Chapter 305: The Fire in Chang’an (7)

Of course I had to go myself.

Honestly, the idea of ordering people around has always been alien to Qing. She might ask someone to buy her something, sure, but to do something? Not really her style. If anything, she’s always been the one doing things for others — not because they asked, but because it made sense to her.

The kind of person who acts first and thinks maybe later. If it feels right in her head, she just does it. Efficient? Sometimes. Problematic? Constantly.

So off we went, the bastard from the Seol clan and me, dressed in black and creeping through the night like a couple of idiots.

Not proper stealthwear or anything — just plain black clothes. Seol bastard’s logic was:

“By the time we get to Seoan, there’ll still be people out and about. Stealthwear’s suspicious, bright colors stand out. Black blends in without making a scene.”

He had a point.

Qing added a veil and chose something loose and stiff enough to hide her figure. Because, even in the dead of night, her damn face still glowed like a firefly in heat.

“I look like a fat pig in this.”

“Any other woman in Seoan got two heads strapped to her chest and twin pumpkins swinging from her ass like you? If you wanna announce yourself to the entire province, just go knock on his door at noon. Otherwise, pork up and shut up.”

“Hm.”

“Sow... bitch... Is there a more obscene animal? Something with the right amount of filth? No? Disappointing.”

“If it doesn’t land the first time, don’t try it again.”

And then, we had an extra tag-along.

“You don’t have to come, Iri. Just go to bed. Why are you following us?”

“I’ll protect you.”

“God, you’re serious... I appreciate the thought. That’s it. Just the thought.”

No decent internal force. No standout martial technique. Or does she have some durability? Maybe?

All she’s got is that pathetic little Pathetic Heart Technique. Who’s she gonna protect with that?

Still. The offer’s... sweet, I guess.

She’s a pet, after all.

And what do pets do? Nothing useful.

They get into trouble, create chores, eat your food, wear your clothes, bark for walks, yowl for playtime.

And when they get sick? They bleed you dry.

Dogs and cats are useless.

And yet, everyone still ends up with one. Or two.

“What, like something’s actually gonna happen? Let’s go.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And just like that, she reached out and clasped Qing’s hand.

Because of course she did.

Seol Iri overheats easily, so Qing let her absorb some of her cold aura from the Girl’s Delight Technique — just enough to cool her off. Now the little barnacle acts like Qing’s arm is personal property.

From Qing’s side though? Seol Iri’s hands are hot and get clammy fast. Girl’s got sweaty palms, who knew?

It was better at night, sure, but still too hot to be holding hands like some lovey-dovey idiot couple.

Qing, at least, had some weather resistance — she’d mastered just enough of Fireproof to Frostproof level to regulate her body temperature. That didn’t mean she couldn’t feel heat or cold, though. It just meant she wouldn’t faint or freeze to death.

She could survive a blizzard buck-naked, yes. And she had.

Didn’t mean it wasn’t cold.

Same with heat. She sweats like anyone else — she just doesn’t collapse from it.

But luckily, she had a fix: she summoned the signature chill of her Pathetic Heart Technique.

Couldn’t even freeze a pebble, that weak-ass chill — but it was nice and cool. Like standing in the shade of a dying breeze.

Yeah. Just for this, having a pet finally paid off.

Guess I’ll never have to worry about heatstroke again.

And right on cue, Seol Iri clung to her arm like it was her lifeline — wrapping around it tight and flush.

Shit. Hot, sticky, awkward... can’t even walk straight...

Fucking useless.

So that’s how it was: two women and a glorified houseplant waddling down the streets of Seoan in a clingy clump of bodies.

After winding through a few quiet streets, they reached a busier area — surprisingly packed for such a late hour.

Technically, that was illegal.

By imperial law, once the midnight watch passed, no one was allowed out.

But here? No one gave a damn. Neither the people nor the officers supposed to enforce it.

Because this was the city’s red-light district.

And even three veiled women walking through it didn’t look the least bit suspicious.

They marched down the gaudy main avenue, then turned into a narrow alley.

And then it hit them — a chorus of fake moans and saccharine laughter rang from every window and doorway.

Not even real windows — just open holes in the wall, since ancient Central Plains “architecture” thought glass was for cowards. The whores’ voices poured out of every single one.

“Hey. Seol bastard. Are we actually going the right way? You’ve been muttering about dicks for hours — this isn’t some back-alley brothel crawl, is it?”

“Mm. So this is what it feels like to be sexually harassed. No wonder no one laughs at my jokes. Don’t talk like a dirty old man.”

“So the engineer we’re tracking’s just out here pulling a quick one off? You telling me the guy’s on the run and still getting hard?”

“I did hear somewhere that people get extra horny when their lives are in danger... But no. The real reason is: if you’re hiding, there’s nowhere better than a cheap-ass brothel.”

All the little rooms, lined up like cells in a hive — easy to rent, no questions asked.

No ID, no documents, dirt-cheap rent. And best of all? No patrols.

There were back exits and side halls in every direction. If someone came knocking? You bolt.

Or just toss a couple coins to a working girl and pretend to be in the middle of something. Works every time.

If you’re a man, you blend in with the pimps and thugs.

And if you’re a woman? There's no safer place to disappear.

And Qing had to admit: damn, this bastard really is the smartest fugitive in the land.

Seoan was huge, but only a few neighborhoods ignored the curfew. And of those, this was the only one full of dirt-cheap brothels.

So yeah. Massive.

Most of the voices they passed were fake — breathy, nasal, exaggerated to draw attention. But a few had a little truth in them. Just a little.

Still, hearing it nonstop did something to Qing.

It crawled up from her gut, coiled in her chest, and curled behind her eyes — twisting the color just a shade darker.

Huh. This is actually... kind of getting to me.

Weirdly enough, she started wondering what kind of sounds Seol Iri might make.

What that frigid little mask of hers would look like melting off.

Not the sounds she made while eating, though. Ugh. That would ruin it.

But still... what if there were no side effects?

Actually — who cares if there are?

She’s useless anyway. No skills, no strength. If someone turned her into a toy, she should thank them for it.

No one else would take in this emotionless, worthless mess. If it weren’t for Qing, she’d have died in a ditch already.

Yeah... first step: teach her the Girl’s Delight Technique.

Then spike her with a few pills — see if she gets better at it.

Qing’s eyes started to glimmer with something darker.

“There. That’s the one. Fourth room down.”

“What, we’re here already?”

While she was still toying with ideas for how best to play with her, they’d somehow made it all the way into the depths of the alleyway.

Naturally, the deeper you go, the shittier it gets. This was a tight little street packed with ramshackle buildings, stacked so close they looked like one good shove would bring the whole row crashing down.

“Wow. How the hell did you even find a place like this?”

“I’m wondering that myself.”

“Huh? Wasn’t it you who tracked him down, Seol bastard?”

“What skills do I have that I could find anyone? I just said, ‘he’s probably hiding somewhere like this,’ and the elder sent some people out to sniff around. They found him.”

“Ugh, then that still counts as your find. Seoan’s top brain, everybody.”

“Must you keep calling me that? I’ve never once claimed to be smart. It’s embarrassing.”

Qing said nothing, but thought plenty.

Oh, now he’s humble too.

She’d met plenty of guys who liked to brag about being clever — the brat from the Demon Cult definitely wasn’t one of them, and that blabbermouth Zegal was just a trivia machine with a mouth on him.

What was that other one’s name? Big-tittied something? Bongchun? All she remembered was the bumpkin energy. He was just flat-out weird.

But Seol bastard... yeah. He was solid.

Even the way he got out of Bukhae. Everyone says the smartest ones escape first — and if he made it out of that hellhole, well, that proves the point.

Qing threw open the third door.

“Ah—yes, yes, right there—oh yes—kyaaa!”

“Wh-Who are you?!”

A pair in the middle of a very sweaty affair broke apart and scrambled to cover themselves.

“Sorry, uh—are you Mr. Jang, the master carpenter?”

That’s when a voice whispered into her mind.

A damn telepathic transmission.

—I said the fourth room. Can’t count? Not the third. The fourth.

“Ah. My bad. Sorry for the, uh, interruption. Please continue. I’ll just... excuse me. Oh, why won’t this damn door close? Don’t mind me! Go ahead with the—ah, okay. Yeah. Keep going.”

The door hadn’t just opened — it had ripped off the hinges from sheer force.

Still, Qing was a properly certified carpenter’s apprentice. She could see the damage with a trained eye.

Yep. That’s gone. Gonna need a whole new one.

She leaned it up against the frame. Best not to leave it looking too obvious.

Then she froze.

A soft groan from the next room.

She flung the door aside and charged in.

The sharp iron scent of blood hit her nose like a fist.

There, collapsed on the floor, a man clutched his stomach. Blood pulsed out with every heartbeat, surging from a deep gash.

To someone trained in anatomy — someone like Qing — it was already obvious. He wasn’t going to make it.

Fuck. A step too late.

Whoever was behind this had a cruel sense of timing.

Well, since we’re here... might as well finish the job properly.

Should she pop his skull? Rip out his heart? Or maybe that moment when the breath dies in a choked throat — that one always felt nice.

She was still weighing her options when Seol bastard clicked his tongue and stepped in.

He pressed his palm flat against the man's abdomen.

Wait. What?

Seol bastard?!

Was he not just Seoan’s greatest mind, but also secretly a healer?

No. Unfortunately not.

Not a miracle-working polymath — just a guy who knew how to freeze things solid.

He sealed the wound with a block of ice, thick enough to billow white vapor even in the heat of summer. Qing watched as he exhaled softly, wiping sweat from his brow.

“That should buy us about a quarter of an hour. You. You can hear me, right? How the hell did you end up stabbed in a dump like this? Spill everything you know. Might earn yourself a cleaner next life.”

“Pff—A next life, huh... ha, ha...”

Even with death knocking, the guy managed to laugh.

The wound must’ve been so cold it numbed the pain.

Seol bastard shrugged at Qing.

Your turn.

“Hey. Mr. Jang, right? You know the Nakha River levee burst, yeah? I’ll cut to it — did you blow it up on purpose?”

“Fuck no. I just... skimmed off some of the materials, that’s all. But yeah—khek—with half the supplies missing, of course it was gonna blow eventually.”

“Half?”

“The design was a fucking nightmare. I don’t know who the bastard was that drew it up, but I’d love to punch his face.”

Apparently, the moment the carpenters saw the plans, they cursed so hard it was practically performance art.

Gorgeous blueprint, sure. But build it as-is? Nothing would survive.

“So what, you skimmed the materials because the design sucked?”

“Hell no. We looked at that mess and figured, shit, we might be part of something legendary. Big project like this? Something to put your name on? Carpenters live for that shit. We’d do it for free if it meant leaving a legacy. And it’s not like we’re hurting for cash, either.”

Carpenters had always been — and probably always would be — some of the rarest skilled labor around.

“But?”

“But the guys running the show didn’t see it that way. They get paid for the job, skim off their cut, pay the workers, buy materials — whatever’s left, that’s their profit. But if we followed that design to the letter, they’d be lucky to clear a couple gold ingots. That’s it.”

“You telling me—”

“They weren’t running a charity. This wasn’t some public works for the people — it was just another business deal. And the margins? Too tight. So... yeah. That’s how it went.”

He laughed again. Bitter, wheezing.

The kind of laugh only a dying man would bother with.

Might as well say everything.