“...Who... on your own...?”
“Pardon?”
Cheongwol startled at the words that had slipped from her own mouth.
Han Seojin leaned in closer, as if he hadn't heard a thing.
Only then did Cheongwol mumble some vague excuse.
“Uh, no... I mean...”
The memories and emotions from the previous day flooded back vividly.
Her obedient self, following commands like a pet.
The bizarre, perverted pose where she covered her mouth, bound her wrists, and exposed her chest.
The intense shame she felt in all those situations.
No one in their right mind would want to go through that again.
“...”
“...Miss?”
In the end, Cheongwol realized Han Seojin's proposal was the more reasonable one.
He was offering to forget everything, even without her asking first.
Even the pathetic sight of her shedding tears and clinging to him like a child.
If she weren't the Thousand-Year Flower of the Emei Sect but just an ordinary woman, this might not have been an issue at all.
But she bore the prestige of the Emei Sect on her shoulders.
Her humiliation was directly tied to the honor of the entire sect.
'The Thousand-Year Flower wept pathetically in a man's arms.'
'They say she was flaunting her body.'
'If the Thousand-Year Flower's like that, the rest must be the same. Just shy-act prostitutes, huh?'
Her master, senior brothers and sisters, even the third-generation disciples would all be insulted collectively.
Cheongwol had always known.
She wasn't just protecting her own honor—she represented the entire sect.
That was why she had always strived to be upright, noble, suppressing herself.
The moment she remembered that, Cheongwol sat up from the bed.
“...Fine. Then... forget it.”
“Yes!!”
Han Seojin responded with a booming cheer, his face lighting up in a way she'd never seen.
“...”
Cheongwol froze mid-step as she tried to leave the bed, startled by his exuberant reply.
Was there really that much reason to be so thrilled?
For some reason, it left a bad taste.
He was the only man who had seen her body so nakedly.
Yet he was agreeing to forget those memories so easily.
Why did he look so relieved...
“...”
Realizing she was dwelling on something ridiculous, Cheongwol shook it off and started walking.
Han Seojin jumped up from his seat to see her off.
He followed alongside as she hurried out of the shop on unsteady legs.
Yet, strangely, Cheongwol's steps felt heavy.
Strangely, her chest felt tight.
When they reached the shop door, Han Seojin opened it and said,
“Miss. Oh, and I'll always cheer you on from now on. If we run into each other sometimes, I'll greet you—please respond then.”
“...”
...And that's it?
She had exposed her vulnerabilities, things she couldn't show anyone, and he was letting it end so neatly?
After comforting her so much yesterday?
“...”
Memories of yesterday resurfaced.
Of course, the shame was shame... and the humiliation was humiliation.
But afterward... the comfort she received. Looking back, none of it had been that bad...
Cheongwol squeezed her eyes shut, denying it.
No.
It couldn't be.
Anyone with a sound mind wouldn't remember something like that fondly.
Yesterday, she had simply been shocked and swept away by the circumstances.
She looked at Han Seojin again.
“...Miss?”
...Right, what could this dimwit possibly do.
Whoosh!
Without a word in response, Cheongwol rudely stormed out of the shop.
His farewell rang out loudly behind her retreating steps.
“T-Take care!”
“...”
Cheongwol didn't even reply this time.
She just couldn't bring herself to, out of sheer annoyance.
****
Deep within the Emei Sect grounds, in the Zen chamber where none could enter without permission.
Not a single breath stirred the silence.
Faint incense wafted through the air, wind chimes tinkled softly from the eaves, and sunlight gently bathed the Buddhist paintings on the walls.
In the center of that Zen chamber, Muwol Satae sat motionless, reflecting on the previous night's events.
After Cheongwol fled in rage, Muwol Satae had quietly waited for her return.
But no matter how long she waited, the girl did not come back.
Unable to bear the anxiety any longer, late into the night, the old nun set out herself to search for the child.
She roamed up and down Mount Emei, her steps wandering far and wide.
And finally, Muwol Satae confronted a horrific sight.
Countless corpses.
Some were already mangled beyond recognition by wild beasts, others bloated and rotting in the heat.
Her heart pounded fiercely.
One might assume it was Emei Sect disciples, given the events on Mount Emei.
But... the Emei Sect fundamentally prized non-killing above all... and more importantly, these bandits bore no marks of the Shaoyang Sword Technique.
Anyone else would have discerned from the wounds that the Emei Sect couldn't have done this.
However, Muwol Satae saw it clearly.
This was the Extermination Sword.
A domineering, cruel sword technique forbidden even within the Emei Sect.
A secret art that Muwol Satae had personally taught only to Cheongwol and Soun, for use only in dire emergencies.
A technique passed down solely to future sect leaders.
She hadn't even fully transmitted it yet... but judging by the bandits' state, that wasn't true. Cheongwol was perfecting the swordplay on her own.
Her long-held suspicions finally crystallized into certainty.
Cheongwol was afflicted by a heart demon.
A far deeper and more violent one than imagined.
...What could have caused it?
A lack of praise?
But as her swordsmanship grew crueler and more merciless, would praising it have been right?
Wouldn't it have only deepened the heart demon?
Excessive pressure?
Yet it was pressure Cheongwol would have to overcome someday.
Exceptional beings inevitably draw eyes—enduring that was essential.
Jealousy from her senior brothers and sisters?
Muwol Satae had tried mediating multiple times, but it only appeared as favoritism, worsening matters.
Asking the first-generation disciples was tricky too... as they shared master-disciple bonds with the second-generation.
What should she have done?
She could never find the answer.
Muwol Satae's heart only grew darker.
Cheongwol... that precious child like a granddaughter, plagued by a heart demon.
Lost in meditation like this, Muwol Satae rose at the faint presence approaching from afar.
She quietly made her way toward it.
There stood Soun, her disciple and Cheongwol's master.
“...Sect Leader.”
As Soun clasped her hands in greeting, Muwol Satae asked,
“...Has Wol returned?”
Soun nodded.
“Yes.”
Perhaps due to the shocking slaughter scene from yesterday.
She wanted to see Cheongwol quickly.
To confront her and dispel this unease.
“...Let's go to her.”
****
Cheongwol set foot back in the sect.
She had slept deeply and woken, yet strangely craved more rest.
The compulsion to train crept up from her chest again.
But why? Right now, she didn't want to.
Training she hadn't skipped once in years.
Even with fever, drowsiness, or pain—she did it daily.
Yet today, with no issue, she just didn't feel like it for no reason.
What she needed now was to sort out her tangled thoughts.
“...Wol.”
At that moment, a voice cut through her reverie.
Cheongwol flinched more than necessary.
Like a child caught misbehaving, even turning her head felt awkward.
“...Sect Leader.”
Flustered, she hastily clasped her hands in greeting.
Only upon facing the Sect Leader did it hit her again.
Yesterday, she had fought and fled.
And today, she was returning after staying out overnight.
Han Seojin's presence had overshadowed it all so completely.
An awkward silence flowed.
Her lightened heart grew heavy again with the Sect Leader's appearance.
Right now, she didn't want to see this person.
“...Disciple is fatigued and must withdraw.”
She didn't even want to make excuses for the overnight absence.
She needed more time to unpack her pent-up emotions.
As Cheongwol tried to pass by...
Clasp.
Muwol Satae grabbed her wrist.
A childish urge to shake off the hand surged within her.
But seeing the wrinkled hand of the Sect Leader made even that difficult.
“...”
Their eyes met.
Cheongwol read the worry in the Sect Leader's gaze.
What terrified her so? The eyes of this once-fierce heroine trembled.
Cheongwol couldn't meet those clear eyes.
...Especially thinking of yesterday's events made her more ashamed.
“...Wol.”
Muwol Satae carefully offered her something.
...Candy.
The snack the Sect Leader secretly gave her when she spent time alone.
The Sect Leader's gruff way.
Her clumsy, personal way of showing love.
Fitting for such a bold heroine, her expressions lacked finesse.
Now, Cheongwol understood it as atonement.
“...”
She knew.
If she were still burning with yesterday's rage on the mountain...
She never would have accepted this candy.
She might have even thrown it to the ground rudely, snapping if the Sect Leader thought this could console her.
Then returned to her room to ache alone, perhaps even in tears.
But thanks to that liberating time with Han Seojin...
Those intense emotions were no longer there.
Instead, guilt over her outburst lingered.
And into her thus tamed heart, Muwol Satae's atonement easily slipped.
It even choked her up.
Silently, Cheongwol accepted the candy, clasped her hands quietly, and walked away.
Between rising tears, the chewed candy was, as always, too sweet.
****
Ten days passed.
Cheongwol continued her training out of habit.
But one difference: she paid no mind to her sword path.
No more fretting over precise swings or speed adjustments... no technical worries.
Her mind was filled only with that day's memories. Those words. Those moments.
'...You worked hard.'
That simple phrase still colored her heart.
She still remembered her breath catching at those words.
'...You've been through a lot, haven't you?'
Cheongwol wrinkled her nose without realizing.
The shameful sight of herself weeping pathetically, childlike before him, came to mind.
'Huuuuh... Huu... Hic!'
Her face burned.
Even days later, recalling it made her body tingle with shame.
No— as ordinary days continued, that day's uniqueness sharpened in memory.
Making it even more shameful.
After such deeds, returning to the Emei Sect and pretending purity.
Every day felt like hypocrisy.
What did Han Seojin think seeing those scenes?
...Surely he found her ugly.
'You did well. You endured.'
Yet he only offered praise. No blame.
He acknowledged her. Kept comforting her.
Like a reward for enduring past shames.
No nitpicking, no scolding. Instead, acceptance.
The more her thoughts tangled, the closer her body edged to no-mind.
She might not even realize she was swinging the sword.
She couldn't recall what stance this was.
Just as she had endured that day's shame, now she was just going through training motions.
'...Well done, Cheongwol. You did great.'
The Leather Room's owner filled Cheongwol's mind.
An utterly ordinary man.
Slightly taller and bulkier than average, but otherwise unremarkable.
Not strikingly handsome, not exuding grandeur, not strong.
Yet strangely, Cheongwol couldn't shake thoughts of him.
His whisper in the darkness brushing her ear. His breath on her wet earlobe.
The warm embrace holding her body.
And the hand gently stroking her hair like petting a puppy, tenderly, preciously.
Who would dare treat her that way?
“Eut...!”
A moan escaped her unwittingly.
Unlike the Sect Leader's, it was a large hand.
Thinking of it as a man's touch brought revulsion again...
...But honestly, she had leaned into it.
When pushed to her limit, she couldn't not grasp that offered hand.
In that moment, she forgot he was a man, forgot he was the Leather Room owner her senior brothers mocked as an outsider.
Even Cheongwol herself had set aside being an Emei Sect disciple.
There, it was just one person seeking help... and one giving it.
Shameful.
Still humiliating.
She regretted baring herself like that.
“Haa... Haa...”
Cheongwol stopped.
Scenes kept replaying in her head.
That night's atmosphere.
The taut sexual tension.
Her skin lewdly visible through wet training robes.
His gaze settling upon it.
Releasing the burden on herself... the sensation of being dominated...
If told to recall that day now...
A chill ran through her.
Something the Thousand-Year Flower of the Emei Sect shouldn't feel.
A dangerous, provocative thrill of taboo, like a blade missing by a finger's breadth.
“...Han... Seojin.”
Cheongwol murmured his name.
Her body still thrummed.
Amid lingering displeasure, the clear aftertaste of pleasure remained.
Chewing it over days had solidified her feelings.
She hadn't realized then, but now she knew.
Perhaps the comfort from him beautified the past.
...Was what people called sexual desire just that?
Even the Sect Leader's words resurfaced.
'...Everyone has sexual desire. Even the Shaolin abbot. You mustn't ignore or deny that hardship.'
Finally, Cheongwol looked down at her hands.
...Would she feel that again?
...If not Han Seojin, who else could...
In truth, that night with him was past, but Cheongwol had a future ahead.
Reality hadn't changed.
She was again the Emei Sect's Cheongwol, Thousand-Year Flower, hope of the righteous sects.
The burden she'd briefly set down now weighed on her shoulders.
Cheongwol closed her eyes tightly.
...Truthfully, there was no way to get involved with Han Seojin anymore.
She had to accept that now.
She'd experienced it herself.
What he set up in the basement wasn't a torture chamber.
She had no grounds to complain to him.
Two days ago, amid such worries, she'd watched him from afar.
He boredly guarded the shop, bickered verbally with Beggars' Sect beggar acquaintances who approached, but did nothing special.
He didn't seek her out, though Central Plains folk clamored to meet her.
As if he'd truly forgotten.
That frustration gnawed inwardly—
“—Wol!”
At that moment, Muwol Satae approached her.
Before she could speak, Muwol Satae gripped her shoulders, eyes flashing.
“Have you had some realization?”
“...Pardon?”
“I watched from afar—your sword path...!”
Struggling with overwhelming emotion, Muwol Satae said,
“It's stabilized again, Wol...! Yes, you've finally improved...!”
“...Pardon?”
At first, Cheongwol couldn't comprehend.
Her mindless swings had surpassed years of effort?
“Yes, yes...! I knew you'd overcome it.”
“...Overcome... what?”
The Sect Leader glossed over it.
“No, never mind. Above all... I'm happy with your growth.”
Cheongwol wondered if this was forced praise due to recent events.
But seeing the Sect Leader's moist eyes, as if relieved, it didn't seem so.
'...Huh?'
And surprisingly...
Her heart remained remarkably calm at the Sect Leader's praise.
Of course she was glad.
Glad... but the words she'd strived years for felt underwhelming now that she had them.
Rather than the Sect Leader's praise, Han Seojin's simple 'well done'—
“Ah.”
Cheongwol blinked, shocked at her own thoughts.
Had she gone mad?
That day's confusion still lingered.
Since leaving that strange room, emotions tangled, up and down inverted.
Pleasure and displeasure blurred by him, now indistinguishable.
The gag stifling her mouth hadn't ended up unpleasant, just as the Sect Leader's praise wasn't that joyful now.
Something had flipped.
“Yes, Wol. Keep it up like this. Whatever you did, continue just like that.”
“...”
At those words, Cheongwol realized something.
...Like this?
That day had helped her training?
...Then perhaps.
The Sect Leader said,
“...I can't remember the last time I saw you smile, Wol.”
“...Ah.”
Cheongwol touched her mouth.
It was indeed curved in a smile.
She'd been smiling unknowingly.
The Sect Leader smiled more brightly at it.
“I'll... keep striving ahead.”
Cheongwol believed this smile was from the Sect Leader's praise.
Absolutely not because she'd found an excuse to seek someone again.