Let's See What You're Hiding
Ah. I must've dozed off without realizing it.
While circulating the qi I'd gathered in my body throughout, it seemed I'd nodded off for a moment. Lately, my sleep had been minimal anyway. With everything going on, that was hardly surprising.
The Dark Immortal in the Dark Heavenly Realm used to nag me about it often. Even if my body no longer required much sleep, he said, forcing myself to rest occasionally was still part of cultivation. Amid the endless battles with aberrations, the deaths of fellow immortals I knew, and the mounting pressure fraying my nerves, nothing calmed the mind like quality sleep.
At first, I'd argued that sleeping comfortably in my situation was absurd—what good was rest when I could slay one more aberration instead? But with a heavy sigh, the Dark Immortal waved his hand over my face, and I blacked out into slumber. It lasted less than thirty minutes, but it was pure bliss. When I woke, my mind was sharper, my body refreshed.
After that, I asked him to put me to sleep first. Later, I learned the method myself and would snatch a few minutes whenever I had a break.
Ah, right—modern folks suffered from chronic insomnia, didn't they? They tried everything: sleep inducers, pills, herbal remedies, acupuncture. If those failed, they'd resort to heavy sedatives just to get some shut-eye.
Hmm... Since I'm planning to make medicine anyway, maybe I should whip up something for that too? A good drug could rake in a fortune easily.
Of course, developing a new drug didn't mean instant sales—clinical trials and post-market surveillance were hurdles. But if the efficacy and safety were ironclad, approval and launch would be swift...
Earth and the Dark Heavenly Realm differed, but if I found equivalent herbs, I could craft remedies akin to those I used for recovery—potions nearly identical to the immortals' elixirs. Sourcing ingredients? Delegate to the refined spirits. The real key was the alchemist's skill.
Not to toot my own horn, but mine was exceptional. Even the immortals and Great Immortals acknowledged it. They marveled that someone who'd been a mere Earthling until recently could hunt aberrations like a master and brew potions on their level.
Hmm. For insomnia in the Dark Heavenly Realm, there were century-old dung beetles, snail sleepweed... I wriggled my fingers and toes, sifting through layers of knowledge in my mind—
Ah. Someone's coming.
I sensed a presence. Rowdy and familiar. Hwa-jeong and Pung-jeong were on their way.
Moments later—
Screeech. The window slid open.
But Hwa-jeong was nowhere in sight—only Pung-jeong rushed over in a fluster. Beside him hovered a death spirit with a cloudy, worried face, fidgeting anxiously.
Something had happened.
「Master! Big. Trouble!」
【What happened?】
I cut off the death spirit's words. Pung-jeong, bursting with things to say, bounced around frantically before catching his breath—or pretending to—and blurted out.
「The box. Sucked. It. All. In!」
Huh. They were good listeners, so they wouldn't have disobeyed and pried open the lid... right?
「Master. Listened. Didn't. Touch. The lid. Got. Close. And it. Opened. By. Itself. Then. Whoosh! Sucked. In!」
<Fortunately, this one wedged a peach branch in to keep the lid from closing fully. You even spoke through the gap. I'm so sorry, Mountain God—it's my fault for asking...>
【A peach branch?】
<Yes. We planted a peach tree over the buried box. The monk said it would suppress its eerie power, so our family did for generations.>
A peach tree. Known since ancient times for warding off evil spirits.
【So Hwa-jeong's still inside the box.】
「Yes. Too. Far. Away. Dark. Scary. Hurry!」
Too far away? That meant the box's interior wasn't ordinary space.
I pondered briefly.
Bring the box here? Too risky. And as I'd suspected, it nearly devoured a nature spirit too.
From the death spirit's account, once the whoosh hit and the lid snapped shut, the victim's spirit essence was ripped away. Instant death for a human.
「Master. Please. Hurry. Save. Friend.」
Pung-jeong sniffled.
I sorted my thoughts swiftly, devising a plan. A spirit-devouring box, huh? Then...
Me going in would resolve it fastest. Cleanest too.
No time to down ginseng liquor and regather qi now. I'd have to borrow a bit from the Heavenly Wood like last time.
Felt like snatching back what I'd already given, but desperate times.
First, I appealed to the Heavenly Wood.
Not sure if it'd understand, but asking politely before forcing it out was proper.
I focused on the Heavenly Wood. Please share a little of what you took last time—just enough for this. I'll repay it right after, with ginseng liquor and plenty of energy.
I sent that intent. Moments later—
Oh ho. Qi welled from my right palm, surging up my arm.
The Heavenly Wood had grasped my meaning, somehow.
Handy for next time too. Though I wouldn't treat it like a portable battery forever—just emergencies like this.
I channeled the Heavenly Wood's qi into my Spiritual Eye—
And soon, I slipped free of my body, floating lightly. Astral projection success—now a living spirit.
Looking down, hmm, my body's condition was rough. Mom and Bin-i had shown me via mirror, but seeing the full view...
Well, eleven years flat on my back would do that.
【Guard my body. I'll be away briefly.】
「Body. Leaving? Why? Master. Dangerous?」
Pung-jeong trembled, staring up in panic.
「Master. Going. In. Person. To. Fix. Box? If. Master. Gets. Whooshed. No. Can't!」
【No such risk.】
I spoke with firm certainty. His shaking eased, then stopped. His round eyes gazed up, brimming with even deeper trust and faith than before.
「Right. Trust. Master. Strong. That. Weird. Box. To. Bits. Save. Friend. Too.」
Pung-jeong puffed up huge, wrapping around my body.
「No. Matter. What. Protect. Master!」
Invisible to ordinary eyes, but mine saw it: Pung-jeong's power whirling fiercely around me. Anyone approaching with ill intent would regret it.
【Lead me to the box.】
<Yes!>
The anxious death spirit took the lead. We reached the spot quickly.
I'd told Hwa-jeong and Pung-jeong to bury it in some secluded rear-mountain nook if they brought it. Not buried, but secluded it was: midway down a sheer cliff, in a hollowed crevice, sat the box—with a peach twig jammed in the lid.
I didn't approach right away, observing from afar.
Not out of fear, but because the faint energy leaking from the box felt... familiar.
A jumble of things, but boiled down: a mass of corrupted spirits.
That was my expertise.
<Um, are you sure you'll be okay?>
Mistaking my caution for hesitation, the death spirit spoke up timidly. Instead of answering, I approached the box.
They said it'd opened on its own near Hwa-jeong and Pung-jeong. But as I neared—
Clack clack clack! The lid thrashed to shut.
Yeah. It sensed I was dangerous.
Having a brain meant it had will and thought.
Clack clack clack clack! As I reached for the lid, it jerked wildly—but this wooden "shell" couldn't yet wield power outward.
So it'd waited, buried, biding time to surface.
Without the monk's warning, it'd have devoured countless spirits, grown larger, wreaked more havoc on people.
One oddity: no malice or hatred emanated from it.
Corrupted spirits usually stemmed from tragic tales, driving them mad to harm the living. They whisper and stew in grudge, rage: Why me? It's unfair. You all must suffer too. Like the evil spirit's Delusion Pouch muttering to Bin-i—obsessing until they pounce and corrupt the living.
But this box? Less "Join my ruin!" hatred, more profound loneliness and hunger.
A chest so empty it ached with cold isolation, craving any company. A starvation so fierce it'd devour its own flesh.
Pure malice? I'd smash it outright. But loneliness and hunger? Needed my special touch first.
Thud! I gripped the lid; the box quivered in panic.
Left hand clutching the peach twig, right forcing the resisting lid wide open. I yanked the twig back—
Hwa-jeong, dangling precariously from its end, tumbled out.
「Master!!」
Sniffling one moment, beaming the next as he flew at me. I waved him off and plunged straight into the box.
Alright. Let's see what you're hiding.
'This is driving me insane, for real.'
Choi Du-cheon paced his office, tearing at his hair. Each yank dislodged clumps from his already thinning scalp.
Normally, he'd fret over every lost strand. Not now. No room for that.
'Kill a person? What the hell!'
The silver-framed glasses man had asked point-blank if he'd ever killed. Then came the absurd follow-up—with a tantalizing reward.
'Kill Kang San, that patient, and he'll fund a state-of-the-art hospital anywhere I want, packed with top gear.'
Choi Du-cheon wasn't stupid. Accepting meant a leash around his neck forever.
'He said it'd be a one-time thing...'
He didn't buy it. If useful once, why discard a tool? Next job, they'd reuse him.
'Just... check on him. Observe only.'
A vegetative patient awake after eleven years. He could communicate, wiggle fingers and toes—but sudden decline? Possible.
'That'd be ideal for me.'
Choi Du-cheon feigned calm, heading to the fifth floor as if nothing was amiss.