Chapter 352: Journey to Naknyeong (5)

Qing clenched her teeth.

She wanted nothing more than to chase those bastards down and slaughter them on the spot—but she couldn’t just abandon the porters and workers writhing in pain.

Qing, at least, could fake decent medical skills.

She was the only one here who could offer even the most basic treatment to those hit by arrows.

“Hang in there a little longer. This will sting, sting.”

As she spoke, Qing cleanly snapped the arrow that had pierced through the man’s shoulder.

“Ahhh!”

“There, you held on well. But could you let go of my arm now? I’ve got others to tend to, you know.”

Out of over twenty people, half were already dead. And half of those left were bound to die soon.

A wandering healer known as a Great Langjung made a living tending to outbreaks of plague or devastation.

The very first lesson Qing had ever learned was triage.

Who could be left alone, who would certainly survive with treatment, who might survive but likely wouldn’t, and who would die no matter what you did.

To save as many as possible, sometimes you had to leave the dying to die.

And so, only eight remained.

At least the most skilled among the caravan, Hak Jangpyo, had gotten off with minor injuries. Perhaps expected, considering his skill—he’d likely been able to throw himself clear and escape with only minor wounds.

Four others hovered between life and death.

She tore up grain sacks and poured their contents into the wagon bed to make a makeshift stretcher. Two who couldn’t walk were laid onto it.

One lucky caravan guard stood there with five arrows lodged in him but, miraculously, no fatal wounds.

“Go back for now. The caravan’s important, but people come first, don’t they? But seriously, what the hell is this? Those bastards weren’t even Green Forest thugs. Were they after the cargo?”

“It’s a routine delivery, isn’t it? We’re just hauling grain.”

This wasn’t a trade mission, just an escort run.

Grain didn’t make much profit—heavy, bulky, barely worth the effort.

So, they’d tacked on grain delivery to one of the periodic escort rotations organized by the branch office.

Otherwise, the only thing they usually carried were letters by courier.

“You think I’m going to let those fuckers walk? Don’t worry about revenge—just go. I’ll slaughter every last one of them myself.”

But Hak Seosan shook his head.

“Please, don’t. Those men... hmm...”

He glanced around nervously, lowering his voice.

“I once served in the military. Those men... they’re government soldiers.”

“What did you just say?”

“They’re called Ironbolt units. Their crossbows pierce steel from thirty paces—and if they just want to injure people, they can shoot over a hundred paces. Unless you’re channeling energy, there aren’t many arrows with that kind of power...”

The weapon called a No, back in Qing’s homeland, was better known as a crossbow.

“Wait, why the hell are they here?”

“Something’s happening in the mountains.”

“What, if that’s the case, they could’ve just told us to turn around. Why dress up as bandits and hurt people?”

“Shh. Because it’s something they can’t openly admit to. If rumors spread that bandits are killing everyone along this mountain path, no one would dare come near. They probably left a couple people alive just to spread the warning.”

“What kind of bullshit is that...”

As Qing seethed, Hak Seosan suddenly dropped to his knees, bowing deeply.

“Whoa, whoa, what are you doing?”

“I, Hak Mo, owe you a great debt. You not only saved my life but also the lives of my men. Whenever you need me, call for me. Many owe you their lives, but I alone will repay that debt.”

“C’mon, forget it. And what’s with all this ‘great warrior’ crap? I’m not even that old. You’re injured—stand up already. People in worse shape need to get down the mountain.”

By get down, she meant I’m not going.

Hak Seosan’s face hardened.

“Benefactor... what do you intend to do? If you plan to confront them, I’ll—”

“Forget it. Look after your people. I’ll hang around, but if things get dicey, I’ll just keep going. If I cut through the mountains, those bastards won’t know shit anyway.”

“Then... stay safe.”

——

The greatest weapon of the government was rain.

Bombard enemies of the Emperor with a rain of shells.

At ceremonies, tear up outrageously expensive paper and let it rain down.

Or, bestow grace by making food rain from the skies.

When exterminating rebels, let the blood rain down until the ground is soaked.

They could make anything rain—except actual raindrops.

Because real rain was the will of Heaven—mere mortals couldn’t imitate fate.

(If there’s a drought, that means you’re supposed to die.)

A rain of arrows was also one of the government’s specialties.

Truth be told, shells fell too clumsily to be called rain.

Shredded paper petals resembled falling blossoms more than rain.

But arrows—they could fall like real rain.

Historical records said that during mass volleys, tens of thousands of arrows darkened the skies so thoroughly it seemed like storm clouds had gathered.

Qing didn’t know all the details.

But she had witnessed over a hundred steel arrows raining down in a single salvo.

It was crossbows, after all—they probably fired once then ran off because of the slow reload.

There weren’t even a hundred men hidden in ambush—so why so many arrows?

Qing tended to underestimate the so-called primitive technology of ancient Zhongyuan.

But the truth was, during this medieval period, Zhongyuan had developed the peak of human ingenuity.

Repeating crossbows had been invented over a thousand years ago.

Anyway, the Green Forest taught one thing:

Know your enemy. Understand their capabilities. Predict their actions. Prepare.

Qing had seen what Ironbolt arrows could do—and that they could be fired by the hundred.

So, the next step?

Avoid open ground.

Stick to ridgelines with cover.

Arrows, no matter how powerful, lose effectiveness with enough obstacles.

That was why Qing had abandoned the mountain path and slipped into the wooded hills.

And if all else failed—run.

But this time, it wasn’t like when she’d run from the Green Forest.

Because this time, she hadn’t shouted I am Ximen Qing of Hubei’s Sect of Divine Maidens.

She could kill as many of those bastards as she wanted and vanish—no one would know.

She wasn’t worried about implicating the Sect, or Seol Iri, or anyone else she cared about.

The situation wasn’t the same.

Thus, Qing moved quietly through the undergrowth.

The sharp tips of her boots pressed silently into the dry leaves, sliding through without a sound.

Even while wading through a sea of thick leaves, not a single noise escaped her steps.

This was the true strength of the world’s greatest thief—now the world’s greatest thief-turned-woman.

Qing made no sound—but the enemy did.

The noisy rustling of leaves ahead.

Soon, two figures emerged—dressed like bandits, wearing thick animal pelts.

Real bandits wouldn’t wear hides that fine.

“Fuck, it’s freezing. Hey, got any weed?”

“Go buy some.”

“It’s not like it’s expensive. Come on, give me one—I’ll bring you a whole bundle later.”

“Who’s gonna roll all that? Help out for once, you freeloader.”

Qing’s eyes narrowed.

These fuckers are smoking weed?

In broad daylight? With martial law this strict? That’s a death sentence—execution. Beheading. Bang, bang, bang.

Granted, Qing’s version of martial law was entirely up to her interpretation—but this time, she was correct.

Even a broken clock is right twice a day.

Official military regulations declared smoking weed while on duty punishable by death—decapitation, no less.

These addicts had even splurged on fancy rolling papers.

“Hahhh... damn, that hits good. I’ve smoked all kinds, but yours is the best. Some secret recipe?”

“Wouldn’t matter if I told you—you wouldn’t roll it right.”

“Punk. Should’ve joined up earlier. Hah, right? Right?”

“Haha, true that, hahahaha...”

It was typical of stoners to laugh at falling leaves for no reason.

They snickered away, limbs slack with drug haze, leaving Qing little effort to clean them up.

Crack. One of their heads twisted unnaturally, temple pressed to shoulder.

But the other just laughed.

“Damn, your neck froze up? Turned a bit too far, didn’t it? Hahaha, want me to fix it? Hah... hey, get up.”

“... Hey, is that really weed? He looks fucked.”

“Course it is. But this guy’s joints are insane. His rolls beat ten others easy.”

“Ah, hometown secret recipe, huh? Looks strong—what’d he soak it in, opium?”

“Oh, probably. But hey, who are you? Cold out here, wanna warm up with me?”

Despite Qing casually joining them, the stoner didn’t even register the danger.

That’s why drugs are bad.

“Bandits with literacy—impressive. But, what kind of bandit...”

“Hehehe, girl doesn’t recognize rank? Listen, secret’s out—this old man’s a White Tiger of the Northern Army. You know how much my stipend is, bitch?”

“Wow, White Tiger—real military? Sure you’re not a fake? Want to hang by your neck for impersonation?”

“No, no, I swear, haha—okay, yeah, it’s funny. Civil servants playing bandit. But orders are orders, fuck.”

“Hmm. And what exactly are you doing out here?”

Qing played along, prying for intel.

“No clue. Supposedly there’s a traitor—orders to kill ‘em. If anyone suspicious shows up, signal the others... wait, you’re suspicious...”

“You said suspicious man, right? I’m not a man.”

Qing’s reply was cool, unfazed.

If it went south, she’d simply gut him.

Best to coax info first.

“Oh, right, true... so, how about warming me up? Not night yet, but whatever. My wife’s been offing my concubines—time for a new one. Got a three-room place in Beijing, interested?”

“Ooo, property in Beijing?”

Qing’s place, if measured, was roughly a quarter of a quarter of a room. Basically a broom closet.

“So, you don’t know this traitor’s identity?”

“Who cares? Once a traitor, always a traitor. End of story.”

Oddly dumb logic, yet entirely true.

The moment one became a traitor, their identity meant nothing—they were just a traitor to be killed.

The stoner’s mood shifted—the giggles faded, words sharpened with coherence.

Qing plucked the joint from the corpse’s mouth, offering it.

“Here, White Tiger. You’re sobering up—smoke this.”

“Oh, sweet—didn’t see that. Inhale... hah... there it is... but hey, girl, show me your face, no manners otherwise... haha, right, Thousand Flower Veil, covering your face makes you a beauty, what a joke...”

Hmm. So that fashion reached Beijing too.

Useless information, but noted.

In return, Qing lifted her veil slightly.

“Here you go.”

“Gasp—”

The White Tiger abruptly dropped to his knees.

“Oh heavens—it’s the Divine Lady herself!”

Wow, this just kept escalating.

Qing humored him.

“Indeed. I descended from the Immortal Realm, moved by pity for Heaven’s soldiers. I came to comfort you.”

“Ohhh, will you grant me a night of divine union?”

“First, prove your loyalty to the Emperor. Tell me everything you know of your mission. If you pass, I’ll deliver you from this cold.”

“Hahaha—yes, ma’am. I’m Tang Dongryang, a Northern Army White Tiger. Right now...”

Tang Dongryang babbled away, high as a kite.

Hardly trustworthy—but Qing could always interrogate someone else later to cross-check.

Satisfied, Qing granted Tang Dongryang eternal relief from the cold—he’d never feel chill again.

...Wait.

Ghosts always complained about being cold, didn’t they?

Was the afterlife lacking central heating?

Maybe she’d broken her promise after all.