The Inn's Door Opened
The inn's door swung open. All eyes turned toward us at once. I was still cradled in Dang So-ya's arms. I wanted to bolt right then and there, but she held me so tightly I couldn't budge an inch. I knew how strange we must look—a woman with purple hair carrying a child. It was an eye-catching combination on its own. And then there was the overwhelming aura radiating from Dang So-ya herself.
"The youngest miss has arrived."
"Who's that little one?"
"Maybe a sibling of someone we know."
Murmurs rippled through the room. They weren't loud. Just low voices spreading from all directions. Everyone was being careful with their words. They knew the cost of speaking carelessly in Sacheon lands... the consequences were terrifying.
"Anything bothering you? Speak up if there is."
"...No. Nothing."
It would be a lie to say it didn't faze me. But I didn't mind the oddity either. In the past, I'd been more accustomed to the other side. When I entered a room, people would swallow their words. A silent terror would blanket the space. They'd avert their eyes, drop to their knees, hold their breath. That was the familiar scene.
This commotion was different. It wasn't fear. It was curiosity. Not wariness, but interest. Eyes recognizing Dang So-ya. Eyes sizing me up in her arms. The air felt light somehow, alive.
"This spot looks good. All right with you?"
"...Yes. It's fine."
Dang So-ya claimed a table in the corner. Still holding me, she pulled out a chair and sat, settling me effortlessly on her lap like it was second nature. I glanced out the window. Somewhere in those distant mountains, the white tiger waited. I couldn't see it, but I felt it—the spirit energy watching us from afar.
Bringing it here would cause a huge uproar, no doubt. I'd had no choice but to leave it behind for now, but it seemed to be faring well.
Then a serving girl approached, menu in hand. She glanced between us, lips trembling as she fought to steady them.
"Miss, what would you like?"
"What do kids around here eat well?"
"The meat dumplings are popular."
"Then those."
As Dang So-ya ordered, I slowly scanned the inn. A few martial artists stood out amid the merchants, travelers, and groups of江湖 folk. Quite a number carried weapons.
One gaze locked onto me—from that group. A man and a woman, both sword-bearing. Their attire screamed righteous sect, and their auras carried that telltale scent: upright, rigid, a touch inflexible.
The woman's eyes caught mine first. Han So-cheong. Blue hair, blue eyes. Wudang's prized talent. The name flashed in my mind instantly. My master had mentioned her once.
"Too self-righteously just, died too soon. Idiot. Bunch of morons."
It had been a drunken grumble over drinks. I'd brushed it off then, but now, face-to-face, the name attached itself automatically. The man beside her was the same. Namgung So-chan. Another name etched in memory. Master always looked a bit weary whenever she brought him up.
Both were close to Dang So-ya. At this point in time, they were still alive and well, affiliated with the righteous sects.
The two rose from their seats. Footsteps approached.
"So-ya, little sister."
The man spoke first. Dang So-ya's eyelids twitched faintly. Hard to tell if it was pleasure or annoyance—an inscrutable reaction.
"Long time, Namgung."
Short and clipped. The pair stood before our table. Namgung So-chan towered a head above Dang So-ya. His features were refreshingly handsome, more refined than expected. Han So-cheong was a touch shorter, her eyes slightly upturned at the corners. Both kept glancing between us.
"Who's the child...?"
Han So-cheong asked. No hostility in her tone—just plain curiosity. From Dang So-ya's arms, I met her gaze naturally. What should I say? Should I answer myself? Or wait for Dang So-ya? How would a child act? I pondered what felt authentic.
The deliberation proved pointless. Dang So-ya spoke first.
"Let me introduce her. My daughter."
Short and firm. No room for argument. No explanations, no backstory. Just a declaration of fact. That was Dang So-ya—conclusions first, reasons later or not at all.
The inn held its breath for a beat. The murmurs didn't stop, but the air stiffened. That pressure settled with her words. No one dared contradict her. It was embedded in the language itself.
Namgung So-chan's eyes widened. He looked at Dang So-ya, then me, back to her. Han So-cheong was different. No wide eyes. She just observed me longer, quietly.
"...Daughter?"
Namgung So-chan asked again, disbelief and confusion mingling in his voice. I could understand. I'd have reacted the same. In my previous life, I'd been caught in absurd situations like this more than once.
"Yes."
Dang So-ya repeated it firmly. No explanations, no excuses. Just calm fact.
Every eye in the inn fixed on those words.
"Dang So-ya's daughter?"
Namgung So-chan's tone rose a notch. His eyes still bulged in disbelief. Han So-cheong looked down at me, her gaze sharpening. Curiosity mixed with caution—complex emotions swirling.
"...When?"
"Today."
"Today?"
Whether from shock or disbelief, Han So-cheong pinched the back of her hand a few times. Then she stared straight at Dang So-ya. Namgung So-chan opened and closed his mouth repeatedly. Words of incredulity slipped out.
"Lady So-ya, does that even make sense? Didn't you just meet her today?"
"Whether it makes sense is for me to decide."
That cut the conversation clean. Her tone didn't waver. No raising volume, no sharpening edge.
Meanwhile, the inn's air grew restless. People exchanged glances, whispering low. No one spoke up first.
"Sacheon Dangga's Dang So-ya has a daughter?"
"She said she just met her today."
The low voices overlapped, filling the room. Not loud, but coming from everywhere at once. Dang So-ya showed no reaction. She placed a hand on my head. A natural gesture. Possessive, maybe. Or just habit.
Namgung So-chan looked at me again, this time with serious scrutiny.
"Little one, what's your name?"
"Heukyeon."
Short answer. He paused briefly, eyes scanning from head to toe. But Dang So-ya's terrifying glare pinned him.
"Stare at my daughter like that, and I'll kill you."
"Lady So-ya, misunderstanding."
"Your behavior's already suspicious."
"Don't say things that'll cause trouble."
Han So-cheong crossed her arms, eyeing Dang So-ya.
"...You're really taking her?"
"Already did."
"I can't live with you like this."
Han So-cheong pressed a hand to her forehead. Namgung So-chan glanced at the ceiling. Both wore faces of resignation. They knew from experience what clashing with her would bring.
In the end, they returned to their seats. Wise choice. I thought so, watching their backs.
The food Dang So-ya ordered was placed before me. No words—just a silent signal to eat. I picked up the chopsticks. They seemed large for my small hands. Might be awkward, I thought, but it felt surprisingly natural. Small hands, yet no clumsiness.
The food was decently good. That was my only thought for a moment.
Then the door opened again.
This was a different breed from the previous pair. His footsteps brimmed with excessive confidence, as if claiming the inn's air for himself. I could guess without looking. A man. Tall. Not bad-looking. But his expression was the problem. Greed, lust, and disdain for defiance—all worn openly on his face.
Un Ga-ryeo. Dang So-ya's former fiancé. A name I'd heard until I was sick of it from my master. Creepy pervert. Pathetic martial artist. Worthless scum good only for money. Master had unleashed every curse under the sun. I'd only heard tales, never dreamed I'd see him in the flesh.
He spotted Dang So-ya. Chest once. Legs once. A quick glance, then a smirk.
"Here you are. Huh? What's with the brat."
Dang So-ya ignored him. Un Ga-ryeo approached anyway, uninvited. He stood by the table, looming over the child—me—with clear displeasure at my presence.
"Playing house with a kid like this? If you wanted one, just say so. Shall we make one? She'd be pretty, taking after me."
Light tone. He took a step forward. Toward me.
Ah. My mind raced. Footsteps neared. I read the trajectory of his reaching hand. Best to deflect lightly. Snap a few finger bones...
As I moved—
On the table, Dang So-ya's hand flashed. She seized Un Ga-ryeo's arm like snatching prey.
Crack.
A dull, clean sound. Bone breaking.
Un Ga-ryeo's face froze. No scream escaped. Dang So-ya's eyes blocked it. Purple pupils fixed coldly, sharply on him.
"Touching my daughter carelessly? Want to die?"
Her voice was low. Slow, each syllable deliberate. Emotionless. That lack of emotion made it all the more terrifying.
"Listen well. This child will be raised as the most precious in the world. I'll make it so. Don't forget—she's Dang So-ya's one and only daughter."
That was it. Un Ga-ryeo couldn't move, arm gripped. When she released him, he staggered back half a step. Speechless. Flustered? Paralyzed judgment? His face didn't tell. But his eyes did. Rage. Simmering, contained fury.
"...You bitch. I was being nice because you're pretty. How dare you! How dare you!"
"Try it. See what a worm like you can do."
The inn fell silent. A different silence from before. The murmurs weren't gone—they were swallowed. Bystanders averted eyes or bowed heads. Even Un Ga-ryeo's group. No one intervened. In Sacheon, challenging Dang So-ya meant offering lives that wouldn't suffice.
"Let's go. Too much filth here."
"...Yes."
She lifted me carefully. The same hand that had snapped his arm, but now cradling my back gently, steadily. Mindful not to startle. We headed for the door.
Then I felt his gaze. Not on Dang So-ya. On me. No words, no movement. Just staring.
The inn's stuffy heat lifted at once. A cool breeze brushed in instead. Dang So-ya walked on without pause. In her arms, I exhaled once.
Touching my daughter carelessly? Want to die?
Those words lingered in my ears. Dang So-ya didn't mince words. She said only what was needed. So if she'd said it that way... it must be her true heart.
Her pace was steady. No running. No fluster. No looking back. That manner felt familiar somehow. Long ago, by her side, I'd learned much. Sometimes strict, clumsy. But not always hardship. Moving calmly. Speaking only necessities. Judgment before emotion. Those lessons shaped me.
Dang So-ya said nothing. Neither did I. It was enough. For now.
Even in that silence, my thoughts raced. Instinct told me this wasn't over. Un Ga-ryeo wouldn't back down. Types like him cling harder after bending once.
Returning to the Dangga would bring complications. Heir struggles, the family's gaze on this child she'd brought. Dang So-ya could shield me, but not from everything. I didn't yet know the safe limits.
Somewhere in that mess lurked whatever ruined my master. Names, faces unknown. But I'd find them. And when I did, master would... rejoice. Time to repay what I'd received. I wanted to protect this Dang So-ya. Her proud form, her beauty. Every bit, without exception.
For that, playing her daughter a while was bearable. Next chance, calling her "mother"... might not be bad. She'd like it, probably. I could picture it. My mother, Ma Cheon-hu, would understand. For master's sake. She wouldn't mind. She'd approve, even.
Dang So-ya's steps led toward the Dangga manor. I nestled quietly in her arms. A wind blew from Sacheon's direction.