Clink.
Chung Myung raised his head with difficulty. Something shiny flickered in front of his eyes.
Huh?
At the same time, he heard a tutting sound.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk. You look too young. How'd you end up a beggar?"
Clink.
Clink.
Coins began flying toward him.
"Looks like you got beaten up somewhere. You might drop dead any minute."
"The world's gone mad. Tsk, tsk. Pitiful, really."
Huh?
What is this…?
Ah.
Right, I'm a beggar. He'd almost forgotten.
To others, Chung Myung appeared as a beggar. No—even to himself, he was just a beggar. A child beggar, not yet an adult. A pitiful beggar, with bruises around his eyes and dried blood crusted on his face…
And this pitiful beggar was sprawled face-down in the middle of the marketplace.
"Ugh. I can't just walk past without helping."
"No decent person could ignore this."
A scrawny-limbed child beggar, draped in rags and caked in dirt, lay dying. Not just acting like he was dying—he truly was dying.
Was there ever a more perfect act of begging?
Coins clinked and clattered as they landed around him.
"Tsk, tsk."
"Haven't seen this brat before. How'd he end up here?"
Seems the world's still worth living in.
Passersby clicked their tongues and tossed him coins. Chung Myung's eyes welled with crystalline tears as he watched the coins fall.
"Oh, he's crying! Poor thing."
"Buy yourself some noodles with that."
Kindness poured over him. But Chung Myung wasn't crying out of gratitude.
Me—a disciple of the Great Hua Shan Sect—receiving alms?
How did it come to this?
Just days ago, he'd been the world's greatest swordsman, fighting the Heavenly Demon to decide the fate of the realm. Before that, he'd been an elegant swordsman roaming the world with pride.
And now he was reduced to begging? This wasn't just a fall from grace—it was a plunge into hell!
I have my pride as a man!
If he accepted this money, he'd truly become a beggar. The exalted swordsman of Hua Shan, reduced to this? Begging? Unthinkable!
A warrior would rather die than abandon his dignity!
Chung Myung gritted his teeth, jerked his head up, and shouted:
"Thank you! May heaven bless you, kind sirs!"
Pride could freeze and die.
Survival comes first.
"Buurp—!"
Chung Myung patted his bulging belly. His emaciated frame now sported a frog-like potbelly.
"Pride~ won't~ fill~ your~ stomach~. A live beggar beats a dead hero~."
His small body was oddly efficient.
Three street-bought dumplings had stuffed him to bursting. And he still had three coins jingling in his sleeve—coins he'd have ignored in his past life, but now they felt like priceless treasures.
Who knew money mattered so much?
He remembered scolding his seniors for obsessing over sect finances each month. If he could go back, he'd slap his past self silly.
Stuffed like a pig.
Back then, he'd mocked those who couldn't earn money despite their swordsmanship. Now he nearly wept imagining his sect leader breaking his back to feed those "useless half-bums."
Anyway.
"I'm alive… for now."
Chung Myung scratched his head fiercely.
He'd left without a plan. Getting to Shanxi felt impossible.
I underestimated two thousand li.
His mind still operated on his past life's standards. Even knowing his body and circumstances had changed, adapting overnight wasn't easy.
In his past life, he'd have reached Shanxi in half a day and lounged at a tavern beneath Mount Hua. Now, traveling there on foot might cost his life.
Bandits or beasts could be dealt with—but hunger? No answer.
What he'd thought would be a simple journey had become a life-risking odyssey. His head throbbed.
But I can't leisurely beg my way to Shanxi either.
He clawed at his scalp.
"I need a plan—but what do I even know?!"
A century had passed. The world might as well be brand new. What "plan" could he devise?
"Hey!"
Even ordinary people took over two months to reach Shanxi. With this body, half a year wouldn't surprise him.
"Hey!!"
As someone needing to verify Mount Hua's state immediately, this frustration was unbearable. He had to find a way—but nothing came to mind…
"Hey, brat! You deaf?!"
"Huh?"
Chung Myung turned.
What now?
He'd heard voices but didn't think they'd address him. Who talks to beggars?
Three rough-faced beggars glared at him.
Well, they look the part.
This life kept tangling him with beggars.
"Me?"
"'Me'? Not 'sir'? This brat's lost his mind."
The lead beggar spat on the ground.
"Don't know where you crawled from, but who said you could beg here?"
Since when does begging require permission?
"We'll spare your life 'cause you're young. Hand over everything you've got—pockets, sleeves—then scram."
Sleeves meant his coins. Hand meant… Chung Myung looked down. Half-eaten cold dumplings.
"…No shame. Squeezing blood from a flea!"
Stealing this? From him?
"You beggar scum!"
Beggars insulting beggars—like spitting on your own face. Enough with the beggar crap!
"Wait."
Chung Myung gently set down his dumplings.
He stood, stretched his limbs, stepped forward and back, testing movements.
The beggars scowled.
"What're you doing?"
"Just… a moment. Almost done."
After a few more stretches, Chung Myung nodded.
"Not perfect, but good enough."
He'd adjusted to his shorter limbs and gauged distance.
So—
"You'll resent this, but I really hate beggars now."
"…What?"
"Can't be helped. Don't hold a grudge."
"What's this brat yapping about?!"
Chung Myung cracked his neck.
"Oh, and I'm weak now. Can't hit hard. So you'll need… many hits."
"You little shi—!"
THWACK!
Chung Myung lunged like a tiger, fist slamming the lead beggar's face.
Perfect footing. A twisted waist channeled force flawlessly into the punch. A child's fist struck with the sound of a seasoned fighter's palm strike.
Thud.
The beggar collapsed without a sound.
Chung Myung trembled.
"I—"
WHAM!
A kick sent another beggar flying.
"—am the Plum Blossom Sword Master of Hua Shan! You beggar SCUM!!!"
A century's worth of pent-up fury exploded.
"…Sir."
"Who calls a beggar 'sir'?"
"G-Great Beggar…?"
"Wanna die?"
The three beggars, heads battered, groaned pitifully.
Where'd this monster come from?
I'm dying…
It'd taken less time than brewing tea. A child beating three grown men would stun anyone—but to Chung Myung, it was humiliating.
I'll get an ulcer.
No internal energy needed for these fools. His past self would've crushed them with a finger.
Now, he'd had to leap, kick, and roll. They kept getting up—he'd punched one thirty-eight times before they wailed.
Should've beaten that bastard Jo Pal like this.
His teeth ground at the thought.
If only he'd known about his short limbs! If he'd had stamina to endure, he'd have pummeled that beggar like a dog!
He'd left revenge for later, but someday—
"On your feet."
"Yes, sir!"
The beggars shot up, sweat dripping from their grimy faces, eyeing Chung Myung fearfully.
How's this runt so terrifying?
Makes no sense.
Small, weak, frail—looked like he'd die if tripped. Yet fighting him was like battling a ghost. Their fists never touched him.
He wasn't fast or strong. How'd they lose?
"You."
"Y-Yes?!"
"Got a quick way to Shanxi?"
They glanced at each other and grinned. Chung Myung's hopes rose.
"Hah! Easy question!"
"Oh? You know?"
"If we knew that, would we be beggars? Ask someone else!"
"..."
Chung Myung sighed deeply.
Not their fault. His mistake for asking beggars.
"Get lost."
"Thank you!!"
"Live a thousand years!!"
They bowed frantically and scrambled to flee—
"Wait."
His voice froze them.
"Y-Yes?"
"Leave everything you're holding. Pockets too."
"..."
"If I find one hidden coin, ten punches per. Not that my punches hurt… much."
Realizing he meant it, they surrendered every coin with resigned faces.
"You."
"Y-Yes?"
"The coins in your underwear. Now. Before I strip you."
"..."
A tragic scene unfolded—beggars being robbed by a beggar.