4. Greetings from New Streamer Cheon Cho-young!!

It was a hologram after all.

At first, Cho-young had assumed the translucent panel hanging before her eyes was a status window straight out of a webnovel. Then, all around her, she began to hear it:

"Ryu-ha! Today we're reviewing that newly released left-arm implant. You've all been dying to know what features the latest New-Arm model comes loaded with, right? Let's head over right now!"

"Hey there, folks. We're live at Sector 77 Plaza — famous, and I mean famous, for the high school delinquents who smoke here. I've come to deliver some street justice! Oi! You brats who haven't even grown your first chin hair! Uh... he's older than me. Damn it. Get over here."

"Turtle Ship, you say? Turtle Ships start at five low-grade chromite stones. Everyone, please load up some missions!"

"Hello! I run a NaTube channel called Jaesung's Camera — would it be alright if I used that clip just now in a video?"

Up and down the street, crowds of people had switched on holograms of their own, broadcasting to anyone who would watch.

So it hadn't been a status window after all, she decided. ...This is supposed to be Korea. Cho-young had no way to put into words the strange feeling caught somewhere between the familiar and the utterly alien.

A date was displayed at the top of the hologram.

Sixty-two years had passed between the moment Seon-ju vanished and the moment he came back as Cho-young. It was enough to drive a person out of her mind.

But why had the broadcast switched itself on? Perhaps the age of "everyone's a streamer" had finally dawned — some world where every breath and footstep a person took was streamed live to the masses...

...No, Cho-young concluded, that didn't seem to be it. After all, an End Broadcast button was sitting right there in plain view.

So people really do just broadcast whenever they feel like it.

Having pressed the button and ended it, she took a long look around at the people streaming on every side.

Hm... Each of them had some terminal-looking device strapped to an arm. But Cho-young had nothing of the sort.

Their holograms must be coming out of those devices. So why not mine? Staring at the holographic window that hovered before her eyes without any terminal at all, she began pressing this and that.

First, a tab for settling your earnings.

Then a tab for broadcasting. From the look of it, you picked a stream title here, hit transmit, and you were live.

That one appeared to handle follower management — blocking people and the like.

Hm? And what was this one?

The gatekeeper on Biseungdo had said it plainly enough: you carry the Universal Resonant Dao Body. Intrigued, Cho-young tapped the Universal Resonance tab.

"Whoa."

Maybe the reason a hologram appeared without any terminal was because of her own spiritual root. No wonder it had felt like she'd returned in the very body of the character she'd created on Biseungdo.

So was this the Republic of Korea crossed with a cultivation world? Did that even make sense?

...Well, looking at this body, she couldn't exactly call it impossible.

Cho-young closed her eyes and focused on the movement of qi drifting around her.

Gooooo—

Far, far away was a cultivator of a realm so high that simply sensing their presence from this distance seemed to throttle the breath out of her. Even miles apart, the presence was staggering. By comparison, she was only at the stage of first resonating with spiritual qi. Surely that person hadn't noticed her at all, she told herself, and quietly exhaled in relief.

So is this the Korea I knew? Or a completely different world that merely shares its name? She would need to find out. A visit to my old house should settle it.

Cho-young stepped out to the main road and hailed a taxi.

"The fare is three low-grade chromite stones. Please place them in the slot in front of you."

"..."

First it had been a flying car, which was remarkable. Then a driverless one with not a soul inside, which was more so. And now the car was talking. Cho-young could barely contain her bewilderment.

"What the hell is a chromite stone?"

She fished a single card out of her pocket. Can't I just pay with this?

Only then did the taxi door swing open.

"...What?"

Three million won for a taxi? Three million won to get out to Yangpyeong, practically the outskirts of Seoul? What kind of lunatic inflation was this?

Hands trembling, Cho-young slotted the card in and stepped out of the taxi.

"...Hah." What she found once she was out was an even greater sight to behold.

In the end, this really was the Korea she had known. If there was any difference, it was that somewhere in those sixty-two years a singularity had struck, and this was now a xianxia Korea overflowing with cultivators.

"My pepper field..."

The scenery matched her memories exactly — except that the field, left untended all this time, had been swallowed by weeds. Right beside it stood her late grandmother's house, the little place with the blue gate and the tiny courtyard, looking so bleak and derelict that a ghost seemed liable to wander out at any moment.

She pushed open the rusted, peeling blue gate and stepped inside.

That was when—

"We'll start the abandoned-house exploration in a bit. Whoa, this is creepy. Feels like a ghost could pop out any second now... Hm?"

Some woman in a hanbok was muttering to the empty air.

Cho-young and the woman froze mid-step, sizing each other up. The woman spoke.

"Here for some abandoned-house exploring, are you? Streamer?"

What is she talking about?

"Who are you?"

"A streamer — I'm a shaman who catches ghosts. I came to explore first today, so come again next time."

And with that, the Ghost-Catcher Shaman tried to shove Cho-young out of the house.

Cho-young smacked the shaman's hand away hard, her face a mask of irritation with every absurdity of the day piling up inside it.

"Get lost. This is ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my house."

"...I beg your pardon?"

"I said get lost."

Then she shoved the shaman out the door and locked the blue gate nice and tight.

Outside, the Ghost-Catcher Shaman put on a look of utter desolation.

"No, wait, you guys. My spot just got stolen?"

"...Honestly, even from one woman to another, she was fucking gorgeous."

"Anyway, the house two doors down is abandoned too, so I'll head over there. It can't be helped, you all admit that, right?"

Meanwhile, inside the house, Cho-young was surveying every corner of the place, rotted through and crumbling from years of neglect. The living room sofa's leather had flaked away until it was unusable; the TV sat buried under dust and cobwebs. The bed, the wardrobe, the clothes — all of it was past saving.

A cockroach skittered right ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠past her feet.

"Hooah!" Cho-young blew a rough breath across the dust caked on top of her streaming computer and pressed the button.

Click!

It didn't turn on. Left abandoned that long, it must have broken down for good.

"Where do I even start with all this..." Daunted, Cho-young grabbed fistfuls of her own hair. Still, she couldn't very well roll around in the dust alongside it.

She rolled up her sleeves, eyes shining.

"Cleaning time!"

Thankfully, the cleaning supplies were all still there, and she set to work, sweat pouring down her face. A short while later — after a full three hours of deep cleaning — Cho-young found herself facing a hollow, empty house.

The TV that had once been a cutting-edge Samssong? The waterproof sofa from Akia? The streaming computer she'd saved up for, the first big purchase of her life? The well-worn bed that had been with her since she was a kid? The wardrobe with a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠built-in clothing styler, even? The outfits that had, in their day, more or less ruled an era of fashion?

She threw out every last piece of it.

And yet instead of emptiness, what Cho-young felt was wonder.

"I'm... strong."

No man could haul out a heavy sofa and a TV single-handedly. Yet here she was, a woman with a plush pair of breasts riding her chest, and when she tossed out the sofa, the bed, all the big furniture — not one piece of it had felt the least bit heavy.

"...Though ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the house is, well."

Having thrown everything away, there was nothing left inside at all. No computer to chase off the boredom, no TV either. And a phone? Didn't have one of those, either.

"Maybe I should do some interior decorating."

But she had no money for that, either. Hadn't three million won just been scraped away for a taxi? Her bank balance from before Biseungdo had stood at exactly five million won, and the two million that remained wouldn't even cover the fare back to Seoul. Naturally, that meant no sofa, no TV, no computer, and no phone.

"What do I even HAVE?!!"

Tearing at her hair, sprawled face-down on the floor sobbing, Cho-young abruptly found herself looking down at her own chest, squashed flat against the cold floorboards.

"...Nah. No way."

"...Right? What's the harm, really?"

"If I were still a man, there's no way in hell I could resist."

"There it is. Embarrassment is temporary."

Having resolved on something, Cho-young clenched both fists tight.

"Hello, everyone."

"Oh, I've never even thought about doing something like that. I'm sorry."

"Ah, I'll say it one more time, but body outlines are, um... this isn't that kind of stream."

The chat poured down the screen in a frenzy.

Two hundred low-grade chromite stones — ten minutes into her first-ever broadcast.

T-two hundred million won?

Cho-young could hardly contain her shock.