Surviving as the Sacheon Dang Clan’s Servant - Chapter 6

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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 6
2. The Elder Master of Reversal of Youth
I repeated his words back to him like an idiot, and he smiled faintly.
“Martial Arts. I’ll teach you.”
I couldn’t fathom his intent. Just moments before, hadn’t he been suspecting me as a spy and pressing me down?
Was he testing how I’d react? Or was it just the thoughtlessness of youth?
The Sacheon Dang Clan was far from so easygoing as to let a mere servant maid learn the family’s martial techniques. And for someone not yet twenty to take disciples—it was absurd.
As I turned the matter over in my mind, the voice of my old wuxia-obsessed boss echoed in my ears.
‘You don’t take disciples until after thirty and you’ve had your own master. What’s a hairless kid going to teach? That’s Deceiving Master and Destroying Ancestors. That’s what it is.’
Right?
Maybe he meant to show me how to throw a Flying Blade just for amusement? Perhaps I was the one overreacting to a casual remark.
When I didn’t answer, the young master let out a hollow laugh.
“You think too much.”
“It’s just that…….”
I opened my mouth, then closed it. What could I say without offending him? My throat went dry with apprehension.
I’d felt it clearly just moments ago. Beneath his innocent exterior, this boy was a Martial Master. He could kill me at any moment without effort.
As easily as crushing an ant beneath a thumb.
The tension made my breathing ragged. Just as I was forcing myself to speak, someone stepped between us.
“Forgive me—I was looking for a Flying Blade that came this way. Is something the matter here?”
It was a Martial Master in a green robe. He offered a respectful salute, clearly acquainted with the young master.
From the sturdy voice I’d heard beyond the wall earlier, I guessed this must be the one called “Deputy Master.”
“What? Does it offend you to see an old man walking about?”
“No, no—of course not. I greet you, Elder.”
“Your neck’s grown stiff since I last saw you, Bu Gyeong.”
“My apologies, Elder. I meant no intrusion.”
But something was wrong with this exchange.
A man easily over 180 centimeters tall was fumbling and deferring to a boy a full head shorter, calling him Elder.
……Elder?
What elder?
“How old are you now?”
“I’ve passed fifty, Elder.”
“Already? These young people do grow up so fast. How is Suk Gyeong these days? I haven’t seen him in a while.”
“You’re kind to ask. My brother must be busy with his duties as chief administrator. I’ll bring him to pay respects soon. Please forgive our neglect.”
It was the sort of conversation a nephew and an elderly relative might have at a holiday gathering, exchanging pleasantries.
If I couldn’t tell by this point—unless I’d left my common sense back at a pawnshop—the young master was no fool ignorant of the world. He was older than me. Far older. At least five times over.
The days I’d spent doting on him as a mere child flashed before my eyes. It felt as though all the blood had drained from my body.
How was I to recover from this? I bit the soft flesh inside my mouth and hung my head low.
“That’s enough. No need to come calling. Just do your work. I can’t stand noise.”
“Yes, Elder Dang Jung.”
……Dang Jung?
The Dang Jung I knew?
Dang Jung, the Taesang Jangro of the Sacheon Dang Clan? The poison master who favored Namgoong Hui and had gifted him a precious Spirit Pill?
At the familiar name, my mind snapped clear. I stared at Dang Jung with a stupid expression.
Now I knew where I was.
.
I had been reborn into the first wuxia novel my boss had recommended.
* * *
I was too bewildered to speak.
It was absurd to find myself dropped on the opposite side of Joongyeon from the main plot, in a novel where the protagonist was a young master of the Namgoong Clan, and it was equally absurd that Dang Jung was who he was.
In the novel, Dang Jung was easily over 150 years old.
They say the three things to be wary of in Gangho are women, the elderly, and children—and it was true.
I’d heard tell of the Bone Replacement Technique and the Reversal of Youth, but I never imagined they’d be this extreme. I hadn’t known the Reversal of Youth could turn someone back into a child instead of merely rejuvenating them.
Is this what Gangho is always like? If so, do you have to be able to tell whether the child in front of you is 150 years old or 15 just to stay alive? I really should go home.
Even as I reproached myself for my naïveté, I felt a trace of indignation.
How many people could have imagined that a child watching a servant maid do laundry would be a supreme master of the martial world?
No one would think the boy pulling snacks from his sleeve was a Taesang Jangro.
As I turned pale and my mouth fell open, Dang Jung looked at me with playful amusement. He seemed delighted by my reaction.
A green boy calling him “young master” and trying to match him—no wonder he found it funny. Damn.
When I fell silent, Dang Jung spoke gently.
“Child. There’s nothing to be so startled about. I didn’t hide it to deceive you.”
“Y-yes. Yes, sir.”
Dang Jung’s mouth quirked at my changed form of address, and he seemed to find it amusing. Dang Bu Gyeong, who had been glancing between us, trailed off mid-sentence.
“Sir, but this servant maid is…”
“I’m thinking of taking her as a foster daughter.”
“Pardon?”
“Well, considering her age, she’d be more like a great-granddaughter. A granddaughter would be better.”
“Pardon?”
Dang Bu Gyeong’s voice rose in alarm. I felt much the same way.
Me?
You mean me?
“What, am I talking nonsense in my old age?”
“No, it’s just—it’s rather sudden. The girl isn’t even of Sacheon Dang bloodline, merely an ordinary servant maid.”
“If she were of Sacheon Dang blood, there’d be no need to take her as a foster daughter.”
“That’s true, but…”
As Dang Bu Gyeong stumbled over his words, Dang Jung waved a dismissive hand.
“I’m bored. Tell the same to Mu Hyeok.”
“Yes, I’ll pass along the word. Though, the girl’s name…”
Dang Bu Gyeong regarded me with a curious look. I answered quickly.
“It’s So Hye.”
“So your name is So Hye?”
Dang Jung’s brow furrowed. Dang Bu Gyeong tilted his head as if the name rang some bell.
“I’ve heard that name somewhere. Could you be from a collateral line?”
“No, sir.”
Hardly. If I’d been from a collateral line, the Shimyang faction wouldn’t have laid a hand on me. Dang Jung stroked his chin thoughtfully as he asked.
“Do you write it with the character for ‘brightness’ and the character for ‘wisdom’?”
“Sir, this child is already…”
“Could you be the youngest of Mu Hyeok’s children?”
Dang Jung’s voice sharpened. I was caught off guard. First, I had no idea who Mu Hyeok was, and second, I didn’t know who my father was.
“I’m sorry, who is that person? I don’t know my parents.”
“No… it seems I was mistaken. Then there’s no way you could be here.”
Dang Jung’s expression eased, though his tone turned curt.
“To register with the Sacheon Dang Clan yet not know the Clan Master’s name. You’re a bold one. How long have you been working here?”
“Yes.”
I’ve been here a week.
So Mu Hyeok was the Clan Master’s name. Though the way you keep calling him Mu Hyeok like he’s the neighbor boy, nobody would ever guess he’s the Clan Master, sir.
Dang Jung gave my vacant cheek a light pinch and opened his eyes wide.
“Right then. Let’s go to my quarters and have some tea.”
“There’s still the Yeonyoojang to clean.”
“Bu Gyeong can do it.”
“What? I… yes, sir.”
Dang Bu Gyeong had been about to refuse without thinking, but Dang Jung’s sharp gaze made him clamp his mouth shut. He’d come to retrieve the Flying Blade and now found himself saddled with the cleaning.
“Give him the broom.”
“Yes.”
As Dang Bu Gyeong took the broom from me, his face grew forlorn.
My apologies, sir.
I put on the most apologetic expression I could manage and left.
* * *
Dang Jung’s quarters were cluttered.
Dust had accumulated in places where it hadn’t been cleaned in ages, and belongings lay scattered about haphazardly. There was even an acrid smell.
As I surveyed the chaotic reception room, Dang Jung scratched his head sheepishly.
“Looks messy, but there’s a method to it.”
I said nothing, sir.
The fact that he offered an excuse first suggested even Dang Jung was aware his quarters were filthy.
He pushed scattered odds and ends across the floor with his foot to clear a path, then opened the sliding door.
Unlike the reception room, the corridor was quite clean. Sunlight streamed through windows on both sides of the long hallway, and birdsong drifted in. At the far end, I opened a door to find the Tea Room.
It was a beautiful space. Furniture crafted from rosewood was arranged in harmonious proportion, and through a round window, the garden view entered like a single brush painting.
I stared absently at the clusters of red plum blossoms bending down as if to touch the pond.
Noticing patches of thin ice here and there, I thought that if I’d fallen in, I’d be ill for days.
Following my gaze to the pond, Dang Jung spoke.
“Why, do you want to go into the water? Should’ve let you fall in.”
“No, sir.”
I stiffened without meaning to. When Dang Jung noticed my flustered expression, he chuckled.
“You’ve got more spirit than your appearance suggests. Well, no matter. Sit.”
“Yes, sir.”
I settled obediently onto the cushion he indicated.
A breeze drifted through the half-open window, soft and idle. The winter air that brushed my cheek was crisp, though not biting cold.
Once I was seated, Dang Jung began withdrawing a tea set and arranging the pieces on the table. As he set a kettle on the brazier, he asked me a question.
“Do you know how to brew tea?”
“I don’t, sir.”
“That’s understandable. Still, it’s worth learning. I’ll show you the leaves.”
He moved with deliberate slowness, as if expecting me to observe and learn by watching.
I puzzled over why he wanted me to learn tea-brewing, then recalled that tea was a luxury good.
Since it was dear enough that the poor and low-born rarely had access to it, this seemed an opportunity to acquire the skill.
I watched quietly as Dang Jung poured the hot water with elegant precision.
“Drink.”
“Thank you, sir.”
I bowed and accepted the cup with steam curling from its rim. The moment the clear, amber liquid touched my lips, a rich, fragrant taste bloomed across my palate.
“Dream Dewdrop Tea.”
“I see.”
“You could buy a handful of this with ten years of your wages combined.”
I nearly choked. Had I swallowed gold leaf? I hurried to set the cup down, and Dang Jung laughed softly.
“Become my disciple. If you do, I’ll see that you drink a pound of this every month.”
“Sir? I’m not sure that—”
I don’t care for tea, sir.
“You’ll eat proper meals too. Meat enough to satisfy you. No more squabbling with the other servants. And I’ll make sure your purse stays full. What say you?”
Dang Jung spoke as if coaxing a child, his tone gentle and coaxing. Yet I found myself hesitating before answering.
The moment I began learning martial arts, my fate would become inextricably bound to the Sacheon Dang Clan. So I gave a vague reply.
“I’m grateful for your favor, sir. But I am merely a servant, nothing more.”
“You mean to refuse?”
Dang Jung’s smile deepened. But his eyes—colder than his mouth—held something sharp and unsettling.

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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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