Chapter 2
A sickly-looking child sat blankly propped up against the bed.
The girl who entered the room frowned sharply at the sight of the child. After calling out to her several times with no response, she finally shouted.
"Young miss!"
The child jolted in surprise and turned her head. Clicking her tongue, the girl pointed to the brass basin.
"Get it together! Here's your wash water. You don't need help with that, right?"
It was Dang-geum, my personal maid. I slowly nodded as I stared at the brass basin, and Dang-geum clicked her tongue again before heading out.
As her footsteps faded, snippets of conversation drifted in from afar.
"What's all the fuss this early in the morning?"
"She doesn't respond no matter how many times I call. She just sits there on the bed all day, staring into space. Did she come back from the dead as an idiot or something?"
"Must be a shock. They say her internal energy is ruined."
"Yeah, who goes greedily after an elixir they're not ready for..."
Listening to them, the reality sank in—I had truly survived and returned to the past.
Regression... of all things.
And after falling into qi deviation, no less!
Qi deviation referred to the violent rampage of one's inner energy when it could no longer be controlled. Most who fell into it died, and even those who survived became invalids.
I had barely clung to life, but my dantian—the core where internal energy gathered—had shattered into pieces. In other words, I was a cripple who could never practice martial arts again.
It had happened when I was six years old, just half a year after entering the Baek Ri Clan.
I slowly rose and shuffled over to the table. In the rippling water of the washbasin, a child's pale face stared back dimly: hollow eyes, cracked dry lips, sunken cheeks. The picture of illness.
The child blinked, tilted her head, and quirked her lips up and down.
My head... is still attached.
But the sensation of my neck being severed, the world spinning, and that crooked smile in my blurring vision were still too vivid to dismiss as mere hallucination.
All the things I went through...
The prestigious Baek Ri Clan of the orthodox faction. Clan head Baek Ri-paehyeok had three wives and four children. Among them, the youngest son from his third wife was my father, Baek Ri-gang.
A once-in-a-century sword prodigy. Handsome, gentle yet unyieldingly just. With perfect inner qualities, flawless appearance, and unmatched martial prowess, he lacked nothing. Grandfather's expectations for his son were sky-high.
Then one day, that perfect son suddenly brought home a daughter.
That was me, Baek Ri-yeon.
It was like a bolt from the blue. A daughter from an unmarried son! The household erupted in chaos. Grandfather flew into a rage. On top of that, I was a bastard child whose birth mother's origins were unknown.
The clan and grandfather opposed it fiercely. But no one could break Father's stubborn will.
And so, I was registered into the Baek Ri Clan.
Too young to understand any of it at the time, I knew nothing of these circumstances.
And Father, genius swordsman though he was, clearly had no talent for childcare. Otherwise, how could he neglect a five-year-old girl he'd brought home as his daughter, leaving her forgotten in this corner room for over half a year?
Surrounded by those far from welcoming, the little girl desperately craved acceptance. Enough to greedily chase an elixir beyond her means.
The origin story of the foolish, greedy villainous side character was born.
Splash, splash.
After washing my face, I dried it with a towel.
It's okay. It's not too late yet.
In the novel, Father's death marked the tipping point. The fragile balance of the murim world, tangled in intricate webs, began to crumble.
And at its center was Namgung Ryu-cheong, Father's disciple.
But right now, the male lead Namgung Ryu-cheong was just a little kid like me. Father hadn't even taken him as a disciple yet.
My role had been crucial in forging that master-disciple bond between them.
I gazed out the window toward Father's quarters.
The main event where Namgung Ryu-cheong would shine—the Orthodox-Demonic War—was still over a decade away. Meaning Father's death, the prelude to that war, was also a decade off.
I have to save Father.
There were too many suspicious elements surrounding his death. In my previous life, I hadn't even dreamed of investigating. How could someone like me uncover what even the protagonist Namgung Ryu-cheong couldn't?
Of course I was curious. Of course Father's death felt unjust and infuriating.
But I knew my presence would only hinder Namgung Ryu-cheong.
And most importantly—I wanted to live.
This regressed life... this time, I wanted to keep him alive too.
Father's quarters and mine formed an L-shape, adjoining each other. As I crossed the inner courtyard toward his rooms, my heart pounded harder with every step.
I wanted to turn back and hide in my room. I stopped and hesitated multiple times along the way, but somehow, I found myself at his door.
I can do this, Baek Ri-yeon.
I clenched my fists, glaring at the door. If anyone saw my face now, they'd think I was a general marching into battle.
Embarrassment is fleeting. I want to save Father, right?
If Father—one of the murim's powerhouses—could die in this world, my chances of surviving unscathed were slim. Emotion aside, reality demanded it.
Baek Ri-yeon. You can do this. It's not like you'll actually die from shame!
The first button was already fastened the moment I opened my eyes. I could do it. I could do it.
Hypnotizing myself, I squeezed my eyes shut then opened them. Cautiously, I pushed open the door—and the sharp tang of herbal medicine assaulted my nose.
"You're awake."
Father rose slowly from behind a screen painted with mountains and rivers.
I put on my most innocent, adorable act and shrieked, "Fa-ther!"
Before my face could splat against the floor, a gust of wind. No expected pain came, so I pried open my tightly shut eyes.
My nose was a paper's width from the ground. My heart thundered.
"You must be careful."
Father had grabbed the collar of my neck like a cat carrying her kitten.
He hadn't been close—how had he gotten here so fast?
I rubbed my nose and scanned the floor.
Ugh, so embarrassing! What even happened? Feels like I tripped over something... What's that, a bamboo scroll?
Tiny characters on a bamboo slat bound with string caught my eye. Something about medicinal herbs.
And it wasn't the only thing scattered on the floor. Piles of books, various herbs— the room was a total mess, utterly disorganized.
I looked up at Father's face. Shadows darkened his eyes again today.
Up all night again, huh.
I hadn't seen his lights go out in days. He hadn't lost as much weight as I had during my illness, but he was noticeably thinner.
Dangling from Father's arm, I reached out, begging to be held.
Father hesitated, then said sternly, "Didn't I tell you not to run in the room?"
"Hehe."
Father stared down at me with a rigid expression. But I kept reaching out innocently, as cutely as possible, pretending ignorance.
"You won't hold me?"
Hesitation flickered across Father's stern face. A brief internal struggle.
But I won. Of course. I was the sick one!
Proudly scooped into Father's arms, I hugged his neck. I felt him flinch and stiffen.
"Ahem."
Father cleared his throat awkwardly and glanced around the empty room.
My first goal: get close to Father.
And skinship was the easiest way to bridge the gap between people.
The first time I'd clung to him, it had been so awkward. Stiff posture, rigid body—he reeked of inexperience with children.
In all my remembered lives, I'd never been held by a father figure.
Now, though...
Father crossed the room briskly yet so gently, as if I might fly away.
"Did you sleep well last night?"
"Yes."
"Feeling okay?"
"Yes."
"If it hurts or you have a fever, you must tell me right away."
"Yes."
"I should have them bring more medicine."
"Eek..."
The groan escaped reflexively. Father's remedies were hellishly bitter every time.
In the past, I'd wailed and refused, and he'd force it down me. True to a lifelong swordsman, his methods weren't gentle.
He'd just say, "Drink," and watch until I did. Under that strict supervision, if I gagged it up, he'd have more brewed and make me drink again.
Repeating that, I'd even harbored resentment toward him.
Honestly, the portions are huge.
This time around, I'd drunk it obediently, but my weakened body rejected it and I vomited it all up. Father's response changed then—he began spoon-feeding me himself, one careful sip at a time!
"Why do you seem younger by the day?"
A faint smile softened Father's previously taut face, heavy with worry. The gaze he turned on me brimmed with affection.
Suddenly overcome with shyness, I buried my face in his chest.