Chapter 322: After the Fire (7)

A martial artist in the state of regulating the energy within their body is, by nature, extremely sensitive and delicate—so much so that even a slight disturbance can cause abnormalities.

Especially after consuming an elixir.

That’s why, when someone stays by their side during such times to guard them, the act is referred to as “standing Dharma protection.”

Thus, to stand Dharma protection for Cheong, she quietly stepped out of the guest room and stood guard in the courtyard.

She had just fed Cheong the elixir, but elixirs are not something to be consumed carelessly in the first place.

It’s written in medical texts that poison can be used as medicine, and by the same token, medicine can just as easily act as poison.

That’s precisely why wild elixirs are so dangerous.

So martial artists don’t eat raw elixirs. They process them.

Once refined and turned into pills, they can generally be consumed without much issue.

Because they’re made to be that way.

Take them when you’re healthy, and they serve as a fortuitous chance to enhance your inner power. Take them when you're wounded, and they become a universal remedy. That’s why people go mad trying to get their hands on famous elixir pills.

That said, when it comes solely to increasing internal energy, raw elixirs are more effective. Or so they say.

Was it Jegal who mentioned it mid-ramble? Or Nanah? Whatever.

Plants that have absorbed the essence of the mountains for centuries—or the internal cores of spiritual beasts that have lived for hundreds of years.

The former, like thousand-year-old ginseng, could reasonably be called an elixir. But as for those so-called spiritual beasts, she just couldn’t understand.

Amazingly, it’s said that in the Central Plains’ murim, there are, on rare occasions, animals that awaken martial arts.

Of course, unlike humans who separately cultivate internal and external energy, they supposedly gather nature’s qi in a specific organ and draw it out little by little for use or whatever.

Ah, the wondrous ecology of the Central Plains.

Well, it makes sense. Qi is the ultimate resource, after all.

It’s a mysterious force that transforms ordinary people into superhuman beings—like in her hometown’s terms, people who can fly around and shoot laser swords like espers.

It’s not like there wasn’t anything similar in Cheong’s original world—things like abdominal breathing or qi therapy existed too.

But those were on the same level as pseudo-scientific scams involving hexagonal water molecules, mysterious metals that bring good luck just by possessing them, the idea that words could affect water’s structure and make plants wither, or EMF-blocking stickers.

So no, this primitive, uncivilized, ancient Central Plains couldn’t possibly be a time-traveled version of the world Cheong once knew.

Then what is this? A road not taken?

Maybe it’s a split world—one that discovered qi, and one that didn’t. Or maybe in the boundless cosmos, a twin planet developed just the same and then veered off into the fantastical.

With that, Cheong looked up at the sky.

The clear, unpolluted night sky of the Central Plains flowed with countless stars, radiantly dignified.

Come to think of it, ever since leaving the murim, she hadn’t really looked at stars.

If not for the forced stargazing at the Great Wucheon or Muchun Festival—whichever it was—she might’ve gone on forgetting them entirely.

She easily found the brightest star and traced the lights nearby to form a large ladle.

The Big Dipper.

What was it called? Ursa Major? Anyway, those western bastards—how is that a bear? It’s a ladle, clearly.

Honestly, even before entering the murim, she was just another faceless laborer, so it wasn’t like she had time to study constellations.

Other than the Big Dipper, she only knew the one that looked like a “W” in Western letters. Uh, but where was it?

Cheong squinted at the night sky, trying to find it, but other than the shape, she didn’t remember anything else. And there were so many bright stars that this looked like that and that looked like this—nothing made sense anymore.

Still, she didn’t stop searching.

But the more she looked, the more unfamiliar the night sky became.

Maybe—just maybe, like that old man said—this Central Plains might truly have as many stars as there are people.

Not the universe she knew. A completely different one.

Maybe in the Western region of this world, those westerners were casting magic and slaying monsters and leveling up or something.

Even the stars sparkling above her—so unlike the ones she used to know—for someone like Cheong, born of a different origin, with a different memory from this world...

She was the only one. The only stranger in all the world.

That’s why, at some point, Cheong stopped speaking of what she used to know.

Not just the Western language, but even basic scientific terms that people here would never understand—she erased them all from her speech.

Because it was weird.

What if someone asked what it meant?

What if someone asked how she knew?

She’d be the only one who was different—so she had to hide it. Deep, deep down.

And then—

Slide. The sound of a door opening.

Cheong’s melancholy, despondent face suddenly bloomed into a brilliant smile.

Seol Iri froze mid-step outside and just stared blankly at Cheong, her face glowing under the night sky.

If Cheong hadn’t opened her mouth, who knows how long she would’ve stood there staring.

“Oh. How do you feel? Like, all pumped full of energy?”

“I feel good. No, I don’t.”

“You don’t feel pumped?”

“No.”

“Eh.”

What kind of buzzkill answer was that after getting such a good elixir?

Cheong’s face puckered slightly in disappointment, and Seol Iri twitched her brows—clearly a non-verbal “ah” in the practiced eye of a seasoned Seol Iri caretaker.

“I still lack strength.”

“What? You want more elixir?”

“No. Yes. No. It’s just... I still lack way too much strength. If I want to protect Seo Mun Sojeo, I need even more power.”

“Ooooh.”

Now that was a heartwarming thing to say.

He said he didn’t feel energized because he still lacked the strength to protect her.

Did the elixir awaken some deeper enlightenment? He’s even learned how to toy with people’s hearts?

“Just the sentiment alone is commendable. Haaam. What time is it? I’m sleepy, let’s sleep.”

Truthfully, it was already late.

From the moon’s position, it had passed the hour of the Rat. What the hell—it took two whole hours to absorb half an elixir?

It hit her again—this guy didn’t just lack power. He lacked everything.

Of course, from Seol Iri’s perspective, he had every reason to feel wronged.

Internal energy is relative.

For someone already filled with ten units of qi, absorbing one more is easy because the dantian can handle it. It’s a matter of moving the existing energy to make space for the new.

But Seol Iri had barely one pathetic unit of internal energy.

And yet, he had to absorb thirty times that amount compared to what he normally held.

Worse, the elixir had perfectly balanced yin and yang energy, but he had to transmute it all into severely yin-aspected true energy—of course it would take time.

Thankfully, the internal energy he’d erased previously had left his dantian nicely emptied and cleaned out.

So Seol Iri quite literally staked his life on it—determined to absorb every last strand of true energy, not wasting even a single wisp.

There was real risk of qi deviation—his dantian could’ve shattered, his meridians twisted—because he had tried to absorb far beyond his limits.

But unless he said so, Cheong wouldn’t know.

If she did, she would’ve smacked him in the head for being a dumbass doing dumbass things.

But Seol Iri had no intention of ever telling her. So she would never know.

“...Um.”

“Hm? What? Can’t sleep? That happens after taking an elixir. You feel refreshed.”

“It’s not that. I mean... why is Seo Mun Sojeo so...”

Seol Iri, who always blurted out whatever he wanted with zero sense of tact, faltered mid-sentence. He fidgeted, lips twitching, but eventually decided against speaking and clamped his mouth shut.

“What is it? Why’d you stop talking?”

“It’s nothing. Yes.”

What is it? Nothing.

You started talking and then stopped. Yes.

The first answer was fine, but the second? That wasn’t even the kind of question where “yes” is the right answer.

“Yes”? Yes to what?

“You’re really—no. Forget it.”

Cheong was a professional Seol Iri handler.

That uselessly stubborn incompetent had a nasty habit of never backing down once he’d made up his mind.

If he shut his mouth, nothing you said would get him to open it again. So there was no point in asking.

“Come on. I’m sleepy. Let’s sleep.”

“No.”

“Eh?”

What?

“No? You’re not sleeping?”

“Yes. Yes.”

“Then what are you gonna do?”

“Breathe and circulate qi.”

He meant he was going to train his internal energy.

Cheong narrowed her eyes.

What’s this? Gained a bit of qi and now he’s suddenly dead serious about training?

Staying up all night, even?

There really were types like this.

Suddenly declaring they’re gonna lose weight starting today—eating only one meal a day, signing up for a one-year gym membership they’d never use.

As if that ever works.

Anything effective starts small and builds slowly until it becomes routine.

Suddenly going “I’ll show you a completely changed me!” was just a dumbass move that wouldn’t last three days.

“Don’t do that. Just sleep at night.”

“No.”

“There’s plenty of time during the day too.”

“I’ll do it then too.”

“You’re gonna breathe and circulate qi all day and night?”

“Yes.”

“...Don’t do that. I can’t sleep without someone beside me. Can’t we sleep together?”

“No.”

...Eh?

What’s up with Seol Iri?

Is this puberty? Rebellious phase?

“I’ll breathe and circulate qi next to you. Seo Mun Sojeo can sleep.”

“But it’s hot. You’ve got full qi now, right? Can’t you cool me down a bit with that pitiful qi of yours?”

“...‘Full.’”

Seol Iri’s gaze dropped downward. Then rose. But didn’t meet her eyes. Then dropped again. Up and down—back and forth—his eyes roamed in an utterly rude and disrespectful way.

What the hell? Where’d you learn that bad habit?

Cheong was too dumbfounded to even be angry.

And after a beat—

“No.”

Argh, seriously. This little bastard doesn’t listen to a damn word!

She had just finished installing the cooling-body-pillow feature in him, and now he’s declaring a surprise strike?

What is this—betrayal? Betrayal?!

But yeah. Once he digs in, this useless brat never listens no matter what.

So Cheong could only let out a long, heavy sigh.

****

Cheong didn’t really have anything left to do at Zhongnan Sect.

Even the transmission of Ice White Divine Palm had been completed the very next day—it was, after all, the epitome of effortless martial arts mastery when it came to Cheong.

Hear the incantations, sweep through each stance once, and that was that.

The martial arts window sparkled. Purple sparkles, no less.

So why, even though I’ve obtained the Ice White Dragon, can’t I use it?

I could totally summon a damn dragon from my right arm now!

But my dantian, my dantian is...!

Not that there was anyone I could blame.

What good would grinding my teeth at that old bastard who, what, ascended? Ascended, my ass. He croaked. And even if I did, it’s not like it would change anything.

After realizing that, it started to feel awkward to keep hanging around someone else’s place playing the patient.

So what now? I should go home.

“You could just stay and fully recover, you know.”

“I’ve already delayed too long. I should return and greet Master as well. It’s not such a far journey, anyway.”

“True. Resting at home is probably more comfortable.”

Tajeong Zhenren, who knew the full state of Cheong’s condition, didn’t try to stop her.

Because the road from here to the Shrine of the Divine Maiden was famously one of the safest in all the land.

The main road running east to west along the southern side of Mount Zhongnan was known as the safest path in all under heaven.

And for good reason.

To the south, the massive mountain range surrounding the Sichuan Basin formed a natural barrier no human could easily cross.

The western end of the road bordered Mount Gongtong, which was under the domain of Gongtong Sect, and once you crossed into Shaanxi Province, you were in Zhongnan Sect’s territory.

Further still, crossing into Hubei Province led to Mount Wudang and the domain of Wudang Sect.

And the Shrine of the Divine Maiden was, in Zhongyuan terms, basically a next-door neighbor to the Wudang Sect.

Which is why even someone like Tajeong Zhenren could comfortably allow Cheong, who currently couldn’t use her internal energy, to leave.

Of course, that didn’t mean Jianghu was a world you could just let your guard down in.

So, four mounted disciples of Zhongnan were assigned to escort her.

Which meant, naturally, that the return home was bound to be safe.

But—there was still one problem.

“...It’s hot.”