Surviving as the Sacheon Dang Clan’s Servant - Chapter 8

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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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Chapter 8
The sun rose without fail the next morning.
I’d hoped that opening my eyes would mean I’d returned home, but my body remained at the Sacheon Tang Clan, and a broom was still clutched in my hand.
I swept the slate floor with a vacant expression, while Dang Jung sat before me with a soft thump, polishing his Bifurcated Blade.
If you stay there, you’ll eat dust, sir. Why don’t you move over there and work, instead of sitting here?
I swallowed my complaint and asked as I swept, trying to avoid him.
“Didn’t you tell me to come at noon, sir?”
“I did. But if I called you after sundown, people might get the wrong idea. Just go ahead and finish the cleaning yourself.”
I see. Heh heh heh. Heh heh heh heh.
I stifled a hollow laugh and surveyed the vast expanse of Dang Jung’s Quarters.
The dusty Main Hall of yesterday had become my responsibility today.
It’s overwhelming. Truly overwhelming.
According to Song Ji, Dang Jung was a finicky master who despised others touching his belongings and refused to let the servants clean his chambers.
He’d even hung a curtain barring entry—imagine how particular he must be. And yet he couldn’t tolerate dirt either.
He paid no mind to dust swirling in the reception hall, but a single speck in the Tea Room sent him into a rage. Something about tea tasting bad when the room was soiled.
Since he hated anyone entering his quarters but demanded the Tea Room remain spotless, the servants apparently climbed through the windows to clean, then climbed back out the same way.
‘I’ve heard people in the Tang Clan grow more difficult with age, and it seems to be true. He tells you not to clean, then gets angry if it’s dirty. You’d better be careful.’
Song Ji had whispered this while worrying I might go hungry, and she’d slipped a dumpling into my sleeve.
‘Dang Jung asked that you be sent over.’
Even Sim Yang, relaying the message, looked at me with pity—enough to glimpse the formidable reputation Dang Jung held among the servants.
The fact that they were given the next day off after visiting his quarters spoke volumes about how unpleasant his temperament could be.
……Wouldn’t it make more sense for you to clean it yourself, sir?
I stared fixedly at the back of his head as he focused on maintaining his weapon.
Looking at him this way, he seemed like an ordinary young man, yet his temperament was remarkable. Surely he wasn’t expecting me to climb through the windows too.
Perhaps sensing my gaze, Dang Jung spoke first.
“Are you finished sweeping?”
“Yes? Yes, sir.”
I startled and let out a high-pitched sound, and Dang Jung chuckled and gestured to me.
“Come here.”
“Yes, sir.”
I hurried over, and Dang Jung extended his palm toward me as if asking me to show him my hand.
I offered my palm without thinking, and when he placed his hand against mine, he clicked his tongue.
“Your hands are too small to grip a concealed weapon properly. They need to be about three more inches across.”
Despite being similar in height, Dang Jung’s hands were at least a measure longer than mine. They were long and slender, and shaped beautifully.
Do hands and feet become beautiful when practicing the Ban Lo Hwan Dong? While such a useless thought crossed my mind, Dang Jung placed something in my hand.
“Throw it.”
It was a coin made of iron.
A square hole pierced through the center—the kind you’d only see in textbooks.
When I rubbed the coin between my thumb and forefinger, it felt rough. I awkwardly gripped the coin tightly.
“Where should I throw it?”
“What do you think? Do you see that red cloth tied to that tree over there?”
“Yes, I see it.”
“Try to hit that cloth.”
I was dumbfounded by his request. How was a person supposed to hit a tree nearly a hundred meters away?
Olympic archers shoot arrows at seventy meters, and there was no way an ordinary person like me could throw a hundred meters using nothing but pure strength and no equipment.
As I hesitated, Dang Jung urged me on.
“It’s fine. Just throw it.”
I bit my lip hard and threw the coin. Surely my strength alone wouldn’t carry it even halfway before it fell……
What?
I blinked.
The coin, slicing sharply through the air, struck perfectly into the center of the red cloth.
“Did you throw it, sir?”
“No.”
I looked back and forth between my hand and the wooden post. It felt unreal—impossibly so.
This works?
How is this possible?
As I gauged the distance between myself and the tree, a gleam passed through Dang Jung’s eyes. He offered me another coin.
“Throw again. This time, hit the blue cloth.”
“Yes.”
I took the coin without much hope and threw it. I’d hit it once by chance, but hitting it twice seemed……
I couldn’t stop grinning?
My eyes snapped open. A coin had pierced straight through the blue cloth and embedded itself diagonally into the wooden post.
What the—? How is that possible?
Dang Jung jerked his chin toward it.
“Go pull it out.”
“Yes.”
I scrambled over and wrenched the coin free—the corner lodged in the wood was mangled, crushed inward.
My mouth fell open. I’d been wondering all this time whether my strength had secretly been this good, whether I’d stumbled onto some latent talent. But now I understood.
This was So Hye’s ability.
Even washing clothes all day without tiring proved it. The muscle and bone were fundamentally different from the office worker’s body I’d inhabited—the kind that would be exhausted after thirty minutes of walking.
So Hye’s parents might very well have been Martial Artists. Genetic inheritance played an enormous role in physical gifts.
When I brought over the two dented coins and held them out, Dang Jung examined them slowly before speaking.
“You have considerable strength. Training will come easily to you.”
He ran a satisfied hand along his jaw, then tossed the coins far over the wall beyond the compound.
Sir, if you throw them over there, I’m the one who’ll have to clean them up.
I gasped in protest, but Dang Jung waved a hand dismissively.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll bring you a batch of new ones.”
That wasn’t the point. The words rose up my throat—don’t litter randomly—but I swallowed them down.
What an inconsiderate elder, not understanding even a grain of what matters to others.
After sheathing his cleaned Bifurcated Blade in his sleeve, he glanced up at the sky.
“Noon time already. Let’s eat.”
Without waiting for an answer, he ducked straight into the Main Hall. I scrambled after him.
* * *
After subsisting on rice balls, dumplings, and thin noodles, the Tae Sang Elder’s lunch spread looked like an imperial banquet.
Every dish on the table overflowed with food, and the variety ranged from meat to fish.
I hesitated—shouldn’t I ask permission to share the meal with an elder?—but Dang Jung seemed unconcerned. He actually pushed the meat dish toward me.
“Eat plenty. That’s how you’ll grow strong.”
“Thank you, sir.”
His kind words about growth rang strangely hearing them addressed to a child’s body. I forced a smile and carefully picked up my chopsticks.
The moment the seasoned meat touched my tongue, the distinctive spice of Sichuan cooking flared across my palate.
Dang Jung watched me chew, rested his chin on his hand, and asked a question.
“So Hye, what do you think Martial Arts is?”
Why must you discuss Martial Arts in front of a meal? I’ll get indigestion.
I managed to swallow the mouthful I was chewing, then answered.
“I’m not certain, sir.”
“Just say whatever comes to mind.”
“Well… Isn’t it training to reach a level of martial mastery that humans are capable of attaining?”
“More clever than you appear.”
Pleased by my fabricated answer, Dang Jung smiled.
“That’s right. As you say, countless Martial Artists dedicate their entire lives pursuing the depths of the martial way. This old man included, and soon you will too.”
Do I really have to? I respectfully decline your life plan for me, sir.
I swallowed my protest and slowly set down my chopsticks. Dang Jung’s blue-green eyes were fixed on me.
When I met his gaze, he began speaking slowly.
“Martial Arts is like building a tower. If you stack stone upon stone without first laying a solid foundation, what do you think will happen?”
“It would collapse under its own weight.”
“Exactly. Martial Arts is no different. If you covet flashy techniques before establishing your framework, you’ll end up a third-rate warrior who achieves nothing.”
“I understand.”
“Do you know why I’m telling you this?”
“It seems like you’re saying I need to build a solid foundation.”
“Precisely. Whatever path you choose, you must climb it one step at a time from the bottom. So from today forward, So Hye, you will begin training in External Martial Arts.”
“External Martial Arts?”
“Yes. First we must build a body suited to cultivating Internal Energy. Learning the Cultivation Method comes after. Eat this too.”
Dang Jung stopped speaking and placed some fish flesh on my plate.
Build the body first, then?
I rolled my eyes awkwardly.
It seemed like the martial equivalent of raising baseline fitness before beginning serious training.
“And don’t be anxious about it. You’re not late. Whether others began at five or twelve makes no difference. You need only walk your own path with resolve.”
His confident voice carried a peculiar force. I found myself nodding, hypnotized, and Dang Jung chuckled softly.
“Well, not the moment to discuss it now. I’ll tell you more later. For now, eat hearty. Once you’re splashing in the water, you’ll get hungry fast enough.”
A mischievous glint appeared in Dang Jung’s eyes.
Water play? In the middle of winter? Was he planning to throw me into the river? My stomach twisted with anxiety.
Surely not?
* * *
Surely did.
The moment we finished eating, Dang Jung’s eyes blazed with light as he led me to the Pond. That wild glint in his gaze made me grip my sleeve nervously.
The thought of wading into water cold as ice held no appeal whatsoever. As if reading my dread, Dang Jung’s mouth curved upward.
“You’ve eaten well—now it’s time to work off that meal.”
“Sir, isn’t there a gentler method we might try?”
He dismissed my words with a wave and thrust a bundle of coins into my hands.
“Use the coins to catch fish.”
“I beg your pardon?”
I struggled to make sense of his words. At least he wasn’t ordering me into the water—that much seemed clear. But what did he mean?
Was I to bend the coins into hooks? Use them as bait?
Dang Jung poked my blank cheek and chuckled softly.
“You think it’s impossible? Watch carefully.”
With a light rotation of his wrist, he flicked a coin into the air.
The coin shot through the water’s surface and pierced straight through a fish’s gills. Flawless technique.
He fished out the dead fish as it floated to the surface, then glanced back at me.
“That’s how it’s done. You can manage it, yes?”
Could I manage it?
“I’ll have you practice until you can. Don’t worry.”
He flashed a bright smile as though offering reassurance.
So this was what he’d meant about working off my hunger!
I felt the urge to weep.

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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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