Chapter 326: Grace Is Easy to Forget, but Grudges Are Hard to Let Go (2)

News travels slowly in Zhongyuan.

The fastest way to deliver news is to send someone directly. The next best option is to entrust a letter to a merchant caravan or a friend heading that way.

Other than that, you might as well assume it won’t arrive at all.

Sure, word could get around without a courier.

But once rumors start spreading mouth to mouth, how long does it take for someone to then go confirm the facts and return with a verified report?

This—this is the biggest logistical pain for large factions in Zhongyuan.

News travels too damn slow.

And the Martial Alliance is no exception.

Strange happenings were occurring in the southeastern part of Zhongyuan, but they couldn’t take any action without information.

Still, setting that aside, an agenda item for the Martial Assembly was passed: that the righteous sects in the southeastern provinces needed support.

And the method decided?

Dispatch the promising disciples of the Great Clans—the late-stage direct disciples—to remain stationed in each region.

Even just having one such disciple stationed in a righteous sect of the southeast would place enormous pressure on the demonic factions in the area.

After all, demonic sects were nothing but loosely organized bands of ruffians, without tradition or history.

To put it more bluntly, they were basically thug clubs—gathered around some high-level martial art they happened to pick up somewhere.

So even if a local group had some bite, they couldn’t possibly stand up to the likes of the Nine Great Sects or the Ten Great Clans.

So when word spreads that a late-stage disciple of a Great Clan is in the area, they can only shrink back and watch their step.

Moreover, this would be a perfect opportunity for the Martial Alliance to show off.

Disciples of the most prestigious sects in Zhongyuan—names that make your heart race—personally taking the field. What an honor for the local sects.

And if the local sects were given a choice between hosting a military unit or a single late-stage disciple? Of course they’d choose the latter.

They’re called “local sects” for a reason.

A large unit would be a huge burden, hard to entertain for long.

But one or two elite disciples? Not too much of a strain—and hey, connections! This is a chance!

So it worked out well for the Martial Alliance, and well for the locals.

...As for the disciples themselves, well, someone should probably ask their opinion.

But even if they voiced it, the elders would just click their tongues and say, You’ll get pampered, feasted, and get to play around—what’s the problem? So none of the disciples would bother wasting their breath.

However, from the perspective of the demonic factions, it was absurd.

They had zero intention of provoking a late-stage disciple and getting utterly destroyed.

But what if someone went crazy? What if some lunatic snapped and yelled, I’ll take you down with me!?

What, do we look that weak to you?

Yes. Yes, you do.

Peace had gone on too long. The demonic sects were getting complacent—and now they were being treated like a joke.

Most of history’s tragedies happen because someone let their guard down.

And humans are the kind of dumb, stubborn creatures that only realize it after the tragedy strikes.

Anyway—

And so, for all these reasons, the decision was made to dispatch elite disciples of the Great Clans to southeastern Zhongyuan.

And the one in charge of drafting the deployment list was none other than Assistant Strategist of the Martial Alliance’s Military Division, Sima Chunbong.

He began scribbling names with fluid, effortless strokes.

It might have looked sloppy, but he never did sloppy work.

Personal martial strength, strategic importance within their sect, travel logistics, compatibility with the assigned faction, intelligence and capability to handle unexpected incidents—all those factors were already catalogued in his head, and he was matching them up accordingly.

He was, in truth, gifted at this sort of thing.

It’s just that his eccentric speech and mannerisms, combined with his utter lack of gravitas—light as a feather—meant he was never taken seriously.

Scribble, scribble, scribble—then he suddenly paused.

Let’s see... Ximen Qing. Lady Ximen.

His lifelong rival—no, not a rival. That implies parity. A lifelong junior. Yes, that’s more accurate.

They would one day fight over the title of most brilliant woman in the martial world—no, in all of Zhongyuan. No, in the entire world.

Of course, in terms of beauty, it was close, but this body had the edge.

Qing was a bit tall for a woman, which meant that this body, being one finger’s length shorter, had the victory there.

And when seated, this body looked taller—meaning more visual authority and gravitas. So another win.

As for chest meat—hmph—in the past, she might’ve conceded that one, but now? Now she knew such things were just sacks of talent. So again, this body wins.

Brains? No contest—this body wins.

And bloodline? Qing might be descended from the emperor, but compare the Sect of Divine Maidens to the noble Sima family—a clan that once held imperial power, even if briefly—and again, it’s a win.

Only in personal martial ability did she lag behind—but as a strategist, her role was to command generals, not be one. So even that, if properly framed, was a win for this body.

“Huhu. Lady Ximen. You’ve still got a long way to go before you can match this Sima Rang in every way. You’ll have to try harder. At this rate, you’ll fall from the ranks of ‘acknowledged rivals.’”

If Qing had heard this, she would’ve recoiled in utter disgust.

Not because of the question of who won or lost—but because it was all being said by someone sitting alone in an empty room, grinning like a lunatic and whispering to herself.

No one wants to be friends with that kind of person. Hell, no one even wants to be associated with that kind of person.

Anyway, Sima Chunbong, considering herself the sole true rival—

“No, no, that’s not right. Rival implies equal footing. You haven’t caught up yet, so let’s say... friendly pursuer. Yes. But to be pursued like this—it’s not a bad feeling at all.”

If any of her three direct superiors in the Military Division—Strategist, Deputy Strategist, or Senior Strategist—had seen her, they would’ve said: That lunatic’s at it again.

If any of the division members under her rank had seen her, they’d think the same, just keep it to themselves.

She was only tolerated because she did her job well and was, at her core, a kind person.

Weird, but kind. A little... off, but kind. Treated like a strange but sweet younger sister whose mind had clearly gone somewhere else.

At any rate, after thinking fondly about her one acknowledged rival, Sima Chunbong wrote down Qing’s assignment.

Guangxi Province, Nanning County – Guilin Sword Sect – Ximen Qing

****

The daughter was never suited for the imperial palace from the very beginning.

Etiquette never stuck to her. Her nature made it impossible for her to sit still, and she often said that the palace ceremonies were so suffocating and endlessly dull they made her want to die of boredom.

She was so kindhearted that she trembled in horror at the fear shown by lowly servants whenever she made even the slightest mistake. And yet, she was quick-witted enough to grow sick of people who hid their true feelings behind flattery and sycophancy.

Even at the dinner table, her every movement—large, bold, and unrestrained—resembled the mannerisms of unruly vagabonds from the martial world.

Had she been born a man, she would’ve been praised as “manly” for her nature. But as a woman, she was simply deemed unladylike and was scolded and lectured constantly, never going a single day without reproach.

That’s why, they said, she’d fallen ill.

Even though the imperial palace was her home, she had not known a single moment of ease within it. How could a young girl not end up bedridden when her heart was rotting from the inside out?

Her condition worsened steadily. That once-beautiful face twisted and warped until not a trace of it remained, becoming a grotesque ruin. Her lucid hours dwindled day by day.

And then, as if sensing something—perhaps realizing her time had come—she desperately sought her mother one last time, and, just before losing consciousness, she delivered a single message.

“Mom, have just one more daughter. Then I’ll be born again and be your daughter all over again. Thank you. I love you.”

And then... that daughter returned.

Whether it was thanks to the Buddha's grace—since they met before the greatest monastery in all the land—or the Taoist immortals—since she now carried the glow of someone rooted in the Dao—it must’ve been a divine blessing from all sides.

No wonder the Empress Dowager’s longing had reached a level beyond what human words could express.

Snrrrk. Qing, with her head resting on the Empress Dowager’s lap, let out a loud snore.

Unladylike snoring—and yet it made her want to cry from happiness.

Yes. That’s it.

She’d wondered why the returned daughter didn’t quite feel like her daughter.

Now she understood.

The way her hands moved, the way her lips curled into a smile—the tiniest details, minute things—didn’t match. And a mother, of course, would feel that instinctively.

So she renewed her resolve.

If her daughter wanted to live as the martial world’s heroic woman, Ximen Qing—

Then so be it.

As a mother, she couldn’t drag her back into the stifling life of the palace just to keep her nearby. Especially when that life had never suited her.

But still.

The imperial palace, no matter how stifling and harsh, was a palace that soared above the clouds.

Freedom may be wonderful, but it was still freedom beneath the heavens, upon the earth. How long could a heavenly being truly enjoy herself among the lowborn?

Her daughter would change her mind eventually. So the Empress Dowager had to be ready—ready for the day Qing returned to her rightful place. Her original place.

The Empress Dowager’s gaze shimmered cold and sharp.

After all, she was not just a grieving mother—she was the Empress Dowager, the supreme mother of all under heaven, who had seized the highest throne in the bloodstained intrigue of the imperial court.

But soon, that glint in her eye softened, replaced again by a boundless, helpless love.

She gently stroked Qing’s hair.

The date for the ancestral rite, already reported to the palace, had nearly passed. Soon, they would have to part.

Why is it that joyful times always pass so quickly?

Even if she never remembered, it didn’t matter.

So long as you breathe and live, that alone is the greatest blessing the world could give me, my daughter.

Because the Empress Dowager’s love was so true, Qing didn’t need to do anything at all. Just breathing was enough to make her beautiful, precious, and cherished beyond measure.

Even if Qing were to slap and strike her—commit blatant acts of impiety—she would only laugh and say, Ah, even my flower pig hits with such spirit. What a bold, wonderful daughter I have.

So how could Qing not fall?

And the more Princess Yeonsul seemed to resemble Qing, the more unsteady Qing’s own mind became.

Why? Why is Princess Yeonsul so much like me?

Was this world created by someone?

Or... was the Empress Dowager built to match me?

Built? What does that even mean? What is this world? Where even am I?

What am I?

And yet, she couldn’t exactly push the Empress Dowager away and hide.

In times of anxiety, one can only lean into the motherly figure who clings with such unwavering devotion.

Besides, Qing had always been weak to affection.

She fell for Choi Ri-ong, the Grand Demon who’d amassed mountains of evil karma. Even that dim-witted disaster of a man Gyeon Po-hee, who built up his own evil karma through sheer stupidity—she’d fallen for him too.

She was, frankly, a complete sucker.

And as her experience with Gyeon Po-hee showed, the more infinite affection she received, the more Qing’s discipline and dignity went straight underground.

Her attitude toward the Empress Dowager kept getting lazier—and now she didn’t even lift a finger.

At the dinner table, she brought her chair right up to the Empress Dowager’s and laid her head in her lap, eating whatever was offered—no, not even eating—just lying there and letting herself be fed.

So now, a fully grown daughter—one who was big in many ways—was behaving like a newborn baby.

She didn’t do anything herself: she was fed, dressed, bathed, put to bed—completely spoiled and coddled, living it up.

Though honestly, this wasn’t exactly a new experience for Qing.

Back in the Demonic Cult, this was pretty much what the Third Footrest, Yi Ho, used to do for her. At least back then she had the excuse of being crippled.

So yes—impious as it might be—she was now using the Empress Dowager as a kind of Third Footrest.

Gyeon Po-hee had come out the biggest winner here.

Out of nowhere, he’d become the honorary sister of a princess and gained the Empress Dowager—Mother of All Under Heaven—as his direct superior.

Even if Qing had turned into a completely degenerate human being, it wasn’t as if anyone was suffering for it.

The Empress Dowager, now tending to her daughter’s every need, was happier than she had ever been in her entire life.

So perhaps this, too, could be called a kind of impious filial piety.

...Not that there weren’t any victims.

The biggest one was Jin Jangmyeong, who’d finally gotten her sister back—only to have her snatched away again.

Fortunately, Qing had noticed her disappointment, and as compensation, she took an hour each day to look over her martial arts.

If not, the Sect of Divine Maidens might’ve birthed a full-blown traitor with royal blood hatred on her heart.

And as for Seol Iri... well. She was terrifying.

Absolutely terrifying.

Among the disciples of the Sect of Divine Maidens, Seol Iri was unbelievably popular.

To be precise, not so much popular as respected.

Aside from mealtimes, she sat cross-legged in meditation the entire day, practicing Breathing Method and entering deep states of focus.

In the Sect of Divine Maidens, anyone not a VIP shared rooms. According to the disciples who roomed with her—she didn’t even sleep.

Of course, there are different depths to Breathing Method; sometimes it mimics a state halfway between consciousness and sleep. So technically, she was just replacing sleep with meditation.

In any case, this silent, silver-haired beauty devoting herself entirely to training left an enormous impression on everyone in the Sect.

And the training looked brutal. She would sweat so hard the droplets dripped down—and the way that soaked her clothes...

Drip, drip. That sweat... that sweat...

Being an old friend of the Supreme Elder, people thought maybe she had a bit of a seductive streak too.

In any case, watching the desperate efforts of the legendary Jin Jangmyeong of the Five Flowers of the Martial World fired everyone up.

Good times always pass quickly.

And now, after spending most of her days playing the role of a helpless infant, all of Qing’s blood channels had fully recovered.

Just as the True Master of Tajeong had said, her eight extraordinary meridians and all her minor channels were now wider and stronger than before.

And it was around this time that the Martial Alliance’s mission letter arrived.