Return
Since nursing hospitals were recognized as medical institutions in the 1990s, they had carried a strong image of being "hospitals where elderly patients spend their final days." Over the years, they'd undergone quite a few changes, with specialized facilities emerging for various diseases beyond just the elderly. But public perception remained poor.
If you stopped a random passerby on the street and asked what immediately came to mind when they heard "nursing hospital," positive responses would be rare. In people's heads, these places didn't connect to anything comfortable, fresh, or peaceful.
The moment you stepped into a ward, that distinctive smell hit your nose—a stench of bodily waste that even disinfectants and medications couldn't fully mask, lingering in the air. Especially for those reaching the age where they might end up there, or close to it, nursing hospitals prompted grimaces and head shakes without fail.
As their energy waned day by day and every joint ached, many elderly folks dragged themselves to orthopedic or neurosurgery clinics at dawn for physical therapy, picked up meds, booked daily hot baths, and still soaked in the steaming tubs. They'd say things like:
"Once you go in there, you don't come out unless you're a corpse."
"I'd rather die at home than step foot in one. Even if I have to hire help with my own money, I'll live and die in my house. Damn right!"
"Even sane people lose their minds there. The lady next door was fine, but after wetting the bed a few times at night, her kids shoved her into a nursing hospital, and she went weird fast—can't even speak properly now. Tsk tsk. They bragged about raising their kids so well. Yeah, right. Look at them jumping at the chance to dump her."
"Doctors and nurses treat dementia patients like garbage, ignoring and belittling them. Not all dementia is the same, you know? There are meds now. Mild and severe are different. We old folks know that, but they look at anyone with dementia like a lunatic."
"You can't trust nursing hospital doctors. They figure the patients are half-gone anyway, so they don't bother with top-tier care—just half-ass it."
"They even beat patients who don't listen, from what I hear. Check the news. Punching, pinching, force-feeding. And if someone chokes to death? No one would even know!"
Not every nursing hospital was like that, of course. But with major news scandals and hearsay from "someone who knew someone," the stigma persisted. As the elderly population grew, the need for these places increased, but perceptions didn't improve.
So the evaluation of Happiness Nursing Hospital, a fairly large, top-rated facility, wasn't much different—
"Hmm hmm hmm~"
But for caregiver Lee Pil-nyeo, humming as she pressed the elevator button, all that talk was irrelevant. No matter what others thought, to her, the nursing hospital was a precious workplace that put food on the table.
After years as a housewife, she'd gotten certified to care for her mildly demented mother-in-law at home. Once the old woman passed, Lee Pil-nyeo landed a job here and was content with her life. Sure, she saw all sorts of filth and it was exhausting, but compared to caring for her mother-in-law? Heaven.
The dementia had worsened—after scarfing down a full meal, the woman would scream that her daughter-in-law was starving her to death, spewing curses, spit, fists, and kicks. But here, staff could manage patient behavior to some degree. Plus, she got heartfelt thanks from families sometimes, along with fruits or snacks "for all your hard work." It made the job worthwhile.
"Hmm hmm hmm~"
Stepping off on the fifth floor, Lee Pil-nyeo headed straight for the special patient's private room.
Creak.
"Hello."
They said ears worked until the very end, even for vegetative patients. Having seen news about that, she always greeted brightly upon entering.
"Must've been stuffy, huh? Hang on just a sec. I'll get you all fresh and clean."
She checked the special patient's condition and handled the essentials swiftly. Top priority: changing the diaper. Leaving waste on the skin too long caused sores and infections—especially for someone who couldn't move on their own.
"Your color looks even better than yesterday."
It was the same as always, but she joked anyway while wiping the groin and buttocks spotless, fitting a fresh, fluffy diaper, and pulling up the pants.
"Feels nice and cool now, right?"
Flashing a warm smile, she tossed the soiled gloves, donned new ones, and gently wiped the patient's face with wet wipes before launching into chatter.
"You know, my son this time—"
Private room, one patient—no other ears around, so she could talk freely. And working in silence felt awkward.
"So my boy's heading to the dorm soon, and we're prepping his stuff—"
She kept talking while her hands stayed busy—wiping thoroughly, double-checking vitals, confirming everything was good before leaving.
Creak.
The door shut, silence returned.
A moment later.
Pffuuuh—
A deep breath escaped the lips of the motionless special patient.
* * *
Ah. I'm back. To Earth.
My head felt blank, like I'd taken a punch. At first, I had no clue, but that cheerful voice just now jogged my memory.
That's my caregiver's voice.
Unlike the first person here when I arrived at Happiness Nursing Hospital, she was kind, gentle, quick-handed—minimizing discomfort. Name... right, Lee Pil-nyeo.
Recalling her name brought more details flooding back. Lee Pil-nyeo. 65 years old. One son, one daughter. Husband's a deep-sea fisherman. Got certified for her mother-in-law's mild dementia care, took the job here after she passed. Saves her husband's salary diligently—not for a dingy basement in a sketchy area when the kids move out, but a decent one-room.
I knew all that because she chattered nonstop while wiping my face or changing diapers. My time in the Dark Heavenly Realm was longer than Earth's, so listening to her added up to decades here. Ancient history now—not every word stuck, but this one did: her bragging about her son acing the foreign language high school entrance exam.
Handsome like his maternal grandpa, smart as hell. Skipped pricey tutors, self-studied past the cram-school kids into that top school. And now she's talking dorm supplies? Spot on—that timeline.
Even though I didn't choose return, they sent me back anyway. The Administrator.
To my bedridden, helpless days.
I didn't rage right away. Those messages guiding me in the Dark Heavenly Realm—never lied, if not exactly friendly. Said they'd grant "due compensation" via Administrator authority.
So maybe sending me to Earth was part of it. Those words thanked me for my sacrifices and efforts. No way they'd dump me back empty-handed to my most pathetic era.
Yeah. They must've given me something. But if not... I'd curse the Administrator with my dying breath.
I learned in the Dark Heavenly Realm: human will has real power. A lifelong curse with full resolve? It'll hit someday.
So, what'd they give me? The Administrator knew my deepest wish—probed my soul with those messages, karma points fluctuating per choice.
First things first: this body.
Hoo, hoooo—
The nasal tube was annoying, but I focused, deep-breathing, scanning inward. Still couldn't twitch an eyelid, finger, or toe. But one thing worked: breathing.
So, start with the breathing technique.
The immortals tried everything to revive my body. First up: teaching respiration.
They'd boil herbs into a medicinal bath, lay me in—face above water at first for basic breaths, later fully submerged, breathing through a reed in my mouth. Gradually built qi inside, circulated it fully, and finally, I moved from limbs inward.
That first finger twitch under my will? Electric thrill! I sobbed snot and tears.
Done it once—not as hard the second time.
Inhale through nose, exhale. Imagine the air's energy spreading to every extremity. Again.
How much time passed? Lee Pil-nyeo came back, rambling about husband, son, daughter. I tuned it out. Just breathe in, out.
Once, Ge Seonin of the Eight Great Immortals told me my true talent was "focus." My name Kang San embodied it—once locked in, I stayed mountain-steady, heavy, silent till resolved.
The others disagreed, each claiming different strengths... but thinking of them brought the Dark Heavenly Realm to mind. My home, my world for so long.
It'd be fine now. Revived Heavenly Wood growing wild, purifying the realm. New life sprouting—immortals reborn someday, wandering freely.
I smiled inwardly at visions of lush branches heavy with fruit, comrades flitting through.
"—?!"
Sudden familiar heat and pain in my right palm. Sizzling, burning...
Like when I decided to revive the Heavenly Wood.
What? What's happening?
Can't lift my hand to check—frustrating.
The heat spread from palm to whole body. Skin crackling like fire, but bearable. I'd rolled in fire pits training with Hwa Seonin—boiling lava even.
Was this the Administrator's reward?
While pondering, the heat climbed arm, chest, neck—to my face.
And—
I opened my eyes.