Chapter 357: Journey to Naknyeong (10)

The original Red Hero of humanity, the eldest of the Mangtakjo brothers—Wang Mang!

The rulers of Zhongyuan publicly claimed to despise Wang Mang, yet in truth, he was the one they revered and worshipped most.

Wang Mang emphasized the integrity of officials.

He declared that any official working for the state should never accept gold or silver as payment for their duties, that they should serve purely out of devotion to the people—and so, he abolished salaries for all government officials.

That is why the rulers and officials revere and worship Wang Mang.

From then on, rulers branded any official who demanded more gold or silver for their work as corrupt, filthy, and greedy traitors, and ruthlessly cut their salaries.

But naturally, they never allowed officials to take side jobs either, so the officials had to embezzle state funds just to survive.

In a way, you could call it survival-based corruption.

And thus, an ingenious system was born among officials.

A portion of whatever the subordinates embezzled was passed up to their superiors.

So, the more you passed along—which meant the more you embezzled—the more “competent” you were considered, and you were promoted again and again.

How much you stole, how mercilessly you exploited the people until they bled tears—this became the measure of competence.

This concept of “competence” among the people of Zhongyuan persisted well into the future, right down to Qing’s homeland. It became not only the spirit of Zhonghua, but Zhonghua itself.

And soldiers are officials too.

In the past, present, and future of Zhongyuan, the Zhonghua military is famously known for lacking three things:

No military discipline.

No supplies.

No mercy. The combination of the first two means that looting becomes a matter of survival, and they devote themselves to looting with utter sincerity.

In fact, they make no distinction between friend or foe—the barbarians and the people are all the same when it comes to looting.

They don’t catch criminals, they don’t repel barbarians, every time they go on a campaign they lose, foreign invasions go unchecked, dynasties collapse—and yet they put their whole heart into looting their own citizens.

Why do they even exist?

To defend the glorious dynasty of the Emperor—the blades that protect only the rulers of Zhongyuan.

So who could blame them?

If they don’t loot, they starve.

What about the wives and concubines they have to feed?

Even Heaven would probably understand.

Of course, Heaven didn’t understand—that’s why Qing saw those red stains floating over the soldiers’ heads.

Her damaged eyesight kept her from seeing the exact numbers, but by the length alone, she could tell whether they were in the double or triple digits.

Qing, unaware of the deeper context, simply found it fascinating.

Wait, in ancient Zhongyuan’s barbaric era, do they build armies entirely out of criminals?

Do they test how evil and nasty you are at recruitment so only the real bastards get in?

The truth is, you naturally become a bastard once you join the army, but Qing didn’t know that.

She didn’t particularly want to know, either—and even if she did, she wouldn’t excuse it.

If you do something worth dying for, then just die.

Thus, Qing trailed behind the bright red numbers with light steps.

The forests of the Namryeong mountain range grew tall and clean.

Unlike the dense, suffocating primeval forests of Zhangjiajie, the trees here stretched at just enough distance to keep your field of view clear.

So naturally, the two men Qing was following would spot her easily if they so much as glanced behind them.

Qing was cautious at first.

But then a question kept nagging her.

What the hell? Strutting around openly? Only looking ahead?

A real man never looks back?

So with Qing making no sound and leaving no presence, she openly tailed them, and they just kept walking, oblivious.

“But seriously, what the hell does ‘you can tell he’s a rebel at a glance’ even mean? Does it say rebel on his forehead or something?”

“Dunno. Some bookworm stumbling around the mountains—guess you can tell by looking.”

Qing might not understand, but if those soldiers had seen Ja-yu of Freedom earlier, they’d know instantly.

A scholar wearing imperial purple with a dragon embroidered on his robe—no matter how degenerate the modern Tang army might be, they’d scream, “Shit, it’s a rebel bastard!” on the spot.

“Ugh, I wanna loot so bad!”

“Don’t say that so loud, dumbass.”

“Why not? Those Gaesanbyeok soldiers found a village the other day and looted it clean. I asked to share the women, and the bastard asked for a silver coin! Fuck, who does he think he is, a brothel owner?”

“A silver coin? One silver coin is crossing the line, isn’t it? Should I report it to Commander Kang?”

“Kang Chunho? He’s not exactly the brightest when it comes to that stuff. If we stir things up, there’ll be nothing but a fight. Or maybe we just rough him up and take it back?”

“Don’t be stupid. If those silk-clad bastards catch wind of it, we’ll all lose our heads.”

Listening silently, Qing reached a conclusion: death penalty.

Gaesanbyeok soldiers? Death penalty from there, too.

Without a sound, Qing approached and tapped the shoulder of the soldier walking behind.

It looked playful—a pointed index finger poking his cheek.

Except that finger carried sunset-colored Strong Qi, little blades of condensed energy spinning like grains of rice, hungry to carve through flesh.

A very minor difference.

And minor details make masterpieces.

“Excuse me?”

“Ack—mhhhp!”

Qing’s finger pierced through the soldier’s cheek, burrowing inside toward his tongue.

The grinding sensation of her knuckle shredding his teeth, the elegant interplay—perhaps contrast—of the first joints slicing through the root of his tongue?

Haa... fucking exquisite...

“Eh? What the hell?”

The other soldier turned around—only to have Qing’s sword slide cleanly between his collarbones.

His insides burst open, a fresh airway punched through his throat as cool air rushed in and stale breath escaped, producing a sharp, whistling sound where his vocal cords should’ve been.

“Aaaargh...”

Qing’s finger continued down, slicing through his cheek, under the jaw, piercing the nape—leaving another hole in his trachea.

Qing stumbled back slightly.

Whoa, Jeonryun Mageop!

And Yeon Pa was hogging this all to herself?

Three ghostly flames lit up in Qing’s pupils.

Across East and West, three is the perfect number—and in Zhongyuan, it symbolizes Heaven, Earth, and Man: the Three Essentials.

You could say these eyes now held space-time itself.

“Alright. Kill each other. Only one of you gets to live. My respected elder once said, ‘Those who seek death shall live, those who cling to life shall die.’”

But the two men were struggling to scream through their ruined throats.

Qing stomped the ground, drawing attention, then raised her Sword Aura and repeated herself.

“Didn’t hear me? I only need one of you.”

Their reactions sealed their fates.

The one with the sliced jaw reached for his identification scroll, the other grabbed his axe.

Crack. The one with the split jaw had his head split vertically to match.

This, precisely, is why loyal, duty-bound soldiers vanish, and only the treacherous, spineless rats multiply within Zhongyuan’s military.

The decent ones never survive.

“...!”

The man with the hole in his neck mouthed words, no sound emerging, raising both hands in surrender.

He must look pretty pathetic right now.

“A deal’s a deal. But first, I’m curious—where’s that Gaesanbyeok camp you bastards mentioned? Mind showing me?”

“...!”

The soldier mouthed more soundless words, realization dawning as he nodded furiously.

“Cooperative. Good. If you tried to blow a whistle or resist, I’d have had to find someone else.”

So, following the soldier’s lead, Qing advanced along the mountain trail, never slowing down for over half a shichen.

Must’ve been desperate to live.

Soon enough, beyond the ridgeline, a hidden camp revealed itself.

“...!”

The soldier tapped his chest and pointed to the distant camp.

Can I go now?

Qing shook her head.

“Eh. Didn’t I say? Those who seek death shall live, those who cling to life shall die. You killed the one who wanted to die, so that deal’s void. And the one who wanted to live? I promised to kill him. But I’ll be nice—since you guided me, I’ll only half-kill you.”

Plenty more to kill anyway—might as well be generous.

Qing’s blade carved through the soldier’s stomach.

His guts spilled out, but with luck, maybe he’d survive—or not.

Qing left him writhing and headed for the camp.

It wasn’t even fortified—no palisade, just some sticks and strings with bells on them.

Not much of an obstacle for Qing—or any martial artist.

Qing slipped inside with ease.

****

When Qing returned to the rock crevice, Ja-yu greeted her.

Probably bored all day with nothing to do, Qing figured.

“Back already? Did you find a way to escape?”

“Tone down the drama. We could just wait a few days and walk down—total rabble. I took out four camps, they’ll run out of soldiers in three, maybe four days.”

“Mm, you say that, but your face looks dark. You alright?”

“Yeah. I mean, what the hell? Every single soldier’s a bastard. They raided every nearby village. Worse than bandits.”

At least bandits don’t massacre villages—they need them alive to exploit later.

Soldiers, though, were different.

They wiped out villages completely—to prevent future trouble, to erase the evidence.

Qing spent all day tearing down four camps, slowly, meticulously punishing each one.

Ja-yu’s face darkened too.

“Khm. An old sickness, hard to cure. Maybe if soldiers were paid well enough, but...”

Zhongyuan’s army is vast as grains of sand—even a small pay raise would drain the treasury dry.

Which also means those grains of sand aren’t worth paying to begin with.

“Seriously, how does this place even function?”

To be precise, it didn’t.

Grievances piled up, warlords and nobles rebelled, the country plunged into chaos, and dynasties toppled one after another.

“Tsk, tsk. The current Son of Heaven lacks virtue—that’s the problem. If a virtuous ruler sat the throne, the world wouldn’t look like this, don’t you think?”

“Khm.”

“Right? If the people at the top were forced to behave, none of this would’ve happened.”

“Khm.”

“What, you sick or something? Why’re you coughing so much? Was it cold for you?”

Qing pressed her palm to Ja-yu’s forehead, the other hand sliding to his nape, checking his pulse.

Ja-yu flinched, retreating, but Qing simply followed—an absolute martial master’s grip wasn’t something ordinary folks could escape.

“W-What are you doing? H-How inappropriate—why are you doing this?”

“Your pulse is weak. But we can’t light a fire. Try wearing another layer?”

Qing’s hand was so cold it burned where it touched forehead and neck.

Ja-yu, face flushed, turned away.

“...I can’t fit any more layers.”

Ja-yu was already wearing four coats.

His arms couldn’t even rest at his sides, and none of those coats were roomy summer garments.

Yeon Pa scolded them.

“What’s this nonsense about weak pulse? He’s cold!”

“Just a chill. He’s fine.”

With a teasing smile—

“You call yourself a healer and that’s how you behave? You check his pulse, you tend to him. If there’s no fire, you share body heat—that’s basic care.”

“Ugh.”

Qing grimaced.

“Yeon Pa, cut it out.”

Ja-yu recoiled too.

But Yeon Pa stood firm.

“This old lowborn would love nothing more, but my injuries might corrupt him. Men and women should stay apart, but preserving his noble body takes priority.”

“We could just boil some water—oh.”

Qing suddenly realized.

“Yeon Pa, you’re a Fire Realm expert. You can boil a water pouch, right? One cup of hot tea warms you up fast.”

At Fire Realm, one could ignite objects with internal energy alone—Qing herself could only warm them mildly, draining her Qi in the process.

But real Fire Realm masters could burn paper, boil water easily.

“Wait, even with all those layers, your body should’ve chilled further over time. You boiled water already, didn’t you?”

Given how much Yeon Pa doted on Ja-yu, no way she didn’t.

Qing’s eyes narrowed.

Yeon Pa scowled.

“Tsk. Sharp little witch—what good is all that cleverness?”

“Pick one, will you? Should I be sharp or not? And stop trying to use me.”

“Simple. Saving Qi when possible. Even a Fire Realm master doesn’t waste Qi on things like Sammae Flame unless necessary. Especially not with injuries.”

“Hmm.”

Qing kept her eyes narrowed.

Such a flimsy excuse.