Martial Arts Masochist

Preparations to return to Mount Emei were complete.

I looked down at the items Bang Biyeon had given me.

First, high-quality bear back leather.

It was already tanned, so all I needed to do was work on it.

Thick yet soft—it seemed like there were endless possibilities for what I could make with it.

Since it was my first time with bear hide, my heart was pounding with excitement.

What should I make? It felt like a waste to use it just for arm sleeves and leg boots.

Second, the pressure point manual.

A basic guide illustrating the locations of the acupoints.

When I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the pressure point manual, Bang Biyeon asked,

‘Young Master Han, are you interested in acupoints?’

‘…I can’t say I’m not.’

It felt like something that aligned with my interests.

When I tie someone up, it’s not the rope that excites me.

It’s seeing a woman helplessly bound in a lewd pose.

Arms unable to cover her shameful parts, legs spread wide open instead, the humiliation, fear, and arousal on her face—that’s what gets me going.

Naturally, I couldn’t help but be interested in pressure points.

In truth, wasn’t pressure point striking the technique closest to SM in the wuxia world?

Just poke, and she can’t move an inch? Seemed like it had endless uses.

Bang Biyeon tossed the book to me like a mere souvenir, amused by my enthusiasm.

‘Think of it as learning self-defense and study it. Of course, for ordinary folks like us, even knowing the acupoints won’t help if the opponent doesn’t just hold them out for you to strike.’

I carefully accepted the pressure point manual.

I’d once talked with Uncle Gwak Du about getting stronger amid growing dangers, so this scratched exactly that itch.

Like feeling proud just for having a gym membership, even without going every day.

The pressure point manual gave me that same vibe.

Third, two silver taels.

He said it was an advance payment.

I was still touching them with trembling hands.

Since it was an exclusive contract, he threw in a premium, he said.

I already knew it was an absurd amount.

Two silver taels for one set of leather gear?

If he always paid like this, I’d never have to worry about making a living again.

Of course, I wouldn’t get this every time. This was purely Bang Biyeon’s gesture to earn my trust.

Didn’t smell like a con at all. What could he possibly scam out of me?

What did he gain by giving me this much?

Honestly, even if he had another leatherworker make that gear, these two taels alone meant I’d come out ahead.

But no, he wanted to keep working together… Honestly, it felt like I’d stumbled upon my own golden opportunity.

Wow… damn. The iridescent gleam of these silver taels.

I’d seen plenty of Dang Soran’s silver, but feeling like this was truly mine was something else.

What should I spend it on first?

Get blackout drunk? Fix up the house? Buy new leatherworking tools? Or hold off and save it?

The happy choices put my mind at ease.

Finally, the hair pin.

Cheongwol’s hair pin.

He said Changhwa Merchant Guild’s pins were top-grade, renowned across the Central Plains.

‘Young Master Han, looks like you have a sweetheart? Heh heh, then that gear was for her too…’

‘Don’t jinx it like that.’

‘Anyway, no woman can resist our pins. I guarantee it.’

I picked up the hair pin and turned it this way and that.

“…Hoo.”

And let out a sigh.

It felt like I’d brought Cheongwol an even better gift than expected, which eased my mind a bit.

Like I’d gained a reliable backer.

With this, I felt like I could avoid the worst outcomes anytime.

It wasn’t that I hadn’t thought of Dang Soran’s gift, but honestly, I felt a little resentful.

At the start of the journey, she was all “one play session and we’re good.”

Now she was slyly tacking on more demands one by one—what was that about?

Where was the line? I had to draw it somewhere, right?

If she wanted something, she should’ve agreed on it upfront.

I’d faithfully upheld my end. Spanked her till my palm hurt.

On top of that, I had more memories of her screwing me over, so wasn’t this enough?

Well, Dang Soran might not like this side of me.

“…”

…Actually, good. Let’s not get tangled up.

Honestly, earning Dang Soran’s favor was one of the things I needed to guard against.

.

.

.

I went with Dang Soran to the escort agency.

“Yes. Please deliver it as quickly as possible.”

Dang Soran decided to send a letter to the Tang Clan of Sichuan.

She tossed silver taels to the agency like pocket change and placed the commission.

Dang Soran was already veiled in muslin, but the agency buzzed with activity at the sight of a customer throwing around serious coin.

To be honest, she could reveal her identity here and it wouldn’t matter.

But I hated it. If word got out, it’d only make Cheongwol chase harder?

Besides, Dang Soran didn’t seem keen on it either.

She said being famous meant getting recognized everywhere, which was a burden.

More than that, she’d entered the city with slightly torn clothes. Just superficial scratches.

“Young Master, you too…”

Beside her, I consigned my next item.

The Detoxification Immortal Root, elegantly wrapped in fine silk.

Thinking of the ordeal to get it back made handing it over feel tearjerking, but no choice.

“Please deliver this to Namgung Yeon of the Namgung Family.”

Since it was valuable, as I reached for my silver—

Thunk.

Dang Soran turned her head away and covered my fee too.

…Damn, she’s too generous. I didn’t wanna spend mine.

You’ve got plenty anyway. Let me mooch a bit.

I stared at Dang Soran for a moment, then snapped back and sternly instructed the agency.

“No need to rush this one. Make sure it gets there safely, no matter what—straight to Namgung Yeon of the Namgung Family. Don’t hand it to anyone else, not even Shaolin’s abbot. Confirm it’s Namgung Yeon Young Master’s face and that he receives it with his own hands.”

“We’ll make sure of it.”

Sending just the root would confuse Namgung Yeon, so I sent a letter too.

I hoped he’d chew it without suspicion.

Above all, I hoped he wouldn’t dig into my identity.

Best to cut ties with Namgung Yeon here.

Only then could we finish preparing to head home.

Dang Soran asked,

“Shall we go, then?”

I nodded.

“Yes, let’s.”

****

With a thunderclap echoing somewhere in his mind, Changpa—the proud sect leader of the Soul Flame Gate—opened his eyes.

“Ugh… grk…”

His mouth was sticky with dirt and blood. Even parting his lips was no easy task.

What happened?

Memories were hazy. Everything felt chaotic, like a dream.

But soon, the thick stench of blood assaulting his nose and the throbbing pain in his limbs made him realize this was no nightmare.

Changpa blinked, propping his upper body up with trembling arms.

Drip.

Blood trickled from his forehead.

Likely clotted in his hair, dislodged by the movement.

“…Gasp…!”

Before long, he froze solid.

As his vision cleared, the scenery turned hellish.

Burning banners.

Crumbling headquarters everywhere.

Gruesome, blood-soaked corpses strewn about.

The bodies of the men he’d called subordinates.

Men who lived and died by his command, the foundation of the Soul Flame Gate just starting to make its name in the martial world.

In merely a year.

This bastion of ambition had become a ruin of blood and ash.

And amid these ruins stood one utterly alien presence.

Truth be told, he’d seen it the moment he opened his eyes.

It stood out so starkly.

As if the ruins didn’t exist, one figure calmly built a fire at the headquarters’ center and rested.

Crackle!

The fire’s red glow illuminated that face.

Chilly, beautiful eyes.

Pupils still wet, as if from recent tears.

The character on her chest: Emei.

At the heart of this slaughter, a nun who upheld non-killing sat.

Only then did Changpa’s memories gradually return.

He clearly recalled how the heroine known as the Thousand-Year Flower—lofty and revered—hid a heart demon and ghostly fiend within.

He remembered how cruel and merciless she had been.

A subordinate who’d lost his arm in six chunks, from fingertips to shoulder.

Some with eyes gouged out, induced to scream and spread terror.

A sword swung without a flicker of emotion, even as they begged for mercy.

And what Changpa had felt in that process wasn’t fear, but awe.

That was no human.

An incarnation of Mara.

From her beautiful form and the even more beautiful violence, a groan escaped Changpa’s lips.

“…Ahh.”

Cheongwol’s icy gaze turned to him.

Betraying no emotion, she picked up her sword and approached.

Changpa felt no fear, as expected.

He only thought, right up to the brink of death.

…Our god is there.

Slash!