

 

  sighs “I miss the killer boar. At least that one was honest.

As night falls in the village, eerie flute music begins again.

Chung Myung perks up immediately. His fingers twitch like he’s about to draw his sword.

Yewon, instead, focuses her qi sense outward. She feels something slither—soft but sharp—along the edges of her mind.

Something is calling to the children.

 

---

 

 

 

Chapter 20

 

The Lullaby That Lured – Night One

 

The first night in West Valley fell like a silken curtain—soft, quiet, and deceiving. The air was cool with the scent of harvest, but there was something too still in the wind. Even the crickets seemed to hold their breath.

Yewon, sensing the shift, stood from the low bench at the side of the village’s central hall. Her eyes scanned the treetops. Then she turned sharply toward the disciples who had gathered to discuss the patrol routes.

 “Knock on every door that has children,” she said, voice calm but firm. “Tell the parents to wake them. Make them drink something bitter if you have to. If they’re awake, the trick won’t work.”

 

The disciples blinked.

 

“Now,” she added.

 

Chung Mun didn’t question. He motioned for three disciples to follow suit. Even Chung Myung, who had been lazily balancing a stick on his shoulder, raised a brow and moved without protest.

“What’s going on?” Chung jin asked.

Yewon’s eyes remained trained on the tree line beyond the far field.

 “The children aren’t disappearing by force. They’re sleepwalking… drawn out by something.”

“Like a pied piper?” Myung do muttered.

 

Yewon didn’t answer. Instead, she turned, cloak fluttering behind her, and disappeared toward the night market.

 

---

 

The guzheng

A few confused vendors were still packing up their stalls. Yewon found a craftsman selling old instruments. Her eyes fell on a worn guzheng, its wood faded but the strings well-tuned.

 “How much for this one?” she asked.

 

The man tried to haggle, but Yewon handed over more than enough, thanking him with a polite nod before slipping away with the instrument under her arm.

 

> You’re going to fight sound with sound? brilliant!

Yewon –quietly –“It wants to sing my children away. I’ll scream it back to hell if I must.”

 

---

 

The Battle of Melody

They set up in the center of the village. Torches were lit, flickering against the homes and fields. The Mount Hua disciples had done their part—children were yawning but awake, rubbing their eyes while clutching their parents.

Then… it came.

 

A low flute melody drifted through the trees.

 

Soft. Languid. Tempting.

It was almost beautiful—until you listened deeper. Beneath the sweetness, there was a writhing thrum. It coiled around the ears, seeped into the marrow. Yewon could feel the invisible fingers reaching again.

She sat cross-legged before her guzheng, placed her hands gently on the strings, and whispered:

“Not tonight.”

 

Her fingers struck.

A single note echoed—sharp, crisp, clean. Then another, layering above it. Her rhythm was not gentle. It was commanding, insistent, built like armour and wind and flame.

The two melodies collided in the air.

The flute’s song grew erratic, stumbling. Yewon’s music cut through its rhythm like a sword between ribs.

Chung Myung, standing behind her, narrowed his eyes. He could feel it too—two forces battling through melody, qi clashing not with steel but soul. He watched her back. Her head barely moved, but her fingers danced like lightning.

And then—

A screech tore through the wind.

The flute snapped, its spell shattering into silence.

The children clutched their ears. A breeze swept through the village and left only calm behind.

Yewon’s final note rang like a bell. Then… silence. She exhaled softly and lifted her head.

 

 “Look around the outskirts,” she said.

 

The disciples hesitated. Chung Myung was the first to react.

 “There’ll be someone there,” she continued. “Writhing. Their qi in rebellion ”

 

Chung mun and the others spread out.

It didn’t take long.

At the far edge of the village, curled beneath a rotted tree, a figure trembled—blood at the corner of his lips, veins dark with reversed flow. He clutched a broken flute, eyes wide with disbelief.

“What…” he gasped. “How… how did it lash back?”

 

Chung Myung tilted his head.

 “Maybe you shouldn’t mess with someone who can beat you with an instrument.”

The man screamed again, this time from the pain of qi deviation. Chung gong moved to bind him. The other disciples secured the area.

Back in the village square, Yewon ran her fingers gently over the yangqin strings, now still and quiet.

Lexy’s voice was soft.

 

> You were brilliant ~ ( ￣▽￣)

 

Yewon smirking faintly.

“If another kid gets lured off, I’m switching to drums.”

 

---

 

Chung Myung’s Point of View

 

The forest was quiet.

Too quiet.

Chung Myung tilted his head, the sound of crickets conspicuously absent as he padded across the dark soil, his hands tucked behind his back. His footfalls were lazy but precise. Ahead of him, myung do voice whispered like leaves in the wind:

 

“There—beneath the rotten tree.”

 

They all saw it.

A man slumped at the base of the twisted tree. His black robes were soaked in sweat, sticking to him like damp paper. His limbs twitched. Veins bulged across his neck and temples like cracked ink under skin. The once-elegant flute now lay in pieces beside him.

The bastard was writhing, his body buckling under its own rebellion.

 

Qi deviation. Severe.

 

Chung Myung crouched down.

The man’s lips were trembling, mumbling incoherent sounds as if trying to curse the air itself.

Chung Myung leaned in just enough to meet the man’s eyes.

 

“Well, well. You don’t look so good.”

 

The man snarled. Tried to reach for something.

Chung Myung’s fingers flicked, and the man’s wrist snapped sideways with a clean crack. A muffled scream followed.

 

 “You’re in no shape to grab anything,” Chung Myung muttered. “Though I’m flattered you’re trying.”

 

Chung mun gave him a look. One of those "we-should-be-diplomatic" looks.

 

Chung Myung shrugged, as always.

With a casual grunt, he lifted the man by his collar—like dragging a sack of spoiled rice—and flung him over his shoulder.

They returned to the courtyard where the villagers still clung to their children, where the yangqin still echoed in memory. Yewon stood at the center, calm, serene, like the war of melodies never happened. Her hands were folded behind her back, her eyes following the stars as if nothing more than a stargazer.

When she saw the man slumped like a dying rat on the ground, a faint sigh escaped her lips.

 

 “I’ll leave the interrogation to you.”

Chung Myung raised a brow.

 

“So generous.”

 

Yewon simply walked away, her cloak catching the wind like a curtain closing on a scene she no longer cared to see.

Chung Myung turned back to the man. He crouched once more, eyes narrowing.

 

 “You know,” he said, voice now dropping into something quieter. Too quiet.

“I’m not really trained in the nice kind of questioning. So... if I ask something, and you don’t answer...”

He reached into his sleeve and pulled out a small piece of cold iron—a thin nail-like spike.

The man flinched.

 

 “Then I have to assume you didn’t hear me. And I’ll ask again, louder. Through your kneecaps, maybe.”

 

Chung Myung’s smile widened.

 

 “Who taught you the flute technique?”

 

Silence.

Chung Myung drove the iron into the dirt—just beside the man’s hand.

 

 “That was the practice strike.”

The man gasped, his face tightening in terror.

 

“N-no! I don’t know his name! He only wore dark green robes! I was paid—paid to distract the village so the real target could—”

 

He stopped.

Too late.

Chung Myung’s face, once lined with faux amusement, turned completely blank.

 

 “So this was a diversion.”

 

He stood.

And stomped the man’s chest once, just hard enough to crack ribs but not kill.

 “You know what I hate most?” Chung Myung said, stretching his arms lazily. “People who touch children. People who target the weak.”

 

He cracked his neck to the side.

 “You thought you were clever. Drawing them out with music? Taming their minds while they slept? Like a butcher fattening pigs before slaughter?”

“You thought you’d go unnoticed?”

 

Chung Myung lowered his face close again.

 “You don’t even know what  you messed with. You're in Shaanxi where mount hua is watching ”

 

He called behind him, voice chipper now.

 

Yewon returned, eyes steady as her hands.

 “Did he talk?”

 “Like a bird. I gave him wings.” Chung Myung grinned. “Unfortunately, they were attached to his ribs.”

 

 

---

 

The night air in the village had grown colder, thinner. Perhaps it was the lingering resonance of Yewon’s yangqin song, or the presence of qi warped by forbidden arts, but even the fireflies dared not dance too close. The wind murmured secrets, the villagers whispered prayers, and the Mount Hua disciples remained alert.

Yewon stood in the main courtyard, hands behind her back, eyes scanning the dark horizon. She had said nothing after the interrogation. There was nothing more to say—because there was someone else out there. Someone worse.

 

 “I’ll handle it,” Chung Myung had said.

 

No arguments. No flair. Just those four words.

And he vanished into the dark.

Now—

 

 Crunch.

Heavy footsteps broke the silence.

Chung mun straightened. Dusciples drew their swords. Yewon turned slowly.

From the shadows emerged a silhouette—broad shouldered, robes fluttering like torn banners.

Chung Myung walked with a singular lack of urgency, like a man coming home from grocery shopping. Over his shoulder, a limp body dangled by the collar of its robe.

The man looked… wrong.

 

Not injured—though bruised and bloodied—but unnatural.

Sickly pale skin.

Dark veins trailing from under the jaw to the collarbone.

 

And those eyes—

Not golden. Not brown. Not grey.

But yellow.

Faintly luminescent.

They glowed like a serpent caught mid-strike.

Yewon narrowed her eyes as Chung Myung dropped the man before her like a sack of rotten cabbage. The body hit the ground with a muted thud, but the man still breathed, hissing through his teeth like a cornered animal.

 

 “Found him by the hills south of the river,” Chung Myung said, voice calm. “Didn’t want to fight. Thought hiding in a bush and biting his tongue would save him.”

 

He rolled his wrist

“I dislocated his jaw before he could.”

The man growled, then laughed—a horrible dry sound like scales rubbing together.

 “You fools… you think stopping me will stop what’s already begun?”

 

Yewon tilted her head, impassive.

 

“Who are you?”

 

 “No one.”

 

The man grinned wide. Too wide.

 

“But the Serpent remembers.”

Chung Myung crouched beside him, studying the yellow eyes.

“You cultists have the strangest hobbies. Snatching children and worshipping reptiles?”

He prodded the man’s shoulder with his finger.

 

“Snake eyes or not, your skills are trash.”

 “You don’t understand,” the man whispered. “He is waking. The great coil beneath the earth… the one who slumbers in marrow and bone. The guardian of the old world. You’ll all be swallowed when he rises.”

 

Yewon frowned.

 

Chung jin muttered under his breath.

 “That’s… not ominous at all.”

 

Chung Myung’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Let me guess. You use flutes to guide children in their dreams. Turn them into little puppets. Offer them to your snake god.”

“Offer? Ha! We awaken them! We awaken the serpent within!” the man laughed, a flicker of madness dancing in his voice.

 

Yewon turned to the disciples.

“Take him to the cellar and lock it. Tight.” Then she glanced at Chung Myung.

 “Did you notice anything else?”

 

Chung Myung stood, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeves.

“Their tracks go deeper. Whoever’s pulling the strings wasn’t there. But this one kept muttering about a ‘midwife of scales’—whatever that means.”

 “They’re organized. Scattered, but not mindless.”

 

Yewon's eyes flickered in thought.

“We’ll need to inform the local magistrate and seal off any nearby caves or abandoned mines. These types favor underground networks.”

 “Not to mention,” she added, almost to herself, “corruption of a river guardian... using musical influence… serpentine worship…”

She glanced at the bound cultist, whose yellow eyes stared defiantly into the moonlight.

 “There’s a pattern. This isn’t just some mad cult. They’re moving toward something.”

 

Chung Myung smirked, the firelight casting a cruel glint in his eyes.

 “Good. It’s been a while since I’ve had something worth killing.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 21

 

 

“A Cult of One (And a Whole Lot of Crazy)”

 

There was a long pause in the air as the man sat in the cellar, bound, mouth gagged again for everyone’s safety—mostly theirs. Not because he was dangerous, but because he wouldn’t shut up.

Yewon stood just outside the doorway, arms folded across her chest, watching him from the shadows like a cat watching a lizard with a missing leg.

 

> “I’ve seen a lot of strange things since falling into this world,” she thought, “but this…”

Her gaze narrowed.

> “Is this guy for real? Or is he just the Murim equivalent of someone with an extreme case of eighth-grade syndrome?”

She sighed audibly.

The disciples exchanged wary glances, assuming her sigh meant something profound. But in truth, she was just losing patience trying to decide whether this lunatic needed to be exorcised, buried, or grounded.

Lexy chimed in her mind, ever so helpfully.

 

> “Eighth grade syndrome identified: delusional narcissist with god complex. Risk level: debatably comedic.”

 

Yewon pinched the bridge of her nose.

> Lexy, remind me to write a thesis on this guy once we’re done. ‘The Effects of Cultic Isolation on Mid-Level Martial Artists with Too Much Time on Their Hands.

 

Still, they’d agreed to follow his directions. As baffling as his behavior was, he hadn’t resisted much once the gag was on. And, oddly enough, he seemed proud to show them the remnants of his precious “clan.”

And so they followed him.

Two days into the mountains.

Through tangled forest, past a dried-up waterfall, and down a hidden slope into an old gorge barely visible from the main trail.

The path led them to what could only be described as a temple—or what was left of one.

Collapsed archways. Cracked serpent statues. An altar blackened by something that had once burned too hot, too fast.

Chung Myung kicked aside a pile of ash with the toe of his foot.

“This it?”

 

The cultist—still grinning with that religious fervor—nodded eagerly.

 “This is the sacred ground! The place where our brothers offered their qi in glorious unison, where the spirit of the Eternal Coil was to descend—!”

 “—And kill all of you?” Yewon interrupted blandly.

 

He blinked. Then nodded.

 

“There were… miscalculations.”

 “You mean you killed off your entire clan with a botched ritual and now you’re trying to repopulate it with kidnapped children.”

 “A sacrifice for the greater plan—”

“No. No, stop.” Yewon raised her hand. “I can’t take this seriously anymore.”

 

She turned to Chung Myung.

“We are currently dealing with a one-man cult with a dead following and a god complex so massive it might warrant historical preservation.”

 “Are we sure he isn’t just insane?”

Chung Myung crouched and looked around. “There were people here. Lots. At some point. I can see the remnants of training grounds, burned incense paths, and a qi barrier long gone stale.” He looked at the lunatic. “And he’s not wrong about one thing—someone tried something big here.”

 A disciple knelt near a weathered mural. A faded snake with too many eyes stared back at him, its coiled form winding through shattered stone.

“They believed in something. Even if it got them killed.”

“So he’s the only survivor.”

“The last snake in the pit,” Yewon muttered.

 

She walked through the ruined hall, kicking aside old bones and broken jade talismans.

 “He’s trying to revive his cult by brainwashing kids. Filling their heads with delusions of grandeur and divine serpents who’ll devour the sky. Because he can’t accept the fact that his entire life’s work is a pile of smoldering failure.”

 “I went through eighth grade syndrome too,” she muttered under her breath. “But I grew out of it before I started chanting serpent hymns in moonlight.”

Chung Myung approached the cracked altar. “So what now?”

Yewon glanced at the cultist—tied up, deliriously whispering prayers to a god no one answered.

 “Now? We burn what remains of this place, seal the entrance with talismans, and report this to the Murim Alliance.”

 

 “And him?” myung do asked.

 

She looked at the cultist for a long moment.

“Turn him in. Let the Alliance deal with his delusions. If we’re lucky, he’ll scream about the serpent so much in prison that someone will throw a chamberpot at him.”

Lexy chirped,

> Suggesting a firm psychiatric evaluation”

Great advice, Lexy

And so they lit the torches.

The last stronghold of the Serpent-Eyed Cult burned under moonlight, glowing like a fallen star among the crags.

Yewon didn’t smile. She didn’t feel victorious.

“If even one of those children had been turned,” she said quietly to herself, “we might’ve had a new cult spring up in twenty years.”

The wind howled. Far in the distance, the hiss of flames echoed against stone.

The cultist screamed something about rebirth and fire.

Chung Myung leaned toward her.

 “So. How long until we find the next weirdo with scales and a flute?”

 

Yewon didn’t even blink.

 

 “Three weeks. Max.”

 

---

 

Bound by Blood and Bullshit

 

The path to the temple had been suspiciously well-kept.

Not sacred, not divine—no. Just oddly swept clean, like someone had gone out of their way to tidy up the road to hell with a broom.

Yewon didn’t like it.

Neither did Chung Myung.

The bastard was humming, skipping steps like a man possessed—or possibly thrilled with himself, which was always worse. He kept gesturing to the strange building ahead: a squat, moon-washed house shaped like a shrine and adorned with cracked serpent murals and long-burned incense sticks.

Inside, the room was circular, eerily silent.

At the center sat a pedestal, upon it a pearl-like orb glowing with faint green light—pulsing slowly like a sleeping heartbeat. A heavy, misty aura hung in the air like rotting reverence.

“The children are hidden beneath,” the cultist said, too cheerfully. “But the door cannot be opened unless one man and one woman—your yin and your yang—place their hands upon the Pearl of Devotion. It was how we sealed our treasures.”

Yewon narrowed her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell us this earlier?”

“Ah, well,” he giggled, “you didn’t ask~.”

 

Chung Myung gave her a look. One she knew well. Do we kill him now, or after?

She exhaled. “Fine. Let’s just get this over with.”

They approached the pedestal. The orb pulsed once, green to gold to white.

The moment both of their hands touched the surface—

—something shifted.

An ominous hum.

A low vibration, crawling through their skin.

Their qi—normally distinct, isolated flows—suddenly snapped like wires brushing open flames. A thread of energy slithered between them, subtle yet unmistakable. It wasn’t a full merge, not a fusion, but a forced resonance. Like striking two instruments into harmony without warning.

 

Yewon’s fingers twitched.

Chung Myung stiffened.

They both yanked their hands back just as the pearl began to burn.

The link severed instantly, but the taste of each other’s energy lingered like a phantom echo.

They turned as one.

 

The cultist was grinning.

“Congratulations!” he beamed. “You’ve just performed the Binding Touch—our clan’s ancient wedding rite! May your serpent-bound souls slither together through eternity~!”

 

Silence.

 

Dead. Utter. Silence.

 

Yewon’s eye twitched.

 

Chung Myung cracked his neck.

“I’ll kill him,” he said flatly.

 

“No,” Yewon muttered. “I’ll kill him. Slowly. With a spoon.”

 

“Your qi briefly merged,” the cultist sang like a proud priest. “That is proof of compatibility! Your souls are now tethered at the edge of union! Blessed be the Serpent-Eyed Bond!”

Yewon’s hand glowed faintly with suppressed killing intent.

“I should’ve known. I should’ve known no quest with a lunatic cultist would end without someone trying to pull ritual marriage shenanigans.”

She turned to Chung Myung.

 

 “Tell me we didn’t just accidentally do some snake cult wedding.”

 

Chung Myung’s jaw was clenched so tight it could shatter.

 

 “He dies.”

 

“Agreed.”

 

They both lunged forward—Yewon grabbing his collar, Chung Myung raising a fist.

The cultist shrieked and pointed at the now-open hidden passage behind the orb. “Wait! The children! The children are there!”

They froze. Begrudgingly.

Yewon threw him onto the floor and kicked him in the ribs. “One more word about serpent soulbond and I will let him kill you. Slowly.”

The bastard wheezed, curled like a dead eel.

 

 

 

---

 

Later, after retrieving the sleeping but unharmed children, chung mun asked why Chung Myung was unusually silent.

Myung do asked why Yewon looked like she wanted to drown someone in vinegar.

No one got answers.

Especially not when the cultist—being dragged away by the alliance agents—shouted after them with sparkling eyes:

 “May your bond bear many serpent-blessed children~!”

 

Yewon never punched someone through a tree before that day. But now she has.

 

 

Chapter 22

 

Serpent Vows and Suffering

Post-Cult, Pre-Combustion

 

The return to the village should have been a triumphant one.

Children safely retrieved. Culprit secured. Cultist silenced (repeatedly).

The sun had begun its gentle rise, casting soft golds across thatched rooftops and mist-laced trees. Families rushed to the square, hearts in their throats, tears already spilling. Joy clashed with disbelief as little arms wrapped around sobbing mothers and relieved fathers.

It should have been heartwarming.

 

It wasn’t.

 

Not entirely.

Because in the center of it all—escorting the last two children to their parents—stood Yewon and Chung Myung, several arm-lengths apart, faces stiff and unnaturally composed, like two sculptures carved in suppressed fury and repressed embarrassment.

Chung mun narrowed his eyes.

 

A sajae leaned over. “They look… strange.”

Chung mun tilted his head. “Why does Chung Myung-ah look like he’s one wrong word away from devouring someone whole?”

“More importantly, sahyung” Chung gong whispered, “why does Lady Yewon look like she’s about to decapitate the nearest criminal?”

No one answered.

 

Because the atmosphere around them was hellfire and broken pride.

A toddler sneeze near Chung Myung. He flinched like someone had slapped him with a shovel.

Meanwhile, Yewon’s hands were clasped in front of her like she was at a funeral—her own, judging by the grimness on her face.

What no one knew… was that Yewon was screaming. Internally. Loudly. Continuously.

 I can’t believe I got fake married in a snake temple. I cannot believe this is my life.

And inside her mind, a voice cackled.

Lexy.

>  Congratulations on your marriage, Mrs. Mount Hua~! I didn’t get you anything, so here’s a full memory recording of the Qi-Bonding Moment in 4K spiritual clarity~!

 

Yewon’s lips twitched.

She barely resisted the urge to bite her own sleeve.

' I have a composure to maintain' she chanted to herself.

'I am dignified. I am composed. I am NOT combusting into a thousand mortified shards.' 

Lexy was having the time of her virtual life.

>  Do you want to save this clip to the Cult Wedding Archives? It even has commentary: ‘And here we see the moment of spiritual entanglement! Oh my stars—look at that accidental soul tether—!

Yewon focused very hard on the innocent child hugging her leg, using all available energy to not scream. Her entire body language radiated the kind of grim focus seen on generals walking into battle—or tea-drinkers who’d just found a bug in their cup.

Chung Myung, on the other hand, was visibly vibrating.

His qi felt wrong.

Unsettled.

 

And his glare could melt granite.

He said nothing the entire walk back. Just silence. Sharp, hot silence.

And then—after the last child was safely returned, after the villagers bowed and thanked them, after his sahyung tried (and failed) to ask what happened at the temple—

 

Chung Myung turned to Yewon.

 

Brows twitching. Jaw clenched.

Yewon looked back, gaze steady, expression flat. Like the only thing keeping her from spontaneous combustion was pure will.

They stared for a full ten seconds.

Neither blinked.

 

Chung mun coughed. “Should we… ask what happened?”

“No! sahyung,” Chung jin said quickly. “No, we should not!”

“Definitely not sasuk ” myung do agreed.

 

And they wisely shut their mouths.

The tension followed them all the way back to camp. Even the birds seemed to avoid them. No one said a word. No one dared.

But Lexy?

 

Lexy was relentless.

> Awwww~ do you want matching robes now? Want me to search for ‘cult marriage survival guides’ in the system database? Or maybe I can log this under ‘Relationship Milestones’—you know, first accidental soul merge~!

 “I will destroy you,” Yewon whispered into the void of her mind.

> You say that, but your face is bright red under all that cultivation composure. Scandalous~.

 

Yewon wanted to scream.

Chung Myung wanted to punch the cultist.

Neither could look each other in the eye.

And the disciples quietly decided that whatever that was, they were too young—and too mortal—to know.

 

---

The Report That Shook Mount Hua

Or: How to Cause a Sect-Wide Heart Attack in Three Sentences

 

The interrogation chamber in Mount Hua was deathly silent—until it wasn’t.

The cultist, bound and beaten, grinned through a bloodied lip. “You can’t just keep me here. Two of your own have already pledged themselves under my clan’s rites. That makes them ours now. The swordswoman and the foul-mouthed brat—married, you see. In front of the Serpent Eye Pearl.”

First-Class Disciple Baek Hyun stared at him, pale as parchment.

“...What.”

The cultist tilted his head, voice light and maddening.

“Oh, it was a lovely union. Hands on the sacred pearl, qi mingling—our version of vows. A sacred rite. A marriage, by all accounts. I’d be happy to take them with me. Husband and wife should remain together, after all.”

 

Baek Doksu's  hand trembled as he scrawled the last line of his report.

> Marriage ritual between Mount Hua disciple and female investigator.

Descriptions match Chung Myung and Lady Yewon. Immediate attention required.

He ran.

He didn’t walk. He didn’t compose himself. He didn’t even breathe properly.

Baek Doksu ran down the halls of Mount Hua like a man fleeing death itself, knocking over a junior on the way, tripping over a broom, and nearly biting his own tongue off.

He stormed into the Elders’ Quarters like an apocalypse in human form.

“ELDERS!” he shouted, throwing the report down like it was an active bomb. “It’s—It’s—CHUNG MYUNG—HE GOT MARRIED!”

 

Silence.

 

Then—

 

“WHAT?!!”

 

Elder Un yak spat his tea. Elder Un yeon choked on a rice cracker. 

Baek dokso gestured frantically to the report. “It’s all there! Witnessed by the cultist! Temple ritual! Serpent vows! Some kind of unholy qi union!”

 

“QI UNION?!!”

 

Elder Yeon stood so fast he kicked over his chair. “WHAT KIND OF ABSURDITY IS THIS?! CHUNG MYUNG?!! MARRIED?! TO WHO?! WHO DID WE LET INTO THE SECT?!”

He opened his mouth, color draining. “...Lady Yewon.”

 

The room shook with the sheer force of spiritual distress.

Elder Wan looked ready to faint. “The respectable swordswoman we intived for the mission?! Her?!”

They all simply stood still, eyes wide. “...we're doomed.”

As if summoned by chaos itself, a distant BOOM echoed from the lower courtyard.

 

They all turned.

 

Elder Yeon  clenched his fists. “FIND CHUNG MYUNG. NOW.”

 

---

 

The Wedding Report Crisis

Mount Hua's Descent into Chaos—Unwilling Newlyweds Edition

Part II of The Serpent Eye Cult Debacle

 

 

The news spread like wildfire. No—like divine punishment unleashed upon the world.

By the time evening cloaked the sky, everyone in Mount Hua knew. From the kitchen aunties to the youngest outer sect disciples who couldn’t yet hold a sword straight—they all knew.

 

> “Did you hear? Chung Myung got married.”

“Married?! To who?!”

“That swordswoman! Lady Yewon! From that mission!”

“You mean the " Xia Yewon?”

“Yes! They held hands on some demonic orb and vowed their eternal souls or something—it was a cult wedding!!”

 

There was laughter , Panic and  Screaming.

A first-class disciple passed out.

One elder was seen mumbling, “I lived long enough to see the fall of our sect…”

 

Meanwhile, Chung Myung had no idea whats currently spreading throughout mount hua.

 

---

 

Courtyard of the Guilty: Sunset Hour

 

Chung Myung stood with a rice ball half-shoved into his mouth, blissfully unaware, when three first-class disciples tackled him to the ground.

"WHAT THE HELL?!" he roared, writhing like a demon possessed. “ARE YOU ALL MAD?!”

“Where is your wife?!” one of them demanded.

“WHAT WIFE?!”

“The cultist said you got married in a secret serpent rite!”

“WHAT CULTIST?! WHAT RITE?! I WAS CHASING A KIDNAPPER AND STEPPED ON SOME STUPID GLOWING ROCK—WAIT.”

 

His eyes widened.

 

The glowing pearl.

The temple.

The bastard grinning.

The moment of strange qi resonance with Yewon.

The awkward silence on the way back.

Yewon's deathly grim face.

 

“...No,” he muttered. “No, no, no, no, no—NO!”

 

Too late.

The courtyard door slammed open and in marched the Elders, followed by a small army of disciples, some clutching scrolls and an uncouncious Chung mun , others scrolls and teacups they forgot to put down in the rush.

 

“CHUNG! MYUNG!”

 

Elder  Yeon's  voice shattered the mountain air like thunder. “EXPLAIN THIS MARRIAGE, YOU LITTLE BRAT!”

“I—WHAT MARRIAGE?! I’M NOT EVEN ENGAGED!!”

Elder Yeon waved the cultist’s written confession like a flag of doom. “HE SAID YOU PUT YOUR HAND ON A SACRED PEARL WITH LADY YEWON! THAT’S BASICALLY MOUNTING THE ALTAR AND SAYING ‘TILL DEATH DO US PART’ IN THAT CULT!”

“I DIDN’T KNOW THAT!! I THOUGHT IT WAS A  ROCK DOOR OPENER!”

 

A junior piped up from the crowd, “You’re not supposed to touch strange pearls in cult temples.”

Chung Myung snarled, “Shut up,  Jin-jin. You once tried to eat a glowing mushroom.”

The crowd gasped. A few whispered, “So, is he actually married?” “Should we call her Sister-in-Law?” “I can’t believe the legend ends like this…”

 

---

 

Meanwhile… At the Opposite Courtyard

 

Yewon sat beneath a plum blossom tree.

Her expression was unreadable, her cup of tea untouched, and her lips pressed into a thin, grim line. But inside?

 “I’m going to kill that cultist.”

“I’m going to kill Lexy.”

“I’m going to kill myself.”

 

Lexy was having a field day in her head.

> Wifey! Congratulations! Shall I embroider your initials on a sash?

He’s a bit dumb, but you’ve married worse. Oh wait—you haven’t!

You and that gremlin are now SPIRITUALLY BOUND, BABY! 

 

Yewon was silent. Her fingers trembled ever so slightly around her cup.

She could hear footsteps. She could hear Chung Myung’s screaming across the courtyard.

And she knew—it was only a matter of time before he would storm in, demanding answers. And probably throwing something.

But Yewon would not break. She could not break.

She was composed. She was elegant. She was—

 

 —“CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR MARRIAGE!” shouted a junior disciple, running past.

 

A crack formed in her teacup from how hard she was gripping it.

 

---

 

 A Horrifying Realization

 

Later that night, in The sect leader's private study, the elders gathered with the full report.

“...So they’re not married… by our standards,” the first elder clarified, sweat on his brow.

Elder Yeon grunted. “But by their cult standards, it’s worse than a marriage! It’s a soul binding vow!”

An elder sniffled. “Should we annul it? Do we… exorcise it?”

The first elder slowly looked up. “Send for Yewon and Chung Myung. We’ll… resolve this with dignity.”

 

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

 

Chung Myung was already banging on the door, wild-eyed.

Yewon stood beside him, unspeaking, death in her eyes.

 

“WE NEED TO TALK!” they shouted in unison.

 

 

 

Chapter 23

 

The Clarification Council: Love, Lies, and Legal Loopholes

 

Or Mount Hua’s elders hold their most stressful meeting yet

---

 

Inside the Sect Leader’s Hall

 

The room was silent. Too silent.

Lady Yewon stood on one side, arms crossed, lips pressed into a grim line of neutrality that only cracked when her jaw tensed slightly.

Chung Myung stood on the other, looking like a bomb wrapped in cloth.

 

The elders sat in a row. Serious and Miserable.

The sect leader cleared his throat, looking as though he would rather fight a thousand demons than proceed with the subject.

“...As you both know, rumors are spreading.”

“Concerning your… situation.”

 

Chung Myung squinted. “What situation? The one where I was tricked into a fake marriage with a serpent-worshipping cultist laughing like a maniac?! That one?!”

Yewon replied, deadpan: “It wasn’t with the cultist, it was with me. Unfortunately.”

Yes! Unfortunate for my heart!

Chung Myung turned slowly to her. “You sound too calm about this.”

Yewon turned slowly to him. “Someone has to be.”

aaaaaaaaaahahhhhhhhhhhhh

 

A twitch could be seen on Elder Yeon's temple.

Sect leader coughed politely. “The rumors say the Plum Blossom Sword Saint has married ‘Lady Xia Yewon’ in a secret ceremony. The name has already reached Wudang, and…” He glanced down at the scroll. “…the Beggar’s Union has started printing leaflets.”

 

Chung Myung’s eye twitched. “Leaflets?!”

 

“With illustrations,” Elder Wan added helpfully.

 

“WHAT KIND OF ILLUSTRATIONS?!”

 

“Artistic renditions,” another elder murmured, clearly wishing he was dead.

There was a long, painful silence before Elder yeon leaned forward and said:

 “So. What are your thoughts on… clearing this up?”

“Do you want to get engaged to formally acknowledge the rumors, or… publicly announce that no marriage occurred?”

 

A pause.

 

A long, heavy pause.

 

Chung Myung looked like someone had force-fed him vinegar.

Yewon’s expression didn’t change, but her shoulders tightened.

 

“Engaged?” he echoed. “You’re asking me if I want to get engaged because some bald lunatic tricked us into touching a light-up ball?!”

 

Elder Wan, helplessly: “Well… legally speaking…”

 

Yewon raised one hand. “Permission to speak freely?”

 

 Sect leader nodded.

 

Yewon inhaled slowly and replied:

 

 “I have never—not once in my life—imagined that my first marriage proposal would come from a roundtable of men over the age of sixty.”

 

The elders winced in unison.

Chung Myung shouted, “I DIDN’T EVEN PROPOSE!!”

Yewon replied evenly, “You also didn’t stop it.”

“I didn’t know touching a pearl would marry me!! What kind of deranged, backwater ceremony is that?!”

“Still married me,” she muttered.

 

“I SWEAR TO HEAVEN—!”

Elder Yeon slammed the table. “ENOUGH!”

 

The room went quiet. Again.

Sect leader finally exhaled, rubbing his temples. “Then… do you two wish to publicly refute the marriage and clarify the truth before the rumors grow any worse?”

 

Yewon nodded. “Yes.”

Chung Myung nodded. “Absolutely.”

 

They both spoke at the same time:

 

 “I’m not married to him/ her .”

 

A flicker of offense crossed both faces. Chung Myung pointed at her. “What does that tone mean?!”

Yewon turned to him. “Exactly what it sounded like.”

“Am I so terrible you’d rather be married to a frog?!”

“I’ve seen frogs with better impulse control.”

 

Chung Myung looked scandalized.

Yewon folded her arms. “We’ll clarify the rumor. Officially. That no marriage occurred, and even if it did, it was an invalid cult ritual with no legal standing in Jianghu."

Chung Myung nodded furiously. “Right. Not real. Not binding. No connection. No vows.”

 

Yewon turned to him, eyes narrowing.

“…Except the part where our qi actually reacted and linked for 2.3 seconds,” she said flatly.

 

Silence.

 

“…You counted?” he muttered.

 

Lexy counted. she thought darkly.

 

> CONSUMMATE! CONSUMMATE! CONSUMMATE!

Lexy chanted gleefully in the back of her head.

Yewon ignored her.

 

---

 

Later That Night…

Mount Hua’s official notice board was updated:

 

> “Clarification from the Elders:

It has come to our attention that a false rumor has spread concerning the Plum Blossom Sword Saint and Lady Xia Yewon.

There was no legitimate marriage. The ritual was part of an interrogation to uncover the hideout of a dangerous cult.

No romantic engagement has taken place. Any leaflets saying otherwise are to be burned.

 

—Mount Hua Administration”

 

---

 

Of course, that didn’t stop Lexy from printing new leaflets herself:

> “Spiritual Soul Marriage?! The Plum Blossom Sword Saint & Lady Xia’s Forbidden Bond—Read the Unsealed Fate!”

 

 

---

 

 

After the public statement, after the rumors, the leaflets, the soul-linking marriage-that-wasn’t, and a headache that no herb could soothe—Yewon quietly packed her things and left Mount Hua.

 

She told no one but the sect leader.

She bowed politely.

Then vanished down the mountain path before sunrise.

 

She missed home.

More importantly, she missed her darlings .

 

---

 

Xi’an – Yewon’s Private Manor

 

The gates opened with a low creak. A familiar breeze brushed against her cheek. Her steward barely had time to greet her before she was already marching down the path that led behind the estate.

“FENG!” she called, voice warm for the first time in days.

 

There was a pause.

Then—a distant bark, followed by a flurry of chaos.

From around the corner of the bamboo corridor came a blur of silver fur, throwing himself at her like a projectile.

 

“FENG!” she laughed, catching him as he jumped into her arms.

He barked and whined, tail wagging so hard it nearly knocked over a pot.

Behind him, Somi arrived like the sweet darling she is , wagging her tail gently and sitting before Yewon with paws extended.

Yewon knelt and took her. “Still polite, my darling sweetie ?”

Somi gave one soft bark, as if saying: Always.

 

Next came Ling, charging in like a bell possessed, barking at absolutely nothing and everything all at once.

 

 “Still yelling at ghosts?” Yewon teased.

Ling barked louder.

Ying, the youngest, waddled out from under the veranda, eyes wide, tail curled into her side as she gave an uncertain yip.

 

Yewon smiled. “Ying, My little dumpling, oh my you've grown a little too?”

 

Ying ran straight into her lap.

Yewon sat there, surrounded by her pack, the knot in her chest slowly coming undone.

But when she looked up—past the cobblestones, past the bonsai trees, toward the quietest part of the manor—her eyes softened further.

 

The zen garden was still there.

And at its heart lay a small, flower-covered mound.

 

She walked over, slow and quiet.

The dogs followed, but stopped at the edge, as if sensing this was a sacred space.

 

She had been gone for two weeks now.

Buried under the  tree she used to nap beneath, she slept curled into her favorite blanket, with her favorite squeaky toy beside her.

Yewon knelt, brushing petals from the stone that marked her.

 

 “I’m back, Lan-Lan,” she murmured. “You would’ve hated Mount Hua. Too many swords. Too little napping.”

 

She closed her eyes. The dogs sat quietly behind her.

The breeze rustled the leaves above.

 

She didn’t cry.

Lan-Lan wouldn’t want that.

 

But she stayed there a while, letting the silence settle in her bones.

 

 She was tired.

But she was home.

 

---

 

Paws, Payments, and Plump Pups

A brief interlude in Xi’an—before the next storm comes.

 

---

 

Morning in Xi’an came with golden light and the aroma of baked buns from the street vendors below.

Yewon stood before her pantry, squinted at the near-empty shelves, and sighed.

 

“Lexy. Remind me to not neglect this place for three weeks again.”

 

> [Scan Complete. You have 0.5 cups of rice and a jar of pickled radish remaining. Tragic.]

> Truly shameful.

 

...

 

She dressed plainly—her long coat dyed in plum hues and her hair half-tied—and left the manor with a satchel of silver, a list in her sleeve, and her usual silence trailing behind her like a shadow.

 

 

...

At the Market

Xi’an’s merchant streets were lively, full of familiar scents, sharp-tongued grannies, and loud bargaining. Yewon’s face was well-known here—distant but generous, like a visiting noble who still paid in full without fuss.

She moved from stall to stall: rice, soybeans, dried sweet potatoes, jerky strips (for the pups, of course), sesame cakes, tea leaves, and meat.

 

 “Half of this,” she muttered as she passed another food stand, “is for those walking rice bags.”

> Affirmative. Feng has gained 0.8 kilograms. Somi: 0.3 kg. Ling is now a sentient bell. Ying has doubled in width.

 

Yewon paused.

 

 “Lexy.”

 

> They are still cute.

 

 

 

---

 

At the Merchant Agency

 

The building stood clean and neat. A respected agency that offered temporary caretakers for noble pets when their masters were away. Yewon stepped through its wooden doors, her presence quiet but commanding.

The head manager—an older woman named Madam Xiu—bowed respectfully. “Lady Xia. Welcome home. Your little ones were well tended.”

 

 “I know,” Yewon replied.

Lexy confirmed it.

 

Madam Xiu chuckled. They’d long grown used to Yewon’s... unique assistant.

Yewon took out a thick envelope of silver nyangs and placed it on the counter.

 

 “Payment for three weeks. And another envelope—”

She slid the second one across.

 “—for the caretakers assigned. Tell them the pups are healthy and heavier. They deserve the coin.”

 

Madam Xiu blinked. “This is... too much—”

 

 “It’s fair.”

 

Lexy confirms. Feng’s fur was combed daily. Somi was brushed and sung to. Ling was allowed to yell freely. Ying was held like a dumpling. Lan-Lan’s grave was swept with incense burned weekly.

 

Yewon nodded. “As it should be.”

 

By the time she returned, the sun was high.

Feng greeted her at the gate with two paws up. Somi waited like the sqeet darling she is. Ling was yelling into a flowerpot. Ying had a rice bun in his mouth. And Lan-Lan’s grave glimmered in the midday sun.

Yewon knelt and unpacked dried meat strips.

 

“You’re heavier now,” she murmured to each.

 

> Domestic bliss acquired. Probability of chaos incoming: 83%. Enjoy while it lasts~

 

 

Notes:

The merchant guild was originally a service centered guild like moving furnitures, garden experts, appraisal of antiques.

Until the famed Xia Yewon ask for assistance in tending to her garden and her pups. Fortunately they have experienced caretakers.

Its an open secret that lady yewon doesn't have any servants in her manor

Chapter 24

 

As Yewon brushed Somi’s silky fur in the tranquil courtyard, her mind drifted—half in the real, half with Lexy.

 

 >Would you like a full overview of your current status?

 

 “Damn, I forgot about your original job...Go ahead.”

---

🌸Personal Information🌸

 

Name: Eun Yewon

Alias: Xia Yewon

Age: 22

Gender: Female

Affiliation: Independent; Mount Hua Sect .

Current Location: Xia Manor, Xi’an

Divine Sword : yeoreum 

---

Cultivation Path Overview

 

🌸—Spiritual Cultivation—🌸

Host's spiritual cultivation leans toward internal harmonization and celestial qi resonance. Her natural affinity lies in wind, metal and water qi, making her particularly gifted in elusive movement, heightened perception, and swift combat. Her meditative techniques are disciplined, allowing her to navigate dense qi networks with rare clarity.

She has mastered several advanced breathing methods and is currently stabilizing her 'Threefold Flow Core', a technique combining martial discipline, spiritual insight, and emotional stillness.

Her spiritual growth is refined rather than explosive—like water shaping stone.

 

Progress:

• Core Refinement: 89% stabilized
• Soul Resilience: High-tier
• Mental Sea: Expansive, fortified
• Affinity: wind, water and metal

---

 

🌸—Physical Cultivation—🌸

While brute-force reliant, Yewon’s physical cultivation is built for precision, speed, and adaptability. She focuses on sword-body synchronization and flexibility-based power delivery. Her bones and meridians have been tempered through intense manual regimens and herbal reinforcement. Her stamina—unlike her temper—is stubbornly vast.

She didn't lacks raw brute strength but still needs to compensates through technique mastery and energy conservation. Her sword strikes are controlled, deliberate, and devastating when fully committed.

 

Progress:

• Muscular Reinforcement: 73% optimized
• Meridian Flow: Balanced
• Body Qi Synchronization: Near seamless
• Weapon Integration: Advanced sword-body sync achieved( at impressive rate) 

 

[Combat Attributes]

Qi: Martial Master Level

Strength: Martial Master Level

Speed & Agility: Master Level

(Mid-breakthrough toward Martial Master threshold)

 

---

 

>  Recommendation—Increase exposure to chaotic qi fields or sparring with unpredictable styles to accelerate agility threshold. Current discipline remains stable. Emotional balance: 79%. Rage spikes still frequent when puppies are threatened.

Yewon snorted softly.

 “Noted.”

> Also, your unacknowledged ‘spouse’ has breached the manor's perimeter wall.

 

 “...What.”

 

> Chaotic footwork. Loud grumbling. Scent of plums. Target approaching: 23 meters.

 

Yewon looked up slowly. Somi barked once.

And like the herald of doom—

 

 “YAH! XIA YE-WOOOOON! Get your dogs! One of them bit my damn sleeve again!”

 

She sighed and stood, brushing imaginary dust off her robe.

 

“Let the chaos begin,” she muttered.

 

---

 

Yewon narrowed her gaze at the words “Strength – Martial Master level”.

 

 “Lexy,” she murmured.

 

>  Present.＼(^^)／

 "How much weight am I able to lift, exactly? Don’t give me vague sect rankings or esoteric classifications. Give me numbers.”

 

> Calculating…

 

A short pause.

 

> Estimated maximum lift capacity: 1,025 kilograms under a full adrenaline burst and stabilized footing. Sustainably? 420 kilograms without risking ligament strain.

Yewon blinked slowly. She glanced down at her hand.

 

 “So I can… casually bench a horse.”

 

> Lexy: Technically, yes. Preferably not your own ( ￣ー￣)

 

She tilted her head, expression unreadable.

 “I’m strong enough to lift two grown ox but I still can’t open that damn pickle jar when it's too tight ! ”

> That is not a matter of strength. That is an ancient curse passed down by grandmothers.

 

 “So I’m cursed.”

>  Joint misalignment. You twist instead of pull. Seek better technique.

 

Yewon sipped her tea like nothing had just been said.

 “Should I go lift a boulder to test it out?”

> I suggest a less dramatic demonstration. Perhaps lifting that walking loudmouth you accidentally ‘married’.

 

 “Tempting.”

>Shall I prepare a lifting simulation? Or a sparring challenge to test limits further?

“...I’ll test it later. After I finish organizing the kitchen and wrangling the dogs.”

>  Acceptable. Current emotional temperature: Calm but simmering.

 

Yewon cracked her neck, stood, and muttered—

 

 “A thousand kilos… guess I can carry the weight of my mistakes after all.”

 

Somewhere not far off, a loud “YAAAAH!” echoed beyond her courtyard wall.

 

Lexy added quietly:

>  Including that one.

 

---

 

Yewon opened the gate’s door, her robes fluttering faintly with the breeze—and nearly flinched when something lunged at her from the side.

“Feng—!” she gasped, but it was too late.

 

Her smallest but most excitable puppy had launched himself through the air like a soft golden arrow, teeth firmly latched onto the end of a dark sleeve.

The sleeve, unfortunately—or perhaps fittingly—belonged to none other than Chung Myung.

He stood there with the eternal scowl he wore like a second skin, utterly unfazed as Feng dangled midair like a small, growling ornament. One of his eyebrows twitched. Slowly.

 “Your dog,” he said dryly, “has been chewing on me since I stepped through the courtyard gate.”

Yewon stared, unblinking. Then calmly plucked Feng off the sleeve and held him under one arm like a loaf of judgmental bread. The pup wagged his tail unrepentantly.

 “He must’ve smelled something familiar,” she said evenly. “Come in.”

Chung Myung muttered something about “rotten insolent pups” under his breath, but followed her in.

They sat under the shade of her veranda, the sunlight filtered through the hanging strands of wisteria. Yewon served a tray of cool fruit juices—peach, citrus, and chilled lychee—and a plate of delicate sweets made from glutinous rice and red bean paste. A kettle of floral tea steamed gently between them.

 

For a few moments, neither spoke.

Until finally, Chung Myung cleared his throat and placed a small pouch on the table with a dull thud.

 “Your share of the reward,” he said. “From the missing children case. The elders finally released it.”

Yewon glanced at the pouch, then at him. “You came all the way here just to deliver that?”

 

“I was nearby,” he lied poorly.

 

Feng had returned to nibble at the hem of his pants again. He tried to subtly shake him off.

There was another pause. The scent of honeysuckle drifted past.

 

“...You still thinking about that cult bastard?” he asked gruffly.

 

Yewon sipped her peach juice with a composed expression. “No... Maybe. I don’t know. I just—” she exhaled slowly, “—still want to throw him into a cliff, mount hua have those right ? " 

 

“Tch. Should’ve let me do it.”

“Not before I carved out the smirk from his face.”

 

They shared a rare, perfectly synchronized nod of agreement.

 “That crap about ‘marriage vows’—ridiculous,” Chung Myung muttered.

“Completely invalid,” Yewon added flatly. “Not legally recognized. Not by any sect. Not by any region. Not even the Kangho criminal laws.”

 

“Exactly! Who’d take that nonsense seriously?”

 

 “Apparently, half the Mount Hua Sect.”

 

Chung Myung let out a strangled noise. “I’m going to gut that sasuk bastard  for writing that report like a damn scandal!”

Yewon coughed delicately into her sleeve. “...I’ve been receiving red envelopes.”

He nearly choked on his juice.

 

“RED ENVELOPES?!”

 

She looked away. “They think it’s a celebration.”

“We didn’t even—there weren’t even vows! It was a trap!”

 

Yewon sighed. “Still gives me chest pains.”

 

Feng barked in agreement.

 

The two sat there in rare silence again, the tray between them now holding only the slowly melting ice in the fruit glasses.

At long last, Yewon spoke quietly. “...Would it have been better if I’d just skewered that bastard on the spot?”

 

Chung Myung answered without hesitation. “Yes.”

 

They looked at each other.

Then away.

 

Then, after a heartbeat—

 

“Want to spar after this?” Chung Myung muttered.

 

“I’ll try not to cut your sleeve this time.”

 

 “Good. I’m bringing my real sword.”

 

 “Bring ointment, too.”

 

The air between them crackled—awkwardness, heat, something else. But they didn’t speak of it.

Outside the garden, Feng barked again, dashing off into the courtyard. Yewon stood and gathered the tray. Chung Myung watched her for a second longer before sighing and rising to follow.

No mention of cults. No mention of vows. Just tension… and tea.

 

And perhaps, just perhaps, a quiet thread neither of them knew what to name yet.

 

 

 

The bamboo courtyard behind Yewon's manor was peaceful—until Chung Myung’s foot left a crater in it.

 

 “You almost dented my flooring,” Yewon remarked dryly, parrying his strike with a fluid sweep of her sword.

“Then block faster,” Chung Myung snapped, leaping backward with a whip of his robes.

Their blades clashed again—steel ringing against steel like a distant bell. Yewon's movements were sharp, clean, and oddly graceful—like water slicing through silk. Chung Myung ducked beneath a spinning kick, eyebrows knitting as he pivoted.

He had expected her to be fast. He had expected her to be refined.

He had not expected her to almost cut his hair clean off on her third strike.

 

 “Oi!” he grinned, backstepping. “That was close!”

 

 “You blinked,” she said with a slight smile, eyes glowing with that telltale martial fire. “Do I need to slow down for the great Plum Blossom Sword Saint~?”

 

He scoffed.

 

 “tsk tsk tsk,  You wish.”

 

They clashed again—a flurry of movement and wind, the air around them warping with faint crackles of energy. Qi bled into the very earth with every blow. A light tremor passed through the bamboo grove when Yewon released a palm strike laced with spiritual force.

Chung Myung skidded back five steps before catching himself.

 

He stared.

 

 '...That wasn’t internal qi.' 

 

 

 

---

 

Their spar was over so now the two of them were drinking tea and snacking on their buns. 

He narrowed his eyes, calculating. “You’ve been training for what… ten years?”

 

Yewon shook her head.

 

“..seven?”

 

Another shake.

 

A pause. 

 

 “Two and a half years.” she said nonchalantly,  as best as she could muster an aloof image for herself. 

 

“…”

 

“…”

 

 “Pft—ACK—!”

 

Chung Myung sprayed his tea violently all over the table and started coughing.

Yewon blinked, startled. “...You good?”

 

 “TWO AND A HALF?!” he croaked, pounding his chest. “Are you possessed by a martial god?!”

 

She gave a little shrug and plucked a rice cake from the plate.

 

 “Family secret arts.”

 

 “Family secret arts my butt !” he barked, eyes narrowing. “What family has divine arts that leapfrog through master levels like this?!”

She bit into the rice cake and said, mouth half-full, “It’s... supposed to be a level higher than Shaolin’s Dharma Arts. My great-grandfather invented it after getting possessed by a celestial sword spirit in a thunderstorm.”

Chung Myung stared at her.

 

“...Are you serious?”

 

 “ I wasn’t.”

 

The silence was heavy. Even the cicadas in the trees went quiet.

Then, Yewon leaned over, her tone suddenly curious and sharp.

 

“Want to train with me?”

 

Chung Myung blinked.

 

 “Hah?”

 

 “You heard me. You’re the most outstanding, martial artist I’ve ever fought. That’s a compliment.”

 “Training offer still stands.”

 

Chung Myung looked at her. Really looked.

She was wiping her blade with a soft cloth. Her face calm, serene—but under that still surface, a storm of raw energy simmered. That terrifying growth rate. The control. The composure.

 

 “…You really only trained two and a half years?”

 

"...." 

 

“Never mind.”

There was another pause. Feng trotted into the courtyard with Somi behind him, both pups carrying sticks like little swords in their mouths.

Chung Myung looked at them.

 

Then at Yewon.

 

Then at the sparring floor, where his pride almost lay bruised.

 

 “...Fine. I’ll train with you.”

 

Yewon smirked.

 

 “Good. Don’t cry when I outpace you.”

 

 “In your dreams, ‘wife.’”

 

 “Say that again and I’ll actually marry you out of spite ! ”

Daym! That almost got me! 

> Notice. Someone's heart skipped a beat. Recommending confession 101 book2 for smoother approach~ (￣▽￣)ɓ 

Feng barked.

The sparring had ended, but the war had just begun.

 

 

Chapter 25

 

Mountains Don't Tremble, But They Watch

 

The late afternoon sun draped Yewon’s courtyard in amber and gold, long shadows falling like stretched warriors across the stone floor.

Chung Myung stood with arms folded, half-bored, half-curious. He shifted his weight to his left foot, watching the young swordswoman across from him tie her hair back with a thin red ribbon. Not even her sword had a name—or if it did, she hadn’t said it. Just as she hadn’t named a single one of her moves.

 

He didn't like that.

 

“You’re going to draw, or are you planning to stare at me until nightfall?” he said, voice dry.

Yewon tilted her head at him.

 

 “Are you scared?”

 

“I’m insulted,” he said, drawing his sword with a flick. The metal sang. “That you think you can frighten me without even naming your stances.”

She took her position—feet spread, knees slightly bent, both hands lightly resting on the hilt of her curved blade. A dancer’s stance, deceptively soft. Her eyes fixed on him like a hawk measuring the wind.

She didn’t answer.

 

Then she moved.

---

 

The First Clash

 

Her blade struck like a whip—low and fast, glinting silver. Chung Myung shifted sideways, twisting his torso to evade with half an inch to spare, and immediately countered with a light jab meant to test her guard.

Her sword curved like a crescent moon to intercept—not block, not parry. Redirect.

 

 Interesting… he thought. That wasn’t a known  technique. It wasn’t even orthodox. It was slippery, ghostlike.

 

He pressed forward.

Blades rang, qi pulsing. Her footwork wasn’t flashy, but precise—every pivot of her heel transferred force through her entire body. He could feel the intent behind her movements. She didn’t aim to win.

She aimed to expose him.

 

 “Tch.” He clicked his tongue. “That’s cute.”

 

He swept his leg low.

She leapt back, flipped, and landed with feline grace. The moment her feet touched the ground, she dashed forward again—blade singing, qi curling in spirals around her arms like mist.

Chung Myung narrowed his eyes. The angle of her strike didn’t match any traditional school. Her wrist twisted mid-swing, suddenly reversing the trajectory of her sword at the last second.

He barely tilted his sword to block, the impact jarring up his arm.

 

 Not even a name for that one? he thought grimly.

She’s hiding the principles too.

 

---

 

The Second Exchange – Testing Steel

 

 “What kind of technique is that?” he asked, between exchanges. His voice wasn’t mocking this time.

 

 “Why would I tell you?”

 

 “Hah. Fair.”

 

He lunged. This time with real intent.

Yewon ducked, rolled, and struck upward with a palm as she rose. Her hand shimmered faintly with spiritual qi—not internal energy, but something older. He twisted sideways to avoid the blow, but a tendril of energy still lashed against his ribs.

 

Pain flared.

Chung Myung’s eyes sharpened.

This isn’t just talent. She’s mixing her path into her movements. Like weaving fire into water.

He pivoted, swinging in a wide arc. She met it with a diagonal upward slice—but her footing had shifted again, unnaturally low.

 

That stance—

 

It didn’t exist in any orthodox form.

 

And that made her dangerous.

He advanced harder, faster—sword strikes now sending visible currents of air, cracking flagstones underfoot. Yewon’s qi shuddered beneath the weight of his presence, but she did not fall. She bent with the pressure, like bamboo in storm wind.

 

---

 

The Turning Point

 

The moment came when she reversed her grip and slashed upward, not with strength but with a coiled, explosive movement—like a dragon springing from water.

He blocked in time, but only barely.

 

 “...You’re barely halfway there,” he said, panting just a little. His eyes weren’t mocking now. They were bright. Alive. “But you fight like you’re already standing on the same mountain.”

 

 “I told you,” she replied. “Naming techniques gives them away. The moment you call something Heaven Piercing Blossom Dance, someone will pierce your liver instead.”

 

 “Pfft—what kind of names are you—”

 

He parried another attack mid-sentence, nearly losing his footing.

 

She smirked.

 “See?”

 

---

 

The spar ended when Yewon lowered her sword and stepped back, breathing steady but deep. Sweat dampened her temples, but her expression was calm.

Chung Myung spun his sword once and sheathed it.

“Two and a half years,” he muttered again.

“You’re freakishly talented, or you’ve made a deal with something.”

 “Both might be true,” she teased, pouring tea. “Here.”

He sat, took the cup, and stared into it like it had just told him a prophecy.

 “...If I had four more of you coming at me at once,” he said finally, “it might’ve ended in a draw.”

 “High praise.”

 

 “Terrifying thought.”

 

They sat in silence. Only the distant barks of her pups echoed beyond the garden walls.

 

---

 

"If You Won’t Train Seriously, Then Train With Me."

 

The early sun had barely stretched its golden limbs across Mount Hua’s roofs when the sounds of soft grunts and shifting earth echoed through the private training courtyard.

Chung Myung stood under the old plum tree, squinting as he watched Yewon contort her body into poses that should’ve belonged to  dancers, not martial artist.

She flowed from one form to another with seamless control—spine arching, limbs tightening, shoulders aligned with perfect balance. But what struck him most weren’t the movements.

It was the fifty-kilogram iron bracelets locked onto her wrists and ankles, glinting slightly under the sunlight like shackles on a monk choosing his own punishment.

 

He blinked once. Then twice.

 

 “...What in the name of all ten sects are you doing?” he muttered.

 

 “Qi-aligned flexibility training. Helps with balance, tendon resilience, muscle endurance, and mind-body connection,” she said, not missing a breath.

Yewon , exhaling softly as she transitioned into a handstand—with the iron bracelets still on. Her fingers dug into the dirt, arms trembling slightly, but she held firm.

 

Chung Myung just stared, mouth parted.

What kind of lunatic trains like this... and still looks calm?

 

She flipped back upright, and finally offered him a casual glance.

 

 “Want to try?”

 

 “I’ll pass. I’m not trying to break my own spine—”

 “Oh, come now. You said you don’t mind training seriously.”

 “I said no such—”

 

She tossed him a pair of iron bracelets. He caught them. His arms dropped a little  under their weight.

 “Holy—are you training to become a human siege weapon?!”

 

 “You’ll get used to it.”

 “Why would I want to?!”

“Because if you don’t, I’ll surpass you in three years.”

 

She smiled at him sweetly.

 

Something twitched in his eye.

 

---

 

The Training Duel Begins

 

Ten minutes later, they were standing across from each other. Both wore the iron bracelets now. Chung Myung had grumbled, cursed, threatened to throw them into the river, but he still kept them on.

 

His pride was already hooked.

Yewon took the first step, her movements slower than before—not from lack of skill, but from the deliberate resistance of the iron. Her breathing remained stable, her gaze steady.

Chung Myung lunged with a sweeping horizontal strike.

She ducked and turned, her ankle drag leaving deep grooves in the dirt. Counterstrike—upper diagonal slash aimed at his neck.

He blocked. The weight on his arms made his sword falter an inch.

 

Tch! I’m off-balance. She trained with these longer.

He backed off and adjusted his stance. Sweat was already forming on his temples, but Yewon showed no signs of strain beyond the quickened rhythm of her chest.

 

---

 

Her Intent, His Realization

 

After three rounds of back-and-forth, Chung Myung called for a break and dropped onto the stone bench, arms hanging like wet noodles.

 

 “You’re crazy.”

 “I’m efficient.”

 

He took a gulp of tea she handed him—still panting. She sat beside him, iron bracelets clinking against the cup.

“You’re not serious enough about training.”

 

The words were sharp. But not cruel.

Chung Myung blinked at her.

 

“What?”

 

 “You’re bored. You act like no one’s worth your effort. And you let your talent do the training.”

 

 “...You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

 “But I do,” she said softly, not looking at him.

You were the best once. But then you were reborn into a world without peers.

 

Chung Myung stiffened.

His knuckles clenched slightly against the cup. She continued.

 You don’t realize it yet—but future you regrets it. That you didn’t push yourself harder. That you didn’t prepare better... because you thought you had more time.

 

Her voice was low now. Gentle. But her words felt heavier than the bracelets.

 “I’m not here to surpass you out of pride, Chung Myung. I’m here to chase you. And I won’t let you sleepwalk through greatness and call it fate.”

She stood, wiping her palms on a cloth.

 

 “So if you’re going to be lazy, then you’ll have to do it while running beside me.”

She turned to him—no smile this time. Just eyes full of quiet fire.

 “Train seriously. Because I am.”

 

 

---

 

A New Routine

 

And so, the days passed.

Mornings began with Yewon balancing on one foot while holding tree-trunk-sized  logs on her back. Chung Myung scoffed. Then joined.

Afternoons turned into sword-sparring matches—iron weights still locked on, sweat pouring from both of them, clothes soaked through, knees bruised.

They didn’t talk during training. Only locked eyes, traded blows, and understood each other better through every clash than they ever would with words.

By the end of the second week, even Mount Hua’s disciples began whispering.

 

“Is he training?”

“Like... actually sweating?”

 “He’s yelling less. I’m scared.”

 “Did Lady Yewon put a spell on him?”

 

 

---

 

The Unseen Shift

 

One morning, as the sun rose over Mount Hua and gilded the blades of grass gold, Chung Myung stood with his sword drawn, eyes focused on a target in the distance.

His shoulders were loose. But his spine was straight. His grip was precise.

No mockery on his face.

 

Just stillness.

 

Yewon stepped beside him, holding two cups of tea. He took one, wordlessly.

 “You’re taking this seriously now,” she said.

 “Not because of you,” he muttered.

 

She grinned.

 

“Of course not.”

 

He paused. Then turned slightly toward her.

 

 “..tsk.”

 

Her smile softened.

 

---

 

The morning mist blanketed Mount Hua in a soft veil. Dew clung to the grass like pearls, and the wind murmured quietly through the training courtyard.

There were no spectators. Only the soft cadence of two pairs of footsteps circling each other.

Yewon raised her hand slowly, fingers curling toward her palm. Her breath synced with the rhythm of her heart. Behind her calm expression, every muscle was alert.

Chung Myung smirked—barely. His sword was already in motion before her hand had fully clenched.

 

 He always tests me during the first breath. Never a moment later.

Her iron-laced foot snapped sideways to shift her center of gravity, ducking as his blade hummed overhead. She didn't block. Not yet. Instead, her fingers darted out—not to grab his wrist, but to twist his sleeve. A feint and a trap all at once.

Chung Myung let out a soft grunt and let the sleeve tear.

 

 “Cheap move.”

 

 “Effective move,” she replied, already spinning into a rising strike with her palm.

 

He blocked with the flat of his sword, pivoting on the balls of his feet. His counter came fast—a roundhouse kick she barely had time to duck under. It skimmed the iron cuff on her wrist.

 

The spar became a dance.

 

Yewon's techniques had no names.

 

No shouted declarations. No poetic flair.

Just movement, shaped by instinct and refined by endless training. One moment she was shifting weight into a low crouch to break his footing, the next she launched into the air with a rotating heel aimed toward his shoulder.

Chung Myung countered by grabbing the iron bracelet around her ankle mid-air.

 

“That’s new,” he muttered. “You’re starting to use them offensively.”

 “You’re the only one who can adapt mid-fight,” she shot back, twisting her body in the air.

 

The sudden torque caught him off guard. Her other leg swept around and knocked into his hip, forcing him to stumble back with a snort.

 

They paused.

 

Both panting lightly.

 

Neither willing to speak yet.

Only their breathing filled the silence—slightly uneven, rhythmic, in sync.

 

 She’s halfway there, Chung Myung thought.

If there were four more of her attacking me... it wouldn’t be a win. It’d be a draw. Tch.

 

He looked at her—sweat clinging to her temple, strands of hair stuck to her cheek, her eyes still sharp, but glowing with something else.

 

Pride?

 

No. Not vanity.

 

It was purpose.

 

She wasn’t trying to surpass him.

She was trying to chase him. Stand beside him. Shoulder to shoulder.

She’s the kind who only names techniques once they’ve earned their place.

 

He sheathed his sword with a sigh.

 

 “Again tomorrow?”

 

 “Before dawn?”

 

 “Of course.”

 

She smiled faintly. “Don’t oversleep.”

 

 “Says the one who eats five steamed buns after every spar.”

 

 “That’s muscle recovery.”

 “That’s gluttony disguised as recovery.”

 

She laughed softly, then bent down to pick up her iron bracelets. Chung Myung reached for his own—but paused.

 

“Hey.”

 “Hm?”

 “What’s it called?”

 

She blinked.

 

“What is?”

 “That last counter. The twist in the air.”

 

She tilted her head. Then smiled.

 

 “I haven’t named it yet.”

 

“Hmph.”

 

 “Why? Want to name it for me?”

 

He scoffed. “Why would I do that?”

 

But he was already thinking of one.

 

 

---

 

Evening Stillness

 

Later that night, Chung Myung found himself sitting atop the rooftop tiles of the outer disciple hall, half-eaten rice ball in hand. The stars blinked above, and Mount Hua slept peacefully below.

He recalled her spinning mid-air.

The wind, her hair, the gleam of iron.

He muttered to himself, low and thoughtful.

 

 “If four more of her showed up… we’d draw.”

 

He took a slow bite of the rice ball.

And smiled, just a little.

 

Chapter 26

 

Mount Hua’s morning had always started the same way—roosters crowing faintly from the outer village, the mist parting like silk over the ancient stairways, and disciples yawning their way through sleepy footwork drills.

 

But ever since she arrived, things had... changed.

 

And not just for the worse.

 

---

 

In the main courtyard, Eun Yewon stood on one leg, arms stretched above her head, the other leg bent behind her like a bow pulled taut. Her posture remained unshaken despite the fifty-kilogram iron bands wrapped around her wrists and ankles. Her breath, calm. Her eyes, clear.

And beside her—grunting through clenched teeth—was Chung Myung, wobbling slightly in the same pose, sweat already streaking down his back.

 

 “This is your idea of warming up?!”

 

“You agreed to train with me, didn’t you?”

 

 “I didn’t know it involved dying quietly like this! This is torture, not training!”

 

“Ah, then quit.”

 

She said it too lightly, too gently, like it was barely a challenge.

Chung Myung glared sideways. His pride wouldn't let him back down. So he grit his teeth and raised his arms higher.

 

---

 

From the corridor above the courtyard, disciples peeked in quiet awe.

 

"She's really doing it again," whispered chung gong.

"With weights!" added another disciple.

"Look at that form… "

"And then there’s Chung Myung…"

“Yeah... he’s alive.”

 

They flinched when someone behind them coughed.

It was Chung Mun, their respected Daesahyung. His eyes were clear, his back straight, and his hands behind his back.

And most importantly, his face…

 

Serene.

 

No stomach cramps today.

No mysterious fires caused by a certain third-class disciple.

No broken temple gates.

No Elders frothing at the mouth because someone blew up the rice storeroom… again.

 

A peaceful tear nearly rolled down Chung Mun’s cheek.

 

“Bless that woman.”

 

---

 

Back in the Courtyard

 

After holding the pose for another ten breaths, Yewon straightened and rolled her shoulders. Chung Myung collapsed backward into a panting mess on the stone floor.

She handed him a towel and then plopped down beside him, legs crossed.

 

 “You’re improving. Last time, you fell sideways.”

 

“I don’t know if that’s called improvement or delayed death.”

 

She only smiled and handed him a water bottle.

 

 “...Why do I keep doing this?”

 “Because you don’t like being outdone.”

 

Chung Myung took a long sip, watching her stretch her arms, those weighted cuffs clinking faintly like anklets forged in war.

 

 “You really only trained for two and a half years?”

“Un.

 

“Tch. That art of yours... you said it was stronger than Shaolin’s Dharma?”

 “Didn’t say stronger. Said more dangerous. No one to ask for help when it breaks you.”

 

He stared at her.

 

 A technique with no name.

Movements no one's ever seen.

No fancy poses. 

 

 She’s scary, he thought. ...But it makes training interesting again.

 

Dammit.

 

---

 

Above them, Chung Mun sipped his morning tea, perfectly calm.

He folded his hands.

 

 “The wind’s changed,” he muttered.

 

“The air smells cleaner.”

 

“...And I haven’t touched my stomach medicine in two weeks.”

 

He turned and walked away, shoulders lighter than ever before.

 

---

 

The disciples of Mount Hua had come to accept Lady Yewon as a familiar face—unofficially dubbed the “Goblin tamer"  Some whispered she was Chung Myung’s secret lover. Others thought she might be the only one in the entire sect who could calm him aside from chung mun without a beating.

But where there is admiration… there will always be jealousy.

Especially from those who believed status was something earned only through hierarchy, not talent.

And thus entered Yi Gajin, a second-class outer disciple.

 

---

 

Pride in the Wrong Place

 

Yi Gajin was tall, broad-shouldered, and carried himself like the center of the martial world. He was known for his precise blade work, his obsession with honor, and his unshakable ego.

That morning, as Yewon finished her post-training cooldown with Chung Myung and the others, he arrived with his followers—two junior disciples from the outer quarters.

He did not bow. He did not greet her. He glared.

 

“I have a question,” he said, voice loud and clear enough to turn heads from the main hall to the stone benches.

Yewon, sipping her plum juice in quiet calm, tilted her head slightly.

 

 “Ask.”

 

“What exactly are you? Are you Mount Hua’s new guest? Or just… the pet Chung Myung decided to keep?”

 

The air instantly froze.

 

Chung Myung blinked slowly.

 

“...Did this bastard just say pet?”

 

Yewon did not flinch. She gently placed her cup down on the bench beside her

 “You must be Yi Gajin-nim,” she said softly, folding her hands on her lap. “I’ve heard of your name from the corridors.”

 

 “Then perhaps you should also know the boundaries of a guest.”

 

“I see. Then shall we define those boundaries with a spar?”

 

 

---

 

The disciples watching turned feral.

 

“She’s challenging Yi Gajin ?!”

“But he’s a second-class disciple!”

“Is she crazy?!”

“No, you fool. She’s Xia Yewon.”

 

 

---

 

The Duel

They met in the wide training platform just below the eastern cliff. The sparring ring was encircled with disciples from all lines—Baek, Hyun, even a few elders peeking from balconies. It wasn’t often that sparks of drama lit up Mount Hua these days.

Yewon stepped barefoot into the stone circle. Her white robes fluttered in the breeze, her sleeves tied to her elbows. Her iron bracelets glinted faintly, still attached.

 

Yi Gajin pulled out his sword.

 

 “I won’t hold back.”

 

 “That’s good,” Yewon replied, eyes serene.

“Because neither will I.”

 

---

 

What They Witnessed

 

The spar began with Yi Gajin lunging, blade flashing toward her shoulder with a swift crescent arc.

Yewon didn’t step back.

She pivoted.

With one fluid movement, she sidestepped his slash, turned her body, and tapped the back of his knee with her heel.

 

CRACK.

 

Yi Gajin stumbled, his stance broken.

Before he could recover, her palm drove into his sternum—not hard enough to break bones, but heavy, so heavy it echoed through his spine like a thunderclap.

 

He flew backward.

 

 “That… that wasn’t a normal palm strike!”

 “It looked so effortless… but he’s wheezing!”

 

He stood, panting, pride burning his lungs.

He came again, this time with faster slashes. Furious slashes. Rage-painted slashes.

Yewon tilted her body. Her footwork was light, but every step grounded like an anchor. Her arms moved like falling silk, redirecting his strikes without drawing her own weapon.

And then she struck again—just three taps:

 

1. Her elbow clipped his collarbone.

2. Her palm flattened into his side.

3. And a low sweeping kick took both his feet from under him.

 

He hit the ground hard, gasping as his blade flew from his hand.

 

 

---

 

The Silence That Followed.

 

Yewon stood over him—not triumphant, not mocking. Simply calm.

 “Was that enough to show how I got here?” she asked, tilting her head.

 

Yi Gajin wheezed, too stunned to answer.

She turned toward the crowd, gave a shallow bow, and walked off the platform. Her movements as graceful as a swan, but the imprint of her power lingered heavy in the air.

Chung Myung sat nearby, arms crossed and lips twitching.

 

 “She really did the bare minimum,” he muttered.

“...It’s the bare minimum that almost crushed his ribs.”

 

He grinned wide, teeth flashing.

 

“Now that’s what I call fun.”

 

 

---

 

Later That Day

 

Chung Mun received another report from a dazed second-class disciple.

 

 “Senior Brother, we just wanted to say thank you.”

 “...For what?”

 “We finally understand why Chung Myung trains now.”

 

 “And?”

 “And… we’re all afraid of her too.”

 

 

Chapter 27

 

The morning mist still clung to the hills like a sleepy veil, painted in the soft hues of dawn.

Eun Yewon exhaled slowly, breath steady as her feet lightly tapped against the stone paths carved by time and pilgrims. She was already halfway back from her morning run—Mount Hua to Xi’an and back—something she committed herself to three times a week to train her lightness art and footwork.

Iron bracelets, fifty kilos each, clung around her wrists and ankles like quiet reminders: grace without burden is just play. But grace under weight—that is strength.

The road was mostly silent, with the occasional fluttering birdsong and rustling leaves. But as she rounded the bend near a ridge, something new disturbed the peace.

 

---

A Man Beneath the Old Tree

 

He stood beneath the twisted boughs of an old, sun-scorched tree.

Tall. Thick arms like bundled rope. A massive dao strapped across his back—one that looked forged more for cleaving monsters than men.

His qi was rough, unrestrained, and heavy with hostility.

 

He spoke without bow or courtesy.

 

“You’re the swordswoman from Mount Hua,” he said, voice gravel. “you must be the rumoured Xia Yewon.”

 

Yewon stopped mid-step.

Sweat still glistened at her brow, her sleeves damp from the long jog. Yet her breathing was steady—no hint of fatigue.

She stared at the man, expression unreadable.

 

“Not from Mount Hua,” she replied. “I’m  afaffiliat.yes.”

 

 “Doesn’t matter,” he said, cracking his knuckles. “Word spreads. You fight good. I want to challenge you.”

 “Then test your self-preservation first,” she said lightly.

' this hobo wants to use me as a stepping stone?'

 

He grinned like a boar about to charge.

 

And he did.

 

 

---

 

The Ambush Turned Duel

 

The moment he surged forward, Yewon’s iron bracelets let out a clink as she moved.

His dao whistled through the air like thunder, meant to split her skull in a single clean swing.

But she had already shifted.

 

Her feet glided an inch to the right—perfect balance, flawless footwork—and the blade missed her by a hair’s breadth.

 

The ground cracked where it landed.

 

Before the reverberation even faded, Yewon’s fingers curled around the hilt of her blade.

 

“Yeoreum,” she whispered.

The sword rang like chimes awakening in spring.

 

One step.

Two.

Three.

 

Her body blurred like mist in the morning light, and she spun low, her blade arcing with controlled grace.

 

She wasn’t aiming to kill.

But she wasn’t aiming to play either.

 

A flash of metal passed his ribs.

His clothes tore. Blood sprang.

 

 “You—!?”

She was already behind him, hair fluttering as her blade rested against her shoulder.

“First rule,” she said softly, “don’t attack someone in the middle of training. Second rule—don’t bring a cleaver to a swordfight. Third rule…”

 

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

 

 “Don’t get your ego from rumors.”

 

He roared, twisted, and swung again, wildly this time.

 

Mistake.

 

Yewon stepped in.

She parried the blow with a single upward stroke that sent vibrations down his arms. The sound of steel striking steel echoed across the hills.

Then her elbow drove into his solar plexus.

 

He crumpled.

 

---

 

Aftermath

 

Yewon cleaned the edge of her blade with a cloth tucked in her belt.

The man groaned, hunched over, face kissing the dirt.

She turned to leave but paused, glancing at the dao now buried in the cracked soil beside him.

 

 “Train your lower body ,” she muttered. “Also, don’t block the road if your skills can’t carry your pride.”

 

She jogged off.

 

Effortless.

As if the entire thing was nothing more than a slight detour in her morning routine.

 

---

 

Later That Day, in Mount Hua

 

Chung Myung sat cross-legged, munching on an apple, watching as rumors trickled in from younger disciples.

 “Apparently, someone tried to ambush lady Yewon on the road.”

 

 “Did she get hurt?”

 

“Nah.”

 

Chung Myung raised an eyebrow, then grinned.

 

 “That’s my training partner.”

 

---

 

A Blade Called Pride

 

Mount Hua had never been busier.

The once serene mountain, usually filled with the disciplined rhythm of sword training and sweeping plum blossoms, now buzzed with visitors—envoys from Wudang, Beggar’s Union, Qingcheng, even the Southern Edge sect, all seeking one thing:

A chance to watch, challenge, or defeat Lady Xia Yewon, the swordswoman from Xi’an.

Rumors painted her as many things—Chung Myung’s lover, secret disciple, sparring partner, or even his only rival. That she was the only person in the current generation who could cross swords with the Plum Blossom Sword Saint without immediately regretting their life choices.

And so, naturally, the logic of the sects followed:

 

 “If we can’t defeat Chung Myung… then maybe we can still make him lose face.”

 

How?

 

 “ the woman at his side.”

 

---

 

At Mount Hua’s Courtyard

 

The main courtyard of Mount Hua buzzed with murmurs. Banners from visiting sects lined the outer walls. Elders exchanged polite greetings. And in the center stood a quiet figure in black training robes—Yewon, iron bracelets still fixed to her limbs, her gaze serene and unbothered.

Chung Myung sat lazily on a roof nearby, chewing on something.

 

 “Tch. Look at them,” he muttered. “Acting like peacocks just because they brought a few of their best disciples. Idiots.”

 

Next to him, a sajil  whispered, “Aren’t you worried, Chung Myung sasuk ?”

 

 “Worried about what?”

 

 “They all came for Miss Yewon.”

 

Chung Myung smirked. “They’ll regret that.”

 

---

 

The First Challenger

 

A disciple from Qingcheng stepped forward.

Clad in forest-green robes and with confidence oozing from every pore, he bowed with the elegance of someone trained to perform it like theatre.

 

 “Lady Xia Yewon. I am Mu Shao of Qingcheng Sect, 3rd Seat of the Outer Jade Division. May I request the honor of a spar?”

Yewon looked up, calm as water in a still pond.

 

 “Request received. I accept.”

 

Chung Myung snorted. “He’s gonna eat dirt.”

 

---

 

The Duel Begins

 

The courtyard fell quiet.

 

Mu shao drew his sword with a flourish, its edge glinting.

 

Yewon simply stepped forward.

Her stance adjusted—left foot pointed diagonally, body half-turned. Her right hand rested loosely on Yeoreum’s hilt. No grand announcement. No technique names shouted into the air. Just eerie calm.

 

Then—

 

He moved.

 

Xiaozhi came like wind—fast, aggressive, his sword cutting the air in three precise arcs meant to test her defense.

 

But he struck nothing.

 

Yewon shifted.

One step to the side.

A lean backward.

A hand raised.

Parry. Deflect. Redirect.

 

She moved like silk—but her blade hit like thunder.

A palm strike landed on his chest—not enough to kill, but enough to send his body skipping across the ground like a thrown pebble.

 

 Thud. Thud. Thud.

 

Gasps echoed. One of the Beggar Union’s seniors blinked in disbelief.

 

 “She didn’t even draw her sword…”

 

---

 

The Others

 

Over the course of days, more came.

An expert from Wudang.

A club weilding prodigy from Beggar Union.

Wait what???

Even  “Jin sokrim ” from the Southern Edge sect.

 

Each challenge was accepted.

Each fight ended the same.

 

Yewon stood calmly.

 

Moved quietly.

 

Struck deliberately.

And none of them could last more than a hundred moves.

Worse still, she never announced the name of her techniques.

 

 “What technique was that?” “No idea.” “She didn’t say anything.” “She beat me with a nameless form?!”

 

One of the Qingcheng masters nearly had a stroke.

 “This is worse than being beaten by the sword saint! At least he talks! This one just—just hits you!”

 

---

 

Meanwhile, With Chung Myung

 

Later that evening, Yewon poured herself a cup of warm barley tea in Mount Hua’s guest pavilion. Chung Myung leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her with narrowed eyes.

“You didn’t even give them a chance to breathe,” he said.

 

Yewon glanced at him.

 

 “Should I have?”

He shrugged. “No. Just wanted to say you did well.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That’s unusually generous of you.”

' omg he complimented meeeee lexy! ' 

> calm down yewon dear. ( ￣▽￣)

 

 “Shut up.”

 

 

---

 

By week’s end, a new rumor began circulating across sects:

 

 "The Plum Blossom Sword Saint is no longer the most terrifying thing in Mount Hua… It’s the woman who spars with him."

she hits her opponents six times but only reported five.

Some even joked that Yewon was a secret weapon Mount Hua was raising to balance out their chaos incarnate disciple.

And from afar, the older generation began to take notice.

 

“She’s not from Mount Hua… but the way she moves, how she holds back yet still dominates… Who taught her?”

 

 “Who is she?”

 

 “If she’s not claimed by any sect… perhaps we should offer her an elder seat?”

---

 

The courtyard of Mount Hua was no longer just Mount Hua’s.

For the past few days, it had become a bizarre political arena disguised as a polite diplomatic summit. And at the center of it all sat Lady Xia Yewon, sipping tea with an expression so calm it was alarming.

She had barely finished brushing off the dust from her latest spar when a new form of attack arrived—not by sword, but by suggestion.

 

---

 

The Elders’ Scheme

 

First came the delegation from wudang .

 

 “Lady Yewon,” the Wudang elder said, stroking his beard with what he probably thought was charm. “We of Wudang value individuals of exceptional talent. Perhaps you would consider joining our sect as a guest elder?”

Before she could answer, the Qingcheng elder chimed in.

“If I may interrupt, our sect would gladly welcome Lady Yewon as a revered sword consultant. We offer a quiet mountain abode and full access to our archives—”

 

Then came the dagger in the gut:

 

 “—and we have several promising young disciples, some of whom remain unmarried, should Lady Yewon be interested in… a companion of equal pedigree.”

 

Yewon blinked. Her smile did not shift.

But next to her, a tick mark exploded on the side of Chung Myung’s head.

 

 “You—! You—! Squids! You dare offer your squids to her like she’s some prize cabbage at the market?!”

He stood so fast that his chair fell backward, fists clenching, aura crackling with thinly veiled murder.

But before he could erupt, something soft and sticky rammed into his mouth.

 

 Thwmp.

 

A mooncake.

 

Yewon had shoved it in with eerie grace, eyes still on the elders.

 

 “Eat.”

 

Chung Myung froze. His jaw locked. His glare softened—not because he calmed down, but because his mouth was full of lotus paste and regret.

Yewon wiped her fingers with a napkin and then stood, her tone unfalteringly polite.

 

 “I appreciate your… suggestions.”

“However, I have no desire to be an elder. As you can see, I am twenty-two. Do I look like I enjoy offering medicinal tea advice to the youth?”

“As for the other offers…” her gaze slowly swept across the sects “…I do not accept squids.”

 

Gasps. Glares. Silence.

 

Wudang’s elder turned purple.

 

One Qingcheng disciple whispered, “She called our 3rd Seat… a squid...”

 

---

 

Enter Lexy, The Sass Processor

 

In Yewon’s mind, Lexy spoke up with the smugness of a gossiping goddess:

 

> [Candidate Rejections Processing...]

Wudang's Jin Zhao: “Too old, smells like ginseng, has a receding hairline. Rating: ‘No thanks, Grandpa.’”

Beggar Union’s Hao Feng: “Hasn’t bathed properly in three days. Financial stability: negative. Teeth: suspicious. Rating: ‘Unwashed mushroom.’”

Qingcheng’s Mu Xiaozhi: “Pretty face. Brain? Vacant. Emotional stability? Jealous ex in the making. Rating: ‘Sword him before he speaks again.’”

Status Report: NONE QUALIFIED. Try again later. Or never. Preferably never.

 

Woa...even a beggar has so much back bone. 

 

Yewon resisted the urge to snort her tea.

 

---

 

Back in the Shadows of the Pavilion...

 

Chung Myung finally finished chewing his forced peace offering.

 “They really think they can snatch someone like her with cheap talk and floppy-haired disciples?”

 

A sahyung , trying not to laugh, replied,

 

 “Well… technically, she’s not part of Mount Hua.”

 

“She’s with me,” Chung Myung growled.

 

“A-are you admitting something?” 

 

 “I’m admitting she’s my sparring partner, you cabbage.”

---

 

Just before the sects left, Yewon offered a final parting smile.

 

 “If anyone sends match proposals again, please direct them to my family estate in Xi’an.”

“But be warned—they don’t like strangers. And they bite.”

 

She didn’t specify if she meant her swordplay or her actual dogs.

 

The elders decided not to ask.

 

 

---

 

A Peek into the Mind of Chung Myung

Unfiltered, Untamed, Unhinged

 

 

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

 

The courtyard had cleared. The old men left. The squids were gone. And Yewon had returned to her manor with a terrifyingly polite smile after declining half the Kangho’s marriage applications in one afternoon.

 

But Chung Myung?

He sat atop Mount Hua’s peak, chewing a dried fruit and simmering with vinegar. 

 

“…They offered her what? A job? Marriage? A house full of books and bitter tea? HAH?”

He bit the fruit again—harder this time, as though it were Qingcheng’s elder’s head.

“And what was that nonsense about ‘a sword consultant’? That’s not even a real title! They just wanted her for prestige. Shameless old bastards.”

 

Then he remembered something else. Something worse.

“…And someone actually thought they could match her with that walking incense stick from Wudang? That bag of ribs wrapped in silk robes???”

 

He nearly spat out the dried plum in his mouth.

 

“As if she’d go for a man who can’t even hold a blade properly .”

 

He had been about to explode—explode—and she just shoved that mooncake into his mouth.

At the time, he’d nearly choked on it out of pure outrage. Now that he thought back… it was actually kind of tasty.

 

Still!

 

 “She stuffed it in like I was some toddler having a tantrum! HAH! I am the Plum Blossom Sword Saint! I don’t throw tantrums!”

 

Silence.

 

Then…

 

 “…Okay maybe I was going to throw something.”

 

 

 

---

 

Rumors spread fast. Too fast.

Apparently, all it took was one cultist bastard with a cracked brain and suddenly the entire Kangho was saying—

 

 “Plum Blossom Sword Saint married the mysterious swordswoman from Xi’an.”

 

Married.

Married.

 

He had nearly died again—again—from sheer rage and disbelief when he overheard it again from some junior disciples whispering in the back kitchen.

 

 “Tch. You idiots. If I was married, don’t you think I’d know?!”

 

…Well.

 

Probably?

 

He paused.

 

 “…Would I know?”

 

He thought of the pearl orb.

Of how their qi had intertwined for that brief second.

Of how his own energy recoiled like it was caught in a web of silk and lightning.

Of how she looked—silent, grim, eyes unreadable.

 

And then that damn cultist had grinned like he was the matchmaker of the century.

 

 “Tch.”

“That bastard’s lucky I didn’t pluck his spine out and wear it like a scarf.”

But what annoyed him the most wasn’t the rumors. Or the mooncake. Or the sects.

It was her.

 

It was Yewon.

Her casual elegance. Her silent footwork. That infuriating calm like nothing bothered her—even as she beat arrogant idiots to the ground while sipping tea as if it were a minor chore.

 

“Two and a half years of training, huh?”

 

He remembered her movements.

Precise. Fluid. Heavy and Clever.

 

 “Just what kind of monster would she become in ten years?”

 

And what made it worse?

 

She made him train .

Actually train.

The kind of training he hadn't done in a while. 

 

 “She says it's to help me.”

 

“Liar. She just wants to beat me one day.”

 

He scowled… then smirked.

 

 “Good. Let her try.”

 

He leaned back and looked up at the stars. His thoughts slowly quieted.

“Still…”

 

 “…it’s not bad. Having someone like her around.”

 “…Even if she’s scary with mooncakes.”

 

Chapter 28

Summary:

This is the fanservice I always delulued about.

WHY IS IT SO HARD TO MAKE THIS TWO GET TOGETHER!!! GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER GOD DAMN IT!

 

A Date Neither of Them Knew Was a Date 

Qixi Festival Chaos

 

It all started, as all disasters do, with food.

 

Chung Myung had been making his way down to Yewon’s manor for their usual sparring match-slash-training session-slash-“why is this woman trying to fatten me up again today” routine—when a few passing travelers mentioned the upcoming festival in Xi’an.

 

“Big festival,” they said.

“Ba River lights up,” they said.

“Couples only at night,” they didn’t say.

 

But what did catch his attention?

“Night market. Free food samples everywhere.”

 

The moment the word “free” hit his ears, something ancient stirred in his soul.

 

 “…Free food, huh?”

“Yewon lives in Xi’an anyway. Might as well drag her along.”

 

---

 

Later That Day – At Yewon’s Manor

 

He knocked on her gate, a plum in one hand and his usual cocky air in the other.

 

 “Yah, Yewon-ah! You done brushing your hair or whatever it is women do before sparring?”

 

No response.

 

He raised a brow, about to shout again—

 

And then the door creaked open.

 

Out stepped Yewon.

 

" Why didn't you just come inside as usual ? Did something happened? " 

" Xi’an is holding a festival , I heard there's free food" he raised an eyebrow at her. As if asking if she have no idea at all. 

 

" ...you want me to join you...is that it? " 

 

" yah, I'm benevolent enough to share the food with you " he scoffed. 

 

" You mean free samples ? Fine, just wait for a moment here " 

 

Chung myung didn't have the patience to wait so he tried to call to her again—

 

—And then the door creaked open.

 

 Yewon stepped out. 

 

Wearing a hanfu so soft in color it looked like the first blush of sunrise.

Pink, like the pale sakura blossoms.

Mint, like morning fog over bamboo leaves.

And violet, like plum blossoms kissed by dusk.

 

Her hair was done up in loose loops, soft braids tucked behind her ears with silver pins. She didn’t even wear much ornament—just a simple sash and a ribbon at her wrist. She looked...

 

...different.

 

Not in the way she fought. Not in the way she trained or stood with her sword.

Just... different.

 

The kind of quiet elegance that hits you like a slow-moving cart.

Beautiful, but also confusing.

And Chung Myung, poor chaotic creature of swords and snark, short-circuited.

 

“…What the hell is that for?”

 

Yewon blinked. “You said there was a festival in Xi’an. I assumed it wasn’t a battlefield so I dress like any woman out there.”

 

“You—That’s what you wear for a festival?!”

 

She narrowed her eyes. “Yes. Why?”

 

He looked away—fast.

Scratched the back of his neck.

Then coughed. Loudly. Twice.

 

 “…Hmph. You look like a walking dumpling.”

 

…A dumpling. That fell into a flower bed.

 

She raised one perfect brow. “Chung Myung.”

 

 “…Tch. I didn’t say it looked bad!”

 

---

 

At the Xi’an Festival – Daytime

 

The city was packed with people. Drums and music filled the air, couples laughed together, and children darted around in lion costumes.

Chung Myung tried not to stare every time Yewon leaned down to inspect a lantern stall or smiled at a child offering her candied hawthorns.

 

 “Not a battlefield,” she said.

“…Then why does it feel like I’m losing?”

 

He bought two skewers of grilled pork. Gave her one without saying anything.

She accepted it wordlessly.

The silence was oddly... companionable.

 

They went and look around the stalls. Bought cheap souvenirs and some pendants. Yewon bought toys for her pups and a ribbons for her use. 

Chung myung is surprisingly amicable today. And he's eating twice the usual , he practically inhaled inhaled all the sweets that one stall could offer. 

The free samples didn't survive the onslaught of tasters so she and chubg myung only secured three pieces and they even divide in half a mooncake to make it fair business sharing. 

 

---

 

Night – Ba River Lantern Festival

 

Then night fell.

 

And everything changed.

 

Lanterns were everywhere. Glowing orbs of orange and pink floated above the Ba River like fireflies. Petals were scattered on the water, and boats drifted by, lit with paper lights and incense.

A stage in the plaza performed a shadow play about the Cowherd and the Weaver Girl. Children lit floating lotus lanterns. Vendors called out for lovers to buy heart-shaped trinkets.

 

“This night is for lovers and wishes,” someone called from a stall. “Throw a lantern, and your bond will last forever!”

 

Chung Myung blinked. “Wait. What?”

He turned to Yewon, who was calmly sipping  tea.

 

 “Yah. This isn’t just some festival. Isn’t this... Qixi?”

 

She shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I live outside the city.”

'I freakin have no idea!!! M-my heaaaaaaart! ' 

 

“...It’s a lovers’ festival!”

 

Now she paused.

 

 “...And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“How the hell was I supposed to know it’s for couples?! I just heard free food and came running!”

' the only thing that registered to your brain is free food????' 

 

They both stood in silence.

She in her fluttering hanfu, soft pink and mint in the lantern light.

He in his usual Mount Hua’s white martial robes , hair wind-tousled, mouth slightly ajar from mental lag.

The crowd swirled around them like they were some kind of centerpiece.

More than a few eyes turned.

 

“Hey, that couple over there looks good together!”

“Are they going to throw a lantern too?”

 

 “Bet they already did.”

 

Chung Myung nearly combusted on the spot.

 

“Let’s go home,” he muttered.

 

“Agreed,” Yewon said stiffly.

 

But as they turned, Yewon paused at a stall and handed him something.

 A hand-painted lantern—shaped like a blooming plum blossom.

Weird... plum blossom? Is Xi’an? This merchant must be from Huayin.  

 

 “Since you like free things so much,” she said, “take this.”

 

Chung Myung stared at the lantern.

 

Then at her.

 

 “…Tch. You better not expect me to hang it in my room.”

 

“Of course not,” she said with a slight smile. “I expect you to hang it in front of your training hall. So everyone knows who beats you weekly.”

 

 “I’ll throw you in the river.”

 

 “Try me.”

> aigoo yewon dear! You two are supposed to lit it up and let it float to the river! 

 

---

New Rumors, New Chaos 

 

It began subtly—a whisper from a merchant stall, a quiet giggle from two aunties fanning themselves by a teahouse, and the excited scribbling of a wandering storyteller writing furiously in his journal.

By the next morning, the entire Zhongnan region was buzzing.

 

 “Did you hear?”

“The Plum Blossom Sword Saint was seen with a lady—no, not just a lady, Lady Xia Yewon! They were spotted leaving the Qixi Festival together!”

“Together? They were already there together! They watched the lanterns float, visited the stalls, even shared a mooncake!”

“And get this—someone from Zhongnan SAW THEM sneaking away from the riverside path after the final fireworks!”

“Sneaking away… together?!”

 

Eyes widened. Fans snapped shut. Mouths gasped in scandalous harmony.

 

---

 

Meanwhile… at Mount Hua

 

A second-class disciple from Mount Hua had been in Xi’an that morning. He had been on personal errands, buying new brush ink and a few seasonal herbs…

 

And then he saw them.

 

Lady Yewon, standing beside Chung Myung.

Chung Myung, laughing as he stuffed his face with candied chestnuts, completely unbothered by the fact that his sleeves were dusted with powdered sugar.

And then—they disappeared behind the vendors, walking toward the riverside path. The disciple gasped so hard he inhaled a plum pit.

By the time he returned to Mount Hua, he reported directly to the elders in the speed of lightning.

 

 "Elders!"

"I-I saw them—Chung Myung and Lady Yewon—at the festival! It was the QIXI FESTIVAL! They left together, and many people SAW THEM—EVEN FROM ZHONGNAN!"

 

The room fell silent.

 

The sect leader slowly placed down his teacup.

 

Elder un gak muttered, “...Qixi…”

 

Elder Yeon stood up and shouted, “NO ONE DISTURB THEM!”

 

 “Not even a whisper!” “Do you understand?! This is the most peaceful we’ve had Chung Myung in YEARS!”

“If we make Lady Yewon upset and she never returns—he’ll go back to biting people in the courtyard!”

 

They nodded solemnly.

 

 “Let it be known. From this day forth, **Lady Eun Yewon is not just a guest—she is Mount Hua’s precious unofficial in-law. Anyone who dares question it will sweep the outer courtyard for a year.”

 

---

 

Back at Yewon’s Manor

 

Yewon was brushing Somi’s fur, while Chung Myung munched sunflower seeds like nothing had happened.

 

Until a pigeon arrived.

 

It held a letter from Mount Hua.

 

He unrolled it lazily and read it aloud:

 

 “No need to return immediately. Enjoy your time in Xi’an. Take Lady Yewon on another walk if needed. The elders send their regards to your future spouse.”

 

There was a silence.

 

Yewon blinked.

 

Chung Myung choked.

 

He spat seeds all over Feng’s back and turned beet red. “WHAT—WHAT SPOUSE?! WHO’S GETTING MARRIED?!”

 

Yewon sighed and stood. “That cultist bastard’s curse is still spreading like plague.”

 

Lexy whispered in her head.

> Technically, you did exchange vows. Would you like me to recite them again?

‘By the binding pearl and qi shared, let fate entwine thy spirits—’

Oop—never mind. He’s about to explode.

 

Yewon facepalmed.

 

Chung Myung screamed.

 

Somi barked.

 

 

---

 

And the Rumor Spreads… Further

 

By noon, storytellers were already re-enacting the "Plum Blossom Sword Saint’s Secret Lantern Date" in the plazas.

By evening, a handwritten poem titled “Two Blades, One Lantern” was sold to tourists for 15 coins.

By midnight, the Wudang Sect was sending polite inquiries regarding Lady Yewon’s marital status—only to receive a strongly worded reply from Mount Hua telling them to mind their own sword hilt.

 

 

Chapter 29

 

🌸 The Plum Blossom Sword Saint’s Post-Festival Breakdown 🌸

 

The walk back to Mount Hua was… quiet.

 

Too quiet.

 

Usually, Chung Myung would be busy chewing on dried beef jerky or kicking rocks off the cliff paths just to watch them fall. 

But today, he was just…

Thinking.

And that alone was terrifying.

 

“Why the hell did she wear something like that?”

His footsteps slowed. The path up to Mount Hua stretched long and steep before him, but he wasn’t even paying attention.

“It was just a robe . Right? People wear those to festivals. That’s normal.”

Yes, normal. Absolutely ordinary Nothing special at all.

What a lie.

 

Then why couldn’t he get the image out of his head?

The way the lantern light had shimmered over the pastel threads of her sleeves. The sound of her gentle laughter when a child mistook her for a fairy from a storybook. The way she handed him that plum-blossom lantern like it wasn’t a big deal.

Like it wasn’t—special.

 

 “...Tch.”

He picked up his pace. Scowled. Stuck his hands in his sleeves like an old man hiding his confusion from the world.

“She’s always walking around in simple loose robes, boots. That’s what she usually looks like.”

 “This was… different. I just wasn’t used to it.”

 

---

 

Later – Mount Hua, his room

 

He tossed the lantern she gave him onto the table. It rolled a little, the petals catching the moonlight through the window.

 “...Stupid lantern.”

 

His thoughts drifted to her look of amusement when a kid won someting in a stall. 

 “...Was that what she looked like the whole time?”

 

His brows furrowed. Something clenched in his chest—not pain. Just… unfamiliarity.

“Has she always looked like that?”

 “...She didn’t look like that when she almost  broke my ribs last week.”

 

He sat down heavily on the floor.

Scratched his head.

Threw a pillow at the lantern. Missed. Intentionally missed.

 

 “It’s just the light,” he muttered. “And the stupid robes. And the stupid mood.”

 

He laid back, staring at the ceiling beams.

 

 “Besides... it’s not like she’s that much different.”

 “...She still threatened to kick me into the Ba River for calling her a dumpling.”

 

But even as he tried to brush it off, the image lingered.

Not the dress.

Not the festival.

 

Just—her.

The  look on her face and the way her eyes softened when she looked at the floating lights. The quiet steps she takes even as she nudged him in the ribs for eyeing a third skewer of pork.

And now, somehow, her gaze on the river was watching others drifting their lanters afloat on the waters of Ba River.

 

He grunted.

“Tch. Waste of time. She’s probably back to swinging that damn sword again by now.”

But long after the lights of Mount Hua dimmed, long after the night settled into cold silence—

He still hadn't stopped thinking.

 

Not really.

 

And perhaps, somewhere in the back of his stormy, sword-riddled mind…

Something was beginning to bloom.

Not a confession. Not even a realization.

 

Just a whisper.

A gentle, irritating whisper:

 

“Does she always look like that?”

 

---

 

The Day After the Festival 

 

At Yewon’s Courtyard

 

The sun rose in its usual leisurely grace, peeking over the tiled rooftops of Xi’an’s outskirts. Morning dew clung to the stone paths winding through Yewon’s manor garden, where plum trees rustled gently in the breeze.

In the courtyard—there they stood.

 

Chung Myung, yawning as he rubbed his neck.

Yewon, stretching her arms with a soft exhale, as if she hadn’t spent the previous evening under a canopy of lanterns with a certain Plum Blossom Sword Saint beside her.

 

 “Took you long enough,” she said casually, tossing a set of iron bracelets toward him.

The bracelets arced in the air, catching a glint of sunlight—before clink!, they landed cleanly in his palm. No fuss. No hesitation.

 

 “Tch. You didn’t even warm them up first,” Chung Myung grumbled, slipping them onto his wrists like ritual.

And just like that, as though yesterday’s soft lantern glow had never existed, the rhythm resumed.

 

The dance between swords.

 

The flurry of motion.

 

The brutal grace of blades meeting air and bone.

 

Yewon moved first—silent, precise.

Her footwork cut through the dew, weightless and lethal, body twisting mid-spin as her blade lashed outward in a clean arc. Chung Myung parried without flinching, steel ringing like a temple bell.

 

 Clang! Clang!

One strike. A second. A slip. A feint.

 

There was no talking now. Just the rapid beat of steps, breath, and steel.

But… something was off.

Not in the technique.

 

No—Yewon’s blade was still annoyingly fast, her footing irritatingly perfect. Chung Myung’s counterattacks remained relentless, almost lazy in their fluidity.

Yet, a silence hung between them—not the usual comfortable one.

 

A new kind of silence.

 The kind that came after something meaningful had happened…

…and both parties pretended it didn’t.

 

Chung Myung narrowed his eyes as he ducked under a sweeping low kick, twisting to the side and countering with the hilt of his sword toward her shoulder. She blocked with ease, her bracelets ringing faintly.

 “Your form’s sloppy today,” she remarked coolly, breaking the stillness.

 “Maybe you’re just slow,” he shot back, lips twitching faintly.

 

“Or maybe you’re distracted.”

His grip tightened. But his smirk didn’t fade.

 “Who’s the one who almost tripped on her own sleeves yesterday?”

“Excuse me. That never happened.”

 

They exchanged a look.

Not a glare.

Not a smile.

Just… a moment.

Then, in perfect unspoken agreement, they both lunged forward again—blades singing louder than any awkward silence could ever hope to match.

---

 

 The Unsaid Things

 

Later, after their sparring session had ended and both were seated under the willow tree, sharing slices of plum preserved in honey and cold tea, the air between them was calm again.

Not necessarily clear.

But calm.

Chung Myung didn’t mention anything. The lights. The way her laughter echoed during the festival.

Yewon didn’t bring up how he paused before accepting the lantern she handed him, as if something inside him wavered.

No one talked about how, during the festival, their hand had overlapped just once by accident—and neither pulled away.

 

They just… trained. Sat. Ate.

Like normal.

 

But the silence between them?

Still lingered.

 

Not heavy at all or uncomfortable.

Just waiting.

 

---

 

Scene: Under the bamboo Tree shade – Post-Sparring

 

The afternoon sunlight dappled through the leaves overhead, flickering like lazy fireflies across the courtyard’s stone floor. Chung Myung leaned back, one hand behind his head, the other lazily twirling a chopstick as he munched on pickled radish from the tray Yewon brought out earlier.

She, on the other hand, sat primly a few feet away, sipping tea with the calm elegance of a noble lady.

 

On the outside.

Inside?

Chaos.

 

> [ SYSTEM ONLINE – ALERT LEVEL: MAXIMUM SPICINESS]

Wow. You two are just going to pretend nothing happened? After that festival? After that mooncake affair?”

 

Yewon blinked slowly, fingers tightening ever so slightly on her teacup. Chung Myung didn’t notice. He was too busy picking a fight with a fruit core stuck between his teeth.

 

> Girl. GIRL. That man hasn’t blinked right since seeing you in that pastel cloud of silk and you’re gonna sit there like you’re not combusting on the inside?”

"You sashayed into his soul and now you're sipping tea??”

 

…Calm down, self. Breathe in. Breathe out.

 

> OH, SHE’S DOING BREATHING TECHNIQUES. We are in DEFCON BLUSH.

 

Across from her, Chung Myung scratched his cheek and looked at her.

 

 “...Why are you staring at your tea like it insulted Somi ?”

“I’m not.” her voice was smooth and noble. Perfect.

“You are,” he said, chewing. “You’ve been glaring at it for two full minutes.”

 

She gently set the cup down with a soft clink, smile practiced and eyes vacant.

Inside her head?

 

> Ma’am, that is not the tea. That’s regret. And suppressed romantic crisis.

You are one inch away from locking eyes with that man and unaliving your dignity. Don’t do it. Don’t LOOK at his collarbones—DON’T—”

 

She looked.

 

WHY. DID SHE LOOK.

 

She immediately turned her head to the koi pond.

 

 “Pretty fish,” she said.

 “There are no fish, feng played with to death ” Chung Myung said, confused.

 

“I meant the rocks. I like rocks.”

 

> You’re spiraling. We’re spiraling. Did you just try to flirt with a STONE?

Yewon internally screamed as Lexy started doing emoji drumrolls and projecting fake dramatic violin music in the back of her head.

 

> Next you’ll say ‘I love clouds’ and sprint.

 

Meanwhile, Chung Myung blinked and stood up, dusting his pants.

 

“Alright. I’m going to go nap in the roof tiles.”

 

“...Okay.”

 

“You’ll let me know when you stop being weird?”

 “I’m not being weird,” she replied stiffly.

 

He eyed her suspiciously. Then shrugged.

 

 “You say that like it isn’t the weirdest sentence you’ve said all day.”

 

He strolled off without another word, hands in his sleeves, whistling.

 

---

 

 Once He’s Gone…

 

Yewon clutched her knees under the table, face blank, the wind ruffling her sleeves.

 

> Sooooo. Was this your idea of ‘back to normal’?

Do you want a slow burn? Or are we doing emotional constipation until death?

Blink twice if you’re in love but emotionally repressed.”

 

Yewon muttered under her breath, “Shut. Up.”

 

>I would, but I’m literally installed in your brain, sweetheart.

 

She covered her face with her sleeve, groaning quietly, and whispered—

 

“This is fine. I’m fine. I’m definitely attracted to that idiot.”

 

> “Sure.”

 

 

---

 

 Scene: Xi’an – The Fragrant Immortal Inn 

 

A warm, bustling evening with red lanterns swaying gently in the wind, and steam rising from claypots and sizzling woks.

Chung Myung kicked the inn door open like he owned the place.

The waiter paled. The owner flinched. A table wobbled under a terrified couple.

 

 “Give me everything on the menu,” he barked, slamming a pouch of coins down like a war declaration.

“All of it. Meat first. Then more meat. Oh, and fish. And duck. And that spicy tofu thing.”

 

The waiter blinked. “All of it…? Sir, that’s forty-two—”

 

 “DO I LOOK LIKE I WON’T EAT IT!?”

 

Ten minutes later, the table was piled so high with food, the cutlery had no place to rest.

The inn's other patrons gave him a wide berth. Chung Myung didn’t care.

He hadn’t eaten this freely in weeks. Ever since training with Yewon began, it was—

 

 "Tea this, dried fruit that, steamed greens for digestion..."

He scoffed. “That woman’s waging war on meat !”

[ authors note and defence for yewon: he just ate too much and the food yewon feed him is not enough] 

He tore into a leg of roasted lamb like a bandit on a feast day. Grease clung to his chin. Sauce stained his sleeves.

 

 “Haah... This is living.”

 

He chewed, swallowed, shoved two more dumplings into his mouth, and then paused.

Something was missing.

 

He looked at the table.

 

Meat.

Fish.

Hot pot.

Soup.

Duck.

Tofu.

Buns.

Eggplant.

Sweet pancakes.

 

 “Hmm…”

 

He leaned back, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and grunted.

 

 “...Where’s the alcohol?”

 

His eye twitched.

How. Could. He. Forget.

His hand slammed the table.

 

 “Innkeeper! Bring me the strongest liquor you’ve got!”

 

The innkeeper stumbled in with a jug the size of a toddler. Chung Myung popped the cork like a bandit lord returning from conquest. He tilted it back and chugged.

 

But something was wrong.

 

His brows furrowed.

 

> This tastes… weird?

He paused. Took another sip.

 

Then lowered the jug.

 

“Did I… forget how alcohol’s supposed to taste?”

 

He glared at the jug like it had personally betrayed him.

 

 “No—it’s her fault! It’s all her fault! Always ‘Chung Myung, your tea. Chung Myung, you’ll throw off your qi alignment with alcohol. Chung Myung, don’t fall asleep drunk on the roof tiles again!’ Blah blah blah!”

She did not forbade him from drinking but wont also serve him anything stronger than green tea! 

He poured another glass, muttering to himself.

 

 “Tea. Tea. Tea. If I see another jasmine petal floating in a cup, I’m going to throw it into the window! "

 

But even as he grumbled and drank…

 

His mind wandered.

 

 It’s quiet without her.

 

 

The spicy duck leg suddenly didn’t taste as spicy.

The pork buns? A bit dry.

The soup? a little Bland. He forgot which bowl it was anyway.

 

He stared at the empty seat across from him.

 

Usually, she’d be there. Sipping tea with melon seed to snack on . Making glances at the way he held chopsticks. Complaining about crumbs.

 

“Tch,” he scoffed. “So what? I can enjoy my food just fine without her.”

 

He took a bite.

Paused.

Chewed slowly.

 

 ...This stew really is a little off today.

 

A waiter came by to refill the soup.

 

 “Anything else, sir?”

 

 “Yeah,” Chung Myung muttered, eyes half-lidded. “You got any  tea?”

 

The waiter blinked.

 

 “......”

 

 “Just bring me any tea you have!”

 

 

---

 

 A Quiet Descent into Thought – On the Path Back to Mount Hua 

 

The world shimmered faintly, not with qi — but the kind of shimmer brought by too much wine and a soul that's lived too long.

 

Chung Myung walked.

 

Step after step, his boots crushed the early night frost that kissed the path winding up to Mount Hua. His sleeves billowed faintly in the wind, soaked with the scent of roasted meat, spilled wine, and the quiet sighs of hua'am behind him.

In his hand dangled the last of the three jars he'd brought from the inn.

 

One was long gone.

The second barely survived ten minutes.

And now the third…

 

He tilted it up, drank deep, and let the burn settle in his throat like an old friend. It bloomed in his chest, warm and biting, spreading until it blurred the cold creeping into his fingers.

 

 “Haaaah…”

 

A satisfied grunt escaped him.

His shoulders sagged just a little.

 

Weeks. It had been weeks since he’d allowed himself a full jar — even one — since training with Yewon became routine

 

well...he still get to drink liquor but only on his way back to mount hua. 

 

That too became a routine.

She handed him chamomile tea like it was a medicine .

 

Still... She let him reached for rice wine .

 

He grumbled.

 

But then again…

Maybe she was right. His body was lighter. His mind was sharper.

 

Still.

 

The alcohol tonight — it didn’t just fill the belly. It filled something else. Something he didn’t want to name.

He kept walking.

The trees whispered in the wind, their leaves rustling like quiet laughter. The stars above were half-veiled behind drifting clouds, and the world felt soft in its silence.

 

 It’s quiet without her.

 

The thought came suddenly.

Uninvited.

Unwanted.

 

He frowned.

It wasn’t like she had to be around. It wasn’t like he wanted her to be.

But he’d gotten used to her presence in ways that were… inconvenient.

The way her eyes scanned him, not just his body, but his rhythm — calculating, careful, curious.

The way she never told him the name of her sword forms, never even let him name her strikes, just moved. Like a ghost that could hit like thunder.

 

She was strong.

Not as strong as him — not yet — but getting there faster than he liked.

 

But more than that... she was steady.

Not like the chaos of Mount Hua, not like the biting cold of battles he remembered and bled through.

 

She was… a quiet kind of flame.

He didn’t realize he’d slowed down until the wind curled around his ankles and reminded him to move.

 “Tch,” he muttered, tugging his robe tighter.

“ I must be Drunk.”

 

The jar was warm in his hand. He took another drink.

 

And then, the thought came.

 

Quiet.

Insidious.

Gentle.

 

 Maybe... I’m attracted to her.

 

He stopped walking.

The stars blinked down.

His breath fogged in the air.

 

“...What?”

 

It wasn’t loud — that thought — but it felt like a sword pressed to the skin of his neck. Sharp enough to make him hold still.

His heart beat once.

Twice.

 

Then he scoffed.

 

“Stupid,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

 

He kept walking. Faster this time.

 

“I don’t need that. I don’t want that.”

 

He didn’t need attachments.

Not in this life . 

Friends? Fine.

Sparring partners? Good.

But anything more?

 

No.

Absolutely not.

 

That wasn’t part of the plan.

She wasn’t supposed to worm her way into the cracks he didn’t even know he had.

 

And yet...

He could still remember her robes fluttering under the lanterns. The way she tilted her head curiously when he froze at the sight.

She hadn’t changed. But something in him had.

 

He grit his teeth.

Swallowed hard.

 

“Tch… annoying woman,” he hissed, but it lacked venom. “Keep your stupid lantern .”

 

The jar tilted again.

The wine poured down.

Burned again.

 

But this time, it didn’t comfort him. Not fully.

 

The warmth couldn’t push out that single, treacherous thought still curling inside him.

 

 What if I really am...?

 

 

He stopped at the next turn of the path. Looked out toward the dark expanse of the town . The glow of lanterns in the distance like stars fallen to earth.

He didn’t say anything for a while.

 

Then, with a bitter smirk, he muttered,

 

 “...Better not let her know.”

 

He turned.

 

Mount Hua awaited.

And with it — the weight of denial.

 

---

 

 Fleeting Things Are Best Ignored 

 

Chung Myung stretched his limbs lazily, a long yawn escaping him as the sun rose behind Mount Hua’s jagged silhouette.

 

Another morning.

Another sparring session.

Another day he would pretend nothing had changed.

 

He adjusted the fifty-kilogram bracelets around his wrists and ankles, catching them with practiced ease as Yewon tossed them at him from the side of the courtyard like usual.

Her gaze was calm, focused — neither expectant nor dismissive.

Just as it always was.

 

That was fine.

He liked it that way.

No nonsense. No complications. No words.

 

 “Ready when you are,” she said.

 “I was born ready,” he replied with a smirk.

 

And just like that — they moved.

 

Strike.

Parry.

Step.

Shift.

 

The air cracked with qi and rhythm, feet shuffling across stone as the two danced their usual war. Her lightness skill had improved. Her pressure was tighter. She was faster now, and her palm strikes came with alarming precision.

He liked that too.

But every time their eyes met — just briefly, mid-movement, mid-strike — something in his chest tugged.

Something annoying.

 

 That’s just fleeting.

He told himself that again.

 

For the fourth day now.

 -This kind of thing happens. When you’re too familiar with someone. When you see them too much. When you train together for too long.

It’s just… a habitual fondness.

 

He doesn’t need to look into it.

He doesn’t want to.

Because even fleeting feelings could bloom into things that chained people. And he had no intention of letting chains wrap around him.

So he trained harder.

He deflected her palm with a twist of his wrist and pressed forward, forcing her back. She dipped low, shifted to the right, tried to sweep his legs — he jumped and countered, the weight of the bracelets keeping his balance in check.

 

A clean match.

Like all the others.

 

And when they finished — sweat pooling in their collarbones, hair loose from their ties — he only said,

 “You’re getting predictable.”

 “Oh? Must be your eyes getting old then,” she replied dryly, tossing him a damp towel.

He caught it, grinned, and muttered, “Brat.”

 

She rolled her eyes and handed him his tea.

Just like before.

Exactly like before.

Everything the same — except that fleeting, blinking thought that sometimes crossed his mind and settled behind his ribs.

 

 She looked different at the festival.

She looked… beautiful.

 

But that didn’t matter now.

 

 “Fleeting,” he reminded himself, sipping the bitter tea with a scowl. “Just fleeting.”

And as the morning sun rose higher above  the bamboo stalks, two people sparred like always — hearts a little heavier, but hands steady as ever.

Just the way they wanted.

Just the way they convinced themselves they needed.

 

Chapter 30

Summary:

Time skip. Because it'll take forever for this two to get together.

That is if chung myung get his shit together.

Notes:

Im finally registering our tang bo in the chaos!

Let there be chaos where this trio are! And oh..

Well have some feelings denial.

And more !

Its mass up dateeeeeeeeeeee!!!!! (　-∀・)

[Twenty years time skip]

 

 

The years passed like the wind that swept through Mount Hua — sometimes harsh, sometimes gentle, but always moving forward.

Seasons blurred, winters melted into spring, petals bloomed and fell.

And through it all, two figures trained — again and again — in the same stone courtyard, side by side.

Yewon, still young in her features, had grown a little taller , sharper. Her movements once filled with youthful momentum were now etched with precision — the kind earned by years of silence, sweat, and shared breath. Her cultivation had neared a threshold she could feel — a pressure behind her eyes, a weight in her dantian. One day soon, she too would stop aging, like those before her who walked far enough on the path of power.

But Chung Myung… oh, Chung Myung had reached that level long ago.

 

He hadn't changed.

Not even a little.

 

Time kissed his form but never left a mark. His skin, unmarred. His hair, still as messy. His eyes... they burned with that same mix of irritation and quiet clarity.

He was… still him. The sword that would not rust.

 

“Again,” he would say, stepping onto the courtyard with a lightness that mocked gravity.

“Again,” she’d answer, planting her feet with stubbornness only he could recognize.

Their swords clashed in rhythm, their feet danced over worn stones. They trained like this every morning, every afternoon — stopping only to eat, nap, or when Lexy reminded Yewon her internal injuries hadn’t finished recovering.

The difference in strength between them remained wide — always wide. 

Sometimes she caught up. She would surge forward, sharpen her internal energy, improve her stance. But then he would leap ahead — not deliberately nor not out of spite, but as if he couldn’t help it. As if his soul refused to remain still when it could fly.

But Yewon never resented him for it.

In fact, she trained with him because of it.

Because she knew what lay ahead.

 

The battle that tore the heavens.The weight of the world on one man’s shoulders. The death that came not as a martyr, not as a hero — but as a blade rusted and forgotten in the dark.

She had read that line so many times in her past life. It haunted her like unfinished music:

 

“He died alone. A dog’s death. A death without witness. The plum blossoms scattered, and none remained to mourn him.”

 

Yewon had memorized it. She had screamed it in her head as a reader, cursed the author, cursed the fate of the sword saint.

But now, she could do something more.

 

She could train.

She could stand there.

If Chung Myung must still walk toward that fate — if nothing she did could truly stop the world from demanding that sacrifice again — then he would not go alone.

 At the very least,  she whispered once during a break, as he dozed under a tree nearby, arms tucked behind his head.

 

You’ll die with someone to mourn you.

 

She looked at him.

His chest rose and fell with quiet exhaustion. His sword lay by his side. There was a tiny scab on his cheek from where her blade had nicked him earlier.

 “At the very least, you’ll die… being seen.”

 

Lexy hummed softly in her ear.

> So dramatic. But I approve. Emotional, without being self-indulgent. I rate it a 9 out of 10.

 

She rolled her eyes.

Chung Myung snorted awake with a groan. “Oi. You staring at me like that better not mean I drooled in my sleep.”

Yewon stood and turned. “You’re lucky I let you sleep at all.”

 “Tch. You just don’t want to spar again because you lost today.”

 

“It was a draw.”

 

 “In what word?”

 

She walked away, letting him trail behind.

 

---

And Maybe, Someday...

 

Sometimes, late at night — when Mount Hua was quiet, and the winds howled past the eaves — Yewon would sit at the window of her room and look at the moon.

 “I hope,” she murmured to no one in particular, “when you wake up again in Cho Sam’s body… you’ll remember.”

 

 “Not me.... Not this.”

 

 “...But that you weren’t to blame.”

 

For failing.

For surviving.

For mourning.

 

 “You did everything you could,” she whispered into the dark.

 

 “… I saw it.”

 

---

 

It had been two decades since that first  sparring session with Yewon.

Twenty whole years of training, of strikes and thunderous counterattacks, of meditation and footwork and stolen mooncakes before the second round began. In that time, the seasons passed as naturally as the flow of qi through one’s meridians—spring warmed to summer, autumn fell into snow, and somehow... somehow,

Chung Myung hadn’t got drunk on proper liquor in twently years. He meant hadn’t drank a crate full in one sitting. 

 

Twenty years.

 

An entire era of sobriety.

 

And now—now—the drought was over.

Jar number ten slammed against the polished wood of Xi’an’s finest inn table with a loud clang, sloshing precious drops of the strongest liquor available. The innkeeper watched from behind the counter with visible worry. The Plum Blossom Sword Saint had downed a small lake and showed no signs of slowing.

And why would he? Yewon was off somewhere in closed-door meditation for a month, and she had kicked him out of her peaceful manor with snacks, tea, and the most suspiciously serene smile he'd ever seen on her face.

 

 “Use the kitchen, sleep on the hammock, train if you want, but don’t forget to feed my darlings, Chung Myung.”—

 

—Is what she said.

“Darlings.” Right. The pups. No—beasts now.

 

He had fed them.

 

Multiple times, in fact.

 

Feng, the fluffy demon, now ate twice the portion his siblings did and glared when it wasn’t fast enough.

Somi still politely wagged her tail before devouring boiled chicken like a princess with an appetite.

Ling, true to form, still barked ceaselessly at the east wing chasing out ghosts—despite it being just a storage wing.

And Ying, the sweet baby… had taken to chewing his sleeve like Feng did. He now walked around the manor half-chewed and vaguely drooled on, as if he were a chew toy . Insolent pups.

 

Spirit beasts.

 

Right.

 

That happened sometime after he’d fed them plum blossom pills on accident during a nap under the tree.

 “They’re different now,” Yewon had said once with a meaningful look, as Feng leapt onto the rooftop mid-bark and Ying blinked with golden irises that shimmered like qi-storms.

 

But none of that mattered right now.

Right now, the only beast worth taming was the growl in his stomach and the warm burn down his throat.

 

“twenty years,” Chung Myung muttered into his sleeve, gaze unfocused as he leaned back on the chair, ninth jar tipping next to him, tenth halfway gone. “she really didn't serve him any alcohol or wine… She’s worse than his sahyung sect leader with those teas...”

The innkeeper cleared his throat. “Would you like to order more—?”

 

“BRING OUT THE DUCK! THE BIG ONE! AND MORE TO DRINK!”

His voice boomed through the inn, earning a round of nervous chuckles and fast-moving kitchen staff.

Yes, he was indulging.

 

He earned this.

He was thirty-seven. No—forty-seven. Wait. That couldn’t be right… but with his cultivation levels now having crossed the threshold where time didn’t matter and his face still smooth as a youth’s, who knew anymore?

 

Besides… wasn’t it strange?

Wasn’t it odd how quickly those years passed when you had someone to spend them with?

Someone who trained beside you.

Matched your strikes, questioned your form, threw iron-weight bracelets at your face when you were slacking.

Someone who called dogs her babies and brewed plum blossom tea like she had been born under that very tree.

Someone like—nope.

 

Chung Myung hiccupped.

 

Nope. Not going there.

 

That burning sensation in his chest?

Definitely the alcohol.

That flicker of emotion when she looked back at him on the training field? When their shoulders brushed and she smirked knowingly after dodging one of his strikes?

…Probably indigestion.

 

He swigged the rest of the tenth jar with finality.

“Fleeting emotions,” he declared to no one in particular, standing up with a grand flourish and nearly tipping the table. “That’s what they call it. I’m just… relieved I’m not the only one on the mountain anymore. That’s it.”

He adjusted the sword on his back, walked out of the inn with a slight stagger, and began his climb back to Mount Hua under the early evening stars. His boots scuffed against stone, the path familiar, his thoughts swirling like the remaining dregs of wine in his belly.

And yet, somewhere between one step and the next…

He thought of her again.

The curve of her smirk. The echo of her laughter. The look she gave him when she said, “You’ll thank me for this, one day.”

 

“...Tch.”

 

He squinted at the stars and muttered, “Noisy woman.”

But his hand, almost absentmindedly, brushed the bracelet still in his sleeve pocket. Hers. Heavy and iron-bound.

 

Training weight, he told himself.

 

Not a keepsake.

 

Definitely not.

 

---

 

Chung Myung’s POV

 

The liquor was strong.

Rich, smooth, a little too sweet, with a good burn after it slid down his throat. He leaned back, tilting the tenth jar just a little higher, savoring the feeling as his head lightly buzzed with drunken ease. The inn had quieted down—or rather, everyone had learned to shut up and mind their own business after jar number six, when he sent someone flying for talking too loudly near his table.

He exhaled, content. For once.

Just as he reached to pick up a juicy strip of roasted duck, his left hand moved on reflex.

 

Clink!

 

A sharp whistle of wind. His fingers flicked mid-air.

 

Thuk.

 

A dagger—half-buried, quivering in the wood, inches from his beloved jar.

There was a silence in the room. One that prickled.

Chung Myung stared at the dagger. Then at the table. Then, very deliberately, at the empty spot where his hand was going to grab the duck.

 

 "You’ve done it now, bastard."

Still, he didn’t even bother to look up. He’d been through this routine too many times to count.

Some fool. Always some loudmouthed brat, fresh off his sect’s training grounds, high on tales and arrogance, thinking they’d make a name for themselves by provoking the Plum Blossom Sword Saint during his meal.

Of course, there were also those with grudges. Sect resentment. Past grudges. Spilled wine. A wrongly stepped-on foot. Or maybe just their mother didn’t love them enough.

Either way, they came. And he sent them home unconscious.

Chung Myung reached for his chopsticks again.

 

 “Yah,” he said flatly, speaking like a man asked to clean a public latrine on his day off. “If you want to live, you better tuck your tail between your legs and run home to your mom.”

 

He finally turned his head—slowly.

The man standing across the inn was lean, dressed in black with silver embroidery. His expression was composed, almost lazy. But the way he stood—with the sort of stillness honed through danger—was something Chung Myung noticed.

His eyes narrowed.

 

 “I heard you're the Plum Blossom Sword Saint,” the stranger said. “I’m Tang Bo.”

 

Chung Myung muttered, stuffing his mouth with duck. “Go write that on your tombstone.”

“I want to see if you’re worth your name.”

 

Psh. Here it comes.

With a sharp sound, Tang Bo flicked his hand—and a shower of daggers filled the air.

Not a single one aimed to kill.

They tested.

Measured.

The pressure increased with every dagger thrown, a rhythm of steel in the air. It wasn’t chaotic—no, this brat actually had control. Calculated force. The weight behind the daggers subtly shifted—just enough to be felt, but not enough to endanger.

 

“Ohhh?” Chung Myung said aloud, amused. “You’re not completely brainless, huh.”

 

But.

The brat didn’t know.

Didn’t know what it meant to exchange thousands of strikes without pause.

Didn’t know that Yewon’s sparring had trained his reaction to split-second perfection—where a blink was too slow, and a breath too long.

He swiped his sword from his side with a lazy grace and raised it, slashing once.

 

Just once.

 

Clangclangclangclang—tshing—THUK!

 

Every single dagger, scattered, flicked aside, pinned to the floor, walls, one embedded in the ceiling beam, spinning slightly.

He lowered the sword.

Looked up.

Locked eyes with Tang Bo.

 

“Clench your teeth.”

 

“Wha—?”

 

CRACK!

 

The next thing Tang Bo saw was the floorboards. And then the rafters. And then the sky, and possibly his ancestors waving at him.

The innkeeper screamed in the background.

Chung Myung stood, stretching slightly, neck popping.

 

 “Tch. I was gonna take a nap after this, but you ruined the mood.”

 

He sheathed his sword, kicked aside the toppled table, and glared down at Tang Bo’s crumpled, groaning form.

 

“You owe me a my liqueur money.”

And with that, he grabbed the last untouched drumstick off the floor, shoved it in his mouth, and walked out, muttering curses about meddling brats, flying daggers, and ruined drinking days.

 

---

 

Xi’an – Day After the Beatdown

 

Tang Bo tasted blood and humility that day.

Not because he was stabbed—no, nothing so grand.

He simply… got hit down so Hard and Effortlessly even...

When he came to, still flat on the floor of the inn with a broken table leg near his cheek, the innkeeper whispered, “He left half a duck for you. Said you owe him a new one.”

Tang Bo groaned. His pride hurt. His spine hurt. His left ear still rang from the way his skull had bounced.

But most of all—

 

 “he... was the real deal.”

 

All the arrogant bastards he’d challenged before—they weren’t even a comparison. They’d either overcompensated or collapsed the moment he got serious. But that man—the Plum Blossom Sword Saint—deflected his daggers like flicking away lint. With one hand.

 

One swing.

No footwork or effort.

 

Tang Bo of the Tang Clan, one of the most precise and deadly throwing dagger master in Jianghu… had been reduced to a training dummy.

 

He sat up. Grinned.

 

 “I gotta know more about him!”

 

---

🥢 Day 1 – Tang Bo Appears Again

 

Chung Myung: “Didn’t I break your skull already?”

Tang Bo: “Just a little! I’m all good now. Mind if I sit?”

Chung Myung: “Get lost.”

Tang Bo: “Already ordered three dishes and two jars of liquor!”

Chung Myung: “…Fine.”

 

He stayed.

 

---

🍶 Day 2 – Tag-Along 

 

Chung Myung came out of the inn, sword slung lazily, planning to nap on the rooftop.

 

Tang Bo was there.

Again.

 

 “I want to learn something from you!”

“Go home.”

“Nope.”

“You’re paying for lunch.”

“Already did!”

 

Smack.

 

 “OW!”

“Too noisy.”

 

---

 

🥢 Day 5 – A Familiar Pattern

 

Somehow, each time they crossed paths, Tang Bo had a meal prepared.

Somehow, he had a new jar of wine.

Somehow, the bill always fell to him.

 

And somehow, even with bruises forming under his hairline from Chung Myung’s repeated bonks, he still smiled.

---

 

🍶 Day 11 – The Drunkards' Pact

 

That day, they drank under a peach tree.

 

Tang Bo: “You know, I think I’m starting to keep up with your alcohol tolerance.”

Chung Myung: “You’re slurring your words.”

Tang Bo: “No I’b not.”

Chung Myung: “Stop talking.”

Tang Bo: “Hyung-nim~”

Chung Myung: “What now?”

Tang Bo: “Let’s be freimds .”

Chung Myung: “I’d rather befriend a stone.”

Tang Bo: “Stones are good foundations~”

 

BONK.

Face-first into a wine jar.

---

🥢 Day 18 – The Realization

Chung Myung muttered to himself as he flicked Tang Bo’s forehead again.

 “Why does it feel like I’ve been babysitting a mix of feng , ling and ying…?”

Tang Bo perked up.

 

---

 

🏡 Back at Yewon’s Manor – Day 30

 

Yewon, serene and radiant after her month-long meditation, opened the courtyard gates.

 

She blinked.

Saw the garden.

Saw Chung Myung under the peach tree… with another body next to him.

 

Two hammocks had been installed.

Tang Bo waved cheerfully with both arms from his hammock.

 

“Good morning, Lady Yewon!”

“Hyung-nim said I can stay!”

BONK!

“Ow!! You didn’t deny it!!”

 

Yewon just blinked again.

 

Lexy.

>Yes, Boss.

Did a stray follow him home?

>That’s a venomous snake in human skin, and I kind of like him.

Chapter 31

 

The moment Tang Bo stepped foot into the manor courtyard, he knew something was off. Not in a bad way.

No. This place was too peaceful.

It smelled of blooming tea , sun-warmed stone, clean wood, and—

“...puppies?”

 

Before he could ponder any further, a blur of white and cinnamon fluff barrelled toward him.

 

“ACK—!”

Two small, spirit-beast dogs leapt at his legs with the precision of trained assassins.

One latched onto his left sleeve, the other onto his right. Together, they tugged like a pair of mischief gods born for chaos.

 “Whoa there! Hey, I’m not food—I’m human!”

Chung Myung, lounging on the porch bench with a plum between his fingers, snorted.

 

 “Looks like they finally found someone new to chew on. Congratulations.”

“You could help, you know?!”

“I could.” Crunch. “But I won’t.”

 

---

Yewon stepped out, tea tray in hand. She smiled, serene and effortless, as if two spirit dogs weren’t actively wrestling a grown man to the ground.

 

 “Ah. I see you’ve met Feng and Ying.”

“They’re a bit forward!” Tang Bo said as Ying finally released his sleeve with a delighted yap.

 

Yewon chuckled softly and set the tray down.

 “Feng is the largest and fastest. Ying is the baby. He’s quite attached to sleeves, as you can see.”

“...Oh, so that’s why both of them smell like fabric dye.” Tang Bo looked over at Chung Myung’s robe. “Wait. You’ve been their chew toy this whole time?!”

“...shut up.”

Yap! Feng swatted at him again.

 

---

As the dogs finally settled down—Feng resting on his feet, Ying curling up beside his knee—Tang Bo squatted to inspect them more carefully.

 

 “Hmm…”

He ran his fingers through Feng’s thick coat, noting the softness and warmth. He gently checked behind the ears, lifted paws, and even examined their bellies. His trained physician’s eyes immediately noted something strange:

 “Lady Yewon… these pups aren’t just well-fed. They have faint traces of inner qi. Their meridians are forming a flow. Did you… give them something?”

Yewon glanced at Chung Myung, who coughed into his tea.

 

 “...There may have been a time when someone fed them a plum blossom pills .”

“That plum blossom pills ?!”

“...Mistakes were made.”

 

Tang Bo blinked at the dogs again, this time with awe.

 “So, they’re spirit beasts now... incredible. They’re not fully awakened yet, but the structure’s there.”

Suddenly, he was back on his knees, rolling Somi onto her back (who let out a demure bark of protest) and gently tapping her pressure points.

 “Hmm. Good circulation. Slightly overfed—Feng, not you, sweetheart—and a mild imbalance of  qi, probably from the backyard moss.”

 

“You’re doing all that… without even being asked?”

“Well obviously. Someone has to be their physician. They’re spirit beasts now. You can’t just feed them leftovers and hope for the best!”

 

Yewon smiled with faint amusement.

 

 “Looks like my darlings approve of you.”

Tang Bo puffed his chest.

 

“Of course they do! I’m amazing with animals! Even poisonous snakes love me!”

“...Of course they do,” Chung Myung muttered.

BONK!

“OW!”

 

---

 

 Later That Day…

 

By evening, Tang Bo had scribbled a full chart on each of the pups—detailed down to favorite snacks, tail twitching frequency, and nap cycle.

 

 “You made puppy medical charts?”

“Spirit beast care is a serious matter!”

And thus, without consent or resistance, Tang Bo became Yewon Manor’s Official Puppy Doctor.

---

 

The air was still, save for the rhythmic thunk of metal piercing wood as Tang Bo practiced his morning drills. Daggers flew from his fingers with mechanical precision, embedding themselves deep into the tree trunks ahead. He exhaled.

 “Again.”

Another volley, another strike.

But then—

 

 “Woof!”

His concentration broke when Somi barked once, sharp and alert. Feng’s ears flicked, and Ying, always the baby, whimpered and tilted his head.

Then all four spirit dogs turned, ears perked, and dashed toward the distant tree line behind the manor.

 

 “Oi! Where are you going?!”

No response.

“Tch.”

But Tang Bo narrowed his eyes.

Spirit beasts don’t act without reason. Their perception of qi was leagues beyond humans, even if they hadn’t fully awakened yet.

 “...Don’t tell me there’s an intruder?”

 

He clicked his tongue, grabbed his dagger roll, and sprinted after them.

---

 

🌿 A Clearing, A Duel

 

It took him just minutes, weaving through the sparse trees and uneven terrain, to arrive at the clearing where the dogs had stopped.

He was halfway scolding them for false alarms when—

 

clang!

 

His head jerked up.

 

 Clang! Clang! SWOOSH!

 

In the middle of the clearing, dust and leaves flitted in the air, caught in the backdraft of a fierce battle.

Yewon stood in the center, her pale martial robes fluttering, her hair tied up high, face unreadably calm. Across from her, Chung Myung, robe loosened at the collar, sleeves rolled up, eyes narrowed in laser-sharp focus.

 

Swords clashed again.

Her blade curved upward in a defensive parry, redirecting a descending blow.

 

 “She blocked that—?”

 

Tang Bo’s breath caught. That wasn’t a beginner’s defense. It was trained, honed through repetition, polished through suffering.

He watched as she spun, shifting her weight. She sidestepped a low sweeping attack and countered with a thrust that nearly grazed Chung Myung’s ribs.

Chung Myung smiled, a sharp glint in his eye. He dropped low and swept his leg under her, forcing her to leap back. She did—gracefully, and her counterweight landing crushed a pebble beneath her heel.

“Damn,” Tang Bo muttered, eyes gleaming.

“She’s good.”

He had never seen a woman fight like that. Not just beautiful, but deadly, calculated, restrained in emotion but savage in execution.

 

 The perfect martial artist.

For the first time in years, his blood ran hot with admiration. And something more dangerous—desire.

Not romantic. No.

 

 “I want to fight her.”

He didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud until Feng yapped in agreement.

Tang Bo crouched beside the spirit dogs, watching every movement. Sweat glistened on Yewon’s brow, but she didn’t slow. Her expression never faltered.

 “How long has she been training like this with him?” he muttered.

“Two years? Three?”

He’d only seen Chung Myung fight a few times, and each time was like watching a storm unravel. And yet Yewon—

She was still standing.

 “She might be the only one in Kangho who can fight him for real,” he whispered.

“And live.”

 

He felt the weight of the daggers on his back.

His fingers itched.

 

 “I have to fight her.”

 

---

 

Later That Day…

 

They returned from their sparring session, both covered in faint sweat, Yewon’s smile lazy but satisfied, Chung Myung grumbling that she nearly “stabbed him for real this time.”

Tang Bo stood in their path, arms folded.

 

 “Fight me next.”

Chung Myung raised an eyebrow.

“You looking to die?”

“Not by your hand.” Tang Bo smirked. He turned to Yewon.

“Lady Yewon… I want to test my skills against yours.”

 

She paused mid-step, glancing at him mildly.

 

 “You think you’re ready?” she asked.

“No.” He grinned. “But I want to know how far I am from you.”

 

She looked at Chung Myung.

 “I suppose it’s fine, as long as he survives.”

 

Chung Myung rolled his eyes and walked off toward the hammok.

 “Try not to cry when she wipes the floor with you.”

 

Tang Bo bowed slightly, eyes locked with hers.

 “Then please, Lady Yewon. Shall we dance?”

 

The backyard clearing behind Yewon’s manor had never looked more like a stage. The air felt sharp, like it had teeth.

Tang Bo rolled his wrists, letting the weight of the daggers settle between each finger, the cool steel like home in his grasp.

Across from him, Lady Yewon stood calmly—sword drawn but lowered, its tip resting against the grass.

The wind tugged at the long ribbons of her training robe. She hadn’t changed out of her sparring clothes. There were scuffs on her sleeves, a faint cut on her lower lip—and yet she looked serene, collected.

Like the very image of practiced restraint.

 

“Are you sure you wish to do this?” she asked, eyes calm.

 “Very sure,” Tang Bo said, grinning like a wolf. “You’ve already got my respect. Now I want to see if my daggers can touch you.”

 

Yewon tilted her head just a little.

 “Then come.”

---

 

The moment she gave the signal, Tang Bo vanished.

Three daggers slipped from his sleeves, spun midair, and aimed toward her blind spots.

He watched her closely.

 

 Will she parry, dodge, or block outright?

 

Yewon didn’t move—until the very last moment.

Her wrist flicked, blade flashing.

One stroke. Three rings of metal clinked to the ground.

 

 She read the trajectory—perfectly.

 

Before the last dagger hit the earth, Tang Bo was already moving again. He came in from the right, dagger drawn and aiming for her ribs.

She side-stepped, clean and fast, and her **left foot swept outward—**a counter-kick aimed at tripping him.

 

 She’s reading me in real time?!

 

He leapt back, but barely. Her strike grazed his shin.

He landed, panting.

She didn’t look winded at all.

---

 

Tang Bo dashed in again, weaving low, daggers dancing in rapid arcs like a silver tide.

He twisted, turned, even bounced off a tree to throw from above.

Yewon never chased him. She waited. Measured. Let him come to her like the tide to a stone.

But this time, he feinted a slash and dropped into a crouch, spinning low with a close-range dagger strike aimed at her ankle.

She blocked it—not with her sword—but with a swift parry using the iron ring bracer around her wrist.

 

Tang Bo's eyes widened.

 She’s using weighted resistance gear—

 

He grinned wildly.

 

“You’re still wearing training weights?!”

Yewon didn’t answer. She stepped in—and her sword lashed upward with enough force to force him airborne.

He flipped midair and landed in a crouch, skidding several feet back, a line of blood on his left arm.

 “Tch—didn’t even see that one coming...”

 

Tang Bo decided to get serious.

He stilled his breath, channeled his inner qi, and released three dagger strikes so fast they left afterimages.

Yewon moved.

 

She didn’t parry. She didn’t block.

She danced.

Each dagger missed by inches. Her footwork was like gliding over ripples. She closed the distance.

Tang Bo barely had time to think.

 

She's faster than before—!

 

Her strike came from above. He crossed both daggers to block—

And his knees buckled.

 

“Hnggh—!”

 

The pressure from her blade was crushing. Not killing intent. No. This was discipline honed over ten years, compacted into one graceful downward arc.

She could have crushed him.

She didn’t.

She leapt back before finishing the blow. Tang Bo dropped his arms and let out a slow breath, sweat matting his hair.Yewon calmly sheathed her sword.

 

 “You’re fast,” she said, tilting her head.

 “You’re terrifying,” Tang Bo muttered, still catching his breath.

He turned to Chung Myung, who had been watching with his arms crossed and a big fat smirk on his face.

 “Hyung-nim,” Tang Bo said between gasps. “How are you not dead from sparring with her every week?”

 “I didn’t died the first year,” Chung Myung said. “Now I just suffer in silence.”

Tang Bo barked a laugh and fell backward onto the grass, arms spread wide.

 

 “Alright, Lady Yewon. You win.”

 “You’re not bad yourself,” Yewon said, offering him water.

 

He took it, grateful.

Then he grinned.

 

 “Next time, I’ll be stronger.”

 

Yewon just smiled faintly.

 

 “Next time, I’ll still be training.”

 

---

The grass was still flattened where Tang Bo had flopped like a sack of wet flour. The warmth of his breath rose in little puffs against the cool afternoon air, sweat trickling along his jawline as he sighed dramatically for the fifth time in five minutes.

 

“I’m starving,” he muttered, “nearly died back there…”

 “You barely fought for ten minutes,” Chung Myung drawled, leaning against a wooden post with his hands behind his head. “Back in the war, sparring sessions took days.”

Tang Bo pointed an accusatory finger.

 

 “That was not a spar, that was a quiet execution with extra steps!”

Yewon emerged from the inner courtyard, still dabbing sweat from her brow with a soft towel. She’d tied her hair into a loose braid now, her face flushed from exertion but eyes still calm.

 “Come inside. I prepared a stew before training. It should be ready by now.”

At the word stew, Feng and Ying—her darling dogs—perked up and bounded ahead, Feng barking excitedly, Ying tripping over his own paws as usual.

Tang Bo and Chung Myung followed behind them, one with spring in his step, the other dragging his feet dramatically.

---

 

The scent hit first—rich beef bone broth simmered to perfection, ginger and herbs swirling with chunks of radish and tender meat. Flat rice cakes bobbed in a pot off to the side, next to a platter of steaming dumplings.

 “Are you sure this isn’t the real divine art?” Tang Bo asked, staring at the spread.

“Sit down,” Yewon replied with her usual grace. “Eat first, flatter later.”

Chung Myung was already filling his bowl to the brim and snapping his chopsticks apart.

“This is why I never leave this manor,” he muttered, stuffing a dumpling into his mouth.

 

Tang Bo grinned and joined in, adding dumplings to his bowl before asking, mouth full:

 

 “So… does this mean I can move in too?”

 

 “No,” both Yewon and Chung Myung said in unison.

 

Somi was curled beside Yewon’s feet like a lady, while Ling had somehow managed to wedge himself between Tang Bo’s ankles, yipping with joy whenever he got a scrap.

Tang Bo fed him a bit of beef as he leaned over and whispered to Yewon:

 “So… when exactly did your pups turn into low-rank spirit beasts?”

 “A year ago,” she answered between calm spoonfuls. “Chung Myung accidentally fed them  plum blossom pills that was meant for his hangovers ”

 

Chung Myung stiffened.

 “It was one time.! And it was lesser pills ! How was I supposed to know it’d awaken their bloodlines?!”

 “They started hovering off the ground last week,” Yewon deadpanned. “And Ying can now disappear from the bath and reappear in my study.”

 

Tang Bo was laughing now, nearly choking on broth.

 “At this rate, I wouldn’t be surprised if they start cultivating.”

 “They already are.”

 

Chung Myung spat out his tea.

“What?!”

---

 

The trio leaned against the veranda’s edge, each with a warm cup in hand—tea for Yewon, a stronger brew for Tang Bo, and whatever was left for Chung Myung before Tang Bo drank his portion too.

The golden afternoon sunlight spilled across the garden, filtering through bamboo leaves swaying in the wind.

Yewon stretched quietly, eyes scanning the clouds.

 

 someone’s lingering past the southern tree line. A visitor

 

Chung Myung stood slowly, cracking his neck.

 “Want me to chase them off?”

 

Tang Bo stood too, twisting a dagger between his fingers.

 “Or shall I welcome them the Tang family way?”

 

Yewon sipped her tea.

 “Let’s greet them kindly first. Then we can throw them.”

Chapter 32

 

The front gates of Xia Yewon’s manor creaked open, and a trail of richly dressed men strolled in, unvited, as though the earth itself belonged to their coin. At their lead stood a portly merchant, his robes stitched with gold thread, his ringed fingers twitching as if already holding what he came for.

 “I am Gao Dehan of the Shunhe Trading Guild. I’ve come with a generous offer!”

 

Unfortunately for him, Tang Bo was sunbathing under the bamboo Stalks, one leg over the other, flipping a dagger lazily in hand.

 “She doesn’t take walk-ins. This isn’t a bathhouse,” Tang Bo said with a yawn.

 “Tell her it’s a business opportunity. I want to buy two of her spirit beasts. I heard she has rare dogs—small but powerful. Excellent gift for my son's birthday!”

 

Tang Bo sat up.

 

 “You're trying to buy Feng and Ying?”

He nearly laughed.

“Hope you brought your coffin too.”

---

 

Minutes later, Lady Yewon stepped onto the veranda in her soft robes, her sleeves floating like mist. Her expression was neutral, as usual. Behind her, Feng and Ying stood proudly—Feng barking once, and Ying trying to chew the hem of her robes in excitement.

Yewon folded her hands with poise.

 

 “I was told someone wished to buy my family.”

 

The merchant smiled—disgustingly proud of himself.

 

 “Not buy, Lady Xia. Invest. I offer one hundred gold taels for the white one and another hundred for the feisty one.”

 “So,” she said calmly, “two hundred gold taels for my children.”

 

He blinked.

 

 “Children? Oh, come now, they're beast—”

 

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

 “If blood and soul were all that made family, then yes, you are correct. But these pups have shared my roof, my food, and my efforts . They have stood guard when men cowered and barked when cowards slithered.”

 

The merchant’s smug look faltered.

 

 “Two hundred—no, three hundred taels. I can double it.”

 “You may triple it. It remains dirt to me,” she said coolly.

“What is gold to someone who once bartered her sword against a dragon? What is your son’s birthday to the bones buried beneath my garden?”

 

The merchant flushed in anger.

 

“You—!”

 “—are wasting your breath,” she cut in sharply, her voice sharpening like a blade.

 

“Listen well, Lord Gao. If your son weeps for beasts bought in chains, perhaps you should buy him a conscience instead. It’s rarer. And evidently, your household is short of it.”

 

Tang Bo clapped from behind a tree.

 

 “That’s one way to say ‘get lost.’”

 

The merchant, red-faced and sputtering, turned on his heel with a huff, barking at his men to follow him. Yewon didn’t move. Feng growled once. Ying barked twice, chewing on Gao Dehan’s trailing sash as he stormed off, leaving it torn and ragged behind him.

 

---

Yewon poured a fresh cup of chrysanthemum tea, calm as the still lake.

Tang Bo leaned on the railing.

 

 “You really destroyed that man.”

“I tried eloquence. He chose death.”

 

Yewon, back in the quiet comfort of her manor, knelt on the warm floor of the sunroom, brushing Somi’s silken fur with a gentle wooden comb. Ling yipped and danced around her feet, vying for attention, while Feng lay nearby with his head on her lap, chewing a toy shaped like a sword (a gift from Tang Bo). Ying, ever the baby, had crawled into her sleeve again, despite being the size of a large melon.

 

 “Honestly,” Yewon sighed fondly, plucking Ying out by the scruff and kissing the top of his round little head, “you’ll suffocate in there one day.”

 

Lexy buzzed lazily in her head.

 

> Notice: Ying's spiritual lung capacity is developing nicely. Estimated full maturity: 128 years. He’s fine. Carry on with babying.

Thank you, Doctor Lexy.

 

Her gaze turned to the far corner of the courtyard, where the shattered remains of a shattered teacup still lay—courtesy of Feng, who had launched himself at the gate when that insolent merchant dared to knock a second time. Yewon had denied him entry with a smile.

But Feng had opinions.

 

“You four,” she said to her dogs with mock sternness, “are sweet to me, but you look ready to eat someone alive when strangers show up.”

> Correction: They are ready to eat someone alive. You’re the only one they see as pack alpha. Everyone else is chewable furniture

 

She chuckled and handed Somi a cube of candied sweet potato.

 

“And good. Let them fear you.”

 

---

 

Chung Myung, sauntering down the hallway with his hands tucked into his sleeves, was munching on dried squid when he passed by a pair of visiting merchants gossiping  in the garden.

 

 “Did you hear?”

“That rich bastard from Shunhe tried to buy Lady Yewon’s spirit beasts.”

“Got verbally beheaded and ran off with his tail tucked.”

“Apparently the dogs nearly ate his sash—HA!”

" must be one of those arrogant ones" 

 

Chung Myung froze.

 “...What?”

 

He stood in silence, the squid jerky forgotten between his teeth.

 

 “Who was it?”

“Gao something?”

“ its Gao Dehan, the idiot with the son that looks like a piglet—”

 

 Crack.

 

The stone beneath his foot cracked from how hard he stepped.

 

---

By the time Yewon opened the gates in the afternoon to get some sun, Chung Myung was already there, fists clenched and a terrifying smile frozen on his face.

 

 “Where is he.”

 

 “...Who?”

 

 “stinky merchant. The one who tried to buy feng.”

Feng and Ying perked up from under the bench where they were napping. They knew that tone. They loved that tone.

 

 “Oh, him. I verbally skinned him alive. He ran off before I needed to do anything worse.”

 “Why didn’t you call me?” he asked, voice gruff, ears red. “I’d have broken his kneecaps.”

 

She gave him an amused look.

 “It was over before tea cooled.”

 “Still!”

 

She gestured toward the garden where Tang Bo was lying on a hammock, fanning himself with a sandalwood fan while Ling yapped at him.

“Besides, I had backup.”

 “That poison brat?” Chung Myung pointed.

“He faints when a somi peck at him!”

 

Tang Bo muttered from behind the fan.

 “You’re just mad because somi loves me more now.”

 

“Lies and slander!” Chung Myung turned back to Yewon. “I’m lodging an official complaint. I raised Feng and Ying!”

“You fed them one (1) plum blossom each.and now you think you're their father?” she teased.

 

---

Yewon sat with her pups curled around her like fluffy protective clouds. She stroked their heads one by one, murmuring words of love and praise.

 

“Sweet Somi... beautiful Ling... brave Feng... sleepy Ying...”

Tang Bo, sipping tea nearby, whispered to Chung Myung.

 “...They're still babies, huh?”

 “Babies? These monsters bark at thunder and chew through steel.” Chung Myung sipped his own tea. “But yeah. Yewon says in spirit beast years, they won’t be full-grown till they hit a hundred.”

 

Tang Bo blinked.

 “...So Feng’s still a toddler?”

 “A bitey toddler, yeah.”

 

Chung Myung watched as Yewon bent down to press a kiss to Ying’s forehead, and he swore the little beast purred.

He looked away with a scoff, his heart betraying him with a single, soft thump.

 

---

 

Gao Dehan, red-faced and incensed, slammed his bejeweled fist on the magistrate’s desk, spilling tea in the process.

 

 “I am a loyal taxpayer of Xi’an, Magistrate Zheng! That woman is harboring dangerous beasts! I demand you exercise your authority and investigate this manor—”

 

 “ Gao Dehan..”

 

Magistrate Zheng, a refined man in his mid-fifties with silvered temples and a well-trimmed beard, calmly wiped the tea stain with a silk handkerchief. His expression didn’t change, but his eyes sharpened.

 “You mean Lady Xia Yewon?”

 “Yes! That—” He stopped himself from calling her anything less than proper. “She has spirit beasts in her manor! What if they escape? What if they harm children? Why, she even turned down a generous offer from me!”

 

Zheng let the silence hang.

 

 “...You tried to buy her pups?”

 

 “ beasts,” he corrected, voice oily. “Perfect companions for cultivation! I only wanted two—to gift to my son. I even offered her triple the going price!”

 

The magistrate sighed.

“Gao Dehan. Sit down.”

 

Gao grumbled but obeyed, albeit with great huffing.

 “Do you know who it was that helped my son recover from frostbite qi deviation last winter?”

 “I—no?”

 “Lady Xia Yewon.” He steepled his fingers. “Do you know who helped me stabilize my sister’s failing meridians after that  spoiled concoction?”

 “...Her again?”

 

 “Exactly.” The magistrate’s voice hardened.

“That ‘woman’ you speak of is not just a talented swordswoman and spiritual cultivator, but also a benefactor of this office and countless townsfolk.”

He leaned forward, gaze deadly serious.

 

 “Let me be plain: if you ever harass her again, Gao Dehan, not only will you not get your spirit beasts, I will personally ensure your merchant license in Xi’an is revoked.”

“You wouldn’t dare—!”

“I already drafted the paperwork . Just in case.”

 

---

Shamed but not beaten, Gao Dehan did what all entitled men with money and no brains do: he hired mercenaries.

A ragtag group of seven martial artists. Swords for hire. Brutes from outside Kangho. One of them was even stupid enough to try and throw a net.

They arrived at Yewon’s manor just before noon.

 

 “ Yewon!” Gao Dehan shouted from the gate. “I demand you come out and speak!”

 

The door opened.

A soft breeze drifted through the garden.

Then came the low growl of Feng, his teeth bared and lips curled. Behind him, Ling’s bells jingled, a warning. Somi appeared at Yewon’s side, expression deceptively sweet. Ying was chewing a flowerpot.

Yewon stepped out onto the veranda, her hands tucked into her sleeves, a faint smile curving her lips.

 

 “Oh, I see,” she said calmly. “You brought thugs this time. Lovely. I was getting bored.”

The tallest mercenary stepped forward, cracking his knuckles.

 “Give us the beasts, lady. No need for anyone to get hurt.”

 

A short silence.

 

Then—

 

 “Feng,” she said softly, “legs only.”

 

 

The next moment was chaos.

Feng barreled forward like a lion released from a cage, knocking the man off his feet. Somi darted under another thug’s legs, tripping him before Ling lunged and bit through a sword scabbard.

One of the mercenaries screamed.

Another tried to run, only to be paralyzed by a needle dart to the neck.

 

 “Oops,” said Tang Bo, leaning lazily against the gate. “ my hand Slipped.”

 

 “T-Tang!?” cried Gao Dehan. “Why why is there a tang here?!”

 “I live here now,” he said with a deadpan face, “unofficial house physician. I clean up stupid.”

 

“Wh—Stupid?!”

 “Case in point.”

---

 

Just when the last of the mercenaries were groaning in the grass with teeth missing and weapons broken, a familiar white-robed figure landed on the roof.

Chung Myung, chewing on a plum blossom candy.

“Tsk. I leave for one morning, and some trash tries to trespass?”

 

He leapt down, sword still sheathed.

 

 “You’re lucky they left you in one piece.”

 

 “I-I’m not afraid of you!” Gao Dehan stammered. “Y-you can’t kill me!”

 “True,” Chung Myung said cheerfully. “But I can hit you hard enough to make you wish you were dead.”

 

Gao Dehan tried to run.

But found himself face down in the koi pond a moment later, courtesy of Feng.

---

 

Later that day, Gao Dehan was dragged away by city guards. Not for trying to buy spirit beasts—but for hiring illegal mercenaries, trespassing, and disturbing the peace.

Magistrate Zheng sent a letter of apology to Yewon, along with a small box of mysterious seeds.

Yewon planned to plant geminate the seeds and plant it inside her property. .

Tang Bo spent the evening fussing over Ling’s paw, who stubbed it while chasing one of the thugs.

Chung Myung lounged under the plum tree, feeding Ying bits of candied lotus.

 

“I still say you should’ve let me hit him once.”

 “You scared him plenty,” Yewon said with a smile.

 

Yewon patted Somi and nodded.

 

 “Indeed. My darlings don’t bite without reason. But once they do...”

 

Tang Bo chimed in with a grin:

 

“They bite with feeling.”

 

Chapter 33

Notes:

Why wait for days to update when drafts.are full of juicer content?? We strike while the iron is still hot! .

 

"Run like the wind, bite like thunder, and look adorable while doing it." – Lady Yewon

 

 

 

 

Ever since that merchant incident, Yewon had been unusually reflective. Her pups—no, her children—were growing.

 

They weren’t ordinary dogs.

They were spirit beasts, and though she still pampered and babied them like overgrown stuffed toys, they needed to learn. They needed to be able to protect themselves and protect their home, should she ever be absent again.

 

“Lexy,” Yewon muttered one morning, tying her hair into a loose ponytail. “What’s their current strength ranking again?”

 

> Scan complete. Strength: Juvenile-Class Spirit Beast. Potential: High. Status: Spoiled~ 

 “They’re not spoiled!”

>Feng bit your blanket again because you didn’t give him extra chicken.

 

She paused. “…Fair.”

 

---

 

The pups blinked in confusion as Yewon tied tiny ankle weights around their legs. Not too heavy—just enough for resistance.

 

“Today, darlings, we run.”

 

She led them through:

 

Rocky cliffs, where they had to leap between boulders.

Forest trails, narrow and tangled with roots.

Riverbeds, with slippery stones and current to slow them down.

And finally, sand dunes just outside Xi’an, where their paws sank and forced them to use muscle and breath.

 

 

 “Good job, Feng!” she called as the largest pup dashed over a ridge like a galloping wolf.

“Somi, don’t let him outpace you!”

“Ling, we do not chase butterflies during stamina runs!”

“Ying—oh baby, are you tired? Come here, I’ll carry you for a bit.”

 

Lexy, of course, chimed in as their field coach:

 

> Feng: 85% stamina remaining.

Somi: Excellent posture.

Ling: Failed stealth attempt—leaves on tail.

Ying: Pretending to limp. Dramatic little bean.

 

---

 Day Two: Hunting and Reflexes

 

Yewon created illusions  in the forest using spiritual threads and qi—a harmless mirage of moving creatures. Some were rabbits. Some were birds. Some were snakes.

The pups had to hunt the illusion and pounce with precision.

Feng, true to his name, struck like the wind—quick, instinctive, effective.

Somi cornered prey like a tactician, always calculating where it would go next.

Ling barked once—“Yip!”—and tackled the rabbit illusion with shocking speed.

Ying pounced, missed, rolled into a bush, and emerged with a leaf on his head.

 

Yewon giggled and brushed the leaf off.

 

 “You’ll get it next time.”

 

> Ying’s ‘missed pounce into roll’ may evolve into an accidental attack pattern. Potential: Wild Card

 

---

✦ Day Three: Real Test – Forest Bounty

 

Yewon accepted a small bounty from a hunter's guild: a couple of bandit scouts had been seen near the outer ridge.

 “You’re not coming with your sword?” Tang Bo asked her.

 “This is their test.”

She smiled. “I’ll be nearby. They just need to flush the prey out.”

With silent signals, she sent them in formation.

Feng and Somi flanked the bandits with coordinated pincer movement.

 

Ling distracted one with noise.

Ying, the tiny fluffy chaos ball, charged right into the scout’s leg and bit down hard.

The bandits screamed as the pups—each coordinated like soldiers—drove them out of hiding and right into Yewon’s ambush net.

They didn’t even need to draw blood. Their presence and teamwork was enough.

Yewon clapped once from the shadows.

 “Good job, my brave little warriors.”

 

---

 The Result

 

At the end of each day, the pups would gather around the garden pond, utterly exhausted but wagging their tails. Yewon, hair tied in a bun and cheeks flushed from running with them, would kneel and feed each one personally—grilled chicken for Somi, jerky for Feng, fish rolls for Ling, and steamed sweet potato for baby Ying.

 

 “They’re growing stronger,” Tang Bo said one afternoon as he checked Somi’s paw for injury.

“But they’re still her babies,” he added with a smirk, watching as Yewon spoon-fed a sulking Ying with gentle hands.

 

“They’re mine,” Yewon replied softly, voice proud and warm. “And one day… they’ll be more than what the world expects them to be.”

 

> Lexy Notification: New Title Unlocked – “Pack Leader of the Spirit Garden ( ￣▽￣)

 

---

 

Starring: 400kg of regret, one venomous brat, and two sword addicts. 

It had been weeks since Tang Bo—poison master, dagger prodigy, and occasional menace—resolved to follow his dosa-hyungnim and Lady Yewon.

 

Weeks of... hell.

Weeks of watching his dignity get crushed beneath four pieces of ironwork so cursed, they must’ve been forged by the Blacksmith God in his most sadistic hour.

 

 “Hundred kilos each. For control,” Lady Yewon had said, calm as a lake.

He had laughed.

She had not.

And now here he was, with weighted guards strapped to his calves and wrists. Every. Single. Day.

 

---

Tang Bo’s Morning Routine

 

He’d wake up and feel the weights before he even opened his eyes.

 “You can’t even wiggle your fingers anymore,” he grumbled one morning as he crawled out of bed like a crushed beetle.

“Why did I say yes again...?”

 

Then he’d remember.

The thrill of seeing his daggers deflected effortlessly. The way Chung Myung caught them mid-spin and Yewon redirected them without even a blink.

That was why.

They were the only two people he’d ever met who didn’t fear his daggers—and that made him want to train with them. Want to get stronger. Want to one day surpass the very ceiling that stood between his current self and the absolute masters  he now followed around like a stray cat.

---

 

 “Why Weights?” – Lady Yewon’s Lesson

 

It was a day like any other.

Yewon was in the garden, balancing on one foot atop a smooth river stone, her wrists extended with tea cups resting on the back of each hand. Not a drop spilled.

He, meanwhile, was grimacing as he threw daggers at a tree… and missed the leaf target by three inches. Again.

Frustrated, he asked her:

 “Why the hell do I need weights for something as delicate as dagger throwing?”

 

She raised a brow at him.

 

“Because control is fragile.”

 

 “...Come again?”

“The more delicate a technique,” she said, “the more it must endure pressure. If your control shatters under weight, it’s not control—it’s convenience. You’re only skilled because it’s easy.”

' why does this sentence felt familiar?? Must be from The novel...'  she thought.  

 

He blinked. That… actually made sense.

She continued, without stopping her balance stance.

“You want to hit a fly’s wing while the wind is blowing and your legs are tired? Then your body must know how to move under burden. You train with weight to force your control to evolve. Burden exposes weakness.”

 

 “So... if my form falters, it means...?”

 

“It means you have to train till your hands doesn't falter no matter what . Which is a good thing.”

He stared at her. A martial artist with the face of a snow lotus, but when she spoke—it was like she was a hundred-year-old hermit in disguise. Damn. She was terrifying.

 

---

Results That Can’t Be Denied

 

Three days later, he accidentally shattered a boulder with one throw without  the weights on. 

 

 “...Oh shit.”

 

Chung Myung, who was drinking tea beside it, calmly leaned back and dodged the rock shrapnel with a yawn.

 

 “Good. Try me next time.”

Yewon looked up from brushing Somi’s fur and simply offered a nod.

 

 “See? Results.”

 

Tang Bo wiped sweat off his brow and gave a dry laugh.

 

 “Maybe I like this hell.”

---

 

 The Daggers That Dance

 

Eventually, his form stabilized.

His daggers no longer wavered.

His throws no longer cut air—they commanded it.

He developed a technique mid-practice, throwing from behind his back while in motion—and it hit dead center. With weights on.

His grin that day was so smug that Chung Myung punched him in the head.

 

 “Don’t get cocky, you brat .”

 “Says the old man who sulked for two hours when Lady Yewon dodged his sword feint.”

 

 WHAM!

 

Another fist to the head.

Still, it was worth it.

Because for the first time in years, Tang Bo felt something shift in his bones.

He wasn’t just following legends anymore. He was slowly becoming one.

 

---

 

“Whoever surfaces first, pays the bill.”

 

✧ Scene: Somewhere Near the Western Lake, Border of the Forest Highlands

 

A quiet lake shimmered in the morning sun.

Birds chirped. The breeze was gentle. The air smelled faintly of moss and mist.

But beneath the calm surface?

 

Absolute war.

 

Three silhouettes moved underwater, barely visible to the untrained eye—yet a master would have cried in horror. There, within the deep, the sounds of muffled qi bursts throbbed like underwater thunder.

 

...

 

It started innocently. A new training idea from Tang Bo.

 “Why not spar underwater?” he said, smirking. “Let’s see how stable our footwork and precision are without breath and balance!”

 

Yewon, ever one to test limitations, agreed.

 

Chung Myung? Well, he only joined when he heard there was a bet involved.

“Whoever surfaces first pays for food and the inn,” he grinned.

“Deal.” Tang Bo cracked his knuckles.

“Agreed.” Yewon tied her hair back.

And so began the most insane underwater martial brawl known to man.

 

---

An Hour Beneath the Surface

 

Weighted bracelets on.

Qi restrained to base level.

Breath held.

 

It was not a normal sparring match—this was tactical madness.

Yewon spun, her hair floating like a ribbon, striking palm-first toward Tang Bo’s rib. He twisted away with a flip, slinging a dagger with his foot (because his hands were occupied parrying Chung Myung’s ridiculous jab).

The sword saint grinned underwater.

 

Even without his plum sword drawn, his attacks were relentless.

Yewon blocked. Tang Bo redirected.

Blows flew. Water erupted. Rocks on the lakebed cracked.

It was like watching fish-shaped gods beat the hell out of each other in silence.

 

Until…

 

 

 “Pfff—!!”

 

A torrent of bubbles erupted as Yewon shot up from the lake, gasping. Her cheeks puffed in surrender. Her pride shattered.

The moment she surfaced, two wet heads popped up after her.

 

Tang Bo looked way too smug.

“Guess I’m not paying tonight~!”

 

Chung Myung floated with a lazy grin, arms behind his head like a raft.

 “Hope you brought a thick purse, manor master.”

 

Yewon wanted to cry.

 “You gluttons… you bottomless monsters…”

 

But before she could berate them further, a scream echoed from the distant trees.

Tang Bo’s grin faded.

Chung Myung’s body stiffened mid-float.

Yewon immediately focused, her wet robes clinging, her eyes sharpening.

 

The scent of blood in the air. 

 

 “Trouble,” Tang Bo muttered, unsheathing a dagger mid-air.

“Let’s move,” Chung Myung said, already vanishing in a blur of qi.

---

 

The mountain village was under attack.

The bandits, notorious for their cruelty, had long eluded martial clans. Ruthless, well-armed, and unified under a former sect rogue, they had massacred several nearby settlements for loot and amusement.

This time, they chose the wrong village.

Because three soaked lunatics arrived—steaming with qi, dripping wet, and very, very annoyed.

 

Yewon, with Yeoreum drawn, slashed through three men in one breath, her soaked hanfu fluttering like thunderclouds around her.

 “Don’t dirty the village ground,” she murmured. “Or I’ll bury you in it.”

 

Tang Bo was a phantom. His daggers danced like mist, his fingers launching precision death from rooftops to tree branches. Every throw was near invisible, and yet unfailingly fatal.

 “Didn’t your mother teach you not to touch what isn’t yours?” he smirked.

“Let me take your hands as punishment.”

 

Chung Myung?

He didn’t even draw his sword.

He just cracked his neck and started punching.

 “I was having a good day,” he said.

“And then you bastards showed up.”

 

One bandit flew into a tree. Another had his ribs crushed by a palm the weight of an ox. His smile grew more frightening the longer he fought.

 

The battle lasted mere minutes.

The bandits tried to flee.

They failed.

 

---

 

 

The village elder bowed, shaking.

 

 “T-Thank you,  heroes…”

 

Yewon gently smiled, patting her hair dry.

Tang Bo, still tying his hair back, only grinned.

Chung Myung? Already chewing a rice cake he stole from the bandit’s stash.

 

 

…

 

They returned to the inn, muddy and battered.

Yewon sulked as the waiter brought out twelve dishes.

Chung Myung poured wine.

Tang Bo hummed a tune while sharpening a dagger.

 

“You two really ordered everything on the menu…”

 “Well,” Tang Bo said, smiling, “you did lose the bet.

 “You fought underwater for an hour,” she muttered. “Who does that?!”

 

Chung Myung raised a cup.

“To victory. And free food.”

 

 “To Lady Yewon’s generous purse!” Tang Bo added cheerfully.

 

 “To my never-ending suffering,” Yewon sighed.

 

---

 

— A tale of drowned pride, floating fish, and martial madness 

 Scene: The Yangtze River – Somewhere Near a Quiet Bend

 

The sun crested over the water, painting ripples in soft hues of dawn gold and peach. On the surface, the river was calm, serene, still.

 

And beneath?

 

Diyu (hell).

 

---

 The Sparring Trio from Hell

 

The three were at it again.

It started with a casual remark from Tang Bo, now fully assimilated into the two’s training routine:

 

 “Bet I can last longer this time.”

 “Bet you can’t,” Yewon retorted, tying her weighted iron cuffs with frightening calm.

 “You guys are still sore I didn’t surface last time,” said Chung Myung, cracking his neck and tightening his own 150kg ankle weights like they were mere ribbons.

 

And then they dove in.

---

 

 Unleashing Madness Underwater

 

A whirlpool burst.

Pressure crackled.

Qi swirled.

 

Fishes scattered in terror.

The local aquatic ecosystem screamed in protest.

 

...

 

Yeoreum, Yewon’s sword, glided in the water like a ribbon of steel. Her form precise and slow due to the pressure, yet terrifyingly sharp.

She spun, countered, pushed back with palm strikes laced with controlled power — rippling the water like waves splitting around a prow.

Tang Bo danced mid-current, rotating daggers between his fingers and toes like sea-blades. He moved like a current—graceful, lethal, and annoyingly smug.

 

And Chung Myung?

He moved like a damn underwater storm.

 

He didn’t need finesse. He broke through water resistance like it was air — the weighted cuffs only slowing him down enough to keep the fight interesting. A palm from him sent shockwaves that shattered rock and crushed unfortunate catfish in his wake.

 

The river, which once teemed with fish, frogs, and peaceful aquatic life…

Was now a sudden graveyard.

Dozens of poor fishes, caught in the crossfire, now floated belly-up, circling on the surface like tiny casualties of war. A few turtles, stunned by qi pressure, were slowly crawling away in confusion.

Birds flying above changed flight patterns.

A nearby fisherman, witnessing the bubbles and the emerging corpse-fish, quietly rowed away, muttering:

 

“They’re are fighting again.”

---

 

After an hour (again), the first to emerge this time was…

 

Tang Bo, gasping and flailing.

 

 “I! Hah! I— gasp— lost!”

 

Seconds later, Yewon rose like a sea spirit, her face blank but her eye twitching.

And last?

Chung Myung, of course.

The moment he rose, he exhaled deeply.

“You guys still suck.”

 

Tang Bo coughed water.

 “You were cheating—!! You weren’t even trying!!”

 

 “I was holding back,” Chung Myung said with a smirk. “You're not worth full effort.”

 

 “I’m gonna vomit,” Yewon muttered. “From rage or river water, I’m not sure yet.”

 

The three finally took a breath… only to see the surface of the Yangtze dotted with floating fish.

Dead ones.

 

 “...Did we just commit an aquatic massacre?” Tang Bo asked, deadpan.

 

 “Nah,” Chung Myung said, poking a fish with his finger. “

“We’ve emptied the fish population of five li,” Yewon said, rubbing her temple. “You two are  disasters.”

Lexy pinged in her ear.

>  Warning: Riverine biodiversity has decreased by 36% in this section. Please consider moral consequences.

 

' Oh shit , Lexy.'

 

Tang Bo pulled out a soggy steamed bun from his sleeve (because of course he had one), and munched it while floating.

 “So who’s paying for dinner?”

 

Chung Myung raised a brow.

 “Still you. You surfaced first.”

 

Tang Bo wept softly.

 

 

---

 Moral of the Story?

If you see three people casually entering a river wearing bracelets the size of kettlebells…

Run.

 

And maybe, pray for the fish.

 

 

 

Chapter 34

 

 Scene: Early Evening – In the Bamboo Courtyard of Yewon’s Manor

 

The sky blushed faintly as the sun dipped behind the misty hills, cicadas humming in lazy rhythm. The soft tinkling of a chime danced on the breeze while Tang Bo lay sprawled across the bamboo deck, wiping sweat from his brow. Nearby, Yewon calmly poured herself a cup of tea, not even winded from their earlier spar.

Tang Bo groaned dramatically.

 

 “Yewon-nim! You don’t understand how inconvenient it is to retrieve the daggers I throw. I have to attach qi threads on each one to pull them back—and they snap with one solid counterattack! Do you know how often I have to run around and pick up my daggers ?!”

 

He dramatically his pound his chest in grief.

 “It’s injustice! It’s oppression!”

 

Yewon blinked, unimpressed.

“How many daggers do you carry?”

 

He puffed his chest with pride.

 “Twelve! A proper set for the Twelve Soul-Seeking Dagger Technique! As the name suggests—”

 

Yewon raised her hand, calmly interrupting.

 “Wait. So just because the technique is named Twelve Soul-Seeking Daggers, you think you’re only allowed to carry twelve?”

 

Tang Bo froze.

 

 “...Well, yeah? It's the principle of the thing—there’s twelve forms, twelve targets, twelve—uh… souls to seek?”

 

She raised a brow.

 “Tang Bo”

 

He opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

 

 “E-Eh?”

 

 

Yewon sipped her tea and looked him dead in the eye.

 “You could just bring ten more daggers, you know.”

 “Just because it’s called Twelve Soul-Seeking Daggers… doesn’t mean you have to carry only twelve.”

She tilted her head innocently. “Did your brain stall somewhere in that logic?”

'I swear this lines are familiar. '

 

Tang Bo sat there in silence for a good three seconds.

Then—

 

 “...HuuUUUUHHH?!?!?”

 

He leapt to his feet like a man struck by lightning.

The pups—startled—bolted from their nap pile and barked in confusion as Tang Bo dramatically grabbed his own head and spun around the courtyard in existential shock.

 

“ALL THIS TIME—I SUFFERED—FOR NOTHING?! I COULD HAVE—JUST—BROUGHT—EXTRA DAGGERS?!?”

 

Yewon shrugged, casually stacking bamboo leaves for tea.

 “I assumed you knew that. Why would anyone go into battle with only twelve knives unless they were masochistic?”

 

“T-TWELVE! I STUCK TO TWELVE LIKE AN IDIOT! I EVEN GOT BULLIED BY HYUNG-NIM FOR NOT HAVING BACKUPS!”

 

He fell to his knees, hands trembling.

“I have… lived… like a fool.”

 

Yewon, sipping calmly:

“You said it. Not me.”

 “Lady Yewon, you are my martial light. My blade-sister. My tactical savior. My—”

 “—Training partner,” she cut in, deadpan. “Now go make use of this revelation before I change my mind and actually hit you next time you run out of blades to throw .”

 

Tang Bo wiped a tear.

“Yes manor master. I will return with… Thirty Soul-Seeking Daggers!”

 

“Don’t rename the technique,” she sighed.

---

 Later That Night...

 

Chung Myung:

 “Why is the brat at the forge with three bags of metal and a crazed grin?”

 

Yewon:

“He was enlightened today.”

 

Chung Myung:

 “I’m scared~”

 

Yewon:

 “You should be ?”

 

---

 

✦ Setting: The Bamboo Training Grounds – Late Morning, Clear Skies

 

The wind was crisp. Leaves rustled lazily as birds scattered to the skies, their instincts warning them of something unholy stirring beneath the sunlight.

Yewon, in her usual white practice garb, was tying the iron weight cuffs onto her wrists.

Chung Myung, leaned against a tree, yawning with one eye open.

 “We sparring or are you just gonna stretch like an old lady?”

 

Yewon ignored him. Tang Bo, however—Tang Bo was grinning.

 

And not just any grin.

This was the grin of a man who had waited his whole life to press the Upgrade All button on his existence.

 

 “Yewon-nim~” he sing-songed, voice barely holding back unholy glee.

“Do you remember our last spar when I regretfully ran out of daggers?”

 

Yewon gave him a slow side-eye.

“You mean when you cried like a wet cat because I rushed to you during retrieval?”

 

He clutched his chest with drama.

 “That was a strategic , thank you very much.”

 

Chung Myung muttered from the side.

“Strategic my—”

 

Tang Bo raised a finger.

“BUT TODAY! Today, I have transcended!”

 

He reached inside his sleeves with a flourish—and with a FWIP—a dagger flew toward Yewon.

She caught it effortlessly between two fingers, unimpressed.

And then another.

And another.

 

And another.

 

 “Eh?”

Yewon’s brow twitched.

From both sleeves, daggers just kept coming—like he had a bottomless pit of throwing knives tucked inside his robes. They zipped through the air in all directions, spiraling with deadly accuracy, buzzing with razor-thin qi threads trailing after them like glowing silk ribbons.

 

“How many did you bring today?” Yewon asked flatly as she deflected three more with her sword.

Tang Bo cackled, spinning midair as more blades flew from hidden folds in his waist sash and boots.

 

 “THIRTY-SIX, YEWON-NIM! THIRTY! SIX!”

 

 “I have twelve in my sleeves…

Twelve on my waist...

And twelve emergency backups sewn into my pant legs!”

 

Yewon had to duck when two daggers whipped past her ears from below.

 

Chung Myung’s eye twitched.

“…Where does he even keep all those ?”

 

Tang Bo skidded to a stop mid-run, panting, eyes sparkling like a madman.

 “I feel… ALIVE! This is what it means to live in luxury!! Infinite throwing power! I don’t even need to retrieve anything anymore!”

He tossed another wave of daggers while laughing like a man who discovered free-flowing wine in the desert.

Yewon—slightly amused now—tilted her sword, striking down the incoming barrage with expert precision.

 “Just don’t cry again when I disarm you mid-spin.”

 “You can’t disarm a man with THIRTY-SIX daggers!!”

“Want to bet?”

She lunged.

 

What followed was chaos. A spar so unhinged, the nearby trees were stripped bare by flying steel. Fishes in the koi pond fled. The dogs barked once, saw the carnage, and ran back inside to nap on Yewon’s bed.

Chung Myung sighed as he sipped his tea from a safe distance.

 “...These idiots.”

 

---

 Hours Later – Aftermath

 

Tang Bo lay face-down in the grass, every limb sore, clothes covered in mud, and exactly one dagger left in his hand.

 “I—I’ve never felt so… fulfilled…”

 

Yewon stood over him, barely panting.

 “I told you not to name the technique after the number of daggers.”

 

Tang Bo groaned.

 “I’m… changing the name…”

 “To what?”

 “Thirty-Six… Soul-Reaping… Divorce-Inducing Daggers.”

 “Reap your broken pride, Tang Bo.”

 

---

 Setting: Tang Clan Estate, Chengdu – Night of the Annual Banquet

 

The moon hung low and full, its pale glow cascading over the sprawling, opulent Tang estate. Crimson lanterns bobbed gently in the evening breeze, their silk tassels fluttering like whispers. Gold-edged banners with the Tang Clan crest—a blooming lotus encircled by a coiled serpent—adorned every corner.

Tonight was no ordinary feast.

It was the Tang Clan’s Annual Banquet—a grand event for forging alliances, displaying power, and parading off the younger generation's talents (and marriage potential). Among the long list of guests from prestigious clans and merchant guilds…

Two names stood out like blood on snow.

 

• Lady Xia Yewon of Xi’an.
• The Plum Blossom Sword Saint, Chung Myung.

 

Invited as honorary guests by none other than Tang Bo, now officially titled Elder of the Dagger Hall—the youngest ever to hold such a position in Tang history.

 

---

 Scene: The Grand Courtyard Pavilion

 

The moment Yewon stepped into the courtyard dressed in a modest yet regal hanfu of deep jade and silver, the entire hall paused. Conversations lulled. Eyes followed her like moths drawn to moonlight.

Her hair was pinned elegantly with a jade lotus pin gifted by Tang Bo himself months ago. But her poise, her calm yet unreadable gaze, made it clear: she wasn’t here for pageantry.

Chung Myung walked beside her—still in his white martial robes, still chewing on a dried fruit he picked up from the tray earlier, and looking mildly annoyed at how polished everyone else looked.

 “Why are they all staring?” he asked, mouth full.

 

Yewon calmly replied, “Because they’re not used to seeing a walking disaster in fine company.”

 

 “Rude.”

---

Scene: Tang Bo Makes His Entrance

 

Tang Bo arrived dramatically late, as he always did when he wanted to make an impression.

His robes were that of an elder tang robes, embroidered with silver threads and accented with throwing daggers subtly woven into the fabric. He spread his arms with a smug grin.

 “Hyung-nim! Yewon-nim! You came! Look at all these boring people. And then look at you—finally some quality in this place.”

 “Are you not an elder now? Shouldn’t you be… responsible?” Yewon asked with a raised brow.

 “I am being responsible. I’m responsibly having fun.”

---

 

Banquet Chaos Begins

 

The dinner proceeded with exquisite cuisine: spicy hotpot, smoked duck, glazed lotus roots, and wine so strong it could ignite lanterns. The hall buzzed with conversation.

And yet, there were whispers too:

 

“Isn’t that the rumored sword saint from Mount Hua?”

“She’s the one with spirit beasts guarding her manor.”

“Do you think the rumors are true? About the marriage vow incident?”

“Why is elder Tang Bo grinning like that every time she speaks?”

 

Tang Bo, of course, shamelessly announced during a toast:

“Everyone here should know! These two are my close companions . If you’re lucky, maybe I’ll arrange a sparring demo so you can weep in jealousy!”

 

Chung Myung muttered under his breath:

 “He says it like we didn’t beat him into the dirt weekly…”

---

 Enter the Tang Family Elders

 

Midway through the banquet, one of the oldest elders of the Tang clan—a stern man with a long silver beard and sharp eyes—approached Yewon.

 “Lady Xia. It is not often that we welcome those outside our clan into such good graces. You’ve made quite an impression on our Tang Bo… and the younger generation. Might we speak of… extended cooperation?”

Yewon offered a small, polite smile.

“I am honored, Elder Tang. But I have no intention of marrying into any clan. I find peace in independence.”

The elder chuckled—but it was a calculated one.

 “No mention of marriage was made.”

 

Yewon raised her glass and replied softly:

 “That’s good. Because I’m not interested.”

 

---

 Scene: Aftermath – Private Garden Pavilion

 

After most guests retired, Tang Bo, Yewon, and Chung Myung sat under a peach blossom tree with leftover wine and fruit.

Tang Bo leaned back with a sigh.

 

“I was worried they’d try to rope you into something again.”

Yewon sipped her wine and replied, “They always do. I just remind them that I'm Xia yewon~ .”

 

 “You do look like you’d slash them with one wrong word. Noted,” Chung Myung said. Then added,

Tang Bo raised his glass.

 “To biting, bad reputations, and not getting married into political alliances.” the latter was for him too

 

Yewon and Chung Myung clinked their glasses with his.

 

 Clink.

 

“To freedom.”

 

---

 Five Years Later – The kangho Now

 

The world had changed in five years.

Sect politics shifted like sand in the river. Cults had risen and fallen, kingdoms changed hands, but some names never stopped echoing.

The name Plum Blossom Sword Saint still struck awe—and fear—wherever it landed.

Now 52, Chung Myung, who had long since shed the wrinkles of mortal aging, still looked barely past thirty. Sharp eyes. Sharper tongue. Sharper sword.

But while his name stormed the mainland and reverberated even across the sea to the farthest island of Hainan, there was another name slowly carving its own legend across the world.

 

---

 "Moonlight Fae" – The Emergence of Lady Yewon

 

It happened on a cursed night.

A remote valley near the Liang Mountains had become overrun with Jiangshi—corpse puppets twisted with malevolent qi, rising nightly to hunt the living.

A martial artist caravan passing through had no choice but to barricade themselves. They fought, bled, and braced for death. But when hope was gone and the moon rose high…

 

 She appeared.

 

From the crest of the ridge, sword in hand, white robes swaying in the night wind, Lady Xia Yewon walked into the valley under the silver gleam of the full moon.

There were no lanterns to guide her—only moonlight.

The Jiangshi hoard rushed at her with ghastly snarls, and she moved with tranquil precision.

Like flowing water meeting stone.

Each strike are calculated. Each dodge was seemed effortless. The silvery glint of  iron cuffs around her ankles and wrists clinked softly as she danced between monsters, weighted even in battle—the habit never left her.

The martial artists watching from afar held their breath.

Her expression remained composed, eyes cool, like she was never worried.

The silver of her blade mirrored the moonlight. Her qi shimmered like frost in air.

When the final Jiangshi crumbled into dust, she stood in the center of the ruined clearing, robes unblemished her hair loose and flowing in the night breeze.

A junior martial artist, trembling, whispered it aloud:

 

 “A faery… a moonlight faery…”

 

The name spread before sunrise.

By noon, it had passed from valley to sect.

By week’s end, tavern tales across the provinces spoke of "The Moonlight Fae."

 

---

 The disaster Trio 

Xia Yewon, now 47 by age but appearing no older than her late twenties, had reached the rare peak where mortals shed the burden of time. Her qi had been honed into razor clarity—both spiritual and martial mastery, harmonized.

Chung Myung, now a storm of legend and the steel backbone of Mount Hua, often looked at her during spars and murmured:

 “She’s not chasing me anymore… she’s catching up.”

Of course, the moment he says it, he leaps into the next level of mastery out of spite.

 

Then there was Tang Bo, the Dark saint, dagger master now 42.

A poison master, a physician, a lunatic loyal only to his hyung-nim and Yewon-nim, and now a renowned expert in "chaotic close-range dagger storms".

Wherever these three walked side by side , sects went silent.

 

---

 Reputation of the Trio Saints

 

Chung Myung – The Sword Saint of Mount Hua, Plum Blossom Sword Saint, The Unbreakable Blade. Said to cleave mountains and sects alike when displeased. Children in sects were warned: “Train, or the Sword Saint will come knocking.”

Yewon – Moonlight Fae, Silent Jade, The Midnight sword Saintess. Known for clean, efficient swordplay and ghostlike movements under moonlight. Some say she communes with spirit beasts. Some whisper she speaks to the moon itself.

Tang Bo – Dark Saint , The poison master of Chengdu,  Dagger master . Known for throwing knives that curve midair . And also a renowned physician . 

 

Chapter 35

 

In the courtyard behind Yewon's manor, the sun was high, the air thick with late summer haze, and sweat clung to every inch of fabric and skin.

Three monsters of the martial world stood like they had been cast from different elements of nature:

Chung Myung, the untamable wind with a blade in hand.

Xia Yewon, the river’s calm before a deadly whirlpool.

Tang Bo, a snake in the grass with a grin too wide to trust.

“Again,” Yewon said, tossing her soaked outer robe aside and adjusting the weights on her wrists like they were mere fashion accessories.

Tang Bo groaned, rolling his arms as he retrieved one of his daggers from a training dummy that now resembled shredded bamboo more than a person.

“I swear, Yewon-ah… you were born to ruin me.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve said that,” she replied smoothly, her voice like cool tea poured over hot coals.

From the bench, Chung Myung, swigging from a flask he swore wasn't alcohol (it was), let out a snort.

“Oi, leech! If you have enough energy to talk back, you have enough energy to fight.”

Tang Bo’s eye twitched. “Hyung-nim! Again with the leech!”

Chung Myung rose with a lazy stretch, twirling his sword casually like it weighed nothing. “You clung to me lime one . What else am I supposed to call you?”

Yewon folded her arms, amusement sparkling in her eyes. “Bo-ya, don’t worry. I think he only calls you that when he’s fond of you.”

 

Tang Bo beamed. “Really?”

 

Chung Myung muttered, “No. I call him that when I want him to disappear.”

 

They’d grown too comfortable with each other. There was no more stiff formality, no walls of status or ego.

Just sharp tongues, sharper weapons, and friendship forged in training hell.

Yewon, tying her hair up with a ribbon, looked over her shoulder at Tang Bo.

 

“You adjusted the weight on your calves today?”

 

“Yep,” he said, lifting a pant leg to show the system-issued iron band, now slick with effort. “Added twenty kilos to each leg.”

“And you’re still this slow?” Chung Myung added with a mock-disappointed sigh.

Tang Bo almost threw a dagger into his precious gourd on impulse.

 

---

 Nickname 

 

• “Bo-ya” was what they called him when they were in a good mood.
• “Tang Bo-ya” when they were slightly annoyed.
• “Leech” was reserved solely for Chung Myung’s use—specifically when Tang Bo annoyed him to the point of violence.
• Tang Bo would call Chung Myung “Dosa-hyungnim” with either reverence or extreme sarcasm depending on the moment.
• And “Yewon-ah”? It was a rare privilege he didn't abuse. He earned that rights after nearly dying from a slash three times and still showing up to spar the next morning.

 

Notes:

Epilogue of the Day’s Training

That evening, the three sat beneath the wisteria vines on the back veranda. The pups lounged nearby—Feng sleeping on Tang Bo's lap now, much to Chung Myung’s visible displeasure.

Yewon passed a small fruit tart to each of them—freshly baked.

Tang Bo blinked. “Wait. What’s the occasion?”

She raised a brow. “Do I need one to feed the dogs and you two?”

Chung Myung took a bite and grunted. “As long as you feed the leech, he’s not my problem for the night.”

Tang Bo smiled widely. “So you do love me, hyung-nim~”

“Say that again and I’ll feed you to Somi.”

“She wouldn’t eat me! She’s a sweet girl!”

“She’s MY dog, she’ll eat what I tell her to!”

Yewon laughed, quietly, like wind brushing silk. The sounds of their banter spilled into the twilight sky.

In the background, somi bark in disgust. 

Chapter 36

The Still Waters that Burn

 

Beneath the vast shadow of the dormant Huoyan volcano, tucked within the labyrinthine depths of an ancient underground cave system, Xia Yewon stood barefoot on the edge of a mist-veiled spring.

The air was thick with the mineral scent of iron and stone, while warm vapors kissed her face and clung to her damp robes. In the quietest corners of the world, far from the loud sparring of steel and drunken bickering of two martial lunatics she knew too well, Yewon had chosen silence—and silence had chosen her.

 

This was no training expedition.

 

This was survival—of her spirit , her progress and her path.

 

Her cultivation had hit a wall.

No matter how long she meditated. No matter how she honed her techniques or pushed her martial body. No breakthrough came. Her qi flow was refined, her techniques stable, her physical conditioning near perfection—and yet, she lingered at the edge of advancement like a cloud refusing to become rain.

Frustrated and solemn, she turned to the only advisor who never lied and never coddled—her sassy, overly honest system.

“Lexy,” she said in her mind, seated beneath a white plum tree in her manor, “why can’t I break through?”

>“Finally!” Lexy chimed with her usual flair.

“I thought you’d never ask, boss. Don’t worry, I’m allowed to answer this one.”

 

---

 System Analysis: Engaged

 

Lexy’s voice turned clinical, her tone shifting into diagnostic mode.

 

> “Your martial body is already at the threshold of another realm. However, your qi reservoir is lagging behind. Think of your cultivation like a lake. Your martial body is the lakebed—it’s vast, strong, and stable. But your qi? It’s like water. You don’t have enough to fill the lake.

And a half-full lake? Eventually, erosion happens. You’ll never breach the next boundary unless you increase your qi capacity significantly. Not just through meditation—you need fuel.”

Yewon blinked.

“Fuel?”

 

> “Elixirs, host. Martial artists (rich ass ) with no golden fingers use them all the time. In your case, you’ve relied solely on meditation and manual technique. Admirable, yes—but it’s time to forge the flame that’ll carry you over this threshold.”

 

She closed her eyes.

A recipe was uploaded into her internal screen.

 

Lexy’s voice was proud.

> “Make this elixir and take it only when you’ve gathered enough qi. The main ingredient is rare—‘Fire Crystal White Lily’. It only grows in warm underwater spring caves fed by fire-veins. Which, surprise! There’s one a few li east of xi'an, beneath Huoyan’s underground caves.”

“And what about the two idiots?”

 

 “They’ll live. Let them spar with the each other for a month.”

 

---

 Into the Depths

 

Now, Yewon stood before the steaming lagoon.

Above her, the cave ceiling glittered with minerals that refracted the light from her faint qi aura like stars. The water ahead was deceptively still—calm, yes, but far from harmless.

Seven meters beneath the surface flowed a subterranean water vein that kissed the edges of a dormant volcano, infusing the water with warmth and movement. It was the perfect breeding ground for the Fire Crystal White Lily—a spirit herb that bloomed with both yin tranquility and yang volatility.

She’d spent an entire week collecting the other ingredients, enduring heat from the volcano’s breath, threading through thorned groves with skin-burning moss, and even bargaining with a pissed-off wild crane spirit for a strand of its tail feather as a stabilizer.

But now, she faced the hardest task: submerging to retrieve the lilies.

Yewon tied her outer robe to a stalagmite. Clad only in her training innerwear and wrist guards, she stepped into the ssteaming warm water, her sword sheathed on her back in a special waterproof scabbard. The temperature licked her skin like warn silk—comforting, deceptive.

She whispered to Lexy, “You’re sure they grow near the edges ?”

> “Yup. Three to five meters around the source. Look for the crimson ripple—those lilies only bloom where the qi flow is thickest.”

 

She nodded. With one breath, she dived.

 

---

 

The Underwater World

 

The world beneath the surface was a different realm. Shafts of golden light flickered through the mineral-silted water. Her weighted bracelets pulled at her limbs, but she welcomed the drag—training never stopped, even on a quest.

She pushed forward, lungs steady, heart calm.

There—it glowed faintly like starlight. The crimson ripple.

 

And surrounding it: fire-kissed white lilies, translucent petals glowing with a faint pulse of heat, their roots curling into the solid rock.

She unsheathed a thin blade and carefully sliced the roots, not damaging the petals. She tucked them into a protective satchel Lexy provided.

 

Two more. One more.

 

Then—

 

A shift in the current.

 

Something moved. A presence.

Not a beast, but qi turbulence—the water veined with unstable power. Her qi pulsed in reaction. The lilies trembled.

 

> “host, surface. Now. You’ve pulled too many lilies too close to the fire-vein. It’s triggering a pressure release.”

 

Yewon turned, kick-slicing upward. The water churned, grew hotter.

She broke the surface like a fish leaping into a new world, clutching the satchel against her chest. Behind her, the water glowed red as if boiling. Steam hissed as a dormant breath of the volcano stirred faintly.

 

Not an eruption, not yet—but a warning.

She dragged herself onto a flat rock, chest rising and falling. Her limbs ached, her body steamed, but in her hands was everything she needed.

And once again, she hadn’t taken shortcuts.

Only the hard way.

The right way.

 

---

Later that evening, she boiled the herbs. She crushed the phoenix feather. She mixed the mineral powder and balanced the fire and water ratios in a delicate alchemy circle. The entire cave was filled with a serene glow, like moonlight infused with fire as she stir the cauldron and infusing her unique celestial qi.  

 

Lexy pinged.

 

> “Boss. Estimated elixir potency: 87%. Perfectly balanced. Once you’re ready—break through.”

 

She held the finished elixir in her hand.

 

The scent was soft. Spicy. Sweet.and there's an a after scent mint something. 

 

Her lips curled upward slightly.

 

“Thanks, Lexy.”

> “Always, Host~.”

 

---

 

The moment Xia Yewon corked the final pill bottle, an unshakable dread washed over her.

Her hands trembled slightly as she stared at the soft-glowing, sky-blue jade box in front of her—containing five perfectly formed, high-grade elixir pills, each radiating a glow that screamed wealth, power, and covetous sin. Their scent alone could enchant a first-class martial master into madness.

 

Lexy’s voice chimed solemnly.

> “Host… those pills… if anyone in the martial world catches even a whiff, you won’t just have enemies. You’ll have entire sects storming your gates. This batch? It’s impossible to recreate for at least a hundred years. These ingredients grow maybe once in a generation.”

 

Yewon’s gaze sharpened. Her breath quickened.

“Lexy.”

> “Yes, Host?”

 

 

“I’m going home.”

 

And with that, she ran.befpre she could even take a pill for herself. 

 

---

 

She didn’t take breaks. She didn’t stop to sleep or eat. Allnight, she dashed through the wilderness, leaping over canyons, skimming over rivers, zigzagging through forests. Her limbs burned. Her robe was torn. Her spiritual qi leaked in trickles from micro-tears in her meridians.

But nothing—nothing—was more terrifying than the idea of being hunted by every sect, cult, and rogue in Murim.

At one point, she hallucinated Lexy riding a giant goose beside her, waving a flag that said: “YOU’RE GONNA DIE IF YOU STOP.”

 

Even her spirit beast pups, who would usually track her qi signature with pinpoint accuracy, couldn’t find her. She was like a phantom on the wind—half-mad, full-panicked, and absolutely done with the martial world crazy fuckers

 

---

 

At sunrise , as dew misted the valley of Xi’an, the gate of Yewon’s Manor creaked open.

Well, rather, it was kicked open, as Yewon—half-dead, dirt-covered, bleeding from shallow cuts and smelling faintly of wildflowers and blood—collapsed face-first at the doorstep, still clutching the jade pill box to her chest like a lifeline.

Her voice cracked out like a death whisper:

 

“…Safe…”

 

And then thud. She passed out cold.

 

“...What the—Yewon-ah?”

Chung Myung’s voice sliced through the silence as he emerged from the garden hammock, wiping plum blossom petals off his face. He was half-asleep, one slipper off, and a rice cake in his hand.

 

He dropped both at the sight of her.

In two steps he was at her side, scooping her up with care only reserved for unconscious people and not his usual punching bags. Her robes were wet and torn, her hair tangled with twigs, and yet—her arms locked tightly around the jade box like a cursed treasure chest.

Behind him, Tang Bo exited the house he was holding a frying pan with sizzling eggs. His eyes widened comically.

 

“...Did she run here from the diyu?!”

 

“Shut up and open the damn door, Bo-ya!”

 

They laid her on the padded bench inside (couch).Her breathing was stable, just exhausted. Her lips moved faintly. Chung Myung leaned in.

 

“…elixirs…” she murmured. “…medicine immortal cave…”

 

Tang Bo nearly dropped the frying pan.

 

---

 

 The Lie That Saved Her Life ∘

Later that evening, with warm broth and ginseng tea force-fed down her throat (courtesy of Tang Bo’s guilty physician instincts), Yewon woke up looking only slightly less feral.

Chung Myung stared at her with narrowed eyes.

 

“What did you bring back?”

 

She hesitated. Lexy pinged in her mind:

 

> “Boss. Say you found it in a cave left behind by  medicine immortal  . Trust me.”

 

And so, Yewon lied like a deadpan actress.

 

“I found… a hidden cave… old one. Inside was the scent of something. There an old box with Pill bottles . It must’ve been the Medicine Immortal’s legacy. Because there eroded medical papers inside the cave. ”

 

A pause.

 

“I took only the box. The others were crumbling. Formation collapsed behind me. Whole place is sealed.”

 

Chung Myung stared at her for a long moment.

 

“…Tch. That medicine immortal was real, huh? That one who made the origin pills ? two grades above top-tier and vanished like a fart in the wind.”

 

Tang Bo was vibrating.

“C-Can I see it?”

“No.”

 

“But—”

“No.”

 

“But—just one peek—!”

 

She pointed at him. “You’ll explode if you do.”

'Bruhhh..  i didn't suffer for you to gawk at my babies(elixirs)like a maniac.  '

 

“…Fine.”

 

 

---

 

 The Reactions: One Sword, One Dagger, One Maniac

 

Chung Myung slumped back into the bench, a hand running down his face.

“So, now we have a box of unreproducible, above top tier elixirs, and every scumbag in kangho will surely kill for even a sniff of it.”

 

Yewon nodded. Her eyes not meeting his.

“Yep.”

“Do you know how much trouble you’ve just brought?”

 

She yawned. “Plenty. But I’m alive.”

“…Damn lunatic.”

 

But the edge of his voice softened. A smirk twitched.

“You better be ready to use one when you reach the threshold, Yewon.”

 

She blinked.

 

“I looted them… for that purpose.”

 

Tang Bo, meanwhile, was curled up on the floor dramatically.

 

“I live with monsters. I live with two  freaks. I thought I was strong—but nooo. One of them steals in a cave. The other glares at you till your qi collapses. I’m just here trying to live, man!”

“Shut up and stir the stew, Tang Bo-ya,” Chung Myung said, tossing him the ladle.

 

---

 

Later that night, with the pill box hidden beneath ten seals, traps. Yewon lay quietly in her room. Her hand rested on her abdomen, sensing the slow movement of her internal qi.The storm was over—for now.

 

She’d made it.

 

She had survived.

 

And one day soon, she would break through.

 

But only after a very long nap.

 

---

 

It had been three days since Yewon collapsed at the manor’s gate with the jade pill box of elixirs clutched like a dragon’s hoard. Three days of rest, soup, and glaring at the ceiling in paranoia while Lexy installed spiritual wards, illusionary arrays, and an automatic air-freshening trap that explodes when someone unauthorized gets too close.

Now fully recovered—and marginally annoyed that she hadn’t died from exhaustion—Yewon sat cross-legged in her private chamber, sipping floral tea with the box of glowing pills on her lap.

Her pups napped nearby, rising and falling like little buns in the sun.

 

Lexy chimed smugly.

> “Soooo… You gonna be a stingy dragon, or are you going to tell your murder-bros they’re getting a share?”

 

Yewon exhaled, then smiled faintly.

 

“…I’ll share. But I’m not running a charity.”

 

---

 The Proposal to Chung Myung

 

Chung Myung was sitting on the veranda, sharpening his sword while chewing on a grilled rice cake. He looked half-bored and half-ready to cause irreversible damage to the flooring.

Yewon sat beside him without ceremony.

 

“I’ll give you a share of the pills.”

 

He paused mid-chew. “...Huh?”

 

“I’ll give you one bottle of the elixirs. In exchange, I want you to buy me a land deeds with official documents and proof of ownership .”

 

“…What land?”

 

Yewon pulled out a loooong map of Xi’an and huayin's borders . 

 

“this here near that river below a mountain slope few li away from the villages . Near the foothills of Hua’am Valley. It’s unclaimed and borders Xi’an and huayin .”

 

He raised a brow. “That useless slope near the  groves?”

 

She smiled angelically. “Useless to most. Not to me.”

Chung Myung narrowed his eyes. “What are you plotting?”

 

Yewon offered him her teacup. “Let’s just say it’s an investment in long-term resources. And don’t worry—I’ll handle the construction. You just need Mount Hua’s connections to secure the rights.”

He stared at her long and hard. “You’re hiding something.”

“Yes. And oh.. the money must come from your pockets. Buy it and transfer the ownership to me. Documents included . ”

 

“...Tch.”

 

But he grabbed her teacup anyway, grumbling.

“…Fine. But if I find out you tricked me into buying a pond full of frogs, I’m tossing you in it.”

 

Yewon’s voice was syrupy sweet.

“I wouldn’t mind a hot spring soak after training~”

 

He choked on the tea.

...crazy

" dont forget to get the magistrate’s to stamp his seals for authenticity.  Just mention to magistrate Zheng , its for "Xia Yewon"  " 

---

 

 The Tang Bo Negotiation

 

Tang Bo barged in an hour later, tossing his dagger into the ceiling beam as usual. “Yewon-ah, Hyung-nim’s pissed about something. Did you trick him again?”

She looked up from her scrolls. “I offered him a gift.”

“Uh-huh. So why’s he swearing ?”

“Anyway,” she stood, “I’ve got something for you, too.”

 

That shut him up.

She opened the jade box, revealing the glowing pills inside.

Tang Bo’s jaw dropped so far Lexy whispered:

 

> “Someone fetch this man a net, his soul just escaped.”

 

“These are top-tier—N-no.. above top-tier elixirs,” tang bo gasp.

Yewon calmly offered . “I’m sharing you one bottle with five pills inside. But I want something in return.”

 

Tang Bo blinked. “Anything!”

 

She raised a brow.

“….I want tTang clan's wood experts,  and  carpenters enought to build something large. Oh bring them After chung myung's part of deal is fullfilled. ”

 

“…Huh?”

 

“You’re a Tang clan elder, and a physician. You can figure it out.”

 

“But how many should I bring?!”

 

Yewon smiled dangerously. “That’s the fun part. Figure it out.”

He screamed internally.

 

---

 

Three hours later, Tang Bo could be found pacing in the garden, talking to himself.

 

“Okay, a pill like that for tang clan's craftmans and woodworkers... wait.. she wants people?? Nah... its probably manpower that she wants”

“I’m not poor, I’m just not suicidal! how will I convince tang patriarch to send the our experts???  ”

 

Eventually, he raided the Tang Clan patriarch's office with a small box containing one pill. and returned days later with approval :

just say the word, ill send our finest craftsmens . 

The scroll said.

Yewon accepted with a straight face.

“Not bad, Tang Bo-ya. Not bad at all. Still cheaper than the pill, but let’s be real, you’ll cough up the rest in meal bills eventually.”

 

“HEY—”

 

---

 

Later that night, while everyone slept, Yewon sat on the manor’s rooftop, staring toward the south—toward the land she would soon own.

Beneath those unassuming trees and hills flowed the qi-rich water vein, home to the Fire Crystal White Lilies and the spring lagoon that she planned to divert and build into a meditation private resort-slash-training hell.

 

Only she and Lexy knew the whole truth.

> “Boss, you now officially have a monopoly on one of the rarest qi-water sources in Jianghu. Thats like owning gusu lan's cold springs~ are we having onsen accidents trope~? ”

 

She smirked, didn't register the foreshadowing of onsen trope.

 

Lexy snickered.

> “Name it?”

 

“…Moonlight Springs.”

> “A little on the nose, but you’re cute, so I’ll allow it.”

 

 

Chapter 37

After finalizing the deals  (and slyly marking the territory on her spiritual map), Yewon focused on the next step: safely consuming the elixirs without attracting half the Murim world like moths to a divine flame.

Naturally, she consulted the most notorious troublemaker she trusted.

 

“Where’s the safest place to consume something this valuable and… explosive in qi output?” she asked, twirling a dried tea leaf between her fingers.

Chung Myung—lying lazily on her garden bench after a sparring session with Tang Bo—opened one eye and muttered like it was obvious:

 

“…The Plum Blossom Caves at Mount Hua.”

She paused. “Isn’t that… mount Hua's  sacred ground?”

“Chung mun Sahyung will allow it.” He yawned. “Just tell the Sect Leader it’s for cultivation and you’ll pay respects to the ancestral tablets. Besides…” His grin turned sly. “…I want to see the look on the disciples’ faces when you come marching in like you own the place.”

 

---

The journey was uneventful, save for Tang Bo nearly falling off a cliff because he insisted on testing his new throwing stance while hiking. By the time they reached Mount Hua’s main gate, the disciples were already whispering.

 

“Isn’t that the "Xia Yewon" ?”

“And Elder chung myung… and… wait… is that Tang Clan’s Dark Saint  with them ?”

 

Are they… finally moving in?? Was their collective thoughts.  

Yewon paid them no mind. She bowed properly to Chung Mun, Mount Hua’s Sect Leader.

 

Her request?

 

Simple.

 

“We wish to ask permission to temporarily occupy some of the  Plum Blossom Caves for a secluded breakthrough. It won’t take more than a week.”

Chung Mun, gave a long narrow look at chung myung but ultimately give then him permission .

“ You have my permission Lady Yewon.  ”

“Thank you, Sect Leader,” Yewon said with a dazzling, innocent smile.

 

---

 

Inside the cave, the air was thick with spiritual energy and the lingering scent of thousands of blooming plum blossoms.

Yewon passed each man their pill like a mother hen feeding ducklings.

“Eat it one at a time, all of it. I'll help you digest them ” she instructed. “And sit still. No screaming. No punching each other halfway through.”

Tang Bo already looked like a nervous wreck. “Are you sure it won’t kill me? I mean… I’m still young! I have dreams! I have debts I haven’t paid!”

Chung Myung snorted, already popping the pill into his mouth without ceremony.

“Don’t die. It’s expensive, and you've already loaned one pill and used it to bribe Tang Gaju ” Yewon said sweetly, tossing her own pill back like taking a cough drop.

 

The reaction?

 

Immediate.

Qi surged through the cave, thick enough to turn the air syrupy. The walls trembled. The ancient plum trees outside shivered in resonance.

And then… the impurities started oozing out of both men.

Chung Myung’s skin flushed deep red as black mist poured from his pores.

Tang Bo let out a strangled cry as dark sludge rolled down his arms and legs.

Is that poisons???

 

The stench…

By the heavens, the stench!

is this the stench of rotten alcohol?? This drunkards!!

 

Yewon, trying to suppress her gag reflex, covered her nose with her sleeve, her face going pale.

 

“This is worse than feng's diarrhea!” she coughed.

 

Lexy’s voice is full of disgust. 

> … rolled in vinegar… then left under the summer sun to simmer for three days.

 

Gagging, Yewon kicked a boulder near the cave entrance, sending it flying halfway down the slope.

 

“NOPE!” 

Without another word, she turned tail and ran towards the plum blossom trees, coughing and swearing under her breath.

 

---

 

 Outside the Cave…

 

Disciples in the distance froze at the sound of the boulder crashing downhill.

“…Is Mount Hua under attack?” one outer disciple whimpered.

“No… That’s just Elder Chung Myung and his… uh… guests ? .”

 

“…Did you smell something ?”

" I thought its just me.. you smelled it too ? " 

"......" 

“…We Better light incense for ourselves. Just in case.”

 

---

 Later That Evening…

 

Once the qi calmed and the impurities faded, Chung Myung and Tang Bo emerged from the cave looking more radiant than ever—skin glowing, qi practically vibrating in the air.

Tang Bo stretched, feeling power coursing through him. “...Hyung-nim, I feel like I can throw my daggers straight through a mountain now.”

Chung Myung grinned. “You still couldn’t scratch me with them, though.”

 

Tang Bo: “...I WILL.”

 

And when Yewon finally dared return, still holding her sleeve over her nose, she too finished digesting her elixirs but she didn’t shed impurities like this two. She was clean.

“Next time,” she muttered icily, “I’m making you both bathe in the river first before taking any elixir. The entire mountain smells like a sewer.”

" there's next time?! " that was Tang Bo’s excited ass.

Lexy chimed dryly:

> “Congratulations, Boss. The Moonlight Fae’s first major breakthrough… and it smells like regret.”

 

Yewon kicked another rock at Tang Bo just for good measure.

 

---

 

The three days after the breakthrough at the Plum Blossom Caves, Chung Myung swaggered into Yewon’s manor like he hadn’t almost drowned in his own impurities two days ago.

He dropped a heavy scroll tied with a red silk ribbon onto her tea table with a loud, obnoxious thud.

Yewon, still sipping her tea while sitting cross-legged on her garden bench, blinked at it. Then at him.

 

“…What’s this?”

 

Chung Myung grinned like he’d just robbed heaven itself.

“The deed to that entire mountain slope near the  River. You know, that land you told me to buy in exchange ? .”

 

Yewon nearly spat her tea.

 

Her eyes narrowed. “You—how? That was fast. ”

 

Chung Myung plopped down across from her, grabbed a rice cracker from the tray, and answered between bites.

“Bandits.”

 

Yewon’s eyebrow twitched. “Bandits?”

“Yeah. Water bandits, mountain bandits, desert bandits… you name it.” He waved a lazy hand like talking about a grocery list.

“Didn’t kill ‘em though. I’m a responsible Elder. Just… beat them black and blue, dragged them to the nearest magistrate, and collected the bounty.”

“And the… loot?” she asked suspiciously.

Chung Myung shrugged. “Gave most of it back to the villages they raided. As grains. I just kept what I needed for the land.”

“…You used bandit bounty money to buy me land,” she said flatly.

“Technically, it’s still righteous money,” he said with a grin, wiggling his brows.

 

Tang Bo, lounging on the other side of the pavilion playing with Feng (who was chewing his sleeve again), laughed until he choked on air. “Hyung-nim… you’re a walking disaster .”

Yewon sighed, taking the deed and documents and rolling it open. As she scanned the official seal and boundaries listed, a smile curled on her lips.

 

This was perfect.

---

 

 The Great Secret Construction Plan

 

“Thank you for the deed,” she said sweetly, then tucked it away into her sleeve. “Now…”

 

Her smile turned positively threatening.

“You are not allowed to loiter anywhere near the property until construction is complete. No peeking. No spying. No excuses.”

 

Chung Myung’s face fell. “What? Why?!”

 

“It’s a secret.”

“Secret my foot! I risked my fists for that land!”

“You’ll thank me later.”

 

Tang Bo, still playing with Ying who had moved on to chew his bootlaces, snorted. “Hyung-nim, just accept it. When she says ‘secret,’ she means business. Even I’m not allowed to hang around.”

Yewon turned toward Tang Bo with that innocent face of hers. “Speaking of you…”

 

Tang Bo froze. Yewon brought him away from chung myung. 

“ send words to craftsmen from your Tang Clan. Good ones. The best woodworkers, stone masons, and decorators. I will to discuss their job on site.  ”

“…You’re building something .” Tang Bo deadpanned.

Yewon smiled wider. “Exactly.”

Tang Bo threw his hands up in surrender. “Fine, fine! I’ll send word to the clan as per our deal !.”

Chung Myung scowled dramatically, arms crossed over his chest waiting for the two. 

 

 

“I can’t believe I collected bandits for this…” he grumbled.

“Would you like a fruit platter as thanks?” Yewon offered sweetly.

Chung Myung pointed at her. “You owe me a full-course meal. No! Wait! Three. With meat. Lots of it.”

“Deal.”

 

Lexy’s voice chimed in her head:

>“Boss… you’re manipulating them like NPC side quest givers.”

 

Yewon laughed softly under her breath. “They’re the best kind of party members though.”

---

Over the next few weeks, Yewon guarded her land like a dragon hoarding gold.

 The entire slope got cordoned off by Tang Clan craftsmen working day and night. Whenever Chung Myung tried to sneak up the road out of curiosity,ayewon would miraculously material in thin air behind him with that....THAT smile .

 

Tang Bo is surprisingly well behaved with somi.

Chung Myung nursed his bruised pride from a nearby tree.

 

“Why did I buy that damn land again…”

 

“…She’s enjoying this way too much,” Chung Myung grumbled.

 

---

 

 

The Manor Construction Begins — Yewon the Reluctant Landowner

 

The courtyard outside Yewon’s temporary pavilion was lively that morning.

Several Tang Clan wood experts, stone masons, and construction supervisors had come with blueprints, scrolls, measuring ropes, and samples of various materials laid out on long work tables.

One of the elder woodworkers a middle-aged Tang craftsman , stood in front of Yewon holding several polished wood planks.

“Lady Yewon, we’ll need your preferences before we start. What type of wood do you want for the main support beams and the fencing? Cedar? Cypress? We also have Nanmu wood, more expensive but resistant to humidity.”

 

Yewon, seated at her small tea table with Lexy’s floating interface open at her side, glanced up.

“Hmmm… Cypress for the fencing around the garden and bamboo grove area,” she said thoughtfully, stirring her tea. “And Nanmu for the structural beams of the main manor.”

 

The wood expert nodded approvingly. “Excellent choices, my lady. For the floors?”

Yewon tapped her lip. “Stone for the bathhouse poolbed  and hot spring area. Smooth river stones, preferably light gray, and polished to be slip-resistant but still rustic. For the manor interior… dark hardwood floors. Make sure they’re well-treated for moisture since we’ll have a spring nearby.”

 

Another Tang Clan craftsman quickly noted that down.

The head mason stepped forward next, scratching his beard. “Lady Yewon… about the hot spring pool itself. How deep and wide do you want it? And do you want it sculpted from natural stone?”

 

Yewon answered with no hesitation.

“Dig at least four meters deep. Keep the walls sloped and smooth for safety. Layer the sides with large natural stones for aesthetic and durability. Below that, use bricks and seal with mortar to prevent leaks or soil erosion. I want a shallow side for sitting and a deeper section for full soaking.”

 

She pointed to a sketch Lexy helped her make.

 

“Oh,” she added, “And around the perimeter of the hot spring, plant a thick wall of bamboo stalks. I want natural privacy. The sound of bamboo rustling with the wind will make the air feel less heavy with qi during summer.”

The landscaper in charge of the garden looked visibly excited at that. “That’ll look beautiful, Lady Yewon.”

 

---

 

 Bedrooms and Layout Preferences

Another craftsman stepped up with a scroll plan. “Where would you like your bedroom placed, my lady? Ground floor or second floor? Facing the garden? Or the hot spring?”

 

Yewon smiled faintly.

“Second floor, south side, with balcony access. I want to wake up and see the mountains and fixed a wind catcher in the ceiling .” She paused, thinking. “Guest bedrooms… keep them on the ground floor near the living room for easier access. Three rooms are enough.”

She tapped her fan lightly against her palm. “One guest room should be large enough for Chung Myung… just in case he shows up uninvited for days again.”

 

One of the carpenters barely suppressed a laugh.

The mason grinned. “Should we reinforce the walls for soundproofing too, my lady? Just in case you and the Plum Blossom Sword Saint end up sparring inside?”

Yewon’s smile didn’t falter, but her next words made the entire crew sweat.

 

“Make the walls strong enough to withstand… moderate property damage.”

 

Everyone took the hint.

 

---

While Yewon continued giving instructions, Lexy chimed in through her mind link.

 

> Lexy:

“Boss, your taste is borderline ‘reclusive hermit with expensive hobbies.’ I love it. But you sure you don’t want me to add a koi pond with moonlight reflection effects?”

 

Yewon, sipping her tea:

“Next phase, Lexy. Next phase.”

 

> Lexy:

“Understood! Also… I finished designing the indoor pool just for your use and located it one of the hidden corners of the manor 2.0 construction plan~”

Yewon smiled slyly at that.

 

---

 A Closing Note for the Day

 

By the end of the meeting, with construction plans finalized and material lists sent back to the Tang Clan’s supply house, the workers bowed and left to begin the groundwork.

Yewon stayed seated under the shade of her pavilion, fingers slowly rolling the land deed Chung Myung gave her weeks ago.

Her gaze wandered toward the mountain horizon, already imagining the final result—the scent of bamboo, the steam of the spring, the peace of isolation…

 

And most importantly…

 

Her own space.

 

Where no one—not even a certain nosy Sword Saint or a loud-mouthed dagger brat—could interrupt her .

 

 

 

Chapter 38

 

It started with dust.

 

A lot of it.

Yewon adjusted the silk scarf over her nose as she stood on the newly flattened ground of her soon-to-be second manor. The air was thick with soil particles, wood shavings, and the scent of sun-warmed cedar logs.

From where she stood, she could see the skeletal framework of the main hall rising from the earth. Nanmu wood beams, just as she ordered, stood upright like silent sentinels, their dark golden grain catching the morning light. Workers moved between them like ants, measuring, hammering, sawing.

The foundation stones had been laid days ago, each slab carefully positioned and reinforced with mortar. The courtyard was still nothing but compacted dirt, but she could already imagine the future—the flow of the stone pathways, the arrangement of the small rock garden near the southern wall.

Her gaze drifted toward the west corner where she had instructed the bamboo grove fence to be built.

Right now… it was an empty poolbed.

 

Just waiting.

 

Waiting for water source to be unearthed. 

 Lexy’s interface popped up in her peripheral vision.

> Boss, congratulations! The property is shaping up nicely… looks like a wealthy retired sect master’s vacation home. All it needs now is a ‘Do Not Disturb’ plaque and a few wandering cranes for aesthetic.

Yewon chuckled under her breath. “I’ll consider the cranes later.”

Her next stop was the guest wing, still under scaffolding.

The workers were currently raising the frame for the living room extension, and the guest rooms nearby were already marked out with wooden planks. She stepped carefully across the unfinished floor, already visualizing where she’d place cushions and the low table for tea.

She didn’t miss the fact that one of the rooms was slightly bigger than the others—the one reserved for Chung Myung, of course. The thought made her smile faintly.

Moving toward the kitchen area, Yewon could smell freshly treated pine boards being sawn for shelving. She reminded herself to request clay tiles for the kitchen roof to prevent summer heat from turning it into a stove.

 

But…

 

As she stepped outside toward the future bathhouse, her smile dropped.

The ground was still dry.

Cracked earth, no spring, no flowing water… just excavation pits and piles of gravel waiting for her decision.

Yewon crouched near the deep hollowed space meant for the hot spring pool, letting her fingers trace the dusty earth.

The water vein… The crucial life source of this entire project… still lay untouched, untouched because it was several meters underground and linked directly to the underwater cave she’d discovered months ago.

Her voice dropped to a soft murmur. “Lexy… progress report on the water vein connection?”

 

> Still stable, Boss. I’ve done several scans of the geological layer. The primary water vein flows southwest from the cave under your old manor, curves around the rocky shelf, and passes within thirty meters under this plot. But…

 

Yewon raised an eyebrow. “But?”

> Opening a direct channel to it… would require breaking at least three dense soil layers and maneuvering around a quartz-heavy rock bed. Doable… but time-consuming and exhausting. Unless you want me to suggest a makeshift pipeline system instead?

Yewon hummed thoughtfully. “No pipelines… too risky if theres an earthquake. I want the natural qi to flow naturally throught the earth. Let me think.”

 

---

For the next few weeks, every time Yewon visited, the manor took more shape.

 

First week

• The roofing tiles arrived. Dark gray, clay-fired, durable against both rain and snow.
• The inner walls of the main hall went up. Wooden panels carved with minimalistic patterns.
• The support columns were polished to a soft shine.

Second week:

• The bamboo stalks were finally planted around the springs perimeter. Thin and swaying now, but in a few months they will grow thick enough to act as a natural privacy screen.
• of course they would still put up an actual fence to divide the hotspring pool into two sections. 
• Stone masons began lining the hollowed spring basin with river stones, per her previous instructions.

Third week:

• The windows and doors were fitted.
• Her second-floor bedroom already had floor planks and beams strong enough for her to walk on and inspect.
• the ceiling where the wind catcher is taking shape too.

From her new balcony, she could envision the view that would greet her every sunrise.

Fourth week:

• The kitchen furnace was finally built.
• The guest rooms were painted with protective sealants against humidity. Tang Clan’s secret wood treatment. 

 

And the hot-spring bed … still a dry pool… still waiting.

Yewon stood near the edge of the unfinished spring one late afternoon, arms crossed, gazing at the horizon.

The workers were packing up for the day, leaving her alone in the growing dusk light.

Her mind replayed Lexy’s geological scan once more. Three dense soil layers. fifty seven meters down. Quartz bed in the way.

And her qi cultivation… currently more than enough to handle some earth-shattering manual labor, if she focused.

 

She cracked her knuckles.

 

“Guess I’ll have to handle this part myself.”

 

>That’s the spirit! I’ll provide a real-time cross-section map overlay as you dig. Don’t forget to stretch your shoulders, Boss.

 

Yewon smiled, rolling up her sleeves, feeling her qi gather hot and sharp along her fingertips.

 

---

 Chapter: Breathing Life Into Stone — The Birth of Yewon’s Hot Spring

 

The air inside the women's section of the newly constructed hot spring was thick with humidity and the faint, earthy smell of freshly unearthed soil and stone.

Yewon stood barefoot on the polished granite edge, sleeves of her training robes rolled up to her elbows. Her hair was braided and pinned atop her head to keep it from getting in the way, though a few damp strands clung stubbornly to her nape.

Her eyes narrowed, focused entirely on the large, half-finished pool before her.

The pool itself stretched ten meters long, with natural granite boulders set as dividers and flow-breakers between the shallow and deep sections. Each side of the hot spring—the women’s and the men’s—had its own carved stone stairways and separate entrance pathways screened by tall bamboo fences.

 

Everything was finally ready.

 

Now… it was time for her part.

 

---

 

Yewon settled down cross-legged at the poolside. She rested her palms flat against the cool stone surface, fingers splayed as she began to circulate her qi.

The sensation was immediate.

Her qi responded like a ripple over still water, flowing through her meridians and down through the stone, spreading like spider silk through the earth below.

Lexy’s voice rang faintly in her mind—calm, professional, but with a note of anticipation:

 

> Warning, host : The water vein you’re trying to tap is under moderate to high pressure. Estimated heat at the source: near boiling. Structural integrity of your underground channel must be reinforced with controlled qi compression. Collapse risk: 43% if done carelessly.

 

Yewon exhaled slowly.

 

Her eyes shut tight, and she pushed harder.

The earth beneath her feet hummed as she sent waves of burning-hot qi surging deeper underground, tunneling carefully like a patient sculptor carving through fragile glass.

Her qi moved forward, layer by layer—melting hard stone where needed, compacting loose soil to prevent sinkholes, and tempering soft earth until it was as dense as ceramic.

Sweat gathered on her brow.

Her shoulders trembled as she reached the seven-meter depth mark, where Lexy’s readings said the water vein pulsed closest to the surface.

 

And then—

 

There it was.

A sudden, violent surge of warmth pushed back at her qi, almost like a dragon being disturbed in its sleep.

Yewon gritted her teeth and hastily compressed her qi, forming a makeshift seal at the opening.

The pressure behind it was immense. Even from here, she could feel the tremble of earth and the swelling heat begging to burst through.

 

If she made one mistake…

If she let the seal rupture before stabilizing the flow…

The entire bathing ground could crack open like a shattered pot.

 

---

 

 Guiding the Flow

 

Slowly, carefully, Yewon released the seal just enough for the first rush of superheated water to burst upward. She jumd back and let the surging water out. 

A thick column of steam exploded from underneath, hissing like an angry beast.

The water hit the pool floor with a roar, instantly filling the air with humidity and mist.

 

She didn’t stop there.

Yewon kept guiding her qi through the underground channel from the back , crafting small, controlled escape routes toward the man-made rocky stream they built earlier to prevent overflow.

The design was intentional:

 

When the water level reached a certain level, it would naturally spill into the overflow channel, trickling down toward the nearby river, cooling along the way before reaching the village far downstream.

Lexy’s system interface flickered to life beside her, virtual graphs and diagrams showing real-time pressure readings and flow rates.

 

> Qi compression stable. Flow rate optimal. Surface temperature decreasing… dangerous boil level dropping… Estimated  seven hours before the water cools enough for human soaking. Well done, Boss.

 

Yewon allowed herself a tired smile.

---

 

 Indoor Hot Spring Pipeline

 

Before the water cooled too much, Yewon turned her focus to the second task she had planned in secret for weeks: more like bribes the craftsmen into building secretly.  

Lexy’s hidden project—a concealed pipeline system that would channel this rich, warm, qi-infused water directly into her private indoor bathhouse inside the manor.

With a final exertion of her qi, she opened the small stone-sealed inlet connected to the indoor pipe system, allowing a controlled trickle of hot spring water to flow through.

 

> Pipeline opening successful. Indoor hot spring filling in progress. Filtration and flow-through system functional. Even if Boss forgets to clean it for a century, no stagnant water will occur. You’re welcome.

Yewon chuckled, breathing heavily as she rose to her feet on unsteady legs. Her robes clung to her back with sweat. The mist from the pool stuck to her skin.

 

But…

 

The hot spring was alive now.

A pulse of warm qi filled the air like a living thing.

She stood there, surveying her work as the water level gradually stabilized. Steam rolled across the bamboo fencing and drifted up to the sky.

 

---

 The Finishing Touch

Once the temperature was low enough for soaking, Yewon placed a smooth, hand-selected river stone over the primary outlet, adjusting the flow to prevent sudden bursts.

The water now rose steadily—warm, clear, and endlessly flowing.

The air smelled faintly of minerals and earth… calming, like the breath of the mountain itself.

Yewon stood with her hands on her hips, shoulders drooping slightly from fatigue but with satisfaction written all over her tired face.

 

 “Finally… done…”

 

 

---

Tomorrow, she’d let the others know.

But tonight…

Tonight, this spring was hers alone.

 

And not even Lexy would argue with that.

 

 

Chapter 39

The steam curled lazily over the surface of the water, misting the air with a soft veil of heat. The scent of earth, stone, and faint minerals filled Yewon’s lungs as she exhaled, her shoulders slumping with the kind of weariness only hard work and focused qi could bring.

The women’s section of the spring was quiet. The only sound was the gentle splash of water trickling from the stone outflow, where the newly guided water vein poured steadily into the pool. Large granite boulders stood as silent guardians between the men’s and women’s sides, their surfaces still cool to the touch despite the surrounding heat.

Yewon sat on the edge for a moment, her feet dipped into the water first. The warmth rushed up her legs, soaking into muscle and bone. A small sigh escaped her lips before she lowered herself in, inch by inch, until the water wrapped around her body like a lover’s embrace.

Her skin prickled at first—too hot, almost—but she welcomed the sensation. The deep, radiant heat worked into her muscles, unwinding knots she hadn’t even known were there. She tilted her head back, resting it against the smooth stone lining the pool, closing her eyes for just a moment.

Her qi, still stirred from earlier, hummed faintly in her core. She could feel the faint pull of the water vein, as if the earth itself was still singing in response to her earlier call.

 

“…Haa…”

 

The sound left her lips, half a sigh, half a soft laugh.

 

Yewon let herself slide lower, until the water reached just below her chin. Her loose hair floated around her like dark silk ribbons, spreading gently with the current.

Steam rose. The air thickened. Her skin flushed with warmth.

With her eyes still closed, Yewon lifted her hands out of the water, cupping them together and letting the hot spring water slip through her fingers. Droplets clung to her lashes when she opened her eyes again.

 

Her thoughts drifted.

All the weeks of building this… tapping the water vein… laying the stones… controlling the flow with her qi until her meridians felt raw.

 

Now, finally, she sat in the result of her effort.

 

A small smile tugged at her lips.

 

“…Not bad,” she murmured to herself.

 

Good job tang experts!

Good job lexy!

Good job Me! 

 

---

 

For one whole week… Yewon kept the hot springs to herself.

She soaked morning and night, sometimes before dawn when the air was still cold, sometimes at sunset when the steam turned gold under the sinking light. The rich qi within the water seeped into her skin, flowing through her meridians like gentle, liquid fire.

Every muscle loosened. Every wound, even the tiny micro-tears from her sword practice, faded quicker than before. Her qi circulation, always sharp from years of training, became smoother, deeper, like a stream that had finally been cleared of debris.

 

And most importantly…

 

No one was there to bother her.

 

—No Tang Bo dragging her by the sleeve to “test some new medicine.” This bastard has a habit of making a geniea pig 

—No Chung Myung appearing out of nowhere, throwing himself onto her porch and demanding food or tea or both.

 

She had locked them out with one simple rule:

> “No one steps near the construction site until I say so. Non-negotiable.”

 

Even when Tang Bo sent her an(noying)xious letters:

 

> “Yewon-ah, this silence is killing me! Are you dying over there? Are you secretly smuggling weapons? Did you get caught by the officials ??”

And when Chung Myung, the infamous Plum Blossom Sword Saint himself, shamelessly use her first manor in xian like he was the owner himself during her absence.  

 

She ignored them both.

---

 

One Week Later – The Invitation

 

A crisp letter arrived for the two. Handwritten in Yewon’s clean, practiced brushstrokes:

 

 

To Dark Saint Tang Bo and that annoying Sword Saint,

 

>  come over here everythings finished. 

bring light clothes.

Don’t eat too much beforehand.

And don’t ask questions.

And Yes, both of you.

—Yewon.

---

 

Tang Bo arrived first.

 

He looked half-crazed, wearing loose robes like he’d rushed out of his lab mid-experiment.

“I swear… if this turns out to be some weird training ground where you make me run up mountains again, I’m going back to my clan! .”

Then came Chung Myung, hands folded behind his head, looking both bored and suspicious.

“What now? Another spar? Another new garden you want to show off? You’ve been acting secretive for weeks.”

 

Yewon waited for them by the entrance to her new manor, wearing a faint smile that, for once, she didn’t even bother hiding.

“No talking. Follow me.”

 

She led them down the newly carved stone steps, past freshly planted shrubs, through a wooden archway she had personally designed.

Steam curled at their feet as the air grew warmer.

The scent of mineral-rich water filled their lungs.

 

Then… they saw it.

 

---

Their Reaction

 

Tang Bo froze mid-step. His mouth hung open.

“…What… the hell… is this…?”

—his clan's mens didn’t told him about this at all ! He even bribe them his finest poisoned needles! How dare they left this out . 

 

Chung Myung stopped walking entirely. One eye twitched.

“…Oi. Yewon-ah.” His voice was low, slow, and dangerously calm. “Is this… a hot spring?”

'When did a hot spring appear in this area??? From what he remembered, he bought a mountain slope and the land below with nothing but thick growing weeds ' 

Yewon clasped her hands behind her back, her tone casual, but her grin positively wolfish.

“Not just any hot spring.” She walked over to the edge, crouched, and let her fingers skim the surface of the steaming water.

 

“Qi-rich and Fully stabilized water vein. Well placed pool dividers .exclusively Custom-built by Tang craftsmen under my direct supervision. And, most importantly—” she glanced back at them, “—mine.”

 

Tang Bo made a sound between a choke and a whimper.

“Qi-rich and  exclusive?? You mean you’ve been soaking in this for a week? Without telling us?!”

 

Yewon hummed happily.

“Yes and yes , its a surprise~ ”

 

Chung Myung’s expression darkened in real time.

“…You mean to tell me… that while I was dragging myself through training… and Tang Bo here was losing hair over sparring… you were here…”

 

Yewon tilted her head, unbothered.

“Mm-hmm.”

 

Tang Bo clutched his chest dramatically, collapsing to his knees.

“I’ve never felt this level of betrayal… Not from you, Yewon-ah… Not like this…”

 

Yewon stifled a laugh behind her sleeve.

"Sucks to be you~ " 

 

Chung Myung, however, cracked his knuckles.

“Ha… Is that so…?”

 

For a long moment, she expected him to throw a tantrum, maybe jump into the water fully clothed just to spite her.

Instead… he just stared at her… then at the water…

 

Then back at her.

 

“…You sly, selfish fox.” His lips curled… into a grin.

“…I’m impressed.”

 

Her little secret project… was now fully revealed.

And judging by their reactions…

It had been worth every second of keeping it secret.

 

---

 

The late afternoon sun cast long, golden streaks across the courtyard as Yewon led the two men through the winding stone paths of her newly completed Manor 2.0. she wants to give them a tour of the manor.

 

Tang Bo whistled low under his breath as he craned his neck to take in the view.

“Yewon-ah… this place… It’s huge. Way bigger than your old manor back in Xi’an.”

 

Chung Myung trailed behind, hands stuffed into his sleeves, giving lazy glances at the tall wooden beams, the wide open-air corridors, and the intricate stonework along the garden walls.

“Ha… You’ve been secretly building a place like this while we were out there suffering.”

 

Yewon turned slightly, giving them both a sly smile.

“I earned it.” 

 

They followed her down the hall.

One by one, she opened the doors to the guest rooms.

 

“Your rooms are on this side,” she said, motioning towards two spacious chambers overlooking the forested slope below. “Feel free to use them anytime you visit. No need to sleep on the floor like last time.”

 

Tang Bo let out a dramatic sigh of relief, already sprawling face-first onto the bed like a man starved for comfort. Please remember he's from a wealthy clan. 

Chung Myung peeked inside his room, noting the neatly folded bedding and soft cushions.

 

“Hoh… You’re spoiling us now.”

 

Yewon rolled her eyes and kept walking.

After the short tour of the main house—kitchen, meditation room, small private training yard—they reached the pathway leading toward the hot spring area.

The air grew warmer, the faint scent of minerals teasing at the edge of their senses.

But before they could wander ahead, Yewon turned, holding up a finger.

 

“Now… before you two get carried away…”

 

She gestured to the two clearly marked paths splitting off just ahead.

“Left side. That’s your entrance,” she said, pointing to the one shaded by tall bamboo and lined with stone lanterns. “It leads to your section of the spring. The men’s side.”

 

Tang Bo blinked. “Wait, there’s a divider?”

 

“There’s a divider,” Yewon confirmed with a firm nod.

 

“And no—” she fixed her gaze directly on Chung Myung, “—you’re not allowed to climb over it out of curiosity ”

 

Chung Myung made a face like she’d personally insulted him.

“Yah. As if I’d bother doing that.”

 

Yewon raised an eyebrow.

 

Tang Bo laughed, delighted. “Pffft!  What did I miss?”

 

“Too much,” Yewon muttered.

 

She cleared her throat and continued.

“Second rule.”

 

She lifted two fingers this time.

“No martial arts inside the pool. I don’t care if you want to throw each other around outside, but not in the water. If you mess up the flow or damage the stonework, I’ll kick you both out.”

 

Tang Bo dramatically wiped fake sweat from his forehead.

“Understood, manor master!”

“And lastly,” she held up three fingers, “wash before you soak. There’s a washing area right before the spring entrance. Use it. I don’t want dirt, dust, or sweat contaminating the water I worked so hard to acquire. And also , there's towels you can use when you soak in the pool ”

Tang Bo gave her an exaggerated salute. “Yes,  Yewon-ah !”

Chung Myung just snorted. “Tch… What kind of fool goes in dirty, anyway?”

 

Yewon gave him a long stare.

 

He avoided eye contact.

 

“…Moving on.”

 

Yewon relaxed her stance a bit, then added with a softer smile:

“I didn’t design this whole manor and Hot spring just for myself. It’s for all three of us. Exclusively.”

 

Tang Bo froze mid-laugh.

“…Wait. You mean…”

 

Chung Myung blinked.

“…You built this whole thing… just for us three?”

 

Yewon nodded, giving a small shrug like it wasn’t a big deal.

“I thought it would be nice to share this Qi-rich water with you madmens. So… use it. But follow my rules.”

 

Without waiting for their next round of complaints or fake tears, she waved them off.

“Go. Enjoy yourselves.”

 

And with that, she disappeared toward the path to her side of the spring, leaving the two of them standing there in stunned silence.

 

---

At the Men’s Side of the Hot Spring

 

Later, after washing thoroughly like scolded children, both men sank into the steaming, qi-rich water.

 

Tang Bo stretched out with a groan loud enough to shake the trees.

 

“Ohhh… This is… This is heavenly…”

 

He slid lower until just his nose poked out, eyes half-lidded.

Chung Myung lounged at the far end, arms stretched out along the stone edge behind him, looking far too relaxed for someone usually full of sharp words and restless energy.

 

“…Tch.” He tilted his head back, letting the steam rise over his face. “…Not bad.”

 

Tang Bo cracked one eye open, grinning.

“‘Not bad,’ he says… when I know full well this is the most relaxed he’s been in years.”

 

“…Shut up.”

 

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes.

Then—

 

Splash.

 

“Yah! Don’t kick water at me, you leech brat!”

“Stop hogging the good spot with the strongest qi flow! Hyung-nim”

 

“I sat here first!”

“Move over! I’ll poison you in your sleep if you don’t let me sit there!”

 

Bonk! 

 

From the other side of the divider, Yewon heard every word.

Resting her chin on the edge of her own pool, she sighed, shaking her head fondly.

 

“…Idiots.”

 

But there was a smile on her face.

 

 

---

 

Night settled softly over the mountain, casting long shadows across the polished wood floors of Manor 2.0. A warm breeze drifted through the open veranda where Yewon had set a low table. A small clay kettle steamed gently beside three cups, the scent of roasted barley and ginseng filling the air.

Tang Bo arrived first, still towel-drying his hair, his face flushed pink from the soak. His skin looked healthier already, with a glow that only came from hours spent soaking in rich qi water.

 

Chung Myung followed next.

 

He was barefoot, hair damp and tousled, his robe loose around the shoulders. He didn’t even bother hiding the lazy half-lidded look in his eyes—his usual sharp edges dulled under the lingering heat and comfort of the spring.

Yewon poured the tea with slow, practiced movements, watching both of them settle down.

The moment the cups touched the table, she spoke:

 

“So…” She lifted her gaze. “How’s the manor?”

 

Tang Bo immediately straightened his back, as if waiting for this exact question.

“I was waiting for you to ask!” he said, eyes bright with enthusiasm. “First of all, the expansion is huge and the foundation work on the west wing looks solid. The airflow circulation? Excellent—you won’t get hot easily during the hot season. And the bathhouse design—brilliant. The use of granite for the spring perimeter helps retain heat naturally, and the quality of the water vein is just…many martial artist sects and clans would kill for this !”

 

He clapped his hands together with mock reverence.

“I’ll say it now—this place is leagues above your old manor in Xi’an.”

 

Yewon chuckled softly behind her cup.

“I’m glad you approve.”

 

Tang Bo leaned closer over the table, still rambling excitedly.

“And don’t get me started on the garden path design! The slight elevation change between the courtyard and the hot spring walkway—it makes the whole place feel like a hidden retreat! Even the choice of shrubbery along the divider—ah, I’m touched, really…”

" this is a hidden retreat tang bo-ya" she chuckles at his antics.

Chung Myung gave a lazy grunt from his spot near the corner, lounging on the floor with his cup resting against his knee.

“…It’s nice,” he said at last, voice low and slow, the words rolling out like honey.

 

Tang Bo paused mid-sentence, turning to stare.

“…That’s it? ‘It’s nice?’ That’s all you’re going to say dosa-hyungnim?! My clans men know no better because they thought its just ordinary hot spring!! This one is rich in Qi !!! ”

 

Chung Myung yawned, completely ignoring him.

“It’s my first time soaking in something like that,” he added a beat later. “Feels… good.”

He stretched both arms overhead with a quiet groan of satisfaction, then flopped sideways onto the floor, staring lazily at the ceiling beams.

“…Too good, maybe.”

 

Tang Bo gawked at him like he’d just heard a different man speaking.

“Who are you and what did you do with the real Plum Blossom Sword Saint?!”

 

Yewon couldn’t help laughing under her breath.

“It’s rare to see you this… soft,” she teased, looking directly at Chung Myung.

He cracked one eye open, a half-smile curling at the corner of his lips.

“…Blame the hot spring. Not me. Im in a good mood ”

 

Tang Bo held up his cup in mock toast.

“To Yewon’s hot spring, then. The only thing in the world strong enough to make this demon act like a human being for once.”

Yewon lifted her own cup to join the toast, her smile warm and satisfied.

“To the spring.”

 

And for a little while longer… under the quiet night sky… the three of them stayed there:

Drinking tea, sharing lazy conversation, and soaking in the rare peace that only friendship—and a well-earned hot spring—could bring.

 

Chapter 40: Talks of love

Summary:

Tang Bo will have a very serious matter to discuss with the two separately.

Notes:

I might get busy for the whole month 😭 my on the job traaining is starting next week ! I have 300 hours to finish.

Anyway. Happy birthday to my beautiful,cute,sweet, sharp witted , my babyyyy niece!💗💗💗💗💗

Please dont read your tita's works .

 

The afternoon sun filtered gently through the lattice windows of Yewon’s study on the second floor.

A faint breeze moved through the room, drawn in by the cleverly placed wind catcher fixed in the ceiling—Lexy’s design, no doubt. The air smelled of fresh ink, tea leaves, and sun-warmed wood.

Yewon sat cross-legged on a cushioned mat near the low table by the open balcony. Beyond her, the mountain slope stretched far and green, dotted with distant village rooftops beyond the hills.

Her sleeves were rolled up just enough to keep them from dragging across the papers spread before her. Documents… cost ledgers, maintenance reports, material orders—mundane but necessary.

When Tang Bo knocked on her door, it took barely a breath before her voice answered:

“Come in.”

 

He slid the door open, stepping inside.

And despite having already spent a day exploring the new manor, he still found himself in awe.

The room was open and airy. The ceiling high but never cold. Every structural detail worked with the mountain wind, making the space feel both intimate and endless.

He sat down across from her, pouring himself a cup of tea from the still-warm kettle on the side tray.

For a few moments, there was only the sound of Yewon’s brush scratching against parchment.

Tang Bo let her work, but the weight in his chest made it impossible to sit quietly for long.

Finally, as her brush lifted mid-stroke, she glanced up at him with a mild, but curious look.

 

“Something wrong with you?” she asked casually.

Tang Bo gave a crooked grin at first. “Me? Nah.”

 

Then… it faded.

The air shifted.

His voice turned low, steady.

 

“…There’s something wrong with you.”

Her hand froze midair.

“…And with Hyung-nim.”

 

The brush paused completely.

Ink threatened to pool on the paper as she lifted her gaze fully to him.

Her expression stayed neutral at first… but her eyes…

Her eyes sharpened.

“…What do you mean by that?” Her tone lowered, threading between wary and dangerous.

Tang Bo let out a slow, frustrated breath and set down his cup with a sharp clink.

“Yewon-ah… don’t play dumb with me.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at her with rare, pointed seriousness.

“You think I’ve been tagging along with you two for years… blind? I knew since day one. The first time he introduced me to you… I knew.”

 

Her fingers tightened slightly around her brush.

“Tang Bo—”

“No. Listen.” He cut her off, voice gaining speed.

“At first I thought it was just his personality. You know… that Hyung-nim way of acting distant, cold, and too busy with sword practice to care about anything human. But no. This… this is different.”

 

His grimace deepened.

“You… have feelings for him.a very Strong one .”

 

Yewon’s eyes narrowed.

“And?”

“And you know it.” Tang Bo jabbed a finger at her desk like accusing an unruly patient. “I’m not saying it to tease you. I’m saying it because I’m tired of sitting on the sidelines watching you two orbit around each other like lost stars.”

Yewon opened her mouth—likely to deflect—but Tang Bo wasn’t finished.

“You think I’m being dramatic? Fine. But I’ve watched you drag yourself half-dead after sect politics, missions, injuries… and every single time, who do you look for first?

 

.....Him.”

 

He leaned closer.

“And him? Don’t even get me started. For a man who acts like nothing touches him, you’re the only one who makes him stop in his tracks.”

Yewon’s heart thudded painfully at that, but her face stayed still.

Tang Bo ran a hand through his hair, now truly exasperated.

“I thought… maybe… after enough years together, after enough battles and late-night tea talks and near-death experiences, you two would finally—finally—grow some guts and act like real people with real feelings.”

 

He threw both hands up.

“But nooooo! What do I get? Spar here. Spar there. Argue over tea. Argue during patrols. 'Let’s spar again tomorrow.' For fuck’s sake, if I hear the word ‘spar’ one more time, I’m going to throw myself down this mountain!”

Yewon’s breath hitched—half indignation, half genuine surprise at the outburst.

Tang Bo’s shoulders heaved as he stared at her, breathing hard like he’d just sprinted the whole bamboo maze.

Finally… quieter now, but with unmistakable determination, he said:

“So here’s what’s happening.”

“I’m juicing you first for answers. I want to know where your head’s at. What you feel. What you’re scared of. Whatever it is.”

 

He pointed at her with finality.

“Then… I’m talking to him.”

---

Yewon sat frozen for a heartbeat.

Her chest tight. Her throat dry.

Her ink brush finally touched the paper again—but left only a trembling blot of ink.

 

“…You’re out of line,” she whispered… but her voice lacked any real bite.

Tang Bo’s grin returned… but this time, it was sharp.

“Good. That means I’m close to the truth.”

 

---

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the faint rustle of bamboo leaves outside the balcony.

Yewon’s brush lay forgotten on the table now, staining the corner of one of her reports. But she didn’t care.

Her gaze stayed lowered, fixed somewhere between the ink blot and her own trembling fingers.

Finally… with a slow, quiet breath, she spoke.

“…You’re not wrong, Tang Bo.”

 

Her voice was soft, almost too soft for the room.

“I do… have feelings for him.”

 

Tang Bo blinked, his shoulders straightening at her rare admission.

Yewon let out a tired exhale, dragging her hands down her face before tucking them tightly into her lap.

“But I’ve never done anything about it. And I won’t.”

 

Tang Bo opened his mouth to speak, but she raised a hand to stop him.

“Not because I don’t want to,” she continued. “But because… it’s pointless.”

Her throat tightened. She hated how her voice trembled, so she steadied it before going on.

“Chung Myung… is many things. Talented. Stubborn. Careless with himself… but never with others. He notices everything. He knows how people feel about him even before they realize it themselves.”

 

She gave a short, bitter laugh.

“When it comes to his own feelings though… he’s willfully blind. He pushes it down. Bury it under training, under sect duties, under endless excuses. He’s like an open book… and I’ve read every page.”

Her gaze finally lifted to meet Tang Bo’s.

“I know… he cares for me too. More than he’ll ever admit. I see it every time he shields me during a fight. Every time he shows up uninvited at my doorstep just to sit in my courtyard… like he’s restless unless I’m nearby. I knew it and let him ”

 

“But affection… fondness… that’s not the same as love. And he won’t cross that line.” She swallowed hard.

 

Her fingers tightened into fists.

“He’s already rejected his own feelings before they could even grow roots. What’s the point of me… pushing mine on him?”

 

Tang Bo’s chest sank a little, his grin long gone, replaced with something closer to quiet sympathy.

“I’m not that desperate, Tang Bo. I’m a lady before I’m a martial artist.”

Her voice grew firmer now.

“If there’s ever going to be a step taken… it has to come from him. Not me.”

 

Tang Bo sat back, absorbing every word.

Yewon gestured at herself, a self-deprecating smile ghosting across her lips.

“I don’t come from nobility, but I’m still the head of my own household. A manor owner. With a name to protect. If I chase after him and he rejects me … it would ruin what little dignity I have left.”

 

Her gaze darkened.

“And worse… it would ruin our friendship.”

 

Tang Bo’s chest ached hearing it.

Because she was right.

A woman like Yewon—regardless of bloodline—stood at a level of respect in the martial world that few unmarried women could claim.

To pursue a man and be refused? The gossip alone would stain her for years.

Tang Bo sighed, dragging a hand through his hair.

“…I get it now.”

 

His voice lowered.

“In my clan, women never pursue. They get married off for alliances… political gain. Their feelings don’t matter.”

 

He gave a bitter chuckle.

“You… at least… have the choice. But even then… I get why you won’t take that risk.”

Yewon smiled faintly but didn’t answer.

 

Tang Bo sat with it… with all of it… for a long moment.

Then, in typical Tang Bo fashion, he let out a long-suffering sigh and flopped backward onto the floor like a man overwhelmed.

 

“…Gods. The both of you are hopelessly tragic, i thought this scenarios only happens in romance scripture but noooo im living with characters that should only exist in books! Curse this bad luck of mine! " 

Yewon chuckled, just barely.

Tang Bo sat up again, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers to the universe.

“…Fine then. I’ll talk to him.”

 

Her head whipped toward him. “Tang Bo—”

“I won’t say it’s from you,” he said quickly, waving her off. “I won’t even tell him you admitted anything. I just… need to kick that emotionally constipated malco hard enough to wake him up.”

 

Yewon’s mouth opened… then closed.

And then, very quietly, she whispered:

 

“…Good luck.”

 

Tang Bo laughed.

“Oh, I’ll need it.”

---

 

 

It was late afternoon when Tang Bo found him.

Chung Myung was sitting on a flat rock just above the bamboo line, a spot where the wind from the valley swept clean and cool. His sword lay across his lap, fingers idly tapping along the sheath like a bad habit.

His hair was still damp from the morning soak, sleeves rolled up, looking for once… entirely relaxed.

Tang Bo approached with slow, deliberate steps.

“Hyung-nim.”

 

Chung Myung cracked one eye open.

“…What.”

“I want to talk.”

 

Chung Myung let out a long, tired sigh and tilted his head lazily to the side.

“About what? Don’t tell me the Tang clan sent you up here to pester me instead .”

“No.” Tang Bo sat down on the grass nearby, crossing his arms. “About you.”

That earned a flicker of interest.

“Me?”

Tang Bo took a breath.

“You and Yewon-ah.”

 

Chung Myung froze.

Just for a second.

Barely noticeable.

 

But Tang Bo saw it.

The lazy drape of his shoulders stiffened, and the tapping on the sword sheath stopped.

“…What about her?” Chung Myung said, voice dangerously low.

 

Tang Bo didn’t flinch.

“You already know what.”

 

Chung Myung turned his gaze back toward the distant horizon, his expression going blank.

“…If you came up here to waste time gossiping, leave.”

Tang Bo scoffed. “It’s not gossip if it’s the truth staring everyone in the face but you.”

 

There was a long pause.

Chung Myung didn’t answer.

So Tang Bo pressed forward.

 

“I’m serious, Hyung-nim. It’s been years. I’ve watched the both of you long enough to know there’s something real between you.”

“…There’s nothing,” Chung Myung said flatly. “She’s my friend .”

“Is that what you call this kind of tension?” Tang Bo snapped. “You guard her more during fights. You show up at her door at night with excuses to spar or talk. And don’t think I haven’t noticed you hovering around her courtyard like some stray cat every time we visit her manor.”

 

Chung Myung’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t speak.

Tang Bo let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair.

“…Why, Hyung-nim? Why do you keep acting like none of it matters?”

Chung Myung finally turned his head, giving him a flat, unreadable stare.

“Because it doesn’t.”

 

Tang Bo blinked.

 

Chung Myung’s voice was cold .

“Marriage. Family. Romance… They’re distractions. Useless burdens that slow people down. I don’t have time for that. I never did.”

 

Tang Bo’s stomach twisted, but he stayed silent.

Chung Myung’s gaze drifted back toward the horizon, eyes narrowing.

“Do you know how many swordsmen ruined themselves because they chased after that kind of thing?” His tone grew sharper now. “They grow soft. Weak. They forget discipline. Get pulled away from the path they’ve spent their whole lives walking. I’ve seen it happen. Again and again.”

 

tang bo exhaled like it physically hurt to explain something so obvious to this idiot.

"...." 

“I’ve trained too long. shed others blood . Mount Hua doesn’t forbid marriage, but for me… it’s a waste. An unnecessary weight I don’t want on my back.”

 

Tang Bo stayed quiet… but his fists clenched.

Because he knew.

Chung Myung meant every word.

 

But…

 

But even as Chung Myung spoke with that cold certainty, he didn’t realize something—something so glaring it made Tang Bo want to grab him by the collar and shake him.

Because while Chung Myung was busy picturing marriage as some abstract, faceless burden, something that would chain him down…

 

He wasn’t imagining doing any of it with Yewon.

 

That was the difference. The flaw in all of this.

 

Chung Myung thought of "marriage" like it was some random stranger.

 

Some nameless, faceless obligation.

 

He never pictured her.

Never thought about what it might mean… to share that path with Yewon specifically.

 

Tang Bo exhaled slowly, forcing down his irritation.

“…You’re a bigger idiot than I thought,” he said under his breath.

 

Chung Myung glanced at him. “What?”

“Nothing.” Tang Bo stood up, dusting off his robes.

 

“I’ve heard enough.”

Without giving him a chance to argue, Tang Bo turned and walked back down the slope toward the manor.

 

Leaving Chung Myung sitting alone…

Glaring at the valley like it had personally offended him…

But with a tightness in his chest now that hadn’t been there before.

 

---

Tang Bo – Stomping Down the Mountain, Third-Wheel Energy Fully Activated

 

By the time Tang Bo reached the bamboo path leading back toward the manor, he was fuming.

His steps were too loud. His mood too foul.

Every bird that dared chirp nearby got an angry glare for existing.

 

“Gods…damn it all,” he hissed under his breath, shoving aside a low-hanging branch. “Why me? Why always me?

 

His thoughts spiraled as he stomped through the bamboo.

“Why am I the one who has to sit here watching two emotionally stunted sword maniacs slow-burn themselves into mutual suffering?”

 

He kicked a loose stone down the path.

“I dOnt wAnt to up with this! I didn’t ask to be the permanent, long-suffering unofficial third wheel of this tragic love story!”

 

Another step. Another frustrated swing at an innocent leaf.

“Do I get thanks? Noooook. Do I get peace of mind? Also no! All I get is front row seats to their emotional repression and terrible life choices!”

 

He gritted his teeth.

“And now I’m the one stuck mediating between the walking disaster that is Hyung-nim and the poor woman who’s too proud, too smart, and too self-respecting to chase after him!”

 

He dragged a hand down his face, nearly tripping over a root in his rage.

“Gods  preserve me… I need a drink…”

 

And yet… as annoyed as he was…

There was a tight pull in his chest.

Because he’d seen the look in Yewon’s eyes.

And he’d seen the way Chung Myung froze at the mere mention of her.

 

It was there.

Hidden.

Buried deep…

But there.

 

“…You’re both hopeless,” Tang Bo muttered, sighing so deeply his whole body deflated.

But even with all his complaints, by the time he reached the manor gate, he was already thinking:

Why do i have to put up with this shit???

 

---

 

Meanwhile – Chung Myung, Alone, Staring at Nothing, and Getting Annoyed at His Own Heartbeat

 

Chung Myung sat on that rock for a long time after Tang Bo left.

 

Longer than he cared to admit.

 

The wind shifted. The clouds moved. The sun dropped lower.

 

But he stayed.

 

Sword still resting across his knees.

 

Gaze still fixed on the valley below like it held answers he didn’t want to face.

 

“…Ridiculous,” he muttered to himself.

 

Tang Bo’s words lingered like a bad taste.

 

You already know what.

You guard her more .

You’re the only one she lets close.

You act like none of it matters…

 

Chung Myung scowled.

 

“Tch… Romantic nonsense,” he spat.

 

He wasn’t like other men.

He didn’t waste time with daydreams about marriage or family.

He didn’t need the hassle.

 

Ties. Responsibilities. Weakness. Distraction.

That’s all those things were.

Mount Hua didn’t forbid marriage, true.

But that didn’t mean it was smart.He’d seen what happened to swordsmen who grew soft. Who got married… had children… let themselves grow comfortable.

Their edges dulled.

Their focus shattered.

They fell behind… and worse… died foolish deaths.

 

That wouldn’t be him.

 

Never.

 

.....never.

He ran a hand over his face, as if trying to scrub the restless irritation out of his skin.

But no matter how many times he repeated the argument in his head…

 

No matter how logical it sounded…

One small, stupid crack kept forming in the foundation of it all.

Because…

Now for the first time, when he pictured “being tied down”…

 

…he didn’t picture some nameless, faceless obligation.

 

No.

His mind, traitorous and uninvited, pictured Yewon.

Not dressed like a bride. Not sitting in some ceremonial hall.

Just… her . Sitting on this same mountain slope.

Pouring tea like she always did.

Fixing him with that sharp-tongued glare when he annoyed her.

Or smiling… softly… when she thought he wasn’t looking.

Chung Myung’s throat felt tight. He shook his head, physically jolting himself out of the thought.

“…Tch. Stupid.”

 

He stood up abruptly, sword swinging to his side. Dusting off his robes like shaking the thought out of his clothes.

 

Training.

He needed to train.

Anything to stop thinking.

 

With that, he stomped down the mountain path, leaving behind both the rock and the weight of his unsettled heart.

 

---

 

The sun had already dipped below the ridge by the time Tang Bo found himself standing once again in front of Yewon’s study door.

 

He didn’t knock right away.

Just stood there for a moment… shoulders slumped… face stuck somewhere between frustration and defeat.

After a long sigh that sounded like it came from the deepest part of his soul, he finally lifted his hand and knocked.

 

“Come in,” her voice answered, as calm as ever.

 

Tang Bo slid the door open and shuffled inside like a man heading to his own execution.

Yewon sat exactly where she’d been earlier—at her low table, papers now neatly stacked, her brush washed and set aside. The tea kettle had been refreshed. A new cup sat waiting for him, as if she already expected him to return.

He flopped down on the cushion with all the grace of a wounded animal.

 

“…So?” she asked softly.

Tang Bo dragged a hand over his face. “So…”

 

There was a long pause.

Then… without looking at her, he mumbled:

“You were right.”

 

Yewon didn’t flinch  or smile. Didn’t even gloat. She just quietly waited.

Tang Bo let out another long-suffering breath.

“I talked to him.” He reached for the tea cup and downed it in one bitter gulp.

"..... " 

 

“Asked him straight. Told him exactly what I see between you two. Told him how obvious it’s been for years.”

".... ... " 

He set the cup down with a dull thud.

“And you know what he said?”

Yewon remained silent, though her fingers curled slightly around the sleeve of her robe.

“He said…” Tang Bo’s lip twitched in a bitter half-smile, “…that it’s all pointless. That relationships, marriage, family… any kind of attachment beyond friendship… are nothing but distractions.”

Yewon’s throat tightened—but her face remained composed.

Tang Bo laughed hollowly.

“He doesn’t even entertain the idea of a situationship, let alone romance.”

The word dripped with sarcasm as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“He’s got this… twisted philosophy in his head that all of it—love, partnership, closeness—it’s all weight that’ll drag him down. Slow him. Make him soft. Get him killed ?.”

Tang Bo leaned back against the post behind him, staring at the ceiling like it might collapse on him for added effect.

“I tried, Yewon-ah. I really did. Thought maybe I could knock some sense into him. But…”

 

He gave a humorless chuckle.

“…You already knew all this, didn’t you?”

 

Yewon’s gaze lowered, her eyes soft but tired.

“Yes,” she said quietly.

 

Tang Bo watched her carefully, the tension still thick between them.

After a pause, he asked:

“…Are you okay?”

 

Yewon gave a small, tired smile.

“I’ve made peace with it a long time ago,” she murmured. “I told you… I’d never push him. I care too much about what we already have.”

—am i ? Really? 

 

Tang Bo stared at her for a long moment, then let out a final, resigned sigh.

“Saints above… you two really are hopeless.”

 

Yewon chuckled faintly, but there was no real humor in it.

“…I know.”

 

Tang Bo pushed himself to his feet, dusting off his robes. As he reached the door, he paused and glanced back at her.

“…For what it’s worth,” he said quietly, “If there’s anyone in this world who could ever… get past that thick skull of his… it’d be you.”

Yewon didn’t answer.

She only smiled… small and bittersweet…

And went back to her paperwork as if nothing had been said at all.

 

Notes:

This chapter is for helios san! I hope this counts as confession~ as i replied back then, im saving the heart to heart confession for the last and best moment of their life!

(*≧∀≦)人(≧∀≦*)♪

To my dear readers Dont be shy to ask me regarding the story. If there's some disparity in the plots or something is unclear. I'll be most grateful if you comment it down. I always take my time to read comments.

Thank you for joining me in this unexpected ride . This story was only written originally till the first time chung myung met in yewon in her courtyard .

Chapter 41: Talks of love last part.

Summary:

A short extra.

 

After their shared laughter faded, a comfortable silence settled between them.

Tang Bo refilled both their cups, then sat back, resting his elbow on his knee and propping his chin against his palm.

But as Yewon took another sip of tea, he tilted his head and gave her a thoughtful, almost reluctant glance.

 

“…Yewon-ah.”

“Hm?”

 

His tone turned more serious this time.

“Do you… ever plan to consider someone else?”

 

Yewon blinked, surprised.

“Someone other than my Dosa-hyungnim, I mean.”

 

Her smile faltered just a little.

Tang Bo pressed on, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“…I mean, I get it. I do. You like him. Saints know you’ve been hopelessly, stubbornly in love with him for longer than I care to count.”

 

Yewon lowered her gaze to her tea.

 

Tang Bo sighed.

“But I worry… sometimes. That you’re going to waste years… decades… waiting for that idiot to grow a spine and finally look at you properly.”

 

His voice softened.

“You’re not exactly short on admirers, Yewon-ah. Merchant sons… powerful martial artists… sect heirs… You’ve had offers before until now.”

Yewon stayed quiet, staring into her cup like it held the answers she didn’t want to say aloud.

 

Tang Bo’s gaze lowered.

“…I just don’t want you to miss your chance at happiness because you’re stuck waiting on him. That’s all.”

 

For a long time, Yewon didn’t speak.

Then… she let out a soft exhale… almost a sigh.

“…I know.”

Her smile, when it came, was small and tired… but genuine.

“I know there are others. I know I could… if I wanted to… entertain those proposals. Accept dinner invitations. Attend those banquets more often… play the part of the elegant manor lady, find someone suitable and move on.”

 

Her fingers traced the rim of her teacup absently.

“But… I’ve thought about it.” She paused, choosing her words carefully.

“…And every time I imagine standing beside someone else… walking through life with someone who isn’t him…”

 

Her voice dropped almost to a whisper.

“…It feels wrong.”

 

Tang Bo’s chest ached at that.

She let out a bitter little laugh, shaking her head at herself.

“Maybe I’m a fool. But if it’s not him… I don’t want anyone at all.”

 

Her gaze lifted to Tang Bo’s, steady now.

“That’s my choice. I’d rather be alone… than settle for something I know I can’t love.”

 

Tang Bo dragged both hands over his face with a long groan.

“Gods, you’re worse than him.”

 

“I know,” she said with a soft smile.

“And the worst part is… I can’t even scold you for it,” he grumbled. “You sound too damn sincere.”

 

Yewon chuckled.

Tang Bo dropped his hands into his lap, sighing loud and long.

“…Fine. Be stubborn. But if ten years from now you’re still pining… don’t blame me when I start sending you blind marriage proposals out of spite.”

 

Yewon grinned.

“Deal.”

 

They laughed again, their voices soft and familiar, fading into the dusk air.

Somewhere… from down in the courtyard…

 

A certain sword idiot paused mid-step, looking up at the second-floor balcony where their laughter drifted down.

And though he didn’t know why, something hot and uncomfortable curled low in his chest.

 

Chapter 42

 

Yewon stood at the edge of the cliff, the morning wind threading through her hair like invisible hands. Below her, the mountain valleys stretched endlessly, veiled in low mist, as if the world itself was holding its breath.

 

Her gaze was steady. Unwavering.

Thirty years.

That was the time left on their borrowed clock.

 

History—if it could even be called that—only left behind scattered fragments about the Heavenly Demon. No clear measure of his strength. No record of how his power felt when it bore down upon the world like a collapsing sky. Only vague words. Shadows on paper.

"It took thousands of elites to face him… and they all still died."

"Chung Myung beheaded him… but not without dying himself."

No one wrote about the fear. The hopelessness. The smell of blood drowning out the air. The sound of bones breaking under a single swing of the Heavenly Demon’s hand.

Yewon didn’t need it written.

 

She knew.

Somewhere deep in her bones, she already knew how that day would feel.

And still... she would walk toward it.

For him.

For that stupid, loud-mouthed, reckless man who never once considered choosing himself over others. Who smiled even when his body was falling apart. Who carried the entire weight of the sect, the world, and everyone’s lives without complaint.

She couldn’t stop fate. She couldn’t rewrite the ending of his story.

But she could stand beside him when the sky turned black. She could make sure that when the battlefield was painted in red… he wouldn’t be the only fool bleeding for others.

So she trained.

Day after day.

Night after night.

Her hands bled from sword calluses. Her legs burned from endless footwork drills. Her lungs ached from pushing her body past the limit.

She mastered her sword .Trained with tang bo. Learned footwork meant for speed, techniques meant for effectively killing the fanatics of demon cult. 

If there was even a single chance… a fraction of a chance… to change something on that battlefield…

 

Then she would be ready.

Even if it meant dying next to him.

That was enough.

Truly.

 

The wind shifted. Plum blossoms, faint and out of season, drifted across the air like pale pink ghosts.

Yewon smiled faintly.

Even if his story began with the color of Red...

She would be with him there.

 

---

 

Late at night, with the moon barely a sliver in the sky, Yewon sat by the window of her room in Mount Hua, staring out into the dark mountains.

Her sword lay across her lap, freshly polished. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the worn hilt.

Her heart had been restless for days.

 

Finally, unable to hold it in any longer, she whispered, "Lexy..."

A small, digital chime echoed inside her mind.

>Ugh, what now? 

The familiar, snarky voice of her system answered, like a tired but loyal friend.

>Do you know what time it is in system hours? I was literally about to enter sleep mode .

 

Yewon breathed out a soft laugh but didn’t smile.

"...If I die," she said quietly, "in that war thirty years from now... is that it?"

 

A pause.

For once, Lexy’s tone softened.

>You mean... is that the end of your script? Your role here ? 

Yewon nodded slowly, eyes still lost in the dark horizon.

Lexy’s voice became clearer, less sarcastic.

>Honestly? You're a weird case, my host.  Most transmigrators I know get dumped with all these ironclad rules...

'Don’t mess with the plot,'

'Don’t steal treasures,'

'Don’t steal the main character’s golden fingers,' yada yada..."

 

>But you? Lexy gave a short laugh.

You got clearance like a VIP. Full authority. Your only restriction is this: If you want to change something... you gotta earn it.

 

Yewon blinked. "...Earn it?"

>Exactly. You wanna change the ending? Involve yourself MORE.

Lexy’s tone grew more smug again.

>You already started, you know.

That little thing you did with Chung Myung? Making him train harder these past few years? Sticking to him like glue? That wasn’t in the original trajectory. Originally, he was going to carry this lingering regret till his last breath... ‘If I trained harder, maybe I could’ve saved just one more disciple.’

Lexy paused, almost proud. >But thanks to you... that regret’s already gone. One down. A hundred more to go.

 

Yewon’s chest tightened.

"...So even if I die," she whispered, her hands curling into fists, "at least... it won’t be meaningless."

>Bingo

Lexy’s voice turned lighter again.

>You’re not a side character anymore, Yewon. You're a variable. The more you get involved... the more threads you pull... who knows? Maybe one day even fate will start glitching to your favor.

Yewon let out a slow breath and finally smiled, soft and tired but genuine.

"...Good." She stood, picking up her sword. "Then let’s start pulling harder."

Lexy chuckled. >Now, go make fate regret messing with Mount Hua.

---

 

Yewon sat quietly for a long moment, her thumb running along the ridge of her sword hilt. The night air grew colder, but she didn’t move from the window.

"...You didn’t answer my question, Lexy," she finally said, voice soft but insistent. "If I die on that battlefield... is that it for me? The end?"

For a brief second, her mind imagined the aftermath: her body broken among thousands, forgotten by history. No mention of her name. Just a footnote in the story of Chung Myung—the Plum Blossom Sword Saint who stood alone at the end.

 

Silence hung between them.

Then Lexy let out a digital-sounding sigh, like static with personality.

>... you're stubborn tonight host. ( ´Д｀)=3

 

Yewon waited.

>Fine.... You’re my first and last host, you know that?

 

Yewon blinked, caught off guard.

> I wasn’t supposed to develop a personality. I wasn’t even built for emotional processing, But thanks to sticking with you—through your tantrums, your bad decisions, your moments of genius and absolute idiocy—I guess I kinda... adapted. Watched you struggle. Watched you fight. Mocked you. Cheered for you. Learned from you. I become what the main system called "Awakened" Systems that gained personality through their host. What ever I become , is a mirror of my host's personality. 

 

Yewon smiled faintly, heart warming despite the heavy topic.

>So no... Lexy said, her tone turning firm, like a friend drawing a line in the sand.

You don’t have to worry about oblivion. Even if you die... I’ll pull some strings.

 

A pause.

>Actually... I might not even need to do much.

 "...Why?" Yewon’s brows furrowed

>Remember that time....when you and Chung Myung got tricked into that fake marriage ritual by that serpent cultist?"

Yewon’s face burned. "Lexy—"

>Yeah, yeah, the one where your qi and his accidentally formed a binding vow. A literal soul-binding, thanks to the lovely little ‘Marriage of Unity’ formation the cultist was using for human sacrifices?

Yewon covered her face with both hands. "I was trying to forget."

Lexy laughed.

>Too late for that. That bond? It’s still there.

 

Lexy’s voice dropped to something warmer. Softer.

> So long as that bond exists... I can piggyback your soul onto him. When Chung Myung reincarnates... you won’t get dragged back to the void like normal transmigrators. You’ll stay tethered and  Anchored to him .

I’ll find you a suitable body when the time comes. Could be in a year, could be in a hundred—but when he comes back... so will you.

 

Yewon’s hands trembled slightly on her lap.

"...A cheat code," she whispered.

> An accidental, dumb-luck cheat code. Guess your life wasn’t full of bad luck after all.

Lexy confirmed smugly

For a long moment, Yewon let the relief sink in, slow and trembling like thawing ice.

"...Thank you," she murmured.

>Don’t thank me yet, we still have a war to prepare for. Lexy’s tone lightened again.

Yewon smiled bitterly, but it reached her eyes this time.

"...Right. Let’s get back to work."

---

 

Yewon never moved recklessly.

Every step she took… every decision she made… she measured it like balancing on the edge of a blade.

She couldn’t change too much. Couldn’t shatter the framework of the novel’s world. The Heavenly Demon still had to rise. The war still had to happen. Mount Hua still had to bleed.

 

Because fate… mirrored their Tao.

Just like the plum blossoms on Mount Hua.

 

Spring 🌸

The era of Chung Myung. Their most prosperous time. When Mount Hua shone brightest—its disciples laughing, growing, blooming under his guidance.

 

Autumn🍁

When the leaves began to fall. Sword Masters leaving the sect behind, marching toward war, toward duty, toward death.

Fall.🍂

The fall of mount hua, death of all the master that mount hua gives up to protect the world.

Winter.❄️

When nothing remained but cold earth and frozen silence.

A hundred years of abandonment. A hundred years of Mount Hua being forgotten, reduced to whispers of what it once was.

 

But even in winter...

Plum blossoms bloomed first.

Delicate, stubborn things that dared to exist in frost, filling the air with a sweet scent that only deepened in the cold.

That was Mount Hua’s fate. That was Chung Myung’s burden.

But if she couldn’t change the seasons…

She could still pluck out the thorns. The regrets. The silent sufferings that no one ever wrote about.

So Yewon planned. Calculated. Moved carefully like a chess player setting pieces years in advance.

Tang Bo? She pushed him harder than anyone. Sparring until their hands blistered and their bones bruised. Forcing him to stop holding back, making him face his limits. Because one day, Tang Bo would die on the battlefield saving others... and Chung Myung would regret never seeing him reach his full potential.

So she wouldn’t let that happen.

One by one… she found the regrets hidden in the folds of fate.

For each regrets written in blood… she scratched out just one regret from Chung Myung’s list. Not enough to change the future entirely—but enough to ease his heart when the end came.

 

Because he would still die.

So would she.

So would all of them.

 

But this time…

He wouldn’t die wishing he had done more.

And that... was enough.

So day by day, Yewon kept moving forward—against the tide, against the sky, against fate itself.

 

The cold winds of winter would come.

But just like the stubborn plum blossoms blooming against the snow…

She would bloom too.

Even if her petals were stained with red.

 

---

– The War Begins

 

At first, they were only rumors.

Whispers carried by frightened merchants and wandering storytellers. Villagers attacked by wild beasts. Whole caravans found torn apart on the mountain roads. Bodies mangled in ways no normal predator could manage.

Yewon heard them all… sitting at the familiar tea pavilion, sipping her drink with calm detachment while Tang Bo grumbled beside her about minor sect affairs.

 

She knew.

 

Of course she knew.

This was how it always started.

The first chapter of the war.

The real one.

 

The rumors grew worse by the week. From missing livestock to missing people. From isolated hamlets to entire villages disappearing overnight. Then…

 

A city fell.

An entire city. Wiped off the map in a single night.

By the time rescue teams arrived, there was nothing left but blood-soaked streets and collapsed buildings. Survivors? None. Not even corpses left intact enough to bury.

 

Kunlun Sect was the first major victim.

A surprise attack during a gathering of their young disciples. The strongest cultivators from Kunlun fell trying to shield their juniors. The few who managed to escape… did so half-mad with terror. They spoke of fanatics, of men and women with wild eyes, faces twisted in devotion, tearing through defenses like demons in human skin.

They called it a massacre.

Yewon called it the opening act.

 

---

 

Now, at seventy-five years old, she stood with the Mount Hua war council. Her face… untouched by time. Her skin still smooth, her movements still fluid. She looked no different from how she had in her thirties.

Chung Myung stood beside her, equally unchanged—ageless, like a sword frozen at the peak of sharpness.

Tang Bo, however… had gained a few strands of white in his hair. They curled handsomely at his temples, adding character to the laugh lines near his dimples. His smile remained as boyish as ever, but there was a different weight behind it now—years of leadership, battles, and… well… dozens of grandnieces and nephews.

 

His favorite? Tang Pyung.

Yewon sometimes cradled the child in her arms, rocking him like a little brother—not a grandson. "Too young to be anyone’s grandmother," she always joked.

Tang Bo never missed a chance to tease her.

"Still no progress with the Sword Saint?" he’d say with a dramatic sigh, leaning in with mock pity. "Seventy-five years, Yewon. Even stone walls crumble faster than him."

She would glare, toss a rice cracker at his face, and pretend it didn’t sting.

Because… yes.

Sometimes she was delusional.

Sometimes, in the privacy of her room, she’d talk to Lexy as if she and Chung Myung were already married. As if they shared a home. As if she cooked him dinner and scolded him for drinking too much.

Lexy never corrected her.

>Manifest it, queen, Lexy would say, voice full of sass and affection.

 

But now…

There was no more room for delusions.

The Demonic Cult had moved.

And they weren’t sending scouts anymore.

They were sending armies.

Yewon stared at the new war reports spread on the table. Red markers pinned across the central plains.

"Whole sects gone… and this is just the beginning," one of the elders whispered.

The enemy moved like a plague. Unstoppable. Rabid. Brainwashed beyond reason. If you cursed the Heavenly Demon in front of them? They’d carve a hole through your chest like children digging in sand.

 

Beasts? No.

Beasts had mercy.

These people… these things… did not.

And yet…

Even if it took another hundred years. Even if she had to face every blood-soaked night ahead.

Yewon would stand by Chung Myung.

This was the path she chose.

Even if her story ended with winter…

She’d make sure that, just like Mount Hua’s plum blossoms... she’d leave behind a scent strong enough to linger long after the snow fell.

 

Notes:

Happy birthday to my sweet cutie niece! Tita loves you very much! Please dont inherit this tita's sharp tongue.

Please dont read tita's works...

Chapter 43

 

First Major Battle – The Beginning of the War

 

The sky burned red with sunset... or maybe with blood.

It didn’t matter.

Yewon stood shoulder to shoulder with Chung Myung, both of them planted like immovable pillars at the frontlines.

 

Before them—thousands.

A sea of twisted figures, eyes glazed with blind fanaticism, their bodies warped and strengthened by demonic qi.

 

Pawns.

Expendable fanatics. 

Chung Myung’s sword flashed once, twice, a dozen times in the blink of an eye. Every swing painted an arc of silver light across the battlefield.

Limbs fell. Necks severed. Demonic bodies split clean in half like paper dolls caught in a storm.

In an instance hundred bodies fell to the ground, some are cut in half, others exploded from the force.

Yewon followed closely at his side, her own sword weaving through the air like a silver comet.

Her strikes weren’t just sharp. They were cleansing.

Whenever her blade tore through hundred of cultists, the black demonic qi that usually spilled out like smoke—hissed, twisted like it didn’t want to leave. But it had no choice.

 

Her qi was like bleach poured straight into filth.

 

Celestial Purification Qi.

Custom-made. She Requested from Lexy herself when she first started forming her dantian decades ago. A qi that didn’t just destroy. It erased corruption. Left no stain behind.

A spear—twisted and black, drenched in heavy demonic energy—came hurtling toward her from the far end of the battlefield.

 

Fast and Deadly.

 

But she sensed it before it even entered her radius.

Her eyes narrowed.

With a single step back, she pivoted, slicing through the air with a burst of pure sword qi.

 

CRACK!

The spear shattered mid-flight, the demonic energy inside hissing and screaming as it burned away in pale golden light.

The nearby Mount Hua disciples who had frozen in terror—watching the incoming attack—gasped as the darkness dissolved like fog under morning sun.

Yewon stood there, steady, unshaken.

 

Her qi swirled gently around her like soft mist—but anyone with a trained eye could feel the truth.

This wasn’t gentle.

This was a storm.

A cleansing storm that tore through filth without mercy.

Her body—the result of decades of careful cultivation—was built to withstand the harsh, self-devourself-devouringher own purification qi.

Her muscles wouldn’t tear under the pressure. Her bones wouldn’t snap from the constant internal cleansing.

Every punch she threw now… carried enough destructive force to blow apart a fanatic even without a blade.

 

And next to her…

Chung Myung’s sword arts danced like flowing poetry. Each movement flawless. Efficient. Beautiful. The embodiment of Mount Hua's Tao.

His divine arts weren’t built for purification like hers… but they carried the weight of celestial energy nonetheless.

The two of them together?

A nightmare for the Demonic Cult.

In the distance, Tang Bo’s loud yell rose above the clash of weapons, leading a group of Mount Hua disciples in a charge against another wave of enemies.

Yewon allowed herself one breath. Just one.

Then she moved again—rushing forward with Chung Myung, cutting down the next wave, and the next… and the next…

 

Because this was just the first battle.

The true war hadn’t even started yet.

But she would be there. Always.

 

Right beside him.

---

 

Mid-Battle: The Rediscovery of Their Bond

 

The battlefield roared like a beast in heat.

Screams, metal, the crackle of demonic qi—all swirling into chaos.

Yewon’s blade was slick with blood. Her breath burned in her lungs, but she kept moving. Always moving. Cutting, cleansing, cutting again.

Across the field, Chung Myung stood with bloodied robes, his sword glimmering under the broken sun like a divine relic. His face—focused. Calm. Detached, but burning with cold fury.

 

Another wave of fanatics surged toward them.

And that was when it happened.

A massive cultist general—twice the size of any man—charged toward Chung Myung from behind, weapon raised.

 

Yewon’s heart lurched.

There was no time to shout. No time to run. No time to do anything but—

 

She acted on instinct.

She poured her qi outward—not in a blast, but in a thread. A single, thin line of pure celestial energy shot from her core, crossing the battlefield like a silver whip and piercing straight into Chung Myung’s dantian from behind.

For a fraction of a second, time seemed to pause.

Chung Myung’s body froze—not in pain, but in shock—as Yewon’s qi flooded into him. Her cleansing qi met his divine Taoist qi, colliding—merging—then flowing in perfect harmony like two rivers finding their source.

 

Thread.

 

So thin. Delicate. Almost unnoticeable.

 

But it was there.

 

That old bond.

 

The one they thought had dissolved decades ago after that cursed fake marriage ritual with the serpent cultist.

 

It never left.

Their qi… still recognized each other.

And in that moment, without words, without eye contact, they both knew.

Chung Myung twisted midair, sword flashing with sudden acceleration—fueled by her qi boost. He spun and severed the cultist general cleanly at the neck before landing hard on the bloodied ground.

 

The earth trembled under his feet.

Yewon stood panting, feeling the faint echo of his qi pulse back through the thread toward her—like an accidental return wave.

 

Her eyes widened.

She could… feel him.

His qi…

His exhaustion…

His resolve…

 

It flowed back to her—warm, stubborn, burning like a sun that refused to die.

They both stared at each other across the battlefield.

No words. Just… realization.

And a silent understanding:

 

They could send qi to each other. Share it. Lend it.

 

A bond forged under tricker years ago… now becoming their secret weapon in the war to come.

---

 

When the first battle finally ended…

 

Mount Hua’s side held the field. Barely.

The cost was high. Too many bodies. Too many friends left behind on blood-soaked earth.

Yewon sat under a half-collapsed pavilion, peeling off her bloodied outer robe. Her arms trembled—not from injury, but from overexertion. Maintaining such concentrated purification qi while fighting for hours took more from her body than she liked to admit.

Her meridians burned. Her organs ached from the corrosive purity she kept circulating to hold off demonic taint.

Chung Myung approached, a rare look of unease on his face.

"You…" he started, crouching in front of her. His eyes narrowed at the faint cracks of qi overflow forming near her collarbone.

"You’re overdoing it."

Yewon laughed tiredly, her voice hoarse. "You noticed now?"

 

Chung Myung’s hand reached out—hovering just above her shoulder—but he didn’t touch. He just... stared at the faint glow of her qi leaking through her skin like light bleeding through thin paper.

His gaze darkened.

"You’re burning yourself out."

 

She tilted her head, forcing a crooked smile.

"And you’re one to talk?"

 

They both fell quiet.

Then, like it was casual, like it wasn’t the most ridiculous thing to say after what they just discovered… Yewon added softly:

"...We’re bonded, huh?"

 

Chung Myung’s expression flickered.

 

But he didn’t deny it.

"...Yeah," he finally said, voice low. "...Looks like we are."

 

Neither of them spoke of what that meant.

Not now.

There were still more battles to fight.

More regrets to erase.

 

And one day…

When winter finally came…

At least they wouldn’t be facing it alone.

 

---

 

Second Major Battle – The Hidden Lifeline

 

The second battle came faster than anyone expected.

The Demonic Cult moved like wildfire—spreading across the plains, pushing deeper toward the heart of the central sects.

Mount Hua and the other sects are still nursing its wounds from the first clash, was called again to the front.

 

This time… the enemy sent not just pawns… but generals.

The air stank of rot and corrupted qi. The ground itself trembled under the weight of demonic arts.

Yewon stood at the battlefield’s edge, sword sheathed, her eyes closed in focused meditation.

Far ahead, in the heart of chaos, Chung Myung fought like a man possessed.

His sword cut through dozens, then hundreds, burning bright with celestial energy—but Yewon could feel it.

Through that delicate thread between them.

 

His qi was dropping.

Dangerously low.

Too low for her standards.

 

The old Chung Myung would’ve kept fighting like that until his body gave out. Until his meridians was exhausted

.

But not this time.

Not when she was here.

Yewon pressed her palms together.

 

Inside the "safe zone"—a barrier formed by Mount Hua's defensive rear and guarded by the surviving elders and juniors—she sat in the center of a small, hastily formed formation circle Meant to protect the injured.

 

Her qi gathered like a tide , its thick And Heavy.

Luminating the rear

Her Celestial Purification Qi wasn’t just for cleansing. It was also for nurturing, for sustaining, for restoring.

She meditated deeper, pulling from the heavens and the earth, circulating every drop into her dantian, refining it until it shone like liquid gold.

And when the thread between her and Chung Myung pulled taut with desperation…

 

She poured it all into him.

Across the battlefield. Through that single invisible line. Straight into his core.

Like a sudden breath of life, Chung Myung’s qi exploded outward, his sword glowing brighter than before.

Enemies who thought him moments away from exhaustion were cut down in a single movement. His high-level techniques—those he rarely used for fear of draining himself—came out one after another.

The battlefield trembled with each swing.

Mount Hua disciples who were close enough to witness it stood stunned.

 

How was he still fighting like this?

Where was this endless power coming from?

They didn’t know.

 

But Yewon did.

From her meditation circle in the safe zone… she smiled faintly, breath slow but steady.

She had become his hidden reservoir.

And once she felt his qi stabilize enough—once she sensed he’d climbed out of the danger zone—

Yewon opened her eyes.

Slowly stood.

Picked up her sword.

And walked straight back into the battlefield.

Because now that her job as his battery was done… it was time to fight beside him again.

 

Just as she always would.

 

---

 

Battlefield Scene – Tag Team Carnage

 

The ground was already cracked open in places from the sheer force of the fight.

Corpses of demonic cultists lay in heaps, their tainted qi burning away under the residual celestial energy left by Chung Myung and Yewon’s relentless assault.

Chung Myung’s sword sliced through three fanatics at once, his form light, almost weightless—moving faster, stronger, and with more force than even Mount Hua’s veterans had ever seen from him.

Each technique he unleashed exploded like divine thunder.

 

Plum Blossom Sword Saint—unstoppable.

 

And behind the frontline, hidden just beyond the reach of arrows and blades, Yewon sat cross-legged inside a thick wall of defense, encircled by Tang Family guards and Mount Hua disciples loyal enough to die defending her.

Her breath flowed steady. Her dantian spinning like a golden sun.

She gathered qi in massive waves, condensed and refined, then sent it along the invisible thread straight to him.

Every time Chung Myung showed signs of depletion…

 

She pushed more into him.

It was like feeding a raging bonfire with pure oxygen.

He burned hotter. Brighter. Deadlier.

At one point, Chung Myung lifted his sword with both hands and unleashed a full-force “One Blossom, Thousand Cuts” technique—something that would’ve drained him dry under normal conditions.

But instead of faltering after the attack… he stood tall, smirking, turning to face the next wave like an unstoppable juggernaut.

 

Mount Hua disciples cheered.

Tang Bo, fighting nearby, laughed breathlessly.

 

"My god… He’s like a beast in mating season. Who fed him this much energy?!"

Yewon didn’t answer. She kept meditating, a thin sheen of sweat on her brow, but her concentration never wavered.

 

---

 

The Enemy Bishop Notices – The Variable

 

Hidden in the enemy ranks… high on a distant slope overseeing the battlefield… stood a Bishop of the Demonic Cult.

His black robes billowed in the wind. His eyes, unnaturally pale with thick veins of black stretching across the sclera, watched the battlefield with eerie calm.

 

His gaze focused not on Chung Myung…

But on her.

That swordswoman.

 

The one who retreated periodically to the rear.

Sat inside a wall of guards. Meditate. Then returned to battle full of power.

 

He narrowed his eyes.

 

The pattern was obvious now.

Every time she went to meditate… minutes later, the Plum Blossom Sword Saint’s attacks grew sharper, stronger, more devastating.

 

That wasn’t coincidence.

It was cause and effect.

Something… was feeding him.

 

The Bishop’s lip curled.

"This... is the variable," he whispered, voice low and venomous. "The anomaly in this equation…"

 

His nails lengthened, dark and sharp as obsidian.

"In the name of the Heavenly Demon… she must be eliminated."

 

He turned, raising a single bony hand toward a nearby Demonic General, whose flesh pulsed unnaturally with stored qi.

  Bishop ordered. His voice carried like poison on the wind. "Send them behind this unbelievers rear. I want that woman’s head… before that Sword Saint notices she’s gone."

 

The General bowed low. "As you command, Bishop."

As the cultists began shifting formation… dark shapes moving silently toward the safe zone…

Yewon’s eyelids flickered mid-meditation.

Her senses—always tuned to danger—pricked with warning.

 

Something… was coming for her.

But she smiled anyway.

 

"Lexy," she murmured in her mind, as her qi began to spike again.

 

Prepare emergency protocols.

 

"Already on it, host! "  Lexy replied.

 

Because even if the enemy had figured her out…

She wasn’t going down that easily.

Not when Chung Myung still needed her.

 

Chapter 44

 

The Ambush on the Safe Zone

– Yewon's Last Resort

 

The air shifted.

Yewon opened her eyes mid-meditation.

Her senses screamed at her before she even stood.

This wasn’t a small scouting party. This… was a full assassination squad.

 

A hundred strong.

 

And not low level believers.

 

A hundred strong fanatics. 

 

Fanatics with enough sense and discipline to fight like martial artists do,  not mindless ones.

Already, she could see them breaking through the outer perimeter—cutting down  masters and disciples guarding the rear, overwhelming Mount Hua juniors with brutal precision.

Their coordination was unnatural. One defending. One attacking. One flanking.

 

They were surrounding the Rear. 

Her specifically . 

 

And fast too. 

Yewon stood, eyes narrowing. Half of her qi reserves remained. Not enough for long-ranged sword techniques. Not enough to purify them all at once.

She needs to conserve and attack efficently. Without wasting her internal energy. 

The air grew heavy with killing intent as the first wave lunged toward her. Breaking throught the encirclement. 

 

Her instincts screamed for a decision.

 

And she made it.

 

No sword.

 

Not for this.

Her hands reached down—fingers unclasping the hidden weights strapped around her ankles and wrists. all this time shes wearing them... she didn’t noticed it, too focused on the war. She became too used to the familiar weight. 

But now she have to unburden herself. 

 

They hit the ground with a heavy THUD, shaking the dirt beneath her feet.

Her limbs immediately felt light. Too light to her liking.

 

Perfect.

With one deep breath, Yewon gathered what remained of her celestial qi, condensing it along her arms and legs, coating herself with a thin, near-invisible armor of purifying energy.

The qi didn’t glow this time. It didn’t shine like before.

It sank deep into her muscles, her bones, her marrow.

Her strikes wouldn’t be pretty. They wouldn’t be graceful.

 

They’d be devastating.

 

The first cultist officer reached her—a dagger aiming for her throat.

Yewon pivoted low, stepped inside his guard, and drove her palm straight into his chest.

 

A burst of qi exploded from her palm on impact.

 

BOOM!

 

The man’s torso caved inward with a sickening crunch. His ribs shattered like dry twigs before he was thrown backward like a ragdoll, colliding with seven more fanatics and taking them down with him.

Before the others could react—she was already moving.

A spinning back kick took out the legs of another.

 

—Elbows drove into necks.

—Knees shattered jaws.

—Her fists? Blunt weapons of absolute destruction.

 

And when she closed her fingers into a proper fist and channeled her qi into the next punch—

She punched a hole clean through the head of the next fanatic that charged at her.

His skull didn’t crack. It Exploded in a sickening manners. 

Blood and fragments sprayed outward as she pulled back her arm, already twisting into a low stance to counter the next strike from her blind spot.

The other martial masters from different sects and Mount Hua disciples still standing nearby stared in wide-eyed disbelief.

 

"S-she’s fighting barehanded?!"

"Is she serious?"

 

Someone shouted—half in fear, half in awe—

"That’s the " Xia Yewon"   who punched the tip off of  Mount Song! I told you all! I told you that rumor wasn’t fake!!"

 

Morale surged.

The scattered defensive lines began to reform, rallying behind her.

Yewon didn’t stop to hear their cheers.

Her mind was razor-focused.

Break their formation. Break their will. Close the distance. Force them into disarray.

 

And she did exactly that.

One Officer tried to call out commands—but Yewon was already in his face, slamming her knee into his solar plexus and driving him into the dirt.with one qi charged puch in his throat...

The head seprated to the shoulders... nothing remains of that of the neck . 

 

Another slashed at her back—but she twisted mid-air, flipped over him, grabbed him by the neck, and smashed his head into the ground with a sickening crack.

Punching his neck with qi infused fist. 

 

And just like the previous victim of that punch. 

 

Nothing remained  that could be called a neck.

 

Her qi flared with every strike—short bursts of purifying force that turned each punch and kick into something between martial arts… and pure demolition.

And when she finally saw an opening—a gap in their encirclement, just wide enough for her to break through— and lead the martial artists with the injured out of the encirclement. 

She surged forward like a comet.

 

Breakthrough.

 

The line shattered as she burst through them, her disciples following close behind like a wave crashing through the dam.

From the frontlines, far away, Chung Myung’s eyes sharpened.

Even through the bond… he could feel her qi spiking like wildfire.

"That idiot…" he muttered with a rare, sharp grin, cutting down three enemies with one sweep.

"She’s really going all out."

Somewhere deep inside him… his blood boiled to join her.

Because if she was risking everything…

He’d risk everything too.

---

 

The Bishop Descends – The Battle of Attrition

 

The air shifted.

He felt it first.

 

The Bishop

Up until now, he had remained on the slope, calmly overseeing the slaughter, like watching ants scurry beneath his feet.

 

But now…

Now this woman—this filty unbeliever, the one responsible for the Plum Blossom Sword Saint’s rampage 

This woman who punched holes through his elite officers as if they were made of wet paper…

 

This variable…

This thorn in his Heavenly Demon’s grand ascendance…

 

She had persisted for far too long.

The Bishop’s red, vein-streaked eyes narrowed.

Without a word, he took one step forward.

Then another.

The earth beneath him withered with each footfall, the grass turning black, the soil cracking open as demonic qi saturated the air around him like thick poison.

His black robes dragged along the dirt, the hem already soaked with corrupted energy.

The battlefield seemed to fall silent as he descended the slope, like every living thing recognized something monstrous approaching.

---

 

Yewon’s body froze mid-strike.

Her fist had just shattered another fanatic’s head when her senses screamed.

A dark, suffocating concentration of qi… thick and oppressive… crawling toward her from the distant slope.

 

She turned.

Her breath caught in her throat.

That…

That was no ordinary opponent.

That was a bishop  from the Demonic Cult.

 

A rotting disaster wrapped in human skin.

The kind of opponent even great sect elders would hesitate to face alone.

Lexy’s voice chimed low in her mind—sharp, serious for once:

"Host… we have a problem."

 

Yewon swallowed hard, tightening her grip on her barely drawn sword… only to slowly let go again.

 

No.

 

She couldn't afford to waste qi swinging her sword here.

That was why she had switched to hand-to-hand.

Why she had been conserving energy even while breaking bones and shattering skulls.

She’d been saving every last drop of her qi for this moment.

 

In case a delusional bastard like this bishop showed up! 

 

Her body ached. Her meridians screamed. Her muscles felt like tightly coiled wires stretched too thin… but she stood her ground.

Tang Bo, catching sight of the Bishop’s slow approach from a distance, cursed loudly as he sliced down another enemy in his path.

He needs to get to her quickly. 

"That’s bad." He spat blood from a split lip, quickly falling back to regroup with the other martial master . "That’s real bad. Yewon—this isn’t someone you can take on alone like the others! "

 

He screamed but the rear is too far from the frontlines he's fighting on. 

---

 

Her eyes didn’t leave the descending figure.

 

The Bishop’s presence grew heavier with every step closer. The nearer he came, the more the air thickened, like the battlefield itself was suffocating under his weight.

Mount Hua disciples around her trembled , still guarding the injured and unconscious disciples from other sects.

Some even collapsed to their knees just from the pressure of his presence alone.

 

But Yewon stood firm and meet his hostile aura.

Her qi began to gather—slow, deliberate, focused into her core.

She reinforced her organs first. Then her limbs. Then her skin.

Her celestial qi—though faint compared to when she was at full strength—shimmered under her skin like threads of pale gold.

 

She took a fighting stance.

No sword techniques to back her up.

Just raw, terrifying, reinforced martial power.

 

"Lexy."

>Already rerouting emergency qi pathways, I’ll buy you every second I can."

As the Bishop finally reached the bloodied field—standing twenty meters away from her now—he raised his head, looking directly at her.

His smile was slow… and full of death.

 

"You," he said, voice low and echoing, like a curse from the underworld. "You’re the rotten enigma that must be cut out."

 

Yewon smiled back—bloody, defiant against the pressure of his aura.

"Then come cut me."

 

The battlefield held its breath.

And then—

The Bishop charged.

And Yewon met him head-on.

---

 

Yewon’s Rampage – “Divine Nuke”

 

Yewon stood her ground as the Bishop charged.

His demonic qi poured outward like a black tide, swallowing the air, staining the earth, poisoning even the sunlight itself.

 

Behind him… dozens more of his personal demons followed, sprinting in sync. A hundred strong officers.

Yewon’s gaze swept over them—calculating, cold.

 

Her heart pounded.

This was it.

Her reserves were low. Her body screamed in exhaustion. But her will? Unbreakable.

 

"Lexy."

>Ready when you are, yewon

 

Yewon’s voice cut across the battlefield like a blade:

“ Shaolin! Mount Hua! Emei! Retreat from this sector! Immediately! I’m about to flatten this place!”

 

The Shaolin monks didn’t hesitate.

They’d seen her punch craters into stone walls. They knew better. shes much better than them at throwing punches.

 

But the Mount Hua disciples…

Some froze mid-step.

Some even shouted back—

 

“Yewon-nim! We can help!”

“We won’t leave you alone!”

 

Yewon’s glare snapped toward them, her voice erupting like thunder—

 

“THIS ISN’T A REQUEST! I’M ABOUT TO GO ON A RAMPAGE! MOVE OR DIE WITH THEM!”

Her qi surged at the last word—exploding outward in a pulse that sent dust and debris flying.

 

That got them moving.

Within moments, the field around her cleared, leaving Yewon standing alone against the tide.

Just her… and the Bishop’s approaching army.

 

Her breathing slowed.

Her control sharpened.

And then…

 

She started.

 

Instead of condensing her qi like before… she began spreading it.

 

Thin And Wide

Covering every inch of the surrounding air like an invisible mist. It drifted toward the Bishop and his men. Slow. Harmless at first glance.

 

But it wasn’t harmless.

The demons chasing behind the Bishop slowed. Their skin prickled. Their insides burned 

Her qi—her purifying celestial qi—was invading them. Sinking into every pore. Every lungful of air they took poisoned them further.

The Bishop noticed… but too late.

Yewon waited… spreading more… letting the mist like energy saturate the earth, the air, their very bodies.

And when she saw the smallest opening—when the Bishop instinctively paused to reinforce his defenses—

 

She snapped her fingers.

A single, unimpressive sound.

And the world around her erupted.

 

BOOOOOOOM!!!

 

A blinding, white-hot explosion tore through the battlefield.

 

Theres no fire or smoke to be seen.

Just pure, burning qi—cleansing and devastating,

like a sun being born right in the heart of the war.

 

Demons disintegrated mid-scream.

Their bodies turned to ash before their cries could finish.

The very land beneath their feet cracked and burned.

 

The Bishop’s protective barriers shattered like glass hit with a hammer.

His followers vaporized… leaving not even bone fragments behind.

By the time the dust settled…

 

The Bishop was still standing—but barely.

His skin… charred black.

His flesh… split and cracked.

His hands crumbled away like dry ash, falling piece by piece to the broken earth below him.

He resembled something dug out of a furnace after days of burning.

The black smoke lingering in the air didn’t drift… it dissolved.

 

Purified.

Burned clean by Yewon’s lingering qi that still crackled faintly like lightning in the air.

 

Step.

 

Step. Step.

 

Yewon began walking toward him.

Her feet steady on the broken earth, her qi still rolling off her like a toxic mist to demons—but a balm to any human watching from afar.

 

With each step she took closer…

The Bishop’s body began to crumble faster.

Like dry paper left too close to a flame.

Like rot dissolving under acid.

 

Until finally…

 

Before she even reached him…

 

He collapsed into a pile of ash.

 

Silence permint in the air.

 

Yewon stopped in place… letting out a slow, pained breath.

Her body shook.

Her vision blurred at the edges.

But she smiled anyway…

 

“…Divine Nuke.”

—she muttered under her breath.

 

>…God, what a lame name.

Lexy said inside her head.

 

Yewon laughed once, low and hoarse, as she sank to one knee—bracing herself with trembling arms.

Somewhere… she could already feel Chung Myung’s qi racing toward her.

 

But for now…

Let her rest for just a second.

Just one second…

 

Before the next fight.

 

Notes:

Nuke - to destroy, to wipe out.

Or nuclear use to destroy something.

Chapter 45

 

After the Blast – When the World Held Its Breath

 

The explosion wasn’t just seen.

 

It was felt.

The earth trembled. The sky split with light. The very air twisted as if the laws of nature bent under the weight of one person’s will.

Mountains in the distance quivered. Birds fled the skies.

A wave of pure, blinding celestial qi blasted across the battlefield like a cleansing tidal wave—burning every impurity it touched.

For a full minute… there was nothing but white light and howling wind.

 

And then…

 

Silence.

 

A dead, suffocating silence.

---

 

Chung Myung reached the outskirts of the battlefield just in time to see it.

Just in time to see Yewon’s figure at the epicenter… swallowed whole by the explosion.

 

His breath caught.

His chest tightened.

For a full heartbeat—he froze.

 

And then—

 

His knees gave out.

He dropped to the dirt, both hands clutching at his chest, gasping for air like a drowning man.

 

The battlefield blurred around him.

His vision tunneled.

 

No… No… NO…

 

He couldn’t breathe.

 

Couldn’t think.

 

Not her.

 

Not now.

 

Tang Bo arrived next, bloodied and bruised, sliding down beside him.

" Dosa-hyungnim! Breathe! Dammit, breathe!” Tang Bo grabbed him by the collar, shaking him hard.

But Tang Bo’s voice… it didn’t sound panicked.

 

It sounded… stunned.

 

Chung Myung, still struggling for air, noticed the awe in Bo-ya’s trembling voice.

 

"Look..."

 

Tang Bo’s gaze wasn’t on him.

It was on the heart of the explosion.

On the dissipating smoke.

 

On her.

 

Through the fading white mist… through the crackling remnants of qi still burning the air…

Yewon walked forward

Step by step.

Slow. Wobbling.

But standing.

 

Alive.

Her figure glowed faintly under the sun, her clothes tattered, her skin marked with burns that healed as her qi slowly worked its way through her body—but still she stood.

Her feet dragged as she approached the remains of the Bishop—his corpse now a blackened husk, crumbling with each step she took closer.

 

And as she stood before the bishop…

The last of his body… turned to ash and scattered.

With each step she took toward him… it was like the earth itself rejected the Bishop’s remains—melting away under her radiating presence like snow under fire.

 

Her aura… was a slow, rolling tide of celestial power.

Every demonic qi particle left in the air burned away on contact.

The battlefield remained utterly silent.

Every disciple from Mount Hua. Every Tang warrior. Even the martial masters from Wudang, Shaolin, Beggar’s Union—who had followed Chung Myung’s lead to the battlefield…

 

All stood frozen in place.

Not one… not a single person… uttered a word.

Not out of fear.

But out of breathless awe.

 

Their eyes stayed fixed on her back…

Her radiant, battered, victorious back…

As she stood amidst the destruction she created with nothing but her own two hands… and her own damn stubborn will to live.

Chung Myung’s breath finally rushed back into his lungs like a breaking dam.

 

His body jolted—air flooding in too fast, too harsh—but he didn’t care.

 

"Yewon..."

 

Without thinking, he scrambled to his feet and ran.

Down the slope.

Across the broken battlefield.

His heart pounding like war drums in his ears.

 

Her legs gave out just as he reached her.

Her knees buckled —her whole frame collapsing with the slow, inevitable fall of someone who had finally reached her limit.

But he caught her.

Just in time.

 

Arms steady beneath her back and legs, holding her like she weighed nothing.

Her head lolled against his shoulder, her breathing faint but present.

 

Her eyelashes fluttered.

Her lips curved into the smallest, exhausted smile.

 

“…See?” she whispered, voice like a breeze against his neck. “…told you… I’d hold out…”

 

Chung Myung’s throat tightened.

For a second, he buried his face in her shoulder…

Then pulled back, eyes fierce, heart racing, still half-strangled with leftover terror.

 

“…You crazy woman,” he whispered back, his voice shaking. “…you stupid, ridiculous... impossible woman…”

 

But his arms…

They never loosened.

And as he stood there holding her—surrounded by a hundred silent, awe-struck martial artists who couldn’t even find words to speak—

 

Chung Myung knew…

That for as long as he lived…

He would never forget the sight of her walking out of that explosion.

 

Not ever.

 

---

 

The Aftermath – One Week of Silence

 

The war camp sat in an uneasy calm.

For the first time in months… there had been no demonic attacks.

-No new sightings.

-No reports of ambushes.

-The enemy… had gone quiet.

 

Too quiet.

 

---

 

Inside one of the medical tents, Yewon slept.

For seven straight days.

Her breathing was slow but steady, her qi so faint and low it barely registered even to the most sensitive cultivators.

Her skin—normally glowing with vibrant qi circulation—remained pale, her pulse weak but consistent.

By all accounts… her body was doing the only thing it could do after something like that:

 

Survive.

Recover.

Sleep.

 

And outside her tent…Chung Myung stood guard.

 

Day and night.

In rain. In cold.

 

He Refusing to leave. Not because he was unwilling to fight without her…But because there hadn’t been a single battle to fight.

The demons had gone quiet the day after the Bishop’s death.

 

No attacks at all...

Like the entire demonic cult was collectively holding its breath.

Or worse… regrouping for something even more dangerous.

The Mount Hua Sect Leader himself had come by on the fourth day, voice low and serious:

 

“Chung Myung… this isn’t doing you any good .”

“Go rest. Even a blade dulls when left under too much strain. You can’t protect her like this.”

 

But Chung Myung only answered with a distant stare toward Yewon’s tent…

And stayed.

 

---

 

Tang Bo tried too.

 

On the sixth day, Bo-ya approached with a fresh set of clothes and warm food in hand.

“We’re supposed to take shifts, you stubborn bastard,” Tang Bo said, dropping the bundle beside him with a scowl. "You’re worse than me with my nieces."

 

Chung Myung didn’t answer.

His arms were crossed. His sword rested beside him, unsheathed, just in case.

His eyes hadn’t moved from the tent entrance in hours.

Tang Bo sighed, flopping down beside him anyway.

“You know,” Bo-ya muttered, staring at the campfire nearby, “those disciples that were guarding her when the Bishop attacked? They told me…”

 

Chung Myung tilted his head slightly but still said nothing.

“…They said the Bishop didn’t just ‘happen’ to attack the rear  "

 

Tang Bo’s eyes darkened.

 

“They said it was her they are after to.”

 

Chung Myung’s jaw clenched.

He already knew.

He knew from the way the Bishop had bypassed every other target. From the way the generals closed in on her first. From the sheer, suicidal focus with which they tried to erase her from existence.

 

Because they must have noticed it too.

The woman feeding him qi from behind the lines.

The woman who erased a whole legion of demons in one technique.

The woman who didn’t know how to back down, even when she should.

 

His—

 

---

 

On the seventh morning…

 

The first stir of movement inside the tent.

A faint rustle of cloth.

A soft, broken cough.

Chung Myung’s head snapped up instantly, heart lurching into his throat.

He was inside the tent before anyone else noticed.

Kneeling beside her , looking down at her pale face.

Her eyes blinked open—slow, groggy, confused.

“…What…?”Her voice was so hoarse it barely counted as a whisper.

 

Chung Myung didn’t say a word at first.

He just let out the sharpest, most relieved exhale of his life.

Then without thinking…

He smacked her forehead with two fingers.

Not hard. Just enough to snap her attention toward him.

 

“You reckless idiot,” he said, voice low and trembling with leftover fear and exhaustion. “Next time you plan on blasting half the battlefield… warn me first.”

Yewon gave him a lazy, broken grin, eyes still half-closed.

“…Divine Nuke…” she mumbled.

 

Chung Myung froze.

 

Then laughed.

 

Just once—sharp and breathless.

“…That name’s terrible.”

 

“…I know.”

He exhaled again, lowering his head until his forehead touched her blanket-covered shoulder.

“…I thought I was gonna have to chase your stupid soul into the afterlife,” he muttered.

 

Yewon’s cracked, dry laugh barely made it past her throat—but she still smiled.

“You’d do that… wouldn’t you…?”

 

Chung Myung just tightened his grip on the edge of her blanket.

“…Damn right I would.”

 

---

 

 

Chapter 46

 

When She Finally Woke

 

Yewon opened her eyes for real this time.

 

Not just stirring.

Not just blinking half-aware.

But awake.

 

Lucid.

Her throat felt like sandpaper. Her limbs like lead. Every meridian in her body screamed like she’d run barefoot across burning coals.

But… she was alive.

Her first clear sight…

 

...was Chung Myung.

Seated cross-legged at her bedside, face pale and shadowed with exhaustion. His hair was messy, his clothes wrinkled and bloodstained, and his eyes…

…His eyes were red at the corners like he hadn’t slept for days.

He noticed her breathing shift before she even moved.

And like he was already on autopilot, he was at her side instantly. Without a word, he slipped an arm behind her shoulders, propping her up against him with practiced care.

With the other hand, he brought a waterskin to her lips, holding it carefully so she wouldn’t choke.

“Slowly,” he muttered under his breath. “Drink too fast and I’ll hit you on the head.”

 

Yewon let out a croaky, pathetic laugh—but drank anyway.

The cool water soothed her burning throat like heaven-sent relief. When she pulled back, Chung Myung stayed close… staring at her face with an intensity that made her heart ache.

“…You scared the hell out of me,” he finally whispered.

“Mmn… worth it,” she rasped with a cracked smile.

 

Before he could start scolding her more—

 

The tent flap burst open.

 

“FINALLY!” Tang Bo’s voice exploded like a cannon.

Bo-ya shoved past two startled Mount Hua disciples standing outside. His face was sweaty, dirt-smudged, but there was a manic grin tugging at his lips.

“Do you know how many times I had to drag this idiot away from your bedside just to get him to eat??!”

 

Chung Myung scowled but didn’t let her go.

Tang Bo ignored him.

He plopped down at Yewon’s other side and pulled her wrist up, checking her pulse with practiced speed.

 

“…Horrible,” Bo-ya muttered. “Your pulse is thinner than silk thread. Honestly, you’re lucky you didn’t shatter your meridians pulling a stunt like that.”

 

Yewon’s cracked lips curled.

“I’ll… manage…” she breathed.

“‘Manage,’ she says. After nuking a Bishop.”

 

Chung Myung elbowed Tang Bo hard in the ribs.

“Stop calling it that! There’s no such thing as ‘nuking’ only goverment officials do that!!”

 

Tang Bo grinned wider.

“Too late, name’s already spreading.”

 

Chung Myung blinked.

“…What?”

 

Bo-ya laughed under his breath, shaking his head.

“You’ve been stuck here with her all week, you haven’t heard the rumors yet.”

---

 

The Camp Reaction – Legend of the Woman Who Erased a Battalion

 

Outside, across the entire war camp…

Stories about “The Xia yewon Who Erased an army with One explosive technique ” had already traveled from camp to camp like wildfire.

 

From the Beggar’s Union camps…

To the Shaolin tents…

To Wudang’s quiet strategists…

To the remnants of Kunlun’s scattered forces.

 

They spoke in low voices:

"She didn’t just kill them… she wipe them out!."

“Not even ash was left… only the Bishop’s burned corpse remained for a few moments before it crumbled too…” he shivered 

 

“The land itself wouldn’t hold their remains.”

"Her qi… it burned through impurity itself."

“She stood there, in the middle of it all… glowing like some kind of divine being.”

Mount Hua disciples, especially the juniors who witnessed it firsthand, started calling her behind her back:

 

"Xia Yewon… the Heavenly Executioner ."

"Thats The moonlight sword Saint for you! "

" Im having goosebumps everytime I remember that exact moment it all goes up , blasted away! "

The most popular one is

"The Walking Explosion."

 

“I heard the explosion didn’t even leave her injured… or scratch from ”

“I heard she walked out of the blast like it was nothing…”

“I heard the Bishop begged for his life at the end!” (…Not true. But no one dared correct the rumors now.)

 

When Tang Bo recounted all this next to her bed—grinning like an idiot—Yewon just closed her eyes again, looking both horrified and deeply amused.

 

“…I’m never… living this down, am I…”

that 'walking explosion' yada yada sounds stinky, damn it! Please... divine nuke sounds better (　´Α｀)

 

Chung Myung crossed his arms, lips twitching.

“…Not in this lifetime.”

“…Or the next,” Tang Bo added with a wink.

 

Yewon let out one soft, exhausted laugh before letting her head tip sideways…

Resting it gently on Chung Myung’s shoulder.

And for the first time in a week…

He let her stay there.

 

---

 

That Night – Chung Myung’s Private Moment

 

The camp was quiet again.

Not because there wasn’t danger.

But because everyone was too afraid to approach her tent for more than a few minutes at a time.

Even the bravest martial masters felt like they were walking near a dragon’s den.

Chung Myung sat just outside her tent flap, staring into the cold night, his sword across his lap, unreadable shadows in his eyes.

His hand drifted toward the ground beside him… then stopped.

For the fourth time that night… he reached out to trace the spot where she had fallen.

The image of her knees buckling… her body collapsing into his arms…

Her faint smile…

 

“…Tch.”

He let out a sharp breath through his nose and wiped at his face quickly.

There were still faint tears there.

Unacceptable.

He couldn’t afford to be weak.

 

Not now.

Not with the war still looming…

Not with her…

Not with her still recovering.

 

And yet…

His heart hadn’t stopped trembling since the moment he thought she was dead.

 

---

 

Three Days Later – Yewon Finally Stands

 

The morning sun was just rising when Yewon, still pale but stubborn as hell, swung her legs off the bed.

Chung Myung caught her by the waist before she toppled over.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Standing. Obviously.”

“With whose permission ? Your reserves are still trash.”

“Don’t care. Gotta walk. My legs feel like boiled noodles.”

 

Chung Myung scowled but didn’t argue further.

Instead, he adjusted his grip and hauled her upright—supporting her entire weight against his side with one arm.

She leaned into him, shaking, but smiling anyway. Around them, the Mount Hua juniors peeking through the tent entrance burst into muffled cheers.

Tang Bo even tossed a small bundle of firecrackers into the air and set them off with a grin.

“Hail to the Saint of Battlefield explotion!” Bo-ya cackled.

 

Chung Myung threw a rock at his direction.

---

The War Council – When Even the Masters Were Speechless

 

Later that day, the war council convened.

 

Wudang elders, Shaolin abbots, Tang family, namgung, peng and other heads, and the Beggar Union’s top dogs…

All seated in tense silence as the latest battlefield report was read aloud.

 

“…And as of yesterday’s ambush at the rear supply lines… reports confirm that Xia Yewon, acting independently, detonated a massive qi-based explosion that wiped out an entire battalion of demonic cults support units and also their bishop.”

 

A low murmur rippled through the tent.

Wudang’s sect leader cleared his throat.

 

“…I… beg your pardon… but… how many enemy units?”

The scout paled as he reread the scroll in his trembling hands.

 

“…Two full divisions, sir. Including three commander-ranked officers. All unidentifiable now. Reduced to ash.”

 

Silence.

Dead silence.

One of the Shaolin masters finally broke it with a slow, horrified whisper:

 

“Is she… human?”

Someone from the Beggar’s Union, less refined, just muttered:

“…Are we sure she’s not some walking heavenly punishment sent down by the gods?”

 

Another sect leader, pale-faced and wide-eyed, added:

“This is the second time she’s erased an entire enemy formation… with one technique…”

“No…” another corrected grimly. “She used her fists the first time, didn’t she? That was hand-to-hand.”

 

The Tang Family Head sighed, pressing his knuckles to his forehead.

“…I hate to admit it… but the nickname’s spreading faster than wildfire.”

 

The Wudang elder frowned.

“Which nickname?”

 

Silence again.

 

Then, Tang Bo, standing lazily at the edge of the war council room, grinned like the troublemaker he was:

 

“Xia Yewon… The Woman Who Nuked a Bishop.”

 

Everyone winced.

Everyone.

Even the Sect Leaders.

 

“…Please tell me that’s a metaphor.”

 

Bo-ya shrugged.

“You wanna go ask her yourself?”

 

No one volunteered.

 

---

 

Epilogue: Chung Myung Watching Her From Afar

 

That night, as she finally sat outside her tent, breathing in the cool air and staring at the stars with a tired smile…

Chung Myung stood in the distance, arms crossed, watching her quietly from the shadows.

Tang Bo, walking past him with a yawn, slapped him on the back.

“You’re gonna give yourself a stomach tear if you keep hovering like that.”

“…She almost died, Bo-ya.”

 

Tang Bo’s smile faded.

For a second, there was only silence between them.

Then Bo grinned again, softer this time.

“Yeah. But she didn’t. And knowing her? She’ll do it again.”

 

Chung Myung’s jaw tightened… but he smiled too.

A tired, crooked smile.

“…That’s the problem.”

And without another word, he turned back to watch her—hand resting on his sword hilt…

 

Heart still pounding…

But calmer now…

Because at least for tonight…

She was breathing.

 

And that was enough.

 

For now.

 

---

 

That Night – The Talk They’ve Been Avoiding

 

The camp had long since gone to sleep.

Only the late-night sentries and the occasional snoring Beggar Union member broke the silence. Yewon sat alone near the outer edge of the camp, perched on a flat stone, her gaze lost somewhere beyond the distant mountain peaks.

Her qi hadn’t fully recovered. Her limbs still trembled on bad days. But the bruises were gone, and her lungs no longer burned with every breath.

She heard his footsteps before he spoke.

Always… she could sense him.

Even with her eyes closed.

Even with her back turned.

 

“…You’re supposed to be resting,” came Chung Myung’s familiar voice.

 

Low. Rough around the edges.

Carrying more emotion than he probably intended.

Yewon opened her eyes, keeping her smile soft and tired.

“I’ve been resting for a week. I’m practically growing moss.”

 

Chung Myung didn’t laugh.

Not even a scoff.

That… was her first warning sign.

 

He stood there for a moment… then slowly sat beside her, just close enough for their shoulders to almost touch… but not quite.

“…You should’ve let them handle it,” he said after a while. “The rear guard. The Tang family. The Mount Hua juniors. That wasn’t your fight alone.”

 

Yewon’s smile stayed, but her fingers curled into fists on her lap.

“They would’ve died.”

 

A long pause.

Chung Myung didn’t argue.

Didn’t say she was wrong.

Because she wasn’t.

 

“…Still.” His voice cracked halfway through the word.

 

Yewon’s heart sank.

Very slowly… she turned her head toward him.

And finally… really looked at him.

Dark circles under his eyes. His skin paler than usual. His lips pressed into a flat, miserable line.

 

“…I stopped breathing,” he said suddenly.

 

She blinked.

 

“What?”

“That day.”

 

His gaze stayed fixed on the dirt at his feet. His hands tightened on his knees like he was holding himself together by sheer willpower.

“When the explosion hit… when the whole battlefield went white…”

 

He swallowed hard.

“I couldn’t breathe.”

 

Her chest tightened.

 

“Chung Myung…”

 

“I thought—”

 

He cut himself off.

Then let out a short, bitter laugh.

“…It felt like my lungs collapsed. Like I was drowning with my eyes open.”

 

For a second, there was only the crackle of distant campfires.

Yewon… had no answer for that.

Her throat felt too tight to speak.

“…I’m sorry,” she whispered at last.

 

Chung Myung turned sharply toward her.

“Don’t.” His voice was raw. Too raw. “Don’t you dare apologize for surviving.”

 

She blinked in surprise… then let out a broken little laugh, covering her mouth with her sleeve.

“…You’re unbelievable.”

 

He let out a huff of air that was almost a laugh.

“…That makes two of us.”

 

Silence stretched between them again.

Long and heavy.

Finally… cautiously… Yewon shifted closer, just enough that their shoulders touched.

She felt him stiffen for half a second… then relax, letting the contact remain.

“…I’m still here,” she said softly.

 

Chung Myung closed his eyes.

“…I know.”

 

Her head tilted, just slightly, resting against him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“…Next time,” he murmured, voice barely audible, “…warn me first before you blow up the world, alright?”

 

Yewon’s tired smile widened.

“…Deal.”

 

And like that… they stayed there.

 

Shoulder to shoulder.

Breathing in the quiet night air.

Both alive.

Both still fighting.

 

Together.

 

 

Notes:

Told yall I'm Going to mass update!

Im the kind of silent introvert irl but mind you, i have medals on overthinking things. 😆 🤣 😂 😹

My inner thoughts runs faster than i could process what to say.

And im updating enmasse because when i start something its hard to distract me away from it.

Once i start my ojt , it'll be my brain's priority to process first . Every plot i came up with for the story will be forgetten so write it now before i could forget how things in this story would flow.

I hope my fanfic counts as english literature i could pass to my professor 😆 🤣 😂 😹.

Chapter 47

 

A Quiet Request – The Signal

 

A few days after their late-night talk, Yewon sat cross-legged near the outer edge of the camp again.

This time, her qi flow was stronger. Her complexion had returned to something close to normal.

Her hands rested calmly on her knees… but she could sense him approaching from behind before he said a word.

Chung Myung stood there for a long while, watching her back like he always did.

 

Then finally… he spoke.

 

“Yewon.”

 

His tone wasn’t angry.

Or teasing.

Or full of that usual sharp-edged irritation he threw at her when she did something stupid.

 

No.

This was quiet and HeavyHeavy

He is Serious.

 

She turned slightly, giving him a small questioning smile.

“Hm?”

 

Chung Myung shifted his weight like the words tasted awkward on his tongue… but finally, he crouched down beside her, lowering his voice like it wasn’t meant for anyone else’s ears.

“…Next time…”

 

Her brows lifted, but she stayed silent, letting him finish.

“…If you ever… if you’re going to use that technique again…”

 

His jaw clenched for a second.

“Give me a signal first.”

 

Yewon blinked, caught off guard.

“A signal?”

 

He nodded once, firm.

“Through the bond.”

 

His gaze flickered to her chest for the briefest second, as if looking at that invisible thread only the two of them could feel.

“That little… tie we have,” he muttered. “I can sense fluctuations in your qi through it. Barely. But I can feel it when something… changes in you. Like that day.”

 

Yewon’s eyes widened.

 

She hadn’t realized he could sense her through it that clearly.

“I can’t track you exactly,” he continued, “but I’ll know when something’s wrong. So if you’re ever going to—”

 

He stopped.

Swallowed.

Frowned like the words physically hurt to say.

“…If you’re ever going to burn yourself out like that again… tell me first.”

 

Her throat tightened at that.

“…Why?” she asked softly.

 

Chung Myung gave her a flat, almost exasperated stare.

“Why do you think?”

“…You’re worried about me,” she teased, but her voice wavered at the edges.

“…Of course I’m worried, idiot.”

 

The blunt honesty of it made her heart stumble in her chest.

 

But he kept going.

“I’ll come to you,” he said simply. “I don’t care if I have to fight through a thousand enemies to get there. I’ll get to you before you collapse again. So just… give me something. A warning. One chance to reach you before you decide to blow up half the map.”

 

Yewon lowered her gaze, staring at her own hands for a second.

“…I can do that,” she whispered.

 

Chung Myung let out a long breath, like he’d been holding it in for days.

“Good.”

 

A pause.

Then with a crooked, tired smile, he added:

“…And don’t you dare collapse before me again. It’s annoying.”

 

Yewon laughed.

A real, tired, teary laugh this time.

“I’ll try not to,” she said.

 

And before he could get up and leave…

She reached out.

Her hand closed around his sleeve—just for a second.

 

Her way of promising.

Her signal in advance.

That next time…

 

She’d let him come to her first.

 

---

 

Lexy’s Sass – The Truth About Her Divine Nuke

 

A few days after recovering enough to move around camp, Yewon sat cross-legged, mentally conversing with Lexy inside her consciousness.

 

“Hey, Lex… I’ve been thinking… That first time I used the Divine Nuke… I had everyone evacuate because I thought it would kill them too.”

> [snorts in her headspace]

>Yeah, and it was hilarious watching you scream at grown men like they were naughty kids playing near fireworks.”

 

Yewon groaned. “Lex… Serious question… Could I… have used it with them nearby?”

 

Lexy didn’t answer for a few seconds.

Then… with the most exaggerated fake sigh in the universe…

 

>Oh, you absolute dumb gremlin. Just what exactly did you explode?? A firebomb? A sack of gunpowder? No. You released pure, concentrated, high-grade, anti-evil qi that specifically burns corruption and demonic energy. It’s like—

 

She paused. Then with glee:

>You know what? Imagine the entire battlefield like a pile of sweaty laundry. The demons are mud-stained rags. Your allies? Maybe just… slightly dusty gym clothes. What you did… was basically dump industrial bleach over the whole thing.

 

Yewon choked.

“…I BLEACHED the battlefield?!”

 

>You’re welcome. Lexy smugly mock her.

 

Yewon buried her face in her hands.

“So all those Tang disciples running for their lives…?”

>Yeah, they just needed moisturizer afterwards. Maybe drink some ginseng tea. That’s it.

 

Yewon let out a long suffering groan.

“…Gods… I’m never living this down.”

 

>Nope

 

 

---

First Time Using Their Bond for Synchronized Combat

 

Their first time testing the bond in real battle came two weeks later.

A sudden demon ambush on the east flank.

Thousands of enemies rushing toward their defensive line like a living tidal wave.

Yewon and Chung Myung stood side by side on the front lines, the scent of blood already thick in the air.

Midway through the fight, Chung Myung’s qi dipped dangerously low after executing three high-level techniques in succession.

 

Yewon felt it instantly.

A sudden pull at her core. Like the thread binding them had stretched thin.

Without needing to shout… without needing to glance at him…

She pressed both palms together, closed her eyes briefly, and pushed a stream of pure qi along that delicate connection.

Chung Myung stiffened mid-swing.

For half a second, he almost stumbled… then—

His body surged with fresh power.

The next sword stroke he unleashed sent a hundred demons scattering like leaves in a hurricane.

Someone from Wudang gasped aloud from the sidelines.

 

“What the hell—! His qi just jumped like he’s at peak condition again! HOW??”

 

Chung Myung didn’t stop swinging.

But in the middle of his next movement, he yelled over his shoulder at her:

“Hey! Don’t overdo it! I don’t want you collapsing again!”

 

Yewon just grinned from the rear line.

“Shut up and swing that sword harder!”

 

For the first time in this long, bloody war… they fought like a true pair.

One gathering… One delivering death.

A perfect, living, breathing battlefield rhythm.

---

 

The First Distress Signal – When She Called Him

 

It happened one late afternoon…

A scouting team had gone missing in the forest range west of camp.

Yewon, along with a small tang mens , went out to investigate.

But what they found… was a trap.

 

There's four bishop waiting to ambush her .

Lot of them.

Ready  to take her head as sacrifice to the heavenly demon

They sprung from the shadows like wolves, tearing through her defensive line in minutes.

By the time Yewon realized she was getting boxed in—so she separated from the main Tang group—she only had seconds to decide.

its her that they want. Surely the tangs would manage to get help. 

Her sword lashed out desperately, but more officers surged in.

 

Her breathing grew ragged.

Her qi may be fully restored but she needs time to used her divine nuke . But it doesn't seem efective this time because the demoniq qi from four bishops is suppressing her. She cant spread her qi like before. 

 

Her vision blurred from blood loss.

And in that moment—

Without hesitation…

 

She poured every ounce of remaining qi into the bond.

Like a flare. A scream. A burning thread of panic and desperation straight through his core.

---

 

Back at Camp – Chung Myung’s Reaction

 

Chung Myung froze mid-drink.

His cup slipped from his fingers and shattered on the floor.

The entire command tent stared at him as he shot to his feet.

Without explanation. Without grabbing a single weapon.

He vanished from the camp at full speed, leaping across rooftops, trees, and ridges—his feet barely touching the ground.

 

He didn’t need directions.

Her qi… her fear… was screaming through the bond like a beacon.

didn't she only went to connect with the scouting group???

“Hold on,” he muttered under his breath, his heart slamming against his ribs like a war drum.

“Hold on for me, Yewon… I’m coming.”

 

And when he arrived at the edge of the battlefield

He didn’t even stop running.

Sword already drawn.

 

Eyes wild.

 

---

 

The arch bishop's Command – High Priority Elimination

 

Meanwhile… back in the demonic cult head quarters…

 

A meeting of high-ranked demon bishops was held.

An urgent one.

The lead bishop’s cracked, burned skin—still recovering from her last explosion—twitched violently at the mention of her name.

“Her qi is not normal,” the Bishop spat, voice low and furious. “She burns like divine fire. She disrupts the battlefield. She fortifies the Saint.”

 

Another demon officer added 

" the filty unbeliever must die before he awaken ”

 

They all exchanged looks.

 

“ she must be taken out before she dirtied his grand ascendance ”

 

Silence.

 

Then…

 

A new order was written.

" kill the heretic unbeliever "

“…Whatever it takes,” the lead bishop hissed.

“Before she burns too bright to in front of his presence.”

 

---

 

Battlefield – Yewon’s Last Stand

 

The forest clearing reeked of blood and burnt flesh.

 

For three days…

Yewon had been holding this position with only a handful of remaining Tang disciples and Mount Hua juniors.

By now… almost everyone around her was either dead… retreating… or unconscious behind the last defensive barrier they had managed to set up.

And she…

She was still standing.

Barely.

 

Her sword arm trembled with every swing.

Her robes were torn and soaked through with dried blood.

Every breath she took scraped her lungs like broken glass.

 

And yet—

Every time her qi reserves dipped dangerously low—just when her knees were about to buckle—she felt it.

A sudden rush of warmth flooding through the thread that tied her to him.

 

Chung Myung’s qi.

 

Again.

And again.

And again.

 

For days now…

He had been feeding her qi, pouring it through their bond as though emptying himself just to keep her moving.

‘Idiot…’ she thought, staggering to her feet once more, blinking away the blood dripping into her eyes.

‘You’re going to kill yourself at this rate…’

 

But she didn’t dare stop.

 

If she stopped…

They would die.

All of them.

And now…

 

A fresh wave of demon generals was approaching from the treeline.

 

Ten of them. Maybe more.

All trained. All coordinated.

Moving with lethal, unnatural speed.

 

Yewon gritted her teeth.

‘Just a little longer…’

She shifted her stance, tightened her grip on her bloodied sword—

 

And charged.

---

 

The Arrival – A Storm Descends

 

Just as Yewon’s legs finally gave out—

Just as her blade slipped from her fingers and the nearest demon general lunged for her throat–

A sonic crack tore through the battlefield like lightning splitting the sky.

In one blurred instant…

Chung Myung appeared.

Sword already mid-swing.

The demon’s head was severed before it even realized he was there.

 

Yewon, barely conscious, cracked open one red rimmed eye…

 

And saw him standing there.

His back to her.

His sword dripping with blood.

His qi raging like a thunderstorm about to break the earth itself.

 

“…You’ve done enough,” she heard him say lowly.

 

To her.

To the demons.

To himself.

 

Then…

 

Without waiting for another breath—he moved.

Chung Myung tore into the demons like a god of war.

One slash—two bodies fall.

One step—five heads roll.

A blur of speed.

A hurricane of sword qi.

The generals and bishops who moments before had been confident… now screamed and scattered like terrified animals.

 

And when the last of them fell—

Chung Myung dropped his sword, turned, and crossed the distance to her in three long strides.

He dropped to his knees beside her and pulled her into his arms—ignoring her blood, her injuries, everything.

His voice cracked as he whispered near her ear:

 

“…Don’t do this again.”

Yewon, dizzy, half-laughing, half-sobbing, could only murmur:

“…You came fast this time…”

 

Chung Myung’s hold on her tightened.

“…Of course I did.”

---

 

Aftermath – Rumors Spread

By the time the reinforcement teams arrived, the entire clearing was littered with demon corpses—more than seventy generals lay dead and four headless Bishop’s corpses.

And at the center of it all…

Mount Hua’s Plum Blossom Sword Saint cradled the infamous ‘Moonlight sword Saint’ like she was the most precious thing in the world.

 

The story spread fast.

That Yewon held the battlefield for three days alone protecting, the disciples. 

And that when she finally fell—

Chung Myung cut a bloody path through an entire army to reach her.

 

No one…

Not even the other sect leaders…

Dared to stop him.

 

Because now…

He looks as if he'll go into killing spree.  

 

Chapter 48

 

Soup Kitchen Morning – A Rare Moment of Peace

 

The war camp was unusually calm that morning.

No demon sightings. No emergency alarms. No messengers running through the tents screaming about another village being attacked.

For once…

 

Just the distant sound of birds and the gentle clatter of pots and pans near the camp’s communal soup kitchen.

Yewon stood there, sleeves rolled up, hair tied messily back, stirring a large iron pot of soup like she hadn’t nearly blown herself up two weeks ago.

Tang Bo sat nearby, legs lazily crossed on a wooden bench, casually peeling radishes with a small throwing knife, because of course he’d use weapons for cooking chores.

 

And Chung Myung…

Sat on an overturned barrel… arms crossed… staring at Yewon like she was some rare, unpredictable phenomenon that needed constant monitoring.

“…Are you sure you’re well enough to be out here?” he grumbled after a few minutes of brooding silence.

 

Yewon didn’t even turn.

“I was tired of lying around. And if I have to eat another bland camp ration I’m going to cry.”

 

Tang Bo barked out a laugh from his spot.

“She says that now… but when she fainted into your arms last week, I swear I thought you were going to cry too, Hyung-nim~.”

 

Chung Myung’s face turned red instantly.

Bonk!

 

Yeah... someone was bonked on the head.

Yewon finally glanced over her shoulder, grinning as she stirred the pot.

“You kind of looked like you were.”

 

Chung Myung opened his mouth to argue… but wisely closed it.

Instead, he just sank deeper onto the barrel like a sulking cat.

 

Tang Bo, still peeling, added cheerfully:

“You should’ve seen his face when he burst into the infirmary. Thought he was going to drag you back from the afterlife by sheer force of will.”

 

Yewon chuckled softly, shaking her head.

“Thank you… both of you.”

 

Her voice was soft. Sincere.

And just for a second, the teasing fell away.

Tang Bo gave her a gentle smile before tossing the peeled radishes into the pot.

Chung Myung, as expected, just scowled harder… but said nothing.

After a few more moments, Yewon finally ladled soup into three battered metal bowls.

“Eat up,” she said, setting the bowls down in front of them.

Tang Bo picked up his with the speed of a starving animal.

Chung Myung hesitated… staring down at the steaming soup… then quietly muttered:

“…You really scared me.”

 

Yewon’s hand paused mid-spoonful.

For just a second… everything else faded again.

Slowly… she reached out and nudged his bowl closer to him.

“…I’m still here,” she said gently.

 

He gave her one long look… then sighed… and picked up the bowl.

“…Better stay that way,” he muttered before shoving a huge mouthful of soup in like it offended him.

Tang Bo burst out laughing at the whole scene, nearly choking on his own food.

Yewon just smiled… quietly thankful for this simple, ordinary morning.

Because even amidst war…

 

Moments like this still existed.

 

---

 

The News from the Ten Thousand Mountain Range

The war council tent, usually filled with quiet tension, was now a battlefield of voices.

Scrolls and reports slammed onto the central table.

Messengers, pale-faced and breathless, stumbled in and out.

Each one bringing the same devastating news:

“Confirmed sighting of the Heavenly Demon.”

“Spotted at the edge of the Ten Thousand Mountain Range.”

“The Demonic Cult headquarters… it’s stirring.”

 

For a long moment, no one spoke.

The council stared at each other… as if hoping someone else would deny it… hoping it was another false rumor like the dozens before.

 

But it wasn’t.

This time… it was real.

The Heavenly Demon… the source of this year long nightmare… had appeared.

 

And the entire continent… shook.

 

---

 

Council Descends into Chaos

 

Within minutes…

 

The sect leaders from the various factions were arguing.

 

Loudly.

 

Furiously.

 

The tent became a screaming match.

Yewon stood at the back corner, arms crossed, quietly observing the chaos unfold… feeling the weight of inevitability settle into her chest.

Because she already knew…

 

No matter how loud they argued… Mount Hua would lead .

 

Just like in the novel.

Because Mount Hua has pride in its duties to up hold righteousness .

And Because Chung Myung would always carry it to the bitter end.

 

But She’d be there... to share it. 

---

 

Small Changes – The Butterfly Wings She Made

 

Later that night, as the camp settled into uneasy silence, Yewon sat outside near the supply tents, staring up at the dark sky.

Chung Myung eventually found her there.

 

He sat beside her without a word.

For a while… neither of them spoke.

She took a slow breath.

Chung Jin… he’s not lost in the Ten Thousand Mountains this time. He’s still back at Mount Hua… guarding the sect… protecting the kids. his sect won’t be left defenseless this time.

A beat.

…Tang Bo… he’s still here too. Still standing. Still fighting next to us.

 

Her gaze softened further.

“Your sect brothers… your friends… They’re still here, Myung-ah.”

Chung Myung closed his eyes at that, shoulders tightening… throat working like he was trying to swallow something bitter.

“…It still won’t be enough.”

“I know,” she said gently.

“…We’re still going to lose people,” he murmured hoarsely.

 

“I know,” she repeated.

The weight of her words… slowly settled over him like a balm on a wound that never stopped bleeding.

For a while… they just sat there. The two of them. Beneath the night sky… waiting for dawn…

 

Waiting for the final war.

 

---

Rooftop Talk

–The Reader and the Story

 

The night air was cool and gentle.

The war camp had grown quiet.

The masters and disciples were asleep. The sentries far off in the distance kept their vigil, but here… atop the roof of her small tent house on the edge of camp… Yewon sat alone.

 

A cold cup of tea in her hand.

Her thoughts far, far away.

Staring at the moon as if it held answers it never intended to give.

 

Chung Myung hadn’t meant to find her.

He’d only gotten up because his throat was dry… craving a cup of water.

But the moment he felt her presence…

The heaviness of her qi… the silent, distant weight of her mood…He set aside his own cup. Filled another with fresh warm water. And climbed up to sit beside her without a word.

 

For a long time, he didn’t speak.

Just sat there. Holding out the cup.

And when she finally noticed… she took it without looking at him.Sipped it slowly.

 

Then…

“…You’re too quiet,” he murmured. “That’s scarier than hearing you yell.”

Yewon gave a dry, humorless laugh under her breath.

“…Sorry.”

 

Another long pause.

Then… finally… she spoke.

“…Chung Myung-ah… can I ask you something strange?”

 

He blinked, then shrugged.

“With you, strange is normal. Go ahead.”

 

Her gaze stayed locked on the moon.

“…Is there a story you liked? When you were little… or growing up. Something you listened to, or read, or heard… something you wished to meet the characters in person?”

 

Chung Myung fell quiet.

For once… he actually stopped to think about it.

“…There was something,” he admitted after a minute.

“When I was small… before I became too busy with sword training… my sahyung… Sahyung used to tell me these silly little stories at night. About wandering warriors and stubborn kids and… old masters trying to teach them stupid lessons they wouldn’t learn.”

 

A faint, rare smile touched the corner of his lips.

“It was dumb. But I liked it.”

 

Yewon let out a soft hum of acknowledgement… then asked, almost too softly:

“…And if you suddenly found yourself inside that story… standing there… with all the characters in front of you… and you knew that some of them… would die. Inevitable. Necessary even… for the story to progress… for things to unfold the way they’re supposed to…”

 

Her hands tightened on the cup.

“…Would you still try to change it? Even knowing it’ll ruin the story… even knowing it’ll make everything… wrong?”

 

The air between them stilled.

Chung Myung turned his head to look at her fully for the first time since he sat down.

Her countenance under the moonlight looked tired… more tired than he’d ever seen her.

 

But her eyes…

Her eyes were burning.

With something she hadn’t said yet.

With something she couldn’t.

 

He didn’t speak right away.

 

Instead… he leaned back on his hands… tilted his head toward the sky… and exhaled slowly.

“…A story is a story,” he said finally.

“And life is life.”

 

A beat.

“If I was inside that story… standing there… looking at the people I care about… watching them walk toward their deaths…?”

 

He let out a low, bitter laugh.

“…I’d burn the damn book before I let them die in front of me.”

 

Yewon’s breath hitched.

Chung Myung continued, voice low but steady:

“Story be damned. Author be damned. Plot be damned.”

He turned toward her again, this time with that rare serious look that stripped away all his usual smirks and lazy grins.

“If it’s between letting them die for the sake of ‘how things should go’… or ruining everything to keep them alive… I’ll ruin everything. Every single time.”

 

His gaze softened, just a little.

“…Why?”

 

Her voice came out as a whisper.

“…Because that’s who I am,” he said simply.

 

Then… after a pause…

“…And because I’m selfish enough to want them to live… even if the whole world breaks for it.”

 

For a long time after that…

Neither of them said another word.

Yewon just lowered her head… staring into the water in her cup… trying not to let her throat close from the emotion she couldn’t name.

 

Chung Myung stayed beside her… staring at the stars…

Never once asking why she was really asking that question.

Because deep down…

Maybe…

 

 

Chapter 49

 

After Chung Myung left…

 

Yewon remained seated for a few moments longer, staring at the place where he’d been.

His words…

 

"Burn the book."

 

Kept playing.

Repeating.

Looping endlessly in her mind like a stuck melody she couldn’t shake off.

 

She stood up.

Her legs felt numb… but she walked anyway.

Barefoot, her steps soft against the wooden floor… then the dirt path outside her manor… until she stood at the edge of the field, under the cold night sky.

The stars above were scattered and endless.

Brighter than she remembered from her old world.

The moon—large and round—hung high like a silent witness… staring down as if it could see straight through the mess of thoughts curling inside her chest.

 

Her breath trembled.

 

Then…

 

A single tear slipped down her cheek.

Before she could stop it… more followed.

One after another… until she had both hands pressed over her mouth… muffling the sobs she didn’t want anyone to hear.

 

But the more she tried to hold them in…

The more they burst out.

 

Violent. Ugly. Shaking her entire frame.

 

Tears she never shed on her deathbed in her pastife 

Tears she never shed when she first woke up in this world… confused… terrified… alone.

Tears she swallowed down every time she reread that damn novel… holding herself together as she read about how Chung Myung wept over ch7ng jin's bones… alone on the mountain… in letters so painful she had to put the book down and breathe just to stop herself from breaking down.

 

All this time…

She had been looking at them like characters in a story.

Like pre-written names in a tragedy she had no real power to stop.

A cast she was allowed to love… but never truly save.

Even now… even with everything she’s done…

Some part of her still treated them like figures moving on a script… marching toward deaths she’d already filed away as inevitable.

 

And now…

Chung Myung… that idiot… that fool… looked her in the eyes tonight and said—

He’d rather burn the book.

 

He’d rather destroy the story than let them die in front of him without doing anything about it.

 

Because to him…

A life is a life.

 

Not a name on a page.

Not a necessary sacrifice for narrative flow.

A real, breathing person… with weight… with value… with meaning.

 

And the sickest part…

Was that somewhere deep in her heart…

She had already resigned herself to watching

Tang Bo die…

 

And it made her want to throw up.

Her knees gave out.

Yewon sank to the ground, curling into herself, shoulders shaking so hard she could barely breathe.

Her tears soaked the dirt beneath her.

Mingling with the cold earth of this world she once called fictional… but now knew was horrifyingly, painfully real.

 

“I’m sorry…” she gasped through her hands, voice breaking.

 

“…’m sorry...uwaaaahh. ..”

 

She wept for Tang Bo.

For Chung Jin.

For everyone who died and will still die.

For every Mount Hua disciple she had mentally signed off as a doomed casualty for the sake of when the war comes.

For every name she had prepared to let die just because they inher mind they are bound to die no matter what. 

For every life she hadn’t valued enough… because she thought this world was just a story she was inside.

 

But it wasn’t.

It never was.

And now…

Now she would fight with them all…

Not just to delay fate…

 

But to crush it beneath her feet.

Just like that reckless, selfish, beautiful fool who said he’d burn the book before letting his people die.

Just like Chung Myung.

Her tears kept falling…

 

But this time…

 

There was resolve buried underneath them.

 

---

 

When dawn broke, the war camp stirred to life.

Yewon dragged herself out of bed with swollen eyes, stiff shoulders, and a headache that pulsed behind her eyes like a second heartbeat.

 

Her eyes… red and puffy.

Her throat… raw from hours of muffled crying.

Her heart… still sore, like something had been pulled apart and not yet put back together.

 

When she stepped out of her room…

Tang Bo was waiting.

Sitting cross-legged by her door like a lazy cat… grinning the moment he saw her.

But when he got a proper look at her face…

 

His grin froze.

“…Whoa… what happened to your face?”

 

Yewon tried to roll her eyes but only managed a weak glare.

“Shut up,” she croaked, voice hoarse.

 

Tang Bo stood, towering over her with arms crossed, giving her a once-over like a nosy older brother.

“Cried, didn’t you?”

“…Mind your business.”

 

He snorted but didn’t press further.

Instead, he patted her head twice with awkward gentleness and said, “Soup’s on. Come eat before Chung Myung finishes everything.”

 

Yewon blinked.

“Chung Myung’s already awake?”

 

Tang Bo tilted his head toward the mess tent.

“He’s been there since before dawn. Sitting there like a grumpy old man. Staring at your empty seat.”

 

Yewon’s heart gave a small, painful squeeze.

Without another word, she followed.

---

When she entered the soup kitchen tent…

 

She saw him.

Chung Myung.

Sitting exactly where Tang Bo said he’d be.

Hunched over his bowl… chopsticks idle… eyes staring at the space across from him like it personally offended him.

When she appeared, he didn’t say a word.

Didn’t even look directly at her.

 

But the moment she sat down…

A second bowl of soup appeared in front of her.

 

Hot. Steaming.

 

And then… without even making eye contact…

Chung Myung shoved half the side dishes from his own plate onto hers. Like he was mad at her for making him worry.

 

Like he was telling her, without words: "Eat. Get stronger. Stay alive."

Yewon blinked rapidly… throat tightening all over again.

But this time… she smiled softly…

And picked up her chopsticks.

 

---

 

The Talk with Lexy – For Once… Silence

 

Later that afternoon… after filling her stomach and forcing herself to regain her composure…

Yewon sat inside her room. Curtains drawn. A single oil lamp burning beside her.

 

Lexy’s familiar voice filled the air.

>Ugh. You look like roadkill.

 

Yewon huffed out a tired laugh, dragging a hand through her tangled hair.

“Thanks… as always… for your endless support.”

 

Lexy’s screen flickered to life beside her, the usual snarky emoticon face hovering midair.

For a while, neither of them said anything important.

Then… finally…

 

“…Lexy,” Yewon whispered.

The system’s projection blinked.

>…Yeah?

 

Her hands tightened on her lap.

“…I’ve been… awful, haven’t I?”

 

Lexy didn’t respond at first.

Which was strange.

Because Lexy always had something snarky to say.

 

Always.

After a long pause…

 

Lexy’s voice came… softer than usual.

>…You’re human . it said simply.

 

Yewon stared at the flickering blue light.

“…You knew, didn’t you?” she whispered.

“…That I was treating them like… characters. Like checkpoints in a game.”

 

Lexy sighed.

>Yewon… you’re a transmigrator. You didn’t sign up for this. You never asked for this. You got dropped in a literal bloodbath of a story with death flags hanging over everyone’s heads. I figured… if giving you information from the novel helped you cope… I’d let you.

 

Another pause.

 

Then, more quietly:

>…But yeah. I noticed.

 

Yewon swallowed hard.

“…I won’t do it again,” she whispered, voice shaking.

“I won’t treat them like plot devices anymore.”

 

Lexy’s voice softened further… almost like a sigh of relief.

>…‘Bout time you caught up, Host.

 

A small, tired laugh escaped her lips. And for the first time in a long while…Lexy said no more.

Just let her sit there… in that quiet, heavy understanding between them.

 

---

 

The List – The First Names

 

That night…

Long after everyone had gone to bed…

Yewon lit a single candle.

 

Took out a blank scroll.

Uncapped a brush.

And began to write.

 

At the top of the page… in clear, deliberate strokes:

Her hands trembled slightly… but she forced herself to continue.

 

1. Tang Bo

2. Chung Jin

3. Chung Mun

4. The Elders of Mount Hua

5. Every disciple fighting in this war

6. The children left behind at Mount Hua

 

And after a long pause…

With her heart twisting painfully in her chest… she dipped the brush again.

And wrote the last name.

 

7. Chung Myung

 

Her gaze lingered on the name.

Her stomach churned.

Because out of everyone on that list…

She knew his fate was the hardest one to change.

How arrogant of her. How selfish of her. 

 

She would burn the damn book herself.

If that’s what it took. And if still not enough and they still died, at least she'll never thought that she didn't give her all . 

Her candle flickered as she sealed the scroll and tucked it safely beneath her bedding.

 

Tomorrow…

They’d march toward the Ten Thousand Mountain Range.

 

Toward war.

Toward death.

 

 

 

Chapter 50

 

The Night Before The March – One Last Talk with Lexy

 

The camp was quieter than usual.

Not because people were resting… but because they weren’t.

There were no songs. No chatter. Only the distant sound of blades being sharpened, last letters being written… goodbyes whispered under shaky breaths.

Yewon sat alone on the far edge of the camp, beneath the shade of a half-dead tree. The stars stretched above her like a silent audience. She exhaled slowly… drawing her knees to her chest.

 

“Lexy,” she said softly.

 

A faint flicker appeared beside her.

The blue, half-transparent projection of her system hummed to life, floating lazily above the grass like an annoyed cat.

>You’re calling me now? Shouldn’t you be pretending to sleep like everyone else?

 

Yewon smiled bitterly.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight anyway.”

>…Fair point. Lexy muttered.

 

For a few moments, neither of them spoke.

Yewon tilted her head back… staring at the moon that looked almost too bright for a night like this.

 

“Hey… Lexy…”

>Hm?

 

“…What’s the chance we’ll all come back from this?”

 

Lexy paused mid-glitch.

For once… it didn’t answer immediately.

Finally… it floated down near her shoulder… voice softer than usual.

>…With what you’ve done? Way higher than what it was meant to be.

 

Yewon laughed… but there was no humor in it.

“…That’s not very reassuring.”

>Nothing about this war is, Host. Lexy hovered closer.

>But one thing’s for sure… you already changed more than you think.

 

Yewon’s throat tightened.

She rested her head on her knees, hugging herself tighter.

“…I know.”

For the first time since she woke up in this world…

She really knew.

This was no longer just a novel.

These weren’t just characters.

This was…

 

Her life now.

Her people.

Her friends.

Her family.

 

And she was willing to burn herself a thousand times over if it meant keeping them breathing for one more day.

---

 

Preparations for the March

 

The next morning…

The entire Mount Hua camp stood assembled at dawn.

Swords strapped. Armor tightened.

Chung Mun stood at the front with a solemn gaze, issuing orders.

Chung Myung… with his blade resting on his shoulder, was oddly quiet.

Tang Bo… cracking jokes to lighten the mood, even if his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

Yewon stood with them… her heart calm in the way that only came before something terrible.

 

When she glanced over…

She caught Chung Myung staring at her.

For a split second… their bond pulsed faintly between them.

 

No words needed.

They both understood.

 

---

One Last Moment – Just Them

 

That night… as the final campfires burned low…

Yewon climbed up the slope overlooking the valley.

The cold wind bit at her skin, but she stayed there anyway… staring out toward the distant Ten Thousand Mountain Range.

Chung Myung found her not long after.

Carrying two rice balls wrapped in cloth.

“Eat,” he said gruffly, tossing one at her.

She caught it easily… biting back a smile.

“You’ve been bringing me food a lot lately,” she said teasingly.

“Better than dragging your half-dead body back to camp again.”

 

They sat side by side… staring at the distant mountains cloaked in shadow.

After a long stretch of silence…

Yewon finally spoke.

 

“…Do you think we’ll come back?”

 

Chung Myung didn’t answer at first.

But then…

“…I don’t know.”

 

His honesty hit her like a punch

She laughed… small and broken.

“Wow. For once, no cocky ‘of course we will’ speech?”

 

Chung Myung let out a low breath.

“…Not this time.” But then he turned to her… His gaze steady.

“…But one thing’s for sure, Yewon.”

“Hm?”

“If you’re ever planning to pull that Divine Nuke thing again… give me a damn signal first.”

 

She blinked… then laughed.

“…Deal.”

“And next time, I’m coming to you. No more fighting alone.”

 

Her chest tightened at his words.

“…Okay.”

 

They sat like that… side by side… until the cold became too much.

 

And just before she stood up to leave…

Chung Myung reached out…

And flicked her forehead.

Hard.

 

“Ow! What the hell?!”

“Don’t die tomorrow,” he said with a crooked grin.

“…That’s my line!” she yelled back, punching his arm.

 

But even as they bickered on the way down…

Neither of them said goodbye.

Because both of them knew…

That if they said goodbye now…

 

It would feel too much like the end.

And neither of them… was ready for that.

 

---

 

The Final Stand – Against the Heavenly Demon

 

The battlefield at the base of the Ten Thousand Mountain Range was unrecognizable now.

Once, it had been green, forested… vibrant with life.

 

Now it was only ash and smoke.

Corpses littered the ground—friend and foe alike. The air was thick with burnt qi and the metallic scent of blood.

Yewon stood amidst it all.

 

Her uniform torn… her breathing shallow… blood—some hers, most not—soaked into the fabric clinging to her skin.

But her eyes…

 

Gods.

Her eyes burned brighter than they ever had before.

And standing before her… at the heart of the carnage…

Was the Heavenly Demon.

 

---

 

The Deaths of Chung Mun and Chung gong

 

It happened only hours ago…

When their forces first breached the mountain's outer defenses…

 

Chung Mun led the charge.

His sword never faltered—even as demonic energy burned through his veins, even as black qi gnawed at his heart.

 

He died standing.

A true Sect Leader to the end.

 

And Chung Gong…

 

Oh…

 

Chung gong had been sent to guard the rear…

But when the demon generals flanked them, he chose to fight alone, holding off dozens just to buy time for them to go straight to the heavenly demon.

 

His body had fallen somewhere near the cliffs…

And no one had been able to retrieve it.

Not while the Heavenly Demon still stood.

 

 

---

Yewon’s Resolve

 

The deaths burned in her lungs like poison.

But they didn’t make her falter.

If anything…

 

They sharpened her more than ever with fury.

Now… with her qi nearly gone…

 

With Tang Bo bleeding but still fighting…

With Chung Myung charging headfirst at the Heavenly Demon, even though his ribs were shattered…

 

Yewon made her decision.

Her dantian was nearly dry.

Her sword hand trembled.

 

But deep within her…

Her True Qi remained.

 

The last, most dangerous thing she could offer.

Her very life force.

She drew it out.

 

Slow… burning… radiant.

 

Her entire body lit with an otherworldly glow, white and gold threads of energy twisting violently around her like a collapsing star.

Her hair whipped in all directions.

Her skin cracked at the edges as if bleeding light itself.

 

Her veins burned.

Her heart screamed.

But she smiled.

 

That eerie, reckless smile. The one Chung Myung hated seeing on her.

Because it meant she was about to do something unforgivably self-destructive.

---

 

The Heavenly Demon noticed.

 

The Heavenly Demon… sensing the build-up…

Turned his full attention to her. His eerie red eyes looking down at her.

 

For the first time…

Those dark Indifferent eyes shifted.

 

To face this courageous wowan.

He gathered his demonic qi in thick, suffocating waves… wrapping himself in layer upon layer of corrupted energy like an armor forged from nightmares.

Darkness oozed from his very being.

The ground cracked under his power.

Lightning split the sky overhead.

 

But Yewon’s smile only grew sharper.

“Cover yourself in it. Go ahead,” she whispered hoarsely.

 

Her voice raw from screaming and battle.

Her blood dripping onto the broken earth beneath her.

 

“I’ll burn it all. I’ll burn you down to bone.”

 

The Heavenly Demon lunged at her…

But she was already moving.

Closing the distance.

 

Her sword—bright like a second sun—met his claws.

 

The impact shook the air itself.

But she didn’t stop.

With the last reserves of her mortal body…

 

With every ounce of life left in her veins…

 

Yewon unleashed it.

 

Her final Divine Nuke. using all of her true qi.

Making her divine nuke ten times stronger. 

 

---

 

The Detonation

 

Unlike the first…

Unlike any she’d used before…

This was not clean.

Not silent. Not controlled.

 

It was violent. Monstrous. Terrifying.

The entire valley lit up in blinding, searing gold.

The air screamed as it burned.

 

The earth cracked apart beneath them, the ground turning molten at the epicenter.

All impurities, all demonic qi, all filth… eradicated in a single, horrifying wave.

Disciples hundreds of meters away fell to the ground—shielding their eyes, their skin stinging with heat and purity.

Even the martial masters… some of the strongest warriors alive…

 

Felt their knees buckle.

 

Like gods had decided to erase this part of the world.

And at the center of it all…

Yewon stood.

 

Her sword buried deep into the Heavenly Demon’s chest.

Her own body… broken… burning… cracking apart like porcelain under too much pressure.

 

But still standing.

Still smiling.

Even as her consciousness began to fade…

Even as she collapsed forward…

 

She heard one thing.

One faint voice cutting through the roar of destruction.

 

“Yewon—!”

 

Chung Myung’s scream.

 

The last thing she heard…

 

Before everything turned white.

 

 

Chapter 51

Notes:

Im dyinggggg huhuhuhuhuuuuuuu

( *´・ω)/(；д； )

Ill be fine... ill just cry myself to tears. Wiwuuwuwuuwuwuwwwu

 

The Moment It Should End – Yewon’s Last Stand Against the Heavenly Demon

 

The world around her was a haze of burning air and shattered earth.

Yewon stood… swaying… barely holding herself up.

Her fingers… bloody and trembling… still clung to the hilt of her sword.

 

The blade was buried deep.

Right into the Heavenly Demon’s heart.

 

But even that… even with her pouring every last drop of her True Qi…

Wasn’t enough to end him.

 

The Heavenly Demon… Half Dead, Yet Still Breathing

His body convulsed… dark, corrupted qi twisting violently around him like dying snakes.

His flesh sizzled… his veins burned with threads of her purifying qi…

 

But still…

He lived.

His eyes… once cold and untouchable… now wide with disbelief.

 

Hatred.

Rage.

But above all…

 

calmness .

 

And that Calmness only grew stronger with each moment her sword stayed lodged in his chest—her qi gnawing at him from within like holy fire eating through rot.

 

But Yewon…

She had nothing left to give.

 

Her knees buckled.

Her vision blurred.

Her lungs burned.

She couldn’t lift her other arm anymore… couldn’t drive the sword deeper… couldn’t twist the blade to finish him.

Her body refused to move.

 

---

The Silent Plea

 

She knew…

If she let go now…

If she collapsed…

 

He would tear her apart.

 

And then the others.

 

And then…

 

Chung Myung.

Her eyes… heavy and wet with unshed tears… shifted…

 

Toward him.

---

 

Chung Myung lay a short distance away…

 

On all fours…

His body wrecked… coughing blood onto the dirt.

 

But alive.

Barely.

 

His sword lay forgotten by his side.

He lifted his head…

 

And their eyes met.

For just a moment…

The whole battlefield disappeared.

It was just them.

 

And that silent plea in her gaze:

“Get up. Please… Get up and finish this… I can’t… I can’t anymore…”

 

Her lips trembled…

But she smiled at him anyway.

 

Like always. Like she wasn’t breaking apart inside.

Like this was fine.

Everything was fine.

 

---

 

Chung Myung’s Breaking Point

 

Chung Myung’s heart split clean in half at the sight.

Her sword.

Still there. Her body Is Still standing… but just barely.

And that stupid, self-sacrificing, reckless smile she always wore when she was at her limit.

When she was begging him… without words… to take the burden from her shoulders.

 

His hands shook.

His entire body screamed in pain.

 

But he pushed up.

Falling to one knee.

 

Then dragging himself upright.

Every muscle torn.

Every bone burning.

But he moved.

 

Because she asked him to.

Because she trusted him to.

Because this…

 

This was the moment to end this.

 

For her.

For everyone.

For Mount Hua.

 

He picked up his sword.

And as he rose to his feet…The qi around him exploded.All the energy Yewon had been sending him during these months…

All the qi she pushed into him during every near-death moment…

All the endless, stubborn life she breathed into him from the bond they shared…

 

It surged.

One final time.

His sword glowed… pure and unstoppable.The color of dawn breaking through winter.

 

He charged.

And as the Heavenly Demon—still impaled by Yewon’s blade—lifted his head in one last  snarl…

 

Chung Myung brought his sword down.

A single, clean beheading stroke.

The Heavenly Demon’s head fell…

 

Rolling across the blood-soaked earth.

His body collapsed…

 

Finally… truly dead.

 

Yewon’s legs gave out.But before she could fall .....Chung Myung was already there.

 

To Catching her and hold her against him.Neither of them spoke.There were no cheers yet.

 

No victory cries.

Only the sound of burning air…

And two hearts… barely still beating…

 

The battlefield was too quiet.....finally.

The Heavenly Demon’s headless body lay sprawled a few feet away… already turning to dust, like all corrupted things should.

But there was no strength left in any of the surviving martial artists to cheer.

Because at the heart of it all…

 

Amidst the broken stones and bloodied ground…

Two people lay dying.

---

 

Chung Myung collapsed to his knees… dragging his shattered body over to her with what little life he had left.

His breath rattled. Blood spilled from his mouth with every gasp.

The gaping hole in his torso—too wide, too deep, too fatal—bled freely like a cracked jar refusing to hold water.

His bones felt like splinters beneath his skin. His qi was like broken threads barely keeping him stitched together.

 

But none of that mattered.

Not when he saw her.

Yewon.

 

Her body slack in the dirt.

Her face… far too pale.

Her chest… barely moving.

 

Her dantian…

Broken. Shattered. Bleeding her life force away… unstoppable and cruel.

And in that moment…

As his trembling hand reached out… touching her cold cheek with stained, trembling fingers…

 

Chung Myung broke.....For the first time…

 

His tears fell silently at first.

Then uncontrollably.

-Tears that should’ve fallen when he lost his sahyungs.

-Tears that should’ve been shed when his sajils died.

-Tears that had stayed locked in his throat for a hundred years…

 

Now finally poured out.

 

Each drop… warm… wet… falling onto Yewon’s face… mixing with the ash and dirt on her skin.

 

---

Yewon stirred faintly… consciousness flickering like the last ember of a dying flame.

 

She felt…

The weight of him…

The tremble of his broken body wrapped around hers…

And…His tears.

 

Chung Myung was crying for her.

 

Her heart ached at the thought.

This wasn’t what she wanted.

Not this look on his face.

Not this grief.

 

Not these tears meant for her.

For everything… for everyone…

For Mount Hua…

For the brothers he lost…

For the home that crumbled…

 

And now… for her too.

 

Her own tears finally slid down her cheeks—uncontrollable now.

But still… with the last of her failing strength…

Her shaking hand… lifted… just barely… to cup his tear-streaked face.

Her thumb smeared away the tears from his cheeks… clumsy… weak… but full of every bit of care she still had left.

 

“Cry… it’s okay…” she whispered… her voice hoarse and breaking.

“It’s okay to cry… for all of them… for everything…”

Her eyes—wet and shining—locked onto his with the smallest, most painful smile.

“For your sahyungs… for Mount Hua… and for me too… it’s okay… really…”

Chung Myung shook his head… choking on sobs he couldn’t control anymore.

 

But she smiled wider…

With her heart breaking apart inside her chest…

“listen even if … the winter felt never.. ending.. the plums will be with you, in its sweet scent, you'll be delivered to spring”

 

Her tears fell faster…

“But next time… let’s meet again… where it’s warm… where no one has to die… okay?”

 

Her fingers dropped… slipping from his face as her arm fell limply at her side.

Her breath… slowed…

Her life force… thinning to almost nothing…

But still, she smiled.

Even as the light faded from her eyes.

 

And in that shattered, bleeding battlefield…

 

Chung Myung…Holding her broken body…

 

Wept.

 

For her.

For his brothers.

For Mount Hua.

For everything he loved…

 

And everything he lost.

And somewhere deep… through that still-there thread of their bond…

Even as her consciousness slowly faded to nothing…

 

---

When Words Come Too Late

 

Her breathing slowed.

Her warmth slipped away… bit by bit… like sand slipping between his fingers.

 

Chung Myung felt it.The way her pulse weakened.The way her skin turned colder beneath his touch.

 

And still…

He refused... refused to let her go like this.

 

Not when…

Not when he still hadn’t told her…

 

What she is to him truly.

 

---

“Yewon-ah…”

 

His voice broke.Hoarse and  Cracked.

Barely more than a choked whisper.

“Don’t—”His throat tightened.

 

He pressed his forehead against hers… shaking uncontrollably…

“…don’t leave like this…”

 

Her eyelids fluttered at the sound…

Her lips trembled… but no words came out.

So he said it.

 

Finally.

The words that had been locked… buried… suffocated in his heart for far too long.

 

“You…”He swallowed down blood.

“…you’re not just… someone I fought beside… not just someone I fights with… not just some stubborn, reckless idiot who dragged me through hell and back…”

 

His tears spilled faster now.

“You’re… the person I wanted to… stay with. After all this.”

His voice cracked hard—unforgiving and ugly.

“I wanted to see you smile after the war… I wanted to eat with you every morning and argue with you over stupid things… I wanted you to yell at me when I skipped training… I wanted…”

 

His breath hitched—like knives tearing through his lungs.

“…I wanted… you.”

 

Yewon’s chest shuddered.Her weak, near-silent voice cracked out:

“Why… only now…?”

 

Her tears slipped down her dirtied face… mixing with the blood and soot and dust.

“Why only now… why only at the end…”

 

Her fingers, trembling and bloodied, curled weakly into his tattered sleeve.

“I waited… I waited for you to say it first… I thought … maybe we could…”

 

Her voice dissolved into a heart-wrenching sob.

“What kind of life could we have had…?”

A wail of grief tore from her throat—raw, bitter, full of all the unlived days they’d both been too afraid, too stubborn to reach for.

Chung Myung’s heart shattered all over again.

He held her tighter—ignoring the pain tearing through his broken body—burying his face against her hair, her neck, anywhere he could feel the faintest trace of her still alive.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I should’ve told you sooner… I should’ve said it every day…”

 

His voice shook violently, his tears falling hot and fast onto her skin.

“I should’ve… held you like this a thousand times… told you a thousand times…”

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry, Yewon-ah… please… stay… just a little longer…”

 

Her breathing grew weaker still…

Her tears slowed…

But with her last strength…

She smiled.

 

“…Next time… if we meet again… you better say it first… right away… I won’t wait again…”

 

Her hand slipped from his sleeve. Her body grew heavy in his arms. Her head tilted… resting against his shoulder…but her tears still flow down her cheeks.

As her life faded like a dying star in the sky.

And all Chung Myung could do…

Was hold her closer…

Burying his scream of grief against her neck…

 

Crying… cursing… begging… screaming…

 

Into the blood-soaked air that no longer answered him.

 

---

 

---

 

Together Until the End – His Final Promise

 

Her tears slowed… just a little.

Her sobs softened into uneven breaths… rattling through her cracked ribs.

Yewon’s strength… almost gone… but she still clung faintly to his sleeve like she didn’t want to let him go.

Like she couldn’t… even now.

Chung Myung… wiping her tears with his shaking thumb… forced himself to breathe through the pain flooding every inch of his ruined body.

 

His lungs burned.

His vision blurred at the edges.

That hole in his torso… too deep, too wide… too final.

 

But he smiled for her anyway.

A broken, tired smile… but real.

 

“Hey…”

His voice was a soft rasp, but there was warmth in it.

“Don’t cry like I’m leaving you behind.”

 

Her blurred eyes blinked at him… barely focusing.

Chung Myung chuckled hoarsely… blood trailing down his chin as he did.

“I’ll be right behind you…”

 

He lowered his forehead to touch hers.

“…this stupid body won’t last much longer either. Look at me.”

 

His laugh cracked as it left his throat.

“I’ve got a hole the size of a child’s head in me… pretty sure even I can’t patch this one up.”

 

Yewon let out a weak, half-laugh, half-sob at that…A small, wet sound… full of pain and love and heartache.

“Truth is…”

His voice softened even more, like a lullaby meant only for her.

“…I’m kind of glad.”

 

Her breath hitched.

“If you’re going… I’ll go too.”

 

His hand cupped her bloodied cheek, thumb stroking slow, gentle circles as if memorizing her warmth.

“That way… I won’t have to wonder anymore what life would’ve been like without you in it.”

 

Her tears fell again—quieter this time—but her lips trembled with a small smile.

“Idiot…” she whispered, voice barely a breath.

 

Chung Myung laughed again, breathless and lightheaded.

“That’s me.”

 

For a moment… there was peace. The battlefield’s noise faded.

The pain dulled.

It was just them.

Two broken, stubborn people who kept running toward each other… even now… even at the end.

Their foreheads stayed pressed together… their breathing shallow… ragged… but synced.

 

Falling slower.

Fainter.

But always together.

 

Until the last beat of their hearts , it was for each other. 

 

 

Chapter 52: Wails of someone left behind.

Summary:

Im sorry in advance😭 i cannot bare to update this after such a soul stealing chapter!

Please hold on..

 

It happened in an instant.

 

A pulse of demonic Qi, thick and sickening like poisoned smoke, tore through the air toward his chest—swift and precisely aimed to put a hole throught his heart mercilessly.

A concentrated spear of demonic qi, thrown by the Heavenly Demon himself. He has no time to dodge the attack and no room to block it . The battle was already chaos, and Tang Bo had taken too many hits already. He was too slow.

 

He saw it coming.

 

And he thought:

 'So this is it, huh?'

 

He Closed his eyes.

But the impact never came.

 

Instead—

 

A sudden burst of light, brilliant and silvery gold, exploded from the front of his robes.

Right over his heart.

The force of it blinded everyone nearby.

But not him.

Tang Bo looked down, stunned.

From the inner pocket sewn near his chest—something glowed.

 

No, blazed.

 

He fumbled, even mid-battle, pulling it out with shaking fingers.

 

It was…

A silk handkerchief.

 

Frayed around the edges and delicately worn out.

But unmistakably the handkerchief yewon made for the three of them. It was poorly embroidered with tiny crooked flowers.One of them looked like a sickly tulip. The other… maybe a sunflower? Or a squashed moon.

 

 "What in the hells…?"

 

And then he remembered.

Yewon.

Right before the war began, she’d made it for him and his dosa-hyungnim . Awkwardly handed it into his hand with a muttered, “Keep it on you, just because.”

 

He teased her, of course.

Mocked the uneven stitching and claimed he could do better with his eyes closed.

''What are these, weeds?''

''They’re flowers, idiot.''

 

But now, those crooked little things—They glowed.

Each one carefully stitched with threads saturated in Yewon’s qi. A layer of protection woven with obvious care. A gift she never explained to him or to Hyung-nim,  she just smiled and said:

"Hold onto it, Tang Bo. That’s all."

 

Now—those “weeds” were holding back death itself.

The demonic qi—so thick it corroded steel—rebounded against it like water slamming into rock. The handkerchief deflected the attack meant to punch a hole through his heart.

But then that too shattered , the shockwave—It launched him backward .He couldn’t even scream. His back hit the stone ground, hard. Then his skull. Then again.

 

Crack. Crack. Crack.

Rocks and Rubble against his body,  his bones screamed but miraculously didn't snapped.

His vision blackened as his body hit a large rock formation.  Darkness claimed his consciousness for a while

 

Then—

He came to his senses.

He didn’t know how long he was out. Seconds? Minutes?

But when he opened his eyes, his body screamed his skin peeled, his muscles torn. Blood was stuck to his lashes.

Yet his high cultivation kicked in—healing, slow and shallow, but just enough to let him breathe.

His hand—

Still clutched that handkerchief. Tattered now. The flowers burned into silk like ash.

His throat was dry. Too dry to curse. Too dry to cry.

 

 She saved me…yet again.

 

---

 

The battlefield had long descended into a silence that felt more suffocating than any cry of war. The skies above were dimmed, ash drifting like snow, coating the ruined soil and the mangled bodies strewn across it.

Tang Bo's feet dragged himself even with blood coating his robes in jagged patterns. His lungs burned. His body screamed. His head throbbed from where stone had cracked against his skull. But none of that mattered to him

All that mattered was the mountain of corpses ahead—the last place he had seen them.

 

Chung Myung  and Yewon

 

They had stood there side by side against the Heavenly Demon.

He forced himself to move faster. The corpses of Mount Hua disciples lay twisted and broken beneath his feet, their blood soaking into the ruined soil, their eyes forever wide in fear or defiance. He didn't stop to close their eyes or mourn them. 

Because there was no time to mourn them.

Because somewhere, beyond this grotesque mountain of the fallen, were the only two people that mattered to him in this world should still be fighting.  

He clawed through the path, half-stumbling, half-crawling.

 

"Hyung-nim..."

"Yewon-ah..."

 

Their names were a prayer on his dry, bloodied lips. A chant. A plea to the heavens... but the heavens had gone deaf. Deaf and blind.

 

And cruel.

 

Because what Tang Bo found at the top—

—was not the heavenly demon still standing over the bodies Indifferently.  

 

It was a crumbling corpse.

A headless, ash-flaking body surrounded by silvery gold Qi—Yewon’s qi still burning, still purifying even after the heavenly demon's death.

The Heavenly Demon had perished, but what victory was this when his companions are nowhere to be seen . 

 

And then the moment he saw them—

 

His breath caught. His body refused to move. The ache that pierced his chest was unlike any physical wound could describe. 

 

There, slumped against a stone boulder, was his hyung-nim and In his arms—Yewon.

It was like they were merely taking a rest.

Like they had just closed their eyes for a while.

Their foreheads nearly touched. Her hand clutched the front of his bloodied robe. His arms were still wrapped around her.

Tang Bo couldn’t breathe... his breath was caught somewhere in his throat.  He stumbled down the mountain of corpses and hit the ground below.

He lay there, facedown. His legs cannot mustered any strength in his legs. 

When He lifted his head, tears started falling, his vision blurring but he forced himself forward.

when his legs failed him he started to crawl forward, towards the two freinds he treasured truly.

Every limb was heavy. Each breath was a wheeze. But he dragged himself toward them with every ounce of strength he had left.

 

"Hyung-nim..."

"Yewon-ah..."

 

His voice cracked.

No one answered.

He crawled through broken blades. Through scorched earth. Through a battlefield that had claimed nearly everything.

By the time he reached them, his hands were shaking violently.

He forced himself to kneel in front of them, somehow, knees folding beneath him like a child’s.

His bloodied fingers reached out— to gently cradled their cold cheeks.

 both wore peaceful smiles.

 

How dare they smile. How dare they die and leave him here.

 

His hands trembled.

He bowed his head.

And then—

 

Tang Bo began to cry.

Loud, ragged sobs tore from his throat like they were being ripped from his soul. He clutched them close, drew their bodies against his chest, his shoulders shaking so violently it looked like he’d shatter.

He screamed to the heavens.

Cried his heart out. 

His voice cracked again and again.

 

Wails of grief echoed across the empty battlefield. The wails of someone who had been left behind , of someone who had to face the dead bodies of the ones he spend half of his life with.

He cried his heart out without restraint. No honor left to preserve his title Dark Saint. 

 

Only sorrow.

He hugged them tighter. Their blood smeared across his hands and arms and face. His tears splashed onto their cheeks— 

 

Too late.

 

The Tang Clan’s remnants heard the cries.and recognised it . Even with their injuries—bones shattered, bodies broken—they rushed toward that sound.

And when they arrived—

 

They found their Dark saint, on his knees.

Clutching two broken bodies.

And weeping like the world had ended.

Because for him—

 

It had.

---

 

Tang Bo trembled violently as he clutched their unmoving bodies. His bloodied fingers curled tightly around the fabric of Chung Myung’s ruined robe, around the stiff edge of Yewon’s sleeve. The warmth was long gone. But he still clung as if he could will it back.

 

He choked on his sobs.

“…It’s not funny…” he muttered, voice hoarse and broken, barely more than a whisper. “You two... this isn’t funny…”

His shoulders shook as he tried to laugh—tried to pretend this was just another prank. That any second now, Yewon would open one eye and smirk, teasing him for being such a sap. That Chung Myung would roll his eyes and call him an idiot before flicking his forehead.

 

But no one moved.

His voice rose, edged with desperation, cracking apart like thin glass.

“This—this isn’t funny anymore! I—I get it! Hah... joke’s over, okay? You got me!”

He rocked them gently, like a child trying to wake his sleeping parents. “Come on, Hyung-nim… Yewon-ah… get up. You promised, remember? You promised we’d drink after the war was over! That we’d see more places to train together…”

 

Theres nothing but stillness.

Their expressions are peaceful. faint smile ss if they’d slipped away content.

without him.

 

That only made it worse.

 

His voice cracked as his throat gave out under the weight of grief.

“Why… why didn’t you wait for me?!”

 

He buried his face into Yewon’s blood-matted hair, tears spilling uncontrollably.

“Why did you go ahead without me…”

His cries came in strangled gasps, his entire body collapsing around their forms. The once vibrant, irreverent Tang Bo—the man with the sunny smile and stubborn persistence—had been stripped bare.

Now, he was only a man—grieving man.

 

In the distance, the martial masters who survived the final battle stood quietly. Many of them were too wounded to kneel, but all bowed their heads.

Even the proudest of them—all who once competed for prestige, for strength, for glory—now bowed in solemn respect.

 

Because they knew.

These three saints had done what none of them could.

When the Heavenly Demon unleashed the initial wave of demonic force—enough to flatten the mountain valley itself—it was Xia Yewon, the Moonlight fae Sword Saint, who formed a protective field of her qi over their vanguard, shielding hundreds from instant death.

It was Chung Myung, the Plum Blossom Sword Saint, who met the second wave with his blade, redirecting the destruction before it could wipe out what remained.

It was Tang Bo, the Dark Saint, who fought every inch to hold the rear line,  to rally what was left of their spirit.

 

Now…

Only one of the three saints remained.

And even he was broken by the deaths of the other two .

Tang Bo didn’t hear them. He didn’t feel the presence of the surviving masters gathering in a wide circle around him, giving him space. They said no words and None dared to speak.

Instead, one by one, they bowed.

Not to a sect.

Not to a title.

But to the those who made this victory possible with their lives. 

To the Mount hua disciples and masters who led them, and the first to die.

To the Swordswoman who burned the darkness away with divine light.

To the Swordsman who cut death itself with a tattered blade and refused to bend.

And to the Dark Saint who would carry the memory of thier deaths until the end of his days.

 

The absolute silence of the battlefield remained quiet. 

Only Tang Bo’s broken voice could be heard, shaking against the bloodied robes of his comrades.

 

“Please… don’t leave me…”

“I still have things to say...”

“I dont want to say goodbye…hyung-nim.... Yewon-ah.... ”

 

He wept again.

Wept until his tears soaked into the ashes beneath them.

Until his breath hitched and his voice faded.

Until even sorrow had no more sound left to cry.

 

And yet… he did not let go.

He stayed there.

Holding them.

Because that’s what they promised to each other.

 

To always be there when it mattered the most.

so how could they... leave him behind.

 

To Uphold their promise alone?

...

 

Tang Bo’s tears slowed, his cries now faint but present, clinging to the edge of his breath refusing to leave. He knelt there, arms tight around the broken bodies of his friends. Yet amid his grief, a memory surfaced—ridiculous and mundane, but sharp as steel in his heart.

That one time… when Yewon’s infamous randomness had struck again.

She had looked up from her soup, barely a sip taken, and declared with all the solemnity of a philosopher:

“Every living thing eventually dies. Humans are no exception to this rule. And if that time comes, I want you to bury me after death claims me.

Bury me in the bamboo forest, where it’s peaceful.” 

She said that to him straight to eyes, as if saying he'll definitely be the one to do it. 

He remembered scoffing.

 

“You expect me to haul your corpse into a bamboo clearing? What if I slip and fall?”

She had shrugged. “Then we can die together, you clumsy oaf.”

They had all laughed then. Even Chung Myung cracked a grin.

Tang Bo remembered teasing her about her embroidery afterward. She had worked for weeks to stitch flowers into a silk handkerchief for him, but it looked like drunken worms had been unleashed on expensive cloth. He had roasted her endlessly for it.

Now…

That same poorly embroidered handkerchief had saved his life—deflected the attack from piercing his heart.

He bowed his head again, silently pressing his lips to Yewon’s cold forehead as would a brother do as a farewell to his only sister.

“I’ll take you there,” he whispered. “Both of you.”

“You wanted peace?”

 

Then I’ll make sure only me and Hyung-nim’s ghost haunt your grave, as you wanted.

 

It took everything he had to stand.

Chung Myung was strapped securely to his back—bandaged, wrapped with care, the torn robes tied as cleanly as possible. Yewon remained in his arms, her hair falling limp over his blood-stained sleeve.

The martial artist moved instinctively, creating a path for him.

A procession for the heroes.

He didn’t speak nor barked order to them. But they followed him in silence, protecting the wagon now carrying the two saints.

 

The journey was long.

It took days to reach the old route—days where Tang Bo barely slept, stopping only to change Yewon’s wrappings or clean the blood from Chung Myung’s broken body.

They reached the border of Hua’am and Xi’an, to the mountain slope, where a barrier stood between reality and memory. A place protected only the three of them could pass.

 

Tang Bo stepped forward.

The barrier shivered—recognizing him, allowing passage.

He turned to his clan's men, voice hoarse:

“Go home. Tell the patriarch everything. Tell them… I'll come back in a week.”

The martial artist from his clan bowed. They didn’t speak. Some left  in silent respect as they turned to go.

Tang Bo stood still for a long while. The breeze through the bamboo was soft—an entirely different world from the scorched battlefield he came from.

Now, standing in its quiet shade, the words Yewon once muttered while mixing paint and sipping tea finally struck him with full weight.

 

“I wish I could capture this in a painting,” she had said.

“But my hands are never skillful with brush”

 

He smiled faintly through his tears.

“You don’t need to paint it, Yewon-ah.”

“ I'll live it for you and hyung-nim ”

The manor stood at the edge of a gentle hill—its gate was webbed , its path overgrown with moss. But it welcomed him like a second home. He couldn’t open the gate with both hands occupied, so he did what she always scolded him for—

He jumped over it with Chung Myung on his back and Yewon in his arms.

He landed with a grunt, wincing from the aches in his still-healing bones.

The stone path led him forward—each step forward stirring visions from the past. He could see them.

hyung-nim  flicking his forehead after every bad pun.

Yewon grumbling after being roped into troubles.

The three of them bickering at sunset, laughing like from their stories.

His heart twisted with every step, but he kept moving.

Until he reached the hidden spring, veiled by towering bamboo stalks and carved stone, a place only they had ever known.

 

It was still warm.

 

Still clear.

Tang Bo knelt and laid Yewon down gently by the water’s edge, combing her hair behind her ear. He then , let her body gently drift and get cleanse by the warm water. He used his qi to make sure she doesn't submerge. And when the spring cleanse every filt that stick to her... he gently reached out to take her out of the water and laid her on the stone pavement. 

He unstrapped Chung Myung and placed him beside her, positioning them beside each other.  

He used the handkerchief on chung myung's pocket to wipe the blood on his face. He soaked it in the warm water of the spring then to his hyung-nim.  

The qi infused water healed the scratches and torn skins of chung myung. If only it could do better.. maybe the hole in his Hyung-nim’s torso could be patch up. 

Tang bo used his qi to dry their robes now clean and untainted. He cannot bare to bury them without due respect. But he cannot bare to look at their broken body to change their clothes. Thats why he let the spring cleanse them as they are. 

“You two loved this place so much,” he murmured, voice cracking.

He lifted their body one by one into the bamboo clearing where they used to spar.

With every ounce of respect, he spent the day digging through soft earth—his hands bleeding from stone and splinters. When he could dig no deeper, he built a sword mound above them, sheating their swords halway into the earth. 

He pulled out the embroidered handkerchief—the one that saved his life and the ones on chung myung's pocket.

He tied it to the swords hilt.

Wind blew through the bamboo, catching the silk, letting it dance like petals on the wind.

 

He collapsed to his knees.

Pay his respect one last time. 

 

 

 

 

That day... three Saints was mourned...

... but only two was buried. 

Chapter 53

Summary:

My hands got itchy.

 

Seven days and seven nights.

 

That was how long Tang Bo remained in the mountains. Not once did he change from the blood-soaked robes he had worn in battle. The dried stains had turned black, crusted into the threads like wounds that refused to close. His eyes were sunken, his body weaker than before—but his back remained straight, carved by grief and duty.

When he returned to the Tang Clan, the guards at the gate did not dare stop him. Servants whispered in the halls as he passed, some reaching out in hesitance only to falter at the weight of his silence. He gave no greetings. He accepted no offerings of food or tea.

He headed straight to the main meeting hall, his steps echoing sharply against the polished stone.

The elders were already deep in discussion—gray-robed figures seated around the low circular table, voices tense, faces drawn. They paused mid-sentence when the doors opened with a hollow creak.

Tang Bo entered without announcement.

He stood like a shadow reborn from the war—hair still caked in dried blood, robe torn and ragged, face pale under the dim lantern light.

 

“dark saint ...” one elder stood, alarm and pity flaring in his expression. “You should—”

“What happened to Mount Hua?” Tang Bo's voice was gravel—tired, rough, yet unmistakably firm.

 

The silence in the hall grew heavy.

Another elder cleared his throat, rising slowly.

“The demons—what was left of them—split after the Heavenly Demon died. A small group escaped the battlefield and traveled north. It was... it was Mount Hua they targeted.”

 

Tang Bo didn’t blink. His breath remained shallow.

“Why Mount Hua?”

“Retaliation, perhaps vengeance. The Plum Blossom Sword Saint...” the elder trailed off. “...he beheaded the foundation of their cult. Perhaps they sought revenge.”

 

Tang Bo’s fists clenched at his side, fresh blood oozing from a scab that split open on his knuckles.

“Who was left to defend mount hua?” he asked tightly.

“Only Few of the second-class disciples,” said another. “The late sect leader, Chung Mun, left them behind with orders to protect the children and the sect.”

 

A pause.

“They held the mountain. But at great cost.”

 

Tang Bo’s head lifted slowly.

“How many?”

 

The room fell quiet.

 

Then the elder answered.

“All of them.”

 

Tang Bo stood frozen.

The second-class disciples.

 

Gone.

All of them.

 

Slaughtered defending their home. Their sajils. Their sect.

There was a ringing in his ears as his throat tightened. He turned toward the door, already stepping into motion.

“Wait— dark saint!”

One of the elders reached out, grabbing his sleeve. “There’s more you need to know!”

“I’ll listen on the road.”

“Then listen now!” the elder snapped, eyes narrowing with urgency. “We’re already sending aid. Mount Hua has suffered severe damage. Their buildings collapsed partially in the attack. The medicine halls were burned. There’s nothing left. Our Clan has organized a caravan—food, medical supplies. You are to lead the escort.”

 

Tang Bo’s jaw tightened.

“I don’t have time to lead caravans.”

“You do,” the elder said, firm. “Because Mount Hua will need that aid. The roads are still crawling with desperate remnants. And who else but you, Tang Bo, can defend them now?”

 

Silence.

“And while you’re on the road,” the elder added quietly, “get treated. Your injuries... you may not notice them now. But you will.”

Tang Bo’s eyes narrowed, the exhaustion visible even through the anger in his voice.

“I’ll guard the wagons.”

“Good.”

 

The Clan patriach met his eyes with something close to understanding.

Tang Bo’s breath caught. The grief that he’d buried under duty cracked, just slightly.

 

He nodded, once.

Then turned, and without another word—

 

Left the room.

 

---

 

The mountain path was eerily quiet.

 

Gone were the noisy echoes of disciples sparring in the courtyards, the laughter that used to rise with the breeze, the scolding voices of elders and the rhythmic sweeps of brooms across stone.

 

All that remained was silence.

And the scent of dried blood.

Tang Bo walked ahead of the Tang Clan convoy, the mountain’s damaged gate rising before him like the last ribs of a collapsed lung. Its left half was caved in, blackened with soot and cracked along the pillars. The other half creaked faintly in the wind.

He raised a hand and knocked once. The sound was dull—too soft for the weight of what once stood proud beyond that gate.

For a long time, there was nothing.

 

Then—

A small hand pulled the door just wide enough for a thin face to peer through.

 

A child.

 

His cheeks were streaked with soot, his skin paler than it should be, and his round eyes were filled with a kind of wide, haunted fear that no child should ever carry.

He couldn’t have been older than six.

 

Tang Bo dropped to one knee.

His green robe pooled around him like shadow, but his voice was low, soft—almost foreign coming from his usually brash tongue.

“Hey, little one,” he said gently. “Where are the others?”

 

The child blinked at him, silent. Tang Bo didn’t push. Instead, he held out his hand.

After a long moment of hesitation, the child reached out—not to take his hand, but to grip the edge of Tang Bo’s sleeve, as if afraid the man might vanish like everything else.

 

He led him in.

Past the ruined gates.

Past the shattered courtyard.

Past the bloodstains on the stone tiles that no one had the strength to scrub clean.

They walked in silence. The wind howled gently between broken columns. Birds no longer nested in the eaves. Only the steady crunch of Tang Bo’s boots and the child’s bare feet echoed across the path.

Then the child turned off the main path and toward the cliffs—toward the Plum Blossom Caves.

A hidden place. Originally for One's serenity. A sacred retreat carved into the side of Mount Hua’s peaks.

And now? A shelter for survivors.

Tang Bo felt his throat tighten.

As they approached, faint shuffling could be heard inside the dark cave. Small voices. Just the sound of people too afraid to speak.

At the mouth of the cave, a figure appeared.

A boy—barely Fourteen. His shoulders were squared, though they trembled. His stance mimicked the defensive posture of a disciple, but his limbs were too thin, too tired.

In his hand was a broken sword, its edge dulled and wrapped in blood of his sasuk.

He stepped between Tang Bo and the cave, shielding the entrance with his own body.

“That’s far enough,” the boy said, his voice cracking despite his effort to sound firm. “We’re not... I'm not letting anyone else in.”

 

Tang Bo stopped.

He didn’t speak. He simply lowered himself to a crouch again, letting the child beside him stay close.

“I’m not here to harm anyone,” he said quietly. “I’m from the Tang Clan. We came with supplies.”

 

The boy’s grip on the broken sword tightened.

But then—his eyes flickered to the child still clutching Tang Bo’s sleeve.

His eyes flicked back.

 

Then widened.

 

Recognition flooded his pale face.

 

“You’re dark saint... elder tang..?” the boy whispered.

 

His knees gave out.

Tang Bo stepped forward just in time to catch him before he hit the stone.

The boy sagged in his arms—his body light, too light. Tears slipped silently from his eyes even as he tried to speak, to apologize for not protecting the younger ones better.

Tang Bo didn’t say anything.

 

He just pulled the boy closer and stood up, holding him as gently as he could.

“It’s alright,” Tang Bo murmured. “You did more than enough.”

 

Then he turned to the cave.

Peeking from its mouth were small faces—wide eyes, pale cheeks, trembling lips. Third-class disciples and Many toddlers. The children of Mount Hua—those left behind when the warfront was too dangerous.

Some had tears on their cheeks. Some were silent in shock. Most hadn’t spoken in days.

Tang Bo raised his voice—not loud, not harsh, but steady.

“Mount Hua’s walls may be broken,” he said, “but you’re still here.”

 

He knelt and gently set the teen in his arms down on a clean patch of earth.

“Your saduks and sago's fought with everything they had. They left you here with a task: to survive. And you did it.”

He reached into his sleeve and pulled out a small vial of warm qi-tonic—one of the first things he packed when they left the Tang Clan.

He uncorked it and held it out.

“To those who can stand, help me bring out the others. We’ll get them all out .” he called to the other tangs outside the cave.

 

The cave was silent for a moment.

Then—

 

One by one—

Tiny hands slipped into the light.

 

Feet shuffled against stone. Children emerged.

Tang Bo stood at the front, the defiant teen now sitting beside him, breathing deeply as one of the Tang Clan medics knelt to check his wounds.

 

And Tang Bo?

He opened his arms as they came.

He ruffled heads. Lifted toddlers. Whispered quiet promises.

 

They were safe now.

Because their amzon had come.

And this mountain—

This sacred peak of plum blossoms

Would rise again.

 

---

 

Tang Bo Returns to the Second Manor

 

It had been months since the war ended.

Mount Hua was slowly breathing again.

Children trained in the mornings, though the clangs of their wooden swords were softer than they used to be. Tang bo had resumed their training, though their sword often sway in the middle of practice. The plum trees had started to bloom again, small, hesitant blossoms reaching for the light. He cannot teach them the sword techniques his uses but corrected them when he spot wrong . 

 

Tang Bo had done what needed to be done.

He had helped deliver supplies. Checked on the graves of fallen disciples. Assisted the rebuilding efforts. Helped lead training for the third-class disciples who survived. Ensured Mount Hua still stood.

But there was one last thing he had to do.

 

The second manor.

Their manor.

The one she built in secret—their sanctuary, hidden between the slopes of Hua’am and Xi’an, protected by enchantments only the three of them could pass through. It had always been a second home, a place away from war, from politics, from duties.

 

Now… it was just quiet.

Tang Bo come.back here again.

He dismissed the Tang Clan escorts at the foot of the forest path, saying he’d only be a while. He walked the rest of the way, his hands empty except for a small bag of supplies and a broom strapped across his back.

 

It was overgrown.

The bamboo groves had welcomed the silence with wild abandon. Vines curled around the stone path. Weeds sprouted near the entrance gate. Moss crept up the sides of the manor walls.

 

Tang Bo stopped in front of the gate.

 

For a long moment, he just stood there.

 

Then he sighed, walked forward, and pushed it open.

 

The creak was loud.

 

Too loud.

 

Inside, dust blanketed the wooden floors. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling beams. The furniture was where they had left it—but lifeless, covered in gray. Teacups remained on the low table in the sitting room, long since dried, as if their owners had simply stepped out for a walk and forgot to come back.

 

He set the broom down, tied up his sleeves, and got to work.

 

He didn’t rush.

 

He cleaned slowly.

 

Room by room.

 

He swept the floors. Polished the windows. Aired out the bedrooms.

In Yewon’s room, he found a silk handkerchief half-embroidered with chrysanthemums. He sat there for a while, fingers tracing the uneven threads, a bittersweet smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

 

“Worms had a party, huh…?” he murmured.

 

He placed it gently back on her desk.

In Chung Myung’s room, he found the old robe Tang Bo had once dared to paint a flower onto as a prank. He remembered the chaos that followed. Yewon laughing. Chung Myung chasing him halfway down the valley. He folded the robe carefully and left it where it belonged.

 

It took him two days.

 

On the second night, he lit the old paper lanterns they had strung from the porch.

He cooked rice porridge in the kitchen—same as they used to do after training. He poured three cups of tea. Set them on the table.

Then sat on the porch, lanterns glowing softly behind him, and stared into the moonlit bamboo grove.

 

The wind moved gently through the stalks, just like always.

 

Peaceful.

 

Still.

 

“Hey,” he whispered to the night. “I cleaned the place up, you know. You better be haunting this place like you promised.”

 

No answer.

 

But he smiled anyway.

 

“Yewon-ah… hyung-nim... I’ll come visit often, alright?”

 

He leaned back against the wall, letting the soft hum of the forest lull him into quiet.

 

Because even though their laughter no longer echoed through these halls—

 

Even though their shadows no longer passed beneath the lantern light—

 

Their presence remained.

Lingering in the silence.

Alive in memory.

In every sweep of his broom.

In every breath of bamboo-scented air.

 

 

 

---

 

A Letter Across Time

 

The manor was quiet again.

Tang Bo had just finished sweeping his own room. Dust clung to the walls like old memories refusing to fade. He had replaced the bedding, straightened the scrolls on his desk, and aired the shutters open to let in the sunlight.

 

Everything was as it had been.

 

Almost.

 

Then he noticed it.

A single envelope placed carefully on the low wooden table near his bedding mat—its edges slightly yellowed, the wax seal untouched. The familiar emblem—a poorly stitched chrysanthemum, pressed into the wax in faint silver.

 

His hand froze.

It was her seal.

Yewon’s.

 

He walked toward it slowly, each step growing heavier.

The moment he touched it, a chill ran down his spine.

Her qi still lingered on the paper—subtle and faint, but unmistakable. It curled at his fingertips, comforting and terrifying all at once.

 

His fingers trembled as he broke the seal.

The parchment inside was folded with care, written in a firm, elegant hand that could only be hers.

---

 

To Tang Bo, our fool,

 

If you’re reading this, then… I guess I didn’t make it back.

 

I'm Sorry...

 

I probably should start this better, but I know you. If I waste time being poetic, you’ll roll your eyes and mutter about how I’m worse than the scholars in Wudang. So I’ll be blunt.

I saw it, Bo.

 

from some divine dream.

 

You see… I’ve always had one foot outside this world, haven’t I? You knew. You always knew I wasn’t really joking when i said thing like that happened. I didn’t tell you everything—because how could I? Who would believe that delusions?

But I believed in you. In Chung Myung. In us.

 

That’s why I wrote this.

Because I saw something… not just the end—but what comes after.

This world isn’t done with us.

We’ll return. Me and him.

 through reincarnation i guess. But not as strangers. Ourselves. As we are. The heavens are strange, and karma is twisted, but something tells me the three of us aren’t finished yet. There’s still something we need to do.

A new war. A new darkness.

And when that time comes, we’ll need you.

So I’m asking you…

 

Live.

 

Live, Tang Bo.

Train. Cultivate. Survive. Learn everything this world has to offer. In the west chamber of the manor, there’s a hidden stash of manuals I copied— techniques I wantwd to impart with you. Learn and take what you must ...

There’s medicine there too. Pills. And a cultivation arts that will let your body rejuvenate.

It won’t be easy. It’ll be painful and lonely.

But you’re strong, Bo-ya. You have to be strong.

 

 when we return—I’ll find you.

I’ll find you and we’ll eat those dumplings you kept bragging about. We’ll argue and You’ll whine and as usual , Chung Myung will call us idiots. And it’ll be just like before.

Only better.

Because this time, I’ll make sure we all live. Until then, don’t forget me, okay? Watch the moon sometimes.

That’s where I left part of my heart.

 

—Yewon

 

P.S. I embroidered another handkerchief. It’s in your drawer. This time the worms look less drunk.

 

---

 

 

Tang Bo’s hands lowered the parchment.

 

For a moment, he couldn’t move.

The stillness in the room felt like something divine—a bridge between the past and the future, woven by her stubborn will.

Tears welled in his eyes again, but he didn’t sob this time.

 

He smiled.

 

A crooked, trembling smile.

“…You crazy woman.”

 

He walked to the drawer, pulled it open.

And there it was—another silk handkerchief.

The chrysanthemums were… marginally better. Still crooked. Still her.

 

Tang Bo held it to his chest.

His heart no longer felt heavy.

 

It felt determined.

“Alright… alright then.” He exhaled deeply. “Let’s see what you left me, Yewon-ah.”

 

Because when the time came—when the two saints returned—Tang Bo would be waiting as the one ready to fight beside them again.

 

Even a hundred years later.

---

 

 

Tang Bo folded the letter gently.

 

The room felt heavier somehow, filled with the weight of her words—of hope wrapped in grief, and grief wrapped in purpose. His hand gripped the parchment like a lifeline, pressed to his chest as if trying to hold onto her warmth for just a little longer.

 

He stood.

 

He turned toward the west chamber. His legs still ached from the wounds of war, but they moved with certainty now.

The west chamber had always been oddly empty—furnished but never used. He used to tease her about it.

“Why bother with a room you don’t even sleep in?”

Yewon had just smiled, shrugged, and said, “For later.”

 

He hadn’t thought much of it at the time.

He stepped inside. It was quiet, the air still scented faintly of dried herbs and wood oil. Light filtered through the slatted windows, casting thin golden lines across the polished floor.

Tang Bo dropped to his knees and pressed his hand against the floorboards in the center of the room, where he felt the faintest pulse of qi—a trail, barely noticeable, but undeniably hers.

Following instinct—and her instructions—he reached beneath the central .

 

A panel shifted.

The floor gave a soft click.

A small compartment opened, and within it—

 

Stacks of carefully bound scrolls, wrapped in silk.

Crates sealed with locks.

A cloth pouch with dried herbs, neatly labeled.

 

He pulled one scroll free, unrolling it carefully.

 

His breath caught.

 

These weren’t just techniques. They were compendiums—manuals pulled from the hidden sects and obscure legends. Each technique came with annotated corrections, suggestions in the margins. Some had even been transcribed in her handwriting, and others had little notes for him:

 

> “This one helps recover meridians—good for your dumb self when you go training without rest again.”

Definitely her notes.

 

> “A fire-type body refinement technique. Thought it might suit you, you hothead.”

This too.

 

 

There were hundreds of them.

All copied by hand.

He found a sealed jade vial. Inside was a luminous golden pill—just one. A note beneath it read:

> “Use this only when your body reaches the brink. It’ll reset the clock—literally. 70 years off your age. Only one shot. Don’t waste it. originally mine so dont waste it”

 

 

Tang Bo stared.

Not at the pill.

But at everything she had left behind.

 

From awe.

From Care.

From the sheer immensity of what Yewon had done—not just to protect the present, but to shape the future.

His fingers curled around the scrolls and the pouch and the pill.

 

The letter was right.

He wasn’t just Tang Bo. Not anymore.

He was her comrade.

 

Her sword.

Their future.

And he would be there when they returned.

Not as someone who merely survived.

 

But as someone who rose to wait for them.

 

 

Chapter 54

Summary:

My palms got itchy again

 

The boy named Cho Sam had no past.(at least before wang cho hit him on the head)

Or rather, he had a past too big for this scrawny body to contain.

 

He remembered death.

He remembered the blinding radiance of Yewon's final attack. The Heavenly Demon’s twisted qi crumbling under her final breath. He remembered holding her in his arms, cradling her fading warmth as his own body fell apart. He remembered their final moments—and then…

 

Darkness.

 

And then—

 

Waking up in a beggar’s body with aching body, headaches and a growling stomach that sounded like it was trying to kill him.

 

It took him three full days to confirm it.

He, Chung Myung—the Plum Blossom Sword Saint—had been reincarnated.

 

Into a beggar child.

Named Cho Sam.

 

“Cho. Sam. What kind of name is that?!”

His voice cracked with outrage as he stood in front of a murky stream, his reflection barely visible. His cheeks were sunken. His hair was a rat's nest. He looked like a street urchin who hadn’t bathed in weeks.

 

Which was accurate.

 

He hadn’t.

“Of all the bodies… I fought an entire war, died saving kangho—and this?!”

 

He screamed to the heavens.

The heavens, as usual, were silent.

Which only fueled his anger.

But he didn’t waste too much time being angry. He had learned long ago that rage was only good when channeled through a sword. Or someone's ribs.

And if this really was his second life, there was only one place to go.

 

Mount Hua.

His sect.

His home.

The journey took weeks. His new body was young and frail, and he had no money. He stole food when he could, traded odd jobs when he couldn’t. Along the way, he listened. He learned.

And with every village he passed, the name "Mount Hua" came up less and less.

 

Some still remembered it.

Most didn't.

A few muttered about a ruined sect somewhere in Shaanxi, hidden away in the mountains, living like ghosts.

 

Each word scraped against his bones like a knife.

When he finally saw it again—the jagged silhouette of Mount Hua's peaks against the dawn sky—something in his chest cracked open.

 

But when he reached the gates…

He nearly keeled over.

 

“What the—?!”

 

The gate. His beloved gate—once carved with flowingwblossoms, lacquered in pride, bearing the inscription: "The Great Mount Hua Sect"—was missing. The wooden frame was missing. The signboard his sect leader sahyung wipes everymoring is missing.

 

He staggered forward, as if in a daze.

“Where are the plum blossoms trees..?”

Gone. The trees that once lined the path had withered or been chopped down. The training grounds were barren, overrun with weeds. The marbled tiles? Missing. All that remained was packed dirt and cracked stone.

 

And the buildings?

 

Barren. Sparse. Like someone had pawned their soul and left behind only the bones.

 

He wanted to scream.

Again.

He stomped toward the gates, fists clenched, already rehearsing the glorious tale he would tell the sect leader.

Yes. That was the plan.

 

He would say he was the great-grandson of a Mount Hua disciple who went missing during the war. That his ancestor passed down the sect’s teachings, and now he, chung myung, had come to repay that debt and restore Mount Hua to glory. A flawless story. Emotional and Noble. Unprovable.

 

They would accept it.

They would fall to their jo and ask him to join.

 

They would—

 

"Welcome!" said the current sect leader, Hyun Jong, smiling gently down at him. "You wish to join Mount Hua?"

 

Chung Myung blinked. "I—uh. Yes, but—"

 

"Excellent! We’re accepting new third-class disciples this year."

 

He stared at the brush and parchment held out to him. He hadn’t even said anything yet!

He didn’t even get to lie! Not even one sentence!

He had practiced!

Still stunned, he entered as Chung myung. And just like that, he was admitted into Mount Hua.

 

As a third-class disciple.

A. Third. Class. Disciple.

 

He lay flat on his assigned bed, staring at the cracked ceiling of the dormitory. The thin mattress poked him in all the wrong places.

 

His eye twitched.

“Third class. I should be an elder.”

 

The ceiling didn’t respond.

He let out a long sigh.

So much had changed.

The sect was surviving, yes—but barely. They had sold off most of their valuables. Training weapons were blunt and warped.

The war had left scars that hadn’t healed in a hundred years.

 

Yet…

At least they were still here.

They hadn’t sold what must never be sold.

Their heart.

Their teachings.

The will of Mount Hua.

 

And for now… that was enough.

Chung Myung closed his eyes.

 

"Tomorrow," he murmured. "Tomorrow, I’ll start digging information."

 

And he would.

He’d unearth the roots of Mount Hua, cleanse the rot, sharpen its blade once more.

The Plum Blossom Sword Saint had returned.

 

And heaven help anyone who got in his way.

 

---

 

 

The first thHua"Chung myung noticed on his third day as a third-class disciple was the stench.

 

Not of sweat.

Not of old wood.

But the stench of arrogance.

 

He was heading back to the dormitory after a short morning walk around the outer grounds, mostly grumbling about the lack of discipline and how even the squirrels had gotten fatter since his death, when it happened.

A trio of senior third-class disciples stepped out from behind a training hall, arms crossed, smiles crooked.

 

“Oi, new kid,” the tallest one drawled, cracking his knuckles. “Chung myung, right?”

 

Chung Myung blinked at him.

This one had his robe open like he thought chest was a cultivation technique. The second had his hands stuffed inside his sleeves like a con man from the markets. The third one chewed on something—grass? A twig? A reed?

 

Trash. Street trash. Mount Hua trash.

 

“Yes?” Chung myung replied politely.

“You're new, yeah?” the second boy said. “You gotta pay you respect.

“Otherwise,” the first grinned, “it’ll be hard to sleep. The bed bugs around here are nasty. Especially the ones that punch you in the middle of the night.”

 

The third one chuckled, spit out the reed.

 

Chung Myung stood there.

Expressionless.

Motionless.

Dead quiet.

 

Then…

 

“…I see.”

 

He smiled.

 

Sweetly.

 

“So this is the new Mount Hua, huh?”

 

The three boys blinked.

 

“What?”

 

Chung Myung lowered his eyes and muttered to himself. “A hundred years ago, the disciples of Mount Hua would have split their own heads open before acting like alley thugs.” He glanced up. “You’re supposed to carry a sword, not act like a dog marking territory.”

 

The trio bristled.

 

“what did you say?!”

But Chung Myung was already taking off his outer robe. Carefully. Respectfully. Folding it like a monk about to chant.

 

“I see that the elders have been too kind,” he murmured.

He rolled up his sleeves.

 

“But I’m not.”

 

And then—

 

Boom!

 

His foot slammed into the tallest boy’s stomach, sending him flying ten paces into a haystack.

The second boy blinked—

 

Crack!

 

He went down with a single chop to the back of his neck. Not enough to kill. Just enough to remind him he was alive.

 

The third one turned to run.

 

“No you don’t~”

 

Chung myungs voice was sing-song as he leapt forward and yanked the boy back by the collar.

 

Slam.

Flip.

Splat.

 

The poor disciple was now part of the wall.

 

Chung Myung stood over them, hands on his hips.

 

He beamed.

 

“This~” he said, pointing at the pile of groaning idiots, “is what we call discipline!”

 

Then

 

---

The Sins of the Disciples, and the Righteous Fist of a Very Irritated Sword Saint 

 

 

 

The Mount Hua of today was… strange.

 

The disciples wore their uniforms like they were pajamas. Their footwork was off. Their sword calluses were in the wrong places.

 

And worst of all…

They were loud.

Chung Myung, now in the pitiful guise of ' the youngest'  endured their nonsense for three whole days.

 

Three.

 

Until it happened.

 

The spark.

 

The final drop.

The last insult to his blessed sect.

The initiator?

 

A certain senior third-class disciple with too much mouth, too little discipline, and a nose that begged to be broken.

 

“Hey, new guy,” Jo Gul said, strutting into the training field, smug grin plastered across his face. “Heard you’ve been dodging sparring practice. You some kind of coward?”

Chung Myung, who was casually mopping the floor outside the training hall (because apparently no one swept anymore), slowly looked up.

Jo Gul smirked at him and added with a dramatic wave, “C’mon! Show us if you’ve got any real skills, ‘Chung myung.’ Unless you’re all bark, no sword!”

 

The other disciples snickered.

Chung Myung put down the mop.

Tied his belt tight.

Took one step forward.

 

Jo Gul was still chuckling, about to toss in another insult when—

 

CRACK.

A fist, faster than thought, sharper than any blade, slammed straight into his face.

Jo Gul's body didn’t just fall.

 

It launched.

His limbs flailed cartoonishly as he soared straight up.

 

BAM!

 

He crashed into the ceiling beam of White Plum Blossom Hall—his body wedging itself awkwardly between the rafters.

 

A brief tremble.

 

A weak spark of qi.

Then stillness.

Jo Gul convulsed.

And went limp.

 

Dead silence followed.

 

Until—

 

“AAAAAAAHHHHH!!!”

 

The training hall exploded in screams.

Third-class disciples ran for their lives, scattering like panicked chickens. One dove behind a rice barrel. Another tried to crawl out the window. Someone shrieked, “HE’S A DEMON!” and ran into a support pillar.

 

Chung Myung dusted off his hands.

 

“Coward?” he muttered. “Jo Gul sahyung , huh? That’s a name I’ll carve into a training dummy.”

 

He turned toward the rest of the room.

Eyes shining like polished jade.

Smile sweeter than death.

 

“Now then~”

 

His voice was musical.

 

Terrifying.

 

“Which one of you cute chicks wants to talk about ‘welcome fees’ next?”

 

Another scream.

Followed by someone throwing up in a corner.

And so, that night—

 

The White Plum Blossom Hall was filled with the wails of third-class disciples who met the loving, absolutely devastating guidance of the reincarnated Plum Blossom Sword Saint.

 

A new era had begun.

One full of bruises, swollen faces, re-learned forms, and tears.

 

But at least they were Mount Hua 

---

The White Plum Blossom Hall was a ruin of groaning limbs, shattered pride, and badly bruised egos.

The third-class disciples lay scattered on the floor like a battleground aftermath. Some clutched their ribs. Others nursed their cheeks. All were silent—terrified, humbled, and utterly re-educated by the youngest sajae of the sect.

Chung Myung sat cross-legged atop a crate, arms folded, expression grim.

His eyes were sharp, unamused, and far too intelligent for a supposed backwater beggar. A faint bruise still marred everyone's cheeks—a courtesy from one overeager spar earlier that week— the aura he gave off was unmistakably one of command.

 

"Now," he said quietly, voice smooth like iron dragged through silk. "Let’s talk."

 

The disciples flinched as one.

No one dared breathe.

"You lot…" He scanned the hall. "Why is Mount Hua in this state?"

 

His words struck like a hammer.

No one answered.

They looked at one another—pleading with their eyes, hoping someone would speak.

 

But no one volunteered.

They all knew the consequences of saying the wrong thing.

 

So instead…

 

They sacrificed Jo Gul.

Like a pack of traitors, they all turned toward him in perfect unison.

 

Jo Gul’s already swollen face twitched.

 

"You—!"

 

He choked back the rest. No use. The stares were unanimous. He was the chosen tribute.

He glared at his fellow disciples with all the fury of a betrayed brother. But when he turned to Chung Myung—

 

His tone instantly softened.

 

"sajae," Jo Gul muttered, lips slightly split, one eye half-closed from swelling. "Could you, uh, be more specific? W-what exactly do you wanna know?"

 

Chung Myung narrowed his eyes.

"Start from the beginning. How did the sect fall like this? What happened in the last hundred years? Why is everything falling apart?"

 

Jo Gul swallowed hard.

The other disciples inched back, leaving him stranded like a lone soldier before a royal tribunal.

 

"R-right. Okay. Uhm."

 

He took a breath.

"About a hundred years ago… Mount Hua sent its entire senior force to the frontlines to fight the Demonic Cult. Our ancestors—the best warriors of the era, led by the sect leader and his disciples. N-none of them came back."

 

A hush fell over the room.

 

Even the wind outside the battered hall seemed to pause.

Chung Myung’s brows drew low. His fingers curled tight against his robes. His voice was quiet.

"And the Plum Blossom Sword Saint?"

 

Jo Gul blinked at the name, caught off guard by the intensity in the question. But he answered anyway.

 

"He died too. At least… that’s what the records say. Him and… and the Moonlight Fae Sword supreme."

 

At that, Jo Gul winced a little, expecting a blow.

But none came.

Only a dangerous stillness.

Chung Myung’s eyes were faintly red.

 

"Moonlight… Fae?" he echoed, his voice flat.

 

Jo Gul, sensing a trap, tried to explain quickly. "Y-yeah! Kangho's greatest beauty! The sword saint whose blade moved like moonlight across snow, you know? There’s a rumor they were lovers, and they died together in the final battle."

 

The temperature dropped.

Chung Myung’s glare could boil oceans.

"So what the hell does that have to do with Mount Hua being reduced to this?!"

 

"I-I was getting to that!" Jo Gul said in a rush, waving his hands to ward off the inevitable beating. "After they died—after the Plum Blossom Sword Saint beheaded the Heavenly Demon—the remnants of the Demonic Cult retaliated. A large force slipped past the main lines and went straight for Shaanxi… for Mount Hua."

 

Chung Myung’s jaw tensed.

His fists clenched.

 

"The sect… was defended," Jo Gul said. "The  second-class disciples who remained … they fought, but… they weren’t enough. They died protecting the children left behind."

 

Jo Gul’s voice grew quieter.

"The buildings were set on fire. The scrolls lost. The main archives—gone. By the time the Southern Edge Sect arrived to help, it was already… too late."

 

A long silence followed.

Jo Gul finished in a whisper, "Only the young ones survived and The third-class disciples. Their sasuks shielded them with their own bodies."

 

The White Plum Blossom Hall remained still.

And then—

One of the disciples muttered bitterly, "Even after everything, we were… mocked. Other sects turned their backs on us. And the Shaolin… pushed us out of the Ten Great Sects ."

 

Chung Myung didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

He stared at the wall, breathing slow.

 

In his eyes—

 

A storm.

Rage.

Grief.

Regret.

But most of all… a quiet, burning promise.

 

“…I see,” he murmured at last, voice barely audible. “That’s what happened.”

 

He stood slowly, brushing off his robes.

The disciples tensed—

But he only walked past them.

Towards the door.

He paused at the threshold.

 

His voice rang out—soft, but fierce.

“This Mount Hua…” he muttered, “is not the one I gave my life for.”

 

They all flinched.

“But I’ll make it better.”

 

Chung Myung’s gaze swept over them all.

"And you lot…"

 

He grinned.

A sharp, wicked thing.

"You’ll be worthy of the name Mount Hua if I have to beat it into your bones myself."

 

The door slammed behind him.

Jo Gul collapsed sideways.

“D-did he say beat…?”

 

“Yes,” one of them groaned.

“Yes, he did.”

“And he meant it.”

 

“W-we’re doomed.”

 

---

 

Chung Myung was nearly out the door, the hall still trembling from the intensity of his vow, when something tugged at the edge of his mind.

 

A single name.

One more shadow standing beside him in that final moment on the battlefield, arms locked around them both in one last, sorrowful embrace.

 

Tang Bo.

 

His steps halted.

He turned.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

 

His gaze sharpened like a drawn blade, cutting clean through the silence.he went back inside again.

"Wait."

 

Jo Gul jolted like he’d been stabbed.

 

Chung Myung’s voice was low. Too calm. Far too calm.

"You mentioned the Plum Blossom Sword Saint."

 

A slow step forward.

"You mentioned the Moonlight Fae Sword Saint."

 

Another step.

"But…" His eyes narrowed.

"Where’s the mention of the Dark Saint?"

 

Jo Gul’s breath caught.

His mouth opened—then shut.

For a moment, his eyes flickered with confusion.

Then realization struck like lightning, and his face went pale.

 

"Ah."

Chung Myung’s smile was sharp as a dagger. “Ah?”

Jo Gul waved his hands desperately. “N-no! I mean—I didn’t forget on purpose, really! It’s just—it’s not something people talk about openly!”

 

Chung Myung’s brow twitched.

He took another step.

Jo Gul’s knees buckled slightly.

 

"Speak."

“The… the Dark Saint… lived.”

 

Silence.

Jo Gul blinked when nothing immediately hit him.

Then Chung Myung’s voice dropped an octave.

“…And? Is that all? Or do you need me to knock some details back into your skull?"

 

Jo Gul squeaked. “W-wait! I remember now!”

 

He drew a deep breath.

“The Dark Saint didn’t just survive—he was the one who took the bodies of the two Saints from the battlefield. He carried them himself. All the way back from the border of xian and huayin.”

Chung Myung’s lips parted—just barely. Something flickered behind his gaze. A memory? A ghost?

 

He didn’t speak. Only waited.

"And after that," Jo Gul said, his voice trembling into reverence, “He buried them somewhere. In secret. Somewhere no one could find them till now."

"Why in secret?" Chung Myung asked quietly.

Jo Gul’s tone sobered even more. “Because the enemies of Mount Hua—those who feared the Saints even after death—might desecrate their bodies. Or steal their bones for sick rituals.”

 

Chung Myung's jaw clenched. “I see.”

"But it didn’t end there,” Jo Gul quickly added. “People thought Mount Hua was done for. Ruined. A sect with no elders. No resources. Only children left behind.”

"And yet it survived," Chung Myung murmured, a bitter edge in his voice.

"Because of the Dark Saint,” Jo Gul said. “He stayed. Not just for a year. Decades. He trained the children. Oversaw the rebuilding. Protected the mountain from bandits and encroaching sects. People say it’s only because of him we didn’t collapse entirely.”

 

Chung Myung's gaze turned stormy. “So why is the sect still like this?”

 

Jo Gul lowered his head. “Because he left.”

 

A pause.

 

Jo Gul’s voice fell to a whisper.

“Fifty years ago… he achieved something no one else has. Full-body rejuvenation. They say he left for seclusion right after. Disappeared completely.”

 

Chung Myung's heart skipped a beat.

“…He achieved rejuvenation?” he echoed, as if testing the words on his tongue.

Jo Gul nodded. “That’s what the Tang Clan’s records say. Only the Tang Patriarch knows where he is. No one’s seen him since.”

 

For a long moment, silence settled like mist in the hall.

Chung Myung's thoughts were a tempest behind his still eyes.

 

Tang Bo…

 

That foolish, loud, relentless friend of theirs…

 

Still alive and waiting.

Somewhere.

Still watching over the last thing they fought for.

Chung Myung’s hand clenched at his side, nails biting into his palm.

 

He turned toward the door again.

This time, his steps were slower. He didn’t slam the door.

 

He only said—

"Let me know if you hear of him."

Jo Gul blinked. “W-what for?”

 

Chung Myung’s voice was so soft its  inaudible.

 

 

---

Scene: A Night That Doesn’t End

 

The White Plum Blossom Dormitory had long fallen into silence.

 

The other third-class disciples lay sprawled like corpses in their bedding, still bruised from the “training session” delivered by their youngest sajae—a training that involved far too many kicks to the face and lectures with fists.

 

But Chung Myung wasn’t sleeping. He never did on nights like this.

Instead, he sat on the roof tiles of the dormitory, legs crossed, a jug of cheap rice wine beside him. His sleeves were slightly rolled up, fluttering in the breeze. His gaze wasn’t on the mountain below or the sect buildings that now looked more like crumbling ruins than the pride of Mount Hua.

No, his eyes were lifted upward.

 

To the stars.

To the endless sky that hadn’t changed—not even after a hundred years.

"...Still the same," he muttered, tapping the jug gently on the edge of the roof before raising it to his lips.

 

The wine was bitter and watered down.

It burned less than the memory in his chest.

The stars above Mount Hua had always been like this—bright, endless, scattered like the snow of midspring. He remembered this view vividly. He used to lie back on the roof of the martial arts hall after late-night training, Chung Jin beside him, grumbling about his back pain. Tang Bo would sneak out food from the kitchen. Yewon would join, late, smelling faintly of ink and leaves.

Four silhouettes lying in a row on the roof, staring at the stars, talking nonsense.

He could almost hear them.

 

 “The sky’s too big,” Yewon once murmured, her arms folded behind her head.

“It makes you feel small,” Chung Jin had answered.

“I’m not small,” Tang Bo huffed.

“You’re short,” Chung Myung had replied.

“So are you!”

“tsk. taller than you”

“Hyung-nim!.”

 

 

 

Back then, they had laughed.

Now, only silence remained.

Chung Myung placed the wine jug beside him and leaned back on his arms. His face, barely touched by the years in this new young body, was oddly still. His eyes shimmered—not with tears, but with memories too full to blink away.

 

“I wonder where you are now,” he whispered to the night. “You stubborn bastard.”

He pictured Tang Bo, older now, somewhere far away in some hidden corner of the world. Still strong. Still training. Still carrying their name in silence.

 

Still waiting.

He thought of Yewon, her laughter, her grumbling, the way she’d kick his shin when annoyed and then apologize with clumsy bandaging. Her qi—moonlight itself. Her stubbornness that rivaled even his own.

 

And the way she died.

In his arms.

With that small, content smile.

 

“I hate this,” he whispered, choking on the words. “I should remained dead ”

 

A breeze swept over the tiles. Plum blossoms stirred faintly in the trees below, petals falling like snow.

 

 

He was here.

He had returned.

And he would believe she's still here

Even if the sky itself laughed at him.

 

“well be together again,” he said quietly. “I'll finish what must be done here, so wait for me there, I'll join you soon”

 

The stars didn’t answer.

But the moonlight seemed softer now.

And the wind, as it moved through the trees and tiles, almost sounded like laughter carried from a memory.

Chung Myung leaned back completely, arms folded behind his head, staring up at the sky.

 

The jug of wine sat untouched.

 

He didn’t need it tonight.

 

 

 

—Just a memory of her is enough to make him drunk

 

 

 

Chapter 55

 

Yewon’s consciousness drifted in a sea of darkness. a familar feeling.

 

No light or sound to see and hear. Only the gentle pull of an unseen current, swirling around her fragments of memory—battle cries, the scent of blood, Chung Myung’s shattered body, Tang Bo’s anguished screams—all suspended in the void.

 

Then, she heard it.

A quiet hum, soft—familiar.

 

> “Welcome back, Yewon.”

 

 

 

Her lashes fluttered open.

 

She blinked once, twice—her heart, newly formed, thundered in her chest, sluggish but strong.

A flash of silver light hovered before her—faint but present.

 

Lexy.

> “Your soul survived the collapse, and as per contingency protocol… I retrieved what remained before the decay set in. This vessel was prepared… from your own blood essence.”

 

Her body twitched—fingers curling weakly as the surrounding fluid grew warmer, purging the stiffness from her limbs.

Yewon swallowed, her throat newly constructed, feeling foreign yet familiar.

 Cool air met her skin as she collapsed forward into a waiting field of soft cloth. Her bare skin, pale and perfect, pulsed faintly with vitality.

 

Lexy’s voice filled the chamber again.

> “This vessel was synthesized using your last blood sample, reinforced by spiritual marrow harvested before your final battle. Nine-tenths resemblance to your former self. The last tenth… left unfinished to allow natural growth according to your newly condensed soul flame.”

 

Yewon coughed—body unused to breath.

Her arms trembled as she pushed herself up.

She stared down at her reflection in the clear water beneath her—her face… eerily the same… smooth porcelain skin, soft pink lips, dark lashes framing sharp, clear eyes. Her black hair tumbled around her shoulders like liquid silk.

But there was something… softer in her features now. A quiet youthfulness. A second beginning.

Her voice rasped as she found it again.

 

 “Lexy… how long…?”

> “You were dormant in the soul chamber for a year. Reformation took longer due to the damage your true qi inflicted upon your dantian at death.”

 

She breathed in sharply.

 “Chung Myung… Tang Bo…”

> “Tang Bo survived and ascended his cultivation… achieved rejuvenation, and remains alive… last known location: Xi’an fifty years ago.

Chung Myung… safely reincarnated a year ago in a beggars body”

 

 

Her fists clenched.

Yet… she was back.

 

Alive.

Her body—reborn from her own lineage, made stronger, more adaptable.

Lexy hovered close, the silver orb pulsing like a loyal hound.

> “Your body is young but carries imprinted muscle memory. Your cultivation path can resume immediately. Core strength must be re-tempered, but your qi center has been restructured and strengthened beyond its previous limitations.”

 

 

Yewon smiled faintly.

Her path had not ended. Not yet.

Her revenge… her justice… the vows she made under the plum blossoms… remained.

 

“We’re going back,”

Lexy pulsed in acknowledgment.

 

> “As you will it, Yewon. the struggle… continues.”

 

 

 

---

 

 

Her Journey to Xi’an

 

The second time she woke in this world, the heavens had at least the decency not to fling her from thousands of meters in the sky into the freezing Yangtze River. A small mercy, really.

Yewon sat by the side of a dirt path, letting her tired limbs rest under the gentle shade of a paulownia tree. Her young body—frail and unfamiliar, though no longer foreign—throbbed with the ache of long walking. But she welcomed it. Pain was proof she was alive, and this time, she had a second chance to walk forward on her own terms.

With each step westward, she trained—her breath steady, her stance rooted, her movements sharp as she slowly reawakened muscle memory from her past life. Her body may be younger, weaker, but her soul remembered. Her dantian, once shattered with death, began to stir again with the soft whispers of qi.

 

She had begun to cultivate again.

Not to survive—but to live.

 

“Lexy, how about hunting?” she asked one morning, twirling a twig like a spear.

The familiar chime of her system rang softly in her mind.

> “Darling, at your current strength? A stiff wind might blow your bones into next week. Let’s stick to foraging, hmm?”

Sassy and smug as ever, Lexy lit up her vision with a gentle blue glow, displaying a nearby map filled with herb markers.

> “These ones here are top-grade. Don’t sell them, by the way. You might get mugged by some shady wandering cultivator. Or worse, an old granny with sharp elbows and sharper sense for spirit plants. Harvest them properly and stash them. You’ll thank me later.”

 

So she did. Bent over rocky soils and thick grass, Yewon’s fingers worked with precision, digging out roots and clipping stems. Some were sold in small-town apothecaries or to roadside physicians for travel funds; others—especially the ones that glowed faintly or resisted touch—went straight into her qiankun pouch.

The first day had been... alright. Nothing earth-shattering, no dramatic duels, no sudden epiphanies. But there was a strange comfort in the mundane.

Until she realized—

“Wait... where the hell am I again?”

 

Lexy pinged open a location tag.

> [Current Location: Guangdong Province.]

 

Yewon froze mid-step.

 

 “GUANGDONG?!” As in , GamNam???

 

Her voice echoed over the empty road as she dramatically face-palmed, nearly dropping her herb satchel.

 “Why in all nine heavens would you spawn me in Guangdong!? Why not Henan? Or Guizhou like last time? Sichuan would’ve been fine! Or better—just drop me off in Shaanxi for once! I’m going to Xi’an, not the southern end of the continent!”

 

Lexy’s response was maddeningly chipper.

> “You’re welcome for not dropping you in a crocodile swamp. Guangdong has great tea, by the way.”

 

So with a loud sigh and a muttered curse to fate and systems alike, Yewon adjusted her pack, stretched her legs, and kept walking north.

 

One breath at a time.

 

---

 

Yewon trudged along the dirt path, the hem of her plain robe flapping in the wind as she cursed under her breath.

“Why—out of all fucking places in the goddamned map—did I spawn here?”

 

She threw her arms up to the heavens as though expecting an answer, then immediately dropped them again with a sigh.

“Guangdong, Lexy. Guang-fucking-dong. Of all places ”

 

Yewon let out a groan loud enough to startle a few sparrows from a tree.

“This is the territory of that bastard. Do you know how stupidly dangerous that is? The ten great sects don’t even bother going down here. The Five Great Families treat this place like cursed land!”

She kicked a rock and muttered, “Where’s the fucking merit of taking part in the final battle if I still end up in enemy territory?”

 

> "You’re welcome for not spawning you mid-air over the Yangtze River this time. Your whiny ass can’t even glide properly."

 

She clicked her tongue. "Still better than Guangdong."

---

 

They reached a small town by sundown. While it wasn’t particularly impressive, it had what she needed. With some clever bargaining and a few coins she’d gathered from selling basic herbs Lexy pointed out earlier, Yewon was able to secure everything she needed.

Bolts of muted cloth, inner lining, light armor plates, and sturdy stitching materials—all submitted to Lexy with the request to craft custom traveling robes and a martial uniform, designed for long-distance travel and movement.

 

> Design Parameters: Youth Male.

Features: Concealed weapons compatibility, internal poison pouch space, and hidden herb sachets.

Estimated Completion: 24 hours.

 

“Make sure it’s got a weimao too,” she added. “I’m not risking some rogue elder recognizing my reincarnated baby face. And no boob bulges—flatten everything.”

 

> [LEXY: Affirmative. Compressing femininity to 0%. You’re now a scrawny 14-year-old country bumpkin physician. Congrats.]

 

She exhaled slowly, stretching her arms overhead.

“Fine. From now on, I’m a traveling boy physician. Specializing in herbal remedies, minor injuries, and medical checkups. Thank you, Tang Bo, for the free tuition. May your shady soul rest well. oh.. he's still alive im sure.”

 

She adjusted the old satchel on her back and glanced at the makeshift apothecary sign she’d just scribbled on a plank:

“Low-cost examination & Herbal Remedies – Traveling Doctor”

 

And as she walked past a group of rough-looking martial artists without being given a second glance, she couldn’t help the smug little smile tugging at her lips.

“Foolproof disguise, baby,” she muttered.

 

>  Let’s see how long that lasts.

 

---

 

The rain had just stopped when she arrived in a sleepy town tucked between mist-covered hills, its narrow streets still glistening with puddles. The scent of damp wood and herbs clung to the air. Yewon, disguised beneath her weimao, loose robes tied with a sash, and a small medicine box slung over her shoulder, passed off as a traveling youth. Her voice, when she needed to speak, was kept low and quiet, like a meek apprentice from a remote mountain sect.

 

She had set up a small stool and laid her sign by the road:

 

 “Traveling Physician. Free Diagnosis – Donations Welcome.”

 

Lexy complained about the plainness of it, but Yewon insisted it’d be more suspicious to appear too polished in this side of the world.

Her first client was an elderly man—stooped, with skin weathered like old bark. His son carried him on his back, whispering to the crowd that gathered, “He fell from a cart—he hasn’t stood up since. Physicians say the hip is shattered.”

Yewon kept her head down as she gestured for the old man to be laid down gently. She removed her gloves slowly, inhaling deeply as she scanned him with her qi-infused senses—Lexy pinged helpful notes in her mind, mapping nerves and fracture points like a faint x-ray overlay.

 

> “Fractured femoral neck. Swelling. Early signs of clotting. Qi circulation around the region blocked. Nerves pinched—probably what’s causing the pain,” Lexy informed, her tone all business.

 

The old man whimpered. His son started to protest, “Maybe this is a mistake, he’s just a boy, he—”

“I said quiet,” Yewon snapped—then coughed and gentled her tone. “This one has studied under someone skilled. I can help. I just need you to trust me.”

Using her qi like invisible threads, she gently penetrated the old man’s leg. One thread numbed the pain, another spread warmth to ease muscle tension. Her hands were light but decisive—Tang Bo’s teachings and her modern knowledge working hand-in-hand. With controlled breath, she shifted the broken bone, aligned it—no pain, no cracking sound, just a quiet, eerie smoothness.

 

Gasps echoed around her.

Then she poured her energy into weaving qi threads around the bone, accelerating the healing matrix. Her forehead sweated under the weimao, but she pressed on, lips mumbling a slow chant to stabilize the inner energy.

 

Fifteen minutes passed.

When she finished, the old man blinked. He slowly, shakily—stood up.

 

Silence.

The son fell to his knees, shouting praise to heavens and shoving a heavy pouch into her hands. “You—You’re a miracle worker! Please—tell me which sect you’re from! We’ll send gifts! My family—”

 

“No sect,” Yewon said quickly, slipping the pouch away. “Just a wandering apprentice. Keep it quiet, I don’t want trouble.”

The crowd buzzed. She quickly packed up before people began flooding her with questions. As she turned the corner and disappeared into an alley, Lexy’s voice snorted in her mind:

> “Congratulations, Dr. Fraud. You just broke a bunch of cultivation rules and probably freaked out every grandma watching. You know that, right?”

 

Yewon grinned under her veil, the thrill of it still running through her veins.

 “Maybe. But at least I didn’t get mugged or die today. That’s an improvement.”

 

---

 

The first patient wasn’t anything legendary.

Just an old man whose hip had broken in a cart accident a month prior. His family had dragged him around half the province, paying silver after silver for useless diagnoses and miracle elixirs that did nothing but make him fart more loudly than usual.

 

Yewon didn’t expect much when she was asked to look at him.

She sighed, crouching beside the old man while his grumbling sons looked on.

“Qi stagnation,” she muttered. “Misaligned femur… fracture near the iliac crest… severe muscle tension…”

 

“What’s hes saying?”

“he’s not even a real physician, he’s a kid.”

“he’s not even a physician, look at that thin wrist—”

 

The room fell silent when his hand gently hovered over the swollen joint.

Thin golden threads of qi slithered from his fingertips like silk strands, wrapping themselves around the broken area. The man tensed, then let out a long, relaxed breath.

 

“You shouldn’t be feeling anything,” she murmured, narrowing her eyes. “Let me align this… and… now…”

 

Click.

The bone shifted with a clean sound.

 

The old man blinked. “Eh?”

 

She nodded. “Don’t stand up yet. Let the threads work. You’ll be able to walk after dinner.”

 

They didn’t believe her.

Until after dinner, when the old man stood up from bed with a loud yawn, stretched, and shouted

The next day, his entire family was singing praises of the mysterious, youthful traveling physician who refused gold, asked for herbs instead of payment, and wore a weimao that covered their face like some divine doctor from legend.

Rumors flew like wildfire.

They callecalim

 

“the wandering physician”

 

And as Yewon walked north, healing old joints, fevers, poisoned kids, and even a paralyzed dog, her legend followed her footsteps.

She had one rule: never stay longer than a night. Heal. Collect herbs. Sleep. Move.

---

 

 Jang Ilso & Im Sobyeong Hear the Whispers 

 

In the smoky backroom of a brothel reeking of incense and plum wine, Paegun Jang Ilso, the Clown King of the Evil Sects, leaned lazily on a bloodstained couch. His fan rested on his chin as he laughed softly at the rumors reported by one of his spies.

 

> “A rejuvenated old man?”

“A healer that asks for no gold?”

“A youth in disguise with golden thread qi?”

 

His silvery eyes gleamed with interest.

> “Oh? Sounds fun.”

“Track them. No need to approach. I just want to see who they are…”

 

Far from him, in a mountain stronghold surrounded by thick trees, Im Sobyeong, Noklim King, sat clutching his chest. His qi had turned sluggish again. His doctor bowed before him in shame.

 

“I’m sorry, King… the elixirs aren’t working anymore…”

Im Sobyeong waved him off tiredly. He was growing weaker.

 

But one of his men entered in a rush.

A message. A rumor. A name.

A healer was traveling along the southern provinces.

Rumor said they healed a man whose bones hadn’t moved in weeks.

No pain. No surgery. Just a boy with thread-like qi.

 

Im Sobyeong’s dimmed eyes burned.

“Find them. Bring them here... I don’t care if you have to drag the entire province to do it.”

 

---

Shadows were stirring.

 

And somewhere, Yewon—oblivious to the growing commotion—was haggling over dried ginseng and wolfberries, muttering under her breath about “fucking clown provinces” and “Lexy better get her traveling robes done soon.”

Because she needed to cross the Yangtze.

And the further she walked, the closer she came to Xi’an…

… and to a certain plum blossom demon who hadn’t stopped dreaming of her.

 

---

 

 

After weeks of travel, healing the occasional villager, and enduring Lexy’s endless snark about how she’s still as fragile as dried tofu skin, Yewon finally stood two mountain ranges away from the mighty Yangtze. The air had grown colder, crisper. The south was behind her. With it, the threats of petty sects and rogue cultivators constantly itching for bloodshed and control.

Lexy chimed gleefully in her mind, “Your new martial robes are finished! The feminine set, of course. You're heading north now. It's safe to be pretty again.”

“Good. I was starting to hate smelling like old man ,” she muttered, tugging the traveling physician’s weimao off her head and shaking her hair free.

Draped in pale robes tinged with the hue of winter plum, she looked almost celestial. The silk shimmered faintly, lightweight and reinforced with qi-inscribed threads Lexy forged into the fabric. She didn’t just look like a martial artist—she looked like someone reborn. Graceful, hidden steel behind flowing sleeves.

 

She chose the mountain shortcut not out of recklessness but because she knew this terrain.

After all, this was where she and Chung Myung died.

As she took her first step onto the path carved into the mountainside, a strange quiet overtook her.

 

Lexy, for once, said nothing.

The wind blew gently, brushing past the pine trees, the bamboo groves still standing where they used to be. She felt it in her bones—the memory of blood on snow, of collapsed roofs and burning qi, of a broken sword, and a hand that reached for her even in death.

 

“Lexy… Did Tang Bo really took us to bury us there?” she whispered.

 

“Yes. The manor was fine and secure, and he managed to drag both your bodies to the bamboo grove and buried you together. Marked the tree too… so no freak collecting body parts would dare touch it. Relax, you’re safe from any freaky necrophilia tropes, okay?”

 

Yewon exhaled. “Thank god…”

The path winded upward, and she allowed herself a moment to be grateful—not just for her second life, but for not waking up free-diving straight into the Yangtze River like last time. She still had nightmares of that high-altitude yeet.

She placed her palm on a thick bamboo stalk, her fingers brushing against a faint carving. A name.

 

Her name.

 

His name.

 

Still there.

 

“I'll come back,” she murmured.

 

And the wind whispered back—soft, warm, almost like a laugh carried through time.

 

 

Chapter 56

 

The Yangtze River glistened under the morning sun, wide and endless like a sleeping serpent. Yewon stood by the dock, her newly tailored martial robes crisp in the wind—sleek, feminine, dignified. She still wore her weimao, the sheer veil gently covering her face. Not that she had to hide anymore, not here in the North. But old habits die hard… and so did the risk of unnecessary attention when one was, frankly, very good-looking and alone.

 

Lexy had assured her the northern territories would be safer, especially after word spread about the mysterious healer with divine hands. Still, Yewon couldn’t help but feel exposed as she stepped onto the trading vessel, heading across the Yangtze.

She had barely settled into a quiet corner of the deck when shouts erupted. The crew scrambled. Sails flapped. The watchman screamed—

 

 “Water bandits!”

 

A menacing ship approached fast, black flags flapping, jagged scars across its hull like a monster returning from hell. Yewon’s fingers twitched.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

 

She yanked her weimao tighter, pulling the silk down low enough to obscure her face but not enough to make her look suspicious. She tried to blend in with the crates. Maybe they wouldn’t notice—

 

Too late.

 

A hulking man leapt aboard, greasy hair matted to his scalp, teeth crooked like tombstones, and a belly large enough to seat a small dog. His eyes scanned the deck—and locked onto her.

 

> “Oi, what’s a sweet thing like you doing hidin’ over there?” he crooned, swaggering forward with the confidence of a man who absolutely should not have confidence.

 

He leaned in close. Yewon immediately regretted breathing.

 

> Dead fish.

Rotting pickles.

Unwashed shame.

The foulest fermentation of man.

 

She turned her head dramatically toward the railing.

And proceeded to violently retch overboard. She leaned far over, dry-heaving until her ribs shuddered, her weimao fluttering with each gag.

 

“Gkk… gugh… gods… what the hell...hurgg....have you been eating?!

She retched again .  With all the grace of a lady expelling her soul, she vomited last night’s dinner, the breakfast she hadn’t eaten, and possibly a little of her will to live. Her body shook. Her robe fluttered. Her weimao tilted. She nearly choked on a sob as she retched again.

 

Dead silence.

Everyone—crew, passengers, even the other pirates—stared.

The bandit took a step back, blinking in disbelief. “What the—? Did you just—? You little—!”

 

 “SLUT!” he bellowed.

 

Yewon, still hunched over the railing, gave him nothing but another chorus of blarghs—this time with a retching flair. A full encore.

Gasps. A child clapped. One sailor muttered something about “a disgusted rejection.”

A few crewmen turned away, trying not to join her performance. A woman nearby whispered, “Dear heavens, that was real.”

 

The bandit flushed in embarrassment, his machismo wounded beyond repair. Another pirate tugged his sleeve awkwardly.

 

> “Boss… maybe just leave her. She ain’t right.”

 

And Yewon? Still bent over the side, shaking like a leaf and dry-heaving with dignity.

She didn’t even have to lift a finger.

 

She coughed wetly, wiped her mouth on her sleeve, and managed to rasp, “You smell like a fish that drowned in its own piss…”

 

Gasps. A few muffled snorts. Someone choked.

 

“SLUT!” Da Wu roared, red-faced. “LITTLE WHORE—!”

 

As he lunged forward, Yewon sidestepped, smooth and swift. But not fast enough to prevent him from snatching her veil.

 

It tore free.

 

The weimao fluttered to the deck like a fallen petal—and so did the noise.

 

Silence fell again.

Her face, exposed, was young—too young—but the kind of beauty that made age itself irrelevant An eerie hush spread among the pirates.

 

Even Da Wu stared, slack-jawed. “…You—”

Yewon’s eyes turned to glass. Not soft. Not scared.

 

Cold.

She could see it in their eyes. That look. The one she had learned to hate—the look that calculated value in faces, not people.

The moment Da Wu stepped toward her again, she turned without a word—and leapt.

A single, clean dive over the side of the ship. Her robes flared briefly in the air like silk wings before vanishing into the river.

 

“She jumped!” someone screamed.

“GET HER!” Da Wu shrieked. “AFTER HER—!!”

 

But no.

No one was getting her.

Because while those bastard pirates flailed and cursed from the deck, Yewon moved through the water like a phantom. She knew these currents like the veins on her hand. She had trained under these waters, dodging rocks and hunting fish with her bare hands. She and Chung Myung once nearly drowned each other here for fun.

 

So yes.

She might as well shame Poseidon at this point.

 

Her body sliced through the current with terrifying ease, a shadow under the surface. In minutes, she reached the docks, water-slicked and panting—but alive.

She grabbed a crate edge and pulled herself up, coughing.

 

“Ugh,” she spat, brushing hair from her face. “If it’s not Chung Myung, it’s just gross.”

 

Then she looked back over the water, at the chaos behind her.

Yewon grinned.

 

“Catch me next life, losers.”

 

---

 

 

The Yangtze river shimmered under the late afternoon sun, its wide current lazily snaking through the mountains. A small Wudang escort boat coasted along its surface, crates of goods secured tightly and disciples maintaining a casual alertness on deck.

 

Peaceful. Too peaceful.

 

Until something splashed just ahead, right near the docks they were pulling into.

A figure broke the surface of the water—slowly, as if deliberately—and the disciples froze.

Long, black hair slicked down over her face, veiling pale features and unreadable eyes. The sunlight glinted off her soaked robes, and for a moment, it looked like pearls clung to her skin. She hovered there, gripping the edge of the dock with one trembling arm, her chest heaving softly as she caught her breath.

 

Both sides stared at one another.

 

“…A jiaoren…” one disciple muttered in awe, voice barely above a whisper. “The legends… they’re real…”

Yewon blinked, water dripping from her lashes. "Excuse me?"

 

Of course. Mistaken for a spirit. Again.

Still, she schooled her expression into an exhausted, but radiant smile.

“Yeah,” she drawled sarcastically, waving a limp hand. “Terrifying sea creature from the depths. Now move aside before I lose feeling in my arms.”

The disciples didn’t budge. One clutched his sword hilt. Another whispered, “Does a jiaoren even have legs?”

“She’s going to curse us,” the youngest mumbled. “I knew it, I forgot to burn incense before we set out—”

Yewon exhaled through her nose and hoisted herself halfway up with an audible grunt. As her body rose over the dock, her drenched clothes clinging to her like wet parchment, a pair of very tired—and very human—legs dangled uselessly behind her.

 

The spell broke.

“…Oh,” one of them said.

“…She has legs.”

“She’s human.”

Yewon grunted, “No shit,” and slapped her arm down to pull herself higher.

Suddenly, hands rushed to assist her. Three sets at once. They dragged her gently but awkwardly onto the dock like they were still unsure if touching her would bring divine retribution or blessings of good harvest.

Dripping wet and lying flat on the boards, Yewon let out a long groan.

 

“Thanks,” she muttered. “Next time maybe throw me a rope before the exorcism, yeah?”

 

None of the disciples knew how to respond.

She cracked one eye open and added, “Also, jiaoren don’t swear this much.”

The youngest disciple quietly sheathed his sword and whispered, “Maybe she’s just a really tired…”

 

 

---

 

The disciples stood in a hesitant semi-circle around the drenched woman lying on the dock, dripping river water onto the planks. Her soaked sleeves clung to her arms, and her chest rose and fell with exhaustion—but her eyes were alert, sharp, and faintly annoyed.

 

“Miss… are you injured?” one of the older disciples asked, cautiously kneeling beside her.

Yewon exhaled, rolled onto her back, and stared up at the sky. “No. Just humiliated.”

Another brave soul piped up, “What happened to you, exactly? Were you… thrown overboard?”

 

She turned her head slowly, as if the effort pained her. Her tone was flat, matter-of-fact.

 

“Water bandits. A whole lot of them ambushed the ship I was traveling with. I figured I’d rather drown than end up in their hands, so I becomea fish for like a moment.”

 

The disciples’ faces darkened at once. A few exchanged glances, their grips tightening on their sword hilts.

“I used the last of my qi to boost my legs so I could swim far enough from the ship without getting spotted.” She let out a groan and rubbed her thighs. “Now they feel like boiled tofu.”

 

“…Boiled what?” one whispered.

“Never mind.” She waved a hand weakly. “Point is—I’m not a jiaoren or cursed, most definitely not here to charm you into a watery grave. I’m just a woman who’s having the worst week of her life.”

 

There was a brief silence.

 

One disciple frowned. “And your… affiliations? What sect are you from?”

 

Yewon hesitated for a heartbeat too long.

“I’m unaffiliated,” she said quickly. “Wandering martial artist. Escort client. You know. Freelance.”

 

“Freelance?” one repeated, clearly confused.

Another squinted. “Then where did you learn to circulate your qi like that? Reinforcing the legs for underwater travel—that’s not a beginner’s trick.”

 

Yewon flashed a tired, dazzling smile. “Ah. I read a book.”

 

The disciples blinked.

“ book?” the eldest repeated skeptically.

“It was a very good book,” she replied, closing her eyes.

 

They fell silent again. The Wudang disciples, still unsure if they were being lied to or if they had just encountered the most nonchalant survivor of a pirate attack in the history of the Yangtze, slowly began to help her up. One offered a clean cloth to dry her hands; another knelt to feel her pulse with two fingers, confirming she wasn’t poisoned or injured beyond exhaustion.

 

“Would it trouble you,” the eldest finally said, “if we brought you with us to the next harbor? It isn’t safe out here with bandits nearby, and our orders include investigating recent ambushes in these waters anyway.”

Yewon sat up with difficulty, brow raised. “You’re not going to tie me up and ask if I’m secretly a sea spirit?”

“…Only if you start singing.”

 

She gave a short laugh.

“Fine. But let me walk on my own—dignity's all I have left.”

 

She stood shakily.

Her legs gave out.

The nearest disciple caught her by the elbow and muttered, “Boiled tofu…”

 

“Shut up,” she hissed.

 

---

 

The disciples glanced at one another when Yewon, now sitting upright with her knees drawn loosely to her chest, declined their offer help her to another harbour. 

“I appreciate the concern,” she said, wringing out her sleeves, “but I won’t trouble your sect. I just need directions to the nearest inn.”

The eldest among the group—no older than twenty—nodded slowly, though his expression held caution.

 

“Our Sasuk is only away for a moment,” he said. “We’re not permitted to tag along outsiders during missions. We're third-class disciples assigned to observe, not interfere.”

Yewon smiled tiredly. “That’s fine. I’d rather not be tagged along with either.”

The young disciple blinked, then looked vaguely offended, but he gave her the directions anyway.

By the time she stood up and trudged off in her squelching boots, the group already returned to murmuring amongst themselves.

 

“Should we report this?”

“I don’t know, but I’m not writing ‘boiled tofu legs’ in the scroll.”

 

---

Yewon reached the edge of the town by twilight, soaked, reeking of algae, silt, and what could only be described as river rot. The inn's front entrance loomed before her—warm, inviting, full of lanternlight and the muffled sounds of guests dining inside.

 

She didn’t dare go in.

 

Not looking like this.

 

Instead, she slipped around the side of the building like a soaked criminal and crouched in the shadows behind a rain barrel, eyeing the narrow alley near the kitchen.

 

Her nose wrinkled. Even the dogs avoided her trail.

A few minutes passed before an errand boy emerged from the back, carrying a pail of scraps for the animals.

Yewon stepped out from the shadows with a grim, dripping dignity.

 

“Don’t scream,” she said.

 

The boy yelped anyway, nearly dropping the pail.

“I said don’t—ugh, whatever. Listen. I need you to do something important.”

The boy blinked. “…Are you a ghost?”

 

Yewon groaned. “No. But I might become one if I have to walk into the front entrance like this. Go tell the innkeeper there’s a perfectly reasonable customer in need of a back door, a hot bath, and ideally three buckets of boiling herbs.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “What happened to you?!”

“Bandits. River. Long story. I’m paying. That’s the important part.”

 

He stared at her another moment, then took off running.

 

 

---

 

The errand boy returned not long after, panting and pale, gesturing frantically for her to follow. He led Yewon through the back alley, around stacks of firewood and empty crates, until they reached a door tucked behind the kitchen. The scent of ginger and frying shallots floated in the air, oddly comforting.

Waiting just inside was an older woman—her posture firm, her eyes sharp with the kind of intelligence that had seen every kind of Jianghu traveler: lost swordsmen, fleeing courtesans, bloodied spies, and now, a girl who smelled like she crawled out of the Yellow River itself.

 

The woman raised one brow.

“You’re not the worst I’ve seen,” the madam said.

Yewon managed a tired smile. “High praise.”

The madam’s sharp eyes softened. “Come in, young miss. You’ll catch your death if you stand out there any longer.”

Yewon stepped inside and immediately bowed, offering the traditional fist-and-palm salute.

“My thanks, madam. Truly. I’ll pay for the best room you have available.”

 

The old innkeeper blinked in mild surprise but nodded. “We have a suite on the top floor. Quiet, far from the crowd.”

“Perfect.”

 

Yewon pulled a small bundle from her waist pouch—carefully tied with twine—and handed over a neat stack of coins. Her earnings from weeks of herb selling were still well-stocked. She’d been saving for emergencies, after all. And if worse came to worst, Henan had plenty of mountains. She and Lexy—the system’s voice echoing ever-ready in her head—could forage and identify herbs for trade or sale. She wasn’t helpless.

 

Just temporarily soggy.

The servants bustled around her with polite, professional restraint. A bath was prepared in a large wooden tub, its steam carrying the clean scents of lotus root and cedar bark. Yewon changed into fresh linen robes, her soaked clothes taken away discreetly.

She leaned back into the hot water with a soft sigh, muscles slowly unclenching.

How convenient this was. The service, the warmth, the ease…

 

It almost felt like home.

She tilted her head back against the edge of the tub, eyes fluttering shut. Her thoughts drifted—not to the cabin where she’d hidden for a while, nor to the ferry that had nearly delivered her into the hands of river bandits—but to her second manor.

 

Her hot spring.

Her books and polished floors. Her weapons hidden beneath the floorboards. Her garden of herbs, painstakingly arranged and named. Her pantry, which no longer smelled like burning garlic because she'd finally learned to cook without causing forest fire.

Just thinking about it nearly brought tears to her eyes.

 

"Lexy..." she whispered into the air. "If i find my hot spring  wrecked, I swear I’ll commit a war crime."

 

There was no reply—just the sound of water lapping gently against the sides of the tub and the faint murmur of voices below.

---

 

After a long soak and a near-religious moment of silence in the steaming water, Yewon finally stepped out of the bath. Her legs still felt like boiled jelly, but at least she no longer smelled like algae and mortal regret. The inn’s attendant had left a folded set of clothes on the bench outside the bath chamber, along with warm towels and a quiet knock.

But it wasn’t the simple cotton robe she had been expecting.

 

Her brows rose as she unwrapped the bundle.

 

“…Lexy,” she said slowly, “what. is. this.”

 

>I took the liberty of organizing your wardrobe based on style, color harmony, status level, and subtle emotional storytelling.

“…This is a red and white hanfu.”

 

>Correct! the system chirped in her head, far too smug for something without a mouth.

Elegant, practical, embroidered with plum blossoms at the hem… a subtle yet profound callback to someone whose name I shall not mention, but whose sword art blooms quite famously.

 

Yewon stared at the garment. It was beautiful, honestly. Flowing sleeves, a soft white inner layer, and a red outer robe stitched with fine thread so light it shimmered in the lantern glow. The plum blossoms were barely noticeable unless one looked closely—an intentional detail. This wasn’t just a robe. This was Lexy’s version of a fan letter.

“You’re shipping me,” Yewon muttered flatly, shaking it out.

>Not shipping, just styling. With narrative fflair.m

 

She rolled her eyes but put it on anyway. It fit perfectly, naturally. The waist sash tied snugly just under her chest, accentuating her frame. She adjusted the collar, eyeing herself in the tall brass mirror of the suite.

A girl looked back—tired, freshly bathed, her hair still damp but brushed and braided to one side. The robe made her look… not noble exactly, but important. Like someone not to be ignored.

“Hm.” She twisted to inspect the embroidery again. “If he sees this, he better not say anything.”

 

>Correction: if he sees this, he will say something.

“Oh gods,” she grumbled, slipping her feet into clean shoes and tying her damp hair with a red ribbon. “You’re going to make him think I did this on purpose.”

 

>Exactly.

“…I hate you.”

>I am proud of you, too.

 

Yewon sighed, drawing a long breath, calming herself with the scent of sweet herbs steaming in the bath behind her. At least the robe was comfortable.

She picked up her small qiankun pouch, tucked it beneath her sash, and stepped out of the room with the poise of someone entirely unaffected by the fact that she’d just insulted a system out loud like a madwoman.

Downstairs, a few inn patrons turned to look—perhaps due to her attire, perhaps because her entrance felt too composed for a wandering traveler. Some of the servants exchanged whispers, clearly recognizing the quality of her robe.

 

Someone even muttered, “Noble family…?”

Yewon ignored them, making her way to the dining hall to order food.

If Lexy wanted to turn her life into a drama, then fine.

 

Let the curtains rise.

 

---

 

The second floor of the inn was quieter, far removed from the clatter and loud greetings below. Only a few tables lined the outer walls—these were reserved, either in advance or with an extra charge. It was the kind of area meant for travelers with coin, or influence, or secrets too heavy for shared spaces.

Yewon’s feet carried her to the far end, toward the balcony seat she had reserved earlier that day. A lacquered table stood waiting beneath an overhang, set with clean utensils and a brass teapot that had already begun to steam. She settled down, adjusting the layers of her red and white robes, and rested her arms lightly on the table.

The view before her was... surprisingly peaceful.

 

Dusk had begun to stain the sky a hazy lavender. Below, the street bustled with the trivial but endearing chaos of daily life—vendors calling out, children racing each other with shrill laughter, a pair of dogs chasing a squealing piglet down the alley. Laundry fluttered like flags between buildings. Smoke curled from open food stalls. An old man sat at the corner of the market square, carving toys from spare wood as he always had.

 

Yewon watched quietly.

It was an ordinary scene. A city alive with the simplicity of people simply living.

But her eyes dimmed slightly as she leaned her cheek on one hand.

 

This place... would burn.

 

One day in the future, this very city—its children, its laughter, the sweet aroma of fried cakes drifting through alleys—would all be reduced to ash under the command of a man who thought cruelty and order were synonymous. Jang Ilso. He would raze it all to the ground without batting an eye.

 

And she knew that, not as a prophecy, but as fact.

“…Too bad for him,” she murmured.

 

The teacup near her hand trembled faintly as her qi simmered beneath her skin, quiet and warm like a forge just beginning to stir. Her gaze turned toward the distant mountains, toward where she knew Mount Hua stood—silent, sacred, and stubborn as ever.

 

She smiled faintly.

 

“He won’t get to touch this mountain. Not while I’m here. Not while he’s here.”

 

Her fingers tapped the edge of the cup rhythmically, her lips curling in something halfway between tenderness and steel.

“I’ll be there,” she whispered, as if speaking to someone not present but deeply felt.

 

“...For him.”

 

Chung Myung.

She didn’t know where he was right now—probably yelling at someone or sleeping on a roof or lecturing the other disciples like a demon teacher with no off switch—but she knew where he’d stand when the world started to tilt.

 

And she would be right beside him.

 

---

 

Yewon didn’t linger at the inn.

She paid for her tea, nodded politely to the server who complimented her robes, and made her way back downstairs to the front counter where Madam Li was finishing up a conversation with another traveler.

Madam Li looked up and smiled knowingly. “Done with your meal already, young miss?”

“I didn’t order a full meal,” Yewon replied, tone even. “Just needed the seat for the view. I plan to be back on the road before sunset.”

“Headed to Xi’an, weren’t you?” the madam asked, lowering her voice. “Well, fortune favors you.”

 

Yewon raised an eyebrow.

“One of my suppliers—Merchant Yan—he’s based in Xi’an and his caravan’s packing up as we speak. They’re heading back before dawn. If you’re not too picky about speed, I can speak to him. You’ll ride in the cart with the fabrics, tucked in nicely. Quiet and safe.”

 

“And the cost?”

“Just the seat,” the madam said with a small wink. “I wont tell them you’re a martial artist. Best to let their guards earn their keep while you nap in peace, hmm?”

Yewon dipped her head in gratitude. “Much appreciated, Madam Li.”

---

 

She departed before the sun fully dipped, climbing into the back of a wide wagon lined with tightly wrapped bolts of cloth. The merchant’s escort guards gave her a cursory glance but said nothing. Her red-and-white robes gave her the look of a scholar’s daughter or a young noblewoman—not someone likely to be trouble.

 

Yewon played the part well.

On the outside, she was the perfect image of a well-mannered traveler—quiet, reserved, always holding a silk handkerchief over her mouth when she spoke. She coughed delicately when spoken to, replied with modesty, and spent most of the day “sleeping” beneath a parasol.

 

But internally…

 

This pace…

 

They were moving like slugs dragging a cart through tar.

Am I a drifting cloud or a luggage piece tied to an ox cart? At this rate, Chung Myung might already be halfway through a bottle of rice wine by the time I get there.

She sighed, but smiled faintly to herself. There was no point in rushing. She had lived fast once. Now, she would live smart.

By the third day, clouds thickened on the horizon and the woods flanking the trail grew denser.

That morning, the caravan rolled into a narrow path when the bandits struck.

They came screaming from the brush, crude weapons raised, ropes flung across the road to stop the lead oxen. A few riders attempted to rush the rear of the caravan—right where Yewon’s wagon rolled along.

She blinked once. Her fingers brushed the hem of her sleeve, just lightly—checking her hidden dagger’s position.

But before she could so much as rise from her seat, the hired guards had already sprung into action. Two leapt down, blades unsheathed with professional ease. Another remained beside the merchant, shielding him as arrows zipped through the air with well-practiced precision.

The bandits weren’t professionals. Just a desperate, disorganized group of highway robbers.

Within minutes, they fled into the woods, dragging their wounded and leaving behind nothing but heavy breaths and a slight dent in the caravan’s schedule.

Yewon lowered her hand from her sleeve with a sigh of relief.

 

Good. No need to expose anything today.

She offered the nearest guard a fluttering, grateful smile. “That was terrifying,” she said, voice soft and breathy, as though she might swoon from fright.

The man blushed and scratched his neck. “Just doing our job, miss.”

 

Yewon leaned back again.

Internally?

 

Terrifyin? Please. My teacup rattled harder than that.

 

 

Chapter 57

Her Arrival at the City Gates

 

Upon reaching the grand city gates of Xi’an, Yewon stepped down from the carriage and smoothed her robes, dusting off invisible specks as she made her way to the merchant officer. He was mid-conversation with the city guards, discussing permit checks and toll dues. Yewon waited quietly, then offered a courteous bow.

 

“I’ll be parting ways here,” she said softly. The officer glanced at her, surprised for a moment, then gave a polite nod in return. No questions asked.

 

After a simple farewell at the inspection point, Yewon walked leisurely in the opposite direction of the city center—towards the outskirts, beyond the western walls. There, hidden among groves of peach blossoms and pine, stood a manor she once called her own.

A hundred years ago, she had purchased the land with cold coin and blood-earned treasures. She just hoped that the magistrate’s office hadn’t dared lay a hand on it. well..she did paid her taxes a hundred year in advance to the emperor himself. 

 

---

 

 

The sun dipped just behind the horizon, letting streaks of fading gold filter through the towering bamboos that lined the forgotten trail. The air was thick with silence, disturbed only by the soft crunch of dried leaves beneath her boots.

 

Yewon exhaled slowly.

Even now… her feet remembered.

 

Though weeds had overtaken the steps and moss clung greedily to the old stones, the familiar rhythm of her stride remained unchanged. The forest might have forgotten her—but her bones had not forgotten the way home.

 

She reached out, fingers brushing aside the overgrowth.

 

And then—beyond the thicket of aged stalks—

 

“…It still looks the same,” she whispered.

 

There it stood, half-consumed by ivy and solitude: her manor. A breath of stillness. The front courtyard had faded under time’s touch, its once-polished tiles now cracked and softened by earth. But it remained standing—proud, stoic, patient.

 

However…

 

Her brow furrowed. On the other side, where no trail once was…

A new path? A well-cleared road, trodden by many feet…

That shouldn't exist.

 

She narrowed her eyes. “Who—”

But then came the distant clamor—shouts, laughter, the rattling of something metallic. Her gaze snapped toward where the front gate ought to be.

 

No…

 

She stared for a moment longer.

“…Lexy, dear,” she muttered tightly, brushing off her sleeves. “Please tell me my manor hasn’t been turned into a museum.”

 

The system’s voice echoed in her mind, dripping with smug amusement.

 “Of course there would be hundreds of idiots claiming to be the reincarnation of yours truly~ Honestly, I think one of them even started selling commemorative tea sets with your favorite flower painted on it. You’re a legend, baby.”

 

 

Yewon closed her eyes and groaned.

Of course. Of course.

 

She should’ve asked for property sealing and a divine barrier that electrocutes trespassers. That was her mistake. She forgot to tell the court that day keep it secret. She's too concerned about the up coming war and the knowledge that she'll die there if chung myung died. 

 

She dusted off her robe’s hem, inhaled deeply, and stepped forward with renewed resolve.

“Fine,” she said. “Time to kick the nosey folks out of my house.”

 

And there they were.

Seven security officers in stiff uniforms, complete with bright armbands and faces that screamed overtime fatigue, stood just past the main gate where the barrier is. Between them stretched a tidy rope.

They weren’t just guards.

They were enforcers of myth management.

 

One of them barked laudly

“Please line up properly! Only thirty people allowed per batch! Remember: if the manor rejects you, kindly exit the array immediately—do not resist the recoil! We are not responsible for casualties !”

 

Yewon’s eye twitched.

 

 “…A testing site?”

 

 

 

Lexy, ever the agent of passive chaos, chimed in.

 

And just beyond that?

A government-constructed LAVATORY.

RIGHT BESIDE HER PEONY SHRINE.

Yewon let out a strangled noise. “They CUT the trees?” Her voice rose an octave. “THEY CUT THE BAMBOOS? MY BAMBOOS? I HAND-CULTIVATED THOSE WITH SPIRITUAL SPRING WATER FROM MOUNT —”

 

> “Yeah, no one believed they were real spirit bamboo,” Lexy offered cheerfully.

“Someone auctioned a stalk for five hundred gold coins each. You’re welcome.”

 

 

 

Yewon cracked her knuckles.

“And that part of the path,” she muttered, eyes narrowing at the trampled clearing beyond the barrier. “That didn’t exist. That’s not my landscaping. Where the hell is Tang Bo?!”

 

Silence answered her.

Ah.

 

Right.

Tang Bo…

Still in seclusion.

For decades.

 

 

 

Her eyes blazed.

 

“That’s it.”

With her hair still tucked under her dusty cloak and her robes half-muddied from travel, she stepped forward. Past the line. Past the confused murmurs.

 

“Excuse me, miss—” one of the guards began.

 

But her hand flicked. The rope was discarded on the ground.

Her voice rang out like a blade unsheathed.

“Get out of the way.”

 

The ground shuddered faintly beneath her feet, a low hum emanating from the ancient array circle buried deep in the manor’s roots. Dust rose from the old earth, glowing softly.

 

Then—

 

With a gentle click, the barrier pulsed… and opened.

 

Not for the tourists.

Not for the self-proclaimed reincarnations.

Not for the curious martial artists or common folk

 

But for her.

The manor sighed.

As if saying, finally.

 

The elegant door, once hidden behind a tangle of flowering vines and old creeping moss, creaked open—silent and slow, as if responding to a presence long awaited. The vines slithered away on their own, petals fluttering like feathers caught in a breeze, revealing polished wood unmarred by time.

 

Xia Yewon stepped forward.

Not a whisper of her presence stirred the wind. No thunder of power, no divine glow. And yet… the sealed barrier, unbreachable even to Grandmasters, parted for her like a curtain before the lead actress.

 

She passed through.

And the manor welcomed her home.

The moss beneath her feet receded, the air warmed, and the stone lanterns lining the path lit themselves with an old, golden flame. It was the same scent—honeysuckle, white tea, fresh rain on bamboo. Home.

 

She stopped just past the threshold and turned.

Outside the gate, hundreds of eyes stared at her from behind the security lines. Some with disbelief. Some trembling. The air was filled with gasps and confused muttering. A few women in flowing robes collapsed dramatically, screaming that the pressure had knocked them out, claiming they were the true reincarnation of the Moonlight Fae Sword Supreme.

It would’ve been amusing, if not annoying.

The security officers—uniformed and proud—stood frozen, brushes and parchments clattering from their hands. The young woman within the barrier hadn’t triggered a single protective barrier nor was rejected. And , the barrier hadn’t resisted her. It had obeyed.

And now she was glaring at them. Not with hostility, but a piercing malice that made their bones cold.

One of them whispered, voice tight with dread, “But… but the manor still rejects everyone else...”

Another muttered, “The formation didn’t flicker… she passed through like it wasn’t even there…”

Inside, the courtyard’s bells rang. The wind chimes sang for her. The  trees—bare since her passing—bloomed.

And then, as though summoned by fate itself, a voice spoke out.

 

Low. Certain. Undeniable.

 

“Xia Yewon is back.”

The words struck like a blade across the entire field. Echoing in the mind and marrow. There was no declaration, no thunder. Just the quiet, devastating truth of it.

 

The true owner had returned.

And the legends were true.

The Moonlight Fae Sword Supreme… had come home.

And yet, despite the wave of hysteria, Yewon merely crossed her arms and raised a brow at the nearest security officer.

“Do you mind explaining why there’s a public restroom next to my sacred bamboo grove?”

 

---

 

Now, the legendary owner had returned, and she did not look pleased.

Yewon turned slowly. Her eyes—clear and bright like glacial rivers—narrowed as they locked onto the security officer nearest to her. Her gaze swept over the absurd sight just beyond the perimeter fence. Her jaw tensed. A silence fell heavy over the crowd.

 

“…Explain,” she said, her voice colder than the northern peaks, “why there is a lavatory in place of my beloved ginkgo tree.”

The poor guard flinched. Trembled. He tried to salute, then dropped the gesture halfway like he realized how idiotic it would be.

“R-Report! M-Ma’am—uh, esteemed senior! The ginkgo tree was—uh—stolen! Five years ago!”

“Stolen?” Her tone rose just a little. That was worse.

“Root and all! U-Unidentified thieves, ma’am! They… dug it out overnight—completely. We—uh—we tried to investigate but—uh—”

“And the bamboo?”

 

“Also stolen! Outside the barrier, Senior! S-so it wasn’t protected—”

 

A vein popped along her temple, twitching. Her expression twisted, not with rage exactly—but with a deep, profound offense. An offense only plant lovers—or perhaps overprotective grandparents—could understand.

She looked like an ancient plant deity whose precious babies had been unceremoniously ripped from the earth.

“You mean to tell me,” she said slowly, her voice thick with incredulity, “that while you were busy watching people lick the barrier for enlightenment, someone uprooted my hundred-year-old ginkgo and my personally cultivated bamboo grove—and in their place, you all thought! Let’s build a public shithouse!’?”

 

The the officers tried not to cry.

“We… needed a facility for the queue, esteemed one! There were complaints! The nearest restroom was a two-hour walk!”

“Oh! Complaints!” she mocked, looking up as if praying to the heavens. “And what of my complaints? Who listens to the complaints of a former dead woman?”

 

Yewon glared.

“I sealed my manor. Not my soul, you illiterate turnips.”

 

---

 

A thought struck her.

 

Oh, fuck.

 

She revealed herself too early.

In her rage and indignation, she had completely forgotten the part where she was supposed to lay low — at least until she could reunite with Chung Myung, slap Tang Bo with a sandal, and maybe clean out whatever chaos was nesting inside the manor’s third kitchen.

She pinched the bridge of her nose, breathing deeply.

The security officers — all seven of them — were still trembling in place like seasoned warriors who just realized the beast they poked with a stick wasn’t a plush toy, but a real, live tiger wearing silk robes.

 

They started to retreat. Slowly. Sneakily.

One of them even turned sideways as if to blend in with the breeze, the bastard.

She narrowed her eyes, watching them shuffle like guilty children about to flee after breaking a priceless heirloom.

They must be planning to report this — no, announce it. Spread it to the entire martial world like gossip thrown to pigeons.

“All of you officers…” Her voice was calm. Cold.

 

She gestured lightly, like a queen inviting courtiers — or a reaper beckoning souls.

“Come inside.”

 

All seven of them froze mid-step, their expressions twitching in unison. Wide eyes. Pale faces. Mouths parted in unvoiced despair.

They didn’t know whether to rejoice because they were just personally invited inside the legendary manor of the Moonlight Fae Sword Supreme—

—or tremble in horror because that same Supreme Sword was glaring at them like she was one word away from gutting someone for building a lavatory near her front gate.

They would’ve given a limb just for a peek of the manor’s weeds.

 

But now?

Those weeds might be their final resting place.

One of them whimpered. Another adjusted his belt like he was preparing to wet himself with dignity.

 

“I’m waiting.”

That did it.

 

With the resignation of men who knew death when they saw it, all seven gave up on escape and shuffled through the open gate — faces stiff, hearts clenched, and spirits shriveled.

They walked past the threshold with reverence and regret, trying not to trip on their own fear.

Inside, Yewon strode ahead of them with the quiet menace of a plant auntie who had her beloved babies stolen and chopped into mulch.

She didn’t bother looking back. Her fury was simmering beneath the surface — too tired to explode, too powerful to be ignored.

“Relax,” she said without turning around. “I’m not going to turn you into pills.”

 

Silence.

That didn’t help.

They visibly trembled even more.

One of the guards muttered under his breath. “She said not going to… not won’t ever…”

 

Another choked on air. A third pinched his own thigh to confirm this wasn’t a nightmare realm.

By the time they reached the living room — a spacious area that looked shockingly normal aside from the faint spiritual hum in the air — they were half-certain this was the part where souls were separated from bodies.

 

Yewon looked around, eyes narrowed.

“Lexy,” she called in ger mind

'Is this place still intact? No pest infestation? No squatters? No shady rats pretending to be squirrels? '

 

>“Living room clean. No snakes... aside from that Tang Bo who nested here for a while.”

 

Yewon rubbed her temples.

“Of course he did.”

 

She turned toward the security officers, who were standing straight like recruits at a firing line.

“Now,” she began, crossing her arms. “Which one of you thought it was a good idea to build a fucking lavatory where my sacred ginkgo tree once stood?”

 

They nearly tripped over one another trying to answer.

“T-the tree—!” one of them stammered. “It—it was stolen! Five years ago! From top to root!”

 

“Stolen, you saidnso earlier” she repeated flatly.

“Yes, elder!” another added quickly. “We—we tried to protect it! But the thieves — they got it all! Even dug beneath the soil like they were harvesting a sacred relic! The bamboos around the barrier too — taken! Ripped from the earth! Gone, elder Xia!”

 

A vein pulsed on Yewon’s forehead.

She looked like she was about to declare war on everyone who’d ever laid hands on her babies.

 

Her expression turned grave.

Like a disappointed ancestor. Like a woman who just discovered someone painted graffiti on her child’s face.

“You people turned my ancestral home into a...a  testing site… and let some shady thieves take my ginkgo tree?”

They all bowed low — as if apologizing to the ghost of a tree that had long been chopped and sold to some herbal shop for questionable tea.

One whispered, “We didn’t know she’d be this scary…”

Another murmured, “She’s beautiful... but terrifying…”

 

Yewon rubbed her face.

She needed tea. Or blood. Or both.

 

And someone had to find Tang Bo before she stormed the bureaucratic offices of Xi’an City with a  blade drawn.

 

Because this?

This was not the welcome home she expected.

 

(author's comment: bruh literal home wrecker lol)

 

---

 

 

Yewon stepped back outside, eyes half-lidded, expression unreadable. The murmuring crowd outside that had once buzzed like a restless hive was now frozen, like children caught red-handed sneaking into a forbidden garden. No one had moved. Not even a shuffle. As if the manor itself had threatened to bite their legs off should they so much as breathe wrong.

She cleared her throat softly—but it rang across the silence like a thunderclap.

 

"Everyone," she said, her voice as crisp as winter frost, "return to your homes."

Some gasped, others flinched, but still, no one dared to budge.

 

"No one," she continued, tone even, though her eyes had the weight of judgment itself, "is to disclose what happened here."

 

Her gaze swept across the crowd, cold and unflinching. Her next words were spoken with a serenity more terrifying than rage.

 

"A loose mouth..." She smiled faintly, too faintly,

"...loses its use."

 

The way she said it made the marrow in their bones scream. As if she'd already seen how things would unfold. As if she knew whose mouths would loosen, and whose tongues she’d sever first.

 

Especially—

Her eyes fell upon a small cluster loitering near the stone lanterns by the side path, cloaked in too many layers despite the heat, blades poorly concealed, and eyes that flicked around like rats casing a kitchen.

 

Martial artists.

Shady ones.

 

Without speaking, she sent a mind transmission. Her voice echoed directly into their skulls like a sharp whisper slipping behind the ear.

 

 “- Gang Huimin, age 31. XXX XXX Sect—though you don’t quite follow their rules, do you? Staying at the Orchid House inn since yesterday.

-You three from the Eastern Shadow Hall—two blades, one poison user. Hm. Pitifully small group for an ambush. You’re wasting time.”

 

 

They turned pale. One nearly stumbled.

They scanned the area in alarm, desperate to spot the watcher who fed her such details. But there was no scout. No spy. Just her—standing under the sun, unarmed, her arms crossed lazily, and her lips barely curled in disgust.

Sassy Lexy, her ever-capable system, fed her the data live from her inner interface. Of course it did. Lexy was no joke. It was practically the omniscient eye over Xi’an, an echo of her silent reign.

 

A hundred years ago, no one dared stir trouble here—not because the Southern Edge sect had their base here. No. It was because Xia Yewon resided in Xi’an. The moment her name was whispered, even the brashest clans swallowed their words.

 

She was the second sword supreme.

And Xi’an was hers. Even if she denied it

 

---

 

Yewon sighed and walked back into the manor with an air of calmness so gentle it could fool anyone into thinking she hadn’t nearly razed the entire capital to the ground over a toilet.

 

She had calmed down.

Sufficiently.

The officers who remained inside—frozen, as if any movement might trigger another immortal outburst—stared with visible tension as she returned through the grand doorway. Her steps were soft, her sleeves fluttering lightly as if caught by the memory of wind that once danced through ginkgo leaves now long gone. She didn’t glare this time, which scared them even more.

 

Inside, the manor was quiet again. Still as she left it—except now, she could feel the jittery presence of her accidental guests lingering like students waiting to be scolded after a failed martial arts exam.

 

She sighed. Deeply.

She had overreacted.

 

She knew that. Now....They were just children(?)

 

Physically grown men, yes. Some already past thirty. But when she looked at them... they were like anxious little boys. Stammering, sweaty-palmed juniors who hadn’t even lived a fraction of the years she had walked this earth.

So this is how Chung Myung felt all those years in the novel, she mused with a strange pang in her chest. Looking at people who act old but are, truly, nothing more than little foals… at least in her eyes. 

She felt a pang of guilt for snapping at them. Of course it wasn’t their fault. A lavatory in place of her ginkgo tree was outrageous, yes, but most certainly the result of a higher-up’s asinine decision. And the missing bamboo? An unresolved robbery. Not their failure.

 

Just her immature way of thinking again.

No—every time. Always the same.

 

She needed to make it up to them.

Though she’d never been a mother, much less a grandmother, she had once known how to care for a particularly childish, overgrown man with pink eyes, a messy ponytail, and a tragic penchant for stealing all the peaches on her trees during peak seasons…

And oh, dear, now she was getting emotional.

 

Sniffing once and brushing her sleeve across her cheek quickly, she put herself to work.

Thankfully, she had packed enough mooncakes to snack on during the road—gifts from generous merchant yan who had parted with her at the city gates. There was no food left in the manor, naturally, not after a hundred years of abandonment… but tea? Tea she could manage.

She had purchased a delicate Henan blend a few days back—still fresh in the canister.

So when she returned with a tray of tea and mooncakes, the officers all visibly flinched as though she might throw the tray at their faces. She didn’t. She only gave a light sigh, knelt gracefully at the low table, and began pouring the tea with the practiced hand of someone used to hosting guests—albeit ones who didn’t usually fear for their lives in her presence.

 

One by one, she handed them cups of steaming tea.

They took it like condemned men take their final drink.

 

She looked at them. Expectantly.

 

They looked back at her, unsure.They were all thinking the same thing:

 

How were they supposed to treat her?

She looked no older than their daughters.

But she had been alive longer than their family trees.

 

So they did the only thing they could: they gulped the tea in terror.

 

She blinked. “It’s hot. Sip, don’t drink it like soup,” she said, mildly chiding.

 

Then came the death blow:

“Kids these days… So impatient.”

 

The awkwardness became tangible. Someone choked.

Then, with a faint smirk, she reached into a small embroidered pouch and pulled out a neat bundle of mooncakes. She unwrapped them, breaking one apart gently, then offering the tray forward like a kind grandmother coaxing grandchildren after a lecture.

Somewhere in their stiff, scared hearts, hope sparked:

Maybe… she wasn’t angry anymore.

 

Then she sat down fully, her arms crossed over her lap with the grace of someone who’d once dined with emperors and scolded immortals alike.

 

“Since you’re all here,” she began with a deceptively pleasant tone, “I’d like to know who exactly is responsible for the lavatory.”

 

Every back straightened.

“And the fool who started this little tradition,” she continued, voice soft, “of letting every passerby test the barrier in hopes that one of them turns out to be me.”

she swears , what happened thatnday in the imperial hall must have leaked outside. 

She leaned forward ever so slightly, and the gentle flicker in her eyes reminded them of an old volcano—calm for now, but still very much alive.

 

Silence.

Some of them turned slowly to glance at a red-faced, twitching young officer near the end of the line, whose expression clearly said I regret everything.

 

---

 

Once they had relaxed a little, Yewon set her teacup down and folded her hands.

“Now,” she said sweetly, “since you’re all here… I’d like to know who approved that lavatory and who began this whole line of self-appointed 'successor testing' at my manor’s doorstep.”

 

The men exchanged glances.

One officer cleared his throat. “The, ah… the idea of the lavatory came from an elder of the Southern Edge Sect. He said it was for the convenience of the common people.”

 

“Hmm.” Her smile didn’t change, but her eyes sharpened.

“And the approval?”

“Not the magistrate himself, Elder Xia. but... from the management below  ”

 

Yewon’s eyes twitched. Fucking bastards…

Even after all this time, they still couldn’t let go.

Her reputation among the Southern Edge had always been rocky—and all because of her closeness with Chung Myung. It wasn’t even her fault! But back then, they thought they could bully her?

 

Well… she’d bullied back.

In her own wicked, poetic way. Some even lost their front teeth.

So this was their descendants' grand scheme? A lavatory, disguised as a charitable gesture?

 

---

 

By the time the officers finished sharing their complaints and awkward apologies, Yewon had already begun to plan three types of revenge.

One—quiet and long-term. The sort that takes root like ivy and coils around your ankles before you even realize it.

Two—public and devastating, but executed with such elegance that the victims would thank her for it.

And three—well, number three was simply a backup in case the other two didn’t satisfy her enough. That one involved a disguised herbalist, questionable dumplings, and an anonymous contest.

 

But that could wait.

For now, diplomacy was the art of war.

 

She stood, smiling sweetly at the officers. “Wait here. I’ll fetch you all something to take home. You’ve worked hard.”

They all stood up immediately. “No need, Lady Yewon! Really—”

 

She raised one eyebrow, and they sat back down like scolded schoolboys.

Outside, the breeze was soft, rustling through the leaves of the small orchard behind her manor.

She walked barefoot down the smooth stone path, skirts gathered in one hand, the other brushing gently over the low branches of the peach trees.

 

They were old now.

Not ancient, but old enough.

And she remembered—vividly—how Chung Myung used to steal from them.

 

Not pick.

 

Steal.

Like a hungry raccoon disguised as a young swordsman. He never even asked. He just… plucked them mid-conversation and bit into them with no shame. He always said they were “barely passable,” yet he ate six in just one visit.

 

Six.

She had chased him once with a broom.

 

“You rotten peach thief—!”

He’d only laughed, mouth full, juice dripping down his chin.

 

She paused beneath one of the trees and tilted her head up.

There were no fruits.

 

Or… none left, anyway. A few shriveled pits in the grass. A cracked peach husk torn apart by birds. A fallen one, half-eaten by ants.

 

She squinted at the soil.

Too fertile.

Even the grass here grew unruly.

 

“No wonder the roots are so wild now,” she muttered. “You probably dropped all your peach  here without someoneto steal them shamelessly....”

 

Still… she smiled, reaching up to one of the higher branches.

 

'Ah—there it was.'

 

A single, perfectly ripe peach. Round, blushing, fragrant.

She plucked it gently, wrapped it in silk, and carried it back with the others she’d found farther in the orchard.

They were gifts for the officers. Not because she was generous. Because she was planning to send them home with the scent of the very tree their predecessors once trespassed upon. A message.

 

A sweet, soft warning in the shape of fruit.

By the time she returned, her mood had balanced.

 

She set the peaches down and called for ink and paper.

One of the officers offered his brush, but she shook her head. "No need. I still have mine."

 

She took out her old writing set, one carved with plum blossoms gifted to her by a terribly smug swordsman a hundred years ago.

 

She began to write.

 

---

 

To Magistrate Zhang hye

Descendant of the Honorable Zhang Surong

 

I hope this letter finds you in good health and sharper wit than the officials currently camped outside my residence.

I write to you not out of grievance, but out of a desire to preserve the peace—and perhaps your remaining dignity.

It has come to my attention that a certain public facility has recently been erected not far from my domain. While I am no stranger to bold architectural choices, the current placement of this structure suggests either extreme confidence… or an alarming lack of imagination.

I do not believe it was your hand that signed the order. The reports I’ve gathered make that quite clear.

However, as someone who personally knew your great-grandfather—and once called him a tolerable man in a world of buffoons—I trust you will understand the implications of continued disrespect.

 

Enclosed with this letter are peaches from my garden.

A reminder that kindness, when tended to, bears fruit.

But so does negligence. And not all fruits are sweet.

 

May your days be free of latrine disputes.

With warmest regards,

-Eun Yewon of Xia manor.

 

 

---

 

She folded the letter, sealed it with her personal wax mark—a curled wisp of cloud within a peach blossom—and handed it to the officers with the basket of fruit.

 

“Give this to the magistrate directly. Not a clerk. Not a scribe. Directly. Or else I will assume it never arrived… and act accordingly.”

They all nodded in perfect unison. Swallowed their fear. Took the basket as if it contained the bones of a saint.

 

And then bowed before scrambling to depart.

When they were gone, Yewon sat back, exhaled slowly, and sipped the last of her now-cold tea.

The breeze was shifting. Summer beginning to retreat.

 

She glanced at the orchard one last time.

“You owe me new peaches,” she whispered to no one in particular.

 

And somewhere in the wind, a distant laugh echoed—soft, smug, and familiar.

 

Chapter 58

 

 

 

The manor gate groaned open slowly, revealing its aged hinges but newly scrubbed surface, glinting gold beneath the sunlight. Xia Yewon stood just past the threshold, still in her worn but clean robes, hair loosely tied and a cloth around her neck from cleaning. Her sleeves were rolled halfway to her elbows, and her skin bore the light flush of someone who had just finished a fulfilling day of hard work.

Behind her, the interior of the grand manor gleamed. The floors shimmered like polished mirrors, and the scent of anti-pest herbs lingered faintly in the air, crisp and cool. Her garden, now well-trimmed, was no longer a jungle, though still overgrown in the romantic way only time could shape. She had left the peach tree alone, though. Its fruits were ripening in the sun.

Yewon tilted her head at the group of men. “You’re early,” she said, brushing her hand on the cloth at her waist.

The officers bowed at once, but Yewon’s sharp eyes landed instantly on the one unfamiliar face among them.

He looked like the others—discreetly dressed, sword sheathed, back straight—but his eyes. His eyes held that flicker of recognition she’d seen in many generations before. A kind of weight. One that wasn’t from this lifetime alone.

“I take it you’re not just an officer,” she said flatly, eyes narrowing in wry amusement. “Did Magistrate Zhang hye grow so impatient he had to dress like one of you just to see me?”

The man froze before bowing respectfully. “Magistrate Zhang , of this generation,” he said earnestly. “My apologies, Esteemed Elder. I simply… I needed to be sure. And I needed to see you with my own eyes.”

She studied him for a long moment, then turned slightly to wave them in. “Come inside. I don’t like repeating myself at the gate. Also, no boots on the inner floors—I just scrubbed the entire manor myself.”

There was an awkward pause before the men practically tripped over themselves to remove their shoes, lining them neatly by the entrance.

Yewon walked ahead slowly, dusting off her hands as they moved through the pristine halls. “So. You’re the grandson of Zhang yun, eh? The fool who thought drinking wine while half-frozen would warm him up. He did qi deviate due to the cold ”

 

“…Yes,” Zhang hye replied sheepishly.

 

She chuckled. “You look like him. ”

 

The officers stifled their snickers.

“But I do remember his spirit well,” she said, stopping at the long table she had polished earlier. A small letter was sealed and placed near the end—her letter to the magistrate. “He lived thanks to my intervention… but he lived a good life after. I’ve heard his descendants upheld their name.”

Zhang hye stepped forward, kneeling before her. “Elder Xia Yewon. My family owes you more than we can ever repay. Allow me to be of service, whatever you require.”

Yewon waved a hand. “Stand. You didn’t come here just to recite memorized gratitude. I’m no longer someone who needs servants or honorifics—though the offer is appreciated.”

Zhang hye stood but looked both nervous and thrilled. “May I ask… after so long.. is elder xia not going to pay mount hua visit ?”

 

She looked toward the window where the peach tree swayed.

“I had chores to finish,” she said simply, then smiled. “And… I’ve missed that place. But it’s not yet time to reveal to the world im back.”

 

That left them puzzled, but no one dared press. Instead, she stood and walked out into the garden, gesturing toward the peach tree.

 

“You all came here for answers. But it seems fate has brought you peaches instead. Pick some before you leave,” she said. “They’re ripe. And sweeter than they were a hundred years ago. Maybe because no thiefs  been around to rob them.”

 

The officers exchanged glances 

 

Zhang hye looked confused. 

 

Yewon just grinned and plucked a peach, tossing it lightly into Zhang hye's hands.

 

...

 

The magistrate, despite his rank, stood humbly at the edge of the tea table, trying not to fidget. He looked no older than his late thirties, his upright posture and clear eyes befitting someone raised in a family of officials—but his demeanor betrayed an eager reverence, like a boy meeting a living myth.

Xia Yewon sipped her tea slowly, allowing the soft steam to hide the faint smile at the corners of her lips. The peaches sat in a bamboo basket beside them, fresh and round, their skin glowing like late summer sunsets.

"Is there anything you wish me to resolve, Esteemed Elder?" Magistrate Zhang hye asked at last, voice respectful but earnest.

She looked out at her peach tree through the open doors. The breeze that passed carried the scent of crushed mint and chrysanthemums—plants she had once grown to ward pests but now bloomed as if they were guarding her legacy.

 

"Mm," Yewon finally murmured, placing her teacup down with deliberate grace. "There is something."

 

Zhang hye straightened unconsciously.

 

"Those  officials who approved the lavatory construction... Fire them."

The magistrate blinked, caught off-guard by the simplicity and clarity of the command.

"Discreetly," she added, eyes still on the distant peach tree. "Investigate them first. Be fair. But do it quietly. Don’t tie it to the lavatory. I’m sure men like them have other… stains worth uncovering."

She looked back at him finally. Her expression was soft, but there was iron behind her eyes.

"And keep my return to the world a secret. For now. If I find my name fluttering on lips like market gossip, I’ll assume it was those people yesterday fault ."

Zhang Yu nodded firmly, sweat forming at his temples despite the calm breeze.

 

"And… tell me," she leaned slightly forward, “what is the state of Mount Hua?”

 

The question shifted the air, like a string pulled from the past and drawn into the present.

 

Zhang Hye brightened, eager now, as if he had been hoping she’d ask. "Mount Hua… has risen. A new generation has emerged, and among them… a rising star. A boy—no, a young man—who recently defeated all second-class disciples of the Southern Edge Sect at the Huazhong Conference. Alone."

 

Yewon’s brows twitched. That familiar name.

 

' Chung Myung ' she thought.

 

like a name finally returning to its rightful place in time. Her gaze turned pensive.

Its been two monts since the conference right?

 

The magistrate nodded.

 

So he's been here for like eight months...

 

She looked at the peach tree again. Its fruits had ripened. How poetic.

"Good." She turned back to him. "Then… deliver these peaches to your household. Your great-grand-aunt used to receive them when she was just a young lady, "

The magistrate's face lit up with surprised gratitude.

 

"Let things stay this way," Yewon said, a little amused.

“You never heard of me. " 

He bowed low, respectfully receiving the basket of peaches as if it were imperial tribute.

As he and his officers left the manor, Yewon stood by the peach tree with her sleeves fluttering in the breeze. One of the branches creaked above her head.

 

"Eight months, huh?"

 

She gently picked another ripe peach and looked up toward the sky, squinting.

 

"You better still be alright, Chung Myung."

 

I'll have to train too... before meeting you

 

The wind rustled through the leaves as if it chuckled. Just like that fool, it didn’t take Yewon long to get used to her new body.

Lexy, ever meticulous, ran multiple scans at her request—spiritual root compatibility, dantian capacity, muscle memory retention, nerve responsiveness, meridian alignment. The result was as she hoped, perhaps even better than expected.

 

“Host’s body is perfectly suitable to resume cultivation along the same sword and qi path as before,” Lexy confirmed with a little star beside the report screen. “Would you like to train like before?”

She Nodded . She was not aiming for passing strength —just enough time to finish what she must, to walk once more beside the people she still held dear.

As for tang bo....She knew where he was. She had known all along, even without looking. After all its her who left him what he needs to do.

 

The place where frost never melted.

The place where plum blossoms never grew.

He was in seclusion, and she would not disturb him—not yet. Let him stay in silence a while longer. He, too, needed time.

 

She used hers.

For a two years, Xia Yewon retaught her hands to wield the sword like they used to.

 

She sharpened herself.

Each morning, she rose before the birds woke to train under the tree where the last peach fell.

Each evening, she stood beneath the moonlight and repeated the same strikes a hundred times.

Her body once delicate from luxury, calloused itself again.

She mastered the way her feet moved, how her breaths aligned with her strikes, how her qi pulsed exactly where she willed it to.

 

The blade sang for her again.

Just like that... two years had pass.... no news of her leaked at all. She thanked her reputation for instilling fear on loose mouths to shut up. 

Two years from the day she returned , she stood once more beneath the flowering peach tree in her courtyard, her sword resting comfortably against her spine. She had reached the level she deemed “acceptable”—though it was far beyond what most would consider even remarkable.

 

Now, it was time.

 Chung Myung returned to this world. Long enough for his name to begin causing ripples in the martial world again. Long enough for him to do something stupid.

Yewon squinted up at the sun and sighed.

 

“He’s definitely drowning himself in alcohol by now.”

 

And oh, she came prepared when they finally met again

In the kitchen of the manor, several bags of medicinal herbs were neatly stacked. She patted a sack filled with fat ginger roots, freshly dug from her garden, then the earthy yellow turmeric still flecked with dirt. Nearby, she had lemon balm, peppermint, and dried chrysanthemum.

“Let’s see you hide from this, you alcoholic bastard,” she said cheerfully, practically cackling.

She was going to make that brat taste the sweetness of a healthy liver even if it killed him.

Back in the day, she’d managed to make Chung Myung reduce his drinking by brewing him tea laced with herbs that eased alcohol withdrawal. It had worked—for a while. Until Tang Bo, ever the enabler, taught him to burn the alcohol out of his bloodstream with samadhi divine fire.

Yewon scowled at the memory. Oh, she remembered the smug look on Chung Myung’s face when he showed up completely sober after three bottles of rice wine.

 

And Tang Bo?

She beat him until he swore on his cultivation that he’d never “innovate” again.

Not that it lasted.

Now, as she stood beside her traveling pack—gourd, tea, sword, and a basket of detoxifying herbs—Yewon allowed herself a small, dangerous grin.

 

Time to see if Chung Myung still remembered the taste of ginger tea.

And if not?

She’d remind him.

Personally

 

The Southern Edge Sect’s name never passed her lips, but the broken bamboo in her backyard and the occasional split rock by the stream bore witness to her silent wrath.

No front teeth were lost this time—just branches, stone walls, and egos of unfortunate martial artists who thought the manor on the hill was unguarded.

And now...

She stood at the threshold of her manor’s front gate, holding the travel pack Lexy helped prepare.

 

Clean robes.

Dried peaches.

A box of 'medicine' for chung myung

 

And the spare sword Tang Bo made for her back then—polished anew.

She looked down the road that stretched past the hills toward Huayin.

 

“Lexy,” she said softly, “he must’ve been here for like two years and eight months right?”

“Correct. According to historical records, Chung Myung’s emergence as Mount Hua’s rising star began approximately two years and two months ago, after the huazhong conference~ .”

" then... it should be the swords graveyard arch soon " 

 

 

She smiled.

Ah, the plum blossom, reblooming.

 

She took one last glance at the peach tree behind her.

The wind tugged at her sleeves.

She was ready now.

Ready to see him again.

 

Ready to walk into the chaos that followed him like a loyal dog.

 

Her lips curled gently.

“Let’s go see that brat.”

 

And with that, Xia Yewon descended the hill.

 

" but we should probably visit the market for more tumerics~" 

 

Chapter 59

 

 

 

The sun was merciless atop Mount Hua, but not nearly as merciless as he was.

 

"Keep your stance lower!"

"You're swinging that sword like you're trying to swat a fly!"

"Do it again. Do it right, or we’ll be here ‘til the night!"

Groans echoed across the training yard as second- and third-class disciples moved like trembling reeds in a storm. Un Geom, standing a respectable distance away, tried to conceal his amusement with a cough.

 

 He called from behind. “A letter to deliver. Eunha Merchant Guild.” he reayed to ching myung

 

Chung Myung paused mid-shout and turned, already annoyed.

 

“ again? Ill have to go in the caves today " 

“ the sect leader askedyou specificly.”

 

Chung Myung squinted. “alright great sasuk ”

 

 

 

“…again?,” he muttered, clicking his tongue. With a dramatic sigh, he threw the training sword at Yoon Jong. “Oversee in my place. And if anyone slacks off…”

 

“I know, I know,” Yoon Jong heaved. “You’ll know.”

 

He was down the mountain before lunch. His path to Xi’an was so familiar he barely noticed the heat or distance. He arrived at the Guild with his usual strut, greeted warmly by Guild Master Hwang Munyak, who bowed with a pleasant smile.

“Mount Hua’s divine dragon. .”

 

“greetings elder, im sure everythings ready ? ” Chung Myung grinned.

 

They were just about to enter when it happened.

 

Laughter.

Not just any laughter. A very familiar kind. Tinkling, musical—chaotic. It came from just across the street, near a turnip vendor.

 

His body moved before his mind caught up, eyes snapping toward the sound.

There—there was a figure. Hair braided just like how 'she' always liked it, loose strands tucked behind her ear as she leaned over a stall, haggling about root vegetables as if it were a life-or-death matter.

 

It can’t be.

 

No way.

It must be a trick of the heat. He missed her too much, and now his mind was playing with him.

He blinked. Once. Twice. But Guild Master Hwang was also staring ahead.

 

“I-Is that…”  So it wasn’t another hallucination.

Heart stuttering in his chest, Chung Myung quietly gathered a small pulse of his qi—just enough, not to harm or alarm, but to tickle. To brush against the edge of the bond's thread he still have.

The figure stiffened, then… laughed. She turned around slowly, scanning the crowd with that knowing grin.

 

Their eyes met.

Those weren’t just her eyes. That was her—her soul, her fire, her mischief. Her qi responded instantly, brushing against his like warm sunlight creeping into a winter room.

 

Leave it to me, it seemed to say. You’ve worked too hard. Rest.

 

His legs moved before he could stop himself.

 

He rushed across the street, ignored all cries of caution and decorum, and halted just in front of her. His chest heaved slightly, but his eyes burned, bright and wide.

 

And with a breath, he said, “Even if the winter felt never-ending…”

Her smile deepened, a soft glint in her eyes as she continued, “The plum blossoms are with you, in their sweet scent.”

 

Together, their voices overlapped—

 

“You will be delivered to spring.”

 

Chung Myung didn’t give her a moment more to haggle with the poor turnip vendor. The moment she finished their shared line like a promise from another life, he snatched the bags from her arms with one hand and grabbed her with the other.

 

“You’re coming with me.”

 

Yewon blinked. “I haven’t paid for—”

He tossed a few silver coins at the flustered vendor without stopping. “Keep the change!”

 

“ I still haven't bought lemons—!” she cried, jogging to keep up with him.

“You can pick them yourself from the mountain trees!”

 

“Lemons don’t grow on Mount Hua!”

“They will if you plant them!”

 

He didn't stop. Not even when Elder Hwang Munyak called out after them, bewildered. Not even when passersby stared at the strange pair — a handsome, disciple  dragging a laughing woman with a bag of ginger and turmeric flailing behind him like it owed her money.

He didn’t let go of her hand until they were far beyond the crowded markets of Xi’an, heading toward the familiar mountain trail.

 

Only then did he glance at her sideways. “ Teo years and seven months, huh?”

She hummed proudly. “That’s right. Long enough for someone to forget how to drink responsibly.”

He snorted. “You really brought tea for my liver?”

“I brought enough to make you cry blood and regret ever looking at alcohol.”

Chung Myung chuckled — low and deep, the kind that rumbled from his chest and made the nearby birds scatter. But there was a softness in his eyes. A quiet joy he didn’t dare name.

 

They walked in silence for a while.

 

“You’re late.”

“You were early.”

 

“Tch.” He grinned. “Still always got something to say, huh?”

 

She glanced at him with that same exasperated fondness she always had. “And you still run your mouth like a rooster at dawn.”

 

He laughed.

For once, the mountain breeze felt warmer.

 

The sun was already slipping westward by the time they reached the winding path beyond the last teahouse in Xi’an. This trail didn’t lead to Mount Hua—not yet, anyway.

 

It curved away, nestled between tall grass and overgrown roots, past stone markers that had long since lost their names to time. A shortcut only locals and mischievous children remembered. And perhaps… those who used to walk it in silence with baskets in their arms and wildflowers tucked behind their ears.

Yewon brushed aside a hanging vine. “You remembered this trail?”

Chung Myung scoffed, walking a step ahead of her. “You’re the one who used to trip over that rock every time we came this way.”

“And you’re the one who laughed instead of helping me up!”

“I did help you! After I finished laughing.”

 

She rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath, loud enough for him to hear.

 

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

They continued walking, their pace unconsciously falling into rhythm. The birds chirped. The wind stirred the leaves gently. And far ahead, beyond the thickets, the rooftop of a small estate peeked through the trees—her manor. Modest, tucked outside the city walls like a shy poem between pages of louder ones.

It hadn’t changed. Not the faded gate. Not the chipped tiles. Not the peach tree that leaned awkwardly toward the kitchen window, one branch still crooked from when Chung Myung used to climb it and steal peaches during early summers—when his legs were shorter and his laugh came easier.

 

Yewon reached out to push the manor's gate open—

But Chung Myung beat her to it, his calloused hand brushing against hers just for a second too long.

 

The gate creaked.

They stepped inside.

And suddenly, as the scent of soil and dried herbs and long-forgotten seasons wrapped around them like a childhood blanket, something shifted.

 

Chung Myung didn’t speak.

 

He turned.

 

And without a warning, he pulled her into a tight hug.

The bags in her arms fell to the ground with a soft thud. His arms wrapped fully around her, anchoring her in place, solid and trembling all at once. One hand braced the back of her head. The other pressed against her spine like he was trying to memorize the shape of her, make sure she didn’t vanish the second he let go.

 

Yewon froze.

 

His scent was dust and plum blossoms.  His shoulder was sharp against her cheek. His breathing unsteady.

 

“…You really thought I was gone forever, huh,” she murmured.

“…I didn’t know,” he replied, voice raw. “Didn’t know if I’d find you again. Didn’t know if I’d even want to continue.”

 

“You’re stupid.” she whispered

“You’re late.” He countered 

 

“I brought tea.” 

 

He huffed a short laugh. Then—

"You're sure you're not trying to send me back to the heavens?" she wheezed, wriggling slightly. "I'll suffocate to death if you hug me any tighter.”

Her arms slowly reached up. Then—sighing in defeat—she hugged him back.

"…You’re really stubborn, you know that?"

 

“Mm.” He didn’t let go. “You’ll get used to it...

 

...Again.”

 

Outside, a lone peach fell from the tree.

Inside, the two of them stood still in a manor that had waited—like the tree, like the trail, like him.

 

Chapter 60

Summary:

Please eat well, everyone.

Outside the city walls

Xia Manor

 

They had finally arrived at her quiet little manor outside the city walls, following the narrow shortcut trail that curved around the hills and fields. It was tucked away just far enough that the noise of the city couldn’t reach them.

Inside, the air smelled faintly of dried herbs and old wood. Yewon didn’t waste time. She set her bags down and marched into the kitchen, already determined to brew the turmeric and ginger detox tea she’d prepared in mind for a whole year and seven months.

Chung Myung trailed after her without a word, like a very large and annoyingly quiet tail. He leaned against the doorframe and watched as she bustled around—unpacking the fresh turmeric, ginger, and mint with a satisfied grin.

“Need a hand?” he asked, lighting the coals for her with a flick of samadhi divine fire. It was precise and controlled, barely even hissing as it caught the kindling.

 

“Only if you behave,” she said.

He helped her up when she needed to reach the top cabinet for the lemon jars, his hands settling on her waist as he lifted her slightly off the floor.

“Hmm… you’re quite clingy, aren’t you?” she muttered as she hopped back down.

“Imagining things again,” he replied smoothly, not letting go immediately.

Yewon narrowed her eyes at him but let it go. She turned her attention back to the stove, already adding the ginger chunks to the boiling water.

The warm aroma filled the kitchen—the sharpness of ginger, the earthiness of turmeric, the faint coolness of mint. This tea would have any alcoholic begging for repentance.

She stirred slowly, crushing the ginger bits at the bottom of the pot, the way her grandmother had once taught her. But even as the tea simmered, she could feel it: that stare. That heavy, burning gaze drilling into the back of her head.

 

Chung Myung hadn’t left the kitchen.

She ignored him at first. He was always like this when he didn’t know what to do—lurking, watching, hovering over her.

 

Then she felt it.

 

A presence close behind her. And before she could scold him for being weird again, his arms wrapped loosely around her waist from behind. Not tight—just enough to feel the warmth of him.

His forehead gently leaned against her shoulder, and his voice came quiet. Honest.

 

“I missed you,” he murmured. “I meant it.”

Yewon didn’t say anything. Not yet. She just stirred the tea a little slower, letting the moment settle into the air like steam from the pot.

Yewon paused. Her hands slowed in the pot, but she didn’t look at him yet.

“I missed you too,” she said with a small, amused laugh. “And I meant it.”

 

There was silence, but not the awkward kind. It was soft. Almost like the house itself was holding its breath.

“I want you… I like you… I… love you… always,” he said. It wasn’t loud, but it wasn’t timid either. It was like he’d been holding those words in for too long, and now they finally slipped out, gentle but sure.

Yewon slowly turned around to face him. The pot continued to bubble behind her, forgotten for a moment.

Her eyes searched his. There was no teasing in her smile now—just something warm, steady, and full.

“Hehe… so you do remember,” she said quietly. “If you had said that any later, I might’ve thought you didn’t mean it. This time… I wasn’t planning to wait for you to say it first. But you beat me to it.”

 

“Then—” he started, his voice hopeful, his eyes slightly wide.

But before he could finish, Yewon reached up and gently pulled him down by the collar. She gave him a small, tender kiss on the cheek.

 

Chung Myung froze.

His eyes went wide, and he blinked as if trying to process what just happened. Yewon, meanwhile, turned back to the stove like nothing happened and continued stirring the pot.

He stood there, stunned, touching the cheek she kissed.

 

“You…” he began, but the words didn’t come out.

 

“You’re blushing,” she said without looking at him, a smile tugging at her lips.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye and chuckled at how flustered he looked.

Chung Myung pulled out a chair and sat down, watching her in silence. His expression softened again.

 

“I really missed you, Yewon-ah” he said more quietly this time. “… I kept looking for you.”

 

Yewon stopped stirring for just a moment, then turned down the fire. She walked over and placed a hand on his head, brushing a few strands of hair away from his eyes.

 

“You recognised me ” she said.

He looked up at her. “I always will.”

 

And just like that, in the cozy kitchen filled with the scent of healing tea and the quiet flicker of fire, everything felt right. Nothing grand, nothing loud. Just the two of them. Home.

Yewon finished seiving the tea into two small earthen cups, the steam rising in soft curls as the scent of turmeric and ginger filled the air. It was sharp, earthy, and frankly overwhelming—but comforting in a way that only something made with care could be.

She placed one cup in front of Chung Myung. The golden liquid glowed faintly in the firelight. If it had been in the past, he would’ve bolted before she could even pour it. In fact, he once leapt out the window of her window just to escape a cup of bitter root tea.

Back then, it took coaxing, pleading(?), sometimes even bribery, just to get him to take a sip. He used to grimace and accuse her of poisoning him with “evil concoctions only hell’s herbalists would dare brew.”

 

But now…

Chung Myung looked at the cup, then at her.

He didn’t complain. He didn’t hesitate.

 

Instead, he lifted the cup and downed it in one go.

The taste was still awful. It hit his tongue like hot iron, burning with spice and burn , and for a moment, his expression twitched—but he swallowed it all.

Then, setting the cup down, he let out a small breath. “Still tastes like a demon’s foot.”

Yewon looked over her shoulder and laughed. “You drank it without whining. Who are you, and what have you done to Chung Myung?”

 

He shrugged, leaning against the counter lazily, his eyes trailing her every move. “Maybe love really does turn people into idiots.”

She raised a brow. “What~?”

 

He grinned. “I understand now… why my sahyungs from the past turned into babbling fools when they fell in love. Turns out, being an idiot for someone isn’t so bad.”

Yewon placed her cup down and crossed her arms, eyeing him with amusement. “You’ve always been a fool.”

 

“Exactly,” he said, with a soft chuckle, “but now I’m your fool.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled, warmth blooming in her chest. She walked over and reached up to brush a stray strand of hair from his forehead. “My idiot who just drank a whole cup of something he used to call poison.”

Chung Myung caught her hand and held it for a second longer than necessary. “I didn’t drink it because it’s healthy. I drank it because you made it.”

There was a silence between them, not heavy, not awkward—just soft.

“…You’re getting too good at this,” she muttered, trying not to smile too wide.

“I always was good,” he said smugly. “You were just too stubborn to admit it.”

 

She nudged his chest with the back of her hand. “Go set the table.”

“Yes, yes, Madam,” he replied, but he didn’t move. Instead, he leaned down and rested his forehead against hers briefly. “I meant what I said earlier.”

 

“I know,” she whispered. “And so did I.”

 

Then, like always, life resumed with the quiet clink of cups and the rustle of firewood. But everything had changed—and neither of them would pretend otherwise.

Not anymore.

That night, after the warmth of the tea and the quiet exchange of feelings in the kitchen, Chung Myung suddenly looked at her with an expression that was both bashful and oddly serious.

“Can I…” he hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck, “…sleep beside you tonight? Just sleep. Nothing else.”

 

Yewon blinked. Her heart skipped, stumbled, and threatened to drop out of her chest.

“Just sleep?” she asked, arching an eyebrow with suspicion.

 

He nodded so quickly it almost looked like he was bowing.

She sighed. “This is going to be bad for my heart,” she muttered under her breath, but still stood up and followed him down the hall.

 

Tonight, she found herself lying on the left side of the old bed in the room he used in the past. She curled up slightly, facing the wall. The coolness of it always helped her sleep, and right now, it helped cool her burning cheeks too.

 

The door creaked open.

She heard soft footsteps and then the bed dipped beside her. Chung Myung climbed in without saying a word, settling down quietly.

When she peeked over her shoulder, she caught sight of his ears—comically red, as if they were on the verge of bursting into flames.

 

A quiet chuckle escaped her.

“What?” he asked, voice defensive and too fast.

“Your ears. Are you melting?” she teased, rolling over to face him.

Then, with a grin, she scooted closer. “Want me to hug you to sleep~?” she added, her tone light and teasing.

 

She expected a flustered denial. Maybe an awkward cough or him jumping off the bed.

Instead, Chung Myung blinked at her. His expression softened, as if something in him settled.

And then he moved—carefully, deliberately—slipping his arms around her waist and pulling her against his chest. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t ask again.

 

He just held her.

 

Yewon froze for a second. His embrace was warm—surprisingly warm. Her heartbeat sped up like a fool with a drum, but she didn’t push him away.

Instead, she tucked her head beneath his chin and whispered, “You’re bold tonight.”

“...You started it,” he mumbled.

 

She could feel the smile in his voice.

His hand settled at her back. His breathing slowed.

And in the quiet, heart-to-heart, breath-to-breath, warmth-to-warmth—they both fell asleep.

 

Just like that.

No swords. No sect. No trouble.

 

Only peace.

 

And the soft, steady rhythm of two people learning how to love without saying too much.

 

Chapter 61

 

The manor was quiet.

 

After a long day, Yewon and Chung Myung had agreed to rest here for the night before returning to Mount Hua at first light. The guestroom felt nostalgic—still carrying the scent of aged wood and dried herbs, still echoing faint memories of footsteps long since faded.

Yewon woken up beneath the covers, its still night and her eyes are half-lidded with sleepy haze while Chung Myung embraces her from behind, staring silently at the wall. Listening to her soft breathing. 

 

“…What do we do now?” she murmured lazily 

He blinked and turned his head down to her. “Now that we’re… together again?”

 

Yewon nodded slowly, turn around to face him, eyes searching his face.

Chung Myung scratched the back of his head. “I was hoping you’d answer that, actually.”

She chuckled faintly. “We’re doomed then.”

 

But neither laughed for long. A quiet moment passed, filled with unspoken thoughts, lingering touches of old memories—some sweet, some bitter, all irreplaceably theirs.

Suddenly, Chung Myung got off the bed, the moon outside the window still high above the sky.

Yewon rubbed her eyes . “Where are you going?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he turned and—like a proper fool of a martial artist with no idea how to handle romance—he kneeled. On one knee. Right there beside the bed.

 

Yewon stared at him. Stared.

Like he’d just grown an extra head.

 

Chung Myung, face solemn but ears unmistakably burning, extended his hand toward her. The clouds parting for the Moonlight to illuminate chubg myung's figure.

“…I’m not good with pretty words,” he mumbled. “But I want to make this clear. I’m serious about you. About us. So…” he took a breath, eyes steady on hers,

“…will you get engaged to me?”

 

Her brain Stopped Working.

Yewon could only gape at him, lips parted slightly. It took a long second, maybe ten, before her cheeks turned a breathtaking shade of pink the darkness of the room couldn't hide.

 

“…You…” she whispered. “You’re being serious?”

He gave a half-shrug. “I know it’s sudden. But we’ve already spent lifetimes dancing around each other. I’ve never been this sure about anything.”

 

She bit her bottom lip, fighting back a smile.

“…Took you long enough,” she finally murmured, reaching out and placing her hand in his.

His grin was instantaneous, boyish and wide, like he just won a duel against the heavens.

“I promise,” he said softly, thumb brushing her knuckles, “this will work. We’ve had lifetimes of  missed chances. But all of that—it brought us here. Every argument. Every laugh. Every near-death disaster. It’s all ours.”

Yewon nodded slowly, eyes shimmering with warmth. “Then let’s make this one count.”

Chung myung joined her back in the bed. Wanting to spend time in her embrace. 

they lay back down, closer than before, enjoying the bliss. Chung Myung held her hand even under the covers, and Yewon closed her eyes.

The warm sheets wrapped around them like a promise.

 

and the Moon. 

Silently watch over them.

 

---

 

The Morning After

 

Soft light filtered through the thin curtains, casting golden threads across the floorboards of the old manor room. The birds outside began to chirp gently—cautiously, as if not wanting to disturb the two souls sleeping within.

Yewon stirred first.

She blinked up at the wooden ceiling, then shifted to her side, her hand still held gently in Chung Myung’s. He was still asleep—peaceful for once, no twitching eyebrows or scowling frowns. Just quiet, with his chest rising and falling in a rhythm she’d come to know over the years.

 

She watched him for a while.

Not as a warrior. Not as a strategist.

But as the man who kneeled to her last night with clumsy sincerity and ancient affection.

She smiled to herself.

“Still asleep, huh?” she whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead.

 

But of course, this rascal was never really fully asleep.

“…If you keep looking at me like that,” he muttered without opening his eyes, “I might get the wrong idea and refuse to go back to Mount Hua altogether.”

Yewon rolled her eyes. “Then don’t look too handsome while sleeping.”

Chung Myung cracked one eye open and smirked. “You think I look handsome?”

“You heard nothing,” she said, pulling the blanket over her head.

 

But he only laughed, and she peeked out to see that same stupid, bright grin on his face—the one that used to mean chaos was coming but now just made her heart twist with fondness.

They got up together, packed lightly, and shared breakfast quietly in the old kitchen of the manor—rice, dried meat, tea. Everything felt like the calm after a storm… or perhaps the start of something peaceful.

As they stepped outside, the air was fresh, and the road ahead clear.

---

The Journey to Mount Hua

 

The trail to Mount Hua curved along the edges of lush forests and winding rivers. Morning mist still clung to the trees, brushing against their robes as they walked side by side.

For the most part, they said little. But the silence was not empty.

Chung Myung occasionally looked over, just to check if she was still there beside him—as if this was a dream and he might wake up from. But she was always there. Not a hallucination. Not a dream.

 

Just Yewon.

At one point, he kicked a pebble off the path and muttered, “…You know, Mount Hua’s not like the manor.”

“I know,” she replied softly.

“There are loud disciples. Annoying juniors. Very little privacy. You’ll be lucky to have five minutes to yourself without a disciple showing up asking for advice on basic things .”

“I know,” she said again, hiding her smile.

 

They kept walking, shoulders brushing now and then.hands held together.  

As the familiar peaks of Mount Hua came into view, bathed in sunlight, Chung Myung quietly reached over and took her hand—not with drama or flare, but simply. Naturally.

 

And Yewon held on, tighter than before.

 

They didn’t rush.

 

After all, the mountain would always be there.

And this time, they would climb it together.

---

 

The Return to Mount Hua

– Scene: Sect Leader’s Residence

 

After paying her solemn respects at the ancestral hall, Yewon quietly followed Chung Myung down the stone path winding toward the heart of the sect. The mountain morning was fresh with dew and chirping birds, but word spread faster than spring wind on the peak.

As soon as they stepped past the gates hand-in-hand, eyes popped, jaws dropped, and disciples froze mid-training.

 

“W-What?”

“Who is that?”

“Is that… is he holding a girl’s hand?!”

“No. No way.”

 

“That mad dog— I mean, Chung Myung— our sajil?! With a woman?!” a second class disciple sputtered.

" he's just sixteen! " another horrified sasuk.

“And not just any woman! She’s… pretty!” a junior butted in.

“…Has the world ended and no one told us?!” definitely not jo gul.

 

Whispers burst like wildfire as the couple passed, and several disciples nearly choked on their breaths when they recognized the girl's noble bearing, her silk robes, her gentle smile like warm tea in winter. But more than that… she was calmly walking with him.

 

“Did he… kidnap her???” 

“Maybe she’s lost? Blink twice if you’re in danger!”

 

“Shut it,” Chung Myung tsked, not even looking their way. “Fools, the lot of them,” he muttered. “Ignore them, Yewon-ah.”

Yewon smiled serenely and gave the crowd a gentle nod, her politeness somehow making the stunned disciples feel even more out of place, like wild apes caught watching nobility sip tea.

They reached the Sect Leader’s residence without stopping. Chung Myung raised a hand and knocked firmly.

A moment passed before the door slid open, revealing none other than Un Am.

 

“Chung Myung?” Un Am blinked at him, voice laced with suspicion. “You didn’t return last yesterday. What brings you here? And who is—?”

Chung Myung stood upright and gave his great sasuk a proper salute. “Disciple Chung Myung humbly requests an audience with the Sect Leader.”

Un Am raised an eyebrow, gaze drifting to the young woman beside him. Yewon lowered her head slightly, clasped her hands in front, and greeted with grace, “Greetings, Elder. I am Yewon. Thank you for receiving us.”

If Un Am had a daughter, she would be her age. The thought bloomed in his chest. She was well-mannered, graceful… how is she even with Chung Myung of all people?

Still, he returned the smile with warmth. “You’re welcome to Mount Hua, child. Please, come in and wait. I’ll inform the Sect Leader.”

 

As the two sat down at the guest table, Yewon adjusted the hem of her robes with practiced grace. Chung Myung sprawled in the chair beside her like he owned the place, as always. The contrast was absurd and utterly fitting.

Not long after, the hurried shuffle of footsteps echoed.

The paper door slid open—and in stepped Sect Leader Hyun Jong, followed closely by Elder Hyun Sang and a puffing Elder Hyun Young.

“Chung Myung,” Hyun Jong began, voice firm, “Un Am said you brought a guest and requested an immediate audience. Did you cause trouble again?”

Hyun Sang narrowed his eyes. “Did you blow something up?”

Hyun Young defended chung myung. “ We should listen to chung myung first before we jump into conclusions!”

Chung Myung groaned.

Yewon rose from her seat, bowing deeply in greeting. “I greets the Sect Leader and Honored Elders. I thank you for allowing me into Mount Hua.”

Her voice, calm and respectful, silenced the room for a beat. The three elders stared, momentarily at a loss. The girl looked noble and polite, her bearing refined. She didn’t seem to be someone abducted.

Hyun Jong cleared his throat. “Ahem… lady Yewon. May I ask—what is your relationship with Chung Myung?”

Chung Myung stood beside her and raised his chin proudly. “She’s my fiancée.”

 

A deadly silence.

A pen somewhere dropped.

Hyun Sang’s mouth opened, then closed.

 

Hyun Young eyes shines like a grandfather who just received the news of another grandson.

Hyun Jong finally said. “You have a fiancée?!”

 

“I proposed last night.”

 

“what...? ” Hyun jong wheezed, grabbing Hyun Sang’s sleeve for support.

“She said yes,” Chung Myung continued, completely unfazed by the growing storm of shock.

Yewon simply smiled again, cheeks tinged a soft pink. “We’ve… known each other a long time. I believe we’ve spent lifetimes understanding one another.”

Hyun sang looked like he aged ten years in that moment. “I… I don’t even know how to respond.”

Un Am, returning with a tray of refreshments, nearly dropped it. “You’re getting married?!”

 

“Engaged,” Chung Myung corrected.

 

“Same thing!”

Yewon reached out to pour tea for the elders, her every gesture so considerate that the elders found themselves touched despite their confusion. She passed a cup to Hyun Young, who blinked down at it as if it might hold the answers to life’s mysteries.

Hyun Jong sighed at last. “…Very well. If that’s the case, then we welcome you, miss Yewon, not just as a guest—but as family. But be warned, young lady—he’s a handful.”

 

Chung Myung scoffed, “I’m perfect.”

Yewon looked at him, amused. “You’re something, alright.”

Hyun Young raised his cup with a chuckle. “Heaven blessed us. Mount Hua has gained a daughter-in-law.”

 

Notes:

I dreamt of supportive elder hyun young~

Chapter 62

 

Inside the sect leader’s office, warm light from the windows washed over aged scrolls and neatly arranged teacups. Sect leader Hyun Jong sat at the table with his usual gentle dignity, while Hyun Sang maintained a thoughtful silence beside him. Elder Hyun Young, arms crossed, was already eyeing Chung Myung eagerly—

Yewon had just finished respectfully offering tea to each elder when she brought up her concern.

“I would like to bring something to your attention, Sect Leader-nim,” she said gently, her hands folded atop her lap. “It concerns my place of residence.”

 

Hyun Jong looked up. “Speak freely, miss yewon.”

“I currently own a manor at the border between Xi’an and Huayin. It’s a personal estate—quiet and modest. It's not my official residence for receiving guests, but it is very near to Mount Hua.”

The elders nodded. That wasn’t entirely uncommon for rich families.

She glanced to her side at Chung Myung, then looked back to the elders. “Although I am engaged to Chung Myung-dojang, we are not yet married. As stated in the sect’s rules and laws, ‘a married inner disciple of the Great Mount Hua Sect is to build their household within the sect’s grounds.’ However, since we are not yet wed, I believe that clause does not yet apply to us.”

Hyun Sang scratched his chin. “That is correct,” he muttered. “Still, most wouldn’t be so bold to show up at the gates hand-in-hand.”

Yewon lowered her head with a slight smile. “I ask for forgiveness if our arrival seemed unorthodox. But I merely wished to clarify my position.”

She raised her gaze with sincerity, eyes meeting Hyun Jong’s. “I humbly request permission to visit the sect on occasion, as family. I do not wish to interfere with Chung Myung’s training or duties, nor do I intend to breach the harmony of this sect. I will act in accordance with the rules.”

 

There was a short silence.

Chung Myung blinked. “Wait.”

He stared at her, momentarily dumbfounded.

 

She's...Not moving in?

 

Just this morning, he had finalized in his head the house plan. Two courtyards, one for training, one for sitting in silence. He even considered putting in a study, even though he hated books, because he figured she might like them. He imagined warm lights, their shared morning arguments over stupid things like where to hang the laundry—and she was not moving in?

He turned to look at her.

Yewon, as composed as ever, offered him the tiniest wink over the rim of her teacup.

Chung Myung narrowed his eyes. She’s up to something. He’d pry it out of her later.

 

Meanwhile, the elders exchanged glances.

Hyun Young huffed. “Well, she’s right. That’s the rule. We can’t have unmarried disciples living like a couple in front of the others.”

Hyun Sang smiled. “A wise and proper choice.”

Hyun Jong chuckled softly, folding his hands. “I see no reason to deny your request. You’re not asking for residency—only for the status of a guest recognized as family.”

Yewon bowed her head. “I thank you, Sect Leader.”

Hyun Jong nodded, his expression growing warm and fatherly. “ But remember, our sect is a place of discipline. Your visits will be treated with courtesy, but not privilege.”

Yewon bowed deeply. “Of course, Sect Leader. I will carry myself with the same respect your disciples do.”

Un Am nodded approvingly. “Spoken like someone truly raised in the traditions.”

As the matter settled and the tea cooled on the table, the mountain winds whistled softly outside. In that moment, a strange calm settled in the hearts of the elders—not quite approval, but a beginning.

 

A girl like that… and with Chung Myung?

 

Heaven help them all.

Un geom leaned back with a huff. “She’s more sensible than the whole third-class hall combined.” she even knew of their sect’s law and rules. 

 

Chung Myung still looked mildly betrayed.

But it passed. He’d drag the truth out of her soon enough.

For now, he just tsked and leaned back in his chair. 

Yewon smiled demurely.

 

 

🌸~●●《♡》●●~🌸

 

 

The moment they stepped out of the Sect Leader's residence, Chung Myung slowed his pace. Yewon didn’t need to look at him to know he was brewing with thoughts.

 

She let him stew for a few seconds longer.

Then, right as they reached the stone bridge that crossed the small pond near the east garden, he finally snapped.

“You never said anything about not moving in.”

Yewon kept walking a few steps ahead, hands behind her back like an innocent noblewoman out for a calm stroll. “Mmm.”

 

“Mmm? Mmm? That’s it? I already picked where the windows should face for good morning sun!”

She stopped on the bridge, then turned to him with a smile. “Did you also decide where to put the kitchen and the firewood shed?”

“Yes,” he said, without hesitation. “And the sparring court. And the tea garden. I even planned the dumb path with stepping stones so your feet won’t get muddy.”

Yewon’s expression softened. “That’s very thoughtful of you.”

Chung Myung squinted. “So why not move in?”

“Exactly as i said earlier. We’re not married. It’s against sect rules. Everyone still thinks we’re a young couple—barely out of the cradle. It’ll look inappropriate”

“So,” she said calmly, “if I suddenly moved in with you now, we’d both be scolded from dawn till dusk. We’re the same age in this life."

“But it’s not—!” He stopped himself, groaning. “We’re older than their grand fathers combined! This is ridiculous.”

“Not to them,” she pointed out gently. “We’ve got to act accordingly. Besides…” she added with a sly smile, “you used to visit me often before, didn’t you? Just keep doing that.”

 

His eyes lit up, and his jaw dropped just slightly.

His mind race and connected the path she generously laid for him.

She doesn’t move into the sect = she'll stay at her manor.

He can go out of sect, only within Huayin = valid excuse to leave the mountain.

He can see her anytime = perfect alibi whenever he needs to do something important. 

The hot spring = he could relax with her and cultivate at the same time. 

“Wait… You planned this ? ”

He pointed an accusing finger. “You winked back there. You’re reluctant to follow rules unless you’re doing something sneaky.”

Yewon stepped closer, until they stood only a breath apart, the pond reflecting ripples of orange beneath them.

“ you want to make it official properly~?”

He paused. His ears turned pink. " im not the one who refused to live together "

“It wasn’t that...,” she replied softly. “If I move in now, it’ll become mundane. People will talk. But if we do this properly—if I come and go until the time is right—don’t you think that makes it special?”

Chung Myung stared at her. The little fox. She’d already thought it through, hadn’t she?

He huffed, turning away with folded arms. 

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“You gave me surprise chest pain .” he countered back without an actual bite.

Yewon chuckled. “So? What do you think? Wouldn’t it be better if I came with gifts ~? And polite manners~? And snacks you're obsessed with to enjoy? I could share them with your current 'sahyungs' ”

 

“…I would, but not the latter .”

“Of course you would. ”

 

She looped her arm through his. “So. You’ll wait a bit longer?”

He glanced at her sidelong. “If you’re not planning to run off somewhere I can't see you.”

She smiled. “Where would I go, my Plum Blossom~?” aahhh so cute

 

He grumbled, but didn’t pull his arm away.

They walked off the bridge together, her manor a few weeks’ journey away—but her presence already deeply rooted within the sect… and within him.

 

“…I’ll miss you on the days I can’t come,” he said quietly, lips curling downward.

Her eyes softened.

If this is the chung myung of the past... he wouldn't say this kind of thing easily.  Maybe...those two years without me or tang bo... sighed 

She continued, “Just like before. I’ll go up to Mount Hua at midday, spar with you, and return before nightfall. We’ll see each other often.”

Chung Myung rubbed the back of his head, suddenly not as upset. “Well… I guess it’s not bad. I can visit whenever I’m allowed. No one would question it if I said I’m going to see my fiancée.”

“Exactly,” she said. “And when you’re too busy to come, I’ll come to you.”

 

Chung Myung stared at her for a long moment, then gave a small, reluctant huff. “Fine. But the moment we’re married, I’m dragging you up the mountain and locking you in our house.”

Yewon raised a brow, teasing. “You’ll build it yourself?”

He smirked. “ Down to the very foundation.”

She laughed and patted his head gently, like she would a child who just solved a big puzzle.

Chung Myung didn’t protest.

 

Chapter 63

 

In one corner of the training hall, after their morning drills had been dismissed, Jo Gul's eyes darted left and right before he leaned in and tugged Yun Jong’s sleeve.

 

“sahyung,” Jo Gul whispered, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

Yun Jong, who was wiping his sweat with a towel, raised an eyebrow. “What now, Jo Gul?”

Jo Gul looked around with the caution of a man about to leak state secrets. “Who is she?”

 

“…Who?”

“That young miss. The one who came with Chung Myung this morning. She looked rich frankly ”

Yun Jong sighed. “If you want to know, go ask him yourself.”

Jo Gul made a face. “I did! He kicked me in the shin and asked me if I wanted to be buried before sundown!”

 

Yun Jong laughed under his breath.

“…But seriously, sahyung who and why is she with chubg myung ?”

Yun Jong rolled his eyes and leaned a little closer, murmuring, “I heard this from Un Am sasuk ”

 

Jo Gul leaned so close his nose nearly touched Yun Jong’s ear.

“She’s his fiancée.”

 

Jo Gul choked on air. “WHAT—!?”

“Shh!” Yun Jong quickly grabbed his collar and yanked him down before he alerted the whole sect. “Keep your voice down, idiot!”

 

But it was already too late.

Jo Gul’s dramatic reaction had echoed across the hallway like a gong.

Several heads turned. Feet began to shuffle. And soon, there was a subtle yet undeniable migration of bodies—disciples pretending to sweep the floors, adjust their uniforms, or practice breathing techniques while slowly gathering behind the two.

 

“…So, the rumors are true?” whispered a third-class disciple behind them.

Jo Gul blinked. “Rumors? There are rumors already!? It hasn't been a day when they came hand in hand ! ”

Yun Jong rubbed his temples. “Apparently, Chung Myung went to the Sect Leader’s residence this morning with her. She asked permission to visit the sect as family. She’s not moving in because, as she said, they’re not married yet.”

Another disciple piped up, “So that’s why she didn’t enter the sect !”

“She said that!?”

 

Jo Gul nodded dramatically. “I knew it. I knew it. That wasn’t just some random miss. She even gave Baek Cheon sasuk a look—and he looked back like he doesn't know her!”

 

More whispers followed.

 

“So she’s… already engaged to Chung Myung?”

“How long has that been going on?”

“Are they childhood sweethearts?”

“I thought he was going to die single!”

“That’s what we all thought.”

 

“But now he has a fiancée !? The youngest?? What about us !?”

“Did you see how calm he was when they walked side by side earlier?  I thought I would’ve dropped my eye balls if i scrub them hard enough becausetheres no way chung myungbcan be that calm and amicable with anyoneother that our sect leader! ”

 

Jo Gul leaned back, utterly satisfied, as more disciples gathered, crouched, or leaned into walls to hear the ongoing gossip.

One whispered, “what then? Does that mean were going to have a Sister-in-law? Will she be able to save us from that bastard? ”

Another said, “ Isn’t she already our Sister-in-law when they got engaged !?  And for the record... no sane woman or miss , would marry our youngest without knowing how rotten his character is ”

Jo Gul clicked his tongue. “No, no, you’re all missing the point. Didn’t you see how Chung Myung looked at her? He listened to her,  Our Chung Myung! That Chung myung ! Listening! He even looked sheepish!” he slapped his hand on the wall.

 

Everyone went silent.

It was true.

 

The most shocking part of the entire morning… was that Chung Myung had actually lowered his voice around her.

Like..

 

...Like a man In love. And mildly rational too for the record. 

 

Yun Jong shook his head with a helpless chuckle. “Whatever their story is… they’ve known each other a long time that. Im sure of it.”

Jo Gul hummed. “Still… why didn’t he say anything to us? We’re his sahyungs!”

“Who Would  share something like that with you jo gul sahyung?”

 

Jo Gul pouted.

 

Meanwhile, from a distance, Baek Cheon stood silently in the corridor above, watching the growing huddle of gossipers below.

 

He sighed. “One day,” he muttered, “we’re going to wake up and find out Chung Myung got married and eloped in mount hua.” his stomach is aching again. 

 

Beside him, Yu Iseol nodded.

“And Jo Gul will still be the loudest one talking.”

 

 

🌸~●●《♡》●●~🌸

 

 

Baek Cheon lay face-down on the training hall’s wooden floor, arms stretched out like a corpse freshly hauled from battle, sweat-drenched hair plastered to his face. His back ached in places he didn’t even know existed—every rib, joint, and vertebra screaming after five hundred push-ups with a boulder twice his size crushing him into the earth.

 

“…Taming a demon,” he muttered hoarsely. “That’s what it takes.”

 

He could still hear the faint echoes of Jo Gul's excited whispering from beyond the hall. Something about a young miss, a secret engagement, and indefinite visiting rights.

“…Serves him right,” Baek Cheon grumbled.

 

He wasn’t sure what shocked him more—the fact that Chung Myung had someone he considered important enough to ask the Sect Leader for visiting permission… or the fact that the Sect Leader agreed.

More than anything, Baek Cheon felt something close to… relief.

 

Yes. Relief.

 

There was finally someone who could hold that  lunatic by the collar and make him think before hurling himself off something  just to "train" Someone who could sit him down, talk reason into his thick skull, and—hopefully—distract him enough to give the rest of them a break.

 

“Thank the Heavens,” he sighed into the floor.

 

Chung Myung was like a storm on legs. A  punishment that walked, talked, and inflicted  trainings that violated morality itself.

 

And now?

 

Now there was a person who could look him dead in the eye and tell him no.

Baek Cheon slowly turned his head to the side, wincing as his spine crackled too loud to his liking . He imagined the young woman—whoever she was—pointing at his sajil and saying, “You’re not moving in with me. It’s inappropriate.”

 

A shaky smile crawled across his lips.

 

“Inappropriate,” he repeated, a little too gleefully.

 

He clutched his aching sides and let out a strangled laugh.

 

“Yes. Inappropriate. Finally, someone with sense…”

 

Then, just as the wave of giddy satisfaction hit, a sharp stab of pain in his shoulder reminded him he still had sword forms to finish today.

 

He groaned.

 

“Please distract him longer,” he whispered to the skies above. “Let her keep him busy. Just a month. A week or just a day…”

 

He closed his eyes.

 

“And maybe then… I can walk upright again.”

 

 

 

Chapter 64

 

 

Chung Myung walked beside Yewon down the mountain path, his hands lazily clasped behind his back like an old man. The excuse was simple enough—help her buy anything she might need. Food supply apparently.

Though honestly, he was sure whatever food had been in the pantry at her second manor a hundred years ago had long since turned to ash or dust. Probably both. Even the rice would have disintegrated into something the wind could blow away.

 

Still… this was convenient. Very convenient.

He didn’t need anyone’s permission to leave the mountain—a privilege no other third-class disciple had. And now, with her here… the world felt strangely bearable.

Yet, as they walked, his gaze drifted ahead, unfocused.

 

He still missed his Hwasan.

The Hwasan of the past.

The sahyung who guided him.

The brothers who fought beside him.

 

Chung Jin…

 

His throat tightened as the memory of finding Chung Jin’s tomb resurfaced. The neat stone slab, carved with chung jin's name. And behind it… rows upon rows of graves. Disciples of hwasan. Disciples who had stood their ground when the demons came for Mount Hua.

The pavilion holding the sect’s martial arts records could burn—he could accept that. But if the children too had died and Hwasan perished entirely…

He would have turned into an Asura. A vengeful spirit, slaughtering all who had let it happen.

Chung Mun sahyung… if hwasan had perish...

 

 the world might already be drowning in blood in his wake. 

 

His thoughts darkened further, but—

 

Flick!

 

A sharp, familiar sting on his forehead snapped him back.

 

“Not awake yet?” Yewon asked, brows raised in amusement.

Chung Myung blinked at her, rubbing the spot. “You and your bad habits…” He gently swatted her hand away as she threatened another flick.

 

And just like that… the shadows in his mind scattered.

 

Yes, the world is disgustingly ugly. Filthy with greed, corruption, and loss. Living meant enduring that unsightly part of the world. 

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t search for the beautiful parts of it. 

 

Hwasan...

 

 

And now, one of those rare, beautiful things was walking right beside him...

 

For him, its enough reason. 

And for that...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

....He'll never stop searching for the beauty in living.

 

 

🌸~●●《♡》●●~🌸

 

The market streets were thinning out as the sun dipped lower, lanterns flickering awake one by one. The scent of roasted chestnuts and spiced meats clung to the air, blending with the laughter of merchants packing up their stalls.

 

Chung Myung shifted the bundle of fabrics and small packages in his arms without complaint. It wasn’t heavy compared to boulders he uses as weights. Still, he found it amusing. She hasn’t changed her ways.

Always tea first, always tea.

The corner of his lips curled as his gaze fell on the carefully wrapped boxes of leaves and herbs she had been so insistent on choosing.

He caught himself smiling again as Yewon held up two hairpins against the light, squinting critically as though the fate of the world depended on it. One was jade, cool and elegant; the other, a simple red lacquered pin with a faint glimmer of gold at its tip. She weighed them in her palm, brows furrowed in serious thought. Then, almost predictably, she chose the red one.

 

Of course.  She seems to have fondness with red and pink even back then. 

 

When she turned, he hadn’t expected her to catch him staring. Her eyes landed on him with that familiar sharpness, and she lifted her hand—pointing across the street.

 

The Taehwa Pavilion stood tall, lanterns glowing warm against its carved beams, a place of elegance and chatter where tea steam curled into the evening. He gave a small nod, almost instinctive, and followed as she walked ahead with a swish of fabric, the crowd parting for her without her needing to ask.

Behind her, Chung Myung shifted the load in his arms once more. He could still feel the ghost of that smile tugging at him. How many years had it been, yet here they were—she with her teas, he with his drinks, both too stubborn to change.

And yet, he thought, watching the red pin catch the lanternlight in her hair, maybe that was exactly why it felt so natural to walk behind her again.

 

 

🌸~●●《♡》●●~🌸

 

 

The table was an absolute battlefield of emptied plates, the smell of roasted duck and braised beef still hanging in the air. Yewon leaned back, brushing a stray strand of hair away as she finished her eighth plate, her eyes half-lidded in quiet satisfaction. Across from her, Chung Myung set his eleventh plate down with a sharp clink, his expression calm—though the glint of triumph in his gaze betrayed him.

Now both of them sat with steaming cups of tea between their hands. Strange, really. For someone like him whose only recently got fond of tea—at least when the elders shoved it down his throat—he found it oddly palatable now. Sweet, floral… tolerable.

He glanced at her over the rim of his cup.

 

No, not just tolerable.

It was pleasant.

Maybe because it was with her.

 

“Where are you staying tonight?” he asked after a stretch of quiet, his voice casual but his eyes trained on her like a hawk. “If you want, I’ll speak to the Sect Leader. The guest room can be prepared.”

Yewon shook her head at once. “No need. I’ll stay at an inn. There’s something I need to do tonight.”

Something in her tone made his ears twitch. Something to do. That meant sneaking about. His eyes sharpened, the spark of mischief and suspicion blooming all at once. He already opened his mouth—

 

“No,” she cut him off before he could voice it. Her eyes locked onto him, flat, decisive, the way one would scold a child caught stealing sweets.

His jaw worked, closing with a sharp click. His frown deepened, lips pressing tight.

For a fleeting moment, his face distorted into something laughably childish, as though he might stomp his foot and demand she reconsider.

 

But he didn’t.

 

No, he couldn’t. He needed to behave. He was already holding back from storming into every corner of her life . Still, that didn’t stop the scowl on his handsome face from bending into the petulant pout of a boy forced to chew bitter medicine.

Yewon sipped her tea with infuriating serenity, pretending not to notice his quiet tantrum.

 

Chung Myung set his cup down harder than necessary. “…At least tell me where,” he muttered, his voice lower, the words slipping like a demand cloaked in sulk.

 

 

“No, Go back to Mount Hua before the sun sets,” Yewon told him firmly, her gaze sharp and voice leaving no room for negotiation. “And don’t even think about sneaking out to follow me tonight. Expect me the day after tomorrow.”

 

Chung Myung’s lips twitched downward, but he only grunted in response.

 

🌸~●●《♡》●●~🌸

 

 

After she secured a room at an inn, he leaned in slightly, a glint of mischief flickering in his eyes. “Wait for me in your room. I forgot something back at the pavilion.”

 

She arched a brow at him but let him go. Truthfully, she had her hands full anyway. The fabrics and teas she’d bought today needed to be arranged. With a small sigh, she called on Lexy to store them away.

 

[ Inventory updated. ]

 

The roll of fabric blinked out of existence, tucked neatly into her system space. She folded her arms, thinking.

If Chung Myung asks, I’ll just say I sent the items to that merchant I know near the hidden manor. Yes, that sounded reasonable enough.

 

But before she could relax, Lexy’s voice rang in her head, sharp and full of sass.

 

> “Dear host, would you kindly put me in sleep mode? I’d prefer not to eat this dog food you keep sprinkling everywhere.”

Yewon froze, mortified, realizing belatedly that Lexy had been a silent witness to all the “lovey-dovey” moments between her and Chung Myung ever since their reunion. Her cheeks heated. She had… forgotten.

'No wonder Lexy had been so quiet these days'

 

She buried her face in her hands, groaning inwardly. She was folding her clothes neatly earlier. Now she's burying her face into her palms.

 

Just as she was contemplating digging a hole to hide in, there's knock on her door, she immediately went back to folding her clothes.

Chung Myung stepped inside with that infuriatingly cute grin  into his face. The kind of grin that announced, I’ve done something you’re not going to guess until I want you to know.

 

“…” Yewon narrowed her eyes. He was clearly up to something.

 

 

🌸~●●《♡》●●~🌸

 

Earlier, at the market

 

After leaving the pavilion, Chung Myung wandered through the busy stalls, his steps purposeful despite the way he pretended to browse aimlessly. He ignored the colorful tassels, pendants, and carved charms offered to him.

 

None of them are suited for her.

 

Until his eyes caught on it.

 

A slender black wooden hairpin, plain save for a single plum blossom carved in full bloom at its tip.

 

He stopped.

He finally found the stall that sells the hairpin that caught his eyes earlier.

He pointed at the haipin.

The stall owner lit up at the sight of a customer and quickly wrapped it in cloth, but just as he handed it over, he paused. With a small smile, he unwrapped the hairpin again and inspected it.

 

“There’s a trend right now,” the merchant explained, grinning at the clearly impatient young Mount Hua disciple. “To carve the giver’s name on the hairpin. A small touch, but very meaningful.”

 

Chung Myung’s earlier annoyance melted. His brows raised slightly.

The merchant leaned in, his eyes gleaming. “Is this, perhaps, for someone very close to you?”

 

“It’s for my fiancée,” Chung Myung replied bluntly.

 

The stall owner’s eyes sparkled, and his mouth ran like water. “Ohhh, then you must! your name, carved right here where she’ll wear it every day! A token of devotion, young master. A mere few copper coins for the carving fee, and it’ll last her a lifetime!”

 

Chung Myung narrowed his eyes, catching the sales tactic instantly. Tch. So that’s it. He hooks you with the item, then wrings a few more coins out of you afterward.

 

I’ll let it slide today. I’m in a good mood.

“Can you carve it in silver?” he asked.

 

The owner’s grin widened. “Of course! Silvery strokes against the black wood—very elegant and striking!”

 

Chung Myung nodded once, already picturing it: her hair catching the light, the small plum blossom gleaming, his name etched where no one else’s could be.

 

🌸~●●《♡》●●~🌸

 

 

 

The knock came gently—gentler than she expected from him. Yewon glanced at the door and called out, “Come in.”

Chung Myung entered, looking far too composed for someone who had wolfed down ten plates earlier. His hands were hidden behind his back, and there was a suspicious gleam in his eyes. Yewon continued folding and tucking her belongings into her small pouch, paying him little mind.

 

“Turn around,” he said suddenly.

 

She blinked, one brow raising. “What for?”

“Just do it.” His tone was casual, but his expression gave him away—too eager, too poorly hidden.

 

With a sigh, Yewon turned her back to him. She didn’t notice when he moved closer, nor the quick motion of his hand as he slid something into her hair. When she turned again at his word, Chung Myung stepped back, folding his arms.

 

The hairpin sat nestled neatly in her bun, its carved jade glinting faintly in the lamplight. It looked so natural, as if it had always belonged there—complementing her eyes in a way that struck him silent. His gaze lingered too long on those dark orbs, eyes that seemed to swallow the light whole, that seemed capable of pulling him in until there was no escape.

 

Beautiful. The word pressed itself against his mind unbidden, leaving him almost breathless.

 

His chest tightened, and in a rare moment of panic, he tore his gaze away and forced himself back to reality. Straightening, he cleared his throat. “...It suits you. I’ll—” his words stumbled, “—I’ll wait for your visit.”

 

Without another word, he spun on his heel and left, sliding the door shut behind him a little too quickly, as though the room itself had become unbearable.

 

Yewon stared at the closed door, confusion knitting her brows. “What in the world…?” She tilted her head, utterly puzzled.

 

Lexy’s mischievous voice whispered in her mind, There’s something on your head~ Yewon dear~

 

Her hand immediately shot up to her hair, fingers brushing against the unfamiliar weight.

 

🌸~●●《♡》●●~🌸

 

 

 

Yewon froze as her hand brushed against something tucked into her half bun. Slowly, carefully, she slid it free, her eyes widening the moment the object revealed itself.

 

A hairpin.

 

Not just any hairpin, but one carved from Northern obsidian wood—its deep, natural black gleamed faintly beneath the lantern light. At its tip, a single plum blossom bloomed, delicately carved as though it might flutter in the wind at any moment. Her breath caught when she noticed the glimmering silver inscription etched along the smooth wood.

 

Two characters.

Chung Myung.

 

Her fingers trembled. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. She stared and stared until her vision blurred, her heart drumming so wildly she feared it might burst from her chest. If only there had been a mirror nearby—she would have seen her own reflection, cheeks flushed crimson, ears burning as though she had been caught committing some unspoken sin.

 

Lexy’s voice curled in her mind like a cat stretching into a sunbeam, playful and relentless.

"Ohhh~ Yewon dear… there’s something on your head~ Or rather, there was. Someone’s name, carved in silver, no less. How bold of him…"

 

Yewon’s grip tightened on the hairpin as though afraid it might vanish into smoke if she let go. Her throat felt dry, her breath unsteady.

She tried to scoff, tried to dismiss Lexy’s words, but the more she looked at that delicate plum blossom, the more her pulse betrayed her.

 

“...This goby,” she muttered under her breath, though the heat climbing her neck betrayed her feigned irritation.

 

 

 

🌸~●●《♡》●●~🌸

 

 

Yewon carefully placed the hairpin in the wooden box where the one she had bought earlier rested. She kept Chung Myung’s gift inside the box and stored the other in her inventory. The box itself she secured inside her luggage. She couldn’t just toss it into her storage carelessly. This gift deserved to be looked after by her own hands.

 

With that done, she changed into her plain black martial uniform and put on a weimao to cover her face. Tonight, she planned to confirm if the Jongnam spy was still moving in Mount Hua’s shadow.

 

That man… Kong-something. In the past, the sect’s businesses were taken over after the war, but this time things had changed. The question was: who among the current merchants were loyal, and who were hiding their betrayal?

Yewon stepped out of her sixth-floor window and leapt lightly across the rooftops. Her body moved like flowing water, presence erased to nothing, a skill honed over long experience.

She slipped from roof to roof, scanning the businesses of Hua’am. One by one, she checked. Soon, she discovered that half of the owners had been replaced two years ago. So the plot point from the “novel” still happened. That must be why she hadn’t seen Kong here—he’d already been removed, likely purged by Chung Myung himself.

Relief washed through her, but unease still lingered. She wanted to hear the truth from Chung Myung’s own lips. If her actions had changed things too much, if what was supposed to happen was derailed because of her… the thought weighed on her heavily.

With a sigh, she descended from the roof, landing softly on the stone-paved alley. She avoided a group of drunkards swaying nearby and slipped back through the streets. Before long, she returned to the Taehua Pavilion.

Looking up, she spotted her room on the top floor. A few swift leaps carried her up the beams until she reached her window. Everything inside was just as she had left it. No sign of intrusion.

Satisfied, she changed into her nightwear. The heat was stifling—inns had no wind catchers like her manor, and the summer air pressed heavily against her skin. She left the window open.

It was only for one night, she told herself. Tomorrow she would check on the state of the second manor. She hoped Tang Bo had taken care of it properly before his seclusion.

That night, Yewon slipped into bed. Beneath her pillow, she had tucked away Chung Myung’s gift. Only then did she close her eyes.

 

 

🌸~●●《♡》●●~🌸

 

 

Chapter 65

Summary:

This will be all for tonight and for the month! Baek_hwa is my new acc btw

 

 

Chung Myung’s pace was fast enough to frighten the birds nesting on the cliffside as he scaled the steep path of Mount Hua. His mind was not on his footing, not on the sharp rocks scraping his shoes, not even on the ache of his muscles that usually begged for wine at this hour. No—his thoughts lingered elsewhere.

 

That hairpin.

 

The way it complemented her eyes had stunned him into a daze, a rare mistake for someone like him.

Beautiful—he tried to label it, but the word felt cheap, unworthy. It was not enough. She had looked as if the plum blossom itself had chosen her, as if the delicate hairpin was an extension of her being.

A gift.

His gift, though he had never had the sense to buy it for her back then.

Fool. If only he had realized sooner…

 

By the time he reached the main gate, the sun had already dipped low, painting the peaks in crimson and gold. His mind was still adrift, caught in that moment, and so he forgot to lift his foot properly.

He tripped over the stone slab at the threshold. Him! —who had never stumbled even in the worst haze of drunken escapades.

 

He straightened, scowling and mildly Embarrassed 

 

Drunk.

He must be drunk, but not on wine.

Drunk on her.

 

When they first reunited, all he had known was the hollow ache of missing her, then the relief of finding her again, unchanged only younger, like time itself had bent to return her to him.

He had grown so accustomed to her presence, her face, her voice, that his mind had carelessly registered them as natural, ordinary. Only now had it reset, reminding him—reminding him why the Kangho of a hundred years past had once called her Fae.

 

His fiancée. His Yewon. She was too damn beautiful, and his stupid brain had only realized it now.

 

He had loved her because she was Yewon, and that was enough. They trained together fight together with tang bo they even won a losing battle , they have decades of bond —those had always been the reasons. But now that he was suddenly aware of her physical beauty… unease stirred inside him.

 

Did that mean… every time someone stared too long at her, they were seeing what he had been blind to? Just imagining it made his teeth clench, his blood burn.

 

This wouldn’t do. this was dangerous.

 

If everyone could see it, then how many had seen it before him?

'How many dared to think it?'

 

The thought alone made his steps heavy with anger, his fists itching for blood.

 

Xi’an. Jongnam. He remembered, suddenly—vivid as a thorn buried in his flesh. their sect leader—Jin-something, the name didn’t matter—had once confessed to her. A ridiculous , utterly laughable attempt. At the time, he had only been mildly irritated, brushing it aside with his usual scorn. But now? Now his annoyance from back then felt justified. On point.

 

The Jongnam Sect should be reduced to ash.

 

🌸~●●《♡》●●~🌸

 

 

Yoon Jong and Jo Gul had been stretching in the corner of the training ground, half-dreading the usual “night training” that always left them crawling back to their rooms like crippled beggars. The moon was high, painting silver over the Plum Blossom training field, and the air felt unusually tense.

 

At first, they thought they were imagining it—Chung Myung walking across the courtyard, tripping slightly on the threshold. They had seen him stumble before (usually when drunk), but this time was different. He got up slowly, his face twisted in a grim expression that made the hairs on their necks stand on end.

 

“...Burn them all down,” he muttered. His voice was low, dark, like an oath crawling up from the abyss.

 

Jo Gul’s jaw dropped. “D-did he just say… burn what?”

Yoon Jong’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again like a fish out of water. “Did he… trip and now he’s talking about burning something? Oh heavens above…”

 

They both leaned slightly forward, straining their ears, even though every part of their souls told them they did not want to hear what came next.

“...razed to the ground…” Chung Myung muttered again, his hand tightening into a fist. “All because .. ...  face.”

 

Both third-class disciples stiffened.

“...Whose face??” Jo Gul whispered, his voice cracking.

Yoon Jong clutched his prayer beads like a drowning man grabbing driftwood. “No, no, no… who in the Nine great sects showed him their face? This is bad. This is worse than bad.”

Jo Gul’s eyes darted around nervously. “Wait—did Sister-in-law finally leave him?! Did she run off? Abandon him?!”

Yoon Jong paled. “If that’s true, we’re dead. Absolutely dead. If she really left, we won’t see the sunrise tomorrow. Forget sunrise—we won’t see the next breath.”

 

They both froze as Chung Myung stopped in the middle of the courtyard, muttering louder now, his face a storm cloud.

 

“They dare… with that face… I’ll gut them. I’ll gut them right here, scatter their ashes, feed their bones to the pigs…”

 

“...Yuanshi Tianzun preserve us,” Yoon Jong whispered. “He’s… he’s not talking about an enemy sect, is he?”

 

Jo Gul tugged on his sleeve frantically. “What if he is?! What if it’s someone from Wudang, or Shaolin?! Or… or wait—Southern Edge?!”

“No,” Yoon Jong hissed. “This is personal. Look at his face! That’s not the ‘I’ll kill them for Mount Hua’ face—that’s the ‘I’ll kill them for my sake ’ face!”

Jo Gul whimpered. “That’s even worse!”

 

They both stared as Chung Myung’s mutterings grew darker, his shadow stretching long under the moonlight. His lips twisted into something too close to a snarl, and for a brief, horrifying moment, the two of them saw not their sajae, but the demon the world feared—the kind that really would raze an entire sect because of something as small as… well, whatever this was.

 

Yoon Jong leaned closer to Jo Gul, whispering frantically. “Listen to me, no matter what happens tonight—pray. Just pray. If our training ends with us only half-dead, I will build a shrine to Buddha himself. Just don’t let this be the night we actually die.”

Jo Gul nodded, trembling. 

 

“Shhhhh” Yoon Jong hissed. “He’s coming this way!”

 

Chung Myung finally turned, eyes gleaming in the moonlight like a predator’s. He didn’t even look at them, but his voice carried clear, sharp, and cold as steel.

 

“Night training starts now!”

 

The words alone were enough to make their stomachs drop into the floor.

 

Jo Gul whimpered again. “We’re dead.”

Yoon Jong, clutching his beads tighter, whispered his desperate plea to any deity that would listen:

“Please, no matter what… let this night training not result in everyone on the brink of death.”

He paused, swallowing hard as Chung Myung unsheathed his sword with a wicked grin.

 

“…On second thought, just let me live. Forget everyone else. Please!”

 

 

 

🌸~●●《♡》●●~🌸

 

 

And indeed, it seemed their prayers went unheard.

 

The training began.

Chung Myung drilled them harder than ever before. Blades clashed until sparks flew, wooden dummies splintered into kindling, sweat drenched their uniforms, and screams of pain filled the training ground.

 

“Again!” Chung Myung barked, his voice like thunder. “Until your arms fall off! If you can still breathe, you can still swing!”

“S-sajae, we’ve already done this five hundred times—!” a disciple wheezed.

 

“Then do it three hundred more!”

 

No mercy. No pause. Just endless, merciless torment.

 

By the end of the session, the training ground was a graveyard of broken spirits.

 

Baek Cheon, the  eldest sasuk, crawled across the cracked stone slabs, his limbs trembling like a man returning from war. He dragged himself until he collapsed beside Yoon Jong and Jo Gul, who were lying flat on their backs like corpses.

 

“Spit it out,” Baek Cheon rasped, his chest heaving. “What... is that bastard’s problem?”

 

Yoon Jong turned his head with great effort, his eyes glassy, his lips pale. Jo Gul, on the other hand, was already leaking tears that rolled freely, soaking into the stone floor beneath him.

 

“We’re all going to die...” Jo Gul whispered hoarsely. “That’s all...”

 

Yoon Jong gave a weak nod, his eyes closing as though welcoming death. “Sasuk... Sister-in-law must have left him... so we’re all gonna die...”

 

“.....”

 

Baek Cheon’s lips parted. His eyes widened as realization struck him like a blade to the gut. He lowered his head, his noble shoulders trembling.

 

“...So it’s true.”

 

And then, the man who carried the pride of Mount Hua... fainted on the spot.

 

 

🌸~●●《♡》●●~🌸

 

 

That night, the training ground was no longer a place of cultivation.

 

It became a grave for every disciple who collapsed and never got back up. The stars shone pitilessly overhead, watching over the fallen Mount Hua disciples sprawled like casualties of a great war.

 

Only one figure remained standing amidst the carnage.

Chung Myung, still burning with fury, still muttering curses under his breath about plum blossoms, faces, and the audacity of heaven itself.

 

Meanwhile, the survivors prayed that dawn would not come—for if it did, it meant another round of hell awaited them.

 

 

Chapter 66

 

 

The morning sun was already up by the time Yewon stood before the tall gate of her second manor. Her second home… no, perhaps her true home. The place she always thought of when the world around her grew unbearable.

She worried along the way—what if the hot spring had been overtaken by snakes, or some fat, lazy turtle had claimed it as its territory? What if vines had devoured her walls, or worse, termites had made her beams collapse? She had prepared herself for disappointment.

 

But when she pushed the gate open, she froze.

 

Everything was still standing.

The stone path was clear, the peach tree in the courtyard stood proud with its branches heavy with fruit. The only “invasion” was the little critters that sometimes scurried about and the birds who shamelessly came to eat her peaches during their season.

 

Dust, yes—dust was everywhere. But no ruin, no wild plants overtaking her home.

 

Her lips curved into a smile.

 

The broom came out of her inventory with a sharp thunk, and she set to work.

Cobwebs came down, spiders the size of her palm scattering indignantly. (She made a mental note to warn Chung Myung later, just so she could see the look on his face.)

 

The first floor took little time, so she moved on to the second.

When she entered the main bedroom, her hand paused mid-swipe. White sheets draped over the furniture, the bed, her beloved desk. She tugged one away, the fabric sliding off like a veil. Underneath—a clean furniture....

 

“…Tang Bo,” she muttered. The old man, as thorough as ever. Of course he would have thought ahead. Even after a hundred years, he was still saving her trouble.

 

Her chest warmed. At least she didn’t have to face mountains of laundry.

The broom and wet rags did the rest, her sleeves rolled up as she scrubbed the more stubborn stains. The work was tedious, but it felt strangely good—like reclaiming something precious piece by piece.

By the time noon rolled around, she was sweating, hair sticking to her temples, but satisfied.

She unpacked what she had bought in Huayin, arranging bottles and folded fabrics in the wardrobe. The old hanfu inside was brittle, their colors faded, the silk threatening to crumble at her touch. She sighed softly.

 

Time was cruel to cloth, but at least not to her home.

When everything was set, she sat down on the edge of the bed, her eyes wandering toward the window. Beyond it, she knew, the hot spring waited.

 

Her lips quirked into a grin.

 

“If some turtle took it, I’ll roast him with chili oil.”

 

 

🌸~●●《♡》●●~🌸

 

 

On her way to the hot spring, Yewon could hardly focus on the bamboo path ahead because Lexy was lecturing her in that mechanical yet oddly petulant voice of hers.

 

>  I’ll say this once, Yewon. I support you and Chung Myung Entirely. Wholeheartedly. Cosmically Even. However…!

 

Yewon: “…?”

 

> I refuse— and I mean refuse —to be subjected to force-fed dog food! My system are pure. Unsullied. I wasn’t designed for NSFA, let alone front-row seating to whatever you two might get up to.

 

Yewon blinked, nearly tripping on a stone. “…We aren’t doing anything like that.”

>  Not yet. But what if that rascal suddenly asks you for KISSES? Or worse… INTIMACYYYYYY.

 

Yewon stumbled again, this time out of sheer shock. “in-intimacy!? Absolutely not!.... y..yet”

 

Her voice cracked like a maiden caught red-handed stealing sweets. She quickly pressed her lips shut, as though afraid the bamboo around her might overhear.

 

But Lexy, merciless as ever, hummed.

> You say no now, but you and I both know your willpower collapses whenever he smiles at you. He just need to tilt his head, look at you with those ridiculous eyes, and poof—all defenses gone.

 

“…Lexy.” Yewon’s voice was low and dangerous, but her burning cheeks betrayed her.

“W-what are we supposed to do then? If he… asks something like that?”

 

> You’d rather die than let me witness, I know. So we’ll… need a system update. A privacy firewall. I’ll design something. But first, you’ll have to stop acting like you're about to pounce on him instead!

 

Yewon muttered something unintelligible, her ears glowing red, before finally pushing open the door to the changing room.

The moment she slid the wooden door to the hot spring, steam rose like a welcoming embrace. Warmth kissed her skin, making her shiver and then melt all at once.

 

She forgot her embarrassment for a fleeting moment.

The water was crystal clear, flowing with that steady gurgle she’d longed to hear again. Moss clung to the edges, stubborn but not unsightly. All it needed was time—let the current scrape it away. She crouched, fingertips brushing the warmth, and exhaled.

 

“...Still perfect.”

 

For a second, she imagined herself sinking into the water, washing away the sweat, dust, and perhaps even the embarrassing conversation with Lexy. But no, the moss… she would wait.

 

So she returned to the manor.

 

Cooking came first. Her pantry was pitifully empty, and she had no intention of letting her first real night home pass without a proper meal. She tied her sleeves back, set her knife to chopping, and let her hands work.

 

Meanwhile, she called to Lexy again.

 

“About tonight, let’s… continue the privacy talk then. But for now—could you design my martial robes and training uniform? I’ll need them tomorrow when I spar with Chung Myung.”

 

> Already calculating the perfect cut and reinforcement stitching. But I’ll warn you now, if he stares too long, don’t expect me to stay silent.

Yewon’s knife nearly slipped. “…”

 

Her eyes landed on the plum blossoms she painted....

She wasn’t good at painting anything but plum blossoms… but plum blossoms is what she's more familiarwith. She pictured the delicate pink blooms trailing across canvas.

 

Her hand froze.

 

The blossoms in her mind were not ordinary. They resembled the ones blooming on Chung Myung’s sword.

Her face burned. She set the knife down and covered her face with her palms.

 

“…I’m in my seventies,” she muttered, muffled by her hands, “and I still act like this. Ridiculous. Truly ridiculous.”

> …No different from him, then.

 

Yewon groaned. With a sigh that carried both resignation and secret happiness, she went back to cooking, already planning her next trip to town for plain tea cups and pigments.

 

 

🌸~●●《♡》●●~🌸

 

 

 

The night was still, only the soft rustle of leaves outside breaking the silence as Yewon sat by the low light of the lantern. The silver smartwatch weighed heavily on her wrist, its faint scratches catching the glow. She traced her finger along its edges, remembering the way her father used to check the time with absent taps, the way it gleamed under the sun when he held her hand.

Her chest tightened. The watch was the last memento she had even if it was not the real one. Letting go was painful—yet the thought of it also burned like a tether she couldn’t cut.

“Lexy,” Yewon’s voice was soft, almost trembling, “if… if you take on another form…  the watch...Will I lose it?”

 

Lexy’s voice, gentle and steady, filled her mind. “No, Yewon. The watch is only a shell. My consciousness can transfer. I could become something else, anything else—a sparrow, as I told you. You won’t lose it unless you choose to.”

Relief rushed through her, leaving her shoulders slumped. Her lips curved faintly into something between a smile and a sigh.

“So I won’t have to let go of it.”

“Never, unless you want to.”

 

Yewon leaned back, closing her eyes for a moment. She wasn’t ready. Not yet. But maybe… someday.

When she opened them again, she let out a breathy laugh. “So… how exactly do you get a new body? Do I just… buy one?”

 

There was a pause, then Lexy’s amused hum. “Not quite. My system update requires something organic—a vessel to house a physical manifestation. Preferably an egg. Any unfertilized egg will do.”

 

Yewon blinked. “…An egg.”

 

“Yes.”

 

She stared at the watch, incredulous. “Like a… chicken egg? Duck egg?”

 

“Precisely. Once you provide the vessel, I can build my body around it, molding it into the form I choose.”

 

Yewon rubbed her temple, then chuckled despite herself. “That’s… absurd. Absolutely absurd. But…” She tilted her head toward the window, where the night sang with crickets and the whisper of water beyond the cabin. “There are bird nests just past the stream. I could find one. A sparrow egg, maybe.”

Her cheeks warmed at how ridiculous she sounded, offering eggs to a system spirit. Yet a spark of excitement laced her tone.

And for the first time that night, the weight on her wrist didn’t feel so heavy.

 

 

🌸~●●《♡》●●~🌸

 

 

The night air was cool, carrying the faint scent of bamboo and earth as Yewon sat cross-legged on her futon, her damp hair loose and tumbling around her shoulders. She had traded her usual hanfu for the oversized shirt and shorts Lexy had once crafted for her—a comfort she rarely indulged in but one that felt perfect after a long soak in the hot springs.

She reached for the towel beside her, thought better of it, and simply let the air dry her hair while she leaned back, smiling faintly.

“Lexy,” she began, a mischievous glint dancing in her dark eyes. “Remember that time Chung Myung had a taste of leche flan?”

> That time you made it while craving something sweet, then got caught sneaking around like a thief in your own kitchen? Lexy’s voice hummed with amusement.

 

Yewon burst into laughter, the sound light and unrestrained. “Yes! I was busted before I could even hide half of it. Ahaha!”

 

Her lips curled into a softer smile as the memory played in her mind. “I would’ve given him his share eventually, but of course, he beat me to it… Then he took his first bite, and—Lexy, I didn’t know eyes could gleam like that. It was like he had found the secret to immortality in a spoonful of custard.”

She laughed again, pressing a hand to her cheek. “And honestly? I had to resist the urge to just… bite his cheeks. Can you imagine? That face of his, lit up like a child.

Lexy’s dry voice cut in,

>Resist the urge, she says. You’re welcome, by the way. Do you know how hard it was to keep you from committing an actual crime against his dignity? There are no lawyers here who would defend you against those pink-eyed witnesses of yours.

“Ahahaha! You’re awful,” Yewon giggled, curling slightly in her seat. “But thank you. Really.”

 

Her smile lingered as another memory came to her. “Oh! There’s also that time I found him napping under the tree at Mount Hua. He had a towel covering his eyes—he just looked so… cute. I couldn’t help myself. I poked his cheeks. Once. Twice. Three times!”

 

Lexy didn’t even let her finish before retorting, >Yewon dear, don’t forget—what you see, I see.

Yewon’s lips puckered in a pout. “Such a killjoy! Anyway—I wanted to see how he looked while sleeping. Was he docile? Messy? Did he drool? So I… lifted the towel.”

 

Her voice faltered, and her face burned at the memory. “And guess what? If what qualifies as sleeping is simply having your eyes closed, then that man wasn’t sleeping at all—because those pink eyes looked at me, incredulously!”

Lexy’s laughter rang in her mind.

>Hehe. You wanted to bury yourself that day so badly.

 

“Yes!” Yewon groaned, burying her crimson face into her palms, her neck flushed all the way down. “And do you know what I did? I just… put the towel back, turned on my heel, and walked away like nothing happened! As if I hadn’t just violated someone’s peaceful nap!”

Her laugh came muffled through her palms, the shame mixing with fondness.

“Why are we even having this conversation, Lexy!?”

 

>It was you who started it, dear.

“…Oh.”

 

>Oh, she says, Lexy teased mercilessly.

Well, is your hair dry yet?

Yewon peeked through her fingers, sulky. “Just a little more, I guess.”

 

>Oh, please. Use the towel.

Yewon groaned dramatically and finally gave in, dragging the towel over her hair with an exaggerated huff, which only made Lexy laugh harder.

 

Chapter 67

Chapter by Baek_hwa

 

“Hey, Lexy… there’s also that time when I first saw him use the Plum Blossom Sword technique—when plum blossoms bloomed from his sword… at that moment, I thought he was extra handsome. I know myself like the back of my hand, and I know exactly what I thought then. It was desire… I really wanted to take a good bite out of those cheeks.”

 

>And here I thought you’d say you wanted to get married to him for real, Lexy teased, nudging her in her mind.

“That was the second priority. Cheeks come first.” 

>Is that why you keep overfeeding him whenever he comes over for a spar?

“Not quite, but… it’s part of it, I guess. I just love how he finishes everything I cook. And then Tang Bo arrived, so I had to double the effort.”

>…Why are you being such a chatterbox tonight? Don’t tell me—you’re nervous about tomorrow’s visit?

 

“What!? No!! …Maybe? Well… the disciples of Mount Hua now and the disciples of Mount Hua then are two entirely different things. Mount Hua of the past had understanding Chung Mun, supportive Chung Jin, and more outstanding masters. Mount Hua of today, however… kinda… no. They resemble Chung Myung too much—and his bad habits.”

 

>What are you worried about, then? Lexy asked, already done with her host’s endless night ramblings.

“The problem is… it just feels weird to call those children seniors. I don’t mind the sect leader and elders, but Chung Myung’s sahyungs are a bit…”

She groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I’m seventy-five, and yet—”

 

>And yet you still act immaturely for your age.

 

“Ahhh, don’t cut me off! Now I forgot what I was going to say next!”

 

 

🌸~●●《♡》●●~🌸

 

Yewon sat on the edge of her bed, looking at the old smartwatch on her wrist before sighing deeply.

“So… do I really have to look for your egg now, Lexy? And when I find one, how many days do you need for incubation?”

 

Lexy answered immediately, her voice playful but firm inside Yewon’s head.

>You should find me an egg as soon as possible. Tonight is welcome, by the way. My incubation period is only three days. But in those three days, I must receive consistent heat. And no, Yewon dear, don’t even think about leaving me under some chicken or duck’s behind as my incubator. I refuse. Be kind and lend me yours. You have plenty of heat between those hills. Just shove the egg there and forget about it. I’m telling you, that’s the safest place you can leave me.

 

Yewon’s mouth twitched at Lexy’s sarcasm, but she only sighed, shrugged her shoulders, and tied her robe.

“You never miss the chance to jab at me, do you? Fine, fine. Let’s get this over with.”

 

She stepped outside the manor into the night air. The moonlight filtered through the bamboo stalks and the faint sounds of the forest wrapped around her. Yewon closed her eyes, her breathing steadying as she fell into a trance. Every little sound sharpened—the chirps of crickets, the rustle of leaves, the faint flow of the stream.

 

“This technique still drains me, you know,” Yewon whispered. “If not for you, I would never have mastered this again in the first place.”

 

After half an hour of careful listening, she opened her eyes and smiled faintly.

“There. Twenty-five bird nests around the manor, just past the streams where the hot spring meets the cold water from the north.”

 

 Lexy hummed. 

>Perfect. Now go, my incubator.

 

Yewon rolled her eyes, but with a soft leap she used her silent qinggong. Her movements were light, almost weightless, and not a single bird stirred in their sleep. She moved from tree to tree, checking each nest carefully.

 

“The first one’s no good,” she whispered. “All fertilized.”

“Second one too. Third… ah, also fertilized.”

“The fourth…” Yewon wrinkled her brows. “Rotten. Poor things.”

 

Nest after nest, she kept searching. Finally, she reached the last one. There, she found a single egg, perfectly whole, but unfertilized. Yewon’s heart sank as she looked at it.

“It’s perfect for you, Lexy. But… it’s the only one. The poor mother bird will be devastated if she wakes up and finds her only egg gone.”

 

Inside her mind, Lexy grew quiet for a moment. Then she said with a low voice,

>It would be even more heartbreaking for her to care for an egg that will never hatch, Yewon.

 

Yewon bit her lip. The mother bird—a round, golden-feathered canary—slept soundly above the nest, her feathers glowing under the moonlight. Yewon blinked, stunned.

“…Wow. That’s a big, golden canary.”

 

Lexy suddenly sounded excited.

>I change my mind. Forget sparrow. Who would have thought canaries here are this big and round? I vote yes.

 

Yewon chuckled softly but shook her head.

“Lexy, we can’t just steal her only egg. That’s cruel.”

 

>Then why don’t we give her an adopted egg? Lexy suggested slyly. Remember that nest we saw near the stream? That one had abandoned eggs.

 

“Yes?” Yewon asked carefully.

>Those eggs belong to a species that should never be near water because they are too sensitive to humidity. Which means those eggs were abandoned a long time ago. We can take one back with us, and I’ll alter it into a golden canary egg. The mother bird won’t notice the difference.

 

Yewon’s eyes lit up.

“That’s… actually a brilliant idea, Lexy! Wait—alter its species? Since when did you become a god? Don’t tell me you can also change my gender while you’re at it.”

>No . Lexy replied dryly.

>I can alter the genetics of the egg by using a drop of blood from the canary. That way, the altered egg becomes blood-related to her, and the species is completely overwritten. But as for changing gender? Impossible, Yewon dear.”

 

Yewon’s lips curled into a sly smile.

“Oh, you let my hopes soar and then smashed them into smithereens…”

>…You wanted to be a man?

“I don’t mind a BL with Chung Myung, but he’ll definitely question my taste if he finds out. And gods forbid he ever learns that I once shipped him with Baek Cheon.” he'll definitely coughed blood.

 

(ー_ー;)

> …Can we please go back to the egg thing?

“Fine, fine. Let me get those abandoned eggs first.”

 

She marked the golden canary’s tree with a thread of qi, then swiftly darted down the path. Soon, she arrived at the streamside where the abandoned nest lay. The eggs were dangerously close to rolling into the water.

“Poor things,” Yewon whispered as she carefully lifted the nest. She picked up four eggs, examined them carefully , then buried the three that had already rotted from the humidity. The last one, still warm with a faint heartbeat, she tucked gently into her cleavage.

 

“it's safe with me now,” she said softly.

 

>Of course you’d put it there. Lexy muttered.

>Best natural incubator.

 

Yewon ignored her as she returned to the canary’s nest. Moving with silent precision, she swapped the single unfertilized egg with the altered one Lexy had finished reshaping. The canary never stirred.

 

“Done,” Yewon whispered, stepping back. Relief filled her chest. “Now all that’s left is to bring the your egg home" 

And with that, she leapt back toward the manor under the moonlit sky, already planning what to do with her unexpected new responsibilities to lexy.

 

 

🌸~●●《♡》●●~🌸

 

Yewon’s steps slowed as the bamboo maze thinned, a handful of twigs and young leaves cradled carefully in her palms. She was already imagining how the nest might look—soft, layered, tucked into a quiet corner of her room. Something warm and homely for the egg.

 

But Lexy’s sharp voice cut through her small reverie.

 

>Are you really planning to use those scraps as a nest?

Yewon blinked, tilting her head down at the bundle. “Why? Isn’t this what birds use? I can dry these out and make it soft. And—these would cradle the your perfectly.”

 

There was a heavy pause. Then Lexy all but exploded:

 

>my egg is better off on one of your robes with a proper heat-retaining charm! What are you thinking, stuffing precious my egg into leaves like some wild hen?!

Yewon frowned, defensive. “ what about it then? I can just leave you inside one of my robes . No need to be carried around if you’re going to complain.”

 

Lexy sputtered, her tone indignant, like a scholar defending sacred knowledge.

>My egg needs turning. Every other hour—like a chicken egg—if you ever want it to hatch! And since you’ll be waltzing up Mount Hua tomorrow, who’s going to turn my egg, hm? If you leave me behind, it’s as good as killing it!

 

Yewon’s lips pressed into a thin line. She hated that Lexy’s reasoning actually made sense.

“So,” Lexy continued smugly, “the logical solution is this: you’ll take me with you, share your qi and body heat, and turn me every hour like the dutiful mother hen you are. Manual rotation included.”

Yewon stopped dead in her tracks, her face twitching. “…You make it sound like my chest is a boarding house.”

 Lexy replied sweetly,

>it is spacious, warm, and already occupied. I’d call that premium nesting real estate.

Yewon shut her eyes and groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. She could already feel tomorrow’s headache coming. If Lexy weren’t hers, if she were some stranger pushing this argument, Yewon was certain she’d have strangled her by now—preferably with one of these bamboo stalks.

But she couldn’t. Because Lexy was hers. And Lexy knew exactly how to win.

 

Notes:

Aaaahhhh when will the manhwa hiatus end!!!! Im at the edge of my delulus waiting for the manhwaaaaaa

Note: the hills that Lexy’s talking about is yewons chest~ when i reread the chapter... i realised that it could be mistaken as butt 😆 🤣 😂 😹 😆 🤣 😂 😹 😆 🤣

Chapter 68

Chapter by Baek_hwa

Yewon pinched the bridge of her nose. She was really having this conversation with Lexy. If some stranger with mind-reading abilities ever happened to listen in, they would probably see her as a deranged woman arguing with her unhinged alter ego. Worse, the poor psychic might panic and run straight to find a taoist priest or a shaman to perform an exorcism—though hopefully not someone from Wudang

With a long sigh, she finally went back inside the manor. She placed Lexy’s egg carefully inside her robes, between her chest. 

Her hand lingered in the room for a moment, then she reached into her wardrobe to take out one of her robes. She chose the robe she wore the least—the one with a chest cut a little revealing for her taste, a little prank from Lexy’s mischievous sense of fashion.

Looks like she'll have a use for the robe, now that she need to constantly turn the egg in her chest Yewon .

Carrying the robe back to her room, she placed it on the low table beside her bed. She carefully moved the Lexy’s egg into her palm , tucking it snugly in the folds of her fingers. 

Her voice came out in a whisper. “Lexy… are you going to… you know… possess the egg now?”

A familiar voice answered one last time, with that sly tone Yewon had grown used to.

 

>Yewon dear, don’t make this sound like one of those horror films.

 

 

And then—silence.

 

Yewon stiffened. She could feel the connection thinning, as if Lexy’s voice was being carried farther and farther away, until it was completely gone. For the first time in years, her mind was quiet, and the emptiness made her chest tighten. Anxiety bubbled up.

 

What if it failed?

What if Lexy couldn’t return?

 

Her heart raced as she blurted out, “Status update.”

 

The silver smartwatch on her wrist projected the familiar holographic system screen into the air. The functions were still there, working perfectly—but without Lexy’s witty comments and guidance, the interface felt unbearably bland, lifeless. Cold.

She looked down at the warm egg in her palm. Carefully, almost tenderly, she tucked it inside her robes, right against her chest where it could rest in the safest, warmest place she could give.

“…It seems like I won’t be able to sleep properly for three days,” Yewon murmured to herself. Then, with a crooked smile, she added, “Maybe Chung Myung can help keep me awake.”

 

Settling onto her bed, Yewon crossed her legs and shifted into lotus position. She began cultivating, her breathing deep and steady. While her body looked still, her inner qi moved like a flowing river—absorbing, purifying, and cycling it into her dantian. At the same time, she directed a steady thread of warmth into the egg pressed against her skin.

She imagined Lexy inside there, slowly forming—perhaps one day emerging as a natural-born spirit beast, with fluffy golden feathers and round cheeks puffed up in an pout.

An adorable, angry little bird glaring at her. The thought almost made Yewon laugh. Almost.

She reminded herself to focus. Cultivation was still cultivation.

Even so, every other hour she stopped, gently turning the egg into a new position before resuming her meditation.

Just like that, the long night passed. And when the first rays of morning sunlight struck her window, Yewon opened her eyes. The egg was still warm, still safe against her chest. She smiled softly.

 

It was time to prepare for her visit to Mount Hua.

 

 

 

🌸~●●《♡》●●~🌸

 

 

Yewon adjusted the strap of her bag as she climbed the last stretch toward Mount Hua’s gate. The air was sharp with the scent of pine, and the stone steps felt familiar beneath her feet. She pressed a hand against her chest for a moment—Lexy felt steady and safe.

At the top, she spotted Chung Myung pacing back and forth like a restless cat. The instant he saw her, he stopped and ran straight over, his robes fluttering.

 

“You’re finally here,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips. “I was about to go down the mountain to drag you up myself.”

Yewon laughed, brushing a few strands of hair from her face. “I would’ve beaten you halfway if you tried. I made good time.”

 

Chung Myung slowed to a walk as he reached her. He gave her a quick once-over, checking if she was tired, but didn’t comment when he saw she was fine. Instead, he took the bag from her shoulder without asking.

“You still carry tea ,” he said casually, as if it were natural to help her. “Next time, leave the teas  behind. I stocked up teas in my secret stash."

 

Yewon raised a brow, amused.

 

He smirked. And gave her that knowing side eye.

 

They walked side by side through the gate. Disciples nearby gave curious looks, but Chung Myung ignored them completely, talking to her as if it were only the two of them.

 

“Did you eat?” he asked.

“I bought sweet buns i bought from the village,” Yewon answered, pulling a small packet from her sleeve. “Want one?”

His eyes brightened instantly. “You know me well.” He reached for one and took a big bite without hesitation.

“Slow down, you’ll choke,” Yewon said, shaking her head.

“If I choke, you’ll save me anyway,” he replied with his mouth full.

 

Her laughter rang clear, and Chung Myung grinned. The weight of the climb and the sharp wind seemed to matter little with him walking beside her.

As if it were the most natural thing, Yewon reached for Chung Myung’s hand and held it. She glanced at his face—calm, almost expressionless—but the tips of his ears betrayed him, red and warm. If not for that, she might have thought he disliked being seen like this.

Yewon bit her lip, trying to hold back her laughter. Her shoulders shook, and Chung Myung narrowed his eyes at her.

 

“…What’s wrong with you? Are you okay?” he asked, suspicious.

That broke her restraint completely. Yewon burst into laughter, doubling over as she slapped her thigh.

“Chung Myung-ah! Pfft—your face and ears contradict each other! Ahahahaha!” she wheezed, clutching her stomach.

 

Chung Myung groaned, half embarrassed, half annoyed. “This woman and her broken humor… Yah! I was waiting for you all this time without lunch. My sahyungs probably emptied every pot already!”

Yewon wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, still grinning. “Alright, alright, I’ll stop. Hehe… So, are you going to introduce me as a sparring dummy?”

He scoffed. “Huh? No. Who said you’re sparring with my chicks? Are you trying to kill them? You can train with them, but spar? Forget it.”

Yewon gasped dramatically. “How could you accuse your own fiancée of murder? For your information, it was one time I forgot my strength.”

“And that one time ended with someone losing all their front teeth,” he shot back, shaking his head.

“In my defense, that bastard provoked me. I forgot to hold back.”

“And that same bastard was from Zhongnan.”

“Exactly,” she said, arms crossed. “He should be glad I didn’t destroy his acupoints.” Her eyes darkened for a moment, remembering the list of those who had played a part in Mount Hua’s collapse. She kept track, always prepared.

Chung Myung glanced at her sideways and smirked. “Still as fierce as I remembered.”

“So I won’t be bullied easily,” she said with a little pride.

 

He gave her hand a squeeze, his grin widening. “Who would dare bully you with me and Tang Bo around?”

Yewon leaned closer and whispered with a mischievous smile, “No one~ unless they want a beating from Geomjon.” Chung Myung’s grin only grew sharper at that.

 

Chung Myung only shook his head and pushed open the gate.

 

The training ground was empty, the air quiet. It was lunch hour—third and second-class disciples were no doubt crammed into the dining hall, fighting over the last bowls of soup.

He led Yewon inside without hesitation, heading straight toward the table he usually shared with Yoon Jong, Jo Gul, Baek Cheon, and Yu Iseol.

The moment they sat down, Yoon Jong and Jo Gul exchanged looks.

 

'So… sister-in-law didn’t leave him? Then why has this bastard been grumpy these days?! '

'Yuanshi Tianzun! If his reason for making our lives hell isn’t good enough, I swear I’ll put bugs in his room! '

 

Jo Gul clenched his chopsticks with righteous fury.

Baek Cheon, composed as always, cleared his throat. “Chung Myung-ah, aren’t you going to introduce our guest?” His tone carried the dignity of a proper sasuk.

“This is…” Chung Myung paused, realizing too late that he’d never asked what Yewon preferred.

Yewon stepped in smoothly, bowing politely. “Greetings . I am Yewon. Please take care of me.”

“Ah, yes,” Chung Myung said casually, as if it were nothing. “She’s my fiancée. And she’ll be training with us from now on.”

 

 

Thud!

 

The sound of chopsticks hitting the floor echoed across the hall. Every disciple nearby froze mid-bite.

 

What did he just say?!

Sister-in-law and... Training?!

Was this bastard out of his mind?!

 

 

Jo Gul’s jaw dropped. “This bastard has gone insane.”

“Hold him down!” Baek Cheon barked, slamming his hand against the table.

In an instant, disciples launched themselves at Chung Myung. Some clung to his arms, others wrapped around his legs, determined to restrain the lunatic before he could doom them all.

 

“Yah! What are you doing, you bastards?!” Chung Myung shouted, more bewildered than angry. “Get off me! Why are you acting like this?!”

“You—!” Baek Cheon’s face twisted, no longer dignified but resembling a furious raksha. “Are you hearing yourself?! You want her to train like us?! Are you even human?!”

“What?!” Chung Myung snarled, trying to shake off Jo Gul who was hanging from his waist. “What’s wrong with that?! She asked for training, and I said she could! What part of that is wrong?!”

 

The disciples groaned as one, as though the heavens had truly abandoned them.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Chung myung x oc