Chapter 329: Grace Is Easy to Forget, but Grudges Are Hard to Let Go (5)

There was once a time in the Central Plains when the word "bandit" meant you, me—all of us.

It was an age when the world was in chaos, and the Central Plains had been split apart, factions battling among themselves.

The armies clashed with each other.

The sects took sides—orthodox and unorthodox—and even when one region seemed to have been driven out, they’d change faces and start fighting again among themselves.

Even the commoners fought by village, banding together and raiding their neighbors to plunder grain stores and women, while castrating the men and enslaving them. That kind of annihilation warfare was just the way of things.

Back then, being a bandit was simply normal.

It was abnormal to not be one.

Bandits in the mountains, pirates in the rivers.

Mounted raiders on the plains, Wokou on the seas.

It was a time of war in every corner of the world—an age where all people tore into each other to survive, a struggle of man against man.

So, of course, the great minds of antiquity looked upon humanity and judged it the most barbaric, brutal, and wicked beast of all.

And so, the importance of the Son of Heaven—more precisely, the necessity of a unified dynasty—could not help but be acknowledged.

Which is why the core philosophy of the Central Plains has always viewed man as inherently evil, and the Emperor as an inevitable, essential force to rule over that evil.

Because if the Emperor does not extend his governance, the people of the world will remain endlessly selfish and wicked, never ceasing to devour one another.

Qing’s hometown folk might not understand this, but if you think of the Emperor as an internationally recognized government under the rule of law, it might make a little more sense.

In any case, once a dynasty arose to unify the Central Plains, the era of banditry would gradually subside, and the world would start to settle.

But as the proverb says, No flower blooms red for ten full days.

As a dynasty grows old and rots, the world once again becomes infested with thieves.

It is the sign of a dynasty’s demise.

Fortunately, the current dynasty was granted a second chance. That’s because the great hero hailed as the Greatest Under Heaven, the Heavenly Martial Emperor, crushed the great bandit factions to a bloody pulp.

These days, mounted raiders are hard to come by.

Unless it's those barbarian bastards from the northern frontier charging down on horseback, no one in the Central Plains dares to ride in groups or wear weapons openly. The moment they try, greedy-eyed officials—eager for a chance to confiscate those expensive horses—will pounce on them like wolves.

And as for the river pirates? They quit.

According to Bok Ha-un, the head of the Yangtze Waterway Patrol: “We’re done being pirates! We’ll surpass the pirates!”

But bandit groups, by their nature, are run by motherfuckers who just want to swing their dicks however they please.

When the Yangtze Waterway Patrol shifted from a gang to a state-run river administration agency, they kicked those fuckers out. And the ones who had been lying low recently? Their true colors got exposed, and it caused a bloody upheaval.

Thanks to that, their actual combat power took a huge dive a long time ago. Still, thanks to the unique nature of waterborne warfare, they maintained control over the Yangtze’s currents.

You could even say it was Bok Ha-un’s foresight—since the gap in shipbuilding tech between private craftsmen and government shipyards kept widening, a few military ships could’ve wiped out entire river flotillas if things had continued as they were.

The Wokou? They’re still just Wokou.

Like swarms of goddamn locusts—no matter how many you wipe out, they crawl back up. A pest that can’t be exterminated. Everyone’s given up trying.

And now—the mountain bandits.

The mountain bandits are still thriving.

First of all—there are no suppression campaigns.

The authorities gain nothing from rooting them out. If they made the roads safer and let commoners travel freely, governance would become harder. So they consider it a net loss.

Second—there’s a shit ton of them.

Because it’s damn easy to become a mountain bandit. All you need to do is cross a mountain with a group, poison someone’s food, bash in a skull, and rob the corpse. Congrats—you’ve successfully changed careers.

And if you’re a mangy dog dreaming of banditry, the Green Forest will take you in without question. It's not even an inquiry anymore—more like a declaration: “I’m joining.”

Third—there are more experts among them than you’d think.

You might ask, If they’re so strong, why waste their lives as bandits?

But the truth is, there are plenty of wicked bastards who, because they’re powerful, just want to swing their cocks however the fuck they want.

And more than anything—if your name and face are already known across the Central Plains, you’re a fugitive with a bounty on your head. Where else are you gonna go?

The unorthodox sects won’t just take in anyone—they know all too well how terrifying grudges can be in the Central Plains.

But the Demonic Cult? It’s too far away.

And the Blood Cult? Yeah, no. Even then, fuck no.

So—mountain bandits. Bandits.

Build yourself a house out in nature, where the air is crisp and water is clean. Gather your lackeys and live like a minor royal in your own little kingdom.

What a fucking brilliant plan.

Say you teach a few martial arts tricks—any idiot will lick your boots for that.

Show the Green Forest a little loyalty, and they’ll send you a banner right away.

No wonder the Green Forest keeps rising again and again.

Such is the rise and fall of the Green Forest.

They flourish, get cocky, grow more vicious. Cross the line, and they get wiped out in a full-scale suppression campaign—scattered and broken. Then, in the darkness, the survivors creep back into the mountains, and one day, some expert cries out Green Forest! and it all begins again.

And by that standard, the current Green Forest was in a golden age.

The Heavenly Martial Emperor hadn’t bothered to crush the lowly mountain bandits, so while the imperial palace, the unorthodox sects, the Demonic Cult, and the Blood Cult were all suppressed, the Green Forest alone thrived.

A flood of fugitives who’d run from the Heavenly Martial Emperor swarmed into the Green Forest, and the overall martial arts level skyrocketed.

Of course, if you said any of this to the Heavenly Martial Emperor himself, he’d sock you in the mouth.

Isn’t the Green Forest just another unorthodox sect?

If I wiped out the Demonic Alliance, then they got wiped out too—what, you expect me to hunt down every minor faction personally? Go door to door, chopping off family trees?

As for recent news—when the Yangtze Waterway Patrol changed its business model, a whole bunch of laid-off thugs swarmed into the Green Forest and got absorbed.

In such times, how could the authority of the Green Forest’s Chief and Supreme Patrol Officer not pierce the sky?

And yet—not some Nine Great Sects disciple, but a brat from a hole-in-the-wall shop of a sect called the Sect of Divine Maidens—a sect no one ever even heard of—killed his son.

How could anyone not say "How dare she?"

She even plundered gold and silver from the bandits.

That was a direct assault on the authority of the Supreme Patrol Officer.

But how would Qing know any of that?

No one gives a damn about the Green Forest’s current golden age anyway.

They were just seen as trash you sweep up—so naturally, they got to grow sky-high.

****

BWEEEEEP!!

BWEEEEEEEEEP!!

The high-pitched whistle blew with all its might—and Qing let out a gleeful shout to match.

“Let’s go, Moonlight Sword! First debut in the martial world—now receiving your first guest!”

Qing’s Moonlight Sword—Tenth Edition—claimed its first victim.

The blade’s glorious first sacrifice had his heart split in two.

If you asked how a sword that entered through the top of the skull could possibly cleave the heart in two, Qing would say this:

Strong force, a good sword—and Sword Aura.

The brutality of her hand left the mountain bandits blinking in disbelief.

Qing’s cruelty—well, about 80% of it came from the fact that it was always thrilling, always euphoric, like a drug the state never authorized.

The other 20%?

Wisdom earned through life in the martial world: when you crush someone brutally from the start, you gain overwhelming momentum.

The entire shape of the battle turns in your favor.

One of Qing’s own personal rules: once a sword goes in, it never comes out the same way.

The blade that entered through the crown of the skull bursts out the side of the ribs.

Half a body hits the ground.

The remaining half and a quarter of a body drop to their knees with a slump.

“HIEEEEK! A-a demon!”

One of the bastards must’ve had a weak heart—his morale shattered instantly, and he turned to flee.

But his fear ran so deep—it must’ve been paralyzing.

His body stayed put while his head took flight to escape through the sky.

The one who personally helped his head escape—probably the mountain bandit boss?—swung his bloody greatsword to fling the gore off and roared:

“ANYONE WHO RUNS DIES BY MY HAND! KILL THEM! IF YOU DON’T KILL THEM, YOU DIE ANYWAY!”

Judging by the looks of it, the Great Chief was just a puppet, and that guy was the real deal.

All right, then. Let’s have some fun.

Qing surged forward, leading with her long sword.

Shunk—one man pierced. Shunk—another.

Even with two men skewered on her blade, Qing kept charging forward, dragging them along.

Then suddenly—grab.

The one impaled in front clutched at Qing’s hand.

And in the same moment—eyes filled with desperate pleading!

CLANG!! Qing slammed her forehead into his.

Aagh! A delicious scream rang in her ears. Crunch—the satisfying feel of a nasal bone shattering on her forehead. Wow. Wowow. Wowowow.

I never knew headbutts could feel this fucking good...

With two men impaled on her sword, Qing’s speed was cut in half—but she had been fast to begin with. Even while dragging them, her charge didn’t lose its ferocity.

The two men on the blade—both dead weight and shields.

Other bandits charged in, but ran into the human shields. Attacks flew at her from the sides.

Thwack—a blade struck her shoulder, a sharp sting.

But whatever. At most it’d leave a scratch.

Qing ignored it, clenched her teeth, and pushed even faster.

From the sub-chief’s point of view, it was unreal.

The blade, wreathed in yellow Sword Aura, was jutting from his subordinate’s back—and it was coming straight for him.

He’d cut off one man’s head to stop his men from fleeing in panic.

But the rest hesitated. Instead of charging, they kept their distance, forming a loose circle.

Frustrated, the sub-chief shoved the great chief roughly.

“GO!”

“Uh—uh-huh.”

At the same time, the sub-chief summoned his full Internal Energy.

There was no way they could overpower a Peak Expert like her.

But if they let the great chief die, then he wouldn’t be able to live up in the mountains—or down below either.

All they needed was time. Just stall her, nothing else.

And now—her blade, with two men skewered on it, was just steps away.

That was when the sub-chief realized a huge fucking problem.

Where the hell am I supposed to swing?

If you wanted to cleave through people like tofu, you needed either divine strength or Sword Aura.

No matter how sharp, a saber with only Internal Energy on it couldn’t slice through three bodies stacked together.

“Goddammit! Net! THROW THE FUCKING NET!”

He screamed and dove to his right.

With her sword thrusting straight forward, her side should’ve been exposed.

He barely slipped past the shoulders of his own men, raised his heavy saber high—

FWOOOOOSH!

Even the sound of it cutting air was brutal.

But the blade just carved through empty space.

Shit.

In the sub-chief’s eyes, the two skewered men were collapsing.

That vicious bitch Ximen Qing had let go of her sword right before.

Let go? Where?!

Time slowed down—an instinctive reaction of a near-Peak Expert's heightened focus.

And then he saw it.

Just above the head of the half-collapsed rear corpse, something dropped—some strange shoe with only a thin front sole.

And just for a moment, thick, pitch-black True Qi pooled at the tip of that foot—then SMASH.

The man’s head exploded.

And as the remnants shattered in slow motion, Qing used that burst to leap away, crushing a human skull beneath her heel, and soared off into the distance.

Only Qing moved fast within the slowed flow of time.

The great chief—who had turned to flee—must’ve sensed something. He looked back.

His face crumpled in horror.

“AAAAUUUNNNNN—”

The sub-chief screamed in slow motion.

In that moment—crack!—the great chief’s foot caught on a rock.

Mid-sprint, he tripped hard—flying headfirst into the air.

A person should always run while looking forward.

Thanks to that, Qing’s downward stroke—aimed at his back—sliced only empty air.

Sometimes, running while looking backward really works out.

Then Qing’s left hand shot to the back of her head, yanked out a hairpin, and hurled it.

The thrown hairpin struck the great chief’s calf—a miss!

Maybe it was because she’d thrown it too hastily, or maybe her throwing technique had already reached the kind of pinpoint precision only the elite of humanity could achieve—hard to say.

Whatever. The great chief might actually get away!

At the same time, time resumed its natural pace. The sub-chief’s long, drawn-out scream burst into a triumphant roar:

“—MADE IT!”

But the problem wasn’t the hairpin.

The great chief—launched like a human cannonball with his head in the lead—was charging down a steep slope like a runaway wagon with its brakes busted.

And at the end of that slope, in the direct path of his runaway trajectory—

—a giant boulder.

What followed was a flight so beautiful, so tragically poetic, it could only be described as a work of performance art—man’s overwhelming will to defy nature by trying to break a rock with his skull.

Truly—people should always run while looking forward.

Never, not even sometimes, should you run looking back.