Counting to a Thousand for Total Submission
Bang So-un swallowed the precious pill with particular relish. The third restorative elixir slid down his throat. It was a medicine his wife had acquired at the cost of her lifelong talent. A bitter feeling was inevitable. But such personal emotions were unimportant. The only way to repay his wife's sincerity was to take Go-eui's medicine and recover fully. Nothing else would do.
Still, something nagged at him.
"No issues today either?"
"None at all, my lord."
Yang Yeon-hwi answered without the slightest hesitation, just as always. There was no trace of strain or suffering in her demeanor. And yet, for some reason, a vague unease lingered.
"What did you paint today?"
Ak Bul-beom asked, scrutinizing his wife's expression once more.
"Oh, I painted some medicinal herbs."
A natural response. No odd signs whatsoever. Was it just his imagination?
"Again today?"
"Yes, my lord. There are so many varieties of herbs."
He had heard yesterday that Go-eui planned to compile a medical tome detailing every herb's effects and side effects. And since he could now request paintings from his wife, the Painter, he was putting it into action. Nothing suspicious there either. In the end, Ak Bul-beom concluded that his poor condition was making him overly sharp.
"Your body seems to be improving for sure."
Ak Bul-beom shifted the topic to something hopeful. It was undeniably true—he could feel his true qi flowing about ten percent more smoothly.
"Ah, that's truly a relief."
Yang Yeon-hwi let out a sigh, patting her chest in relief.
"My lady."
"Yes, my lord."
"Thank you, always."
"What are you saying? This lowly concubine would gladly do anything for your recovery."
Perhaps it was her attitude that stirred some dormant, peculiar emotion. Ak Bul-beom shifted his body and pulled Yang Yeon-hwi into an embrace. As his hand moved to loosen her robe ties—
She caught his hands with both of hers.
"M-my lord. I'm sorry, but it might not be good for your health…"
It was the first refusal. But her eyes and expression showed genuine concern. Understanding that, Ak Bul-beom withdrew obediently.
"Sorry. I acted on impulse."
"No, my lord. Please, after you've fully recovered…"
"Yes, that day will surely come."
A spark of hope was already growing in Ak Bul-beom's heart. Go-eui—that man will definitely cure me.
A nude painting. A self-portrait nude at that. Would any female painter draw her own naked body? Unlikely. It bordered on societal taboo. And if that nude self-portrait was for some outsider man? Utterly absurd.
That natural revulsion existed in Yang Yeon-hwi too. Intensely so. Simply implying it as repayment to a benefactor she revered wouldn't break it. A deeper hypnosis state was needed, with a new relational implant.
Master and slave. Precisely that.
To achieve it, they had been gradually deepening her trance step by step. The more she fell into hypnosis and accepted suggestions, the weaker and duller her mental barriers became. What started as a drizzle of hypnosis became a downpour, then a deluge, submerging her completely.
"…Seven hundred seventy-nine… seven hundred eighty… seven hundred eighty-one… seven hundred eighty-two…"
Yang Yeon-hwi knelt, murmuring numbers in a vacant, unfocused gaze. The suggestion: the higher the count, the deeper the trance. On day one, she'd barely reached fifty. Now, she neared eight hundred. Proof of her profound depth.
But still not enough. Jang Il knew from vast experience. Only when she hit four digits could she be forged into a true hypnosis slave.
"…Seven hundred ninety-seven… ninety-eight… ninety-nine…"
Her murmuring stopped there. The current limit of her hypnotic depth.
"I see."
Jang Il chuckled and nodded. At this pace, taking another day to ease her down would be simplest. But he'd told Bang So-un to expect results today. And he was a man who kept his word.
"Yang Yeon-hwi."
Jang Il called her in a voice heavy with authority.
"…Yes…"
"You must save your husband, right?"
"…Yes… I must… save him…"
"To do that, you need medicine from Go-eui, don't you?"
"…Yes…"
Logical induction. Even in trance, logic swayed the mind.
"To get medicine from Go-eui, you must meet his demands, right?"
"…Yes…"
"And his demand is painting for the Golden Dragon Battlefield Lord, correct?"
"…Yes… that's right…"
"You've been doing well so far."
"…Yes… thank you…"
"But."
"…"
A variation here.
"The Golden Dragon Battlefield Lord told me yesterday explicitly: don't accept the painting unless you count to a thousand and fall even deeper."
"…The Lord… but…"
Instinctual resistance to deeper trance kicked in. Her eyelids trembled in distress. But Jang Il had anticipated it. He cracked his knuckles and spoke again.
"If the Lord refuses, your husband dies."
The words to shake her most. Nothing stronger existed.
"…Ugh…"
"He'll definitely die. You know his condition better than anyone."
"…Ughh…"
A pained groan escaped. Cold sweat beaded on her forehead.
"You must save your husband."
"…Yes… I'll save him… I must…"
"For that, the Lord's refusal cannot happen. You must unconditionally accept the Lord's demands."
Jang Il pressed hard, emphasizing "unconditionally." Full commitment now.
"…The Lord's… refusal… cannot… must accept… demands…"
"Yes, to save your husband. It's only natural. Right?"
"…Yes… natural…"
"Good. Now count again immediately and fall deeper."
"…Yes… eight hundred… eight hundred one… eight hundred two…"
Yang Yeon-hwi resumed counting. Jang Il waited contentedly for ripeness.
And.
"…Nine hundred ninety-nine… one thousand…"
Finally, she uttered it. Time for the real preparation.
Bang So-un sat leisurely, sipping tea. Plain white tea, but it tasted especially fine today. Because something enjoyable awaited.
"Heh, he's doing well, I bet."
As he muttered to himself, the door slid open.
*Creak.*
Speak of the devil—Jang Il entered.
"Oh, you're here."
Bang So-un greeted him warmly.
"Haha, yes, young master. Preparations are complete."
Jang Il grinned. Preparations meant, of course, the Painter Yang Yeon-hwi.
Why visit midway today, unlike usual? Simple: Jang Il had advised that the first nude reveal deserved direct, eyewitness enjoyment. Bang So-un had agreed enthusiastically, laughing that no one else but him. He'd added he wanted to personally toy with Yang Yeon-hwi to make her paint her nude self-portrait. A special thrill indeed. Jang Il had nodded, prepared for that unique pleasure, and called him now.
"Good work. Time to go."
Bang So-un rose with a sly grin.
"Haha, this way."
Jang Il turned and led.
*Creak.*
The door opened, Bang So-un and Jang Il entering. A woman stood alone in the room. Yang Yeon-hwi.
She must have heard the door, yet showed no reaction. Just standing blankly like a statue.
Bang So-un approached her slowly. It had been days since he'd seen her in person. But in that time, her appearance had changed drastically. Eyes completely unfocused and slack. Red lips parted limply. Arms hanging loose. Not a shred of the vitality from their last encounter.
A soulless figure, like a human-crafted doll.
Bang So-un playfully waved his hand before her eyes. No blink, not even basic human reflex. A doll that merely breathed.
"Perfect."
Bang So-un withdrew his hand, smiling in satisfaction.
"Hahat, whose handiwork is it? Of course."
Jang Il boasted confidently. Justified pride—the world's only artist crafting such human masterpieces.
"Indeed."
Bang So-un grinned. Then addressed her directly.
"Who are you?"
A question that should prompt a name from any normal person. Yang Yeon-hwi wouldn't differ.
But Bang So-un knew it wouldn't be her real name. A hypnosis slave had no right to a human name.
From the rigid Yang Yeon-hwi, an emotionless voice finally emerged.
"…I am the milk-cow udder-tits pussy bitch… Master…"
*Pfft.*
Laughter exploded from Bang So-un's mouth.