The Weight of a Hand
Dang Nan-a’s flower and then Cheong grinned as she added one more line. “Including that Prince Deokhyun fellow, of course.”
Jayu’s expression twisted into something ambiguous. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water before he finally let out a self-deprecating chuckle. “I told you. That man only ever cared about saving his own skin. He never looked after the people out of any real affection, so how could he—”
“Who cares. When they heard the prince was dead, people were throwing themselves on the streets, wailing and carrying on. If folks who never even saw his face are sobbing that hard, doesn’t that make him a pretty decent person?”
“But that doesn’t necessarily mean he was virtuous—”
“Enough. At least that’s what I think, and that’s what all those people crying in the streets thought. So if you’re a real man, you ought to puff out your chest and brag that you fed that many people yourself.”
“Hah.” Jayu pressed his lips shut. He seemed to have a lot on his mind. Honestly, getting embarrassed at his age. Of course, even without anyone crying or praising him, Cheong could tell at a glance. Jayu was the best person she had met in this world. Though among the truly good, the overwhelming Cheong herself existed, making the gap between them like the sun and the moon—still, when the rest of the decent folks were no more than fireflies, even the moon was an impressive feat.
Cheong had roughly come to understand how the visible karma of good and evil was measured. Harm someone and evil karma piled up, turning you into a villain who poisoned the world. Only people counted. Once you became a villain through evil karma, you were treated like a pest. Killing or breaking the spirit of a harmful insect was considered a good deed that earned you merit instead.
However, this karma business paid no attention to personal circumstances, intentions, or nature. Even with the kindest intentions, if the result pushed countless lives into suffering, you were branded the greatest villain under heaven. Conversely, even with the most wicked intentions, if you made good people live and laugh, you got a big “well done” stamp. It was a cold, result-only judgment.
Still, that didn’t make Cheong cold herself. If someone made her happy, she could treat them like Choe-ri-ong or her master’s wife. Or, like any other villain, she could pursue personal pleasure through delightful dissection practice. Whose choice was it, anyway? Cleaning up trash was a good deed no matter who did it. Was it a sin not to pick up every piece of litter on the road? If someone said, “You pick up waste paper but not plastic, you bastard,” the answer was obvious: “Then you pick it up yourself.” The worst kind of bastard was the one who whined that it was better not to pick up anything at all than to do it half-heartedly.
Cheong didn’t have the job of redeeming villains. There was no obligation to cut down every single evil person either. Even the tiresome quest window only asked which side she would take rather than forcing her to eliminate bad guys. In a world that didn’t demand she remove every villain, well—
Then her smoothly running thoughts suddenly veered off course. Hmm. It’d be easier if it did force me, though. I’d at least know why I fell into this world. Not knowing the intention makes me feel like I’m going to die of anxiety.
It was Cheong’s fundamental fear. She still couldn’t control herself around food. It wasn’t gluttony. She simply couldn’t endure it. She still remembered the moment she first fell into Murim. She remembered how terrifying hunger could be. She knew that when a person became truly starving, they would eventually swallow even bugs and rotten scraps. The modern sensibility recoiled at touching filth with bare hands, yet she had forced it into her mouth, gagging as she swallowed while sobbing. That memory remained as an indelible brand.
So her stomach always had to be full. If she ever grew endlessly hungry again, if the pain approached the point of feeling like her belly would tear apart, those memories would return too vividly. A life that had been satisfying and peaceful had, without reason, plummeted into the gutter in an instant, turning her into something lower than a crawling insect. Once something happened, there was no guarantee it wouldn’t happen a second time. That was how terrifying an unguaranteed existence could be. What if one day someone said, “Why aren’t you doing as you’re told?” and suddenly lightning struck, the genre shifting to some eternal hell DLC?
At that moment, a warm presence reached her. “Friend? What’s wrong? Friend!”
Combined with the voice calling her, Cheong quickly came back to herself. “Ah. Huh? Ah. Hup.”
Only then did she realize she hadn’t been breathing. After finally forcing air into her protesting lungs, she couldn’t stop trembling. Her legs gave out and the backs of her knees ached and shook. Cheong frowned and forcibly shook off the foul feeling. What the hell, why isn’t Daejeong Seongong working? Wasn’t it supposed to block this kind of thing? Why ask something like that and ruin my mood?
Once her heart was wounded, the words that came out of her mouth were sharp as knives. “Emperor this, emperor that—who cares. From what I’ve seen, he’s a complete bastard anyway. If you’re the emperor, you should govern properly instead of going on about Murim and heaven. In the end, isn’t it all just to fill your own belly?”
“……I didn’t ask you to say something so irreverent.”
“What, the Son of Heaven my ass. If heaven sent him down, it was probably to do good deeds, not to sit up high going ‘I alone am honored under heaven’ and showing off. Tell him to fall into hellfire when he dies. Good people should be rewarded and only bad people should be punished.”
In truth, she was speaking to herself. Good people should receive blessings. Only bad people should be punished. To Jayu, it looked like a sudden explosion of rage. In the highly advanced psychological and sociological terminology of her original world, it was called an “outburst.” Jayu’s expression hardened. Anyone who didn’t know Cheong’s circumstances would interpret it this way: she had been subjected to some scheme by the emperor and now harbored a deep grudge. She had said she had no parents, after all. For such a spirited girl to suddenly be seized by terror, her face pale, trembling so hard she couldn’t even breathe—surely it was related. Moreover, her hands. Her hands. Her hands.
“A-Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. No, I’m not fine. I feel like I’m going to throw up.”
“I see. Then you may hold on until you feel calmer.”
“Ah.”
Before she knew it, Cheong had been clutching Jayu’s hand tightly. She jerked her hand away in surprise. Jayu looked faintly disappointed as he withdrew his empty hand and quickly rubbed it with his other one. If he didn’t massage it, a bruise would form immediately—Cheong’s grip strength was no joke.
Cheong, uncomfortable with the atmosphere, blamed someone else for no reason. This is all because of my master’s wife. Back then, when she had her episode, the embrace had been so warm and comfortable. After that, whenever she looked even slightly anxious, the woman would notice right away and hug her tightly. So now, the moment her condition worsened even a little, she found herself seeking human warmth. What a bad habit. Before, she would have just trembled alone. Still, when she felt anxious, having someone beside her really was the best.
One of the side effects of Sosu Magong was that her hands were always cold, with a chill flowing through them. One of its advantages was that because her hands were always cold, she could always feel someone else’s warmth when they touched. Cheong was regretting the fading warmth in her remaining hand when she realized there was no need to feel that way. Don’t I have something like family too?
“If there’s nothing else, may I take my leave? I’m not feeling well.”
“Go ahead. You seem busy as well.”
Jayu spoke with a strangely relieved expression.
----
“Hey. Um…… Cheong-ah, you.”
“Huh? Why?”
“No, I was just wondering why you’re doing that.”
It was a question about why she had plopped herself into someone’s arms instead of using her perfectly fine legs.
“This is what the old man usually does. If your legs hurt, you don’t have to stand.”
It was the same logic as “if you’re hungry, eat.” Dang Nan-a tilted her head. But if you’re hungry, he doesn’t feed you, does he? However, when Choe-ri-ong nodded as if it were only natural, she simply thought, So that’s how she was raised.
“I couldn’t sleep, so I’m sleepy. Old man, wake me up if something happens.”
“Yeah. You should sleep at night. Go on and rest.”
She somehow managed to settle into a leaning position, rested her head against him, and closed her eyes. She wasn’t even a seven-year-old child. Was that really appropriate for a grown girl? Dang Nan-a kept tilting her head left and right in disbelief. Taesang Gaju watched with a mixture of envy and, upon reflection, admitted that the remaining half was also just envy.
Then, wondering if perhaps, he sidled up to Dang Nan-a and asked, “Are you sleepy too, my dear? Shall this grandfather hold you?”
“Hmph, who are you calling a child?”
“A child? Look at your friend. They say beautiful women are sleepyheads.”
“……Still, it’s embarrassing.”
That was only natural. It was a skill impossible unless one had a face as thick as Cheong’s. At that, Choe-ri-ong puffed up with an inexplicably triumphant expression.
----
“Listen, Lord of the Tang Clan.”
“Yes, Your Highness. Please speak.”
“This prince has been thinking. If you intend to use the prince as your backing, then release your medical texts to the world.”
Release the medical texts. He meant for the Tang Clan to share the medical arts they had researched with the jianghu.
“Your Highness, however, that is—”
Medical knowledge was also a strategic resource. Even with the same serious injuries, superior medical arts could revive people and add them to one’s forces—how could that not be considered a resource?
“You need not do it under this prince’s name. It will benefit the world, and your clan’s reputation will rise high. Why hesitate?”
“However, Your Highness—”
“The saltpeter mine, the gunpowder smuggling, and it seems you’ve been researching thunder bombs separately as well? From now on, you may do so openly. What do you say?”
It meant he was giving them permission to produce them openly under the prince’s name instead of in secret. It was both a pardon and, in reality, if they produced them openly, ownership would go to the prince. It was a threat: hand over your medical arts and your explosives. Still, if they found it unpleasant, they shouldn’t have engaged in treasonous activities in the first place.
“……We will release them.”
“Don’t think too badly of it. This prince doesn’t know much about medicine, but who knows what the future holds. The Tang Clan might come to be called the greatest medical family under heaven.”
At that, Dang Tu-juk’s expression improved slightly. Being called a clan of vicious poison-eaters was one thing, but being known as the family with the greatest medical arts under heaven wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Besides, someone of the clan head’s level would surely understand why he was suddenly giving orders. At this rate, they might even surpass the Five Great Clans—or even the Nine Great Sects and One Union—and seize leadership of the orthodox Murim. That wouldn’t be so bad.
“Will you mobilize troops?”
“Everyone looked exhausted from last night’s incident. Everything should be settled before sunrise, so just focus on restoring your ruined family fortune.”
With that, he leaned back against the hastily prepared seat, signaling that they were dismissed. After Dang Tu-juk left, a shadow rose from a corner of the underground chamber and swaggered over.
“Your Highness. What do you think of this? For reconciling the government and Murim in the future, nothing beats a marriage alliance—”
“Shut up, Guja. A single prince holed up in some mountain corner has no business talking grandly about the government offices.”
Sichuan was surrounded by natural mountain peaks, so calling it a mountain corner wasn’t wrong. However, that corner produced abundant goods and resources capable of feeding half the Central Plains.
The young man, Yang Sang-gu, grinned. “You’re right. It would be improper to mention betrothal gifts we haven’t even prepared yet—ow, why are you hitting me? It doesn’t even hurt, you know.”
“Your mouth really runs away with you. Enough. Go tell them it’s time. It seems they can’t rely on my brother’s mercy to stay alive any longer.”
“Gyeon No will be working very hard. If he wants to fulfill his wish, he’ll have to be diligent. No, I already told you hitting me won’t work. Kicking won’t either, Your Highness.”