Chapter 1 of 92
Chapter 1
7 min read1,797 words
Yong-hoon, who had fallen into the modern world, 1
BUKDU NEO ORIENTAL FANTASY STORY
Chungryeon's New Martial Arts Novel
Author: Chungryeon
Publisher: Kwak Dong-hyun / Publisher: Good World Co., Ltd.
Email: [email protected]
Copyright © Good World Co., Ltd. and the author. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright holders.
ⓒChungryeon / Good World Co., Ltd.
ISBN: 979-11-391-0704-3
Printed in Seoul, Korea
•Good World Co., Ltd. accepts E-Book submissions (genre irrelevant).
Novel: [email protected]
Blog: http://goodworld24.blog.me
Someone once said,
There is no beautiful and peaceful death.
In the face of the fear of death, everyone yearns for one more breath, one more glimpse of life, and the heart collapses with regret over the fragments of the past.
Now, that was the case with Jo Young-hoon.
“Gggggg……”
A wrecked motorcycle.
Arms and legs grotesquely twisted.
Blood flowing incessantly from his head.
With his eyes wide open, he struggled to look at the taillights of the vehicles moving away.
The license plate of the hit-and-run car was imprinted in his eyes, but a hollow laugh escaped him.
What does it matter now?
A pool of blood spread across the road.
He was amazed at how much blood could flow from his body.
The sudden onset of hypothermia.
His consciousness gradually fading.
He sensed his own death.
In an instant, the fragments of his life filled his mind.
Was it ordinary?
No, it was less than ordinary.
Just average academic performance.
Neither too many nor too few social relationships.
A local university he followed others to without much thought.
Army. Discharged as a sergeant.
Noryangjin. Seven years as a 9th-grade civil servant exam candidate.
At 33, a quick service delivery driver.
With nothing accomplished, regret washed over him like a tidal wave.
‘Mother……!’
Thinking of his mother made his heart ache.
After losing his father, his mother did everything to support her only son.
Insurance sales, nursing, a snack shop, a flower shop, and more.
In his thirties, he couldn't even ask for pocket money from such a hardworking mother and started working part-time.
From college to supporting his civil servant exam studies, his mother was left with nothing but debt.
Even such a hardworking mother passed away from pancreatic cancer last year after enduring so much hardship.
Did she ever take pride in me? Did she ever feel proud of me even once?
Even though I was your everything, this unworthy son……
Tears of remorse poured out endlessly.
Suddenly, a distant red light on the asphalt caught Jo Young-hoon's eyes.
A red ruby necklace.
His father's last legacy, which he instructed never to take off.
He had grumbled about how such a tacky thing could be a family treasure, but it was a necklace he had never taken off since his father's passing.
Despite his broken bones and torn ligaments, he strained to reach out with his mangled arm.
“Gggggg……”
As he convulsively exerted strength, a gory foam of blood rose.
Suddenly, his vision blurred, and his head fell heavily.
His breath ceased.
Unaware, a tremendous light burst from the necklace, enveloping his entire body.
Jo Young-hoon awoke with a terrible headache and a burning thirst.
What? Why am I still alive?
It was definitely death.
A death so excruciatingly painful and utterly lonely.
How could he forget such a vivid memory of death?
But what are these vivid sensations?
Struggling to sit up, Jo Young-hoon looked at a disheveled middle-aged couple with a puzzled expression.
‘…Beggars?’
Though their clothing resembled traditional Chinese attire, it barely maintained its form and was no better than rags.
He wondered if he could even call such things clothes.
“Where am I……?”
Jo Young-hoon was too flustered to continue speaking.
His words were so fluent in Chinese.
He had never even been to China, yet Chinese words came out naturally, leaving him bewildered.
Moreover, what was even more astonishing was……
‘…Am I Jo Hui?’
Suddenly, the life of a young boy named Jo Hui, eighteen years old, flashed through his mind.
A life so poor that the days he ate meat could be counted on his fingers and toes.
His father, Jo Soon, who always lamented his grievances from a corner of the iron foundry.
His mother, Gwa Ae-yeong, who, despite all her grievances, consistently prayed for her husband's health.
His older brother, Jo Heuk, who, despite his dreams of becoming a martial artist, had already decided his nickname and unique weapon.
His younger sister, Jo Yeon, who, despite his mother's wish for a third child, was born weak and frail.
His love for reading, which led him to memorize the Thousand Character Classic and the Analects of Confucius, given by his father at the age of eight, in just three months.
The Jo family, though extremely poor, was a warm and loving family.
And there was unfamiliar knowledge.
The history, culture, academic theories, military strategies, and arts of ancient China, which he had never experienced before, flashed through his mind intermittently.
The feeling was like a flickering fluorescent light, truly strange.
It was clear that this knowledge did not belong to the original owner of this body.
Moreover, it was not the amount of knowledge that one person could have experienced.
Most puzzling of all was the deeply ingrained phrase "Si Ma" in his mind.
Recalling it, an uncontrollable rage welled up.
Everything was in utter chaos.
“Where are we, boy? This is your home, isn't it? Are you feeling well?”
Jo Hui answered his father's worried question.
“Other than a headache, I'm fine.”
Jo Soon finally showed relief.
“You groaned in bed for four whole days… It's a great relief.”
Many poor children in the village lost their lives before reaching adulthood. There was no guarantee that his second son wouldn't be one of them.
“To recover, we need to eat something…”
Joy was short-lived as Gwa Ae-yeong's face clouded with worry.
Though they ran an iron foundry, production had long ceased, and their fortune had declined drastically.
Recently, even securing one meal a day was a struggle.
Jo Soon held back his tears and bowed his head.
The second son lying in bed was a problem, but the other children could fall ill at any time.
The future was bleak.
Gwa Ae-yeong looked at Jo Soon.
“Father… Have you heard any news from Mr. Fang?”
In the past, salt and iron were state-controlled assets by imperial decree. However, after the debate on salt and iron in the Later Han Dynasty, they were returned to the people.
Naturally, local aristocrats and warlords took control, and most provincial governors monopolized the profits from salt mines and iron mines.
Fang Bulv.
He was the leading aristocrat of Anhui Province and the governor of Guoqiu County, who owned the iron mines.
Jo Soon sighed softly.
“Many people are waiting to connect with Mr. Fang. We can only hope for good fortune.”
It was practically impossible to run an iron foundry in Anhui without the backing of the governor of Xuzhou.
Without a steady supply of iron ore, the foundry could only survive by doing simple repairs.
Even if they bought iron ore from distant places at a high price, without the governor's permission, they could only produce farming tools.
They couldn't make much money from poor farmers. To make big money, they had to produce swords and knives.
A foundry that couldn't produce swords and knives would lose its reputation and receive fewer repair requests.
The current situation of the Jo family's iron foundry was exactly like that.
“What did the Hu family's sword school say?”
“…”
Jo Soon couldn't bring himself to speak.
The head of the Hu family's sword school, Hua Xuming.
The rapid decline of the Jo family's iron foundry was all due to him. Jo Soon had bribed him with two thousand silver taels to secure a contract with the governor of Xuzhou, Fang Bulv.
He never imagined that the head of a family claiming to be a righteous scholar would cheat.
With a heavy heart, Jo Soon said,
“Take care of Hui. I'll be back shortly.”
“Father…”
* * *
No answer.
No matter how much Jo Hui thought, he couldn't understand what was happening to him.
‘Is it a dimensional transfer?’
Ultimately, this was the only conclusion. If the current situation is real and not a dream, it only makes him laugh bitterly.
“Haha…”
The warmth of the undelivered food still lingers in his hands, yet a dimensional transfer? How can he accept death when he can't even accept it?
“Damn, what the hell? How? Why?”
Of course, he has read such fantasy novels a few times.
Like a medical student going back in time to become a legendary doctor, or a lawyer going back in time to become a high court judge…
But what about me?
Apart from seven years of civil service exam preparation, I have nothing. If anything, I have a bit of part-time work experience.
When he scanned the memories of the original owner of this body, this place, the Central Plains, seemed to be just a lawless era at the end of the century.
It feels exactly like that.
There's no fingerprint identification or CCTV.
Although there are strict imperial laws and the authorities to enforce them, law enforcement mostly relies on statements and impressions.
As a result, who can endure torture better, who confesses first, this is a system where the tough win.
Most cases are simply buried. Why? Because even the officials find it troublesome.
Why would they waste time on interrogations when they can make money from bribes? Why would they bother with autopsies?
Thus, the world is filled with unjust stories. If you are weak, you just die, and that's how it is.
A world of ruthless survival of the fittest.
What am I doing in such a crazy place?
If I get stabbed on the street, who would even care?
Ah, I am just a lonely, miserable, and talentless hungry rabbit.
What? Can't I just learn martial arts?
Huh… Let's carefully review the memories of the original owner of this body.
This Fengtai County has a total of three hundred households.
Of course, in modern terms, this might be considered less than a single apartment complex, but in the Central Plains, it can be called a huge city.
It takes about fifty to a hundred such counties to form a province, and several provinces to form a state.
Nine such states make up the Central Plains.
Ordinary people, of course, never leave their own province, let alone their county, throughout their lives.
Of course,