Chapter 315: The Fire in Chang’an (17)

Gasp—

A collective breath sucked in by the crowd.

A woman’s tears were, indeed, a powerful weapon.

But even such powerful tears could be neutralized—by another woman’s tears, for instance, or a good, hard slap.

Cheong didn’t care for tears.

And she sure as hell wasn’t about to lower herself to some pathetic wretch’s level—so she simply kicked the girl across the face with the top of her foot.

Mm. Mm. Not bad. Has a nice kick to it—literally.

Satisfied, Cheong raised her voice for all to hear.

“Excuse me, but why the hell are you lying like that when no one’s buying it? Do you think these martial heroes are that easy to fool? What, you take them for the dumbest fucks alive? Are you really trying to say that some random carpenters dared to skim off the top behind the back of the daughter of Shaanxi’s top trading guild—right in the middle of an inheritance war?”

Of course, when it came to demonizing evil bastards, Cheong ran her brain at full capacity.

Even so, this particular deduction was sharp enough to shock anyone who actually knew her.

But the truth was simpler.

She already knew this bitch was the culprit, thanks to her karma.

So technically, this “deduction” was just working backwards from the answer.

Which made it less deduction and more... creative posturing.

No need to be impressed.

“Urgh...!”

The girl rolled across the ground, clutching her face.

“Hea-ya!”

The Guildmaster cried out and rushed to cradle her in his arms.

Only then did Cheong realize—she hadn’t even known the girl’s name until now.

But so what?

Did she need to?

“What is the meaning of this!? What crime has this child committed!?”

“Shall I list them again for you?”

“There’s still no proof that she did it on purpose!”

“Do you really believe that? You’re telling me you didn’t know what kind of monster your daughter is?”

“There is no justice in this! You don’t even have proof it was deliberate!”

“And what about the evidence we brought? What do you think that is? A polite suggestion?”

“They’re lying to save their own skins—!”

Thud.

Cheong stomped lightly on the ground, cutting him off.

“That’s enough. Now I’m really curious—how the hell did you raise that kid? You certainly didn’t teach her honesty or decency. Probably told her to lie, to steal, that it’s smart to screw others over, and that if she gets caught, it’s their fault for being stupid. And now look at the mess you’ve made.”

Of course, this wasn’t some profound insight into the Nam Clan’s character.

Cheong had simply grown up watching CEOs on TV yell this kind of crap at their kids.

“Just think of this as divine punishment. If you devour three thousand lives, you’re gonna get struck down sooner or later—even if it’s not by me.”

Cheong muttered and grabbed the tangled pair—father and daughter—and yanked them apart.

Apparently, despite all that blood on his hands, the old man still treasured his daughter.

He clung to her, she to him, clawing and flailing, smacking each other in panic.

“Let go! LET GO!”

“Dad!”

Touching, really—if they weren’t lower than beasts.

But two civilians, no matter how desperately they clung to each other, were no match for Cheong’s raw power.

Even if she wasn’t the highest-level martial master in the land, she was still something beyond human.

The old man was sent flying.

The daughter, hair in Cheong’s grip, was dragged out across the ground.

And in that moment, Cheong realized something profound.

Ah... so that’s why everyone grabs them by the hair. It’s the perfect handle.

“LET GO! I SAID LET GO! AARGH!”

“Oh no, you’re hurting already? That’s not good. You do know the people of Naknyeong might boil you alive, right? Or worse. If you’re lucky, you’ll die quickly. Sorry, as a fellow woman, I am a little sorry—but hey, you must’ve factored that risk in when you chose this business, right?”

The girl thrashed harder.

But what could someone like her do?

Finally, she screamed with desperate indignation:

“Why are you only going after me?! Everyone does it! You win a government contract, you have to skim half! If you don’t, people think you’re a moron!”

Pure, undiluted grievance, cried out at the top of her lungs.

A shocked murmur spread through the crowd.

It wasn’t quite a confession, but it was damn close.

This girl wasn’t stupid.

It was just that—this is how all evil bastards make their final stand:

What about them? Why me? Everyone else is worse! Why am I the only one getting punished?

And the kicker?

They actually mean it.

That’s what makes it so grotesque.

“Okay. Let’s say that’s true. Let’s say everyone does it.

But if your corruption leads to a massacre, shouldn’t you be held accountable anyway?”

“I didn’t know! I swear I didn’t know! How was I supposed to know it would rain that much!?”

“Oh, so ignorance absolves guilt now? Sure. Just call it divine punishment and—”

“Who the hell are YOU to talk about divine punishment!?”

Cheong paused—then sighed.

Yeah. Fair enough.

Not divine punishment, then.

Call it Cheong’s punishment.

Suddenly, she felt very tired.

“Fine. If you’ve got enough energy to scream, then maybe start thinking of what you’ll say to the people of Naknyeong. Doesn’t matter what you say to me—I’m not about to change my mind and let you go.”

“No! Please! Spare me, I—I...”

After rage and denial came the begging.

What were the five stages of grief again?

Wasn’t denial first?

Ah, whatever.

Still gripping the girl by the hair, Cheong shouted:

“Everyone! This criminal will be sent to Naknyeong, where the victims can judge her for themselves and seek even a sliver of justice!”

She bowed low, formally.

That was it.

She had the girl.

And the old man? If his blood pressure spiked any higher, he’d probably drop dead anyway.

But...

Why were they all still staring at her?

Their eyes were bright, focused.

This didn’t feel like the end credits were rolling.

Hm. Was she supposed to say something cool?

After a moment’s thought, Cheong just blurted out her own opinion.

“Everyone! Did you hear what that old bastard said?

‘How dare you.’ ‘What right do you have.’ ‘You people.’ What the hell is that supposed to mean?

What kind of lowlife merchant has the gall to talk like that? Since when does some withered-up trader get to act like he’s above the rest of us? Is he our master now?”

“No!!”

“HELL NO!!”

“When merchants are poor, they bow and scrape with flattery and fake smiles.

But the moment they strike it rich, they start sneering at you like filth, like the beggars aren’t even worth looking at. They act like kings! Am I wrong?”

“You’re right!”

“Damn right!”

“And how did Jangheung Guild get this big, huh?

You think it was thanks to that wrinkled old bastard lying on the ground?

No! It was thanks to you! The martial heroes of Chang’an!

Thanks to the coins you spent, the trust you gave—every ounce of wealth they have came from your pockets!”

The crowd’s eyes went wide.

They had never heard anything like it.

It was a worldview flipped upside-down, a revolution like the Heaven-Earth Shift Technique out of the Western Regions.

After all, in this primitive, ancient Central Plains, the idea that people mattered... hadn’t really caught on yet.

Sure, there were early hints—like theories justifying revolution when rulers failed—but those barely scratched the surface.

Here, “the people” were weeds.

Numerous, lowly, and utterly expendable.

This world was built on the belief that commoners were morons: selfish, ignorant, evil morons.

And that was why Heaven sent a ruler down from the skies: a true man among beasts.

A Son of Heaven who would bestow the blessing—the unfathomably precious gift—of being ruled.

The state didn’t exist for the people.

The state existed for higher ideals—order, virtue, cosmic balance.

And the people?

Just nuisances always on the verge of chaos.

That’s why the masses had no power.

And now, here was someone asking—

Who made that merchant rich?

You did.

That shock—

“Wait... is that... true?”

“Now that you mention it...”

“Thirty years ago, Jangheung Guild was just a little fabric shop in the back alleys. The owner used to be so polite. Good quality, fair prices. The whole neighborhood bought from him.

And now, thirty years later, his kids look down their noses and call us ‘you people.’”

And then, as if she hadn’t already gone far enough, Cheong added one more dangerous push.

“So if you ever see this kind of tyranny again, don’t wait for me! You—yes, all of you—stand up and fight back!

Without customers, no matter how big a guild gets, they’ll collapse!

So don’t buy their goods, don’t speak their names, cut off all ties! If they’re monsters, why the hell would you give them gold!?”

Another wave of shock hit the crowd.

Of course, Cheong came from a society that claimed to believe in equality—though in practice, she’d been stuck just above the very bottom.

That’s why her gaze was always sharp, bitter, pointed upward.

“And that’s not all!

Refuse to visit their homes!

If you see someone using their goods, tell them it’s shameful!

If they don’t stop, spit on them! Humiliate them!

Make sure no one ever gives money to people like that again!

You’re not this old bastard’s servants—you’re the ones who built his power! You can take it away!”

Cheong laid it all out.

It was... a lot.

And the crowd?

Utterly stunned.

Wait. You can do that?

And then—

WAAAAAAHHHH!!!

A roar erupted, a cheer for the idea that had just leapt across centuries.

Though, to be fair, Cheong had no idea what she’d just said.

Back home, this kind of thinking was just common sense.

Well... okay. Maybe not the part about spitting and public shaming.

That was just Cheong being Cheong.

But hey, the merchants in this world were kind of monstrous anyway.

The law came from one man’s head, and following it too well got you mocked.

Cheong had lived in the Central Plains for five years.

She was technically one of them now.

But deep down, she was still a product of the world she came from.

After all, no one ever fully escapes the roots of the place that raised them.

And so—

Here, in the middle of Chang’an, the so-called heart of the world—

the power of the consumer was born.

A spark.

One that, mishandled, could set the whole era ablaze.

And that spark had come from the lips of a princess.

A descendant of Heaven’s own bloodline.

But Cheong didn’t know any of that.

She hadn’t spoken from some sense of historical duty or revolutionary vision.

She’d just felt awkward ending things quietly...

...so she yelled the first thing that came to mind.

And now, smiling wide, she stood there gripping the girl’s hair.

Her face, where the foot had landed, was already swelling like a hotteok.

For reference: in the Central Plains, a hotteok was a hollow, deep-fried pastry—

known back in Cheong’s homeland as konggalppang.

In Cheong’s hometown, hotteok referred to something else entirely: a sweet pancake with syrup inside, called dangmil jeonbyeong.

Man. I could really go for a hotteok right now. Both kinds.