Chapter 343: The Showdown Between Man and Ximen Qing (11)

Screeeech—the iron door creaked open, and Qing’s face lit up as she stepped into the daylight.

Wow. I didn’t know sunlight could feel this good.

Is it just because it’s been so long?

Zhangjiajie had over 250 days a year of fog, rain, and snow, but still about 100 days [N O V E L I G H T] of sun.

Maybe today was one of those sunny days.

Or maybe it was just how light she felt inside, like she’d been born anew.

Despite the clear, deep look in her eyes—a mood befitting a Daoist sage who smells like pine—her whole body was drenched in blood.

Tied to the sash at her waist was a severed human head, hair bundled like rope.

Most people would call someone like this a “madwoman with clear eyes.”

Which didn’t mean she was more reasonable than the foam-mouthed kind of lunatic—no, she was far more dangerous, precisely because she looked sane.

Qing gave the head at her waist a little tap and smiled.

“Feels nice to see the sun, doesn’t it? I’m telling you, no matter how pretty the scenery is, if it’s gloomy and foggy every day, it rots people from the inside out. Makes mold grow in your brain. Now then—time to claim the victor’s spoils.”

The Yangsanpak Unit—allegedly the elite combat division of the Green Forest.

But somehow, the more you emphasized elite, the more it felt like they’d screw up even holding a pair of chopsticks straight.

And honestly? They probably would.

Regardless, Qing had defeated the enemy commander, and that meant she had every right to plunder their camp.

These were supposed to be the only halfway decent martial artists in the Green Forest—maybe they had something good.

A secret manual, perhaps?

Look, I’m not even asking for something purple-tier. Just give me something gold-tier, okay?

And then—

“...Pfft. Yeah right.”

What she got was total garbage.

Qing had underestimated bandits.

To leave valuables in a communal bunkhouse requires the barest shred of trust.

At the very least, the kind of minimal faith that your “brothers” won’t rummage through your room and steal your shit.

But trust? Among bandits?

They didn’t even trust each other. If anyone had anything valuable, they either carried it with them or buried it somewhere.

Leave it in your room? Might as well ask to get robbed.

You’d just become a walking joke: “Look at this idiot—a thief got robbed.”

Which is why all Qing found in the stuff she'd previously set down neatly during her disarmament... was junk.

A few more random trinkets at best.

This can’t be right.

She’d taken down a Huagyeong master—without martial arts, using pure physical combat.

A clean, face-to-face duel—completely fair.

Even the most exalted of martial legends would’ve found this a challenge.

And yet—nothing? Not even a single reward?

This is bullshit.

So Qing consoled her disappointment with fire.

Ever heard of fire-gazing therapy?

Watching flames flicker helps you burn away the filth in your soul, letting your heart find peace.

Yes. Fire. Fire is the answer.

Burn everything that’s rotten.

Are you watching, Seolga?

Look how well I’m doing.

I don’t even remember what your proud face looked like anymore—but your spirit still lives inside me.

And so, having purified her soul with fire, Qing turned her back on the blazing wreckage of the Yangsanpak unit and walked off like the protagonist of some legend.

She gave the head at her waist another tap.

“Let’s go, Dou Sam. Time to go back to the Lord of the Blooming Whip. I mean, it’s just your head—your body looked like it’d spill if I picked it up—but that’s fine, right? You know that story? Romance of the Three Kingdoms? Guan Yu? Why did you only bring your head, General Guan? Wow, Dou Sam, you’ve pretty much evolved to Guan Yu status. Congratulations on your ultimate promotion. And don’t bother thanking me—I had fun too.”

The head of Dou Sam, stiffening in rigor mortis, was frozen in the terror of a death so vivid, his eyes never even got the chance to close.

****

“UAAAGH! AAAARGH! Suna! Kaya! Chuya! No! No! Your father—your father is...!”

Inside a large military tent, a blood-curdling scream rang out like someone was vomiting blood.

Even far outside the tent—within a five-zhang radius of empty space—bandits on sentry duty shifted nervously.

For reference: rolling your eyes is one of humanity’s most common ways to show anxiety.

“...Is he okay in there?”

“I heard the guys posted at the Geumlam compound last time got torn to pieces.”

“Kinda makes you wonder if we should keep doing this bandit shit.”

“Brother Nam, if not banditry, then what? You got some special trade or something?”

“Well... maybe become a wanderer...”

“Man, being a bandit’s way better than being a damn ronin.”

The two on guard addressed each other as Brother Nam.

That was the title for fellow male bandits in the same general rank.

It only worked if both were around the same level.

If a lower-tier guy got cocky and called someone “Brother Nam,” he’d get beat like a dog until he learned his place.

Meanwhile, strategist Sanroe Ajandeok was deep in thought.

Is it really okay for me to keep working in the Green Forest like this?

Every time he made a report, he felt like his skull was teetering on the edge of a blade.

The one who killed the Lord’s third daughter and burned down the main camp... wasn’t some minion of the Blood Cult.

It was almost certainly Ximen Qing.

By now, it was more than just suspicion—it was near certainty.

Why?

Because in all the days since the camp had been set ablaze, not a single person had seen Ximen Qing anywhere in the Wonga Valley.

And none of the already-triggered traps had been reset.

But then—how?

Did she have a way to sneak out of the valley from the start?

If so, why didn’t she escape?

“...Because she must have a grudge against the Green Forest.”

The brutality of her attacks, the act of burning down a camp, the way she slaughtered bandits like some human-shaped killing machine—

It all made sense.

But Ajandeok was a Sanroe—a battlefield strategist.

He knew that if this operation ended in failure, the slowly unraveling Lord of the Blooming Whip wouldn’t let him die peacefully.

Which meant... he had two options.

Capture Ximen Qing.

Or run.

Honestly, he wasn’t sure he could do either.

The problem was that Ximen Qing wasn’t just elusive—she was actually smart.

Too smart. Cunning. Brilliant.

If Qing had overheard his thoughts just then, she would’ve said, “Aw, you flatter me! I hear that kind of thing all the time,” with the most infuriatingly smug face imaginable.

“...By the way, where the hell did that Dou Sam bastard go? Here I am stressing out, and I was thinking of using him to stir up trouble over the Yangsanpak unit getting wiped out.”

Ajandeok’s next move was down to one last extreme strategy.

Unless Ximen Qing suddenly turned dumb and strolled right into their hands, saying, “Please arrest me,”...

And then—

“Sanroe-nim! Sir! Right now—!”

“What is it, in the middle of the damn night?”

“Ximen Qing! It’s Ximen Qing, sir!”

“What about her? You mean she was the one who burned the camp? You found proof?”

“No, I mean—Ximen Qing’s here! She just showed up!”

Ajandeok blinked.

“What? Seriously? She just showed up out of nowhere? Saying, ‘Come arrest me’ or something?”

“Where—where did she show up?!”

“Across the river!”

“Lead me there immediately!”

By the time Ajandeok came running, panting hard, a whole horde of Green Forest brothers had already crowded by the riverbank.

In the pitch-black night, across the waters dark as the River of Three Crossings, stood Qing.

Of course, saying Ajandeok saw Qing meant there was a light source reflecting her dazzling beauty into his eyes.

That light was a massive bonfire—closer to a giant brazier than a campfire—blazing brightly enough to illuminate the whole riverside.

And two lengths to the side, surrounded by smaller fires, was Ximen Qing... cooking?

Ajandeok rubbed his eyes. Was he seeing that right?

First glance—cooking.

Blink—still cooking.

Rub and squint—yep, still cooking.

Where she got the pot and the pan, no one knew. One side had skewered meat sizzling over the flame, and she moved back and forth between stirring the soup, rotating the skewers, and shaking the pan.

Utterly absorbed.

And in that moment, Ajandeok had an epiphany.

Even if she really had turned stupid and walked right into our sights shouting, “Come arrest me!”—we still couldn’t catch her. Because of that goddamn river!

Heat flared in his chest.

Why the hell am I suffering like this, while she’s over there cooking like she’s on some mountain picnic?

“YOU WRETCH! XIMEN QING!”

“Watch out!”

The moment Ajandeok roared, someone yanked him backward—

SWISH! A sharp, slicing sound tore through the air just in front of his nose.

“W-what the hell was that? A hidden weapon?!”

“Rock,” replied a Yangsanpak soldier, pointing to the body nearby.

Blood glistened on the man’s head, soaking into his scalp, gleaming in the torchlight.

“Rock? She’s throwing rocks? Some kind of secret throwing technique? Is she charging it with qi or—?”

“Tried blocking one earlier—nope. It’s just a rock. Thrown very hard. If she tried using qi, she’d burn out after just a few throws—especially at her level.”

The river was about fifteen jang wide.

And Qing wasn’t standing right at the edge either—more like twenty jang away.

Yet the rocks she hurled cut through the air like taut cables.

A hit to the head? Skull shattered.

A hit to the bone? Bone snapped.

To flesh? Bruised and bloodied.

Even Qing herself had been impressed.

Damn, if I ever took up pitching, I could probably double the fastest human record. Maybe even carry a minor-league team to victory. Jesus. I’m terrifying.

And thinking on it, anyone with a stat window or something like it should never be allowed to compete in sports.

Worse than doping. Just pure, cheating bastard energy.

Anyway, having given the blasphemer a proper warning with the power of the earth for interrupting her sacred culinary ritual, Qing returned to her cooking.

Nobody else dared raise their voice again.

But still—wasn’t the Lord of the Blooming Whip coming? Shouldn’t he be here by now?

Of course, no one had reported it yet—everyone too scared they’d get their heads caved in if they did.

So Qing, undisturbed, finished cooking.

And then, the strongest contender for the title of Most Beautiful Woman in the World began a very refined, very futuristic activity: a live eating performance.

Qing ate well. That was all that needed to be said.

A midnight cook-and-eat show, live under the stars.

Honestly, it was kind of cruel.

The bandits across the river could only swallow their drool in helpless gulps.

“Oh! That’s right! Are any of the mighty Yangsanpak heroes over there? Thank you so much for the cookware and ingredients! Thanks to you, I’m eating very well tonight!”

She was using items she’d taken from the Yangsanpak base.

Grains, salt, spices, seasonings—they had a surprisingly well-stocked pantry.

She hadn’t used their meat though—felt too gross.

Instead, she’d caught a few birds on the way.

Just toss a rock, they drop. Simple and delicious protein.

“W-what?!”

Ajandeok turned to the Yangsanpak soldier in shock.

She said you gave her supplies?! Does that mean Yangsanpak colluded with her?!

“I-I have no idea what she’s talking about!”

“But she just said it out loud! Damn it—where’s the unit leader, Dou Sam?! Why hasn’t he shown himself?!”

“I don’t know either, sir!”

“Oh! Looking for Dou Sam, are you?”

Ajandeok flinched.

She hadn’t even lowered her voice.

And yet, she’d heard everything from this distance?

But the next thing she said completely erased all thought of Qing’s unnatural hearing.

“No need to look over there! He’s with me!”

“What?! Dou Sam—the Yangsanpak leader—betrayed us?!”

“Well, he tried to. But he couldn’t. Because I didn’t give him permission. Now, everyone—here’s Dou Sam! Unfortunately, he’s not in the best shape. Just the head came!”

Qing unfastened the severed head from her waist and lifted it high with absolute pride.

“LIES! Lies! You can’t just wave some random head around and claim it’s real! Our captain’s a peerless Huagyeong master!”

“But he was weaker than me, wasn’t he? Don’t believe me? Fine—see for yourself!”

With that, Qing gripped the head in both hands, pulled it between her knees, and—hup!

She lobbed it into the sky in a massive arc.

One guy leaped to catch it—clearly she’d lobbed it just to make him look ridiculous—but somehow he managed to snatch it midair like some martial arts prodigy.

“C-captain! CAPTAIN!!”

Must’ve been one of Dou Sam’s close men. His scream rang out with raw, horrified grief.