Chapter 303: The Fire in Chang’an (5)

The name Noklim originated from an old peasant uprising that broke out long ago at Noklim Mountain in Hubei Province.

It was during the Xin Dynasty—a dynasty so short-lived it didn’t even get recognized as a proper one, since it collapsed in just fifteen years.

It was established when the greatest sage of the western regions (who famously had no father) was still a nine-year-old brat, and it fell when that same brat was a twenty-four-year-old apprentice carpenter.

By Qing’s hometown school standards, that’s six years of elementary school, three of middle, three of high school, and four years of university—sixteen years in total.

Fifteen sounds like a long time, but in practice, it’s barely anything at all.

In any case, the first and last Son of Heaven of that Xin Dynasty, Wang Mang, is widely remembered not for his ideals, but as one of history’s most spectacular fools—infamous for every bad label one could imagine.

Traitor. Tyrant. Bastard. Monster.

He’s the “Mang” in the name “Mang-Tak-Jo-Eui,” a phrase used to refer to four of history’s most detestable men: Wang Mang, Dong Zhuo, Cao Cao, and Sima Yi.

That said, his “radical reforms” truly were ahead of their time—by nearly two thousand years.

He was the first in human history to try implementing the abolition of private property and collectivized farming at a national level.

As a result, the Xin Dynasty is considered one of the most catastrophic failures in Chinese history.

Not just a failure—a total shitshow.

Had Sir Kal Daehyeop studied history, he might’ve realized early on that this kind of red ideology was the shortcut to ruin.

But alas, back then no one cared about the failed, opium-addled morons of the past.

A shame, really.

In any case, driven by a revolutionary fever that had leapt ahead by nearly two millennia, the Central Plains were painted red—red with blood.

Thus arose the very first true peasant rebellion in Chinese history: the Noklim Rebellion, precursor to the Yellow Turban Uprising, and birth of the Noklim Troops.

Rebellions had existed before, of course.

But those were always led by nobles or military forces turning their swords inward.

This was the first time commoners—believing they were doomed to die anyway—chose to take up sharpened farming tools in a desperate stand.

And in the end?

You can tell what kind of legacy it left by the fact that thieves now proudly call themselves Noklimdo.

Of course, the Noklim Troops were rebels, and so the name Noklim Mountain was wiped from maps—replaced with Daehong Mountain.

But though the name was erased, the spirit of Noklim remained in the hearts of those who inherited that name.

Noklim Mountain no longer existed in reality—but lived on in the ideals of those who called themselves Noklimdo.

That’s why Noklim’s true base isn’t at Daehong Mountain.

Instead, it lies at Tianzi Mountain in Hunan.

Because Noklim no longer exists as a place.

It exists in the heart.

It’s definitely not because they ran away.

It’s absolutely not because the mountain’s neighbors include Mount Wudang, Shaolin Temple, and the Namgung Clan—nor because the military base at Jumajeom, directly linked to the imperial road, could summon thousands of cannons within five days if the emperor gave the order.

No. Noklim Mountain lives in the heart.

Incidentally, Tianzi Mountain is also dearly beloved by Qing’s ancestral people, the Han.

It’s a sacred site—nearly every Han person over a certain age has made a pilgrimage there at least once in their life.

A true spiritual homeland.

Though few know the name Tianzi Mountain.

Among the Han, it’s more commonly called Zhangjiajie.

Thus: Zhangjiajie. Tianzi Mountain. Noklim’s First Stronghold.

And atop the entire Ten Thousand Noklim Strongholds—("ten thousand" here meaning “all” or “the whole” in Central Plains vernacular)—there is one man.

He is the chief of Noklim, the Grand Marshal of the Ten Thousand Strongholds, the one known by the title Human Noklim, Noklim incarnate—

Wang Cheolgun.

That “Noklim incarnate” Wang Cheolgun was now gazing down silently at the body of his son.

The corpse had been prepared for burial—clean, composed.

The wounds were washed, the gashes sewn shut, a fresh burial robe draped over the pale, bloodless skin. He looked like he could open his eyes any moment.

But the dead do not open their eyes.

And the grief of a father staring down at his child’s corpse is not something to be discussed by those who’ve never known that pain.

Of course, had Qing seen this, she would’ve let out a dry laugh.

Look at this—boss of a bandit gang, who made a living slaughtering people’s sons and daughters, and now he’s upset over his own son dying? Please.

Still, a man always feels a thorn under his fingernail more keenly than someone else’s funeral.

And while Wang Cheolgun’s rage might not have been righteous, it was... understandable.

“What was the state of Gwiseon’s body again?”

“Chief...”

“I asked what his body looked like.”

So Bangjeon, deputy master of the First Stronghold and vice-chief of Noklim, opened his mouth hesitantly, lips twitching with unease.

Both shoulder blades and the iliac bones of his legs had been pulverized to dust.

His fingers were torn off. One of his shinbones had been split and pierced clean through the skin.

Even so, he hadn’t died right away.

His limbs shattered, writhing in agony, he’d collapsed into a muddy puddle.

Unable to even roll over, he eventually drowned, face submerged in rising filthy water.

When they found him, he was buried deep in the sludge.

The chief ground his teeth.

“What a ridiculous bitch. Slices people up like a butcher, steals gold and silver like it’s hers, and somehow gets praised for charity work on top of it.

If that’s all it takes, what’s the difference between her and us?”

Another line Qing would’ve scoffed at.

But Wang Cheolgun meant every word.

“Ximen Qing, right? Spread the word to all the strongholds.

Whoever captures her can have whatever they want.

If they want my seat as chief of Noklim, it’s theirs.

They don’t need to bring her back alive.

Torture her to death in the most brutal way imaginable.

Bring me the corpse.

No—forget that. I’ll go get it myself.”

“Yes, Chief.”

“All patrol units, all combat squads—focus everything on hunting Ximen Qing.

And tell every stronghold that if she passes through and they don’t act, I’ll personally pay them a visit and level the place myself.”

The rage of a father who lost his child had gone cold.

It might’ve seemed like he’d lost all reason—but in truth, he was terrifyingly lucid.

He hadn’t lashed out at the Divine Maiden Sect or that wench from Bukhae who got beat up without even fighting back—because declaring open war like that would only hurt Noklim more.

By focusing purely on Ximen Qing, he was effectively saying: Handle this quietly. Internally.

Even the line about offering the chief’s position was just a bluff.

Anyone without real strength who took that title would be challenged immediately and die a dog’s death.

After all, he was the head of one of the most notorious organizations in the Central Plains.

He wasn’t someone to be taken lightly.

****

Meanwhile, while someone somewhere was gnashing their teeth and weeping blood...

Qing was happily immersed in her tour of Xi’an.

The city had sights in every direction.

To the east, the hot springs favored by Yang Guifei.

To the west, the ancient temples over a thousand years old—Beopmun Temple, said to enshrine the actual bones of the Buddha, and the tomb of Empress Wu Zetian.

To the north, the Drum and Bell Towers that marked the starting point of the Silk Road’s trade district.

To the south, Heunggyeo Temple, which housed the relics of Tang Sanzang—the second most famous monk in the world.

For reference: number one is the Buddha. Number three is Dalma.

Of course, Xi’an was vast.

Not just big—immense.

There was no way to see everything outside the city, so she stuck to the most bustling districts, buying snack after snack, again and again and again, as she searched for the core technicians involved in the flood control project.

And then—

“They say the master of the house was hit by a carriage.”

One household had such a grim atmosphere that Qing asked the passing servant what had happened.

Apparently, the man had died from being run over.

“Do you know where he went? He said he was heading out for drinks, but he never came back...”

Another had gone drinking and never returned.

One family was holding a funeral.

Someone else had gone hiking on a rainy day and returned as a corpse with a broken neck.

Another disappeared after cheating at a gambling den.

One died from bad food. Another died suddenly. Yet another went out and simply never came home.

It was too much for mere coincidence.

It couldn’t be divine punishment—unless the heavens were suddenly handing out mass judgment to everyone involved.

Which meant... it had to be human work.

“...Damn. I should’ve come sooner. They’re all dead by now.”

Qing had spent a full month helping with flood relief, then more than ten days traveling to Xi’an.

By the time she arrived, over a month had already passed.

Of course, if they died, they probably deserved it.

No one dies for no reason.

But still—now she had no way of confirming whether the Jangheung Company had cut corners on the project, or had deliberately sabotaged it.

So she sped up—tak tak tak, her boots clacking against the stone—as she rushed from place to place.

One by one, she crossed names off her list.

And by the time the sun had set, not a single name remained.

Hmm. What should I do.

Looking at the situation, it seemed likely that the Jangheung Trading House had tried to cover something up—maybe even committed murder to erase witnesses.

Of course, Qing wasn’t particularly bothered by it.

All she had to do was pay them a visit, take note of the head of the house and any other bastards reeking of karmic debt, and then stop by again later that night for an honest, heartfelt "consultation."

The only problem would be if, upon her visit, no one stood out as having serious karmic filth. That would throw the whole case into confusion.

So she thought, Maybe I should collect a bit of evidence first.

And in these kinds of situations, wasn’t the best consultant usually someone already nearby?

After all, wasn’t there someone here who just happened to be the Central Plains’ top expert in night raids, assassinations, kidnappings, and arson?

Of course, if Seol Ganom heard that, he’d be utterly dumbfounded.

He’d never once considered himself a smart man.

He had no interest in strategies or tactics, nor any desire to become that kind of person.

Qing just arbitrarily decided he was the local intellectual and went to consult him.

In any case, Seol Ganom—currently living under the alias Seol Garyeon—welcomed Qing when she came knocking in the middle of the night.

“Coming to see me this late... brings back memories. What, are you here again to ask who needs killing?”

“Wow. How’d you know? You really are the best, Seol Ganom.”

He scowled deeply at that.

“So going out at night to kill people isn’t because you’re with the Demonic Cult, but just a personal hobby?”

“No, it’s not like that. Actually...”

Qing laid out everything she’d discovered today.

Seol Ganom stroked his now-delicate chin thoughtfully.

Wait a minute, she thought. Even the stubble's gone?

Naturally, Qing couldn’t suppress her curiosity.

“Side effect,” he said.

“How far do these side effects go? What, is your dick gonna fall off next or something?”

“Fortunately, my dick’s in fine condition. Still wakes up perky every morning—makes life worth living. Why? Want to check for yourself?”

“You flirting with that face is... a little off-putting. And your voice too, honestly.”

“Oh, the voice? Like this—”

“Oh wow.”

Qing let out an admiring whistle.

That “like this” part had sounded like a woman’s voice—on the lower end, but definitely passable.

“Just a little trick. You pick up all sorts of things when you're on the run.”

“Ooh. Can I learn it too?”

“For a man to do a woman’s voice? Just a bit of practice and technique. But the reverse—you’d need a martial technique specialized for that. A woman’s vocal range is narrower, so you have to simulate it with inner force. But turning a narrow one into a wide one... well, not easy.”

“Huh. So it’s like that, is it.”

“Still—poke around enough, it’s bound to widen, wouldn’t you say?”

“Repeating a failed attempt at flirting isn’t a bit pathetic? And since your nerves seem to have fully regenerated, do you really still need to substitute sexual frustration with crude jokes?”

“I was just hoping to see you blush. But you're no fun at all.”

“Well, I like dirty jokes too, you know. What, were you trying to tell me something spicy? By all means—go ahead.”

Seol Ganom shook his head.

“A woman should have a bit of modesty—that’s what makes her appealing. If she just strips down and jumps on you, even the hardest cock’s gonna go limp again.”

“Ooh. And?”

“That attitude right there—that’s the problem. Hmph. Anyway, seems Jangheung did pull something. Let me see that list. I’ll look into it.”

“Couldn’t we just kidnap the suspicious ones from Jangheung one by one and interrogate them? That’s actually why I came—to ask you who I should grab.”

Qing had come, just like in the old Demonic Cult days, asking for names of people she could snatch and smash.

But Seol Ganom shook his head.

“The criteria for suspicious is vague, isn’t it? You can’t just look at someone and know they’re rotten. And I’ve only been in Xi’an for less than two weeks myself.”

“Hm.”

Well, I can tell.

Qing swallowed the words before they came out.

Seol Ganom skimmed the list, scratching his chin.

“Looks like a few of them might still be alive. I’ll send people to look into it. You just wait.”

“Huh? You can tell right away?”

“Look here—some of them disappeared with their whole family, right? Some vanished with their kids.”

Core technicians tend to stay close with each other.

They often worked on the same projects.

So if one started seeing everyone around them die, they'd probably flee.

Anyone who disappeared along with their spouse or children likely made a run for it under cover of night.

Of course, even running alone wasn’t safe—let alone trying to escape with others.

So those who fled with their families were probably all dead by now.

But among the missing, there were a few who ran alone—maybe to save themselves, or maybe to protect their families by not dragging them into it.

Either complete bastards or noble parents—either way, there were probably three or four who were still alive.

Qing clapped her hands together.

As expected of the village genius!

No—at this point, village didn’t quite cover it anymore.

He’d become the foremost mind in all of Xi’an, one of the largest cities in the Central Plains.

This must be why sages always said: keep a wise man by your side.