Chapter 1

A Day In The Life Of A Second-Year Martial Artist

A-Qing, a survivor of the modern world, had grown into a wandering vagabond of the Murim. This meant she was an individual capable of comparing two vastly different civilizations.

The life of a single factory worker in the modern age was hardly pleasant. Work was awful, people were often awful, and all of it wore a person down until they spent their days exhausted, unable to sleep when they wanted and constantly rubbing their tired eyes.

Even so, there was no real problem with living.

If she lived alone, she could more or less eat whatever she wanted and get by.

Most importantly, there was no dangerous work that made her feel her life was under threat.

But what about Murim, a primitive world resembling ancient China?

In a place like that, anyone without strength or money simply died. There was no other path.

For the past year, A-Qing’s life in this world had been nothing but a grim, continuous struggle to stay alive.

At the very least, people in Korea did not draw knives over eye contact or kill each other in sword duels because their shoulders brushed.

For a modern person with a fragile mind, surviving in such a savage civilization was nearly impossible.

And yet, A-Qing was still alive and breathing.

Of course, there were several reasons for this miracle.

First, A-Qing’s body was too strong.

To put it in modern terms, when creating his character, he had followed a guide and poured everything into strength and stamina to survive the brutal early stages of the game.

When A-Qing opened her eyes, she found herself inside the body of the character she had made.

She was stronger than most men, and her body, as tough as steel, barely knew fatigue.

Most importantly, her chosen Constitution had been perfect.

A-Qing’s Constitution, Blood Poison, neutralized every poison that existed within the story.

Even food poisoning counted as poison, which meant she could eat anything without getting sick.

She could really eat anything and be fine.

That was how A-Qing survived.

Since she could not even meet the eyes of third-rate unorthodox thugs, she ended up fighting beggars over discarded food. Stealing potatoes and radishes was not easy either, and she was beaten by farmers more than once.

That was how she endured an entire year.

And now, in her second year in the Central Plains, she had finally become a proper martial artist.

For A-Qing, that was a meaningful milestone in its own way.

That’s right. I’m a real martial artist now too, already in my second year. I should try living more like one… No, more like a human being.

Just moments ago, she had taken the head of a wanted criminal to the administrative office and collected the bounty.

At this rate, I’m becoming a fine Murim thug myself. Mm. Excellent.

A-Qing’s proud chest puffed out.

It was the confidence of a Jianghu beginner who had survived a little over a year in the Central Plains.

And this wasn’t unique to A-Qing. Around a year after stepping onto the martial path was usually when a person’s confidence reached its peak.

Of course, A-Qing herself was not completely sure whether she had truly entered her second year.

It was not as if she had been counting each day like a castaway on a deserted island or a kidnapping victim locked away in some dark room.

Still, she had arrived in this world during warm spring, endured the winter, and now the weather was beginning to grow warm again.

So it should be roughly her first anniversary.

Memories of humiliating days flashed through her mind.

When she first opened her eyes, naked and thrown into a completely unknown world, there was almost nothing she could do.

After all, money did not simply fall from the sky.

And this was not a game where she could barge into someone’s house, smash a few jars, open some boxes, and steal openly right in front of the owner.

Of course, if no owner was around, that was another matter. There were even professionals who specialized in that sort of thing.

However, even robbing an empty house required far more skill than she had expected.

If she had known things would turn out like this, she would have become a burglar instead of a factory worker.

Fortunately, there was one thing that worked just like in a game.

If you killed people, money came out.

People of the Central Plains carried money pouches called money bags.

Once the owner disappeared, whoever picked it up became the next owner. So if you killed someone, you could proudly inherit their money bags.

Even so, A-Qing was always poor.

That was because A-Qing was not a murderous robber after money.

Even when she killed, she only chose bad people.

If she cut off a head and carried it dangling to the government office, there was a low chance she could receive a bounty.

However, the amount she earned that way was not much.

Once you left home, everything from eating to sleeping costs money.

To exaggerate a little, even breathing costs money. Naturally, her lifestyle had to be stingy.

But today, she would cast aside that stinginess. It was a day worthy of a grand celebration. It was her one-year anniversary!

“Hey, waiter!”

At A-Qing’s words, the waiter rushed over.

Beside his nose was a mole the size of a housefly.

That alone made it obvious this was no ordinary inn. A mole on a waiter’s face was a sign of fortune. The larger and clearer the mole, the higher the waiter’s wages. By looking at the waiter’s mole, one could judge the prestige of the establishment.

“What is this place good at?”

“There is no dish we cannot make, but today’s recommendation is chicken steamed together with ginger and then fried with a drizzle of dark soy sauce and oil. The chickens came in from the cockfighting pits today, so the flavor is extraordinary.”

The waiter skillfully recommended a dish.

A veteran waiter who had started at fourteen and was soon approaching his thirtieth year on the job could size up a customer at a glance.

She was wearing patched light armor here and there, so she was a poor female swordswoman of the murim.

The area beneath her eyes was hollow and dark, but her expression was not tired.

So she must be a guest trying to commemorate something good enough to forget her exhaustion.

Since she was dressed poorly, something plentiful and greasy would be better than something small in quantity.

All that talk about the cockfighting ring was pure bullshit.

In truth, even the waiter did not know much about it.

Still, it was only a chicken dish, not even duck.

At least this much lip service was necessary for the customer to feel good.

A-Qing, a mere second-year “chick” of the Murim, had no idea what the waiter was thinking. She was simply happy.

Chicken!

Fried chicken!

The soul food of Koreans!

“Will you be needing alcohol as well?”

“Yes! Huaju. One bottle of something strong!”

“In that case, how about Bi Hongju? It comes from the Biga Distillery just behind here. Though they are only in their first generation, their brewing spirit is said to be no ordinary thing. Even the elders of the Beggar Sect praise it in one voice.”

A brewery that was only in its first generation could not, even as empty praise, be called a maker of good liquor.

On top of that, the talk about the elders of the Beggar Sect was complete fraud.

As if beggars would know the taste of alcohol when they just guzzled anything down.

In the end, it was nothing more than verbal packaging.

But that packaging made the customer feel good.

“One order of fish-fragrant sweet-and-sour chicken! And one Bi Hongju!”

The waiter shouted the order as he moved away.

Shouting the order was not for informing the kitchen.

Nor was it for confirming with the customer that the order was correct.

It was to inform the other guests in the inn that this person had ordered that.

The more expensive the order, the louder the voice. Sometimes, when a truly big customer came in, the waiter would even go out to the main road in front of the inn and shout.

However, A-Qing’s order was not at a level that required the waiter to raise his voice loudly.

It was simply because the waiter had seen right through A-Qing’s heart.

What a poor customer expected was obvious.

Unaware of that consideration, A-Qing was all smiles.

The other guests who saw A-Qing in the inn also burst into small laughs.

They immediately understood roughly what was going on.

Only A-Qing did not know.

A-Qing. Two whole years of surviving in Murim.

***

In the previous era, there was a song beloved by a legendary band of righteous outlaws, or bandits, depending on who you asked.

Its opening line was especially unforgettable.

Heroes don’t waste time studying.

However, the era of ignorant sword-swinging had passed, and the age of martial learning had arrived. Martial arts, too, had become a branch of study.

The higher the martial art, the more its principles touched the truths of the world. In fact, one could not become a peerless master without contemplating the “Tao” and philosophy.

However, the number one expert of that era, the man once called the Greatest Under Heaven, had loved that song.

His title was the Greatest Martial Emperor.

A truly fearsome name.

Even if he was the number one under heaven, how could he dare proclaim himself emperor or impersonate an emperor through his title?

That was no different from challenging the Jade Emperor directly.

And so, they truly did fight.

The stern Jade Emperor was not one to ignore a challenge. With just a single accusation of treason, the armies of all under Heaven could be gathered.

And the outcome?

The Greatest Martial Emperor proved worthy of his title.

Had he lost, history would have remembered him with some pathetic nickname like “The Small Fry Who Defied Heaven” or “Traitor Against Heaven.”

It was famous how the Greatest Martial Emperor crushed thirty thousand imperial guards, grabbed the emperor by the collar, climbed to the top of the imperial palace, and sang a rewritten version of his favorite song.

Heroes don’t care about what others think!

When the whole world is beneath me, what does it matter?

Even if my status is lowly,

Who would dare block my path?

Thus, the Greatest Martial Emperor successfully redefined the relationship between the government and the murim, creating a new law: government and murim would not interfere with each other and would pretend not to know each other.

In that way, the Greatest Martial Emperor became the godfather of all murim people.

Later, he even brought the legend of ascending to Heaven as a Daoist Immortal into reality, leaving behind an immortal legacy as an undying symbol.

His musical achievement, composing the song most beloved by martial artists of that era, was merely an added bonus.

He was truly the definition of a man who defined an age.

However, there were consequences.

Some people misunderstood the lyrics, taking “Heroes don’t care what others think!” to mean that anyone who cared about others’ gazes could not be called a hero.

Then, anyone who acted cautiously because of other people’s gazes was not a hero, right?

The ascended Greatest Martial Emperor would probably be lamenting above Heaven, beating his chest in frustration.

And because of that, here in this place…

Jo Gaksan, known as the Virtuous Gale of Cheongha, considered himself a hero.

He was sharing a meal with his sworn brothers.

Together, Jo Gaksan and his three sworn brothers were called the Four Heroes of Cheongha, and they had some pride in the fact that they were somewhat famous.

Then, suddenly, he spotted a familiar face.

An Seong-il, the Ugly Devil of Jeungyeo.

Despite the title, his appearance was actually fairly decent.

The name Ugly Devil of Jeungyeo did not refer to his face, but to the filthiness of his crimes.

His main trade was human trafficking, and beyond that, he was a complete bastard who had committed every kind of evil imaginable, including theft, robbery, murder, rape, arson, and fraud.

A hero cuts down evil on sight and does not overlook evil. Of course, provided the evil is weaker than them!

An Seong-il was known to be at the early stage of the Peak Realm, while Jo Gak-san was only at the late stage of the First-Rate Martial Artist. But this was why he had sworn brothers; what other reason was there to travel as a group of four?

There had to be a reason why four men went around together so inconveniently.

A great cause.

Each of the Four Heroes of Cheongha was weaker than An Seong-il, but if the four of them joined forces, they were strong.

Because that was who they were.

Indeed, they could not overlook evil!

After weighing the odds from every possible angle, Jo Gaksan finally reached a decision.

Heroes do not care about what others think.

And worrying about others’ think included things like causing a commotion in a crowded inn during dinner, along with the direct and indirect harm it might bring to the people nearby.

Compared to the noble cause of carrying out justice and eradicating evil, such small collateral damage was insignificant.

The Virtuous Gale of Cheongha silently exchanged looks.

Jo Gaksan tapped the table three times.

Then, all four of them leapt forward at once.

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