Chapter 295: Off Track (7)

To protect a mere merchant house, the city’s Hyunseung had personally come out.

A Hyunseung was the highest authority figure in a small town, and in a provincial-level city like Naknyeong, he ranked just beneath the Ji-hyeon.

So this was also a deeply disgraceful act. If other cities’ Hyunseungs heard of it, they’d have clicked their tongues and spat in contempt, saying, “Sure, gold is gold, but think of a Hyunseung’s dignity! And he just showed up in person?”

The cost of that Hyunseung’s personal appearance would later be thoroughly billed to Jangheung Sangbang.

But what was more interesting was that he’d shown up with guards in tow barely a couple hours after Qing had gone around trying to buy grain from the merchant groups.

That alone spoke volumes about Jangheung Sangbang’s influence.

Of course, for the famously sluggish bureaucracy to move this quickly, it couldn’t have been just one reason.

So there were several motivations behind this miracle-speed response from the officials.

First of all, there was the fact that the head of Jangheung Sangbang was blood brothers in all but name—sworn siblings—with the Pojongjihuisa of Shaanxi Province, the top dog of the region.

But the Pojongjihuisa was the Pojongjihuisa of Shaanxi, and this was Henan.

He was a superior, sure, but they belonged to different political factions, if you wanted to be precise.

By saving Jangheung Sangbang, they might rack up a favor they could cash in with Shaanxi’s Pojongjihuisa someday—but that alone wasn’t a strong enough reason to dispatch the second-highest authority in the city in person.

So to balance the bureaucratic scale of “direct mobilization,” they also had to weigh down the other side with the massive pile of gold and silver that was the “Hyunseung appearance fee.”

Still, the biggest reason, of course, was that Qing had taken the famine relief effort into her own damn hands.

Relief efforts, by convention, were supposed to be reported to the government first, so that the glory could be shared.

And if, say, a hundred gwan’s worth of gold was to be used for relief, then three-tenths—thirty gwan—were traditionally given first to the hardworking bureaucrats as a reward for their service.

That was the unspoken but ironclad etiquette, unwritten law though it was.

So when news of the relief effort reached Naknyeong’s top official, the Ji-hyeon, he erupted in rage, spewing fire and demanding that the insolent brat—no regard for rank or order—be dragged in immediately.

In the proper order of things, Qing should have first bowed at the local office, offered ten of her forty gwan as tribute to the higher-ups in thanks for their excellent governance, and only then begun the relief work under the joint names of herself and the government—with the government’s name listed first.

If Qing had heard this, she’d have said, “May lightning strike me ten thousand times? Fuck that. The only lightning’s going to be your collective funeral pyre come this day next year.”

Just sitting on their asses, gorging on gold and silver, and then pasting their names on top of someone else’s good deed—pretending they’d led the whole thing?

But the Ji-hyeon had his own argument too.

How much did it cost him to climb to his position?

From the bottom up—bribes, ill-gotten funds, every scrap of family fortune—all spent to claw his way up here.

So wasn’t he at least entitled to recoup the damn investment?

As for the Hyunseung, he might’ve felt humiliated, but he’d come out grinning anyway, driving the guards ahead of him, dreaming of ripping a fat slice off Jangheung Sangbang’s hide.

This—this was how the Central Plains operated.

But to be fair, this wasn’t unique to one country or culture.

This kind of thing happened in every civilization, everywhere humans ever lived—from East to West, past to present, and surely into the future.

You could even call it human nature.

But Qing didn’t know that.

Didn’t want to know.

She was just pissed off that these government bastards weren’t helping when she was using her money (okay, not really hers) to save flood victims, and now they were just getting in her goddamn way.

“Are you not going to move?” she asked.

“Do you not realize you are in flagrant violation of national law!?” the Hyunseung barked.

“Me? I am?” she replied.

“You! You lured these impoverished civilians with deceitful words and gathered them here, didn’t you!? Your intentions are clearly impure. You meant to assemble a mob and attack the merchant house to extort goods, like a gang of thieves!”

“Gathered? Who gathered?”

“You feign ignorance!? Behind you—”

“Whoa, shit. That scared me. Hi, everyone,” Qing said, turning around with mock surprise.

The crowd blinked, unsure how to respond.

“Hey, dear Hyunseung. You’re blocking the road so thoroughly, everyone’s stuck standing here all uncomfortable. Isn’t that right, everyone?”

Finally, some in the crowd started catching on to Qing’s intentions.

“Right!”

“We were just trying to pass, sir Hyunseung, but the road was blocked.”

“Too many people, can’t squeeze through. Can’t go forward or back, what are we supposed to do?”

We didn’t gather here for a reason.

We were just passersby.

But then the officials blocked the road.

So now we’re stuck.

Qing looked at the Hyunseung with a smug little what now expression.

“What kind of nonsense is this...” he muttered.

At this level of shamelessness, he didn’t know if she had steel plating or high-carbon alloy on her face, or if her skin had achieved mythical Vajra-tier invulnerability. He was too stunned to speak.

To the sputtering Hyunseung, Qing gave a sweet little smile.

“Dear Hyunseung, are you not going to move?”

“Right. Everyone, disperse at once!” he snapped.

“Aww, well, if we must. Everyone, dear Hyunseung says we’ve got to turn back. So I guess we’ll just have to turn back.”

At that, Qing’s hand stretched out softly.

And in the same moment, DONG—! the deep echo of a Buddhist temple bell rang out loud and clear, spreading over everyone present.

Simultaneously, to Qing’s left, a wall collapsed with a CRASH! like something had crushed it from above.

The wall hadn’t stood a chance against one of the world’s finest martial techniques—Yoraeshinjang, the Palm of the Tathāgata.

Qing didn’t stop there.

Thud—she stomped the ground. No longer bothering to hide it, she used the footwork of the Cheonma Gunlimbo.

Dark energy—Pacheonmagi—erupted from her sole, raced underground like a hidden stream, and exploded beneath the rubble, shaking the earth with a low rumble.

The earth’s surface rippled outward from the collapse, forming concentric rings, and the remaining wall to both sides came tumbling down with a deafening CRASH.

Now, there was a wide, open path—big enough for even a giant supply wagon to pass through.

“There you go, dear Hyunseung. So much effort, guarding a mere merchant house. Now that you’ve told us to turn back, I’ll do just that. I’ll turn and go in from this side.”

“That’s not what I meant by turn back—!”

“Huh. What’s that? Some kind of buzzing insect?”

“You wretch! What did you just say!?”

Qing grinned.

The kind of grin no one would ever imagine on a beauty. Wicked, vicious, evil.

“Dear Hyunseung. Aren’t mayflies such brave little creatures? Fragile pests you could kill with a wave of the hand, yet when the evening air warms up, they gather and swarm, blocking the path.”

By now, even the Hyunseung understood what she meant.

And he had seen it with his own eyes: one flick of her hand had brought down a wall. One stomp of her foot had made the ground erupt.

A master.

Not just a master.

—Hmm. I’ll just kill him.

A low murmur rang loudly in Hyunseung’s ear.

It was a technique called jeoneum—or more precisely, something like it.

Qing hadn’t properly learned jeoneum yet, so this was just her clumsy attempt at imitating it.

Hyunseung’s heart dropped straight into his stomach.

How could he possibly hear a murmur from this distance? Or did she read his lips out of sheer instinct?

In the middle of that confusion, Qing reached toward Hyunseung.

Startled out of his wits, Hyunseung flung himself to the ground.

After the heavy rain this morning and the drizzle still falling now, the ground was all puddles and mud.

As he rolled through the slop, a tiny, mocking bell chime brushed past his ear like it was teasing him—doong~.

“Oh my, dear Hyunseung. Why did you fall over all by yourself? It looked quite intense,” Qing said.

“Y-You little—”

“Oh. Dear Hyunseung. I feel so guilty for my offense today. Would you be so kind as to tell me where you live? I’d like to visit later. Alone. Quietly. In secret. To apologize.”

Hyunseung snapped alert instantly.

Alone. Quietly. In secret.

If she showed up in the middle of the night with a sword, no title would protect him. Not even being a Hyunseung.

Five words flashed vividly in his mind: "Officials are untouchable by martial force."

That principle existed for one reason—to keep bloodthirsty martial artists from butchering bureaucrats.

Because in truth, martial artists didn’t fear the government.

They feared the imperial palace.

And the imperial palace had tens of thousands of cannons.

The palace was the state.

But the state was not the palace.

So if a martial artist really wanted to kill you, the government might not even be able to find your corpse, let alone the killer.

In reality, martial artists did beat up officials.

The ones who got beat down in return were just posers—runaway vagrants or two-bit guards from rural dojos.

Even the Emperor himself, they say, had once been grabbed by the collar and dangled from the roof of his own palace by a top-tier master.

So—yeah. Hyunseung had fucked up.

What kind of glory was he hoping for by challenging a genuine master?

He drowned in regret.

Though regret wasn’t all he did.

“N-No! No, no! It’s not that! The ground’s just... slippery! I mean, what the hell is wrong with this road!? Terrible drainage! Just awful!” he barked, trying to recover.

For the record, there’s no such thing as “drainage” in the Central Plains.

That made it one hell of a flimsy excuse.

“Well then, may I go in now?” Qing asked sweetly.

“Yes, yes. Please, go ahead—go, leave, at once,” he said, almost shoving her away.

He told her to go in.

So... she went in.

Tak, tak, tak. Qing walked through the collapsed wall, straight into the Jangheung Sangbang estate.

And the crowd poured in right behind her.

“Are we really doing this?” someone murmured.

“Oh come on, didn’t Hyunseung-nari himself say it was fine?”

A few voiced concern, but that didn’t matter now.

Not after they’d blown through the officials and the guards.

The crowd’s morale was sky-high.

****

Jangheung Sangbang.

Apparently, no one expected her to come in through the damn wall.

The servants rushed out, begging her to stop.

Of course, with the mob flooding in behind Qing, all they could do was backpedal while pleading.

And so they pushed deeper and deeper in—

Wait, how big was this place?

Once the servants failed to stop them, a group of martial artists leapt out.

But Qing had already stomped her way around the entire Sangbang and beaten down half their guards.

She didn’t even need to say anything this time.

“Lady Ximen, it’s been a while. Do you remember me? I’m So Juhang, first disciple of Naknyeong Wuguan. We met at the Yongbong Assembly.”

Who the hell is this guy?

Still, Qing was now a legitimate orthodox martial artist.

She couldn’t just squint at him and go, “Who are you?”

“Oh! So Sohyeop! It’s been too long! I was sad I couldn’t say goodbye before you left—but what a joy to meet again like this!”

Whoever the hell you are.

Qing greeted him like she was thrilled.

This was how etiquette worked in orthodox Murim—face-saving courtesy.

So Juhang understood that and looked a little sheepish.

But for him, this was the golden moment: now everyone who’d heard him brag that he knew the Cheonhwageom could shut up.

It was all true now.

He was also feeling deeply grateful to Qing for playing along.

Jangheung Sangbang’s Naknyeong branch was on a whole different scale compared to the others in the city.

Which is why all the martial artists hired for security were disciples of Naknyeong Wuguan—Naknyeong’s top martial authority.

That actually backfired.

Because those same Wuguan disciples had been going to tournaments, making connections, getting to know people.

And So Juhang had basically been living at the open-invite Yongbong Assembly.

“I was going to visit Naknyeong Wuguan first and greet the Lord personally,” Qing said.

“But with the disaster in the city, I completely lost my head and forgot. I hope he’s been well?”

“Oh—yes, of course.”

“I’d love to catch up more, but I’m actually on my way to speak with the local branch head of Jangheung Sangbang, to request support for the relief efforts. If it’s not too much trouble, may I pass through?”

“Of course, absolutely!”

And with that—Naknyeong Wuguan: defeated.

She pushed past their martial artists and tak tak tak, headed straight for the biggest building in the estate.

Only to be blocked again.

This time, by an old man with a heavy, imposing presence.

His aura was already swelling with power, pressure radiating off him like a living wall.

Qing’s face instinctively twisted into a scowl.

What the hell—Ultra Master? No, Enlightenment Tier?

Why the fuck does a top-tier expert pop up everywhere I go?