Cliché Activation
Time flew by like an arrow. No, that shallow metaphor couldn't even begin to capture the hellish ordeal I'd endured. It was a brutal month that ground every last drop of brainpower, finger strength, and soul-deep stamina through a merciless grinder. I devoured ink until the inkstone wore through, and my right hand, gripping the brush, had stiffened into a wooden stump, numb to sensation. Sleep was a luxury; every waking moment was a mechanical frenzy of filling white pages with black ink.
Even the devilish skills and tricks I'd honed over a decade crawling through the web novel ecosystem—raking in eight-figure salaries—screamed in agony before this barbaric brush-writing time attack. Hallucinations danced before my eyes, tinnitus rang in my ears, and each time, I endured by stabbing my thigh with a needle's resolve.
And finally, I did it.
The towering stack of manuscripts before me, still thick with the scent of fresh ink, was the fruit of that desperate struggle. Over the month, I'd perfectly delivered volumes 5 through 8 on schedule. But that wasn't all. With the Mu-rim-meng's cursed exchange match forcing me to Liaodong for a full six weeks—leaving Nakyang empty—I'd even polished off a massive stockpile of volumes 9 through 14 to keep readers' dopamine flowing through that endless gap.
The moment I slyly hid all those manuscripts in the trash cart and handed them safely to Danche Ryeong, the final thread of tension holding me up snapped.
And I collapsed, blacking out.
That was my last memory of Nakyang.
"Ugh..."
I cracked my eyes open amid excruciating pain crushing my body and a fever raging like a furnace. The familiar dingy dormitory ceiling wasn't what filled my vision.
Clunk, clunk.
Rhythmic, dull vibrations. A cramped wooden space. I lay in the Cheongryong Mugwan expedition cart bound for Liaodong, stiff as a corpse.
Yes. The backlash from churning out 100 chapters in a month had floored me with extreme overwork and high fever.
But with my name on the Mu-rim-meng's ironclad exchange match roster, the instructors weren't about to prettily leave a sick teacher behind in Nakyang. They had no choice but to haul me like baggage. They couldn't cram a boiling plague patient into the packed carts with regular cadets and instructors.
In the end, for this worthless lump of baggage, the mugwan grudgingly rented an extra luxury cart—though the stingy old director's glare was predictably icy. Who could blame him? Precious budget leaking away for a money-sucking slacker.
But a savior melted that frozen stare into spring sunlight with one blow.
"Director, all rental fees, maintenance, and travel costs to Liaodong for Teacher Yeon Woon-ryong's carriage..."
Her clear, authoritative voice had rung across the mugwan courtyard.
"Will be fully covered by Hwangbo Sega. So prepare the finest one available."
That single line. Hwangbo Suyeon, the pampered jewel of one of the Five Great Families, had swung the iron rod of capitalism herself. Before that overwhelming declaration of wealth, the director's frosty face twisted into a groveling, beaming capitalist grin, or so they said.
Thanks to Hwangbo Sega's vast capital, I now lounged in this swaying expedition cart on a wide, carpeted private suite.
"Master, you're awake? Your color's returned, if only a little. But the fever lingers—please don't strain yourself."
The clear, pure voice beside me carried an obsessively chilling edge. Turning my head, there sat Hwangbo Suyeon in her elegant white martial robe, prim and proper.
Though she'd joined the expedition as an elite mugwan cadet, she'd forsaken her own comfy spot to play nursemaid in this sickbay-on-wheels.
No, "nursemaid" was too light. She guarded me like a fanatic cultist, 24/7 lockdown.
Wiping my brow with warm cloths, blowing on bitter decoctions to feed me spoonfuls—her devotion was tear-jerking. The problem? It was so excessive it sent chills down my spine.
Deep in those clear eyes lurked that terrifying madness. Every groan I made sent her into a frenzy, desperate to infuse qi lest the great master's jade body crack.
Smothered in that suffocating goodwill and delusion, I'd spent ten full days groaning like a corpse in the cart.
But thanks to this young, robust body's recovery—or the top-tier meds she'd force-fed me via Hwangbo wealth—that hellish fever vanished clean after ten days. I finally regained my strength fully.
It hit me bone-deep just how brutally that month's killer schedule had pushed my body to the brink.
"Whew... Feels like I'm alive again."
Propping my aching body against the plush backrest, I peered out the rattling window at the barren, rugged landscape whipping by. We'd left warm Honam far behind, racing north toward Liaodong's grim silhouette.
As I settled comfortably, breathing steady, Hwangbo Suyeon's pent-up scholarly thirst—suppressed while I was ill—erupted like magma.
Her clear eyes blazed fiercely, unleashing a barrage of outlandish martial arts questions.
"Master! Now that your jade body is preserved, please resolve one of this fool disciple's doubts."
Each question chilled sweat down my back. My "martial knowledge" was just shallow tropes from devouring thousands of wuxia novels, wild theories, and half-baked modern science I'd input for my genius-scientist MCs.
"Speak, Suyeon. What troubles you so?"
I replied in a grave, worldly sage's drawl, frantically prepping my brain inside.
"While cultivating our family's fist arts and grasping the natural principles you taught, I've hit an unbreakable wall."
She lightly thrust her small, firm fist into the air, face grave.
"Generating powerful fist winds to blast or repel foes with pressure makes sense."
Her brows furrowed.
"But 'pulling' enemies toward you with a fist swing defies nature's logic!"
Deep anguish laced her voice.
"How can repelling force turn attractive? It's sorcery, flouting natural law!"
Aha.
A spark flashed in my mind. My modern-educated brain recalled the perfect, plausible scientific law.
I crossed my arms on the armrests like a sage, eyes half-closed, smiling faintly.
"Heh... Suyeon, you grasp only half of nature's mysteries."
My leisurely retort shook her eyes; she leaned in eagerly.
"Nature's mysteries... you say?"
"Indeed. Picture a wild river through jagged valleys."
I traced a flowing curve in the air with my hand.
"Vast waters meandering wide and calm suddenly squeeze through narrow rocks. What happens to the flow?"
She closed her eyes, visualizing.
"Naturally... it accelerates fiercely through the narrow path."
"Precisely."
I snapped my fingers approvingly.
"And here enters nature's hidden truth you've missed. Listen well."
I lowered my voice to a conspiratorial whisper, like revealing heavenly secrets.
"Where flow—like qi, wind, or waves—speeds far beyond surroundings, pressure drops, creating a 'void'."
"A... void?"
Her eyes widened.
"Yes! Nature abhors emptiness, so that low-pressure void savagely sucks in everything around it!"
This was Bernoulli's principle: faster fluid flow lowers pressure, enabling flight.
I thrust my clenched fist before her nose.
"Apply it to your arts. Load your fist with vast qi, whip a high-speed vortex along a precise arc—what happens?"
Her lips parted; her genius mind raced to integrate it.
"The path your fist traces inside becomes a low-pressure void from ultra-fast flow."
I locked eyes, driving it home.
"The foe has no chance to resist or dodge! The pressure differential—that immense attraction—drags them helplessly to your fist's core!"
"Ah...!"
Exultant awe burst from her.
"The pulling fist... Even fleeing beyond range, the foe's body is yanked into your arc by the flow's vacuum!"
Her body quivered with enlightenment's joy.
I inwardly cheered, crowning my scam with a fancy name.
"Yes. No matter where they flee, they fly into your fist—unerring, inevitable strike."
I haughtily tilted my chin, feigning erudition.
"This ultimate principle of flowing energy and force—I define henceforth as Fluid Dynamics."
"Fluid... Dynamics..."
She murmured my fabricated term in a daze, eyes drifting to cosmic truths, her dantian stirring with that ferocious blue qi.
Crap, not another breakthrough wrecking the cart?
Remembering her near-demolition of the old hall, I instinctively shrank back, sweating.
That instant—
Neiiigh!
"Whoa whoa whoa!"
Thud thud thud!
Our cart lurched wildly to a halt. Iron wheels screeched on dirt; inertia flung my body airborne like a feather.
"Wak!"
My frail, bedridden form hurtled toward the solid front wall in a pathetic crash—
Swish.
Hwangbo Suyeon, snapped from enlightenment, ghosted in to cradle my torso gently as a leaf.
Her faint ink-and-womanly scent brushed my nose, but heart-pounding shock left no room for romance.
"Hah, hah... Why the sudden stop?"
I panted, clutching my chest. She settled me safely back.
Her eyes held no pure disciple's awe—only a battle-hardened warrior's icy killing intent.
"Master, stay put."
She cracked the wooden door cautiously, scouting.
Then, through the sliver, a vicious, grating voice boomed outside.
"Kuhahaha! Want to pass? Hand over everything you've got!"