The Master of the Island Village
I was a rich freeloader.
My dream had always been to live high up in a luxurious house overlooking a beautiful sea — to watch the sun climb over the horizon each morning, and to watch a crimson sunset blaze across the water each evening.
It was a dream I could never reach.
And yet, somewhere along the way, I managed to fulfill about half of it.
I wasn't a rich freeloader, and the house wasn't luxurious — but I was living on a cliff with a view of the sea.
In another world.
"Teacher…!"
The door burst open with a clatter. A muscular man stood there, gasping for breath.
It was the fisherman from the village below. Looking closer, I saw he wasn't alone — he had a rather mature woman slung across his back.
The wife of a man with five children.
"What is the matter?"
I asked in the kind of speech you'd hear in a historical drama or an old novel.
I was used to it by now.
I used that tone to plant a sense of dissonance and wariness. To project a little dignity. To make people assume I was someone of high station, so they would mind their manners.
"My wife has had a fever for several days, and it won't break. She won't even wake up anymore."
The man's voice trembled with anxiety, yet he spoke with careful composure.
The trust in his eyes was almost burdensome.
"I see. Lay her down for now."
"Yes."
He settled his wife onto the long wooden bench. Her face was flushed red, her breathing ragged.
"I shall confirm one thing before I begin. She has not been struck, nor has any blade cut into her organs, correct?"
"No, sir."
"Very well. That will do."
The man nodded.
Good enough.
I rolled up my long, trailing black sleeves and pricked the woman's left wrist. Then I moved around to her head and pricked the right wrist as well.
A thin jet of dark crimson blood sprang from each puncture.
"Hoo…"
I drew a breath and raised my hand.
Something hot and fierce began to flow through my body with quiet arrogance — what the Murim called qi, or internal energy.
At a flick of my raised fingers, the surging blood gathered in midair. It clumped and clumped until it became a mass. Then, from left to right, I set the gathered blood flowing in a single direction, circulating it so she would not die from blood loss.
The blood drawn from the left was a dark, murky crimson. The blood flowing back into her body from the right was a vivid scarlet.
Drip. Drip.
Black droplets fell from beneath the circulating mass of blood.
In Murim terms, it was takgi — turbid qi. In modern terms, blood contaminated by disease.
Blood reaches every corner of the body. It carries oxygen and nutrients, but it also carries the filth the body has accumulated. My martial art could filter that filth out. The extracted blood itself was shielded by my internal energy, so it never spoiled. Thanks to that, I could draw out blood polluted by plague, cancer, and any number of other causes, purify it, and cure the illness.
In a way, it was not unlike kidney dialysis.
Ruptures from impact, severed limbs from weapons, parasites — those I could not touch. But internal diseases, I could fix. More precisely, I simply discarded the contamination and nothing else.
That was how someone with no medical knowledge could make a living as a physician — without having to take the messy roads of plunder, murder, delivery work, and the rest.
The man standing beside his wife swallowed hard. He must have been tense, waiting through the time it took for the turbid qi to pool on the floor.
"Ease yourself. It is finished."
I waved a hand to reassure him. The mass floating in the air was pure scarlet now, free of any turbid qi. That was enough. I stopped drawing blood from the left and simply pushed the rest back in — every last drop of the blood suspended in the air. Then I pressed my fingers to both of her wrists, sealing the wounds and channeling internal energy into her at the same time. A little boost to her vitality.
"It is done."
I looked at the woman's face and let my hands fall. Breathing, blood flow, complexion — all of it was perfectly stable.
"Thank you."
The man, who had stood as still as a statue, finally managed to open his mouth. His rigid shoulders sagged.
"You must be weary from the climb. Catch your breath before you go. Descending at once would be hard on you."
"Is that truly all right?"
"Rest as long as you need, and bring some fish when next you come. That shall serve as payment."
"Yes, Teacher."
The man bowed to me with deep respect. There was a faint catch of moisture in his voice.
I left him alone and stepped outside.
A cool wind blew between the clear blue sea and the glittering sunlight. It bore no comparison to the filthy air of the modern world.
There were plenty of inconveniences compared to modern life, but there were good things too. Martial arts, especially. The fact that concepts I had only ever seen in wuxia novels were real here — and that I could use them — was endlessly appealing.
In a barbaric age, strength was violence. That meant a higher chance of danger, but it was a risk worth taking.
A build on the level of an upper-grade elementary schooler. It was a shame that the thirty-five-centimeter giant had vanished… but it was fine. This was a situation I had dreamed of at least once. Far better than hanging something like that on this body and feeling sorry about it.
I looked down from the cliff. The entire peaceful island lay in view, along with the stairs climbing the cliff face — stone steps carved by hand into the rock.
By these smooth, tiny hands of mine.
I closed my eyes for a moment and circulated the internal energy within my body. What the Murim called wungi josik — circulating qi.
As I worked the energy, I felt a red light rise from my body like a thin trail of smoke. No one had taught me this. From the very beginning I had done it as naturally as breathing.
Tonap — drawing in the energy of the great natural world and storing it. The circulation of internal energy. The methods of releasing that energy and of using the body. After fretting over names as grand-sounding as Heavenly Demon Divine Art or Plum Blossom Divine Art, I had settled on calling it Hyeolcheongong — the Blood Heaven Skill.
"Teacher."
At the sound of someone calling me, I turned. The woman stood there with much better color, wearing a strained little smile.
"You have awakened."
"Yes. Thank you so very much. There's no doctor in this village — without you, Teacher, I would have died for certain."
She looked exhausted, but she could move without trouble. The blood flow I could see was in good shape as well.
"Did something happen, by any chance?"
"Nothing special. I think I ate something wrong. Embarrassing, for a person of the sea to make a mistake like that."
"Hmm…"
I nodded as I looked at the awkwardly smiling woman. Food poisoning leading to enteritis, and a high fever from that — it made perfect sense. Humans make mistakes. Even monkeys fall out of trees sometimes. Absurd as it sounded, these things happened.
"You would do well to be more careful with what you eat from now on. Especially raw food."
"Yes, Teacher."
I sighed and clasped my hands behind my back. The woman gave an embarrassed laugh, then climbed onto the back of her husband, who had followed her out.
"Teacher. We'll take our leave now."
"Go carefully."
I saw them off as the man descended the stairs. Carrying his wife all the way up here and back down again — his devotion was admirable. Relief must have steadied him; his stride was firm, and his legs did not shake. More than enough to manage the cliff stairs I had carved with such care, like a proper hiking trail.
"Hoo…"
I drew in a deep lungful of clean air and moved the internal energy through my body — from the dantian to the tips of my toes, to every corner of my head. Circulating energy this way cleared the mind and lightened the body. I could replenish energy the same way.
I had used Hyeolcheongong on the woman, but the energy cost had been slight — almost nothing. So rather than refill what I had spent, I used the circulation to settle my mind.
I walked slowly toward the edge of the cliff.
Ordinarily, moving while circulating qi twisted the meridians and brought serious side effects — practically a form of suicide. But there was no law that said circulating qi had to be done sitting down. There were exceptions: methods that repeated specific motions, ways to replenish energy even while moving vigorously.
Hmm…?
My brow furrowed mid-breath. The hair on my body stood on end.
The cause was a large ship approaching from the direction of the mainland.
This was an island. Fishing boats and all manner of vessels came and went every day — but this felt different.
Ominous.
I'd better take a look.
I kicked lightly off the cliff. My great sleeves and hems caught the wind and billowed hard. I fell as slowly as a feather drifting from the sky.
The distance was considerable. If I dropped straight down, I would land on the island grounds. So I stepped on empty air and leapt again. My body soared once more, carrying me farther from the cliff — movement along the horizontal axis rather than the vertical.
Sim Ji-myeong was a pirate who operated near Zhejiang.
Smuggling, slave trading, and the like. In the course of his filthy work, he had killed people more than a few times. That was thanks to the martial arts he had learned.
"So there are people living over there, yeah?"
Standing at the bow, Sim Ji-myeong looked at the island and asked. It was a clear, pleasant day — perfect weather for plunder and murder.
"Yes, Boss."
The man beside him nodded. A pirate.
Among pirates, rank was decided two ways: strength and brains. Sim Ji-myeong was the classic type who ruled his crew by force. The pirates carried weapons, but they were ordinary people. Sim Ji-myeong was a martial artist of the Murim who could actually use internal energy.
"Good. Round them all up — men, women, doesn't matter. Anyone who resists, kill them."
"Yes."
"After that, this place wouldn't be half bad as a base. The ground looks solid."
Sim Ji-myeong muttered as he studied the island. Far enough from the mainland to stay out of sight, and the land itself was broad and flat — a fine environment to live in. Use the island as a warehouse and secondary outpost. Hope of growing his power swelled in his chest. After all, if you wanted to command a real force, you needed land.
Fifteen bandits in all rode the large ship, plus one spare slave. There was room enough to hold the villagers without trouble. If not, they could make several trips.
Imagining a happy future, Sim Ji-myeong twisted the corner of his mouth. Plunder and blood. Thinking of the profit he would pile atop the screams made him happy.
"Pirates, I see. Judging by the nature of the blood steeped into your bodies, you have killed rather a great many people."
But then — suddenly, without a sound — a young girl's voice claimed the space at his back and shattered that happiness.
"Hup?!"
Sim Ji-myeong flinched and spun around hard. His eyes flew wide.
Who…?
One hand on the curved saber at his waist, Sim Ji-myeong's mind raced so hard it made him dizzy.
Looks like a child… but is it really a child?
A face so beautiful that even ruinous beauty might pale beside it once she grew. A small frame. That much he could accept — but the red hair braided into twin tails was far too alien. Even her irises were red.
"The sound of your eyeballs rolling about is remarkably clear."
The child clasped her hands behind her back and murmured. She was far too at ease.
This is no ordinary brat. Hell — is it even a brat at all?
Meeting the child's eyes, Sim Ji-myeong swallowed dryly. In the grip of extreme tension, his survival instinct screamed at him to run.
"I shall ask a few things. Are you pirates?"
"Yes."
The moment the child asked, Sim Ji-myeong answered on reflex — very politely.
"The murderous aura hanging about you suggests you came to raid the village… Well?"
"Ah — no. We are pirates, yes, but we don't bother attacking small villages. There's no money in it."
A smooth lie slipped from Sim Ji-myeong's mouth. Even frightened, he was shameless.
Looks like she lives in that village… Damn it, we picked the wrong place. One wrong move and we're dead.
Sim Ji-myeong's eyes darted left and right. He had to live. His only thought was to get rid of this thing — child or whatever it was — somehow.
"Hmm… A pity. Had you meant to plunder that place, one troublesome matter would have been spared me."
The child made no effort to hide her disappointment. Of course it was a lie — a strategy to draw a confession from Sim Ji-myeong's own mouth. If, by some chance, he truly had no intention of doing harm, she would forgive him. But if he took the bait?
She would strike without hesitation, as she always had.
"Ah… is that so?"
A light sparked in Sim Ji-myeong's eyes. He saw a way out.
The child did not miss that look.
"Why do you look at me so? Could it be that what you told me was a lie?"
"The truth is… well. Yes. That's right. I'm sorry."
"Hmm…… So that is how it is?"
The corner of the child's mouth twisted. It was the expression of someone pleased that things had gone well.
Sim Ji-myeong nodded at that face. Hope had appeared.
"Yes. It looked like a decent place, so I planned to sell the people as slaves and use it as a base. It seemed pretty good."
The moment he set the mood she wanted, Sim Ji-myeong left an opening. Proof that no matter how cruel and sharp his instincts, he was ultimately third-rate.
"Mm… Very well. I understand. I thank you for answering honestly."
The child sighed and took a single step forward.
The distance between Sim Ji-myeong and the child was ten adult paces — neither far nor near.
"Eup?!"
Before his thoughts could settle, Sim Ji-myeong drew his curved saber.
There was no oppressive presence. He felt none of the pressure unique to a martial artist. Even so, he judged her dangerous. It was instinct.
Shit! I thought she was some master from the unorthodox path… I got played!
The moment she entered range, he would swing in a single exchange. And he would have to overwhelm her many-against-one, not one-on-one. Alone, he had no chance of winning.
"Tsk."
But in a single step, the child closed to point-blank range and thrust out her right hand first.
A small, slender hand drove into Sim Ji-myeong's leg.
A wet puncture.
Black blood gushed from the wound like a bursting hot spring.
"Guh… guhhh…"
Sim Ji-myeong shuddered from head to toe and groaned. In the blink of an eye, every muscle in his body shriveled like a deflated balloon. His skin turned black. Dizzy, strength draining out of him in a rush, he could only work his lips. There was no time even to scream.
Thud.
At last Sim Ji-myeong collapsed onto the deck, withered and dry. The boards were soaked with blood.
The child watched, then pulled her fingers free of his leg. Sim Ji-myeong toppled along with his blade.
"Uh… uhhh…"
The man beside him trembled violently at the sight, frozen solid with terror.
"You are next."
The child looked calmly up at the man and raised her hand.
It was perfectly clean. Not a single drop of blood clung to it, even after piercing a leg.