Chapter 307: The Fire in Chang’an (9)

Qing had no idea there were this many contractor windows in the city.

Of course, considering Qing never knew anything to begin with, her being unaware wasn’t anything surprising.

However, this time, even people in the industry didn’t know much—because this sector had suddenly grown, and the number of windows had increased with it.

Originally, contractor windows were limited to just two or three in the whole city, and even then, they were typically set up in Black Points.

But with the Black Points abruptly vanishing off the grid, the assassin industry—struggling to receive clients—had opened multiple civilian windows throughout the city to take on commissions.

As such, the system wasn’t yet properly organized. Which meant that, although Qing hadn’t intended it, this was a prime opportunity to stick a knife in the assassin bastards.

Though, of course, Qing had her fair share of blame in the Black Points going dark. Entirely her doing, in fact.

So ultimately, it was fair to say that Qing had made this golden opportunity happen for herself.

Heaven helps those who help themselves—it’s not an empty saying.

Past the reeking alleyway that led from the latrine behind a failing teahouse in a completely dead spot of the merchant district, there was a rickety door, half-buried like a basement entrance.

She opened it and descended. Surprisingly, what awaited underground was a well-organized facility, swarming with rough, muscular thugs wearing swords at their waists and bearing universally filthy expressions.

Hm. Small fry.

Qing thought to herself.

In the Central Plains, if a guy’s got a big build and a dirty face, it means he’s the weakest of the martial world.

The so-called third-rate types—punks who can’t read, have no proper martial arts training, and just know how to swing a blade.

Perfect for scaring off the clueless peasants trying to file commissions, sure, but to the eyes of the super-ultra-top-tier transcendent Lady Qing?

Just trash. Useless beyond useless.

Frankly, they were about as pathetic as Seol Iri...

Sigh.

Qing let out a deep sigh.

She wasn’t really in a position to mock the assassin bastards for showing off with a bunch of pathetic nobodies.

After all, the only one at her side right now was the completely useless Miss Seol herself.

Apparently, the Seol Clan girl had duties today at the Seol Trading House.

Not that she’d come alone—they did bring the old man, who was currently waiting outside.

Just in case Qing slipped up, he was supposedly outside leading a circle of the trading house’s "security warriors" to form a perimeter.

“Security warriors,” huh? What a nice cover.

That old man really... He might as well have just said they were Devil Cult bastards from the North—defectors from Binggung or something. No one would care enough to come after them.

Qing was pondering all this as her steps clicked across the underground floor.

Then, upon arriving at a roughly silver-painted door, the two Seol Iri-types—or rather, the incompetent little punks—guarding it on either side put on their gruff voices.

“Take off your veil. Write your name.”

“Hm. You’ll give it back later, right?”

“Now.”

This, Qing had heard about from the Seol Clan girl ahead of time.

The best way the assassin bastards could secure their safety?

Take the client’s personal information. If we betray you, you won’t walk away alive either.

Of course, they never dared to ask such things of the truly powerful—because these gutter bastards, like all bottom-feeders, were weak to the strong and strong to the weak.

And so, when Qing and Seol Iri removed their veils, the dim underground suddenly felt brighter.

It was the light pouring off two of the Six Beauties of the Martial World.

“......”

As if spellbound—no, literally spellbound—the two Seol Iri knockoffs stood there slack-jawed, blankly staring.

“Hello? Aren’t you going to give me the logbook?”

“Y-Yes, here—no, it’s right here.”

And with that, Qing wrote her name neatly in the log.

The very calligraphy that had once shocked a scholar of the Hanlimwon and drawn admiration from the world’s number one martial artist.

Ah Qing. Seol Gunyeong.

Didn’t even bother faking a name.

Third-rate thug bastards couldn’t read anyway—they were completely illiterate. All they saw was “white is paper, black is writing.”

After entering through the door, she saw a man seated dramatically at a table, his bamboo hat pulled low over his face.

The small room had two more thugs stationed behind and to the sides, trying to look intimidating.

“Whhew. What brings such beautiful ladies to a place this nasty? Must be someone committed a truly grave sin, huh? So, who do you want me to kill?”

The man with the bamboo hat whistled once and spoke in a theatrical tone.

Men always think they sound cool when they lower their voice—and the bamboo hat guy was a man too, of course.

“Do you know a carpenter named Jang Yeok? A well-known master carpenter.”

“Master carpenter Jang Yeok? Well, well. Normally that kind of job would go for one gold tael, but since I’ve had the pleasure of feasting my eyes on such beauty today, let’s say six silver taels—half price.”

Qing frowned.

“He’s already dead. What, were you planning to pocket six silver and shut your mouth just because I asked for someone to be killed post-mortem?”

“Ahem. Well, in this business, if you don’t know how it works, you get screwed. So then... if you’re not trying to get someone already dead killed again, what is it you want?”

“I want to know which assassin killed Master Jang. How much to bring him to me alive?”

“Tsk, tsk.”

The bamboo hat guy clicked his tongue.

“Listen, miss. No matter how scummy we might be, we’ve still got our code. You think we’d sell out one of our own for cash?”

“Oh? So he’s one of yours?”

“Now, if you happened to offer up, say, twenty gold bars, maybe the higher-ups would reconsider...”

“Twenty gold? What are you, a bandit?”

“Anything else to say? That’ll be three silver for the consultation.”

He casually slid a silver tray toward her.

At that, Qing asked again.

“Forget the gold. How about I pay with my body?”

The bamboo hat man flinched.

“Your body, you say? Ho... with a face like yours, well...”

And just then, a finger jabbed Qing in the ribs.

When she turned, Seol Iri was staring at her, a serious crease between her brows.

“You can’t.”

“Why? Got another plan?”

Seol Iri’s eyes trembled with uncertainty.

Then suddenly, she gripped Qing’s hand tight and declared in a resolute voice,

“Then... I’ll do it instead.”

“Eh? Why would you, Gunyeong?”

“I’ll protect you.”

“How touching. What a beautiful friendship this is. Then why don’t the two of you split the cost? Are you a virgin? That’ll fetch a higher—Ow.”

The bastard had been making fun, but his jaw was suddenly clamped by the most beautiful and most wicked hand in the world—Qing’s hand, imbued with the Girl’s Delight Technique.

“Honestly. People see everything through filth-colored glasses. Who said I was going to give you anything? Just because I said ‘with my body,’ you think that gives you the right to run your filthy mouth.”

“Mmgh. Mmgh!”

The bamboo hat guy’s eyes shook.

So did Seol Iri’s gaze toward Qing.

“Ah! I wasn’t insulting you, Gunyeong. Honestly... I was moved. Really. I appreciate it.”

Qing said as she ran her fingers down the bastard’s wrist.

And then, with a light flick, she popped off his pinky.

As easily as plucking a pine needle.

Plop.

The severed finger landed on the silver tray.

“There. You said pay with my body, right? One finger as down payment. Not enough? Yeah, I figured. One finger’s not much. Wait, here—this’ll sting.”

She flicked off another.

Two fingers.

“Two fingers. Oh, and didn’t you say you lot were all about loyalty? Right. Then let’s start with three. This’ll sting.”

Three fingers.

But the bamboo hat bastard was no rookie—he immediately drew a dagger from his sleeve and lunged at Qing’s eye.

Crunch.

“Ah damn, you startled me. Didn’t mean to slice your whole damn hand off. Don’t worry, it’s a clean break. You can probably reattach it later. But see...”

Qing gave a chilling smile.

“Three wasn’t nearly enough, huh? Then say so. Don’t just attack. That’s no way to negotiate. Was it that underpriced?”

Four fingers. Five.

The bastard swung his fingerless palm, sending blood spraying everywhere.

“Hey. You two. Freeze. What’s this, hmm? The answer’s a severed finger. Shiny, right? Since you didn’t guess correctly, punishment time. Drop your swords and kneel, yeah?”

The two goons hesitated with drawn blades—but the sight of fingers littering the tray, gleaming with fresh blood, was too much.

They set their swords down and knelt obediently.

“Mmph! MmmMMph!”

“Stop breathing on me. It tickles. Ah, are we still short a ‘body’? Fine, I’ll be generous. Six.”

The bamboo hat guy flailed his right arm behind him. It was hanging uselessly, severed, the fingers just barely still attached.

Qing’s left hand was gripping his jaw—she couldn’t reach the dangling hand from here.

Time to let go of the jaw and switch hands? But then he might scream. She’d have to grab his throat with the right hand and...

Damn it. Why do people only have two hands?

But perhaps Seol Iri answered that.

The reason people have two hands is to help each other.

Without warning, Seol Iri stepped forward, grabbed the limp hand, and bent the thumb backwards—crack.

What? Our Gunyeong? She caught on?

But... look at her.

She can’t even pop off one lousy finger.

She twisted it up, down, left, right, shook it around—but couldn’t quite tear it off.

Only Qing’s monstrous strength and finger technique could do it that cleanly.

“If it won’t come off, just use a knife. Didn’t you drop one earlier?”

“Yes.”

And so, the sixth finger landed on the tray.

Unlike the other five—with their jagged edges—this one was cleanly sliced.

The tray, gleaming with blood and fingers, was practically a piece of modern art.

Title: Torn vs. Severed.

“Hey. That’s six fingers. How much more do I have to pay to know who that assassin is and where to find him?”

“Mmph. MMMPH!”

“Told you not to breathe on me. If you exhale again, that’s more body owed. Just blink if you understand.”

He blinked furiously.

Qing finally released his jaw and wiped her hand on his chest.

Sniff sniff. Ugh. Smells like spit.

“See how much easier this would've been if you just talked? Did I have to pay like this? Six fingers—doesn’t that cover twenty gold worth of info?”

“I’ll talk! I’ll tell you!”

“So where is he? And the ones who stabbed the other master carpenters too?”

“Spare me, please—spare me!”

“Who said I was killing you? Just give me their info.”

“That... that I really don’t know!”

“Excuse me? You said it was worth twenty gold. You selling fake info now? That’s, like... four fingers worth of lying.”

“Please! That guy’s with Salmak! A Salmak agent working with Daehung! I’m just a grunt—I’d never know a real operative’s identity!”

“Eh? So who would know?”

“Out front—go to the innermost chamber, the one with the flashy golden doors! The guy inside is a direct Salmak handler! He’ll know!”

“Flashy door? I’ll recognize it?”

“Yes! You’ll know it when you see it!”

“Hmm. But don’t you think this is... a little unbalanced? I gave you six fingers—worth at least twenty gold. And all I got in return was ‘there’s a guy behind a shiny door.’ Bit of a ripoff, don’t you think?”

Cheon Yuhak would’ve clicked his tongue.

He told her to be a thief, and she became a robber instead.

Worse, she was treating someone else’s fingers like they were her own cash—an irredeemable, high-grade criminal.

But what could Cheon Yuhak do now?

She’d already received all his teachings as the next Divine Blade candidate.

This was Qing’s victory.

And so, the most wicked woman in the world flashed the face of the world’s greatest beauty and smiled.

“Tell me everything you know. If it’s worth twenty gold, I’ll let you live.”

****

Mm. Unfortunately, the info was trash.

And a promise must be absolute.

She said she’d spare him if the info was worth twenty gold. It wasn’t.

Well then.

What a shame.

Can’t let you live, can I?