“Return”
“Still, at least he values his life.”
I slipped into the secret storage of the Pyo Pavilion and quietly took the Cheonhwandan (Heaven-Returning Pill).
I don’t know how Chu Sogwang managed to procure the Divine Doctor’s miracle medicine from the little Pyo state where he rules, but from now on it belongs to me.
‘This will come in handy at a critical moment.’
They say that even a severed limb reattaches if you take the Heaven-Returning Pill. It won’t strengthen your inner qi, but it can revive a shattered dantian—truly the ultimate restorative.
‘With the Cheonhwandan missing, chaos will erupt.’
The very leverage Chu Sogwang used to force a marriage pact with the Hebei Peng Clan was the Heaven-Returning Pill. Faced with saving his life or uniting with the Peng power, he chose his own life.
‘I couldn’t care less about the Peng Clan’s wrath.’
The Pyo Pavilion isn’t a renowned hall in my recollection. Even if the future twists because I stole the Cheonhwandan, why would it concern me?
Even if this pill accelerates the Martial Supremacy War, I have no interest in wars—only in more women. Even if the world collapses, I will bed at least one—
“Ah, but what if every woman I know dies?”
If the war comes sooner, more people will perish. The future isn’t fixed—some destined to live may die.
‘Should I just discard it?’
Like an unreachable grape, sometimes giving up is wisdom. It’s too troublesome to roam Central Plains, saving people only to watch them die later. If I really want to—
“Welcome!”
Hunger drove me into the guesthouse. Jeomso, who had watched me closely, smiled when he saw my silver tael and led me to a seat.
“What would you like?”
“Plain noodles.”
“Ye… one bowl of plain noodles…?”
“With a whole chicken, richly served. Can you do that?”
“Anything is possible!”
Jeomso vanished to the kitchen like a flash. A single tael made even a brat’s impudent speech forgivable. I examined my reflection in the water glass.
‘Do I at least look like some kind of gentleman?’
Having lived as a beggar, judging my own appearance before ruin is difficult. I’m unused to people’s gazes lacking disgust or fear.
“Hmm.”
I produced the Cheonhwandan and rolled it on the tabletop. Like teasing a woman’s navel, I pressed and rolled the pill, watching the seconds tick by.
‘I got it much faster than expected.’
I hadn’t planned to seize it in one go. I prepared for two or three wild goose chases, ready to accept partial failure—but Chu Sogwang pleasantly shattered my expectations by revealing its true hiding place.
It looked like ordinary pills, but I sensed the genuine qi within. How could a pill imbued with the Divine Doctor’s energy be anything but the authentic Cheonhwandan?
‘Killing him to enforce discipline, then reviving him with the Cheonhwandan as my personal servant? Absurd—I won’t waste the pill.’
My mind buzzed with schemes for future beauties. Dust or no dust on the Cheonhwandan, I rolled it for my amusement.
“Your meal, sir!”
“Is it ready?”
“Yes! Here it is… um.”
Jeomso placed the bowl down with an embarrassed smile. Within, a whole chicken steamed—so small it easily fit inside the bowl with room to spare.
“Hey.”
“I’m sorry. The warriors who passed through recently took most of our stock. Only a spring chicken remains.”
“A spring chicken? Are you kidding? I ask for abundance, and you give me a chick…?”
Smack.
I applauded without thinking.
“Of course—why didn’t I think of this sooner?”
Why had I not noticed? Even an unripe apple is still an apple.
“You’ve opened my eyes. Thank you.”
“Eh? Ah, I’m glad I could help.”
“For your insight, my thanks.”
Jeomso drew in his breath at the sight of three taels in his palm, then tucked them into his pocket, glancing anxiously at the kitchen door.
“Enjoy your meal.”
With his cautious bow, Jeomso walked away. I watched the cook tug Jeomso back into the kitchen, then gripped the spring chicken’s legs and split it open by hand.
“Perfect.”
Not quite a chick anymore. With that revelation, I set about eating.
“What happened last night?”
Peng Yuwol, unable to refuse Chu Sogwang’s invitation to lunch, followed him here and startled at his pale, restless appearance.
“Ha ha—nothing at all! Please, sit.”
“……”
Peng Yuwol watched his every move. Though exaggerated, something unnatural lurked in his posture.
“You seem troubled.”
“Ahem. Well, it’s like this.”
Chu Sogwang fidgeted, glanced around, then bowed deeply.
“I—I apologize! I showed you an unseemly sight.”
“Pardon?”
Chu Sogwang’s fervent apology, on bended knee, left Peng Yuwol thinking: why is he acting this way?
“I drank too much last night and behaved poorly. Madam, please forgive my mistake.”
“…We are not yet married.”
“Ahem. Yes, not yet…?”
Chu Sogwang tilted his head at her word choice. Peng Yuwol sipped her tea and stared coldly at the pavilion’s pond.
“I have given it thought too. We will become husband and wife. Such behavior is unbecoming toward the man who will be my husband. I apologize.”
“Ah… ahem. Of course. I accept your apology.”
How simple-minded. No sooner did Peng Yuwol lower herself than he brightened and straightened his shoulders—
“Kuh.”
“…Is something wrong with your shoulder?”
“Oh, it’s nothing. Ha ha ha.”
The cause of his awkwardness revealed itself. His stiff posture betrayed the wound of a blade to the shoulder.
“…An assassin?”
“Th-there’s no way! No one could have entered!”
“Then why react so strongly if it’s not true?”
“Ahem! It’s not like that!”
His curt denials made Peng Yuwol more suspicious. The more she probed, the stranger Chu Sogwang acted.
This man is hiding something. The proud figure of yesterday now cowers before her.
‘He certainly has reasons.’
He set up a courtesan who looked like me and dressed her like me, hoping to bed her.
The thought of him dancing with murderous intent, alone in the pavilion, brought a bitter surge of envy. Yet this man was to be her husband, and so she accepted it all.
‘If only not for the Cheonhwandan.’
Without this pill—the only cure that could revive Patriarch and Uncle Pyo’s prodigy, the Fearsome Blade Peng Yi-wang—the marriage would have been impossible.
Even among the Eight Great Clans, vying for rank, a minor pavilion could join the Peng through blackmail with the Cheonhwandan.
“Tsk.”
Peng Yuwol clicked her tongue to banish distractions. The meal her servant brought was greasy but palatable, and the Dragonwell tea for dessert was as clean as any in the clan.
“Sip… hiss.”
If only the man before her were not to be her husband, she would have indulged in the meal and moved on. Or if he wielded first-rate qi, perhaps she might reconsider.
‘He’s no different from the rest.’
As she let Chu Sogwang’s flattery slide, a servant rushed in, bowing deeply.
“Master! Urgent news!”
“If it isn’t urgent, know that you will die.”
Chu Sogwang beckoned him closer, and the servant whispered in a hushed tone, glancing at Peng Yuwol.
“Rumors have begun in the market.”
“What? What rumors? About… that thing from last night?”
Though whispered faintly, Peng Yuwol heard it as clearly as if spoken at her ear.
“No. Not that… about the Heaven-Returning Pill.”
“…!”
She betrayed no expression. Peng Yuwol sipped her tea, eavesdropping. The servant continued to Chu Sogwang.
“They say someone bought the Cheonhwandan at the herbal shop—”
Bang!!
A woman’s footstep resounded on the pavilion floor.
“Owner, is it true? The Cheonhwandan has arrived?!”
“I don’t know yet. How would I know if it’s real?”
The old apothecary shooed the onlookers away from his herbs. If not for the cordon, someone would have tried to snatch it.
“Where did they find such a rare thing?!”
“If you knew, you’d be hurt. But you’ve got to trust it. Is he really a martial master? Is that truly the Divine Doctor’s Cheonhwandan? What do you think?”
“Step aside.”
A jade-like voice rang out. People parted, and a beautiful woman stood before the cordoned area.
“Owner, is this really the Heaven-Returning Pill?”
“Uh… who are you…?”
“I am Peng Yuwol of the Hebei Peng Clan.”
With formal bow and fan in hand, she greeted him. The old man awkwardly mirrored her and watched her closely.
“Ah, Mistress Peng… you came to see it?”
“I’ve come to purchase it.”
Her firm words drew murmurs of disbelief. The apothecary shook his head.
“Forgive me, but I cannot vouch for its authenticity. My own skill is lacking—I have no way to know if the Divine Doctor made it.”
“If it works, then it’s genuine. How much?”
“Well… I can’t sell something I’m unsure is medicine, much less poison…”
“Stand aside!”
Chu Sogwang, ignoring the cordon, strode in beside her.
“Cheonhwandan… why seven pills?”
Seven identical pills lay in the glass case, each wrapped in gold leaf.
“Ahem. My apologies. I mistook them for genuine.”
Chu Sogwang rubbed his shoulder, forcing a crooked smile. Witnessing the owner’s words, the crowd drifted away.
“Are… these all fake?”
“And you think they’re real? The Divine Doctor makes medicine for the people. He wouldn’t gild poison to gouge prices!”
Chu Sogwang snorted and turned away. Peng Yuwol’s face darkened; she bit her lip.
“…ahem. Actually, I’ve never cared for this man. He always overcharges for medicines.”
The apothecary cleared his throat and spoke quietly to Peng Yuwol.
“Though not made by the Divine Doctor, these are indeed real Cheonhwandan.”
“Eh…?”
“Look.”
He pointed inside the preparation room. Mesmerized, Peng Yuwol stepped in.
“Hmm? Who’s there?”
Within the small space stood a young man amid scattered herbs and tools. He stared at Peng Yuwol, mouth agape.
“You’re beautiful…”
“Um, excuse me.”
Peng Yuwol, barely containing her excitement, pointed at the tiny pills he was crafting on a low table. A faint mist clung to the tip of his sharp blade as he split one pill into several.
“Are you a disciple of the Divine Doctor?”
“A disciple? Ha! I only learned some tricks from that old crone— eek?!”
Before she knew it, Peng Yuwol knelt.
“Can you really make the Heaven-Returning Pill?!”