The Suspicious Ancient Book
"Haaah..." Bang So-un let out a long yawn. He was currently in the Golden Dragon Battlefield's library. But not just any library—it was the secret one. Only the fortress lord and those he permitted could enter. Rare books that were hard to obtain and martial arts manuals were shelved here.
He'd come with the idea of learning a new internal energy cultivation method, since the one he'd practiced was nothing special anyway. But it wasn't all that impressive. As expected, martial arts you could buy with money had their limits. Forget the secret arts of prestigious sects—even mid-tier sects' techniques were nowhere to be found. Of course they wouldn't sell their lifelines for a few coins.
Once a martial art leaked to the outside, it was half-dead. Not only could counters be developed, but facing an opponent who knew your signature moves versus one who didn't was worlds apart.
Still, there were some decent ones scattered around. Mastering those would probably earn him first-rate master treatment. His old self would have jumped for joy, forsaking food and sleep to devote himself to them...
What a hassle. He wasn't a kid anymore—how much time would it take to learn something like that at his age? Besides, did he really need martial arts? There was that old saying: those who only use their own abilities are low-class, while those who use others' are high-class. It rang true. Why sweat for years over these manuals when Jang Il could hook him up with a first-rate female expert to keep by his side?
Yeah, he was the fortress lord. Mastering the art of employing people was enough. He gave up on finding a new cultivation method.
For some enjoyable nights, maybe he'd look into bedroom arts instead. He scanned the shelves idly. Then, in the farthest corner of the library, one book caught his eye. For some reason, he felt compelled to open it. Probably just a whim, but it nagged at him enough to walk over and pull it out.
"Cough cough." Dust billowed out in a massive cloud the moment he touched it. His pristine white robes, freshly donned that morning, were now filthy. Grimacing, he brushed the musty dust off the book first, then patted his clothes while setting it on a corner shelf. The floor around him was instantly blanketed in gray.
Bang So-un picked up the book and moved to a cleaner spot where sunlight streamed warmly through the window. Sitting down, he examined the now dust-free cover. No title.
How did a book like this end up in the Golden Dragon Battlefield's secret library? Who knew. Maybe it was one of those fateful encounters from stories—falling off a cliff to find a thousand-year snow ginseng, azure spirit oil, and some ancient master's manual smiling back at you. Or bumping into a beggar in the market who turns out to be the head of a one-succession mystery sect, insisting you become his disciple because he likes your build. Or stumbling into a thatched hut in the mountains where a sword immortal had quietly retired, only to have ascended, leaving just his manual behind. And the ending's always the same: thanks, gulp, now I'm the world's greatest.
Man, how he'd envied those protagonists as a kid. True or made-up, who cared. This book reeked of that kind of serendipity. His senses, honed by devouring countless martial tales, told him so.
With subtle anticipation on his face, Bang So-un turned the page.
Mu Gam-ja. Anyone with a name that unique always had a backstory—and was always a master. Things were looking promising. He flipped quickly.
This one is an unusual man. Yet he truly wished to be ordinary. This book records the life of this one, who spent a lifetime seeking the path to normalcy.
Unusual? Wished to be ordinary? The sorrow of an author too skilled in martial arts to mingle with mortals seeped through. And anyone who called themselves "this one" wasn't weak. He was hooked. His hand trembled slightly as he turned the page.
This one was born without touch, pain, pressure, cold, or heat sensation. He alone could not feel what all humans knew. He yearned to truly know the chill of ice, the burn of fire, the weight of stone, the softness of a woman's body, the bite of a blade.
Damn it all. A real Insensate Child? Bang So-un's face soured. Serendipity? More like dogweed stench. Still, he kept reading just in case—no martial arts mentioned. It was all about wandering the world to cure his affliction. But the epic travelogue was engaging enough that he got lost in it. When he read about crossing to India and reaching the Western Regions, he even thought, Damn, what a guy.
Yet even there, no cure. Poor bastard. Never settling down, drifting a lifetime just to be normal. Most tragic of all, never feeling the lively softness and bounce of a woman's breasts and ass. Demanding martial arts from a guy like that? Shameless.
Nearing the end, one passage caught his eye.
When this one returned to the Central Plains after twenty years, his body was old and sickly. He knew little life remained. His lifelong passion had withered before time. Seeking a place to die, he went home. And there he met him—YU Baek-gi, a man whose divine medical skills surpassed Hua Tuo and Bian Que, the title Absolute Divine Doctor fitting him perfectly.
Yu Baek-gi? The Absolute Divine Doctor was the greatest physician in martial history—no one else could claim that "absolute" moniker.
Yu Baek-gi heard this one's tale and pitied him deeply. After a brief pulse check, he diagnosed it as a skin receptor anomaly. Even he said it was incurable. Hesitant, he added to the disheartened this one, "However..." He could brew a drug amplifying skin sensations dozens of times, though temporarily. Dangerous for the world, but this one's story moved him. When asked why dangerous, he explained a normal person would die from shock from a mere needle prick. This one swore repeatedly to use it carefully. Four days later, he gave three small pills.
"Ah... as expected of Yu Baek-gi." Bang So-un sighed in admiration. No Central Plains doctor, not even in India or the West, could fix it—yet he could, temporarily. Why'd heaven send such a miracle only when the poor guy was old?
The book was almost done.
At the brothel, all stared oddly. Turned away from the grand ones, he entered the shabbiest. The owner eyed his ragged look before finally ushering an old retiree to a room. She had sad, story-filled eyes reflecting this one's form. Ah, such a woman suffices. Why did this one seek beauty at the end, ensnared by delusion?
"Damn, this is sad." Bang So-un's eyes reddened. He wanted to send one of the Golden Dragon's pretty maids into the book for him.
Trembling with tension, this one swallowed the pill and embraced her. Ah, is this the softness of woman's flesh touching his hand? The warmth on his body—human temperature? The sagging breasts pressing his skin—pressure? All sensations so novel he couldn't distinguish them, but one thing was clear: this one had finally become ordinary.
Ah, thank you, Yu Baek-gi.
The final page.
This one used only one pill from Yu Baek-gi. Life's wish fulfilled left no regrets, but also for future unfortunates like him. No guarantee another Yu Baek-gi would exist then. Not a Great Reversion Pill or Clarity Pill, no normal person would covet it. But one who reads to the end knows its danger. Handle carefully to avoid harm. Reader, I beg: if fated to meet one afflicted like this one, deliver these pills.
On the very last page, a crumpled cloth pouch was attached. Curious, he opened it—two small pills, just as described.
"Is this the serendipity...?" Bang So-un scratched his head, face a mix of emotions. He'd pass them on if he met someone afflicted... but unlikely. Then he could use them freely. Tricky utility, though—temporarily amplifying skin sensations dozens of times. He'd figure something out later. Heaven wouldn't drop this weird fate otherwise. The thick dust suggested he was the first to read it since it arrived at the Golden Dragon.
"Eh, I'll think on it slowly." Time to grab the completed Jeolhwadae uniforms from Hwang Bo-seol and head to Jang Il. He shelved the book, pocketed the pills, and left the library.
She opened her eyes, but darkness reigned. Black cloth bound them. The feel against her back was a chair's backrest. Seated, her hands were bound behind her. Ankles spread shoulder-width, tied to the chair legs. The ropes were loose, almost inviting her to break free.
She checked her condition. No trace of San-gong Poison, but her qi wouldn't gather—sealed some other way. Her head felt heavy, thoughts sluggish from long unconsciousness. Yeon Su-rin furrowed her fine brows, piecing together memories.
Poisoned with San-gong Poison, she'd entered the fortress lord's office to kill that damned lord. But the guard's sorcery ensnared her, leading to the shame of wetting herself. Then blackout—probably from the sorcery's power. No clue how much time had passed.
"Ugh." Pain hit late; she groaned. Her anus and sex throbbed. Nipples stung. Skirt and breast bindings were on, but violation was obvious.
"Aaaah!" Shame and rage boiled over, snapping her back to full awareness. Her chest heaved, body quaking. Save for her late husband, who'd died untimely, no one had touched her sacred places—now defiled by filthy scum. The humiliation brought unimaginable agony. Blood trickled from bitten lips. In that tearing pain, death tempted her. Sever her heart meridian, end the madness. No more violations.
If alone, she might have. But she couldn't. My daughter. Her poor girl, not even one, fatherless and faceless. She couldn't abandon Cheong-a like that.
Yeon Su-rin deep-breathed, calming her churning heart. She had to live. Endure any humiliation. Cheong-a mattered more than her sullied body—or anything. For her daughter, she'd bear another ravaging.
Creak. Door opened; footsteps neared. Rough male hands unbound the blindfold. Light returned—Jang Il, the guard.
He dragged a chair from the corner, sitting opposite. Yeon Su-rin glared silently.
"Ho... surprisingly calm for such a pretty lady?" Jang Il teased.