Surviving as the Sacheon Dang Clan’s Servant - Chapter 7

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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 7
I swallowed hard and shook my head. I didn’t need to hear the rest to know what this was—one wrong word and I’d be finished.
“No, sir. I’m just afraid I won’t be good enough at it. With respect.”
Only then did Dang Jung’s expression soften. He shrugged.
“You’ll know once you try. It’ll be easier than laundry work—don’t worry about it.”
At his casual reassurance, an honest groan escaped me.
Sir. Have you ever actually done laundry work? Do you know how hard it is to wash a long robe until only the cuffs are blackened with grime?
I bit the inside of my cheek and composed myself.
Indignation flared in my chest, but I wasn’t brave enough to argue about the difficulty of laundry in front of Dang Jung.
Listening to him was better than enduring my old department head’s entire lunch hour rant about modern martial fiction: “There’s no chivalry left in it, no chivalry at all.”
……Was it, though?
While I weighed the stubbornness of these two old-timers against each other, Dang Jung made his decision unilaterally.
“That settles it. Rest for the remainder of today.”
“Rest for…… today?”
“Starting tomorrow, carry out your duties as usual until the Hour of Monkey ends, then come find me. If you tell anyone you’re running an errand to my quarters, no one will ask questions.”
That’s not what I was asking, sir. I was asking if you really mean to take me as your disciple.
I chewed my lips, searching for words that wouldn’t bruise his pride. I couldn’t think of a way to refuse him without causing offense.
As the silence stretched, Dang Jung crossed his arms, clearly wondering why I wasn’t answering.
There was no escape. I swallowed the lump in my throat and replied.
“Yes.”
In the novel, Dang Jung’s stubbornness was legendary. This old man would stop at nothing to bend the world to his will.
I surrendered. Fine. If I’m his disciple, at least he probably won’t kill me.
The moment I answered obediently, satisfaction bloomed across Dang Jung’s face. His eyes sparkled as he smiled warmly and spoke with unexpected gentleness.
“From tomorrow on, eat dinner before you leave. Proper nutrition makes for proper growth.”
“I’m not exactly small, sir.”
“A martial artist can never be too large. The bigger, the better the muscle development. Longer limbs make for better weapons handling.”
You’re not exactly tall yourself, sir.
When I stared pointedly at him, Dang Jung cleared his throat awkwardly.
“An old master operates beyond such trivial constraints. But listen, boy—do you know your characters?”
Dang Jung was deftly changing the subject, his expression clearly asking: surely you can’t be illiterate?
His question caught me off guard.
I know Hangul, sir, but I don’t know Chinese characters.
Gauging his reaction, I mumbled my response.
“……No, sir.”
“……Hmm. We’ll need to start with the Thousand Character Classic.”
Dang Jung sighed and rubbed his forehead as if the matter were giving him a headache.
* * *
By the time I returned to the quarters, night had fallen.
The moment I opened the door, Song Ji, who had been sitting on the bed, leaped up and rushed toward me.
“Where on earth have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you!”
“Song Ji.”
“What’s going on? You said you were going to Nae-seong, then vanished without a word—I thought something terrible had happened to you. Are you hurt? Did you eat?”
“Something came up, but I’m fine.”
I deflected vaguely.
The truth—that I’d been bullied into cleaning the training ground by the Sim Yang Gang, gotten lost in Nae-seong and nearly drowned in the pond, discovered Dang Jung’s true identity, and somehow become his disciple, which now meant balancing work and studies starting tomorrow—was too tangled to summarize.
Seeing my haggard expression, Song Ji didn’t press further. Instead, she pressed a hand-rolled rice ball wrapped in bamboo leaves into my palm.
“What, you’re trying to starve yourself? Even when it’s hard, don’t skip meals. You need to eat to have strength.”
“Thank you, sister.”
Song Ji, you’re a good person.
The fact that a single rice ball nearly brought tears to my eyes told me today had truly exhausted me.
I smiled weakly and took a large bite. Cold grains of rice tumbled across my tongue.
Mm. I’m actually nostalgic for artificial flavoring.
More than that, I need to figure out a strategy for what comes next…….
“Sister, do you have any paper and a brush? I need to write something down.”
“You? Where would we get our hands on something that precious? And why are you asking for paper, brush, and ink when you can’t even read?”
Song Ji shook her head as if I’d said something ridiculous.
Still, I’d received sixteen years of higher education—I couldn’t possibly be illiterate……!
……But I was. I couldn’t even get through the Thousand Character Classic.
I felt the reality of a caste society strike home anew.
What one person had to save for ten years’ wages to afford, another could consume like water.
Paper, brush, and ink—items so common that some people trample them underfoot—were treasures to others.
Perhaps becoming Dang Jung’s disciple wasn’t such a terrible fate after all. At least it would guarantee a minimum standard of living.
If I were the disciple of the Grand Elder whom even the clan master took care not to displease, no one would dare treat me carelessly.
I forced myself to think positive thoughts. It seemed like the only way to hurt less.
In any case, it seemed difficult to devise a plan by simply jotting down whatever came to mind.
Having abandoned the idea of note-taking, I tried to recall what *Namgoong Heaven Under One Sky* was about.
*Namgoong Heaven Under One Sky* was a novel chronicling the rise of Namgoong Hui, the young master of the Namgoong Clan.
The plot was unremarkable—beginning with the protagonist’s victory at the Martial Arts Tournament of the Realm, it traced how the hero revitalized the Namgoong Clan while ranging freely across the martial world.
After becoming the clan master, the protagonist made the Namgoong blade known throughout the realm and earned the title Sword Emperor. Everything after that was a blur.
Since I’d read it half a year ago, only fragmented pieces flickered through my memory. My pathetic recall was all I could lament.
It seemed that a basic skill for web-fiction transmigrants was memory. How everyone else seemed to know exactly what work they were in, what happened in it, and how to act accordingly was beyond me.
I scratched my cheek, recalling the handsome man depicted on the cover.
Namgoong Hui was, charitably speaking, a character brimming with righteousness; less charitably, utterly tactless.
The Provocation Strategy, they called it. In the novel, he would needle the villains with words until they grew hot-headed and lunged at him—then proceed to thrash them soundly with his blade.
“Impressive, wasn’t it?”
“What was?”
“Oh, nothing. Just talking to myself.”
Song Ji looked at me with pitying eyes. Her expression said: *The work has worn you down.*
I forced an awkward smile and swallowed the hand-rolled rice ball, then hunger came rushing back. My stomach churned, demanding more.
Had the snack already worked its way through?
I must have been so tense that I hadn’t noticed the hunger until now.
As I began eating faster, Song Ji held out a cup of water.
“Eat slowly. You’ll get indigestion.”
I nodded and alternated between sipping water and bites of rice ball.
As my belly grew full, I felt more solid, more present. At the same time, my mind began to race.
There were two ways I could gather information now.
First, I could check whether this person called Namgoong Hui would attend the upcoming gathering of the Five Great Clans.
Second: Dang Jung.
Dang Jung had given the Mandok-dan as a gift because he coveted Namgoong Hui—but that happened after the Martial Arts Tournament of the Realm.
If I could find out whether Dang Jung currently possessed the Mandok-dan and whether he’d ever met Namgoong Hui, I might be able to pinpoint where we were in the story’s timeline.
“Hey. You’re not sleeping? I’m putting out the lamp.”
“Yes, sister. I’ll just sit a moment longer, then I’ll rest.”
“Don’t overthink things. Go to bed early. We can’t afford to think—thinking only makes life harder.”
“I understand.”
But how was I supposed to find out whether Dang Jung had the Mandok-dan in his possession? The moment I asked about the poison, I’d be suspected again.
Whether they thought I was a spy come to steal it or a presumptuous wretch coveting what wasn’t mine, the speed at which they’d grab my collar seemed much the same.
I lay down and watched Song Ji, who had fallen asleep instantly. A tightness pressed against my chest.
Perhaps Song Ji was right. If I simply did the cleaning I was told to do and the laundry work without thinking, I could at least keep my life.
But I didn’t want to live that way.
I tossed and turned until the stars embroidered across the sky disappeared beyond the ridge of hills, and then sleep finally claimed me.
* * *
As dusk settled upon the land, Dang Jung stood in the forecourt of a darkening pavilion.
His face was expressionless as he gazed up at the sky turning black.
When the wind brushed through the undergrowth, Dang Jung closed his eyes slowly.
“Well, Geun-myeong. Did you find out?”
Dang Geun-myeong approached soundlessly and bowed respectfully. He replied with proper deference.
“Yes, sir. An orphan, raised since childhood at the Dang Clan Estate, I’m told.”
“An orphan.”
Dang Jung murmured the word and opened his eyes slowly. His blue-grey irises gleamed with a sharp light.
“Yes. The lady apparently took in a five-year-old who was skin and bones. There is no Dang bloodline there—of that I’m certain.”
“So the name alone connects them. No wonder—ten months of Hak Jeong-hong in her belly and she lived at all? That mother and daughter are indeed pitiful.”
Dang Jung clicked his tongue. After a moment, Dang Geun-myeong continued.
“Since childhood, she’s shown unusual resistance to poison. There’s no record of formal martial training.”
“I confirmed that myself. Her entire qi meridian system was sealed.”
Among the maidservants, she’s been ostracized—likely because of her appearance. She’d stand out placed among ordinary folk. ……Don’t look at me like that, sir. What dark intention would I harbor toward a snot-nosed child? Still, there’s talk that in the past seven weeks alone she’s changed. She was a quiet, timid thing before, but now she’s begun to argue back against unfair treatment and show her anger.”
“Seven weeks, you say…….”
Dang Jung quietly calculated the dates. They overlapped with the time he’d first met the young maidservant.
“Is there any possibility she’s a spy sent from outside?”
“I will investigate whether there are other signs.”
“Do so.”
Dang Jung answered coolly.
It was necessary to verify directly whether he had stumbled upon the Jade Stone by chance, or if someone had hurled a poison-coated Jade Stone over the wall into the compound.

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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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