yuebing✶

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the rain in the shaanxi province smelled like copper.

yi zaha leaned against the damp brick wall of a narrow alleyway, listening to the heavy thud of three weak sect elders collapsing into the mud behind him. they had called themselves masters of the righteous path, shouting grandly about orthodox justice while swinging their swords in flashy, unnecessary arcs.

it was honestly exhausting to watch.

zaha had broken their wrists, shattered their kneecaps, and politely suggested they invest in a heavy dose of laxatives to clear out the corruption bloating their intestines before he left them there.

that was just standard protocol for him at this point.

but obviously, the righteous elders hadn't appreciated the medical advice. (but zaha considered it a civic duty to educate the public on digestive health)

useless, absolutely useless. he thought, rubbing the bridge of his crooked nose as a sharp and familiar pressure buzzed behind his eyes.

the madness that was always clawing at the inside of his skull, a constant headache that rarely left him in peace. he was fully aware that his brain didn't function like a normal person's and he usually found that quite efficient for running a sect.

but right now, however, the buzzing was just very annoying.

he then noticed a faint, stinging sensation on his left forearm. pulling back his torn black sleeve, he found a shallow cut, barely three inches long and oozing of dark blood.

one of those old men must've gotten a lucky scratch in before zaha completely dismantled his stance.

it was a pathetic wound.

with a single breath, he could easily circulate his internal qi, clot the blood and force the skin to knit itself back together.

he raised his hand, preparing to channel his energy and be done with it, but then a scent drifted through the damp air.

it was the clean smell of boiled licorice root, dried mint, and chamomile. the fragrance traveled from a small dimly lit building at the very end of the alley. a wooden sign hung slightly crooked over the entrance, bearing the words village infirmary in neat brushstrokes.

through the translucent paper screen window, a silhouette moved, grinding herbs under the soft warm glow of a single oil lamp.

zaha's hand dropped instantly, the qi in his veins scattering into nothingness.

(obviously, this had nothing to do with the fact that he had been staring at that exact window from the rooftops for the past four days)

his mind, which operated on unhinged logic, immediately spun a completely reasonable justification for what he was about to do. why should i waste my precious internal energy on a scratch? he reasoned, staring at the window. i'm a tax-paying resident of this region. it's practically a disservice to the medical profession if i just heal myself. i'm doing her a favor by seeking treatment.

he stumbled toward the door, deliberately letting his posture slump until he looked like a broken sack of potatoes. he knocked on the wood, hitting it just hard enough to rattle the frame but keeping his monstrous strength in check just so he didn't accidentally splinter it into kindling.

the door slid open with a soft creak.

there [reader] stood, looking exhausted with faint dark circles under her eyes, holding a wooden pestle in one hand. she took one look at his absolutely messy state (understatement) and let out a long, heavy, world weary, dreary sigh.

"another one," she murmured, stepping aside to clear the entrance. "come in. sit down before you bleed all over the clean floor."

zaha stepped inside and the moment the door slid shut behind him, the chaotic buzzing in his skull stopped completely.

the madness simply vanished.

the air around her felt perfectly still.

his heart, which usually beat like a frantic war drum, suddenly felt like it was floating in an undisturbed pond. he stood there frozen, staring at the back of her head as she walked over to a medicine cabinet, his eyes wide with sudden suspicion.

what kind of terrifying sorcery is this? he thought, his internal panic spiking. is this a hidden master of the dark arts? a demonic cult assassin using an advanced psychological aura to paralyze my fighting spirit?

"sit," she repeated, gesturing toward a low wooden cot in the corner of the room.

he sat down so fast his spine made a loud cracking sound.

she knelt beside the cot, gently taking his left arm in her hands. her fingers were warm and small, completely devoid of the thick and rough calluses of a swordsman yet she held his arm with authority.

she dipped a clean cloth into a basin of warm water and began to wash away the smeared blood with practiced efficiency.

"how did this happen?" she asked, her voice soft but carrying a stern edge. "the sect nearby is having some massive gathering nearby. did you get caught in the crossfire of those crazy martial artists?"

zaha's tongue suddenly felt like a piece of dry leather. he needed to answer, and more importantly, he needed to maintain his dignity while figuring out why his chest felt so tight.

"i'm zaha," he blurted out, his voice too loud for the quiet room. "i'm a night watchman and i'm very weak. i'm exceptionally bad at fighting. a martial artist breathed in my direction and i just fell over a barrel and cut myself."

she paused, looking up from his arm to search his face.

zaha froze completely, holding his breath and praying she couldn't hear the disaster happening inside his ribs.

"a night watchman?" she echoed, her gaze lingering on the muscle mass of his shoulders and the expensive (albeit currently ruined) black fabric of his inner robes.

"yes," he lied smoothly, sweating profusely under her steady stare. "a very poor, clumsy watchman. i'm practically a peasant. please pity me."

she didn't look entirely convinced, but she didn't press the matter either.

she just shook her head, leaning back down to apply a soothing green salve to the shallow cut. her breath brushed against his skin as she gently blew on the wound to cool the sting of the medicine.

zaha's brain instantly short-circuited. she's using a wind attribute internal technique to soothe my flesh, his mind uttered in utter delusion. remarkable. truly a master.

"there," she said, wrapping a clean white bandage around his arm and tying it off in a neat knot. "it's just a scratch, but try not to tumble into any more barrels on your shift, watchman zaha. the streets aren't safe tonight."

"understood," zaha barked, standing up with a rigid posture.

he reached into his robes and pulled out a heavy leather pouch that contained enough solid silver to buy the entire village before slamming it onto the table. "for your services."

she stared at the massive pouch and up at his intense face. "...this is far too much. i don't have change for this."

"i am, the type of man," he declared grandly, already backing toward the door. "who is very generous. that is me."

before she could even protest, the strange man slid the door open and vanished into the rainy night. leaving her alone in the quiet infirmary with a small fortune on her table and a very confused expression on her face.

"..."

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three days later, the hall of the black rabbit union was filled with a suffocating tension.

the core members of the sect (mostly reformed bandits, low-level thugs, and chaotic martial artists zaha had personally beaten into submission) were all standing in a neat line, trembling as they watched their leader.

yi zaha was pacing back and forth in front of his throne, his hands tucked behind his back.

his expression was dark, his eyes were narrowed, and a terrifyingly heavy aura was leaking from his body, making the stone floor feel ice cold. his subordinates exchanged horrified glances, fully convinced that their leader was plotting the annihilation of a rival clan or perhaps preparing to execute someone for breathing incorrectly.

​"clan leader," one of the brave subordinates finally spoke up, his voice shaking. "is there a problem with the border patrols? has the enemy alliance made a move?"

​zaha stopped pacing.

he turned his unhinged gaze towards the man, staring at him for a solid minute.

​"worse," zaha said, his voice dropping to a low, grim whisper. "i've discovered... a profound weakness in my chest cavity that manifests whenever i approach the southern village."

​the entire hall gasped. a weakness? a deadly curse?

​"leader!" the man cried out, dropping to one knee. "who has done this to you? give us the name and we will slaughter their entire lineage! we'll poison their wells! we'll slip laxatives into their ancestral soups!" (they learned from the best)

"silence, you idiot." zaha snapped, rubbing his temples as his headache flared up at the mention of soup. "there's a doctor in the southern village... her clinic cures my mind."

the subordinates stared at him, completely blank expressions washing over their faces.

the chief advisor slowly blinked. "leader, if she's a doctor, why don't we just bring her to the clan?"

"because she thinks i'm a clumsy night watchman," zaha said."and if you idiots show up and ruin my disguise, i'll break your wrists."

"..." the entire hall broke out in cold sweat.

"i need an injury." he added.

the advisor rubbed his temples, feeling his own headache coming on. "clan leader... if you require an injury, we could arrange a sparring session? or perhaps a minor training accident?"

"too slow," zaha grunted, walking out of the hall. "i'll handle it myself."

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the next afternoon, [reader]was sitting behind the counter of her quiet infirmary, carefully sorting dried berry roots into small porcelain jars. the village was peaceful today, the gentle sunlight filtering through the open door, warming the wooden floorboards.

thud.

a dramatic sound echoed from the porch outside.

she blinked, setting down a jar as a shadow fell over the threshold.

stumbling through the door came zaha. he was wearing his simple night watchman garments again but his hair was completely disheveled, and he was dragging his left leg behind him with an exaggerated limp. emphasis on the exaggerated.

he let out a series of deep groans, clutching his knee as if his joints were made of crushed glass.

"ah, the pain," zaha announced to the empty room, his voice ringing out. and despite the pitiful dialogue, his tone was serious. "the agony of a simple and ordinary citizen. ah, a tragedy has occurred." he couldn't act for shit.

[reader] stood up from behind the counter, crossing her arms as she watched him painfully make his way over to the wooden cot. he collapsed onto it with a heavy sigh, making sure to throw his head back dramatically against the wall.

"sir zaha," [reader] said, her voice flat as she walked over to him. "your shift doesn't even start until sundown. how are you already injured?"

"a rogue pebble," zaha said instantly, his dark eyes locking onto her. "i was walking down the path, minding my own business, thinking about the security of our beautiful village, when a highly aggressive rock manifested out of nowhere. i tripped. my knee is shattered. i may never walk again without medical intervention."

she knelt down before gently pulling up the fabric of his trousers to inspect his knee. she expected to see swelling, purple bruising, or even at least a scrape from the gravel.

there was absolutely nothing...!

his skin was perfectly smooth. in fact, his legs looked like they were carved out of solid marble, possessing the kind of powerful muscle structure that only belonged to high level martial artists who spent decades of training.

she reached out, pressing her thumb firmly against his kneecap. "does it hurt here?"

zaha's entire body went rigid. his inner monologue was currently a chaotic battlefield of panic. she's touching my leg. he thought, his heart slamming against his ribs like a trapped animal.

"yes," he squeezed out, his voice cracking slightly. "the pain is immense. i am weeping internally."

she stared at his perfectly healthy knee and up at his sweating face.

she let out another long sigh.

this man was either an absolute hypochondriac or just incredibly mad. "there isn't a single bruise here. your bones are completely fine."

"it's an internal shatter," zaha explained solemnly, nodding his head with absolute conviction. "a hidden fracture of the soul. it requires the application of that green salve from last time. and perhaps a gentle bandage to keep the structural integrity intact."

she looked at him for a long moment, completely baffled. "you want me to bandage a perfectly healthy leg?"

"for safety measures," he insisted, his voice dropping to a serious tone. "as a medical professional, you must understand the importance of structural stability for a weak clumsy man like myself. if i fall again, who will protect the village lanterns at night?"

she couldn't help but let out a soft huff of laughter, shaking her head as she stood up to fetch the medical supplies.

she didn't know what this man's deal was, but he had given her a pouch of silver large enough to fund her clinic for the next five years so if he wanted his perfectly healthy leg wrapped in expensive linen, she wasn't going to argue.

as she walked over to the cabinet, zaha's eyes followed her every move.

his headache was completely gone. it was replaced by the soft sound of her footsteps and the gentle rustle of her clothes.

he stared down at the floor.

"i'm a crazy pervert," he muttered under his breath, his voice full of self loathing. "what the hell am i doing?"

"did you say something?" she asked, walking back over with the linen.

zaha immediately snapped his head up, clearing his throat. "nothing. i was merely cursing the rogue stone that brought me to this low point. please proceed with the wrapping."

she sat back down on the stool beside him, scooping a small amount of the cool ointment onto her fingers. the moment her hand made contact with his skin, zaha's toes curled inside his boots. he gripped the edges of the wooden cot so tightly that the solid oak frame began to groan under the immense pressure of his fingers, a small crack forming in the wood beneath his palm.

she was too focused on rubbing the salve into his skin to notice. "you know, for a night watchman, you have incredibly calloused hands," she remarked casually, looking at his upper body. "and you seem to carry a lot of tension. do you lift heavy crates on the side?"

"yes," zaha said quickly, his mind spinning a new lie. "i am also a partime laborer. i carry heavy barrels of water and rice. and occasionally, large rocks that are blocking the road. i am a very hardworking member of the working class."

"i see," she murmured, beginning to wrap the white linen around his knee. "well, you should take better care of yourself. if you keep getting hurt like this, you won't be able to work at all."

"if i cannot work, i will simply come here," zaha said smoothly.

she paused, her fingers tightening slightly on the bandage as she looked up at him. a faint, subtle flush crept up her neck, and she quickly looked back down to finish the knot. "don't say such ridiculous things. an infirmary isn't a place you visit for fun."

"i don't find it fun," zaha clarified. "i find it necessary for my survival. if i could, i would simply hire you to stand next to me while i conduct my daily business."

she finished tying the knot and slapped his knee gently, making him jump. "alright, clumsy watchman, you're all set. stop talking nonsense and get out of my clinic before you find a way to break your arm on my tea set."

zaha stood up, testing his newly bandaged and perfectly healthy leg with a satisfied nod. he reached into his robes and pulled out another heavy pouch of solid silver and dropped it onto the cot.

"until next time," he declared, turning on his heel and marching out of the shop with a stride so powerful and perfectly balanced it contradicted his pathetic limp earlier.

that man, she thought, rubbing her temples as a faint smile tugged at her lips, is absolutely out of his mind.

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the next week, the ruse finally reached its breaking point.

inside the infirmary, the atmosphere was entirely peaceful until y/n set down a teapot on the wooden counter and looked over at the doorway.

zaha was standing outside, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, trying to look casual. he had completely forgotten to put on his ragged watchman shoes and was wearing his high grade leather boots instead.

y/n poured a single cup of warm plum blossom tea, the sweet aroma drifting through the air. she pushed it towards the empty seat.

"sit down, leader yi," she said, her voice completely calm.

zaha froze entirely, his arms still clutched across his chest. his jaw dropped slightly, his eyes widening as the words echoed in the quiet room.

"what?" he squeaked, his majestic voice cracking slightly.

she leaned against the counter and crossed her arms, looking at him with an amused expression. "i said sit down. and stop looking around the room like a confused bird, zaha. or should i call you the mad demon?"

zaha stood completely paralyzed, his brain struggling to process the information. she knows, his mind looped in absolute horror. my acting was perfect. how does she know?

"you know?" he stammered, looking incredibly small despite his massive stature. "since when?"

"since the first week," [reader] said, shaking her head. "leader yi, no ordinary night watchman leaves enough solid silver to buy a palace on my table every single day."

his shoulders slumped, all his terrifying warlord dignity completely vanishing. "dammit... what a complete disaster."

she couldn't help but let out a soft huff of laughter, her smile turning gentle as she walked over to him. she reached out, her warm fingers gently catching his hand.

the simple contact instantly sending that familiar stillness through his mind, completely erasing his headache.

"you're certainly a madman, i'll give you that," she murmured, looking up at his embarrassed(?) face. "but you don't have to fake an injury just to visit my clinic, leader yi."

zaha blinked, his dark eyes widening slightly as he looked down at her fingers wrapped around his large calloused hand. "i... do not?"

"no," she said, her smile widening. "the silver you keep leaving is enough to fund this place for the next ten years. if you want to sit here, drink tea, and complain about your headaches, you can just do that."

zaha's unhinged smile slowly returned, though this time it held warmth.

the internal buzzing in his skull was completely dead, replaced by the warm weight of her hand in his.

"excellent," zaha declared, straightening his shoulders. "i will return tomorrow for a non medical consultation regarding a severe affection in my chest area, [reader]. and i will bring my subordinates to fix your porch. if they do a poor job, i will make them eat laxatives."

"please don't poison your subordinates," [reader] sighed, though her smile only widened as she looked at her chaotic master of the murim. "just bring some tea, watchman zaha. that will be more than enough."

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[a/n]: rothms! [reader] 🤝 rotmd! [reader] *attracting the attention of crazy costumers*

this one was lowk just a passing thought and i felt like i was gonna combust if i didn't write it down (o_O)

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​the trek back up the mountain trails of mount hua should have been a mindless routine.

but instead, chung myung was dragging his feet like a man marching towards an execution block.

his mind was still stuck a few hundred meters down the mountain, trapped on that rocky outcropping where he spent the last hour watching a woman walk home with two fat raccoons trailing behind her.

​it was infuriating.

he survived a bloody war, outlived his entire generation, and single-handedly dragged a dying sect back from the brink of extinction. yet a single, stubbornly quiet innkeeper was currently occupying ninety percent of his remaining brain cells.

​why the hell did she have to eat the rest of that root right in front of me? he grumbled internally, his jaw clenching. and why did she have to look so damn small when she flinched?

​he tried to shake it off, rolling his shoulders aggressively as if he could physically dump the lingering warmth in his chest into the dirt.

it was just the heavy pork ribs. or maybe the shaoxing wine had finally gone bad. yes, obviously! the alcohol was just defective.

​he was so busy aggressively lying to himself that he completely stopped paying attention to the terrain. right as the main path flattened out near the upper training grounds, his left foot caught the edge of a perfectly flat sidewalk crack.

​the divine dragon of mount hua, a man who could casually dodge lethal flying daggers while sleeping, tripped.

again.

he didn't just stumble either—he did a weird, undignified little skip hop forward. his arms flailing wildly for half a second before he caught his balance, coughing loudly to pretend like he had meant to do that all along.

​he kept walking, his chest tight with a weirdly hot core, completely oblivious to the world around him. he didn't even realize he had actually reached the mount hua sect gates until his shoulder slammed into the heavy wood, barging it open with a loud, obnoxious clack.

he didn't even notice the massive horde of disciples training their absolute butts off in the main courtyard. normally, the second his boots touched the stone, he'd be screaming at them to move faster, swinging a wooden sword at their shins, or calling them lazy worms.

but today he just kept walking straight through the crowd with a stupid expression on his face.

"...what's wrong with you?"

chung myung followed the voice, blinking the fog out of his eyes, and he saw his jo gul sasuk standing there, dripping with sweat and looking at him very weird. and i mean very weird.

"???"

now, chung myung didn't understand what he meant and couldn't find the words to express anything.

huh? safe to say he was confused at the sudden interrogation.

seeing as chung myung didn't bother responding, both jo gul and chung myung were now looking at each other with incredibly dumb expressions, the silence stretching out between them until it became actively embarrassing for everyone watching.

jo gul frowned, putting one hand on his hips and wiping his brow with the other. "you're acting very weird. i get that you're always weird but this is borderline weird."

what? i come back here after walking all this way and this is the first thing he says to me? chung myung's eye twitches.

the beautiful, warm memory of his jiejie instantly vanishing, replaced by his usual, healthy desire to inflict physical violence on his sasuk.

chung myung would very much like to beat the shit out of this sasuk of his for this, but he held his desire down through sheer force of will. instead, he forced his lips into a wide, terrifyingly sweet smile and crossed his arms over his chest.

"...you want a taste of my fist? perhaps sasuk wants more training."

the red haired man immediately senses the mood dropping into freezing territory. stop smiling! this bastard always means what he says when his eyes look that dead!

"—ahahahha sorry what did i say? i didn't say anything..." jo gul chuckled nervously, his bravado disappearing in a fraction of a second as he started whistling a completely fake tune, looking around at the clouds.

with a heavy sigh, chung myung then dismisses the whole interaction, waving his hand dismissively as he goes back to looking all weird and stuff, wandering off toward his quarters with his hands shoved deep into his white robes.

however, jo gul wasn't the only one who witnessed this bizarre display of non violence.

yoon jong, yu iseol, tang soso, and jogul all looked at each other, their eyes darting back and forth as they seemingly sent a highly complex, panic stricken message to each other without saying a single word.

did he get possessed by a ghost?

did someone hit him on the head with a very large rock?

why isn't anyone bleeding?

baek cheon emerged from the horde of disciples right at that moment, having just finished his own set of five hundred sword swings. he didn't have his upper robe on, so his excellent upper form was free for everyone to see, his pale skin glistening under the midday sun as sweat dripped down his collarbone, gliding down his chest until the drops hit the dusty ground.

the said baek disciple then notices that chung myung has returned and wanted to greet him like a proper, responsible senior.

"oh he—" he stops mid sentence, his jaw going slightly slack as he sees the stupid expression on chung myung's face.

"huh?" confusion displays on baek cheon's face, his righteous (pun intended) demeanor cracking instantly as he looks over at the group made up of third grade disciples and one second grade disciple.

the four shrugged their shoulders in unison.

what's with him? they thought simultaneously, their collective anxiety spiking because a quiet chung myung was infinitely more dangerous than a loud one.

eventually, after a few hours of watching him do absolutely nothing but stare at the ceiling and eat his rice without complaining, they all moved on from it and forgot about it. being weird is automatically a very chung myung thing to do, after all—it'd be even weirder if he wasn't acting like that really, so they just accepted it as another eccentric quirk of their resident monster.

but...

then came one of their morning sessions a few weeks later.

for the disciples of mount hua, it was common knowledge that you must wake up at the crack of dawn to train vigorously alongside everyone else.

there were no exceptions and no lazy mornings. they had to endure the endless, grueling routine of swinging swords until their palms bled, lifting heavy boulders until their spines popped, and climbing the very steep mountain trails with the said rocks attached to their backs looking like miserable turtle shells.

the atmosphere this morning was actually very good, considering the circumstances.

they were all motivated, shouting in unison, and working very hard to be strong. they had been thoroughly accustomed to this absolute hell (courtesy of a certain devil incarnate), pushing themselves to the brink of death on a daily basis until their muscles grew through pure spite.

all of the disciples, whether it be second-grade or third-grade disciples, they are all equal when it comes to the face of training.

no one escapes that terrifying equality. but that's fine, you know... they're used to it by now.

they're doing their best every single time—even now, with their lungs burning and their legs shaking (so as to not enrage and awaken the beast that usually slept with a wooden stick nearby)

so why the hell is chung myung here, walking down the training grounds with a seemingly dark gloom hanging over his shoulders as he approached all the disciples, his right fist tightly clenched at his side?

the entire courtyard went dead silent.

the only sound left was the wind howling through the pine trees.

oh, this is it.

i'm gonna die.

goodbye... sahyungs, sasuks, shijie, samae, elders, and sect leader... It was fun being with you all... please bury my sword with some decent alcohol and meat...

every single disciple braced themselves, expecting the wooden sword of doom to fracture their ribs into splinters.

but without missing a beat, chung myung then let out a bright, dazzling smile that didn't reach his eyes at all and proceeded to say to them, "my, my, you're all working so hard, huh?"

they were training strenuously without fail every single day, what the hell was the problem now?!

did someone breathe incorrectly? did someone look at the plum blossom trees the wrong way?!

they all thought that armageddon was about to happen right then and there.

but the exact opposite occurred.

"my dear sahyungs and sasuks, it's okay to take a break sometimes!" chung myung declared in total triumph, throwing his arms wide open like a benevolent saint who had just descended from the heavens.

huh?

the rest of the disciples' brains took a collective, synchronized nose dive into the dirt.

...is he being sarcastic?

is he saying that we're not training hard enough? Iim literally dying here already, you absolute bastard, my legs are turning into jelly!

chung myung displays a smile so bright and cheerful you can't tell whether it's real or he's just bullshiting you before delivering a lethal strike to your solar plexus.

but as the seconds ticked by, it didn't seem like they were going to be beaten up anytime soon.

he just stood there, looking incredibly pleased with himself. even humming a little tune under his breath.

and apparently, that wasn't even the end of it.

because after chung myung smiled and put his hands together in a polite gesture that felt deeply unnatural on him, he exclaimed that he had already requested elder hyun young to organize a massive feast for all of the disciples for working so hard, and they may all eat up to their hearts' content after today's session.

what...?!

he even requested elder hyun young—the man who guarded mount hua's finances like a vicious, gold hoarding dragon, the man who would normally skin a disciple alive if they wasted a single grain of rice—to organize a feast?! for the disciples?! for working hard?!

wtf?

what was wrong with chung myung now?

every single senior disciple present suddenly had a vivid, terrifying flashback to a few months ago.

back then, when they were training hard as usual under the scorching sun, one of the third grade disciples had dared to complain out loud, utterly exhausted.

"i'm... so freaking tired... wanna eat some... meat..." the poor disciple had muttered, sprawled out flat on the stone ground like a corpse, his sword lying three feet away.

now, that wasn't very wise of him.

because after he said that, chung myung went completely feral.

he spent the next forty five minutes screaming about how they were all being so incredibly shameless (why does the fault of one single person affect everyone else in the sect, you ask? because chung myung thrives on collective punishment, that's why!) and he decided to even upscale the difficulty of the training to an impossible degree. (if it wasn't hard enough already!!)

he beat the absolute soul out of the complaining disciple, tripled everyone else's boulder carrying weight, and never let anyone even look at the existence of meat for a few days.

and now they were suddenly being handed a feast on a silver platter?

did he poison the food? yeah, that seems like the most logical answer.

maybe he wants us to be attentive and stay vigilant even in the presence of very good food.

it's a test! a trap to see if we'll let our guards down!

(haha) chung myung didn't poison the food or do anything bad at all like what they're thinking, though. in fact, chung myung is just in an exceptionally good mood since his last little trip into town.

he hasn't stirred up any trouble, broken any local gang members' jaws, or done anything that would raise immediate concern for the past three weeks (which was practically a world record for him)

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now at the dining hall, every single disciple of mount hua was seated at the long wooden tables, and in front of them lay literal tons of food. whether it be roasted meat, savory duck, steaming baskets of dumplings, or rich stir-fried vegetables, the tables were practically groaning under the weight.

chung myung is very weird, sure, but they sure as hell were striking it rich today!

still, nobody was eating with any real enthusiasm.

they were all poking at their pork with chopsticks like they expected it to grow teeth and bite them back.

jo gul's jaw worked rhythmically, each bite incredibly slow and cautious as he chewed a piece of duck. "is this alright...?"

a few ears at the table perked up instantly, everyone leaning in to hear the verdict.

"i'm sure it's fine... maybe he just wanted to reward us for the hard work..." baek cheon responded. though his tone indicated he wasn't much sure either, his eyes constantly darting toward the door, expecting chung myung to burst in with a wooden stick.

"just, enjoy your food... its not everyday there's a feast like this," he adds, clearing his throat and trying to sound like a reassuring, confident sasuk despite the visible sweat drop rolling down his neck.

really? can we really enjoy this? the four (yu iseol, yoon jong, jo gul, and tang soso) all thought simultaneously, their stomachs twisting with a mix of hunger and terror.

"yes sasuk," various voices replied in unison anyway.

because free meat was still free meat, even if it came with a side of impending doom.

maybe they should just be grateful that chung myung rewarded them... but a feeling they couldn't quite describe pools from their stomachs.

dread.

and also...

they notice that he have been going out frequently since the last three weeks.

ever since he got into massive trouble because he stirred up a bloody fight with those southern edge disciples down in the market.

those bastards, chung myung thought whenever he remembered their smug faces.

they started it! (they didn't)

they were literally just walking down the street carrying groceries when chung myung was suddenly offended by their existence (and then all hell breaks loose but that's a story for later)

uh so yeah back to the topic—what was up with that? why was chung myung frequently going out almost every single day, disappearing into the mountains or the city for hours on end without dropping a single hint?

what could he be possibly doing and up to?

the four swords—baek cheon, jo gul, yoon jong, yu iseol—and tang soso are now huddled somewhere quiet in the back courtyard, all sitting in a circle on the grass.

they have all been unbearably quiet for the past twenty minutes, which would have been a very good thing under normal circumstances, if they weren't so clearly troubled from their own anxious thoughts.

"..."

they all stare at each other, not knowing how to break the heavy silence.

"don't you guys think chung myung is acting weird?" jo gul voices his thoughts out loud, chiming in once again because his nerves are practically frayed to a crisp.

yoon jong reacts almost immediately, nodding his head so hard his hair ornament nearly rattles off. "yeah..! he's not acting like himself at all! It's making me so anxious i can barely sleep at night!"

"..."

"have you guys seen what chung myung is doing these days?" the senior baek disciple asks hesitantly, his voice dropping to a whisper. afraid of what the answer may be, his fingers tapping against his sword hilt.

yoon jong's skin suddenly turns clammy, and a deep, involuntary shudder runs down his spine.

he looks over at jo gul, and jo gul looks right back at him with uncertain eyes.

"...we don't know for sure, but recently, it seems like he's been putting a lot of weight...?" irresolutely, jo gul answers the senior baek's question, gesturing vaguely around his own midsection.

"he's chubby," yu iseol states flatly.

she barely blinks, casually sipping from a cup full of water or wine or whatever it may be.

jo gul laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "but he regains his form back swiftly as well... he exercises it off the next morning but then he goes right back out and comes back looking full again..."

something awful pools from the stomachs of the four swords of mount hua.

the very quiet tang soso suddenly speaks up, her eyes narrowing as she leans into the center of the circle.

"actually... i saw him last night in louyang, when.. when i doing some errands. i saw him... he was carrying a massive, heavy sack over his shoulder... he was sneaking around the back alleys after midnight. and he was giggling to himself." soso whispers, her eyes darting to every disciple.

"—it was terrifying."

the entire group went utterly rigid, the color completely draining from baek cheon's face.

giggling. mount hua's divine dragon didn't giggle unless a minor sect was about to go completely bankrupt or someone was about to lose their front teeth in a brutal manner.

they all thought of one thing simultaneously: what kind of illegal, underground trouble is he stirring up this time?!

he's definitely buying black market weapons, or illegal elixirs, or he's plotting a cold blooded assassination of the southern edge sect leader!

(the actual context, of course, is that chung myung had spent the night threatening a wealthy merchant into selling him restricted import premium pork belly and rare foreign spices at a ninety percent discount just so he could haul them up to [reader]'s inn for her to cook for him)

completely convinced that chung myung is up to no good at all and is acting very suspicious, the four swords (alongside soso) have ultimately decided that once the sun sets, they're going to launch a full-scale tracking operation to figure out what the hell he's doing.

that very evening, the shadow of the divine dragon slips past the sect gates, a heavy bundle tucked tightly under his arm.

behind him, keeping a highly respectable, absolutely terrified distance so his human radar wouldn't detect their qi, the five disciples tail him through the mountain brush like a pack of nervous foxes.

they follow him all the way down into the city's market district.

darting from shadow to shadow, holding their breath every time he pauses to adjust his grip on his bundle.

finally, they watch him sneak through a narrow, unlit back alley and slip through the heavy wooden doors of a windowless, heavily locked warehouse.

a secret stronghold! jo gul thought, his chest thumping.

it's a cover up for something much bigger! a dark syndicate base!

they can't risk entering the perimeter without him immediately catching their scent, but at least they now know exactly where he has been going every single day.

with their hearts in their throats, they retreat back to the mountains to formulate a raid plan for the next morning.

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bright and early in the morning, before the disciples can even look at the warehouse plan, their sect leader hyun jong calls for chung myung into the main hall.

he orders him to escort an important merchant caravan down south and handle some official, incredibly tedious administrative chores for the sect.

(un)expectedly, chung myung throws an absolute, full-blown toddler tantrum right on the floor.

he loudly whines, thumping his fists, and insists he has "incredibly urgent business" to attend to today (which is just his code for wanting to eat [reader]'s savory tofu dish)

but because hyun jong uses his ultimate, unblockable technique of looking incredibly old, fragile, and sighing sadly with tears in his eyes (chung myung is a taoist at heart) he begrudgingly obliges, stomping out of the hall in a very terrible and murderous mood.

the four swords and soso are ecstatic.

this is their golden opportunity! chung myung is gone for the day, leaving the warehouse completely unguarded!

the five of them hurriedly gather in the courtyard, ready to move.

but out of the blue, the sect leader throws a massive wrench into their gears.

he steps out of the hall and calls out to them.

hyun jong orders baek cheon, yu iseol, and tang soso to accompany chung myung on the caravan mission.

for baek cheon and yu iseol, the reason is simple: they need to act as a physical leash to keep the divine dragon from accidentally beating the caravan clients out of sheer annoyance.

and for soso, it's a mandatory mandate to gain some much needed field experience since she's still below them in terms of experince in the wild.

the three of them look like they've just been handed a death sentence.

they have absolutely no choice but to leave the investigation entirely to yoon jong and jo gul.

baek cheon grabs yoon jong by the shoulders, sweat dripping down his face as he whispers with intense gravity, "we'll handle the monster... you two raid that warehouse. we trust you. be careful and don't.die."

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an hour later, yoon jong and jo gul are creeping through the silent back alley of luoyang, staring at the imposing wooden doors of the warehouse.

their hearts are pounding against their ribs like wild drums.

they expect heavily armed guards, deadly poison traps, or a pile of hidden corpses.

jo gul draws his sword by a single inch, his knuckles white against the hilt.

yoon jong takes a deep, stabilizing breath, raises his foot, and kicks the back door open with a loud bang!

they rush inside with their weapons ready, expecting a dark and dusty criminal dungeon.

instead, the warehouse door doesn't lead into a dark room at all. it actually connects directly to the sunlit and beautiful back courtyard and kitchen entrance of a hidden inn. the chaotic path maze of the mountain valley works in truly mysterious ways, acting as a natural spatial distortion.

the warm morning sunlight is streaming through the open courtyard, and the rich, intensely savory smell of bubbling beef broth, garlic, and fresh plum blossoms hits their noses in no time.

[reader] steps out from the kitchen right at that exact moment, wiping her hands on a clean linen apron, her long hair catching the golden morning light.

the two boys sees her.

she looks absolutely, breathtakingly beautiful.

yoon jong and jo gul completely freeze in their tracks. their swords lower by an inch, their brains entirely short circuiting as they stare at her.

jo gul's jaw drops slightly, his eyes wide as he looks at this calm and stunning woman who looks like an immortal fairy compared to the screaming, sweaty gremlins back at mount hua.

they stammer over their own tongues like complete idiots, trying to find words.

"uh, we—mount hua's sword—no, the warehouse—who are you?!" jo gul fumbles out, his voice cracking spectacularly as his cheeks instantly flare up into a bright, vibrant pink.

[reader], for her part, is internally screaming a tidal wave of curses. oh my god, there are more of them. they're wearing the same white robes. the devil's friends have found me. they're going to demolish my establishment.

forcing her face into a smooth blank mask, [reader] plasters her practiced, bright customer service smile onto her face like a desperate shield. "welcome, esteemed taoists of mount hua! what... uhm, what can i get for you?..." she coughs twice.

somehow managing to collect themselves through sheer willpower, yoon jong hurriedly nods, pulling a completely frozen jo gul toward a wooden table. "yes! yes, food! whatever is ready, please!"

they sit down, their nerves frayed. and within minutes, [reader] sets down two steaming bowls of rich, spiced noodle soup in front of them.

the two boys take a single bite of her food.

and holy shit.

was it so good.

it was genuinely a mind boggling experience.

the rich broth dissolved on their tongues like pure water, the meat melting instantly, leaving a warm, revitalizing trail of pure qi down into their cores.

yoon jong then has a moment of total cosmic clarity.

there is no dark conspiracy... there are no forbidden arts... the gluttonous bastard has just been sneaking out every single day to eat like a king! that's why his belly gained five pounds! he thought.

but as they keep eating, yoon jong frowns, looking around the very (un)usual quiet and pristine tavern. but what was up with this place, though? what's with the insane location? why does the path feel like a high level phantom array? is this woman a hidden grandmaster?

while yoon jong was busy analyzing the tactical mystery of the geography, the sheer comfort of the inn started doing something dangerous—it made them let their guards down.

since they didn't have to leave immediately to report back to a whiny, wooden sword wielding demon, they lingered a little longer.

one bowl turned into an order of steamed dumplings, which turned into a pot of warm tea, and before they knew it—the morning sun had drifted high into the afternoon sky.

and the more time they spent there, the more the initial shock of her appearance completely ruined their focus. jo gul and yoon jong couldn't help but make the silent, treasonous comparison in their heads—her beauty was easily equal to, if not better than, their own immaculate shijie, yu iseol.

but where yu iseol was like a sharp, unyielding block of northern ice, this madam felt like a gentle, warm plum blossom breeze that made you completely forget you were supposed to be a celibate monk.

the initial intimidation quickly faded into something infinitely worse for their collective peace of mind.

admiration.

she wasn't just beautiful, they realized.

she was incredibly gentle. a stark, breathtaking contrast to the violent chaos they dealt with at the sect every single day.

when two ginormously fat raccoons trotted out from the kitchen, she didn't shoo them away or yell.

she simply sighed with a fond warmth that made both of their chests tighten, setting down a few pieces of leftover vegetable scraps for them.

when she spoke to the two disciples, her voice was calm and patient and completely devoid of the sharp mockery they were so accustomed to hearing from their peers who looked down on mount hua.

she treated them with kindness that neither of them had realized they were utterly starving for.

and the food! the food was to die for.

by the time the light outside began to soften into a deep, lazy amber, the tea was cold, but neither yoon jong nor jo gul had made a single move to get up.

they were completely entranced.

listening to her talk about the daily rhythm of managing the quiet inn.

her small, rare smiles hitting them harder than any internal energy blast ever could.

the second [reader] finally reached out to gather their empty teacups, both boys practically scrambled out of their chairs at the exact same time, their knees slamming against the edge of the table in a synchronized rattle.

"a-allow me, miss!" jo gul stammered out, his face flushing a bright and furious crimson as he aggressively reached for the tray, trying his absolute best to act like a refined, wealthy merchant's son and a proper gentleman. "please, sit down! you've been on your feet all afternoon, you shouldn't be hauling such heavy ceramics!"

uh? but it's my job? a bead of cold sweat trickled down [reader]'s temple.

"no, really, let us handle it," yoon jong chimed in right behind him, his own ears glowing a distinct pink.

the usually steady and reliable senior disciple was suddenly fumbling with his own hands, his voice dropping into a polite earnest register as he carefully lifted the empty teapot. "it’s the least we can do to express our gratitude for your incredible hospitality today. please, let us."

[reader], internally sweating absolute bricks because two dangerous, sword wielding mount hua disciples were suddenly demanding to do manual labor in her tavern, tried to frantically pull the tray back toward herself. "oh, no, please, esteemed taoists, it's my duty to clean—"

"no, no, we insist!" jo gul blurts out, bowing slightly to her, his heart doing an unhelpful thud as his fingers accidentally brushed against hers over the porcelain edge. she's so soft, oh my god.

"please, allow us to carry these to the wash basin for you!"

without giving her a chance to argue, both boys stubbornly marched off toward the kitchen doorway. (practically elbowing each other out of the way in a silent struggle to see who could carry the heavier load)

[reader] was left standing by the empty table, staring at the kitchen entrance with a look of profound confusion, paralyzed.

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from inside the kitchen, the sounds of splashing water and the frantic clinking of ceramic echoed out into the quiet dining room.

jo gul was scrubbing a bowl with suchfurious intensity. his eyes fixed on the soapy water."senior brother..." he whispered, his voice incredibly tight. "i think... i think she've ruined me. i've never met anyone so gentle in my entire life."

yoon jong didn't answer right away.

he was meticulously drying a teacup with a linen cloth, his movements unusually stiff as he stared out the small kitchen window at the darkening sky.

his own chest felt heavy.

a strange, lingering warmth settling deep into his stomach as he picture her quiet and very patient smile from earlier. "...yeah," he managed to say. his voice was a little softer than usual, his knuckles tightening around the cloth.

but doing the dishes apparently wasn't enough to satisfy the sudden and overwhelming urge to be useful.

the moment the last porcelain cup was stacked neatly on the shelf, jo gul's eyes darted around the room and immediately locked onto a bamboo broom resting in the corner.

​before [reader] could even process that the washing noises had stopped, the two disciples emerged from the kitchen like a pair of highly motivated white-robed tornadoes.

jo gul grabbed the large broom and began sweeping the wooden floorboards inside the dining hall with intense martial arts-level precision. his shoulders moving in perfect form as he cleared away every microscopic speck of dust.

yoon jong, not wanting to be outdone, snatched up a smaller hand broom and went right outside to the porch. meticulously sweeping the stray plum blossom petals and dirt off the stone steps until the walkway practically gleamed in the twilight.

​[reader] stood by the counter, her broom less hands hovering awkwardly in the air as she watched two esteemed warriors of mount hua perform intensive janitorial duties in her establishment. what the hell is happening right now, she thought, a cold sweat breaking out on the back of her neck. did the devil send them to mock me? is this a new psychological torture tactic? what am i supposed to do?

​after making sure the inn was absolutely pristine inside and out, the two boys finally stopped, wiping their lightly sweating brows and looking incredibly proud of themselves!

yoon jong stepped up to the counter, his expression turning deeply earnest as he carefully reached into his sleeve and pulled out a small pouch, placing the exact proper amount of copper coins onto the wooden surface for the food, the dumplings, and the tea.

"thank you for the wonderful meal and for letting us rest here, miss," yoon jong said politely, his ears warming up again as he gave her a respectable bow.

jo gul quickly mirrored him. but as he stood up straight, his eyes darted from the madam to his senior brother.

a sudden, competitive spark flared up in his chest.

they had spent the entire afternoon here, yet they dont even know who she was. he couldn't just leave like this.

clearing his throat loudly, jo gul leaned over the counter slightly, his face flushing a bright, furious crimson as he blurted out the question before yoon jong could even open his mouth. "if... if it isn't too rude to ask, miss, what is your name?"

yoon jong froze, his eyes widening slightly as he stared at his junior brother.

he beat me to it! he thought as a wave of frustration washed over his stomach. this little bastard actually took the initiative!

[reader] blinked, caught off guard by the sudden intensity of the question, her customer service smile faltering for a split second. "oh... i am called [reader]," she replied softly.

her voice carrying that gentle rhythm that had been turning their brains to mush all afternoon.

"a beautiful name," jo gul stammered instantly, nodding like a broken toy as his heart did a violent, unhelpful backflip. "i'm jo gul, and this is my senior brother, yoon jong. we'll... we'll definitely come back again, miss [reader]!" he declared.

please don't. she continued smiling gently.

[reader] stared down at the neat little stack of coins, trying to process the intense blushing happening across the counter.

oh, at least these two pay the right amount... not that i'm complaining about the extra money! she thought. her mind automatically flashing back to a certain demon who routinely dumped massive, absolutely ridiculous pouches of platinum and gold and premium black market ingredients onto her counter without a single care for currency inflation.

"thank you for your patronage, esteemed taoists," [reader] murmured, bowing back slightly as she gathered the coins.

relief washed over her that they were finally leaving without breaking any of her furniture.

the two boys gave her one last lingering, incredibly soft look before finally turning around to walk out into the dark courtyard. though yoon jong was secretly shooting a murderous glare at the side of jo gul's head the entire way out.

they stepped through the tavern gate, their chests full of a strange, fluttering warmth as they started the long journey back up the mountain path.

they were both so entirely dazed, busy visualizing her gentle smile and repeating her name over and over in their heads, that neither of them paid a single bit of attention to the dark trail.

thump!

just a few meters outside the gate, right where the dirt road connected to the rocky incline, both yoon jong and jo gul caught their boots on a tiny, completely obvious tree root sticking out of the ground.

in a beautiful display of synchronized clumsiness, both of mount hua's one of the top disciples tripped simultaneously.

their arms flailing wildly as they pitched forward into the dirt with a loud, undignified groan, the hem of their pristine white robes instantly getting covered in mountain dust.

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[a/n]: y'all i just had a big ass meal so you guys are eating good too (づᴗ _ᴗ)づ♡ sorry for any mistakes! i was kinda rushing this cus i think i won't be able to update next week (╥_╥) sorry i'll make it up to you guys

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