When I opened my eyes again, a strange old man was sitting beside me. His face was covered in pockmarks, and his frame was frail, but the intensity in his eyes was anything but weak.
He was another person I had never seen before in my life.
Good heavens! Am I still dreaming?
I had never experienced such vivid dreams, especially not one after another like this.
As if he had been waiting for me to wake up, the old man spoke immediately.
"You should be ashamed."
That wasn't what I needed to know. Why was I trapped in this endless dream?
Slowly, I sat up and glanced at the bronze mirror hanging on the wall.
It showed the face of the young man I had seen earlier.
This time, I took a closer look at his face.
Despite the bruises and cuts scattered across it, he was quite handsome. His eyes held the bright-eyed recklessness of a naive youth.
And he bore an uncanny resemblance to the woman who had struck me earlier.
So she really was this young man's mother.
"She..."
"She?"
"No."
"No?"
The old man frowned, as if my abruptness had offended him.
How could this be a dream when his displeasure felt so real?
I reached out and touched the blanket covering me. The fabric felt vividly tangible.
"Yesterday's incident was truly disappointing."
"I remember nothing of it."
Nothing was known about this young man's life.
Instead of showing concern, the old man openly mocked him.
"Of course, that's exactly what I'd expect from you. You know nothing about responsibility."
His words angered me, even though I knew they weren't directed at me, but at the young man.
In my past life as a martial arts alliance leader, I had lived by several principles:
Clear rewards and punishments Swift and certain retribution Taking responsibility for difficult situations instead of blaming circumstances Never relying solely on subordinates' loyalty* Always taking responsibility for my actions
I had never once shirked a responsibility that was mine to bear. As a human, I might lose battles or make foolish mistakes. But even so, shouldn't one maintain a sense of responsibility? That's how I had lived my life.
Seeing my face harden, the old man glared at me with the pity one reserves for someone who's just passed gas, then rose from his seat.
"You... you're a disgrace to this family."
He slammed the door and stormed out of the room.
What on earth had I done to wake up beaten senseless and treated like this?
Suddenly, a wave of exhaustion washed over me.
Right, when I wake up, I'll be back to normal.
I drifted back to sleep.
I thought I would awaken as the Martial Alliance Leader.
But when I woke up that evening, I was still trapped in this unfamiliar young man's body. The crimson sunset streaming through the window painted a dreamlike scene, but reality remained unchanged.
Now I was certain.
This isn't a dream.
No, it definitely wasn't a dream. No matter how deeply I might be immersed in a dream, I would never lose the ability to distinguish between dreams and reality.
Could I possibly be suffering from a martial arts backlash?
But I'd never heard of such a manifestation of a backlash before. Was there something about martial arts I didn't know?
The symptoms didn't match a backlash, and it certainly wasn't a hallucination.
I had been reborn as this young man.
And I retained every memory of my previous life as Cheonhajin. In short, I had been reincarnated as another person.
How could such a thing be possible?
In my seventy years navigating the martial world, I had witnessed countless unbelievable events, but reincarnation?
I gazed silently up at the sky. The cumulonimbus clouds, tinged with the crimson glow of the setting sun, looked as ordinary as ever. This only intensified the urgency of my question.
Why am I being made to endure this?
Even granting the unlikely possibility of reincarnation, how could I possibly remember all my past lives? The memories of my previous life as Cheonhajin, the Peerless Under Heaven and Leader of the Martial Alliance, were crystal clear.
My memory had been deteriorating rapidly in the days leading up to my death.
Was this some kind of compensation? Or perhaps it was simply the vigor of a young brain? Now, everything came flooding back—every detail, no matter how distant, as vivid as yesterday.
I remembered the day Baekpyo's son was born, his face flushed with joy. I remembered the wrinkles around his eyes, etched into my mind. Yet, with such clarity, how could I have forgotten his son's age? Or even whether he was a son or a daughter?
Looking back, it seems utterly impossible. At the time, I was as clouded as someone under the influence of drugs, unable to think clearly.
In other words, my death might not have been natural.
Was I assassinated?
If so, is this reincarnation a divine favor, granting me a chance for revenge?
...But what if that's not it?
I sat on the porch in front of my room, gazing at the setting sun beyond the wall.
A stranger's face, a body as heavy as waterlogged cotton, an unfamiliar space, and unfamiliar people.
Everything felt foreign.
If I closed my eyes and opened them again, I half-expected to be back in the Grand Preceptor's office in the Martial Alliance. I half-expected Gal Saryang to burst through the door at any moment, laden with paperwork.
Just then, the door opened, and someone entered.
A man in his mid-twenties with a genial, laid-back demeanor.
"Oh? You're awake."
Several people had passed by earlier, each offering a perfunctory bow before hurrying away. This was the first person to actually stop and approach me.
The man walked over and sat down beside me.
"See? What did I tell you? I said you couldn't win, no matter how skilled you are. She's trained under a renowned master for five years! Please, listen to me next time. I was terrified something might happen to you while I was carrying the young master and running here."
"Who are you?"
"I heard you pretended to have amnesia. Well, not everyone believes it, but you did a good job. Otherwise, the Lady Consort would have beaten you to a pulp. You're usually so quick-witted in situations like this, so why did you freeze up that day? No, no, it's not your fault. The young master is just too pure-hearted."
"I'll ask again. Who are you?"
"And Young Master, you should really take this opportunity to start training your martial arts seriously. Getting beaten up by women isn't exactly dignified, is it?"
"I'm asking for the last ti—"
"Baldy! Baldy! This isn't funny anymore! Stop pretending you've lost your memory!"
"Baldy? Crazy Head?"
"Why are you acting like you don't know?"
"Did you really name yourself with the 광 character for 'crazy'?"
Startled, I stared at him. Only then did he seem to realize something was genuinely wrong.
"Of course not! It's the 광 character for 'shining,' meaning 'radiant.' 'Crazy Head' was just something you used to tease me with. Why are you acting so strangely today?"
"I... I really don't remember anything."
"This joke isn't funny anymore."
"I'm serious."
"Really?"
I nodded at the doubtful fellow. He narrowed his eyes, studying me for a moment, then asked casually, "Do you remember the two nyang I lent you a while back?"
"How much was it?"
"Two nyang."
Being the type who couldn't stand being in debt, I immediately rummaged through my pouch and handed him the two nyang.
Guangdu stared at the coins in my hand, his eyes widening. "Good heavens! You really don't remember, do you?"
"Why?"
"Young Master never pays back borrowed money! What on earth happened? Did you get hit on the head?"
"I think so."
"What did Elder Zhong say?"
"Who's that? Oh, you mean that old man from earlier?"
"Gasp! Even at your most reckless, you were always terrified of Elder Zhong. You really don't remember, do you?"
"Just answer the question. Maybe hearing it will jog my memory. Who was that old man from earlier?"
"He's the head physician and chief steward of the main family estate. He's also Lord Patriarch's sworn brother."
"Lord Patriarch? You mean my father?"
"...Why are you acting like this? You're really starting to scare me."
"He looked much older than my father to be sworn brothers."
"Didn't you say age doesn't matter in the martial world?"
"Who told you that?"
"Aren't all within the Four Seas considered brothers?"
Four Seas, one brotherhood? What a load of nonsense. That's just an idealized version of the martial world at its best.
There's no group more meticulous than martial artists. They scrutinize everything: age, sect affiliation, lineage, skill level, gender, seniority, regional origins, whether one is of the main family or a branch, whether one wields a sword or a saber, whether one is left-handed or right-handed, whether one specializes in external or internal arts, and even the color and patterns of their martial attire. Martial artists are precisely this kind of people—those who obsessively dissect every detail.
"I told you, I don't remember! What more do you want from me?"
"They didn't believe me."
"Figures."
"That old man was completely unmoved. What on earth did I do?"
"Where do I even begin?"
It sounded like he'd gotten into more than one mess.
"Start with the most recent incident. How did I get hurt?"
Guangdu sighed heavily, looking utterly exasperated.
"I went to see Miss Song, but she turned me down. Furious, I got drunk and went back to make a scene. When she came out, I started insulting her and got beaten like a dog... sigh."
"Who is Miss Song?"
Guangdu stared blankly again.
"You're asking who Miss Song is?"
"Yes, who is she?"
"Song Hualin. The heir to the Song family estate. She's the most beautiful woman in Shandong—intelligent, skilled in martial arts, practically perfect in every way. Except for one fatal flaw."
"What is it?"
"You're engaged to the young master."
"What?"
"You two were betrothed while still in the womb."
Prenatal betrothals typically occur for two reasons: either the parents are exceptionally close, or it's a strategic political decision.
"Honestly, my luck with husbands is truly abysmal."
"Did I used to hit you often?"
Guangdu flinched. "N-no, not at all. Why would you ask that?"
"Listening to you makes my hands itch strangely."
Guangdu forced an awkward laugh. "Hahaha. The bond between the young master and me goes far beyond a mere womb betrothal."
"Doesn't seem that way at all."
Regardless, it was clear the young man and Guangdu had a casual, comfortable relationship.
"But why did she hit you? If you were betrothed at birth, you must have grown up together."
"That's how it was when we were young. They used to play so well together. But five years ago, the young lady left for distant Qinghai to train in martial arts. She only returned a few days ago."
"Her feelings must have changed in the meantime."
"The young master has changed a lot too."
Guangdu sighed, his voice heavy with regret.
"What about the trouble he caused before?"
"He got caught up in rigged gambling and lost a fortune, became infatuated with courtesans and squandered money on them, got into drunken brawls, ran away from home to avoid martial arts training, and recklessly tried to hunt down notorious figures in the martial world..."
"That's enough."
I felt like I already knew everything I needed to know about this guy.
"And your mother only slapped him on the back of the head and let it go?"
If it were my child—or anything else for that matter—I would have beaten them half to death.
"So, in short, what kind of person am I?"
"Can I be honest with you?"
"Now's your chance. Take it."
"I'm trash."
Suddenly, I remembered the question I'd asked Gal Saryang on the day I died.
His answer had been, "You are the very embodiment of the martial world."
I'd woken up one morning to find myself transformed overnight from a hero of the martial world into human trash.
Guangdu, who had scurried away a few steps after calling me trash, now tilted his head, puzzled by my lack of reaction.
"Looks like you really did come back from the dead."
Close, but wrong.
I truly had died and been resurrected.