Chapter 320: After the Fire (5)

The martial artists of Zhongnan hadn't followed along just because the Sect Leader said they had nothing better to do.

In a Taoist temple that vast, there was always something to take care of. If you slacked off for a day, the work would double tomorrow.

Still, the Sect Leader’s claim that they came out of boredom wasn’t entirely wrong either.

It’s not like life in a Daoist temple was full of dramatic incidents.

But then, the strongest candidate for the most beautiful woman under heaven—the woman said to be closest to the world’s ideal of beauty—the peerless beauty Heavenly Flower Sword arrived.

Naturally, everyone flocked to her.

But history had proven that such pitiful curiosity often led to great discoveries—and so, the martial artists of Zhongnan, simply by standing here, were now presented with a rare chance to witness the extraordinary.

Heavenly Flower Sword stared at the Cliff of the Absolute Sword for a moment... and then suddenly drew her sword, lifting it high as if pointing to the heavens.

In that moment, her sword touched the sky.

All she had done was raise her sword—but everyone present knew.

A giant. A true giant!

A human, independent from the stars of the heavens, walks out on her own. At last, she exists fully and completely, achieving herself. The word “achieve” becomes “sage” when fulfilled.

A true sage as seen by those who merely follow the celestial map and blindly obey it like children. Of course you could only lift your head and look up—because she appeared as a giant whose tip reached the sky.

And so it was that a human’s sword pierced the heavens.

Though the blade bore no divine light because it was human-made, the edge—tempered with the heart—sank deep into their collective psyche, blooming into a heart-crushing fear as if their chests had been split apart.

And finally—already—before anyone realized it—

Qing’s sword had returned to its scabbard.

Yet all who watched saw the image, seared into their minds, of a giant’s blade cleaving through the cliff.

As the breathless world lingered in awe of that solemn strike, Heavenly Flower Sword exhaled a deep, drawn-out breath and finally opened her mouth.

“...Dick.”

...Hm? What did she say?

And then—thud.

Like seaweed pulled from the water, she collapsed in a limp heap.

****

Qing regained consciousness on the third day.

So the very moment—no, even before her eyes opened, as soon as her consciousness returned—her mind snapped awake with the sensation of her insides being scorched alive. The agony was so sharp that her eyes flew open and her body jerked upright in a scream.

“I’m starving! FOOD!”

Startled by her outburst, she turned her head and saw Seol Iri staring at her with wide, shocked eyes.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m not okay. I swear, it feels like my back and stomach are stuck together. Don’t you have anything to eat?”

“...No.”

That one syllable had never sounded so heartless.

This brat doesn’t even carry food on her. Useless. Completely useless.

But really, what could broke-ass Seol Iri possibly have on her?

“Aagh. Why am I so hungry? I know I passed out after looking at the Cliff of the Absolute Sword, but how long was I out for?”

“Three and a half days.”

“What—? I’ve been starving for three days?!”

Qing gasped.

So that meant: that evening, then the second day—breakfast, lunch, dinner—and the third day—breakfast, lunch, dinner again. And even without counting today’s meals, she’d missed seven meals in total!

And that’s assuming the minimum! Seven! Missed! Meals!

Wait—what time is it now?

“It’s just past Jeong of Sulsig.”

“WHAT?!”

Sulsig Jeong—that meant it was past 8 p.m.

So she’d also missed today’s breakfast and lunch. Nine meals!

Nine meals missed at Zhongnan Sect, of all places.

Meals made by a sect so rich, they might as well wear gold on their heads.

How... HOW could this happen to me?! That damn Heavenly Martial Emperor—I'm going to hate him forever!

“Are you okay?”

“I feel like I’m going to DIE.”

Seol Iri shook her head.

“They said you’d have trouble using your inner energy. All your meridians are damaged.”

“...Meridians? Huh? I feel—urk.”

Without thinking, Qing tried circulating her qi—and immediately wheezed as the air left her lungs, her eyes rolling back.

She’d been completely unprepared. The pain crashed over her like a tidal wave, like tens of thousands of needles stabbing her organs at once. She blacked out on the spot.

—

“FOOD! I’m starving!”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m NOT okay. My back and stomach are stick—wait. Wait. This conversation... we’ve had this before. What’s the word for this? Déjà vu?”

“I don’t know.”

Seol Iri only answered what she was asked.

Qing scowled deeply.

“No, you do. You just don’t want to say. Augh...”

What the hell happened to my meridians that just circulating inner energy makes me black out?! Ugh... UGHHH.

The memory of the pain made Qing visibly shudder.

But even so, she wasn’t too worried.

Whether it was a fragment of the Heavenly Martial Emperor’s soul, a kind of spiritual parasite, or just an illusion she’d interpreted and created on her own... he had said it would leave her disabled for a while.

Which meant she’d eventually recover.

And even without inner energy, Qing still had the strongest, most peerless physical body among all women—or humanity itself.

But more importantly: FOOD. She needed food!

Just thinking about cold radish kimchi noodles made her want to die.

Thankfully, there was some leftover rice at the temple.

She scooped the plain white rice, added veggies, then more veggies, and more veggies again, poured in sesame oil, and mixed it all up into what, to her, was a perfect bowl of bibimbap.

Granted, it was a cultural abomination in the Central Plains—taking a proper meal and mixing it into glorious dog food—but Qing piled her spoon high and stuffed her cheeks to bursting like a gluttonous war refugee.

Watching her, Ta-jeong Jin-in, the Sect Leader of Zhongnan, wondered: Wait... was Heavenly Flower Sword not from the Sect of Divine Maidens, but the Beggar’s Sect?

Did I get it wrong this whole time?

No, even Beggar’s Sect disciples wouldn’t eat free food that messily, and still make it look that delicious.

Still, Qing was a beauty worthy of being called the best in the world.

If it had been some average woman, her disgusting, beast-like scarfing would’ve shattered the illusion and drained all affection from the onlookers.

But Qing was so overwhelmingly beautiful that everyone simply thought: Ah, poor girl must’ve been starving. At least she’s eating well. She must not be too badly injured, thank goodness.

That’s how fickle people were.

“Fwaaah. I can live again. Thanks for the food.”

Qing sighed in bliss, patting her belly, which now looked about seven months pregnant.

Seol Iri, staring in awe at the absurdly elastic expansion rate of her stomach, kept glancing back and forth, as if questioning whether her eyes were working properly.

Ta-jeong Jin-in, however, was focused on something else.

“Well. It was a humble meal thrown together from scraps, but you ate so heartily that I’m glad. So, I hear you had a great realization upon seeing the Cliff of the Absolute Sword.”

“Hm.”

Qing tried to recall her conversation with Mucheon Daeje.

Did she... really have a realization?

“Oh, right. It’s the Seventh Technique of the Dokgo Nine Sword Forms. See the Moon, Forget the Finger.”

“The Seventh Technique?”

A beaming smile, like that of a delighted child, spread across Ta-jeong Jin-in’s face.

“Perfect! If Mount Hua has eight, Zhongnan must at least have seven. Yes, yes, that sounds about right.”

If the Heavenly Martial Emperor had been there to hear that Daoist going on about sword form numbers, he would’ve roared with rage and beaten him senseless.

But what could a dead man do?

“‘See the Moon, Forget the Finger’... Isn't that from a Buddhist scripture? Let’s see, was it the Shurangama Sutra?”

Qing remained very, very quiet.

If you don’t know something, best to shut up.

Ta-jeong Jin-in, despite being a worldly, secular pseudo-Daoist, still managed to correctly cite the names of Buddhist scriptures.

In the Shurangama Sutra, it says, “If someone points to the moon, naturally one should look at the moon, not the finger.”

It compares the finger to scripture itself—emphasizing that scriptures are merely tools to reach nirvana. Obsessing over the tools means missing the true enlightenment.

“Then why give it that name?”

“Oh! That’s because—”

This time Qing eagerly chimed in, because when people hear something they actually know about, it becomes a primal instinct to show off.

“He said that being led by starlight is just the process of reaching yourself—it’s not the goal of martial arts. That you have to overcome your Heavenly Nature and use your heart to guide your heart, then center yourself with your own sword.”

“Mmm... ‘See the Moon, Forget the Finger.’ Conquer the self, rule the heart, set the world with the sword.”

As he spoke, Ta-jeong Jin-in had the exact expression of a man right on the verge of sneezing—hovering in the uncertain space between clarity and confusion.

“But at least one thing’s clear. It’s no longer a sword that shines by starlight—it’s a sword shaped by the heart, forged through human will. That’s the realm of the Heart Sword.”

“Heart Sword?”

Qing made that same confused face.

And Ta-jeong Jin-in gave a smile that, for once, actually suited a real Daoist.

“I don’t understand it myself, so I can’t pretend to explain. But you, our youngest junior sister—you’re fully capable of reaching it. You’ve already drawn it once. Even if you don’t understand it now, one day, it’ll return to you as a great realization. Mmm... something’s almost there. I’ll have to revisit Senior Mucheon Daeje’s teachings again.”

“Yes. Please take care.”

Ta-jeong Jin-in stood.

Just as he reached the door to leave the dining hall, he paused, seeming to remember something, and turned back.

“Oh, by the way. Before you passed out, you said ‘dick.’ What did you mean by that?”

“Oh... that slipped out loud?”

Qing scratched the back of her head, flustered.

****

According to the elder known as Medical Elder of Zhongnan Sect, it was less an internal injury and more of a lucky encounter.

All the qi channels and Eight Extraordinary Meridians in her body had been completely, evenly shattered—no part spared—but none were severed or tangled.

“You’ll probably feel empty without your inner energy for a while, but your qi channels are now wider and stronger. So you could call it a stroke of fortune. And inner energy, well... as long as you’re alive, you can rebuild it.”

“Hm. Okay.”

For an ordinary martial artist, this should’ve resulted in some loss of inner energy.

But Qing hadn’t lost anything. If anything, she’d gained.

Though the Ice Demon Force continued to feign innocence, quietly clinging to her dantian’s edge like nothing had happened, a tiny portion of it had started to wriggle again.

The Medical Elder smiled at her as if looking at his beloved granddaughter.

“If you take some elixirs, it might push it further toward fortune. Here. The Sect Leader told me to give you this. It’s Jasodan.”

“Whoa! Jasodan!”

Qing feigned surprise first. But then something didn’t sit right.

Wait a sec... was she misremembering something?

“Uh... Jasodan? Isn’t that Mount Hua’s elixir?”