There was this murim novel.
A Deer Brand murim novel, filled with smut, where the "mu" (martial) and "hyup" (chivalry) were as cheap and tawdry as something stuck to the bottom of a shoe. [1]
"This is pure porn with a murim skin."
I clicked my tongue in disapproval.
The explicit descriptions and constant talk of the "union of yin and yang" didn't sit well with me.
It wasn't that I minded a protagonist who enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh, but indiscriminate bed-hopping shouldn't be the main focus of a murim story.
In that sense, the novel I was reading was a complete failure as a source of enjoyment.
"A protagonist needs a certain gravitas."
I muttered, nodding to myself.
This protagonist was frivolous in word and deed; lightness permeated his every action.
The entire plot was just a constant cycle of: solve a problem, get rewarded with a woman, have sex.
Rinse and repeat.
"Damn… every single woman who shows up is a heroine."
I scoffed.
Of course, being a murim story, there were enemies.
But even they were nothing more than experience-point fodder for the overpowered protagonist who hogged every heavenly treasure and fortuitous encounter.
And if, by chance, a beautiful woman happened to be among the enemies, the protagonist would "save" her from her wicked ways and, predictably, bed her.
"How believable is it that a demonic sect spy would fall for the protagonist who's supposed to be her enemy?"
I shook my head in disbelief.
A plot tailored to the protagonist's desires and an endless stream of meaningless couplings – that was the entirety of this Deer Brand smut-fest.
"Well, I read it to the end out of sheer inertia…"
I sighed, wanting to throw the book across the room.
As a fan of the murim genre, I could tolerate a certain level of indulgence, but this was just too much.
"This isn't even a case of having three wives and four concubines.
He could field a whole soccer team with his wives alone!"
My head spun.
What had I just read?
If someone hadn't recommended it, I wouldn't even have touched it with a ten-foot pole.
And so, my first thought was directed at the friend who had suggested this abomination.
"That bastard's dead meat."
I gritted my teeth.
I'd punch him in the face the next time I saw him.
But my anger was short-lived.
Realizing it was the middle of the night, my head cleared, and sleepiness washed over me.
"First… I need to sleep."
I sighed.
Looking at the mess around me, I briefly considered cleaning up, but the urge to sleep won out.
"Ugh…"
Even as I drifted off, a lingering annoyance simmered within me from reading that subpar murim novel.
But having been up all night, sleep quickly claimed me, and my vision blurred.
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"…I shouldn't have read that book."
"Pardon? What was that, Young Master?"
"…It's nothing."
I sighed.
In the end…
I had been transmigrated into that damned Deer Brand smut-fest.
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[1] Deer Brand here suggests something ordinary, common, or somewhat trivial—used metaphorically to criticize the story or event as bland or cliché.
[T/N: This chapter includes an illustration. Check Discord for it.]
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