NGRF Ch 1

I always thought that no matter how many strange fates there were in the world, none seemed to intersect with my own path.

Throughout my life, I’ve never stumbled upon any precious martial arts manuals hidden in peculiar cliffs or caves, nor have I encountered anything beyond rumours of that famous Great Rejuvenation Pellet of Shaolin or the Purple Cloud Pellet of the Mount Hua Sect.

I’ve only had fleeting glimpses of the Ten-Year Fleece Flower or Hundred-Year Fleece Flower, as they were preciously stored away and said to only be given in the Herbal Medicine Hall and to the direct lineage of the main house.

Born into the collateral lineage of the Great Namgung Clan, I was denied the privilege of having my hair trimmed and my marrow cleansed¹. Nevertheless, I’ve been wielding the sword since the tender age of five.

I thought that, since I was able to bear the Namgung name, learn the Boundless Heaven Sword Technique while draped in silk clothing on a regular basis, and have the luxury of concentrating on my training without worries of starvation to plague me, I was in a better situation than the orphaned beggars wandering the streets.

Despite never clinching victory in the Dragon Phoenix Conference² held by the Murim Alliance every three years, my ability to secure a lower seat must surely be attributed to my early childhood education.

Once I surpassed the age of yakgwan³ by a hair’s breadth, I bore the title of a first-class martial artist, venturing through the kangho⁴ while facing off against the Nokrim and unorthodox sects and travelling to do deeds of good.

While the direct descendants of the prominent clans often wed early and start families in order to prepare for the clan’s future, it has become a trend in recent times for collateral descendants to marry late. They had neither wealth nor farmlands to bequeath, and no exceptional secret martial arts technique they required a sole heir for either.

I was just grateful for the fact that, thanks to my diligent honing of my internal energy, I appeared to be in my twenties even as I entered my thirties and maintained the same youthful visage into my forties. I continued to roam the kangho, occasionally lending my aid to the affairs of the clan.

The year I turned forty-two, just as I barely ascended to the transcendent realm, the Demonic Cult began to wreak havoc.

Of the Ten Great Sects⁵, it was the Kongtong Sect and the Qingcheng Sect that were the first to close their gates.

The Zhongnan Sect and Mount Hua Sect established a long battle line in Xi’an. Hundreds, thousands of martial artists charged to their deaths, like moths running to a flame. There were also many civilians ensnared in the fights of martial artists, losing their lives as a result.

Mountains burned, and droughts emerged.

The Five Great Clans, alongside numerous lesser clans, pooled their might in a show of unity. The greatest swordsman of the Wudang Sect, Jang Muhyeon, charged to the front lines, ready to engage in a life-or-death battle with the Heavenly Demon. Tens of thousands of martial artists rallied behind him. I, too, stood among them. My death occurred on that battlefield, where flesh was cut and bones were broken.

And I came back to life.

When I first opened my eyes, I felt no strength in my body, which led me to think, Oh, it seems my Dantian was broken in the perilous battle.

However, as I naturally utilized Qi Breathing, I felt a sliver of energy, as small as a grain of rice, familiarly travelling through my meridians and realized that it wasn’t broken.

I even thought that I had fallen victim to a bizarre spell of the Demonic Cult, as my consciousness was clear, yet my limbs had no freedom of movement.

I realized this wasn’t the case when I noticed the hand waving in front of my face was covered in a murky white cloth.

How could something so strange happen in this world?

It took me seven days and nights to realize that, even when I tried to muster all my strength, I couldn’t even roll over. My arms and legs, which refused to obey me, could only flounder around.

In the meantime, all those who lingered around me and exchanged words with each other were Semus⁶.

I was the type who thought that even the silver hair and blue eyes of the masters from the North Sea Ice Palace looked awkward.

The fact that the man and women conversing here had colour schemes ranging from golden, red, and blue to, believe it or not, even purple and very light blue was immensely shocking to me.

How could a person possibly have such a hair colour?

Was this what the Buddhist Six Paths looked like?

No matter how much I pondered it, I couldn’t find an answer. In a frenzy, I opened my mouth to ask a barrage of questions, but of course, we couldn’t understand each other.

Their conversation flowed in sweet tones, reminiscent of birds chirping or poetry being recited.

Reflecting on it later, it occurred to me that perhaps it was a good thing that this body was still that of a young child who couldn’t speak yet, with an inarticulate tongue that prevented me from asking about various things.

If a newborn baby were to inquire about things like “Where is this? Who am I?” and so forth, people might even suspect it was possessed by a demon.

A woman with light purple hair and blue eyes claimed to be my mother, while a man with black hair and red eyes asserted he was my father.

The couple’s relationship was not good; my father wandered outside, while my mother was feeble and always listless.

My mother would come to see my face once every three days, while my father only ever visited me once a month, bringing with him the cool breeze as he lingered beside the cradle before disappearing again.

As a result, most of the people caring for me were nannies with brown hair and brown eyes.

Having someone wipe my behind, even though I was already past forty, felt incredibly shameful, like I had caught dementia. However, it was a relief that I was fed from a suspiciously durable bottle containing milk instead of a breast.

I ate, slept, and, for the rest of the time, practiced meditation. Thanks to the fact that my Conception Vessel and Governing Vessel were open, I found it much easier than expected to regain my lost internal energy.

I had never practiced Dynamic Meditation on its own before, so I did it late into the night to ensure my nannies wouldn’t touch me during it.

And just like that, I became Michael Ernhardt, not Namgung Jungyeon.