Surviving as the Sacheon Dang Clan’s Servant - Chapter 1

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Episode 1
Prologue.
[Some month, some day.
I opened my eyes and became a maidservant of the Sichuan Tang Family. Yes, that Sichuan Tang Family—the household of poison and hidden blades from the novels I’d been reading. Was I supposed to commute to work and keep reading? I’d give anything for this to be a dream.
This is all the department head’s fault. He told me to read wuxia novels, and now I’ve transmigrated into one. Seriously.
I’m doing housework all day long—the kind I wouldn’t even do at home. I want to go back.]
[Some month, some day.
Here, I’m assigned to laundry. Every single day, mountains of clothes are dumped on me. But there’s something that bothers me. Whenever I rinse the clothes, the water comes out in rainbow colors. Why is purple water coming out of a green robe?
……Don’t tell me that’s poison?]
[Some month, some day.
I found out the secret of my birth.
I am……. ■■■■■■?
I am……. ■■■ ■?]
[Some month, some day.
My father is telling me to attend a matrimonial meeting. He says it’s time for me to be useful, but he’s never done anything for me and only ever makes demands. Bastard.
When I cursed, Grandfather tried to soothe me. He said if the prospective groom didn’t suit my fancy, he’d bring me another one.
Grandfather, please don’t speak of my future husband as if you’re picking out potatoes at the market.]
[Some month, some day.
Just as I was about to sleep, a crowd came rushing in and dragged me away. Apparently my matrimonial prospect is dead, and they’re saying I poisoned him.
What nonsense is this? Why would I do that?]
1. The Way of Kangho Has Fallen to the Ground
There’s a common saying in the martial world when something beyond comprehension occurs.
‘This is the Law of Kangho.’
The meaning of this phrase, which had become a sort of meme on the internet, was crystal clear: only the strong survive in this world.
I rather liked this saying. Every time a protagonist in a wuxia novel spoke of the Law of Kangho while cracking open an enemy’s skull—indifferent to the laws and order of modern society—I felt a vicarious thrill.
I wasn’t alone in this. Everyone felt the same way, I’m sure. After all, we’ve all had the experience of swallowing our objections to injustice, pushing down our anger.
That’s what it means to be an adult: forcing yourself to do things you hate, folding your pride away neatly and putting on a smiling face.
So when the department head handed me a wuxia novel during my commute, saying I should read it, I couldn’t even show my distaste—I just took it.
“Young people these days don’t even understand jokes. Here, read this. Then we’ll actually be able to talk.”
So because we can’t communicate, I have to read his book? What kind of old-fashioned nonsense is that?
I wanted to say that we can’t communicate because he never considers anyone else’s taste and just forces his own interests on people—and that if he kept doing that, no one would stick around him. The words were right there, choking my throat, but I forced them down.
My performance review was in his hands, after all. Corporate life is really something.
And so, after six months of reading wuxia to connect with the department head, I’d even started laughing at his jokes about manifesting the Sammae Jin Hwa from the soles of his feet.
“See? You’re laughing now. Books are food for the soul, after all.”
Only I’m laughing, sir. And if wuxia novels become food for the soul, that’s a disaster. People start wanting to practice the Law of Kangho at the office.
In any case, wuxia novels—which I’d started reading as part of corporate life—turned out to suit my taste quite well. Despite the prejudice that they’re the exclusive province of middle-aged men, they were actually entertaining.
These martial artists, who seemed to know nothing but martial arts, had lives, loves, and romance too.
People who burned their lives for pride, to watch their comrades’ backs—weren’t they stirring in a way that was almost foolishly earnest?
The lives of martial artists were so appealing that I found myself thinking, “I wouldn’t mind living like that someday.”
But that didn’t mean I wanted to become a background character in a wuxia novel.
“Look at you, lost in thought again. Aren’t you supposed to be doing laundry?”
“Yes. I’m going now.”
“They’re serving herbal decoction at lunch today. Make sure to have something to clear your palate.”
“Again?”
And it certainly didn’t mean I wanted to become a maidservant in a sect that fed poison to its servants.
The Greatest Poison Sect Under Heaven—the Sichuan Tang Family.
Also called the Tang Men, the household of poison and hidden blades.
And somehow, I’d become a maidservant in this insane family.
* * *
If fantasy has noble houses, then the martial world has the Martial World Great Families. Of course, they’re not quite the same concept. The similarity is that they have power and are renowned, respected clans.
These families were organized around bloodlines, closed organizations made up entirely of relatives.
The Namgung Family gathered those with the Namgung surname, the Hebei Peng Family gathered those with the Peng surname, and the Sichuan Tang Family gathered those with the Tang surname.
So what is the Sichuan Tang Family?
They’re the arrogant ones who charge at the protagonist, only to be soundly defeated and sent flying away.
……In every wuxia novel I’d read, that’s what they were. Since they used poison and hidden blades as weapons, they were perfect for casting as villains.
When they were allies, they had a certain coldness about them but were loyal—when they were enemies, they were vicious and used underhanded tactics.
They walked the line between the Righteous and Evil Factions.
In a way, they were like the mafia in movies: when the protagonist, they were depicted as impossibly cool; when they appeared as villains, you wanted them locked up immediately.
Honestly, there was good reason for it. They use poison, after all. When you throw a hidden blade smeared with poison at someone charging at you with a sword, it just looks cowardly.
That’s why I’d never much cared for the Sichuan Tang Family. I was the kind of reader who thought martial artists should fight fairly with swords.
Perhaps it was that narrow-minded heart of mine. When I opened my eyes, I was doing laundry at the Sichuan Tang Family estate.
Laundry? Suddenly?
That was exactly my feeling the moment I’d transmigrated. Laundry? Out of nowhere?
I stared blankly at the laundry bat in my hands. Not a dream about running the washing machine—no, this was hand-washing clothes at a well. A dream, surely.
“What a strange dream.”
After muttering that to myself, I thought I should look up the meaning of dreaming about laundry. I was certain it was just a dream, after all.
But even after I’d beaten every piece of clothing thoroughly, even after drawing water from the well and rinsing everything clean, I didn’t wake up.
If anything, all my senses grew sharper. My hands stung and tingled where the cold water touched them. I blew warm breath onto my frozen fingers, and felt the heat of my own breath against the back of my hand.
…Why could I feel sensation?
A sudden thought struck me: this might not be a dream at all. I scrambled to my feet and plunged my head straight into the well.
The face reflected in the rippling water was a stranger’s. I blinked slowly.
But the face in the well didn’t change. An unfamiliar girl with a vacant expression stared back at me.
Something was wrong. I wiped the water from my waist and reached up to touch my own face. The girl in the well mimicked the motion.
Even in such shabby clothes, her fine features couldn’t be hidden. Given time and proper dress, she’d become a true beauty—the kind who’d land a role as a child actress in a blockbuster film and become the nation’s beloved younger sister.
But that wasn’t the point. I shook my head and looked around.
A classical estate came into view—the kind you’d see in a live-action Hong Kong film adaptation of a martial arts novel.
The vast manor seemed to stretch endlessly, with grand halls and pavilions rising up in every direction.
Judging by my appearance, I was a maidservant working in this estate.
A hypothesis I didn’t want to entertain began creeping into my mind.
Transmigration.
I slapped both my cheeks hard and took a deep breath. I’d hit myself so hard that tears pricked my eyes. This wasn’t a dream.
No, it can’t be. There’s no way. Stay calm. Getting worked up won’t solve anything.
Just calm down, figure out where I am, and devise a plan. Simple enough.
A wave of resentment rose in my chest.
Isn’t the unspoken rule that transmigration stories begin with “I opened my eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling”? Why did mine start with “I opened my eyes to find myself doing laundry”?
I’d already suffered as a corporate slave at home. Now they wanted me to live as a real servant in someone else’s house?
Seriously. Send me back home, please.
* * *
It took a full three days before I accepted reality.
I’d lived in a world where one button could finish laundry from wash to dry. Now I wielded a laundry bat—the reality of my situation was simply unacceptable.
Eat the food they gave me, do the work they assigned, collapse into sleep like the dead—and three days had passed in that cycle.
“Sigh…”
I looked down at the laundry basket in my arms and let out a sigh deep enough to swallow the earth. The basket, larger than my own torso, was piled high with clothes soaked in lye water.
After working for three days straight, shouldn’t I get at least one day off? There’s no mercy or righteousness left in this world.
“The Way of Kangho has fallen to the ground.”
As I muttered this, someone laughed with amusement and placed a hand on my shoulder.
“Hey, you. A girl who just does laundry, and you’re going on about the Way of Kangho?”
I spun around in alarm. A woman covered in freckles was smiling down at me.
The face was familiar. I’d just been blinking blankly at it until I realized she was the maidservant who shared my quarters. Even after sleeping in the same room for days, I’d muddled her name. Was it Song Ji?
“Song Ji…”
Seeing no correction forthcoming, I’d apparently gotten it right. I put on a dutiful expression and looked at her. Then Song Ji spoke.
“Stop stalling and hurry. You need to be back before lunch. The Chief Steward said everyone should gather at Guan Ga Won at the Hour of the Horse. Don’t you know how temperamental the Tang Family elders can be?”
“Yes, I understand.”
Urged along by Song Ji, I headed toward the washing place with a sullen face.
It wasn’t difficult to figure out I was at the Sichuan Tang Family estate. Everyone spoke constantly about “the Tang Family this” and “the Tang Men that,” singing praises in every breath—how could I not notice?
The green long robes the Tang Family wore everywhere helped too. The oversized sleeves—long enough to cover the backs of their hands—concealed poison and hidden blades within. That was the trademark of these people.
Those cursed Sichuan Tang Family members pursued a fashion of pure showiness: appearing empty-handed at first glance, yet carrying hidden pocket compartments inside their sleeves large enough to stuff an entire household into. Vanity, pure vanity.
With dragging hems and grime accumulating in those sleeve pockets, the structure of it all meant only the launderer suffered and died of exhaustion.
That’s me. Yes. Me.
I looked up at the sky with a heavy heart. My path forward seemed blocked. Where was I? Would I spend my entire life washing the ingrained stains from someone else’s sleeves?
With nothing but “member of the Tang Family” as a clue, I couldn’t even figure out which novel I’d transmigrated into. What martial arts novel doesn’t feature the Tang Family?
My situation, summarized, was this:
1. I had transmigrated into a martial arts novel.
2. I was a maidservant of the Sichuan Tang Family, completely ignorant of martial arts. (Though judging by how my body holds up even with daily hand-washing, I seem to have decent strength.)
3. I don’t know which novel. I have no information.
4. I have no money.
Seeing it all laid out like that made it even more hopeless. No money, no strength, no connections. I lacked every single element necessary to survive in Kangho.
…Could I even survive this?

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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