I Shouldn't Have Asked That Question
"You... have you ever thought about learning martial arts?"
At that moment, it felt like time and air inside the top-grade carriage rattling along the rugged mountain roads of Yodong had frozen solid.
That single sentence striking my eardrums was so utterly out of place and surreal that I forgot even the horrific pain wracking my entire body from moments before, staring blankly at the old man before me with a dumbfounded expression.
Martial arts? Me? Right now, to a half-dead web novel hack like this?
The Ten Great Masters. One of the Four Immortals, the Uiseon Jo Myeong-hwan. A living legend of the murim, an absolute powerhouse endlessly gossiped about by enthusiasts.
This great eccentric had just finished taking my pulse after examining my ragdoll body, brutalized by a week of torture, and tossed out this outrageous proposal: learn martial arts?
"Uh, um... Uiseon elder."
I barely moved my cracked, parched lips, stammering in disbelief.
"I might've lost too much blood and be hearing things, but... did you just say I should learn martial arts? I'm twenty-nine this year, you know?"
In response to my bewildered question, Jo Myeong-hwan slowly stroked his long white beard, piercing me with a profoundly meaningful gaze.
There wasn't a hint of jest or pity in his eyes. It was the pure scholarly fervor and ecstasy of a physician and warrior who had finally discovered the world's rarest elixir or secret manual after decades of searching.
"Heh heh heh, you're vastly underestimating your own condition."
Jo Myeong-hwan chuckled softly, pressing firmly once more on my wrist's pulse point.
"Any ordinary person subjected to a week of that vicious torture in Moyong Sega's infernal prison would have had their heart meridians snap, their dantian rupture—dead on the spot or crippled for life."
Was that so? Well, yeah, my whole body was a wreck right now, a walking miracle just to be alive. And yet I could still move, even walk. Was I really underrating my body that much?
"From my diagnosis, your body is in a truly bizarre and miraculous state."
Jo Myeong-hwan's voice rumbled heavily through the carriage. The two fanatics flanking me tightly—Hwangbo Suyeon and Seol Muyeong—held their breath, hanging on every word from the Uiseon's lips.
"Anyone in the murim has heard of the cursed constitution called the absolute vein at least once, right?"
Absolute vein. In wuxia novels, it was one of the most common yet deadly penalties for protagonists or heroines. A horrific condition where qi was blocked from birth or meridians twisted abnormally, dooming one to die young before even reaching twenty, let alone cultivating martial arts.
In my past life writing novels, I'd used staples like "Nine Yin Absolute Vein" or "Solar Absolute Vein" like they were daily meals to set up protagonist serendipities.
"But your body... it's on a whole different level from those run-of-the-mill absolute veins. I've been called the Uiseon my whole life, treating every bizarre ailment under heaven, but I've never even read about flesh this insane—not even in legendary medical texts."
Jo Myeong-hwan's voice began to tremble faintly. His eyes gleamed with shock, joy, and even a touch of awe.
"Inside your body are not one, but two freakish absolute veins coiled together!"
"W-what? T-two of them?"
I blurted out like an idiot. Common knowledge said even one absolute vein meant vomiting blood and dying before twenty. Two? I should've croaked at birth!
How had I survived twenty-nine years droning on about literature at Cheongryong Mugwan?
"That's right. The first is the Cheon-gi Jeol-maek—Heavenly Mechanism Absolute Vein. Born with a brain and intellect piercing heavenly principles, but the body can't handle the massive cerebral qi, so blood vessels constrict and wither, making it hard to pass twenty. A gruesome curse."
I inwardly went, Aha! My past life's modern knowledge plus every wuxia and fantasy cliché would've made my brain capacity freakishly vast by this world's standards.
"And the second... the Paewang Jeol-maek—Tyrant King Absolute Vein. Innate martial genius and beastly strength from the heavens, but that savage energy explodes inward so violently it rips the narrow vessels apart, leading to an early grave. An extreme yang absolute vein!"
Cheon-gi Jeol-maek and Paewang Jeol-maek. Die from a brain too smart shrinking your vessels; die from strength too mighty bursting them.
What were the odds of both legendary absolute veins—one-per-century rarities—striking the same body? Lower than surviving ten lightning strikes and then finding a winning lotto ticket on the street.
"A normal human with even one would've bled from all seven orifices before twenty, dying miserably. But...!"
Jo Myeong-hwan suddenly gripped my shoulders hard, his eyes reddening. A thrilling shiver from his grasp made my body hair stand on end.
"In your flesh, an utterly absurd and wondrous miracle has occurred!"
"A miracle... you say?"
Hwangbo Suyeon swallowed hard, asking cautiously. Her clear eyes were utterly captivated by Jo Myeong-hwan's lips.
"The insidious contraction of the Cheon-gi Jeol-maek, twisting vessels to dry husks! The ferocious pressure of the Paewang Jeol-maek, brutally expanding and shredding them! These opposing forces have clashed in perfect stalemate inside you for twenty-nine years, perfectly neutralizing each other's destructive natures!"
Jo Myeong-hwan raised his hands to the air, shouting like a mad sculptor praising a masterpiece.
"The inward squeeze versus the outward burst! Amid that extreme pressure and tension, your meridians and heart vessels have been tempered like steel forged and quenched in a bellows furnace thousands of times—a miraculous evolution! Unbreakable no matter the qi poured in. They've become the ultimate vessels, perfect and elastic!"
My God. I gaped, mouth agape.
What nonsense—but oh-so-wuxia logic! Two incurables battling it out accidentally balanced perfectly, birthing history's first super-alloy vessels. A total cheat character!
"And Moyong Sega's brutish torture was a stroke of divine genius!"
Jo Myeong-hwan lovingly caressed my torn skin and broken bones, continuing.
"Every time that bastard Moyong Cheol struck your acupoints to break you, the tangled remnants of those two absolute veins shattered completely, flinging your qi gates wide open. Now your body is the murim's unprecedented absolute physique, capable of absorbing and exploding with all heaven and earth's qi! The completed Cheonpa Mugyeok Jiche—Heavenly Tyrant Infinite Extreme Body!"
Cheonpa Mugyeok Jiche. The name alone screamed "yank the Heavenly Demon's horns in chapter one and unify the murim." I inwardly applauded the grandiose naming sense. Even as a web novel pro, I had to bow.
But faced with this epic praise, my reaction was brutally realistic.
"Uh... so to sum up, Uiseon elder, my body's super tough now with insane talent... right?"
I scratched my head, asking oh-so-carefully.
"Then why've I been panting just to lift a book bundle, living as a frail literature drone at Cheongryong Mugwan all this time?"
My innocent, fatal question froze the carriage air cold.
"That's...! That's exactly what drives this old man mad enough to vomit blood!"
Jo Myeong-hwan raised his voice, slamming his fist on the floor—BOOM! The carriage shook like it might shatter.
The two women beside me flinched, holding their breath at the Ten Great Master's fury.
"The Cheonpa Mugyeok Jiche holds no power on its own. Like the finest sword forged by heaven's greatest smith—without the master's qi infusion, it's just sharp scrap metal!"
Tears of pity welled in his reddened eyes.
"Born with this miracle in your flesh, yet you've never once—even tried some third-rate basic breathing exercise! With that delicate balance of constricting vessels and surging qi barely holding, you sat at a desk, overworking only your brain with a brush!"
His roar battered my ears.
Hey, old timer, my past life was Korea, not murim. There, survival meant pounding keyboards on Americano IVs, not qi circulation.
I swallowed my injustice.
"What blind master, what idiot clan left this prodigy by their side without teaching even the 'm' in martial arts, rotting as a mere literature teacher? An insult to heaven, a colossal loss to the murim! Talent squandered like no other!"
Jo Myeong-hwan pounded his chest in rage. Fury at a world blind to genius. Deep pity for its sufferings.
I'm losing it.
I bit my cracked lips, screaming inwardly as sweet fantasies crept in during his grand briefing.
Me... learning martial arts?
Honestly, as a decade-veteran web novel hack, my current specs were "plot-hole-level cheat traits" wrapped up tight. Too shameless even for my own stories' munchkins.
The Uiseon confirmed my talent.
Wait... if I learn martial arts and gain that insane power... then what?
Obvious next step. Power demands use. That's murim for you.
In my imagination, absolute powerhouse me flung sword qi coolly at foes.
But reality? Foes don't play sandbag. They'd swing razor blades and dripping killing intent at my throat.
Even with super-alloy Cheonpa Mugyeok Jiche body... if a vicious blade grazed my skin? Bones snapping, flesh spraying, blood fountaining?
Eek!
Horror seized me; I shuddered violently.
Recall my past life. No iron-blooded murim hero. Ultimate basement dweller in safe, cozy Seoul—sucking Americano in ergonomic gaming chair, tapping keys.
A paper edge nick? I'd halt work, raid the first-aid kit for ointment, wrap premium waterproof MediFoam lovingly. Tetanus terror from a scratch!
Endure razor steel slicing flesh in savage murim to unleash arts?
Crazy? No way!
Not talent. Aptitude issue. Body invincible Lamborghini? Driver's seat: five-year-old scared of bumper cars.
Losers like me shouldn't touch martial arts. Half-assed power draws eyes, drags into bloody blade dance.
I steadied my shaking eyes, resolving firmly. Politely but absolutely reject this mad Uiseon's offer.
"Um... Uiseon elder."
I parted my lips for rejection—
Flash!
Lightning-like, a vivid past memory struck my brain depths.
Long before leaving for Yodong, in Cheongryong Mugwan's rundown lecture hall courtyard.
Shoooosh—BOOM!!
Hwangbo Suyeon, driven mad by my novel, punching air furiously. Her pale fist moved at invisible speed.
That instant memory spun my thoughts weirdly.
Hand... gets super fast?
My gaze drifted to my trembling right hand.
Then typing speed skyrockets? From eagle-mode hunt-and-peck to 1500 strokes per minute novel churning?
This was it. I blurted not rejection, but—
"Is there... a martial art that makes your hands super fast?"
This was the question I shouldn't have asked. I really shouldn't have, you ultimate loser.