Please Let Me Call You Hyung-nim!
“I told you to go play, didn’t I?”
“Y-you… you fucking retard…!”
Yo Hwan-cheol, head of the Yo Family Salt Gang and currently petitioning to be recognized as the Great Nanning Yo Family, thrust his fist into the air.
“Hiiik.”
His third son, Yo Min, the one he had thrown away like garbage, immediately threw up his arms to shield his face. The instant reaction told anyone watching that Yo Hwan-cheol’s fists had visited those cheeks on a regular basis.
But no matter how hard he tried to cover up, there was no hiding the swollen, pitch-black bruises covering both sides of his face.
“You worthless leech. A parasite who can’t even earn the rice he shoves down his throat. You halfwit, eight-parts-idiot son of a bitch.”
Yo Hwan-cheol ultimately couldn’t bring himself to swing. As pathetic as the boy was—and he would never acknowledge him as a real son—his cheeks were already on the verge of necrotic tissue. One more hit and the kid might actually die. There was no profit in rumors spreading that a father had beaten his own son to death.
Since the boy was useless anyway, he needed to be wrung dry and then discarded. Killing him in a fit of rage would be a loss. Yo Hwan-cheol truly lived up to his profession; even his heart was thoroughly salted.
More than that, he was simply dumbfounded. Just how hard did someone have to get slapped for their face to end up like this? Sure, a solid smack could cause swelling, but for the flesh to actually turn black and necrotic? It looked like the boy had been hit with some kind of poison.
Which, of course, he had. The cold poison of Sosu Magong.
The woman’s bitter resentment given form, that Sosu Handok seeped into the body, shattered blood vessels and meridians alike. And not just shattered—first it froze them solid, then smashed them to pieces.
“You… Ha. Fine, forget it. What was I even expecting from you? I don’t even want to look at your face, so get lost. Now.”
Yo Hwan-cheol waved his hand in disgust. He genuinely wondered how such an idiot had come from his loins. If only the boy had some talent for martial arts. Or at least a head for business so he could make money. But no—his movements were laughably clumsy, making even reaching first-class a distant dream. On top of that, he was dull-witted, shallow, and only knew how to waste money on luxuries. A parasite that did nothing but drain the family fortune.
Every time he saw the boy, his insides boiled with rage.
“Yes…”
Yo Min answered in a choked, tearful voice. Of course he was crying. What exactly had he done wrong? He had followed orders, gone to flip her clothes every single day. He had even steeled himself for the possibility of getting properly beaten at some point.
Of course, licking the ground in front of everyone had been humiliating enough to make him want to die. But he couldn’t actually throw his life away. That was what his father had hoped for, but Yo Min couldn’t imagine that even a father who hated him would send him to his death.
So it hurt. If they were measuring worth by skill, his eldest brother who clung to their father’s side was just as terrible at martial arts. They were evenly matched in uselessness. In the end, it was all because of their mother, the wandering martial artist who had run off with some ronin.
So he simply hated. He hated his cold-hearted father. He hated his mother who had abandoned her children and left without a backward glance. He hated the warriors and servants of the salt gang who treated him like discarded trash.
Both cheeks burned like they were on fire, yet even hotter tears spilled down over them. With both body and heart in pain, where else could he go but the medicine hall?
That was when it happened.
“Hey, you. The third son, right?”
Yo Min frantically wiped away his tears, but it was already too late.
“A grown man crying like that. Tsk tsk. No wonder your father can’t stand the sight of you.”
Yo Min’s throat tightened with anger. But what could he do? The man before him was Bo-yeol of the Sasa-ui, a renowned physician and master of poison arts who had once served as the head of the Sadoryeon’s medical division.
“But what happened to your face? Does the salt gang leader really hit that hard? No, even if you’re a disappointment, is this how you treat your own child? Hm? Wait, this doesn’t look like a normal bruise. What is this?”
Bo-yeol strode forward, grabbed Yo Min’s chin, and turned it left, then right. When he raised his left hand, a snake suddenly slithered out from his sleeve, flicking its tongue.
“Hik, hiiik.”
Yo Min froze in terror. He couldn’t even breathe. If this continued, he really might wet himself.
“No need to tremble so much. I’m just examining the wound.”
“Y-yes. But that snake…”
“Pay it no mind. Even if it bites you, I have the antidote, so there’s nothing to worry about.”
That was not remotely reassuring. Saying there was an antidote for its bite implied it was going to bite. The white snake with its pointed triangular head and red eyes was clearly venomous. It inched closer, then suddenly hissed and darted back into the sleeve.
While Yo Min was still sighing in relief, Bo-yeol asked with a grave expression.
“Who hit you? Yo Hwan-cheol wouldn’t have done this, would he?”
“It was… the Heavenly Flower Sword. That bitch called the Heavenly Flower Sword…”
“The Heavenly Flower Sword? The Divine Dragon? You mean the girl who won the Hidden Dragon Tournament? No, that can’t be right?”
“It is. Many people saw it.”
Yo Min couldn’t continue. The memory was too humiliating to speak aloud. Bo-yeol’s eyes flashed.
“So that’s how it is…”
Cheong had no idea just how high the imperial family stood in the Central Plains. Her background was simply too different. The country she came from had no kings, and even across the world they existed only as symbolic figures. Of course, even in her homeland, the Central Plains were a theocratic empire ruled by a single terrifying man who held the combined titles of emperor and cult leader, governing billions of people alone.
But at the time, Cheong hadn’t been a citizen of the People’s Republic, so she had no concept of the emperor’s power. Therefore, she understood absolutely nothing about this innate hierarchy of status, nor the existential terror that, if displeased, could bring a million-strong army raining down arrows and cannon fire.
So when people called her “Princess,” it didn’t really mean much to her.
But then she saw Kang Su-yang, leader of the Gyerim Sword Sect, prostrating himself before Prince Jayu. Only then did she begin to get a vague sense of it.
Of course, Kang Su-yang had gone rather overboard. It made for a good picture—seeing a sect leader show such utmost respect—and it was the kind of story that would be passed down as a touching tale of a sect master baring his head to a prince. So of course he had no reason to refuse.
That naturally pushed any interest in Cheong to a lower priority.
After settling into the guest quarters and unpacking, it was still too early for dinner and there was nothing to do. Normally she would have been drinking tea with the sect leader, exchanging pleasantries, and being introduced to his disciples, but with a prince visiting, what could be done?
Thus, Cheong was left to her own devices. Which she actually preferred.
Since traveling with a prince meant no one dared bother her, it was quite nice. She was sprawled on the bed, lazing about, when—
“Ah. Yes.”
“Rude? Not at all. Come in.”
The door slid open and U Na-ram stepped inside.
Whoa! Tanned skin! Healthy beauty! Athletic girl!
In Cheong’s homeland, skin this beautifully bronzed would have cost a fortune at a tanning salon. She seemed like a beauty? Cheong’s vision had improved a lot, but she still saw people as six overlapping figures. Still, it was much better than the old days when she saw dozens of afterimages.
U Na-ram entered cautiously, gave a crisp, formal salute, then stood ramrod straight at attention and shouted.
“Greetings! This one is U Na-ram, disciple of the Gyerim Sword Sect! It is embarrassing, but I serve as the senior disciple!”
Her voice was incredibly loud.
“I’m Seomun Cheong. Nice to meet you. And my ears work just fine, so you don’t have to shout like that.”
“It is an honor! An absolute honor!”
U Na-ram’s eyes sparkled so brightly that Cheong would have found it burdensome if she had known.
“There’s no need to call it an honor—”
“No! You are truly beautiful, powerful, elegant, and the disciple of the greatest female martial artist of our time! On top of that, your drinking capacity is outstanding and your spirit is generous! And you possess such a broad mind, showing consideration for others—you are a true hero of the martial world!”
“Wait, were you at the Dragon Phoenix Conference? You could’ve said hello.”
“Not just the Dragon Phoenix Conference! I watched every single match you fought! That mysterious realm where you suppressed all those renowned experts in a single strike! And that final move in the championship match—I heard it was an insight from the Dokgo Nine Swords left behind by Mucheon-daeje! The beautiful flower rain of sword energy that filled the entire world is still vivid in this one’s eyes! And before that, when you fought Shaolin’s monk Wolbong, it wasn’t soft but hard! Truly……”
U Na-ram began recounting every one of Cheong’s tournament matches in reverse order. She described each moment so vividly that it was clear she had gone over them many times, essentially replaying the entire Hidden Dragon Tournament.
“……And so this one wishes to emulate you! You are truly the star of female martial artists—no, the dazzling sun itself! When I heard you were coming, this one waited eagerly, each day feeling like a year! And now, having finally met you, my heart is pounding so fiercely! This emotion! It simply cannot be expressed in words!!!”
It seemed she was trying to express an emotion that couldn’t be put into words through sheer volume instead. Her voice, which had been growing progressively louder, had now reached the level of outright shouting.
“Uh, maybe calm down a little…”
“Expert! Therefore, this humble warrior of the Jianghu, U Na-ram, has one lifelong request! This insignificant one dares to ask—may I call you Hyung-nim?!”
The title “hyung-nim” was used between women as well. Just as an older brother was “hyung-nim,” an older sister could be too. Of course, that was the theory; it wasn’t commonly used.
Cheong’s expression turned slightly awkward.
“Um, Miss U? Sorry if this is rude, but how old are you…?”
If she was the senior disciple of the Gyerim Sword Sect, she had to be at least in her mid-twenties. Even if the sect leader looked young, the same logic applied to his disciples.
“This U Na-ram will turn thirty after Seollal tomorrow! However! Age has nothing to do with respecting one’s elders! What matters is respect! Character! Skill! How else could this one express the burning admiration I hold for you, the expert I respect so deeply, if not by calling you Hyung-nim?! It is my heart’s truest desire!!!”
Cheong thought to herself, What? If age doesn’t matter, shouldn’t it actually matter more? But she roughly understood. It was the same principle as older female fans calling their younger male idols “oppa.”
Of course, the fact that U Na-ram was turning thirty soon didn’t really matter to Cheong. She was the type who would speak casually first, using age or seniority to her advantage however it suited her.
“Just call me Cheong. Miss U? It is Miss U, right? Not Miss Una or something?”
“If that is what the expert wishes, then I shall call you Miss Una. But how could I possibly dare utter your respected name so lightly…”
“Just speak comfortably. How about it? Let’s be friends? We’re friends now, right? Starting today, it’s just Cheong and Na-ram. Sound good? Do you agree?”
It was a friendship declaration that flowed like water. But Na-ram refused to let it flow past her.
“Th-that cannot be! You are my idol! My ideal! How can a firefly stand shoulder to shoulder with the sun?! If this one could simply call you Sister—Sister!—it would be the wish of a lifetime, the honor of three lifetimes!”
Cheong pondered for a moment. Wouldn’t “hyung-nim” be better than “expert”? Calling her “great expert” was way too burdensome.
“Then could you just call me Lady Seomun or Young Hero Seomun…?”
“That would not be enough to express my burning respect!”
“……?”
If respect is burning, isn’t that bad? Wouldn’t that just leave ashes?
Cheong asked carefully once more.
“Um, you’re not asking to become sworn sisters, are you?”
She had already been tricked once by the sly Gyeon Po-hui into gaining an older sworn sister. The woman had suddenly started calling her “Unnie” after asking if they could use the same surname, and somehow it had ended up that way.
“How could I possibly dare! I have never once harbored such shameless, presumptuous, impudent, or audacious thoughts!”
“No, it’s not that bad… If you really want to, I guess it can’t be helped.”
Well, if that’s what she wants.