Chapter 323: After the Fire (8)

As a martial artist’s cultivation deepens, one reaches a level known as immune to heat and cold.

Immune to heat and cold means reaching a state where neither the heat nor the cold can cause harm to the body.

That is to say, even if the weather is freezing, one’s body temperature does not drop; and no matter how hot it is, one’s body temperature does not spike—thus, the body remains unharmed. This is physical homeostasis. In martial theory, what is commonly called the Immovable Heart refers to the heart and the body becoming one. Therefore, for a master to attain immunity to heat and cold is nothing more than a natural outcome.

However.

Saying that heat and cold do not harm the body does not mean one cannot feel the heat or cold.

No matter how advanced a master may be—if it’s cold, it’s fucking cold.

Same with heat. If it’s hot, it’s just fucking hot.

In the dead of winter, even inside Qing’s house where icy winds were howling and ice storms raged, even when the automatic defense meridians maintained her body temperature, she still curled up and shivered, wrapping herself tightly in a custom double-thick blanket.

Because her body temperature was preserved, the moment she wrapped herself up, she immediately got warm. Once heat retention kicks in, comfort follows right after.

Cold can be fended off easily with layering and blankets.

But heat?

There’s no fucking solution for heat.

At least, until now.

From now on, the pathetic internal art—Pathetic Heart Technique—takes the stage!

Let me show you pathetic coolness!

...She had found the answer!

So why the hell couldn’t she use it?!

Even the wife of Mr. Kim, who passed away before ever tasting a bowl of seolleongtang, would be pounding her chest in the heavens, grieving the injustice.

Unable to stand it anymore, she thought maybe if she carefully summoned the Pathetic Heart Technique, she could use just a little internal energy. But the moment she tried, hngh—ugh—I almost fucking died.

Qing flopped down like a bitch in heat on a midsummer day.

In truth, it was already late August, and the worst of the heat had technically passed.

Even so, Qing felt hotter than she had during the peak of summer.

Because the Ice Demon Force had a small side effect.

Those who possessed the Ice Demon Force, due to the mysterious properties of the ice essence, became desensitized to cold.

Meaning—they stopped feeling cold altogether.

In exchange, they became highly sensitive to heat.

But why would someone who trained in the Ice Demon Force ever come down to the sweltering southern lands?

That’s why, in the North Sea, the Ice Demon Force was the pinnacle of perfection—a flawless divine art. But in the Central Plains?

Ugh. Ughhhh. It's so damn hot I can't fucking breathe...

Honestly, if she couldn’t do it herself, someone else could do it for her.

There were two people in the carriage. Both of them could summon the refreshing cool air of the Pathetic Heart Technique.

So Qing spoke sweetly, her voice gentle, to Seol Iri, who was sitting cross-legged across from her, deep in breath circulation training.

“Iri-ya. Could you use the Pathetic Heart Technique for me?”

“Yes.”

“So that’s a no, right?”

“Yes.”

A vein popped up on Qing’s forehead.

Seriously, this bitch—she’s hot too, so why can’t she blow out just one little gust of cold air?

Not that it wasn’t obvious. Seol Iri, who already had a low heat tolerance, now had the Ice Demon Force to boot.

Which meant she was basically sweating from her chin like a person or a waterfall—who could even tell the difference?

She sat there dripping like someone who’d just rotated a sandglass three times in a prepaid public steam bath before the Outflow—completely drenched in sweat.

And yet, even in that state, she stayed cross-legged and kept training her breath.

It was aggravating.

Since when did she take her cultivation so seriously?

I clothed her, fed her, bathed her, tucked her in, taught her martial arts, gave her elixirs—I gave her everything!

Was I asking for something huge? No! I just wanted a breeze! A bit of cool air!

Hmph. So she wants to pretend she's focused on training? Let’s see how long that lasts.

From Qing’s perspective, she wouldn’t last long anyway.

Aside from meal times and the like, Seol Iri had been cultivating her breath for eleven hours a day.

There’s a limit to everything—if you keep sprinting like that, you’ll collapse sooner or later.

...Or so Qing thought.

But one day passed, then two, then they stayed overnight in Seokcheonhyun. Three days—Anganghyun. Four—Pyeongrihyun. On the fifth, they entered Hubei Province. On the sixth, they stayed in Juksanhyun.

The seventh—Banghyun. On the eighth, the ninth—Heungsan.

And on the tenth night, they would reach the Sect of Divine Maidens.

And Seol Iri, that bitch, really hadn’t rested for a single day.

Fucking hell. Absolutely useless, but stubborn as all hell.

Qing should have known—back when Seol Iri silently limped around with torn muscles and cracked bones without saying a word.

She should have pounded and shaken her joints while she was still clueless about the pain, made her cry and sob it out.

And yet Qing couldn’t even complain out loud, which made it worse.

You can’t throw a tantrum like, "Stop training and just blow some ice at me instead," can you?

Back in her hometown, this would be like whining at a friend who’s studying so hard for finals that they get nosebleeds, just because they won’t come out to play.

But then again—if she was gonna be like this, why even come along?

Training is great, but why tag along on a trip only to be annoying the whole time?

Can this even be called “traveling together”?

Because of this, by the fourth day, Qing had given up trying. Fine. You train. I’ll enjoy myself.

Thankfully, there were martial artists from the Zhongnan Sect accompanying them for protection.

Among them, one first-generation disciple named Daoist Pilmu had been at the Dragon Phoenix Conference several times.

Because he was always sitting in front of Changbin.

Changbin had introduced him like this:

"This is Pilmu of Zhongnan... um, my little junior—no, I mean, he’s the one I cherish the most—n-not that I don’t cherish Lady Ximen too—I-I don’t mean it like that! Cherishing isn’t about distribution!"

Her pet had entered its rebellious phase and no longer listened to her. She wasn’t even acting like a proper pet anymore—just a creature that poured sweat.

Naturally, Qing, always starving for affection, turned her eyes toward the others.

And she fixated on... a horse.

Come to think of it—I don’t know how to ride a horse, do I?

Horses were convenient.

Obviously, four legs moving in place of your own was bound to be convenient.

And yet, in the martial world, not many martial artists actually rode horses.

Because horses were surprisingly high-maintenance—and most of all, expensive.

An under-trained martial student riding a horse would just be seen as a dumbass flaunting wealth, ripe for robbery.

Plus, once you got attached, it would die or get stolen.

Because horse thieves in the Central Plains were as common as bicycle thieves back in Qing’s hometown.

And once you became a master, horses became inconvenient.

Your own legs were stronger—you didn’t need some beast’s hooves. And riding on a saddle wasn’t that comfortable either.

That’s why Qing had only thought about riding one before—never really tried.

After all, she was faster than a horse.

Most masters could outrun horses, but Qing didn’t just outrun them—she kept going without getting tired.

Even the divine horses of the world had given up trying to match her Lightness Skill.

So now, the historic moment—riding a horse!

“Oh. This is... kinda underwhelming?”

“With some sense of balance, merely sitting on horseback is not difficult. What’s difficult is controlling the horse freely—that’s horsemanship.”

“Hm. Think I can do it? Hey, Royal Butt, wanna run a bit?”

Daoist Pilmu froze.

“...What did you just call it?”

“Oh. His name is Royal Butt. From behind, that ass looked like it belonged in a royal palace. Hey, let’s go! ...No? Not going? Won’t go? Hey? Royal Butt? You not listening?”

Qing did exactly what she was taught—tapping the horse’s side and nudging its flank—but Royal Butt just kept on clop-clopping along at its own pace.

What the hell? Am I cursed or something?

Why don’t any of these beasts listen to me?

That bitch Seol Iri sweating buckets in the carriage, and now this bastard Royal Butt here...

Hearing the name "Royal Butt," Pilmu reflexively glanced at the rear of Qing’s saddle—then jumped.

“Dangerous.”

“Hm? What’s dangerous? We’re not going that fast.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

Horses, surprisingly, are just bundles of muscle. Even at a slow walk, they’re capable of far more movement than one might think.

They can spin, bolt, lie down—or even do a half-turn backward.

That’s why a lot of accidents happen even at walking pace. When the horse gets excited, it’ll make an unexpected move and throw the rider.

“Well, this is too slow anyway.”

“Well, it is a packhorse. And from the looks of it, a particularly timid one. It doesn’t want to stray from the group.”

“Hm.”

Qing remembered how, every time the carriage disappeared, the horse would freeze like a ghost and look back at her with those long, stupid eyes—so horse-like in its long face.

Turns out it wasn’t being smart and saying “let me out”—it was saying, ‘Nnngh, Mistress, something feels wrong, I’m tired, please save me.’

Hmph. Thought it was a clever purebred.

Turns out—it was just a mutt.

Qing gently stroked Royal Butt’s mane.

Either way, she took impromptu horseback lessons when she was bored.

Since Royal Butt refused to pick up speed, she borrowed another Zhongnan disciple’s horse and tried some riding.

Walk, trot, canter—the pace gradually increased. The full gallop, or sprint, was too dangerous even for trained riders, so she didn’t try that.

“Still, you ride quite well.”

“This? Pfft. Nothing.”

“Ah, well... to be honest... Lady Ximen has no talent for horsemanship.”

According to the instructor, she had excellent balance, which kept her from falling off, but that alone didn’t count as riding.

“Eh? What’s the difference? I’m on top of the horse, right?”

“It’s... the horse is having a hard time.”

Horsemanship wasn’t just controlling the horse—it also meant syncing rhythm with the horse and being a comfortable load.

But Qing just sat there however she liked. So while she was comfy, the horse was not.

Anyway, thanks to Royal Butt, they had to change their schedule.

Qing had proudly claimed Royal Butt as hers (earning a round of dirty looks from the Zhongnan disciples, which she graciously ignored like a magnanimous adult), but as she listened to the care instructions, plans had to change.

She thought, If it’s smart, docile, and affectionate, why not bring it to the Sect of Divine Maidens? When bored, disciples can ride it, or use it to plow, or haul goods. Perfect, right?

But apparently not.

Horses are skittish, extremely dangerous animals.

If you get kicked in the back by one, even a martial artist can die in a single blow. If it bites you, your arms or legs could literally be torn off.

If something touches its butt, it’ll panic—so it needs a proper stable to rest in. But horses are herd animals. Alone, they get lonely and sick.

They also eat a lot. And shit a lot. Taking care of one was no joke.

A dangerous, picky, demanding beast.

So what else could she do?

Leave it at the Seol Trading Company’s stables.

And so—on the tenth day, Zaguixian!

“Thanks for escorting me. Safe travels. Since our sect forbids men, I can’t even offer you a cup of tea here. Sorry.”

“It’s quite alright. I hope to see you again.”

Daoist Pilmu saluted with a crisp fist-and-palm gesture.

Even though Qing had said “We’re both post-core disciples now, just talk casually,” he remained polite to the end.

Kid’s decently upright, she thought.

Still, Pilmu had seen her go off at the Dragon Phoenix Conference, screaming at high elders for not bowing properly.

Not to mention the times Daoist Changbin, neither quite friend nor senior, had fumbled under her pressure.

The carriage, the driver, and one of the horses belonged to Seol Trading Company. The other horse was Qing’s.

But both would return together.

When they stopped by Zaguixian to return them, the driver all but begged her to let him escort her to the end, claiming it was his life’s dream.

Well, what could she say?

So they rode on—clop clop clop—Qing in the carriage, Seol Iri across from her, still sweating buckets, and at last—

Home. Sweet fucking home.

They had reached Shinnyeo Peak.

“STOP RIGHT THERE!”

Just as she was about to ascend the long, high mountain path leading to her own home, a group appeared at the front gate of the Sect of Divine Maidens, blocking her return.

What the hell?

On Shinnyeo Peak’s front lawn? Are they not afraid of the Sect of Divine Maidens? Wait—hold up...

Qing tilted her head.

Come to think of it—was the front yard of Shinnyeo Peak ever actually safe?

Back during Jangmyeong’s time, there had been two top-class fighters stationed right here.

Now, sure, Qing could slice off both their heads with one stroke, but back then... wasn’t she younger? No—wait, was she older? Anyway—

And didn’t some Cult bastards once kidnap people right here?

And now?

They came in a fucking swarm.

Shinnyeo Peak’s front yard. Can this place ever be called safe?