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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 9
Chapter Title: Young Mistress O Eun-rim - [3]
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In the back seat of the speeding Benz, O Eun-rim let out a sigh.
It had been a tiring day in every way. She had to put on a show in front of those gangsters, and after getting ambushed, she got utterly crushed by the overwhelming gap in skill.
She hadn't been out in the martial world as the Young Mistress for long, but she already wanted to throw in the towel.
Losing to the disciple of Invincible BB Bullet was humiliating enough. Couldn't she just hole up and keep training her martial arts? Deep down, that's exactly what she wanted to do.
Learning martial arts was fun, but she hated flaunting it or using it for anything. Like needling some violent gang boss for protection money or playing martial arts master to talentless middle-aged hacks—company presidents and doctors—who just gorged on elixirs.
She never dreamed she'd be stuck doing crap like this right after college graduation. She wanted to date, travel abroad, enjoy life... but now even that was off the table.
If she said she wanted to quit, they'd demand she cough up the cost of all those elixirs. Maybe if she snuck off overseas, they couldn't catch her.
Lost in her gloomy thoughts, O Eun-rim gazed out the window. Rain was falling. Maybe that was fueling her mood.
Of course, depressed or not, work was work. She pulled out her phone.
"Father? Job's done. Yeah, some stuff went down at the acupuncture clinic. Nothing urgent. Just passing on that we nabbed three of those gun-toting drug peddlers."
Her father's status in the family wasn't high, which was why she had little interest in clan affairs.
He barely paid attention to her reports, more focused on cozy father-daughter time.
"Good work. Let the others handle cleanup. Come eat with me. You know my usual spot?"
His voice crackled through the phone, and O Eun-rim frowned.
"You're at the pork soup joint right now?"
"Yeah."
"No bodyguards if you're there, right?"
"Why drag my muscle to a soup shop? Not out to tank the lady owner's business."
What a clueless guy.
"You have any idea how rough things are lately? I just busted three dealers—two packing heat!"
"Relax. I won't die."
Already down in the dumps, O Eun-rim unloaded. How hard she'd been grinding lately. How shitty it all felt, like she could drop dead. Did he really think she wanted to chow down with some pot-bellied uncle in this mood?
Her father just chuckled vacantly, letting his daughter vent.
In her funk, it felt like mockery. Her voice rose sharper.
A thud. He'd dropped the phone, it seemed.
Then his voice cut through from the other end—urgent, frantic, no context.
"Hold on, just wait—put that down, that—"
"Father? What's wrong?"
A sharp bang rang out.
Vivid even through the receiver. Gunfire. She'd heard it a few times before, unmistakable. Like a tiny thunderclap...
"Father?"
Then real thunder boomed. A white bolt stabbed from the sky, branching wild—kraaaack...
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"Toss any gun after one shot. Fired bullets leave unique rifling marks—like fingerprints. Cops log 'em. Treat 'em like pricey disposables: fire and ditch."
"What, some scam to sell more? Nah. In Japan, even cheap ones go for 200k yen a pop. Here, triple or quadruple that easy—but we undercut. Cheaper than a smartphone. Good luck finding better."
"No SMGs? Sorry, pigs flip out over those. We'll bring 'em in eventually, right timing. Stick to Glocks for now."
"Ah, right—drugs too. No opium? Why's everyone hot on uppers but skip this? Cheap and primo..."
"Business talk's done... Let's get to the good stuff."
"Know what the Demonic Cult is?"
"White Lotus Society. Ming Cult too."
"Not devil or Satan worship. White Lotus mixes Buddhism and Manichaeism—'Ma' from Mani sounds like Chinese 'mo' for demon, name stuck. Totally legit religion."
"Anyone into Childless Mother's mercy and Maitreya rebirth by her will? Dreaming of Amitabha's Western Paradise?"
"None? Figures—who joins a cult for that these days."
"Alright, anyone read wuxia novels back in the day? Comics count."
"Ooh, decent crowd. Know Heavenly Demon?"
"I'm the Heavenly Demon."
"So, wanna conquer the martial world with me? Join up: unlimited opium, half-off guns and ammo."
"Martial world where? Korea, duh—talking to you locals."
"Heavenly Demon hits Central Plains, not poor Haedong."
"Nonsense. That's wrapped ages ago—conquered..."
"Ah, lightning. Pitch black, pouring rain—prime black market vibe."
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Outside in the downpour, Heo Pung-gae was cultivating.
Yi Pung was probably boozing with the crew right now, but who cared. Not a shred of bitterness toward his disciple and grand-disciples partying without him.
Pure bliss filled him.
An elixir he never dreamed of. Invaluable.
Last dose was five years back, pre-prison—reward for that ambush. Long drought meant it'd melt right in.
To absorb its qi, he shut his eyes and assumed lotus position.
Meditation—one of a Taoist Priest's core practices.
Taoist meditation differs from Buddhist Zen.
Buddhists empty the mind to nothingness.
Taoists do the opposite: laser-focus thoughts. Project intent sharper than ever.
That's Taoist visualization—jonsa.
Concentrate on the viscera—the ten zang or three dantian.
Manifest the indwelling gods vividly.
The Way teaches: at birth, the body hosts avatars of heaven's millions of gods. It's their palace. They guard and nurture it.
Humans crawl and die because growth brings filth in mouth, vile deeds—gods bail in disgust.
Eat pure, act righteous, gods stay—you become divine. Ascend with them or live eternal on earth, undying.
He would achieve it.
Eyes closed, he contemplated the three dantian: upper Niwan Palace, middle Scarlet Palace, lower Yellow Court Palace.
Palace suffixes reveal godly homes. Recite names, envision them. Project onto sites.
Unite them with qi.
In deep meditation, qi shone through eyelids.
Nature's qi—brilliant lightning slashed heaven.
Light precedes; thunder follows.
First bolt this year. Divinatory portent. Priests had rituals for it.
Seamless from jonsa, Heo Pung-gae imprinted that lightning into his three dantian.
Let heaven's bolt dwell in him. He chanted the incantation.
"Thunder's might shakes, startling all..."
Thunder crashed at last.
A lightning vein stabbed inward—thin, stark, branching wide.
Thunder rumbled faintly inside—kraaaack...
Vivid imagery, sound and light.
Eyes open, Heo Pung-gae knew: he could manifest it now.
Fingers crackled.
Tiny white bolt at fingertip. Spark-sized, not true lightning—but shape pure.
Scale didn't matter. Humans summoning electricity? Magic. Tao calls it fangshu.
Born first success in Thunder Technique. Steps closer to immortality. As martial artist, first stair to peerless master.
Heo Pung-gae laughed.
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