Surviving as the Sacheon Dang Clan’s Servant - Chapter 15

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

Episode 15
4. The Mandeok Bulsim? Me?
I wanted to ask what he meant, but the atmosphere didn’t allow for it.
Dang Jung’s Inner Energy, heavy as suffocation itself, pressed down on both Dang Un and me.
Experiencing Dang Jung’s martial prowess for the first time was enough to understand why he was called the Poison King. His Inner Energy, filling the entire space, resembled poison itself.
A poison that seeps in silently and savagely cuts off breath.
I felt as though I might retch under the storm of his aura. I gripped the chair leg and gasped for air.
My body, sensing mortal danger, sent urgent signals. A ringing pierced my ears, and my pupils dilated until my eyes burned.
Though the situation offered no comfort whatsoever, glimpsing the Poison King’s true nature somehow eased my mind.
That such a terrifying force of presence had carried me around, fed me snacks, and coaxed me back to calm.
He had clearly kept his aura in check out of consideration for a simple maid like me.
I’d rather pretend I hadn’t heard him say he’d nearly killed me by mistake. My sanity depended on it.
I forced my head up with effort, and saw Dang Un’s face drained of all color. On his knees, he had collapsed onto the floor and was clawing at it with his fingernails.
“Grandfather… Brother… *Cough, cough!*”
Dang Un clutched at his chest and began to cough violently. His martial skill wasn’t high enough either—he was writhing in agony under Dang Jung’s aura.
At the sound of his painful coughing, Dang Jung eased his pressure. But Dang Un’s coughing didn’t stop. His body convulsed with his hand pressed to his mouth, and suddenly he vomited blood.
The droplets scattered across the floor gleamed with vivid crimson. The thick scent of blood made my mind reel. It was the first time I’d ever witnessed anyone cough up blood.
My stomach churned, and the ringing in my ears grew worse. My head throbbed, then felt like it might split open.
I blinked slowly. My vision darkened bit by bit.
“*Cough, cough*, Grandfather, So Hye is… *Cough!*”
“So Hye!”
I heard Dang Un and Dang Jung’s panicked voices, but I couldn’t see anything.
I lost consciousness.
* * *
When I opened my eyes, I was lying on soft golden bedding. The fine silk felt so pleasant that when I rubbed my cheek against it, someone spoke to me.
“You’re awake.”
“…Sir?”
Dang Jung’s voice jolted me fully alert. I lurched upright, and seeing him look troubled, he clicked his tongue and pushed me back down.
“Rest more. You’ll get dizzy.”
“Yes.”
I lay back obediently. Beside Dang Jung, who stood with arms crossed, Dang Un sat with a ghastly, bloodless expression.
When Dang Un met my eyes, he asked gently.
“So Hye. How does your body feel?”
“I’m fine.”
“That’s a relief.”
His hand, gently patting the back of mine, trembled finely. His skin was ice-cold and tinged with purple.
Dang Un should be the one lying in that bed, not me.
Dang Jung, watching the shaking Dang Un with a pitying look, waved his hand dismissively.
“Go rest now. I’ve no desire to have a corpse disposed of in my own quarters.”
His words made my jaw drop in disbelief.
…What corpse? That’s harsh language to use with your own grandson.
But Dang Un, accustomed to it, simply laughed off the remark.
“Just a while longer, Grandfather. I’m worried about So Hye.”
Then he swept his hand gently over my hair. Seeing his worried eyes, my conscience pricked sharply.
I’m sorry for suspecting you were someone strange. I didn’t know you were my half-brother.
Dang Jung’s mouth twisted.
“Unless you’re trying to burden your sister with needless guilt, go rest. Do you think it’s wise to linger looking like that? A man afflicted with Jeolmaek shouldn’t expose himself to cold wind.”
At Dang Jung’s sharp rebuke, Dang Un glanced down at himself with a startled expression. Spots of blood were scattered across his green robe.
Jeolmaek—what was that again? I’d heard it somewhere. I rifled through my memory in a panic.
‘Jeolmaek? It’s a disease where the blood meridians get blocked and people die young. A terminal illness, really. Usually only the children of the wealthy catch it. They have to inject precious medicine to extend their lifespan, but that only works if a physician diagnoses it as Jeolmaek in the first place. A poor family’s child wouldn’t have the means to see a physician, would they? They’d die suddenly without even knowing the name of their disease. Only the wealthy ones get to say, “I’m a Jeolmaek patient.”‘
So my brother was a patient. My heart ached for Dang Un. From what I understood, to cure Jeolmaek…
‘Then how do you treat it?’
‘Everyone dies except the protagonist.’
‘What? Why?’
‘That’s just how it is. If I were a writer, I’d kill them off too. People feel more sympathy when a talented young man with potential dies young, don’t they?’
There’s no cure? There really isn’t one?
Chief, this isn’t just sad—it’s so unjust it makes me want to weep blood.
The genes of such a fine young man should pass down through the generations.
Feeling embarrassed, Dang Un covered the bloodstains and rose without further protest.
“Then I’ll take my leave. So Hye, your brother will go now—rest well.”
I gave a small nod, and Dang Un, who had carefully adjusted my blanket, rose from his seat. I watched his receding figure.
I noticed the fragile curve of his shoulders—something I hadn’t seen before. The ends of his hair, which fell to his waist, had faded to white.
Perhaps that gentleness came from having resigned himself to everything.
Strangely, I couldn’t look away from the empty space where he’d been. He was far too young to have finished his life.
As I stared blankly at the vacant seat, Dang Jung sighed and stroked my hair.
“I’m sorry.”
“Pardon?”
“Forgive me. An old man got overexcited and made a fool of himself.”
The softened demeanor of Dang Jung struck me as odd. He’d always done as he pleased, never once apologizing or asking forgiveness in his life.
Only one thing had changed.
The blood of the Dang Clan now flowed through my body, the same as his.
I didn’t know how to respond. I opened my mouth.
“Sir, I….”
“Call me grandfather.”
“Pardon?”
“I am your great-grandfather. So you shall call me grandfather.”
“Yes.”
A great-grandfather would be the brother of one’s grandfather. So what relation was that? Seventh cousin? The math wouldn’t work out.
Dang Jung, rubbing his eyes wearily, spoke again.
“Sleep here tonight.”
“No, sir. I should return to my quarters. I couldn’t possibly take your bed, Grand—”
“One night on the floor won’t ruin my health. Just lie down.”
The protest rose to my throat—usually that claim was nonsense—but I swallowed it.
Dang Jung, who’d been sighing heavily, extinguished the lamp and left the room.
Darkness settled over everything, but sleep would not come.
‘I never even knew you were alive….’
‘And the Clan Head never said a word….’
‘So Hye is our youngest, grandfather.’
‘A daughter bearing direct Dang blood, a vessel of Mandeok Bulsim, left to rot in the Outer Quarters doing laundry—how could that be!’
The puzzle pieces fit at last.
A child of direct descent, yet cast aside by the Clan Head, treated as a servant. A child who knew no one would protect her, who bore harassment silently so as not to be noticed.
An illegitimate child of the Dang Clan’s head.
That was me.
I’d cursed the Dang Clan so many times for being mad, never knowing I was one of the madmen myself. I’d been spitting in my own face all along.
Restless and turning this way and that, I pulled the blanket over my head.
I had no idea what chasm this new identity as an illegitimate daughter of the Dang Clan would drag me toward.
I kicked away the blanket and tore at my hair.
I want to go home.
* * *
The next day, Dang Jung carried me to the Clan Head’s Residence. His grip had grown gentler, as if he truly cared—as if I were his own.
But the comfort of being cradled against his ribs was no better than before. Dangling from his side, I took in the unfamiliar landscape of the grand residence.
A guard at the entrance recognized Dang Jung and bowed with respect.
“I shall inform the Clan Head that the Grand Elder has arrived.”
“Never mind. Too much trouble.”
“But protocol demands—Grand Elder!”
He ignored the solemn checkpoint entirely, vaulting over the wall with the grace of a great cat. He moved with fluid, effortless steps.
“Grand Elder, please use the main gate!”
“Quiet.”
He brushed aside the guard’s tearful cry and abruptly shoved open the doors of the Clan Head’s Residence.
“Mu Hyuk, show yourself.”
“You’ve come, Grandfather.”
A middle-aged man who had been writing set down his brush and looked up. He responded calmly, as if accustomed to Dang Jung’s sudden intrusions at any hour.
I stole glances at the man. He had the sort of face that looked as though it wouldn’t bleed even if pricked with a needle—coldly impassive.
That austere look seemed to run in the Dang bloodline. Dang Jung looked young, but if you squinted, he had the same cold beauty.
From the context, there was no doubt that this man was Dang Mu Hyuk, the Clan Head. He hoisted me into the air before his eyes and spoke.
“Your daughter, So Hye.”
“So it would seem.”
Dang Mu Hyuk did not deny it, answering matter-of-factly.
Wow. So I really am the Clan Head’s daughter.
My surprise was short-lived; what came next drew an involuntary laugh from me.
“I’ll raise her myself.”
……Your Excellency. That’s a person right there, not a puppy, is she? And how is anyone supposed to understand what you mean when you talk like that?
Namgung Hui said the same thing—what’s wrong with all you martial artists?
Dang Mu Hyuk, who seemed to share the sentiment, stared hard at Dang Jung and let out a weary sigh.
“Does this mean you intend to teach the child yourself, Grandfather?”
“Your ears work perfectly well, I see.”
The conversation crackled with icy tension before my eyes. A clash of qi between martial artists—it was far too brutal for someone ordinary like me to bear.
As my breathing grew ragged, Dang Jung clicked his tongue and blocked my view with his sleeve.
“Who do you think you are, widening your eyes like that in front of me? Rein in your presence. The child is frightened.”
“My apologies, Grandfather.”
The words held no apology whatsoever, yet neither he nor Dang Jung seemed to notice.
I focused on the embroidery stitched into Dang Jung’s sleeve, steadying my breath. The crushing weight of qi pressing down on me gradually began to fade.
Once Dang Jung confirmed my breathing had returned to normal, he withdrew his arm and lightly patted my head.
At that, the middle-aged man’s eyebrow twitched ever so slightly—the expression of someone watching another handle filthy refuse.
“That settles it. Take my words to heart.”
“Grandfather or not, you cannot ignore propriety. I beg you—do not meddle in my daughter’s education.”
As he spoke those words, gazing down at me, revulsion etched itself plainly across Dang Mu Hyuk’s face.
I genuinely wanted to curse him out.
His daughter? You look at your own daughter like she’s filth?
A father who hasn’t laid eyes on me in a month is staring at me right now with such contempt he looks ready to beat me to death on the spot. Is that supposed to be fine?
I tried to lighten the mood with a forced smile, but he only glowered at me in disgust.
“You promised to live quietly, as if dead. So why are you poking around now?”
I realize now that smiling was a mistake. I hurriedly wiped the expression from my face.
“Poking around? Because of that garbage you spouted, this child has been locked away in the Outer Quarters, drowning in poison from head to toe, doing manual labor! A talent that appears once in a century—if that—has been rotting away in the Servants’ Quarters!”
Dang Jung’s anger flared, but Dang Mu Hyuk didn’t so much as flinch. He fixed me with a cold stare and spoke with precision.
“Grandfather. I cannot accept this child as a direct member of the Dang Clan. She is the product of a single night’s mistake with a courtesan. I fulfilled my duty by taking in both mother and daughter so they would not starve. Even after the mother’s death, I did not cast them out, nor did I evict them from Clan grounds.”
“That’s absurd. This is why men with those parts are such a problem.”
Dang Jung snorted, his face turning savage. Dang Mu Hyuk matched his intensity, his eyes flashing with insolence.
The sharp qi pouring from both of them made my skin prickle and my legs go numb.
They say when whales fight, shrimp spines crack. When martial artists clash over qi, my spine cracks.
I’m about to faint again if I stay caught between them. Your Excellency.
Please, fight without me!

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