Chapter 302: The Fire in Chang’an (4)

The coachman was, without a doubt, giving it his absolute all.

And fair enough—inside that carriage sat none other than the Divine Heavenly Demon, the one descended to this mortal realm: the Supreme Sovereign, the reason for life, the meaning of life, the final salvation.

Whether driving a carriage truly warranted one’s full devotion was debatable, but he was certainly using every brain cell to avoid even a single rock on the muddy, landslide-ridden road.

The Heavenly Demon Cult’s carriage was a marvel—a product of the finest, most advanced craftsmanship in all of the Central Plains.

With the coachman operating it like his life depended on it, there was really no need to elaborate on how smooth the ride was for its passengers.

Its only flaw? The heat.

But this era saw heat as something to be conquered by willpower, not by engineering.

And so, Qing endured.

She’d always thought the Ice Technique was only good for brewing cold tea, but turns out, tucked away in its frigid little blue aura was a built-in air-conditioning function.

The Pathetic Heart Technique—a ridiculous name for such a genuinely useful skill.

Seol Iri, meanwhile, didn’t endure.

She leached.

I mean, she’s basically a parasite, right?

Qing tilted her head, mildly curious.

The clothes? Qing’s. The carriage? Qing’s.

Even the horse—after Qing had casually mentioned it looked smart, Geol Taran insisted on buying it for her.

The clever beast pulling the carriage to Naknyeong was called Royal Buns. From behind, its butt was as majestic as its name.

Of course, whenever the horse’s name came up, everyone's eyes would shamelessly wander to its rear end.

What? It's called Royal Buns. Don’t blame me for where your eyes go, perverts.

Central Plains people... gods, they’re hopeless.

Anyway, every expense—food, lodging, travel—was paid out of Qing’s own pocket.

And not to harp on this, but Seol Iri didn’t even own a second pair of underwear.

Seriously, not even underwear. Everything she wore, ate, or slept on came from Qing.

So what does she even do? Besides leech off me like some bloodsucking tick?

Qing turned her head just as Seol Iri, sensing the shift in attention, turned to meet her gaze.

Having nestled up tight to Qing for the cold, Seol Iri’s face was now right there—practically nose-to-nose.

Now, Seol Iri wasn’t exactly the most celebrated beauty of the Five Flowers of the Central Plains, but she was uncannily tailored to Qing’s personal tastes.

And damn it, one look at that face and I’m softening again.

That’s when it happened.

“I want to sit on your lap,” Seol Iri said.

“...What?”

Now she wants to use me as furniture?

Qing blinked in disbelief. Seol Iri, sensing resistance, quickly shifted tactics.

“Or maybe you could sit here,” she said, patting her own lap invitingly.

Oh, I know that look. Cuddling up to me isn’t cooling her down enough—now she wants direct contact.

Fine. Qing swung a leg over and settled her gloriously ample ass onto Seol Iri’s lap.

“Haa...”

Of course it was cold. With Qing’s icy aura radiating at sub-zero levels, it was the closest thing to blissful refrigeration. A satisfied sigh escaped Seol Iri’s lips like steam from quenched steel.

But then Qing realized—this position is damn uncomfortable.

The finest luxury carriage in the Central Plains came with the most ergonomic seating imaginable.

And here she was, squatting awkwardly on a human chair. The downgrade was outrageous.

Yeah. Can’t even use her as a chair. Useless in yet another new way. Truly amazing.

“This isn’t working.”

Qing returned to her own seat. Ah, that’s better.

Across from her, Seol Iri stared longingly at her lap, like a puppy denied a treat.

She didn’t whine or pout. Just watched with those tragic, soulful eyes.

“Oh, come here already. You're not a kid.”

“Thank you.”

Seol Iri climbed up and settled on Qing’s lap again. Another soft, satisfied noise slipped out as she leaned back, draping her weight with ease.

Of course, Qing’s body was more than capable of handling not just Seol Iri but five of her, stacked on top like dumbbells.

Still—damn, her back is all damp.

And now Seol Iri had taken it upon herself to warm Qing’s cold hands, massaging them as if to personally neutralize the subzero grip of her Inner Cold Syndrome.

Seol Iri stood just slightly outside the bullseye of Qing’s taste.

Sadly, the one who did hit the mark had been the kind of unholy bitch you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy.

But still... when someone you kinda like keeps rubbing up against you like that—who wouldn’t get ideas?

Ugh, screw it.

Qing’s fingers slid forward, brushing the front of Seol Iri’s robe—lightly tracing the collarbone area as a warning.

“You keep grinding like that and I might just start groping, you know?”

“Yes. Please do.”

“...What?”

“I mean, it’d be nice.”

“You want me to actually grope you?”

“Yes.”

“Like, seriously?”

“Yes.”

“...You’re gonna get in trouble. Just because you hate the heat doesn’t mean you should throw your body at people.”

“You’ve already groped me.”

“Wha—”

Caught off guard, Qing blinked.

Okay, that one time doesn’t count. That was—well, I was having a breakdown or something. It was more like... a warm-up before shedding some blood. And wasn’t she drugged out cold, anyway?

She was about to mumble something half-apologetic when Seol Iri added:

“You did it every day.”

“...What? I did not.”

“Yes. Every day. When you bathed me.”

“Oh come on, that was bathing. What was I supposed to do—just dump water from a distance?”

Qing’s bright, icy eyes dimmed a little.

“...Well. Yeah. Fair enough.”

I mean, I did take care of her with almost religious devotion. But still. Hmph.

She’s like a pet. And petting a pet is just responsible ownership. Perfectly justified. Absolutely moral.

If the masters who taught Qing the sacred arts of Dao and Buddha cultivation saw her now, they would have wept in horror.

What was supposed to be a heart refined through compassion and mercy had been derailed—derailed by one doe-eyed idiot with the morals of a drunken fox and the shamelessness of a brothel cat.

Following the Nakha River downstream, the small town of Naknam appeared after Naknyeong.

“Nak” came from the Nakha River, and “nam” meant south—a blatantly obvious name for a town located south of the river.

Heading west from Naknam, a massive road appeared—meticulously constructed and maintained by the authorities.

And after just half a day’s ride along that road, the largest city in the Central Plains finally revealed itself.

Not Chang’an—Xi’an.

The Central Plains had their so-called Four Great Ancient Capitals, or Five, or even Seven.

Cities that had long been seen as treasures of the land, where kings once ruled and dynasties were born.

But if you had to pick just one, anyone—except maybe a Beijinger, who’d hesitate—would choose Xi’an.

And Chang’an was, in fact, the same city.

More precisely, Chang’an was a neighborhood within the vast city of Xi’an.

To put it in Qing’s hometown terms, something like “Chang’an District, Xi’an City.”

In any case, that was what Xi’an was.

Even now, when something became the hottest topic in the Central Plains, it was called “the talk of Chang’an”—a sign of the city’s lasting prestige.

Though the city had declined somewhat in recent times, it still boasted tens of thousands of households and a population exceeding one million.

A city with over a million people—an overwhelming number that seemed far too large for this supposedly ancient era.

As a side note, this was also why, when the Son of Heaven drew his sword, soldiers gathered not by the thousands, but in the hundreds of thousands or even millions.

Even after entering Xi’an, the carriage kept going for quite a while.

It didn’t stop.

Only after traveling another full hour and a half within the city did it finally come to a halt.

The coachman politely said, “Young Lady, I’ll open the door,” and courteously opened it.

Qing stepped down from the carriage—

And blinked.

“...Why are you all just standing around like this?”

What Qing saw was a sea of bowed heads stretched out in front of her.

It was the end of August. The Supreme Heavenly Demon Himself had graced the Sun and Moon Couriers with a personal visit—how could people not flock to catch a glimpse of such a sacred presence?

“Tch. Don’t you all have anything better to do? Ugh. Can’t you just... disperse already? Standing there like it’s—hmph.”

From somewhere in the crowd, a familiar voice rang out.

Qing’s face lit up with joy.

“Grandpa!”

“Tch tch. You told me you were coming days ago, and now you finally show your face. Useless girl doesn’t know how to move quickly. Hah! A fine young lady with the build of a horse should at least have some shame.”

Qing dashed over and clung to him like a cicada. Though he grumbled, Choi Ri-ong lifted her with ease, beaming from ear to ear.

His old face was nothing but wrinkles, not a single smooth spot left.

The staff of Seol Trading Company, Taecheong Trading House, and Sun and Moon Couriers—all technically the same organization under different names—were stunned by the sight.

They hadn't known the old man was even capable of smiling like that.

Qing stayed attached to him, and then with a bit of acrobatic finesse, slipped onto his back and got herself comfortably piggybacked.

That’s when she noticed someone unfamiliar.

A strikingly handsome woman.

Her features were sharp and well-defined—less beautiful than simply well-made, with a bold, commanding impression.

“Hmph. Been a while,” the woman said.

“Eh?”

The voice was deep and calm. The moment Qing heard it, someone came to mind.

“What the heck? You’ve turned into a total beauty. Your whole figure’s different!”

The woman frowned.

“No wonder people call it a divine technique.”

“And your chest isn’t bad either.”

“That’s just stuffing. Still flat underneath.”

“What about your waist and hips?”

“Side effect. But better that than being a cripple who can’t feel anything—”

“Ah! I shouldn’t be here!”

The woman’s eyebrow rose sharply, her sentence cut off.

“I just meant, I heard you were coming and—”

“No, not that.”

She was interrupted again. Her brow lifted once more as Qing leaned close and whispered in half-voiced sound transmission:

—You know someone named Seol Iri? She's been following me around trying to catch you. But I don’t think she’ll recognize you like this, so maybe slip away quietly while you can.

“Seol Iri? Name doesn’t ring a bell. And looking like this, would she even recognize me? I’m using a fake name too, since I’ve been going around as a woman. Don’t slip up—call me Seol Garyeon.”

“A fake name?”

Seol Ganom, Seol Garyeon. Is that even a fake name?

It’s practically the same thing.

“It’s actually a fairly common name. You’re just noticing it because you’re fixated on that connection.”

“Hmph.”

“Hmph. So that Seol Iri was her. Seol-hole. I knew it would turn out like this.”

“You two know each other?”

“She’s coming this way. We’ll talk later.”

Seol Iri had stepped out of the carriage and was glancing around with an indifferent expression.

But Qing, having played nursemaid to her for some time, had become something of an expert in interpreting her icy face.

That wasn’t indifference—it was unease.

And when Seol Iri spotted Qing clinging to Choi Ri-ong’s back, her eyebrows shifted just slightly.

That was relief.

She began walking over, only to stop in her tracks with a chilly, expressionless face.

Qing interpreted it as confusion—surrounded by strangers, and the only person she knew was... piggybacked on someone else. No wonder she didn’t know what to do.

She’d seemed like a proud, cold beauty at first.

But once you got to know her, she was just a shy little seven-year-old in disguise.

Qing let out a long sigh and jumped down from Choi Ri-ong’s back.

Clack—the sound of her boots landing on the ground was crisp and sharp, and only then did Seol Iri move closer to stand beside her.

“This is Grandpa. He takes care of me. Come, say hello.”

“...”

But Seol Iri barely acknowledged her.

Qing glanced at her, puzzled—only to realize she was shooting daggers at Seol Garyeon’s face with a sharp, unblinking stare.

Startled, Qing gave her a nudge on the back.

“Hey. That won’t do. Greet Grandpa properly.”

“...Hello.”

“Grandpa, this is Seol Iri. By the way, where’s Sister?”

“Tch tch. She seemed pretty upset about not being of much help last time. She’s, uh... gone into seclusion, something like that.”

“Hm. But Sister’s helpful just by being around. I don’t need her to fight—she doesn’t have to radiate aura or anything.”

“Still, she must’ve felt like she was holding you back. Even that much is worth feeling something about.”

“I’d just like to see her face. If she’s in seclusion, does that mean I can’t? Is she far?”

“Anyway. Aren’t you hungry?”

“Oh! I was getting peckish. Did you prepare a lot? I hope so. What’s for lunch? Got any of that sweet steamed meat?”

Choi Ri-ong expertly shifted the conversation, and Qing fell for it completely, eyes lighting up.