Why am I doing this?
Cheongwol thought to herself alone.
Her mouth was blocked by a cloth gag. Hoo-eup, heu-eup—only her breaths conveyed her emotions.
The moment she lost her ability to speak, it felt like a piece of her personality had been severed.
Good, bad—even those simple feelings couldn't be expressed.
And yet, why was she going along with this?
...Was it because of the heart demon?
Yes, it had to be that.
But could such violence truly quiet these ominous thoughts?
She couldn't be sure.
In this dim, secretive basement where the candle flame flickered faintly.
Even the ignorant Cheongwol could sense that a sexual tension had been building in this space at some point.
She didn't know why.
They weren't seeing each other's naked bodies or whispering words of love... and yet, unmistakably, a subtle lascivious atmosphere permeated the air.
The way they swallowed, the way their eyes met.
His gestures, Han Seojin's tone of voice—they all stirred strange sensations.
This unfamiliar stimulation she felt for the first time made Cheongwol deeply uncomfortable.
She hadn't lived her life to look pretty for men.
She had striven to stand on her own, to become a heroine like the Sect Leader.
But now?
In a space like this.
To a man like this.
She was obeying commands as if surrendering.
No, this won't do.
I have to stop.
As she tried to remove the cloth gag...
"...Good girl."
One simple phrase.
Those trivial words froze her body in place.
"Not so hard, right? See?"
She couldn't understand it herself.
Her body stiffening at mere words like that—it was ridiculous.
Her body had never stopped, not even at the bandits' mockery or the Sect Leader's scoldings.
She had always acted without faltering, no matter what anyone said.
"Why am I like this?"
Cheongwol posed the question to herself, but no answer came.
Still, one thing was clear.
"Good girl."
It had been so long since she'd heard those words.
Her senior brothers, the elders, her master and martial aunts, the villagers, the people of the Central Plains—even the Sect Leader, naturally.
No one had ever said them to her.
Cheongwol had become someone for whom excellence was taken for granted.
She only heard things like "As expected" or "Just as the rumors say"—words like "Good girl" felt utterly foreign.
Who would praise the Shaolin abbot for doing a good job?
Somehow, Cheongwol had reached that same position.
Yet Han Seojin praised her generously, as if he'd forgotten she was the Emei Sect's Thousand-Year Flower—as if treating a child.
Just for keeping her mouth shut a little.
It had been the same when he'd grabbed her wrist.
She had lived hiding her hands.
From the conversations she'd overheard among her senior brothers.
"Hands have to be pretty, right? Men love pretty hands so much."
"No, they look at hands too? Isn't that too much?"
"Hey! What man would like a woman with blacksmith hands?"
"Ah, maybe I should cut back on training... My hands are getting all twisted."
When Cheongwol heard that, she looked down at her own hands.
Her right hand, ruined worse than any blacksmith's from persistent effort.
The joints were crooked, calluses thick.
The back of her hand was covered in scars.
Even she felt it wasn't pretty.
That hideous, grotesque right hand... She thought men had no choice but to hate it.
She had no intention of ever being with a man anyway... but somehow, she'd started feeling ashamed.
Even as a woman, showing such an ugly sight was humiliating.
Perhaps that's what had piled up to make her the Emei Sect's Thousand-Year Flower.
In any case, she'd always hidden her right hand from others.
But Han Seojin, who had forcibly exposed the hand she'd hidden, looked at it and said,
"...You've worked hard. I can tell just from your hands. Pretty."
Words she'd never heard before.
As awkward as the praise was, it embarrassed her, humiliated her, made her cringe.
...But it felt like he recognized her efforts.
Her heart fluttered in a way she couldn't comprehend.
A hand she herself thought was unattractive—and he said the opposite.
He saw the effort within, beyond its shape.
By the time she regained her senses, Cheongwol had her mouth gagged and had surrendered even the freedom of her hands.
The more her bodily freedom was stripped away, piece by piece, the faster her heart beat.
She was still confused.
Why was she continuing this?
But—
Just a little more.
If she endured just a bit longer, she felt like she'd learn something important.
.
.
.
"Shall we make a little bet?"
Han Seojin spoke from the darkness.
His expression wasn't clear.
No, perhaps her ragged breathing was clouding her vision.
Cheongwol was incredulous.
Asking a question with her mouth gagged—what was he expecting her to say?
But as if he had no intention of asking her opinion from the start, Han Seojin unilaterally continued with the bet's details.
He picked up a small wooden plank from somewhere in the basement.
A scrap of wood about the size of a palm.
"Until that candle burns out, you stand on this."
"..."
Cheongwol frowned at the rising question.
But Han Seojin continued leisurely.
"If you endure to the end, you win. If you fall, I win."
"..."
Honestly, it was nothing much.
The wood was small, barely enough for one foot on tiptoes... but that might be hard for ordinary people— not for her, a first-rate martial artist.
...If her mouth weren't gagged, she would have retorted, "What's so hard about that?"
Meanwhile, Han Seojin went on.
"Let's see. If you fall... tomorrow at the inn, you buy me a bowl of noodles. And as a bonus, kiss me on the cheek. Right in front of everyone."
"-Heu-eup!"
Cheongwol involuntarily raised her voice.
It was the first time the sexual tension dominating the room took tangible form.
"As you said, I'm a loner in the village, so I need to borrow some of your fame. If the Emei Sect's Thousand-Year Flower kisses my cheek, people will take notice of me."
Cheongwol hated every part of the bet.
Nothing was more troublesome than scandalous rumors in this world. Especially for her, an Emei Sect disciple burdened with expectations— even the slightest misunderstanding was a burden.
As her intense reaction burst forth, she couldn't help but realize.
She was still very much conscious of the Central Plains' gaze.
Han Seojin was brazen.
"The stakes have to be like this. It's not hard for you anyway."
"Huu... huu..."
"But if you win... yeah, I'll just forget everything that happened today."
Cheongwol's expression twisted further.
What was that supposed to mean?
Wasn't the balance completely off?
She was staking her reputation in the Central Plains on this petty bet, while Han Seojin offered mere forgetfulness.
"Heu-eup! Eu-eup!"
As Cheongwol tried to protest again—
"-If you don't like it, leave."
Han Seojin merely threatened her once more.
Holding the heart demon that had settled in her chest like a hostage, he swung her around at will.
"..."
In her burning anger, Cheongwol faced the reality that she had no other choice.
...Pathetic.
After several deep breaths, she tried to regain her composure.
As a disciple of one of the Nine Great Righteous Sects, maintaining equanimity had always been a basic virtue.
Yes, it wasn't hard anyway.
How difficult could standing on a wooden block be?
Even amid this incomprehensible situation.
This basement felt more comfortable than the Sect Leader's cold expectations.
Even if she couldn't grasp the meaning of these acts at all... she furrowed her brow and waited for Han Seojin's next move.
And when all this was over, if there was no change in the heart demon...
...Then, it wouldn't be too late to punish Han Seojin.
The wooden block Han Seojin tossed rolled pitifully across the floor.
"Get on."
He commanded imperiously.
Cheongwol's face flushed again.
It wasn't the act of climbing onto the block she hated.
It was obeying his command to do so.
She had never surrendered her body to another's orders.
Forcing compliance was one of the taboos in Taoism.
Even as a Buddhist sect, Emei had absorbed Taoism's aversion to coercion.
Yet now, she had to obey his word like a pet.
Feeling the humiliation, Cheongwol had no choice but to move her body slowly.
Her ears rang. It was that degrading.
Such a trivial thing, but it was the first time in her life.
Cheongwol carefully placed her left foot on the block and rose onto tiptoes.
With no space for her right foot, she lifted it lightly to balance.
In the meantime, Han Seojin fetched a long rope from among the instruments.
"..."
He began tying the rope to the handcuffs.
Cheongwol, balanced on the block, couldn't even react.
Protest, resistance—falling was the only option she couldn't afford.
She didn't know why she was already focusing on this ridiculous bet, but the tiny block had become her prison bars.
Having tied the rope to the handcuffs, Han Seojin threw the other end toward a wooden frame on the ceiling.
One end of the rope hooked onto the ceiling and dangled down.
"..."
With a small smile, Han Seojin yanked the rope roughly.
"Eup!"
Cheongwol's arms shot pathetically toward the sky.
Wrists bound, both arms raised above her head.
She faced him in an utterly vulnerable pose.
In this humiliating posture that exposed her entire body, Cheongwol flushed with shame.
Her breasts were emphasized even more.
This was her first such experience.
"Heu-eup! Eueup!"
She yanked her arms down roughly, but Han Seojin held the rope firm with his weight.
Her external strength wasn't that great; without channeling internal energy, she couldn't overpower a man's brute force.
In an instant, Cheongwol circulated her internal energy...
"Good girl."
...Once again, those words... froze her body.
Cheongwol's eyes trembled.
Han Seojin smiled.
"...Good girl, Cheongwol."