When I stupidly echoed him, he smiled.

“Martial arts,” he said. “I’ll teach you.”

I had no idea what he meant by that. Just a little while ago he’d been pressing me down, suspecting me of being a spy.

Was he testing how I’d react? Or was this some childish whim?

The Sichuan Tang Clan was not the kind of easygoing place that let a mere maid learn the clan’s martial arts. Taking a disciple before you even hit twenty was absurd to begin with.

Maybe I’d misunderstood something.

As I ran the possibilities in my head, my martial-arts-boomer manager’s voice floated through my ears.

“Only after thirty, and only when you’ve raised your own disciple, do you have any business taking disciples yourself. What’s a kid without a beard doing teaching anyone? That’s betraying your master and spitting on your ancestors, that’s what it is. Betraying your master and spitting on your ancestors.”

Right?

Maybe he just meant he’d show me how to throw a knife for fun. Maybe it was just an offhand comment and I was overreacting by myself.

When I didn’t answer, the Little Young Master let out a dry laugh.

“You think too much.”

“Well, I...”

I opened my mouth and closed it again.

What answer wouldn’t rub him the wrong way? My throat felt parched with tension.

I’d just gotten a very clear reminder. At his core, he was a martial artist. Cute appearance aside, the boy in front of me could kill me at any time.

As easily as you crush an ant with your thumb.

My breathing grew ragged under the taut, stretched-out tension. Just as I was about to force my lips to move, someone cut in between us.

“By any chance, did a throwing knife fly this way...? What brings you all the way over here, Elder?”

It was a martial artist in green robes. He cupped his fists politely, clearly acquainted with the Little Young Master.

From the deep voice I’d heard over the wall, I guessed this was the one they’d called “Unit Captain.”

“What. You don’t like seeing an old man walk around?”

“N-no. Of course not. Greetings, Elder.”

“Seems you’ve gotten bolder while I wasn’t around, Bugyeong.”

“I beg your pardon, Elder. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

But something about the conversation was off.

This big guy had to be well over six feet tall, and he was flusteredly calling “Elder” to a Little Young Master a full head shorter than him.

...Elder?

What Elder?

“How old are you now?”

“I’ve passed forty.”

“Already? Kids really do grow up fast. How’s Sookgyeong doing? Haven’t seen him lately.”

“Is that so? I suppose my brother’s busy with Head Steward duties. I’ll come visit with him soon. Please don’t be offended.”

They sounded like an older relative and a nephew catching up at a holiday gathering.

At this point, unless I’d checked my common sense at the pawnshop, there was no way to miss it.

The Little Young Master in front of me was not some sheltered young master. He was older than me. By at least a factor of five.

Memories of me treating him like a kid and fussing over how cute he was flashed before my eyes. It felt like all the blood drained right out of my body.

How the hell was I supposed to fix this?

I chewed the soft inside of my cheek and ducked my head.

“That’s enough. No need to bother coming over; just do your job. I can’t stand noise.”

“Yes, Elder Tang Jung.”

...Tang Jung?

The Tang Jung I knew?

The Tang Jung who was the Grand Elder of the Sichuan Tang Clan? The Poison King Tang Jung who’d taken a liking to Namgung Hwi and gifted him a precious spiritual pill?

The familiar name snapped me back to myself. I stared stupidly at Tang Jung.

Only now did I understand where I was.

Namgung Under Heaven.

I had possessed my way into the very first martial arts novel my manager had ever pushed on me.

****

I was too stunned to speak.

It was outrageous enough that in a novel where the Namgung Clan’s young clan head was the protagonist, I’d been dropped on the complete opposite side of the continent with no connection to him.

Finding out who Tang Jung really was on top of that was just absurd.

In the novel, Tang Jung’s age easily surpassed one hundred and fifty.

They said the three things you had to be careful of in the martial world were women, old people, and children. Turned out that was true.

I’d heard about things like shedding an old shell or turning your age back, but I’d never imagined it would be to this degree. No one told me “turning your age back” meant you could full-on revert to a child.

Is the whole martial world like this? If so, do you have to check whether the kid in front of you is a hundred fifty-year-old fossil or an actual fifteen-year-old brat just to stay alive? I really should just go home.

Even as I reflected bitterly on how complacent I’d been, part of me still felt wronged.

How many people would realistically assume that a clan’s top expert was the “Little Young Master” watching a maid do laundry?

Who on earth would think the boy pulling snacks out of his sleeves and handing them to you was the Grand Elder?

As I blanched and opened and closed my mouth, Tang Jung looked at me with a playful grin. He seemed to find my reaction entertaining.

Of course he did. From his perspective, some young thing had been calling him “Young Master” and acting like his equal. Hilarious. Damn it.

When I lost the ability to form words, Tang Jung spoke gently.

“Hey, kid. No need to be so shocked. I didn’t hide it just to tease you.”

“Uh... Yes, Elder.”

My changed form of address seemed to amuse him; the corners of his mouth curled even higher. Tang Bugyeong glanced between us and trailed off.

“Elder... But this maid is...”

“I’m thinking of taking her in as a foster daughter.”

“...Sir?”

“Then again, if you consider my age, she’d be more like a great-granddaughter. Let’s say granddaughter.”

“Excuse me?”

Tang Bugyeong’s voice cracked in disbelief. I felt much the same.

Excuse me?

Me?

“What. You think this old man’s being ridiculous?”

“N-no, it’s just that it’s so sudden. That girl doesn’t have Tang Clan blood, and she’s only an ordinary maid.”

“If she had Tang blood, I wouldn’t need to make her a foster daughter.”

“Well, that’s true, but...”

As Tang Bugyeong stammered, Tang Jung waved a hand, unconcerned.

“I’m just lonely, that’s all. Tell that to Muheok.”

“Yes. I’ll pass your words along. But the girl’s name is...”

Tang Bugyeong looked at me with a strange expression. I quickly answered.

“Sohae.”

“...Your name is Sohae?”

Tang Jung frowned. Tang Bugyeong tilted his head, like he’d heard it somewhere before.

“I’ve heard that somewhere. Are you from a branch line by any chance?”

“No.”

Pretty sure I’m not. If I were, Simyang’s little gang wouldn’t have been able to lay a finger on me.

As I thought that, Tang Jung stroked his chin, deep in thought.

“Do you write it with the characters for ‘bright’ and ‘wise’?”

“Elder, that girl is already...”

“Are you Muheok’s youngest by any chance?”

Tang Jung’s voice rose. I panicked.

First of all, I had no idea who Muheok was, and second, I had no idea who my parents were supposed to be.

“Who is that? I don’t know who my parents are.”

“...No. I must have been mistaken. If that were the case, they wouldn’t have left you like this.”

Relief smoothed Tang Jung’s expression, and his tone turned gruff.

“To have a registered household in the Tang Clan and not even know the Clan Head’s name... What a scoundrel. Have you only just started working?”

“Yes.”

I’ve been here a week, sir.

So Muheok was the Clan Head’s name.

If you go around calling the Clan Head “that brat Muheok, that brat Muheok” like he’s the kid next door, of course no one’s going to realize you mean the Clan Head, Elder.

Tang Jung pinched my cheek lightly, my mind still half out of it, and narrowed his eyes.

“All right. I understand. Let’s go back to my pavilion and have some tea.”

“I still have to clean the training grounds.”

“Bugyeong will handle it.”

“Sir? I... Understood, Elder.”

Tang Bugyeong had started to refuse on instinct, but he snapped his mouth shut under Tang Jung’s sharp gaze.

He’d come to retrieve a throwing knife and ended up getting stuck with cleaning duty instead.

“Give the broom to Bugyeong.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tang Bugyeong took my broom, looking utterly pitiful.

I’m so sorry, sir.

I left with the most apologetic face I could muster.

****

Tang Jung’s quarters were a mess.

Dust had accumulated in places like no one had cleaned in ages, and things were scattered all over the place. There was even a faint acrid smell.

As I took in the chaos of the sitting room, Tang Jung scratched his head, embarrassed.

“It may not look it, but there is a system.”

I didn’t say anything, Elder.

The fact that he rushed to defend himself told me he was fully aware his quarters were a disaster.

Kicking aside the clutter on the floor /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ to clear a path, Tang Jung slid open a set of doors.

Unlike the sitting room, the corridor beyond was relatively clean. Sunlight poured in through windows on either side, and I could hear birdsong. At the end of the long corridor, he opened another door—into a tearoom.

It was a beautiful space.

Furniture carved from red sandalwood was arranged in harmonious balance, and through a round window, the view of the back garden looked like a painting.

I stared blankly at the red plum blossoms, spilling in profusion until they almost touched the pond.

With patches of thin ice here and there, if I’d fallen in, I probably would’ve been sick for days.

Following my gaze out to the pond, Tang Jung spoke.

“What, you feel like getting in the water? I should’ve let you fall.”

“No.”

Ah. I’d reflexively answered way too sharply.

Flustered, I clapped a hand over my mouth, and Tang Jung chuckled.

“For someone who looks so mild, you’ve got some fire in you, kid. It’s fine. Sit.”

“Yes.”

I obediently sat down on the cushion he indicated.

A soft breeze drifted in through the half-open window. The winter air on my cheek was cold, but I didn’t feel chilly.

Having settled me, Tang Jung brought out a tea set and began arranging it on the low table. As he set the kettle on the brazier, he asked,

“Do you know how to brew tea?”

“I don’t.”

“That figures. Still, it’d be good to learn. I’ll give you some leaves.”

He moved his hands slowly, like he wanted me to watch and learn.

Why did he want me to learn how to brew tea?

As I puzzled over it, I remembered that tea was a luxury item.

It was expensive enough that the poor and lowborn rarely got to taste it; it felt like he was telling me to learn while I had the chance.

I quietly watched him pour the tea with elegant motions.

“Drink.”

“Thank you, Elder.”

Bowing my head, I accepted the steaming cup.

The clear, pale-gold tea filled my mouth with a rich, toasty fragrance.

“It’s Dream-Summit Tea.”

“I see.”

“If you saved up your wages for ten years, you might be able to buy a handful.”

I choked.

Did he dust it with gold?

I hurriedly set the cup down, and Tang Jung let out a soft laugh.

“Become my disciple. If you do, I’ll let you drink this kind of tea by the pound every month.”

“Excuse me? That’s a bit...”

I don’t even like tea that much, Elder.

“You’ll be able to eat properly as well. I’ll see that you get plenty of meat. You won’t have to wrestle with other maids. I’ll give you a generous allowance too. How about it?”

He coaxed me in a gentle tone, like he was tempting a child.

But I still hesitated to say I’d learn from him.

If I learned martial arts, I knew I’d end up entangled with the Sichuan Tang Clan in the worst possible way.

So I answered vaguely.

“I’m grateful that you think so highly of me, Elder. But I’m only a maid.”

“So that means you’re refusing?”

Tang Jung’s smile deepened.

His mouth was smiling, but his eyes weren’t, and there was something faintly dangerous in them.