โLove, Illusion, and Master of Literary, Return of the Mad Demon Fandom Overlord, (hazbin/ helluva reference) Enjoy the not your ordinary manwha, delusional, simp infested, creative world of our fandom.โ
(Mainly posts Return of the Crazy Demon/ Return of the Mad Demon Content)
She/ Her-
โnihilistic misanthropic high school graduate, fan of life and death/ existential philosophy, historical asian culture, egyptian culture, and buddhism religion.
โReturn of the Mad Demon is an action, comedy, murim manwha based around jaha Lee- The Mad Demon, a dangerous martial artist who's a madman in natureโ
โThis is the best comedy manwha you will ever read, and I hope my content can make your day betterโ
โcan literally write anything as a suggestion or just write shit out of boredom, is an absolute diabolical simp for the main character, and I will take that title as my ownโ
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Dance in the swords of the night-Return of the Blossoming Blade- Mad Demon/ Crazy Demon-Omniscient Reader- Under The Greenlight- KPDH-Operation True Love- Hand Jumper-Castle Swimmer-Tears on a Withered Flower-Lily of the Valley etc.
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synopsis: to cure his raging madness, the lethal warlord yi zaha does what any brilliant madman would do... he pretends to be a clumsy peasant just so that the oblivious village doctor will keep wrapping bandages around his perfectly healthy skin.
the rain in the shaanxi province smelled like copper.
yi zaha leaned against the damp brick wall of a narrow alleyway, listening to the heavy thud of three weak sect elders collapsing into the mud behind him. they had called themselves masters of the righteous path, shouting grandly about orthodox justice while swinging their swords in flashy, unnecessary arcs.
it was honestly exhausting to watch.
zaha had broken their wrists, shattered their kneecaps, and politely suggested they invest in a heavy dose of laxatives to clear out the corruption bloating their intestines before he left them there.
that was just standard protocol for him at this point.
but obviously, the righteous elders hadn't appreciated the medical advice. (but zaha considered it a civic duty to educate the public on digestive health)
useless, absolutely useless. he thought, rubbing the bridge of his crooked nose as a sharp and familiar pressure buzzed behind his eyes.
the madness that was always clawing at the inside of his skull, a constant headache that rarely left him in peace. he was fully aware that his brain didn't function like a normal person's and he usually found that quite efficient for running a sect.
but right now, however, the buzzing was just very annoying.
he then noticed a faint, stinging sensation on his left forearm. pulling back his torn black sleeve, he found a shallow cut, barely three inches long and oozing of dark blood.
one of those old men must've gotten a lucky scratch in before zaha completely dismantled his stance.
it was a pathetic wound.
with a single breath, he could easily circulate his internal qi, clot the blood and force the skin to knit itself back together.
he raised his hand, preparing to channel his energy and be done with it, but then a scent drifted through the damp air.
it was the clean smell of boiled licorice root, dried mint, and chamomile. the fragrance traveled from a small dimly lit building at the very end of the alley. a wooden sign hung slightly crooked over the entrance, bearing the words village infirmary in neat brushstrokes.
through the translucent paper screen window, a silhouette moved, grinding herbs under the soft warm glow of a single oil lamp.
zaha's hand dropped instantly, the qi in his veins scattering into nothingness.
(obviously, this had nothing to do with the fact that he had been staring at that exact window from the rooftops for the past four days)
his mind, which operated on unhinged logic, immediately spun a completely reasonable justification for what he was about to do. why should i waste my precious internal energy on a scratch? he reasoned, staring at the window. i'm a tax-paying resident of this region. it's practically a disservice to the medical profession if i just heal myself. i'm doing her a favor by seeking treatment.
he stumbled toward the door, deliberately letting his posture slump until he looked like a broken sack of potatoes. he knocked on the wood, hitting it just hard enough to rattle the frame but keeping his monstrous strength in check just so he didn't accidentally splinter it into kindling.
the door slid open with a soft creak.
there [reader] stood, looking exhausted with faint dark circles under her eyes, holding a wooden pestle in one hand. she took one look at his absolutely messy state (understatement) and let out a long, heavy, world weary, dreary sigh.
"another one," she murmured, stepping aside to clear the entrance. "come in. sit down before you bleed all over the clean floor."
zaha stepped inside and the moment the door slid shut behind him, the chaotic buzzing in his skull stopped completely.
the madness simply vanished.
the air around her felt perfectly still.
his heart, which usually beat like a frantic war drum, suddenly felt like it was floating in an undisturbed pond. he stood there frozen, staring at the back of her head as she walked over to a medicine cabinet, his eyes wide with sudden suspicion.
what kind of terrifying sorcery is this? he thought, his internal panic spiking. is this a hidden master of the dark arts? a demonic cult assassin using an advanced psychological aura to paralyze my fighting spirit?
"sit," she repeated, gesturing toward a low wooden cot in the corner of the room.
he sat down so fast his spine made a loud cracking sound.
she knelt beside the cot, gently taking his left arm in her hands. her fingers were warm and small, completely devoid of the thick and rough calluses of a swordsman yet she held his arm with authority.
she dipped a clean cloth into a basin of warm water and began to wash away the smeared blood with practiced efficiency.
"how did this happen?" she asked, her voice soft but carrying a stern edge. "the sect nearby is having some massive gathering nearby. did you get caught in the crossfire of those crazy martial artists?"
zaha's tongue suddenly felt like a piece of dry leather. he needed to answer, and more importantly, he needed to maintain his dignity while figuring out why his chest felt so tight.
"i'm zaha," he blurted out, his voice too loud for the quiet room. "i'm a night watchman and i'm very weak. i'm exceptionally bad at fighting. a martial artist breathed in my direction and i just fell over a barrel and cut myself."
she paused, looking up from his arm to search his face.
zaha froze completely, holding his breath and praying she couldn't hear the disaster happening inside his ribs.
"a night watchman?" she echoed, her gaze lingering on the muscle mass of his shoulders and the expensive (albeit currently ruined) black fabric of his inner robes.
"yes," he lied smoothly, sweating profusely under her steady stare. "a very poor, clumsy watchman. i'm practically a peasant. please pity me."
she didn't look entirely convinced, but she didn't press the matter either.
she just shook her head, leaning back down to apply a soothing green salve to the shallow cut. her breath brushed against his skin as she gently blew on the wound to cool the sting of the medicine.
zaha's brain instantly short-circuited. she's using a wind attribute internal technique to soothe my flesh, his mind uttered in utter delusion. remarkable. truly a master.
"there," she said, wrapping a clean white bandage around his arm and tying it off in a neat knot. "it's just a scratch, but try not to tumble into any more barrels on your shift, watchman zaha. the streets aren't safe tonight."
"understood," zaha barked, standing up with a rigid posture.
he reached into his robes and pulled out a heavy leather pouch that contained enough solid silver to buy the entire village before slamming it onto the table. "for your services."
she stared at the massive pouch and up at his intense face. "...this is far too much. i don't have change for this."
"i am, the type of man," he declared grandly, already backing toward the door. "who is very generous. that is me."
before she could even protest, the strange man slid the door open and vanished into the rainy night. leaving her alone in the quiet infirmary with a small fortune on her table and a very confused expression on her face.
three days later, the hall of the black rabbit union was filled with a suffocating tension.
the core members of the sect (mostly reformed bandits, low-level thugs, and chaotic martial artists zaha had personally beaten into submission) were all standing in a neat line, trembling as they watched their leader.
yi zaha was pacing back and forth in front of his throne, his hands tucked behind his back.
his expression was dark, his eyes were narrowed, and a terrifyingly heavy aura was leaking from his body, making the stone floor feel ice cold. his subordinates exchanged horrified glances, fully convinced that their leader was plotting the annihilation of a rival clan or perhaps preparing to execute someone for breathing incorrectly.
โ"clan leader," one of the brave subordinates finally spoke up, his voice shaking. "is there a problem with the border patrols? has the enemy alliance made a move?"
โzaha stopped pacing.
he turned his unhinged gaze towards the man, staring at him for a solid minute.
โ"worse," zaha said, his voice dropping to a low, grim whisper. "i've discovered... a profound weakness in my chest cavity that manifests whenever i approach the southern village."
โthe entire hall gasped. a weakness? a deadly curse?
โ"leader!" the man cried out, dropping to one knee. "who has done this to you? give us the name and we will slaughter their entire lineage! we'll poison their wells! we'll slip laxatives into their ancestral soups!" (they learned from the best)
"silence, you idiot." zaha snapped, rubbing his temples as his headache flared up at the mention of soup. "there's a doctor in the southern village... her clinic cures my mind."
the subordinates stared at him, completely blank expressions washing over their faces.
the chief advisor slowly blinked. "leader, if she's a doctor, why don't we just bring her to the clan?"
"because she thinks i'm a clumsy night watchman," zaha said."and if you idiots show up and ruin my disguise, i'll break your wrists."
"..." the entire hall broke out in cold sweat.
"i need an injury." he added.
the advisor rubbed his temples, feeling his own headache coming on. "clan leader... if you require an injury, we could arrange a sparring session? or perhaps a minor training accident?"
"too slow," zaha grunted, walking out of the hall. "i'll handle it myself."
the next afternoon, [reader]was sitting behind the counter of her quiet infirmary, carefully sorting dried berry roots into small porcelain jars. the village was peaceful today, the gentle sunlight filtering through the open door, warming the wooden floorboards.
thud.
a dramatic sound echoed from the porch outside.
she blinked, setting down a jar as a shadow fell over the threshold.
stumbling through the door came zaha. he was wearing his simple night watchman garments again but his hair was completely disheveled, and he was dragging his left leg behind him with an exaggerated limp. emphasis on the exaggerated.
he let out a series of deep groans, clutching his knee as if his joints were made of crushed glass.
"ah, the pain," zaha announced to the empty room, his voice ringing out. and despite the pitiful dialogue, his tone was serious. "the agony of a simple and ordinary citizen. ah, a tragedy has occurred." he couldn't act for shit.
[reader] stood up from behind the counter, crossing her arms as she watched him painfully make his way over to the wooden cot. he collapsed onto it with a heavy sigh, making sure to throw his head back dramatically against the wall.
"sir zaha," [reader] said, her voice flat as she walked over to him. "your shift doesn't even start until sundown. how are you already injured?"
"a rogue pebble," zaha said instantly, his dark eyes locking onto her. "i was walking down the path, minding my own business, thinking about the security of our beautiful village, when a highly aggressive rock manifested out of nowhere. i tripped. my knee is shattered. i may never walk again without medical intervention."
she knelt down before gently pulling up the fabric of his trousers to inspect his knee. she expected to see swelling, purple bruising, or even at least a scrape from the gravel.
there was absolutely nothing...!
his skin was perfectly smooth. in fact, his legs looked like they were carved out of solid marble, possessing the kind of powerful muscle structure that only belonged to high level martial artists who spent decades of training.
she reached out, pressing her thumb firmly against his kneecap. "does it hurt here?"
zaha's entire body went rigid. his inner monologue was currently a chaotic battlefield of panic. she's touching my leg. he thought, his heart slamming against his ribs like a trapped animal.
"yes," he squeezed out, his voice cracking slightly. "the pain is immense. i am weeping internally."
she stared at his perfectly healthy knee and up at his sweating face.
she let out another long sigh.
this man was either an absolute hypochondriac or just incredibly mad. "there isn't a single bruise here. your bones are completely fine."
"it's an internal shatter," zaha explained solemnly, nodding his head with absolute conviction. "a hidden fracture of the soul. it requires the application of that green salve from last time. and perhaps a gentle bandage to keep the structural integrity intact."
she looked at him for a long moment, completely baffled. "you want me to bandage a perfectly healthy leg?"
"for safety measures," he insisted, his voice dropping to a serious tone. "as a medical professional, you must understand the importance of structural stability for a weak clumsy man like myself. if i fall again, who will protect the village lanterns at night?"
she couldn't help but let out a soft huff of laughter, shaking her head as she stood up to fetch the medical supplies.
she didn't know what this man's deal was, but he had given her a pouch of silver large enough to fund her clinic for the next five years so if he wanted his perfectly healthy leg wrapped in expensive linen, she wasn't going to argue.
as she walked over to the cabinet, zaha's eyes followed her every move.
his headache was completely gone. it was replaced by the soft sound of her footsteps and the gentle rustle of her clothes.
he stared down at the floor.
"i'm a crazy pervert," he muttered under his breath, his voice full of self loathing. "what the hell am i doing?"
"did you say something?" she asked, walking back over with the linen.
zaha immediately snapped his head up, clearing his throat. "nothing. i was merely cursing the rogue stone that brought me to this low point. please proceed with the wrapping."
she sat back down on the stool beside him, scooping a small amount of the cool ointment onto her fingers. the moment her hand made contact with his skin, zaha's toes curled inside his boots. he gripped the edges of the wooden cot so tightly that the solid oak frame began to groan under the immense pressure of his fingers, a small crack forming in the wood beneath his palm.
she was too focused on rubbing the salve into his skin to notice. "you know, for a night watchman, you have incredibly calloused hands," she remarked casually, looking at his upper body. "and you seem to carry a lot of tension. do you lift heavy crates on the side?"
"yes," zaha said quickly, his mind spinning a new lie. "i am also a partime laborer. i carry heavy barrels of water and rice. and occasionally, large rocks that are blocking the road. i am a very hardworking member of the working class."
"i see," she murmured, beginning to wrap the white linen around his knee. "well, you should take better care of yourself. if you keep getting hurt like this, you won't be able to work at all."
"if i cannot work, i will simply come here," zaha said smoothly.
she paused, her fingers tightening slightly on the bandage as she looked up at him. a faint, subtle flush crept up her neck, and she quickly looked back down to finish the knot. "don't say such ridiculous things. an infirmary isn't a place you visit for fun."
"i don't find it fun," zaha clarified. "i find it necessary for my survival. if i could, i would simply hire you to stand next to me while i conduct my daily business."
she finished tying the knot and slapped his knee gently, making him jump. "alright, clumsy watchman, you're all set. stop talking nonsense and get out of my clinic before you find a way to break your arm on my tea set."
zaha stood up, testing his newly bandaged and perfectly healthy leg with a satisfied nod. he reached into his robes and pulled out another heavy pouch of solid silver and dropped it onto the cot.
"until next time," he declared, turning on his heel and marching out of the shop with a stride so powerful and perfectly balanced it contradicted his pathetic limp earlier.
that man, she thought, rubbing her temples as a faint smile tugged at her lips, is absolutely out of his mind.
the next week, the ruse finally reached its breaking point.
inside the infirmary, the atmosphere was entirely peaceful until y/n set down a teapot on the wooden counter and looked over at the doorway.
zaha was standing outside, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, trying to look casual. he had completely forgotten to put on his ragged watchman shoes and was wearing his high grade leather boots instead.
y/n poured a single cup of warm plum blossom tea, the sweet aroma drifting through the air. she pushed it towards the empty seat.
"sit down, leader yi," she said, her voice completely calm.
zaha froze entirely, his arms still clutched across his chest. his jaw dropped slightly, his eyes widening as the words echoed in the quiet room.
"what?" he squeaked, his majestic voice cracking slightly.
she leaned against the counter and crossed her arms, looking at him with an amused expression. "i said sit down. and stop looking around the room like a confused bird, zaha. or should i call you the mad demon?"
zaha stood completely paralyzed, his brain struggling to process the information. she knows, his mind looped in absolute horror. my acting was perfect. how does she know?
"you know?" he stammered, looking incredibly small despite his massive stature. "since when?"
"since the first week," [reader] said, shaking her head. "leader yi, no ordinary night watchman leaves enough solid silver to buy a palace on my table every single day."
his shoulders slumped, all his terrifying warlord dignity completely vanishing. "dammit... what a complete disaster."
she couldn't help but let out a soft huff of laughter, her smile turning gentle as she walked over to him. she reached out, her warm fingers gently catching his hand.
the simple contact instantly sending that familiar stillness through his mind, completely erasing his headache.
"you're certainly a madman, i'll give you that," she murmured, looking up at his embarrassed(?) face. "but you don't have to fake an injury just to visit my clinic, leader yi."
zaha blinked, his dark eyes widening slightly as he looked down at her fingers wrapped around his large calloused hand. "i... do not?"
"no," she said, her smile widening. "the silver you keep leaving is enough to fund this place for the next ten years. if you want to sit here, drink tea, and complain about your headaches, you can just do that."
zaha's unhinged smile slowly returned, though this time it held warmth.
the internal buzzing in his skull was completely dead, replaced by the warm weight of her hand in his.
"excellent," zaha declared, straightening his shoulders. "i will return tomorrow for a non medical consultation regarding a severe affection in my chest area, [reader]. and i will bring my subordinates to fix your porch. if they do a poor job, i will make them eat laxatives."
"please don't poison your subordinates," [reader] sighed, though her smile only widened as she looked at her chaotic master of the murim. "just bring some tea, watchman zaha. that will be more than enough."
synopsis: to cure his raging madness, the lethal warlord yi zaha does what any brilliant madman would do... he pretends to be a clumsy peasant just so that the oblivious village doctor will keep wrapping bandages around his perfectly healthy skin.
the rain in the shaanxi province smelled like copper.
yi zaha leaned against the damp brick wall of a narrow alleyway, listening to the heavy thud of three weak sect elders collapsing into the mud behind him. they had called themselves masters of the righteous path, shouting grandly about orthodox justice while swinging their swords in flashy, unnecessary arcs.
it was honestly exhausting to watch.
zaha had broken their wrists, shattered their kneecaps, and politely suggested they invest in a heavy dose of laxatives to clear out the corruption bloating their intestines before he left them there.
that was just standard protocol for him at this point.
but obviously, the righteous elders hadn't appreciated the medical advice. (but zaha considered it a civic duty to educate the public on digestive health)
useless, absolutely useless. he thought, rubbing the bridge of his crooked nose as a sharp and familiar pressure buzzed behind his eyes.
the madness that was always clawing at the inside of his skull, a constant headache that rarely left him in peace. he was fully aware that his brain didn't function like a normal person's and he usually found that quite efficient for running a sect.
but right now, however, the buzzing was just very annoying.
he then noticed a faint, stinging sensation on his left forearm. pulling back his torn black sleeve, he found a shallow cut, barely three inches long and oozing of dark blood.
one of those old men must've gotten a lucky scratch in before zaha completely dismantled his stance.
it was a pathetic wound.
with a single breath, he could easily circulate his internal qi, clot the blood and force the skin to knit itself back together.
he raised his hand, preparing to channel his energy and be done with it, but then a scent drifted through the damp air.
it was the clean smell of boiled licorice root, dried mint, and chamomile. the fragrance traveled from a small dimly lit building at the very end of the alley. a wooden sign hung slightly crooked over the entrance, bearing the words village infirmary in neat brushstrokes.
through the translucent paper screen window, a silhouette moved, grinding herbs under the soft warm glow of a single oil lamp.
zaha's hand dropped instantly, the qi in his veins scattering into nothingness.
(obviously, this had nothing to do with the fact that he had been staring at that exact window from the rooftops for the past four days)
his mind, which operated on unhinged logic, immediately spun a completely reasonable justification for what he was about to do. why should i waste my precious internal energy on a scratch? he reasoned, staring at the window. i'm a tax-paying resident of this region. it's practically a disservice to the medical profession if i just heal myself. i'm doing her a favor by seeking treatment.
he stumbled toward the door, deliberately letting his posture slump until he looked like a broken sack of potatoes. he knocked on the wood, hitting it just hard enough to rattle the frame but keeping his monstrous strength in check just so he didn't accidentally splinter it into kindling.
the door slid open with a soft creak.
there [reader] stood, looking exhausted with faint dark circles under her eyes, holding a wooden pestle in one hand. she took one look at his absolutely messy state (understatement) and let out a long, heavy, world weary, dreary sigh.
"another one," she murmured, stepping aside to clear the entrance. "come in. sit down before you bleed all over the clean floor."
zaha stepped inside and the moment the door slid shut behind him, the chaotic buzzing in his skull stopped completely.
the madness simply vanished.
the air around her felt perfectly still.
his heart, which usually beat like a frantic war drum, suddenly felt like it was floating in an undisturbed pond. he stood there frozen, staring at the back of her head as she walked over to a medicine cabinet, his eyes wide with sudden suspicion.
what kind of terrifying sorcery is this? he thought, his internal panic spiking. is this a hidden master of the dark arts? a demonic cult assassin using an advanced psychological aura to paralyze my fighting spirit?
"sit," she repeated, gesturing toward a low wooden cot in the corner of the room.
he sat down so fast his spine made a loud cracking sound.
she knelt beside the cot, gently taking his left arm in her hands. her fingers were warm and small, completely devoid of the thick and rough calluses of a swordsman yet she held his arm with authority.
she dipped a clean cloth into a basin of warm water and began to wash away the smeared blood with practiced efficiency.
"how did this happen?" she asked, her voice soft but carrying a stern edge. "the sect nearby is having some massive gathering nearby. did you get caught in the crossfire of those crazy martial artists?"
zaha's tongue suddenly felt like a piece of dry leather. he needed to answer, and more importantly, he needed to maintain his dignity while figuring out why his chest felt so tight.
"i'm zaha," he blurted out, his voice too loud for the quiet room. "i'm a night watchman and i'm very weak. i'm exceptionally bad at fighting. a martial artist breathed in my direction and i just fell over a barrel and cut myself."
she paused, looking up from his arm to search his face.
zaha froze completely, holding his breath and praying she couldn't hear the disaster happening inside his ribs.
"a night watchman?" she echoed, her gaze lingering on the muscle mass of his shoulders and the expensive (albeit currently ruined) black fabric of his inner robes.
"yes," he lied smoothly, sweating profusely under her steady stare. "a very poor, clumsy watchman. i'm practically a peasant. please pity me."
she didn't look entirely convinced, but she didn't press the matter either.
she just shook her head, leaning back down to apply a soothing green salve to the shallow cut. her breath brushed against his skin as she gently blew on the wound to cool the sting of the medicine.
zaha's brain instantly short-circuited. she's using a wind attribute internal technique to soothe my flesh, his mind uttered in utter delusion. remarkable. truly a master.
"there," she said, wrapping a clean white bandage around his arm and tying it off in a neat knot. "it's just a scratch, but try not to tumble into any more barrels on your shift, watchman zaha. the streets aren't safe tonight."
"understood," zaha barked, standing up with a rigid posture.
he reached into his robes and pulled out a heavy leather pouch that contained enough solid silver to buy the entire village before slamming it onto the table. "for your services."
she stared at the massive pouch and up at his intense face. "...this is far too much. i don't have change for this."
"i am, the type of man," he declared grandly, already backing toward the door. "who is very generous. that is me."
before she could even protest, the strange man slid the door open and vanished into the rainy night. leaving her alone in the quiet infirmary with a small fortune on her table and a very confused expression on her face.
three days later, the hall of the black rabbit union was filled with a suffocating tension.
the core members of the sect (mostly reformed bandits, low-level thugs, and chaotic martial artists zaha had personally beaten into submission) were all standing in a neat line, trembling as they watched their leader.
yi zaha was pacing back and forth in front of his throne, his hands tucked behind his back.
his expression was dark, his eyes were narrowed, and a terrifyingly heavy aura was leaking from his body, making the stone floor feel ice cold. his subordinates exchanged horrified glances, fully convinced that their leader was plotting the annihilation of a rival clan or perhaps preparing to execute someone for breathing incorrectly.
โ"clan leader," one of the brave subordinates finally spoke up, his voice shaking. "is there a problem with the border patrols? has the enemy alliance made a move?"
โzaha stopped pacing.
he turned his unhinged gaze towards the man, staring at him for a solid minute.
โ"worse," zaha said, his voice dropping to a low, grim whisper. "i've discovered... a profound weakness in my chest cavity that manifests whenever i approach the southern village."
โthe entire hall gasped. a weakness? a deadly curse?
โ"leader!" the man cried out, dropping to one knee. "who has done this to you? give us the name and we will slaughter their entire lineage! we'll poison their wells! we'll slip laxatives into their ancestral soups!" (they learned from the best)
"silence, you idiot." zaha snapped, rubbing his temples as his headache flared up at the mention of soup. "there's a doctor in the southern village... her clinic cures my mind."
the subordinates stared at him, completely blank expressions washing over their faces.
the chief advisor slowly blinked. "leader, if she's a doctor, why don't we just bring her to the clan?"
"because she thinks i'm a clumsy night watchman," zaha said."and if you idiots show up and ruin my disguise, i'll break your wrists."
"..." the entire hall broke out in cold sweat.
"i need an injury." he added.
the advisor rubbed his temples, feeling his own headache coming on. "clan leader... if you require an injury, we could arrange a sparring session? or perhaps a minor training accident?"
"too slow," zaha grunted, walking out of the hall. "i'll handle it myself."
the next afternoon, [reader]was sitting behind the counter of her quiet infirmary, carefully sorting dried berry roots into small porcelain jars. the village was peaceful today, the gentle sunlight filtering through the open door, warming the wooden floorboards.
thud.
a dramatic sound echoed from the porch outside.
she blinked, setting down a jar as a shadow fell over the threshold.
stumbling through the door came zaha. he was wearing his simple night watchman garments again but his hair was completely disheveled, and he was dragging his left leg behind him with an exaggerated limp. emphasis on the exaggerated.
he let out a series of deep groans, clutching his knee as if his joints were made of crushed glass.
"ah, the pain," zaha announced to the empty room, his voice ringing out. and despite the pitiful dialogue, his tone was serious. "the agony of a simple and ordinary citizen. ah, a tragedy has occurred." he couldn't act for shit.
[reader] stood up from behind the counter, crossing her arms as she watched him painfully make his way over to the wooden cot. he collapsed onto it with a heavy sigh, making sure to throw his head back dramatically against the wall.
"sir zaha," [reader] said, her voice flat as she walked over to him. "your shift doesn't even start until sundown. how are you already injured?"
"a rogue pebble," zaha said instantly, his dark eyes locking onto her. "i was walking down the path, minding my own business, thinking about the security of our beautiful village, when a highly aggressive rock manifested out of nowhere. i tripped. my knee is shattered. i may never walk again without medical intervention."
she knelt down before gently pulling up the fabric of his trousers to inspect his knee. she expected to see swelling, purple bruising, or even at least a scrape from the gravel.
there was absolutely nothing...!
his skin was perfectly smooth. in fact, his legs looked like they were carved out of solid marble, possessing the kind of powerful muscle structure that only belonged to high level martial artists who spent decades of training.
she reached out, pressing her thumb firmly against his kneecap. "does it hurt here?"
zaha's entire body went rigid. his inner monologue was currently a chaotic battlefield of panic. she's touching my leg. he thought, his heart slamming against his ribs like a trapped animal.
"yes," he squeezed out, his voice cracking slightly. "the pain is immense. i am weeping internally."
she stared at his perfectly healthy knee and up at his sweating face.
she let out another long sigh.
this man was either an absolute hypochondriac or just incredibly mad. "there isn't a single bruise here. your bones are completely fine."
"it's an internal shatter," zaha explained solemnly, nodding his head with absolute conviction. "a hidden fracture of the soul. it requires the application of that green salve from last time. and perhaps a gentle bandage to keep the structural integrity intact."
she looked at him for a long moment, completely baffled. "you want me to bandage a perfectly healthy leg?"
"for safety measures," he insisted, his voice dropping to a serious tone. "as a medical professional, you must understand the importance of structural stability for a weak clumsy man like myself. if i fall again, who will protect the village lanterns at night?"
she couldn't help but let out a soft huff of laughter, shaking her head as she stood up to fetch the medical supplies.
she didn't know what this man's deal was, but he had given her a pouch of silver large enough to fund her clinic for the next five years so if he wanted his perfectly healthy leg wrapped in expensive linen, she wasn't going to argue.
as she walked over to the cabinet, zaha's eyes followed her every move.
his headache was completely gone. it was replaced by the soft sound of her footsteps and the gentle rustle of her clothes.
he stared down at the floor.
"i'm a crazy pervert," he muttered under his breath, his voice full of self loathing. "what the hell am i doing?"
"did you say something?" she asked, walking back over with the linen.
zaha immediately snapped his head up, clearing his throat. "nothing. i was merely cursing the rogue stone that brought me to this low point. please proceed with the wrapping."
she sat back down on the stool beside him, scooping a small amount of the cool ointment onto her fingers. the moment her hand made contact with his skin, zaha's toes curled inside his boots. he gripped the edges of the wooden cot so tightly that the solid oak frame began to groan under the immense pressure of his fingers, a small crack forming in the wood beneath his palm.
she was too focused on rubbing the salve into his skin to notice. "you know, for a night watchman, you have incredibly calloused hands," she remarked casually, looking at his upper body. "and you seem to carry a lot of tension. do you lift heavy crates on the side?"
"yes," zaha said quickly, his mind spinning a new lie. "i am also a partime laborer. i carry heavy barrels of water and rice. and occasionally, large rocks that are blocking the road. i am a very hardworking member of the working class."
"i see," she murmured, beginning to wrap the white linen around his knee. "well, you should take better care of yourself. if you keep getting hurt like this, you won't be able to work at all."
"if i cannot work, i will simply come here," zaha said smoothly.
she paused, her fingers tightening slightly on the bandage as she looked up at him. a faint, subtle flush crept up her neck, and she quickly looked back down to finish the knot. "don't say such ridiculous things. an infirmary isn't a place you visit for fun."
"i don't find it fun," zaha clarified. "i find it necessary for my survival. if i could, i would simply hire you to stand next to me while i conduct my daily business."
she finished tying the knot and slapped his knee gently, making him jump. "alright, clumsy watchman, you're all set. stop talking nonsense and get out of my clinic before you find a way to break your arm on my tea set."
zaha stood up, testing his newly bandaged and perfectly healthy leg with a satisfied nod. he reached into his robes and pulled out another heavy pouch of solid silver and dropped it onto the cot.
"until next time," he declared, turning on his heel and marching out of the shop with a stride so powerful and perfectly balanced it contradicted his pathetic limp earlier.
that man, she thought, rubbing her temples as a faint smile tugged at her lips, is absolutely out of his mind.
the next week, the ruse finally reached its breaking point.
inside the infirmary, the atmosphere was entirely peaceful until y/n set down a teapot on the wooden counter and looked over at the doorway.
zaha was standing outside, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, trying to look casual. he had completely forgotten to put on his ragged watchman shoes and was wearing his high grade leather boots instead.
y/n poured a single cup of warm plum blossom tea, the sweet aroma drifting through the air. she pushed it towards the empty seat.
"sit down, leader yi," she said, her voice completely calm.
zaha froze entirely, his arms still clutched across his chest. his jaw dropped slightly, his eyes widening as the words echoed in the quiet room.
"what?" he squeaked, his majestic voice cracking slightly.
she leaned against the counter and crossed her arms, looking at him with an amused expression. "i said sit down. and stop looking around the room like a confused bird, zaha. or should i call you the mad demon?"
zaha stood completely paralyzed, his brain struggling to process the information. she knows, his mind looped in absolute horror. my acting was perfect. how does she know?
"you know?" he stammered, looking incredibly small despite his massive stature. "since when?"
"since the first week," [reader] said, shaking her head. "leader yi, no ordinary night watchman leaves enough solid silver to buy a palace on my table every single day."
his shoulders slumped, all his terrifying warlord dignity completely vanishing. "dammit... what a complete disaster."
she couldn't help but let out a soft huff of laughter, her smile turning gentle as she walked over to him. she reached out, her warm fingers gently catching his hand.
the simple contact instantly sending that familiar stillness through his mind, completely erasing his headache.
"you're certainly a madman, i'll give you that," she murmured, looking up at his embarrassed(?) face. "but you don't have to fake an injury just to visit my clinic, leader yi."
zaha blinked, his dark eyes widening slightly as he looked down at her fingers wrapped around his large calloused hand. "i... do not?"
"no," she said, her smile widening. "the silver you keep leaving is enough to fund this place for the next ten years. if you want to sit here, drink tea, and complain about your headaches, you can just do that."
zaha's unhinged smile slowly returned, though this time it held warmth.
the internal buzzing in his skull was completely dead, replaced by the warm weight of her hand in his.
"excellent," zaha declared, straightening his shoulders. "i will return tomorrow for a non medical consultation regarding a severe affection in my chest area, [reader]. and i will bring my subordinates to fix your porch. if they do a poor job, i will make them eat laxatives."
"please don't poison your subordinates," [reader] sighed, though her smile only widened as she looked at her chaotic master of the murim. "just bring some tea, watchman zaha. that will be more than enough."
I think you'd like this story: "แดสแด แด แดแด ษชส'๊ฑ ษชษด แดสแด แด แดแดแดษชส๊ฑ" by unholysemonmaiden on Wattpad https://www.wattpad.com/story/401825389?utm_source=android&utm_medium=com.tumblr&utm_content=share_writing&wp_page=create&wp_uname=unholysemonmaiden
~ An Indian-American woman dedicated to fighting for justice and the good of the world with all of her might. but..
Something wicked this wa
Personally something I made out of my head. please give it a read and tell me if you like it.~
