Chapter 1
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: Ordinary Yuyeon (1)
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In Xifeng County of Gangdong County, Yongning Province, Northern Sea Province, there was recently a Namgung Manor that had been making quite a name for itself.
Northern Sea Province referred to the lands bordering the northern sea, all under the rule of Fu Nation.
Fu Nation had divided Northern Sea Province into several provinces for administration, one of which was Yongning Province. Beneath that lay Gangdong County, named for the great river flowing to the east.
For reference, the river of Gangdong County was a tributary of the massive river that traversed Fu Nation. In other words, Gangdong County was a remote borderland far from the Fu Nation capital.
And it was in this remote Xifeng County that the Namgung Manor of our tale was located.
Xifeng—West Mugwort—meant the land where mugwort grew on the western side. Though the old tongue had long faded, it was said that Xifeng County's mugwort was particularly flavorful and retained its aroma longer than others.
Thanks to that, merchants occasionally visited to trade for mugwort, and over time, those trade routes grew prosperous.
Long ago, the main hub for mugwort trading had become what was now Xifeng County City.
The Namgung Manor's estate sat right within Xifeng County.
For reference, a manor referred to the private lands, farmland, and production facilities owned by a prestigious family.
Over time, the term expanded to include the mansion of such a wealthy clan, and eventually came to denote the great family itself that possessed both mansion and lands—that's the meaning it holds today.
The Namgung family of Xifeng was one such clan. They owned a grand mansion within the county city and no small amount of rice paddies and fields besides.
Thus, the people of Xifeng referred to their mansion and family collectively as Namgung Manor. Should their prestige grow further, the world would call them the Namgung Clan.
This Namgung Manor was relatively new, having hung its County Plaque less than a decade ago.
Yet the manor had gained fame beyond Xifeng for two main reasons. The first was Namgung Humyeong, the founder and lord of Namgung Manor.
Namgung Humyeong's story began as the second son of a handcraft artisan family barely scraping by—let's not dwell on why such a humble house bore the Namgung name.
In any case, though born into a life of meager craftsmanship, Humyeong had shown talent not for making things, but for breaking them from a young age.
By fifteen, he contributed nothing to the household and instead roamed the streets playing the wastrel, his destructive talents first shattering the family fortunes.
The following year, at sixteen, unable to endure the family's scorn, he finally steeled himself for great ambition.
The wastrel stole a sword from a smithy and fled.
The news spread like wildfire through Xifeng County City.
People figured the second Namgung son wouldn't last a year before slinking back crippled.
Throwing oneself into the jianghu was no easy feat.
Most died as wanderers or, abandoning all prospects, crawled home starving after ruin.
His older brother thought the same. Even if he returned whole, he'd break him somewhere for the sword's price—the rage woke him even in sleep.
But against all expectations, Namgung Humyeong didn't return the next year, nor the one after.
Years passed, and his tale faded from memory, save for those involved.
That's how public interest goes.
Fifteen years after the sword thief's flight, the Namgung Manor Lord's story returned to Xifeng tongues.
He came back loaded with wealth in two carts—and with two wives in tow.
He promptly bought a manor and hung the County Plaque, marking the birth of Namgung Manor. From then on, he was called Namgung Manor Lord in Xifeng, not by name.
And the one who added wings to this rags-to-riches tale was his fifth daughter.
Yes, he was a remarkable father of five daughters.
Today, a daughter-obsessed dad might hit the airwaves as a patriot, his fame spreading locally. But in this era, siring so many girls wasn't cause for celebration.
Quite the opposite—for a fresh manor without sons, it was prime gossip fodder.
Then word spread that his fifth child, after four daughters, was a boy.
From the physicians visiting the mansion to the old wet nurse newly hired, all swore the Third Wife's pregnancy would yield a son.
The Manor Lord took it to heart. His mood lifted, his bearing grew bold, his temper mild.
But months later, hell descended on Namgung Manor. The Third Wife, carrying his longed-for son, fell deathly ill.
Wealth was no issue, so he summoned famed physicians from across Fu Nation.
They swarmed like bees but turned away in under a month.
That plunged the Manor Lord into despair.
One lesson from his blade-scarred days: physicians would bleed you dry with pills, moxa, needles—anything for a fee.
Even those sharks washed their hands clean. They feared her sudden death if they bungled it, unleashing his wrath.
Yet heaven didn't abandon him. Fortune smiled with a miracle.
An Immortal passing by after slaying a nearby yao beast heeded his plea and visited Namgung Manor.
Not some talebook beauty, mind you. The Lord had heard rumors, tracked him down, begged desperately. Lavish offerings and flattery sealed it.
True to rumor, the Immortal sized up the wife and acted swiftly.
Her near-death stemmed from the fifth child's innate peculiar constitution flooding her with potent yin qi, overwhelming her qi and blood.
The Daoist resolved it while handling more.
A boy born thus would succumb to his own yin qi before adulthood.
The Daoist extracted a promise: at eight, the child would become his disciple. He sealed the yin qi and reshaped the constitution to that of a girl.
Had the child been born or gender fully formed in the womb, even he couldn't manage. But altering an undeveloped fetus was simple.
Especially one brimming with yin qi—truly fitting for a girl, as heaven intended.
The Manor Lord, who'd only seen crude inner arts from minor sects, wept in awe at true sorcery. He swore on his life to raise the child and honor the vow.
Satisfied, the Daoist named her Yuyeon and departed. It was the 25th week.
Time flowed, and on the day Yuyeon was born, all Xifeng whispered her name...
"The Namgung Manor Lord's son was actually another daughter!"
"He named his fifth daughter Yuyeon."
And so the rumors flew.
In this era, infants often died within a year or two, commonplace.
Thus, they avoided proper names at first, using milk names until certain the child would thrive.
But with the Daoist's name and a life-or-death vow to raise her healthy, the Manor Lord gave her Yuyeon as her true name from birth.
This sparked mixed talk: some praised him for cherishing his child despite dashed hopes; others whispered he lacked affection, cursing her with a birth name.
That alone would've faded as "another girl for the girl-dad," but then word leaked late: the fifth daughter bore a heavenly punishment.
Xifeng's gossips erupted anew.
Yes. Yuyeon, dragged into some bizarre survey, had reincarnated as a blind infant.
The Manor Lord's mood grew deeply uneasy.
He'd sworn on his life to raise her well, yet she'd shattered that vow at birth.
They realized she was blind the day she first opened her eyes.
Even a hedgehog loves its young, they say. The Manor Lord, versed only in blades, treasured each milestone: his children's eyes opening, rolling over, first steps—joys of life.
But Yuyeon's eyes were flawed, misty like a blind man's, fogged over. He nearly fainted.
Eyes are the window of the soul, the sun of the heart.
Would the Daoist truly take a child born under heavenly punishment for the flawless path of an Immortal? Had he broken his vow?
Fear gripped him: in eight years, would the Daoist return furious with punishment?
Plunged in anxiety, he secluded himself for nearly half a year.
People sneered: five daughters weren't enough; now a cursed child? How much slaughter and ill-gotten wealth in the jianghu?
The Lord's temperament was pure ronin—those who'd known him young knew he'd never let such talk slide.
Yet he truly vanished for half a year, breeding suspicions of deeper troubles.
But unexpectedly, his unease began to lift. The Immortal's chosen disciple proved no ordinary girl.
Yuyeon showed extraordinary signs as she grew.
It started with rolling over. Normal infants at one month wriggle limbs, turn heads, babble. But Yuyeon rolled at one month.
One might call it doting bias from a daughter-fan father. But she confirmed it with further marvels.
At two months, she spoke her first words.
Typical babies utter first words around a year—that was lightning-fast.
The wet nurse discovered it.
She'd dismissed the repeated sounds as babble, but days of the same utterance made her realize it was a word. She reported it.
No one ever deciphered "sibal." They figured she'd mangled some overheard curse.
By three months, Yuyeon spoke words adults understood: first was "sireo."
At four months, over twenty words, stringing them into talk.
At six months, she walked. Remember: she was blind.
By one year, she conversed fluently. The amazed family gathered to see.
And in that first family assembly, Yuyeon declared:
"I not young lady. Boy."
Namgung Manor erupted.