Episode 52. The Freed Woman, the Revived Man.
The sound of the nurses’ footsteps gradually faded, replaced by the steady rhythm of Moyong Baek grinding herbs. I sat cross-legged on the bed, listening.
From nearby came Hongshin’s soft snoring, and from the other side, Geumhae’s long, uneven sighs. There was a mixture of small noises, yet the feeling within the Moyong Clinic was one of calm.
“Good.”
Only after returning to this life did I realize that even the Poison Demon, Moyong Baek, had once smiled like that in his youth. Some people can still smile even when they’re mad. Others lose all trace of laughter as they go insane— they cut that emotion out of their hearts entirely.
That was why the young doctor Moyong Baek looked far happier to me now than the Poison Demon he would one day become.
With a faint smile of my own, I began to meditate. The energy from the seven White Flame roots I had absorbed was already sealed within the Celestial Core. As usual, I began converting its power into internal energy.
There was no need to rush. Having experienced deviation countless times, I knew my body well. Impatience was the seed of madness. So, like a tortoise wandering the world, I cultivated slowly and thoroughly.
I did not meditate through the night— just one focused session of about two hours. Then I lay down and stared at the ceiling.
Though I was lying still, my senses stayed sharp, half-awake, half-asleep— guarding the silence of the clinic like a temple guardian.
And at the hazy border between memory and dream, I saw a staircase.
A gaunt man in a yellow monk’s robe slowly ascended the stone steps, carrying a corpse in both hands. At the top stood a broad-shouldered monk with a great rosary around his neck, watching in silence, surrounded by his disciples.
The monks’ faces were heavy with sorrow, but the large man’s expression was utterly devoid of feeling. After offering brief words of farewell, he turned and began to descend the stairs alone.
As he walked down, his face began to change— the calm melted away, ritual pretense cast aside. He declared his own defrocking, his expression twisting into that of the Immovable King’s wrathful visage.
The monks atop the stairs called for him to return. He ignored them, stepping off the final stair with a face of stone.
Dreams are never logical.
The giant monk who had descended into the darkness brushed aside the shadows with one hand. When he saw me, he smiled—a strange, haunting grin.
“Disciple. Long time no see.”
I woke instantly. My eyes snapped open, and the dream shattered.
Damn it…
To summarize: a nightmare. A side effect of the White Flame roots, no doubt.
That mad monk—he’d been the one to drag me into taking those roots. The suffering I endured under him defies words.
In my past life, that man had been the previous Mad Demon. The Grand Master of the Mixed Tantra sect—known to the martial world as the Mad Monk.
There are a few men in the world whom even seasoned warriors treat as natural disasters to avoid at all costs. He was one of them.
Whenever I recalled that brief, cursed apprenticeship, a chill crept up my spine. He’d dragged me from the Central Plains all the way to Tibet, forcing me to taste the White Flame roots. Once, out of idle curiosity about fish in the East Sea, he’d made me travel from Tibet to Zhejiang— through Sichuan, Chongqing, Hubei, Anhui, killing every demonic sect that crossed our path along the way.
I never once called him Master. But he always called me his disciple.
When I finally became the Mad Demon myself, I realized— for better or worse, he had been my teacher.
I made a quiet vow to myself then: This time, I will not be anyone’s disciple.
That madman nearly killed me more times than I could count. He was the previous Mad Demon, after all—a man truly insane.
Had he not achieved enlightenment and returned to Tibet, half the great masters of the Central Plains would likely have died by his hand.
Early the next morning, Moyong Baek moved silently through the clinic and noticed I was already awake.
“Lord Lee, you’re up already?”
I nodded, and he said, “I’ll bring your tonic shortly.”
At a glance, I could tell he hadn’t slept all night. Moments later, he returned with a steaming bowl.
The black color made me hesitate. Poison Demon medicine, huh… Even knowing he wasn’t one yet, I couldn’t help feeling a little uneasy.
With those innocent eyes of his, he held out the bowl. “Please, drink.”
I wanted to ask what on earth was in it, but instead, I forced it down. It slid down my throat smoothly enough—so at least it wasn’t poison.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“Aside from a bit of coolness in the chest—nothing particular.”
“Ah, a sense of clarity, then. May I take your pulse?”
I extended my wrist. After a moment, his brow furrowed.
“Have you experienced any difficulty cultivating internal energy lately?”
“Not really.”
Then, suddenly, he pulled his hand back in alarm. “Something… pulling.”
“Pulling your internal energy?”
“Yes. It felt as though something was absorbing it.”
“You’re not wrong.”
“Then Lord Geumhae’s condition yesterday—was it because of this phenomenon?”
I smiled. He’d pieced it together.
“So when you said he lost his internal energy, you meant it literally—it was drawn into your dantian?”
“Exactly.”
“I see. Then—pardon the question—is this the result of a traditional art, or a miraculous encounter?”
“A chance encounter, I’d say.”
“Then until you master it completely, I advise against absorbing others’ internal energy. It’s dangerous.”
“That was already my plan.”
“May I ask where you usually reside?”
“At the Black Cat Hall, or somewhere around Ilyang Prefecture.”
“Please visit often, even if you’re busy.”
I spoke plainly. “Once Daenachal is dealt with, I’ll return with a lighter heart.”
Defeating Daenachal meant seizing control of the southern underworld— and ensuring that Moyong Baek would never again face the disaster that awaited him in my previous life.
By noon, after Hongshin and Geumhae’s treatments were complete, I said my farewells and boarded the carriage once more.
“Doctor Moyong, get some rest. Thank you for everything.”
He smiled. “Travel safely, Lord Lee. Come back anytime.”
I added, “Be cautious of martial folk. If trouble comes, I’ll come myself.”
“A clinic faces little danger—but thank you.”
As the carriage rolled away, I sighed softly.
“I’m waging this war so that danger never reaches you, fool…”
Geumhae looked healthier than yesterday— but sitting beside him was the newly liberated Hongshin, who had conquered her diarrhea, and across from them, me.
Geumhae, ever cautious now, spoke timidly. “Senior Nok, may I return home now?”
I nodded. “Home is good.”
“Thank you.”
“No.”
“…”
Hongshin clasped her hands together and smiled sweetly. “Senior, you’ll give me the antidote now, right?”
“I already did.”
“When?”
“The antidote to the Jahago Poison was the laxative. And Doctor Moyong cured your diarrhea. Problem solved.”
I looked at her blank face and said, “Junior, mind your expression.”
She smiled brightly—but even in that smile, I could see the fire burning behind her eyes.
“Hongshin, Geumhae.”
“Yes.”
“You find it strange, don’t you? That a man you barely know calls you ‘junior’ and ‘disciple.’”
“Not at all.”
“Good. Tell me—what kind of man is your real master? In this world, few things are more precious than the ties between people. If you still wish to stand by Daenachal’s side against me, I’ll have the coachman stop now. You can both go your own way.”
“Hmm…”
Geumhae spoke hesitantly. “I’d rather not leave…”
“I’m not attached enough to you two to care either way,” I said flatly. “If you choose to side with Daenachal again, I won’t hesitate to kill you. Live as you wish—like I do.”
They stared at me silently.
“You’re not slaves,” I added. “Not mine, not Daenachal’s.”
Geumhae spoke again. “Senior, if I betray Daenachal, my family could be slaughtered. Please tell me—how strong are you, truly? What forces do you command? I need to know before I choose.”
Moyong Baek’s words resurfaced in my mind—about the Twelve Generals who’d once tried to live ordinary lives after Daenachal’s fall. Could Geumhae have been one of them in my previous life?
He had the background for it. If so, then in this life, he’d just been treated by the very man who would one day kill him.
I chuckled inwardly. Life, what a farce…
“You’re a merchant,” I said. “So you want to calculate the odds?”
He bowed his head slightly. “Forgive me. My life isn’t the only one at stake.”
“In battle, calculations mean nothing,” I said. “Let’s say I lose. Daenachal still has many disciples—it’s natural I’d be outnumbered. But imagine that loss happens because you two weren’t with me. Would you be satisfied, knowing your return to him tipped the scales?”
Neither answered.
“You know how it’ll go,” I continued. “Steal this, fetch that, deliver girls to his pleasure. I saw how beautiful the nurses at Moyong’s clinic were—if Daenachal notices, he’ll make Moyong offer them up too. That’s the kind of man he is. Serve him, and you’ll live as slaves till he dies.”
I shook my head. “The question isn’t who’s stronger. It’s whether you’ll keep living as slaves—or not.”
After a while, the carriage stopped. The coachman said, “We’ve arrived at the Black Cat Hall.”
I turned to Geumhae. “You were born rich, raised in comfort, proud of your family. But look at yourself now. That money—was it ever really yours? Your house is Daenachal’s treasury. True wealth isn’t hoarding—it’s knowing how to spend.”
He avoided my eyes. “Senior, could I… perhaps have one more meal first?”
I looked at Hongshin. “You?”
She blinked. “Me? Food? Well, I’m hungry, sure…”
Geumhae nudged her with his elbow. “He’s asking whose side you’re on.”
Unlike Geumhae, Hongshin’s answer was simple and clear. “I’m with Senior, of course.”
“Why?” Geumhae asked.
“He took me to the bathroom, to the doctor, fed me pork stew… He did give me poison, but it turned out to be a laxative. If Daenachal had given me poison, it’d have been real, and I’d be dead—squatting in the bushes instead of sitting here. That thought alone terrifies me. So yes, I’m with Senior.”
So once again, I’d won a woman’s loyalty—with a laxative.
“Let’s go eat.”
We stepped down from the carriage, the coachman following us inside. The gates of the Black Cat Hall opened wide, revealing disciples deep in training.
When I entered without my mask, So Gunpyeong bowed. “Greetings, Master.”
The disciples, holding grueling stances, echoed in unison, “Greetings, Master!”
Flanked by Hongshin and Geumhae, I nodded and walked through the courtyard.
Geumhae looked around, confused. “Wait… you’re the Hall Master? You were the servant? The servant is the Master? The Master was the servant?”
I turned to him. “Ah, look at that—you’re slipping into deviation again. Hongshin.”
“Yes!”
Without hesitation, Hongshin slapped Geumhae hard across the face. “Get a grip!”
He clutched his cheek, eyes wide, like a man who’d just escaped hell. How many times had he been slapped in the past two days?
I clicked my tongue. “Ah, what a waste of a rich boy.”
Then I said to them both—the woman freed from poison and the man revived through pain—
“Come on. Let’s eat.”
Because in the martial world, surviving another day is no small thing.