Chapter 328: Grace Is Easy to Forget, but Grudges Are Hard to Let Go (4)

Qing, at her core, genuinely lacked a sense of danger.

That was just how she’d been raised—from the kind of homeland where the idea of having to seriously plan for survival was laughably rare. In fact, barring a few exceptions, it would be more accurate to say it simply didn’t exist.

The gap between “how do I make a living” and “how do I avoid dying” was one that her people simply didn’t feel. The concepts weren’t even close.

And even if you put that aside, Qing had now survived her first year in the Central Plains as a freshly-arrived martial wanderer.

I lived through eating trash, for god’s sake. What the hell could possibly be worse than that?

Add to that the fact that her lightness skill was top-class. In a pinch, she could always just run. So no matter what she did, the thought this might be dangerous never really occurred to her.

Which was why she, a lone woman, stepped without hesitation onto an unpaved, deserted mountain path that was both rugged and remote.

There’s a reason people prefer well-maintained roads with plenty of travelers.

Mountain paths are full of threats.

First off, the wildlife.

Once you’re at a high enough martial level, wild beasts aren’t really something to fear. Even if some fanged predator came lunging, you just channel your inner energy and slice-slice—it’d be nothing more than a meal with terrible flavor and even worse nutritional value.

Wild animal meat stinks, it’s gamey, probably crawling with parasites or toxins, and even if it’s not toxic, you could still get sick.

But snakes and venomous insects—those could be a problem.

If one slithered up and bit you in your sleep out in the middle of nowhere, that could get real bad, real fast.

But Qing? She was immune.

Then there’s the lack of villages.

On good roads, you find small towns and inns catering to travelers. But deep mountain paths? It’s hard to say if you’re even on a path at all—just traces that maybe once were. Villages out there are rare. (Though not impossible.)

That meant, on a big scale, you couldn’t resupply—no food, no essentials. On a smaller scale, it became a matter of human dignity.

But Qing was the kind of woman who would stuff just about anything in her mouth if she was hungry. And as for dignity—well, she’d thrown that away somewhere around month six of her Central Plains trial run.

And sure, there was the possibility of getting lost.

But this was Qing, who’d sprawled out and napped on the roadside while munching on dirt.

Toss her a ball and she’d probably live a thousand years on a deserted island.

When you broke it all down like that, it actually made a strange kind of sense—why she was so numb to danger.

Originally, she hadn’t even planned to travel alone.

After leaving the Divine Maiden Peak, she’d dropped by Zaguixian, but neither Choi Riong nor her sworn sister were around.

And now that she thought about it, everyone had gone off to live their own lives. What, was she going to barge in and demand they drop everything and hit the road with her?

Even her master and her sworn sister were living their own lives.

Even if you’re real sisters, you don’t do everything together.

So Qing had simply, cleanly, let go—and set off on her own.

With her veil mask on.

Ah, the mask! It’s back!

The men weren’t as blatantly obvious as women might’ve been, but still, the way the same faces kept showing up again and again—taking strangely circular routes around her—wasn’t exactly pleasant.

After Ximen Surin was granted an unofficial government position and learned the secret of Qing’s birth, she’d said, “You might as well wear it just in case.”

The restriction on the veil had been eased—Qing only had to take it off when she was acting as a disciple of the Sect of Divine Maidens.

And so, free at last from intense side-eye and the occasional overly bold flirtation, Qing followed the road southwest, passing through Eunshi County.

By now, she had at least the barest grasp of Central Plains geography.

She knew that if she took the well-paved road toward Zhongqing, she’d end up having to do literal rock climbing to cross the Guizhou Plateau.

So instead, she headed south, toward Yongshan County in Hunan Province.

Now, when there’s no nearby city or town, merchants who cater to outsiders tend to jack up the prices with zero shame.

What are you gonna do? You’ve got no alternatives.

Yongshan was just like that. Qing clicked her tongue at the ridiculous markups, but since the vendors were clearly all colluding, there was nothing she could do.

Is it called Yongshan because they really rip you off like dragons?

They’re not even nice about it. Ugh, I wanna punch them so bad.

When the merchant overcharged her, his excuse was the usual: “The only nearby villages are Sangshik County or Zhangjiajie, and the roads are too rough even for carts.

Otherwise, we have to bring goods down from Eunseo or up from Ilsu—it takes at least half a month either way, so of course things are expensive.”

But Qing, being Qing, let most of that go in one ear and out the other.

Only one word stuck.

Zhangjiajie!

Where was Zhangjiajie again... (snip)... Ah, right!

She realized she’d never been to the legendary Zhangjiajie.

May as well check it out and see what the big deal is—especially since older folks rave about it like it’s heaven on earth.

It was basically walking straight into a tiger’s den, but how was Qing supposed to know it was the main headquarters of the Central Plains bandit coalition?

Renowned martial artists didn’t have much to do with the Green Forest.

Their relationship was as distant and indifferent as cows and chickens—so even Ximen Surin hadn’t thought to warn her.

Besides, Qing had been so paranoid about her friends getting dragged into trouble that she hadn’t breathed a word about the Green Forest—not even as a joke.

Naturally, she’d never overheard anything, either.

So after crossing a few ridgelines—

Wow!

So this is what everyone means when they go on and on about Zhangjiajie!

If someone saw her standing on Tianzi Mountain shouting “Zhangjiajie! Zhangjiajie!” like that, they’d probably think she was nuts.

Imagine someone going to Namsan in Seoul and yelling, “Wow, Jung-gu! Jung-gu! What a great mountain!”

You’d get it, right? It’s like that.

Zhangjiajie’s scenery was otherworldly.

Hundreds of jagged rock pillars rose like stone spires to hold up the sky, each one as tall as a cliff face.

Standing at the entrance, high on the ridgeline, you’d think you’d stumbled into a fantasy realm.

Qing, being who she was, thought of those alien planets she’d seen in movies.

But even the people of the Central Plains weren’t so different—one look at Zhangjiajie’s landscape and they’d whisper, This isn’t our world. This must be Heaven itself.

Hence why the fabled paradise of the Immortals—Mureungdowon—was another name for Zhangjiajie.

And after soaking in all that breathtaking scenery, Qing thought:

Mm. That was nice.

It looked amazing from above.

But from below? Probably just a regular canyon.

No need to cross more mountains for that.

She was about to continue on her way when—

“Well, well. Look at that. Someone’s admiring the mountain’s beauty without even asking the mountain lord for permission. Gonna take in the scenery and run off without paying, huh?”

From the rough excuse of a trail (possibly just a game path), heads began to rise—then necks, shoulders, and chests—like they were growing from the slope itself.

“Dining and dashing is a crime, y’know. Or would this be sightseeing and dashing? No, sightseeing without paying? Visual theft? That’s better.”

“Kukuku, you’re brilliant as always, sir!”

A hulking brute behind the first speaker chimed in with sycophantic laughter.

And just like that, the path she’d climbed was now crowded with men.

All of them shirtless.

But then again, in the Central Plains, shirtless men in summer were nothing unusual. You couldn’t judge them just for that.

Still, each and every one of them carried cheap-looking, oversized weapons and radiated a kind of karmic filth.

One look and it was obvious—bandits.

“Was there a fee to look?”

“Hmm? Another veiled girl? I swear, these days everyone and their mutt’s wearing a veil. Ah, not talking about you, miss.

Just saying—between the Tianhua trend and the Beggar Girl craze, the current fashions are absolute garbage.”

In the Central Plains, fashion trends are described with “—pung” (style).

Tianhua-pung referred to Ximen Qing’s veiled look, which had become a style in itself.

Beggar Girl-pung came from the beggar-girl aesthetic made popular by none other than the self-proclaimed Handsomest Man Under Heaven, Paeng Daesan.

“Heh, at least we’re not in the Single-Boob Era.”

“Now that was a real plague. I mean, for a proper Single-Boob Look to work, you’ve got to show your face so we know if that’s a beauty’s breast or a hunk of meat from some hag.

And if you mix that with the Beggar Girl thing? You can’t even tell if it’s a thirty-coin whorehole or not.”

Qing’s eyes flared.

What? Single-Boob Look? That’s a trend now?

Since when?!

And then, suddenly, it hit her—and she felt deeply, irrationally wronged.

What the hell? Everyone’s been going around with their chests out this whole time, and I was stuck in the Sect of Divine Maidens without even a glimpse of it?!

Now it was early October. The mornings and evenings were getting sharp with cold, and the nights downright chilly.

By the time she reached southern lands, everyone would be bundled up in winter clothes anyway—so much for this "Single-Boob" trend...

“Right, right. We’ve got a guest here and we’re just chatting among ourselves. Now then, you’ll need to pay your sightseeing fee.”

“How much?”

“Sight must be paid for in kind. So—lift that veil. Let us take a look. If you’re a real beauty, maybe we’ll let it slide. But if you’re not?

Well then, payment will be one coin pouch... and as punishment for visual theft, we’ll be confiscating your underwear too.”

Which was basically their way of saying, If you’re ugly, we’re stripping you and tossing you down the mountain.

A death sentence in all but name.

From the karma they gave off, it was clear this wasn’t their first time.

Hmph. Already deserving of execution.

She’d meant to let things slide, but this changed the situation.

Still, shouldn’t they be at least a little cautious around a woman carrying a sword, alone, on a mountaintop?

Were they just that confident in their numbers or their skills?

Either way, with guys like these, a fight was inevitable.

So Qing obediently lifted her veil.

“Ohhh...”

“Wow...”

“Holy shit...”

A chorus of awe erupted all at once.

Which was only natural—they were seeing the face of the most likely contender for the title of the Most Beautiful Woman Under Heaven.

Reflexive male response.

Qing lowered her veil again and asked casually,

“Would you say that paid the fee?”

“Hmm. Definitely a fine view. But I’m not sure yet. Might have to see what’s under your clothes too.”

Well. Called it.

Qing smiled faintly and asked,

“And if I take my clothes off? Then what? You’ll say you need to touch a bit? Then what, just the tip, right?”

“Keh keh, she gets it.”

“Oh, I do. I like touching and sticking things in too.

Only, I don’t have a dick—so I use a sword. Mind if I just sliiide it in, just a bit? Hmm?”

As she spoke, Qing drew the Moonlight Sword—Sibho—and smiled darkly.

The bandits flinched.

It wasn’t that they could see the bloodlust behind her smile—her veil was down, after all.

No, what got to them was the sword itself.

It was just too damn big and too damn beautiful.

The blade alone was three and a half ja long, and as wide as a thick finger.

Even a strong man wouldn’t be able to draw something like that so lightly with one hand.

And for good reason—Qing had ordered it made to be deliberately heavy.

With the massive counterweight affixed to the hilt, it was a brute of a weapon, weighing in at five geun.

But with her strength, reinforced by Yongsangbanya-gong, it felt just right.

Only now did the bandits begin to feel that sinking pit of dread.

Yukrak Peak, with its surreal forest of towering stone pillars, was technically across from Tianzi Mountain—but it was still right across from the Green Forest’s main stronghold.

Yet it had never even occurred to them that someone would draw a blade so close to the Green Forest’s headquarters.

And usually, people only draw a sword when they’ve got a reason—and the strength to back it up.

“Uh... young miss? By any chance, are you from a sect—?”

“Why’re you asking about sects?

Forget sects.

The girl’s name is Ximen Qing.

If King Yama asks, tell him that bitch sent me.”

“Shit! Ximen Qing?! Master! We need to retreat!”

Oh ho. So they do know who I am.

She’d already assumed the Green Forest would be out for blood—after all, there was still that rat she’d let slip through her fingers last time.

“FUCK! Ximen Qing? Here?! This is an ambush, isn’t it?! She’s here to kill me!”

Qing’s lips stretched wide—so wide they nearly reached her ears.

What’s this now?

An ambush, sure—but she came to kill you specifically?

Huh. Sounds like you’re someone important.

“Break through! Make a path!”

And just like that, the bandits surged forward, trying to shield their “master” from view as they charged en masse.

She didn’t mind that they came running at her.

But still—why try to break through toward her, instead of fleeing away?

...Ah. Because the Green Forest’s headquarters was right behind her.

Qing had no idea.

She just figured there must be a bandit camp or something on this side of the mountain.

So when one of them raised a hojeok (a small signal horn), she let it slide.

Fine by me. If you're gonna come, come all the way.

Let’s call in the whole bandit nest and give this scenic tourist spot one hell of a cleanup.