Chapter 375: I Told You to Go Have Some Fun, Didn’t I? (5)

If you wanted to know just how warmly a host welcomed their guest in the Central Plains, you only had to lower your gaze to the dinner table.

And so, Qing’s eyes went wide.

To have not only her grievances thoroughly avenged upon arrival, but also to be treated as an honored guest—it would be no exaggeration to say Kang Suyang’s kindness was enough that she ought to carry him on her back for the rest of her life like an adopted daughter.

Of course, it was a position coveted by many, and not easily won by a mere provincial sect leader, but in her heart, that’s how she felt.

And with a royal prince in attendance, it wouldn’t do to treat anyone lightly—so the table was piled high to the point its legs might collapse, with plates stacked in crisscross layers atop the serving dishes, dazzlingly abundant.

“Hyeongnim! The pride of Liangguang—soyujuh! Please try it before it gets cold!”

Soyujuh was a whole roast suckling pig, the most iconic of Cantonese dishes.

But “Liangguang” referred to both Guangdong and Guangxi provinces. Slipping in the culinary jewel of Cantonese cuisine under the shared regional label was a brazen act.

If any Cantonese heard that, they’d explode with fury. How dare those bug-eating savages lay claim to the finest cuisine in all under heaven?

For reference, the pride Cantonese people hold toward their food was notorious across the Central Plains.

It was said that if a Cantonese and a Hangzhou native sat down to eat together, only one of them would walk away—an exaggerated proverb mocking the culinary arrogance of the two most food-obsessed regions.

But the Gyerim Sword Sect was in Guangxi, and its members were Guangxi natives.

Canton or Guangxi—it’s still “Guang.” Just east and west. What’s the difference?

Woo Naram, with practiced skill, carved slices from the rib section of the foreleg and placed them neatly on Qing’s plate.

Jeoreuk—the very tastiest cut of the suckling pig.

Naturally, the opposite side had been offered to the prince. The remaining half, she laid entirely before Qing.

At that, senior disciple Do Daljeon’s brow twitched slightly.

Was that girl Woo Naram even a disciple of Gyerim? Or was she a glorified lackey of the Celestial Flame Sword? Not even offering the first serving to their sect leader?

But the Sect Leader had already gone into full “Let our Celestial Flame Sword do whatever she pleases, eat whatever she likes” mode.

“Oh, Naram really knows how to treat a guest! Little junior sister, that part right there is jeoreuk. Best cut there is.”

“Wow, really? Then I should share—”

“No, no, no. For us it’s a dish we have on happy occasions, but not you, right? You’ve got to enjoy it while you can.”

Gyerim Sword Sect may have a “sect” in the name, but once the word “pa” was added, it meant they were more or less a worldly martial group. Still, being of the Daoist tradition, it wasn’t proper to insist on generational ranks when it came to affection toward another’s disciple.

So if it was just a matter of showing fondness to someone else’s student, no one was going to nitpick.

Thus, with no one stopping her, Woo Naram fully committed to piling Qing’s plate high with dishes.

“Hyeongnim! Hongsoyuhap!”

Roast baby pigeon.

In the Central Plains, pigeon was considered cheap food for the poor, but in Cantonese cuisine—where they specially raised meat pigeons—it was treated as a delicacy.

“Hyeongnim! Guangzhou so’a!”

Roast [N O V E L I G H T] goose. Another beloved Cantonese staple.

“Hyeongnim! Palbochae!”

Stir-fried seafood and vegetables in sauce. With logistics still relatively underdeveloped in the Central Plains, fresh seafood-based palbochae was considered an ultra-premium dish.

Of course, “underdeveloped” only compared to Qing’s homeland—in this era, the Central Plains had the most advanced logistics in the known world.

“Hyeongnim! Hakka mandu!”

Tofu dumplings—stuffed tofu skins.

To be fair, the heart of Cantonese cuisine lay in soups and congee, but the higher the banquet tier, the more those kinds of dishes disappeared from the table. So sadly, it looked like none of those would be served tonight.

Once the Cantonese fare had swept across the table, it was Guangxi cuisine’s turn.

And indeed, the difference between Canton and Guangxi cooking was immediately obvious from appearance alone.

It was no wonder Cantonese got mad when people lumped the two together as “Liangguang.”

“Hyeongnim! Wu-pa!”

Half-dried veal rump.

“Hyeongnim! Pama black tofu!”

Pama was the name of a local region. Their tofu was so famous, even the Cantonese admitted it was good.

“Hyeongnim! Apjangbo!”

Steamed duck feet.

“Steamed sea snails! Silkworm pupae! Pickled river crabs! Frog legs!”

Guangxi, being mountainous and only recently opened to the sea, had a history of rough terrain and poor soil. Their culinary traditions leaned heavily toward “barbarian” fare.

Qing, of course, ate anything without complaint.

Senior disciple Do Daljeon’s eyebrow twitched, twitched again, then twitched once more.

Was this woman really the Grand Senior Sister of the current generation? Or had someone dragged in a tavern busboy by mistake?

Then again, not a single disciple was unaware that Woo Naram idolized the Celestial Flame Sword.

If you put it in terms from Qing’s homeland, she’d been “promoting her bias” nonstop.

Every single day she’d asked when Celestial Flame Sword would arrive—so this was a long-awaited day, her neck practically stretched from anticipation.

Still, there were limits.

Celestial Flame Sword couldn’t even refuse the food, and kept stuffing her face endlessly.

Even the best dish in the world would become torture if you were forced to eat it to bursting.

And in that light, how admirable was the character of someone who’d humor such a thing without complaint?

Though frankly, it was an underestimation of Qing.

“Mmh. It’s delicious. Really good.”

Qing had even removed her bandages to dig in.

So she happily stuffed herself—

“Ghk—!”

Qing’s stomach was not some immortal's divine treasure pouch with infinite storage.

It simply expanded as she ate.

And when Qing truly ate her fill, her upper abdomen would balloon to staggering proportions.

Normally, her sturdy bones and tough skin could withstand her stomach’s ferocious swelling, but right now, one side of her rib cage was cracked and the triple-layered muscle wall at her flank had been torn.

So the pressure from the expanding stomach overloaded the area—and her healing rib, having been peacefully setting in place, now sent a serious warning: “If you keep eating, I will break. I will shoot out through your flesh.”

Qing’s face turned pale.

The veil over her head hid how bad it looked, but her sudden gasp and dropped chopsticks drew immediate attention.

“Hyeongnim?! Are you all right?!”

“No, it’s just... the wound... I’m okay. I can still eat a bit more.”

Qing clenched her teeth.

When would she ever again face a table laden with only the most prized specialties of the region?

It had to be now. Endure, Ximen Qing.

She was facing a crisis so unique, it might be the first in history: internal injuries aggravated by overeating.

If Ximen Surin found out, she’d call her a fool, say even the starving ghosts in hell would flee in disgust, and immediately unleash one of her terrifying etiquette-correction techniques—I Am Death, Destroyer of Meals.

“You’re wounded? You were injured?”

“Yes, I got into it with some Green Forest thugs.”

“Good heavens! Are your internal organs all right?”

“It’s not that bad. A month of rest, maybe? I should be fine by then.”

Ordinarily, no one would call an injury requiring a month’s rest “not that bad.”

But Kang Suyang had already seen Qing walking around like nothing was wrong, so he figured it couldn’t be that serious.

“I see. How’d you end up clashing with the Green Forest?”

“Well, on the way here, I heard how beautiful Zhangjiajie was, so I stopped to sightsee—and suddenly this bastard starts harassing me out of nowhere.”

Qing began recounting her grand tale of vanquishing bandits.

Villains who picked a fight with the perfectly innocent and blameless Qing!

And so, in the name of justice, she drew her sword—the blade danced like a storm, and the mysterious aura of her Sword Aura descended to the earth!

To the parasitic scum who lived off the blood of others, came the transcendent, unmatched, peerless Miss Qing—whom they could not withstand! So they called for their leader!

And thus it came to: Ximen Qing versus the bandit boss!

“So this guy named Wang Cheolgun starts bawling and begging for his life—sniveling and sobbing—and I said to him, ‘Have you ever spared anyone else? Have you ever shown warmth to another? Don’t kick the coal briquettes.’—wait, scratch that last part. Anyway, I took his head, and the rest of the Green Forest rabble ran off screaming.”

It was a heavily embellished tale.

But what was she supposed to say? That she stabbed him with a poison dagger, ran for her life while crying about dead kids, and he just died on his own?

Her master had once told her: always make your stories sound cool when telling others.

Even if your conscience protested, it was a noble sacrifice for a greater value.

Women, too, must do great deeds—this was the responsibility of any martial woman, a guide and leader on the path.

“As expected of Hyeongnim! That courage—to stand against evil for the sake of justice! That unmatched martial prowess to seize victory in the end! I am in awe! Truly, I, Woo Naram, am moved beyond words!”

Woo Naram was the only one losing her mind over it.

The others all wore expressions of “Wait... is that for real?” and “Does that even make sense?”—so maybe, just maybe, she’d over-embellished a little too much?

****

When they heard she’d been injured fighting with the Green Forest, they summoned a physician—but while the patient didn’t even look particularly ill, it was the physician who kicked up a huge fuss.

“In all my years treating the sick, I’ve never... How can a person walk around like this? Hah... Unbelievable. A normal woman would burst into sobs just from breathing, and yet there’s no pus leaking from her rotting flank. Is she alive or dead? Honestly, it’s a miracle she’s even still standing.”

That was how much the physician recoiled—despite Qing walking around looking just fine.

To have gone up against the Green Forest’s Chief Branch Leader and still appear so unscathed—he’d suspected exaggeration. But according to the physician, just being alive was a miracle given her condition.

“What do you think?”

“There’s no reason the Celestial Flame Sword would lie, is there? And if she were going to lie, why pick one so easily proven false?”

Whether the branch leader was really dead or not was something that could be verified in short order.

And if Qing was telling the truth, then there were plenty of surviving bandits who had fled in terror. Sooner or later, the story would spread all across the Central Plains.

“Hahh... So the girl who entered peak-level mastery this year beheaded a Flower Realm-level demonic cultivator? It’s almost unbelievable, even hearing it.”

“I used to think the rumors were exaggerated, but... maybe not.”

The stories about the Celestial Flame Sword had always been dazzling.

They said she was a genius born from the heavens.

At just twenty years old—barely past girlhood—she had reached peak mastery, the youngest ever to do so in martial world history.

Not only that, she had gained insight from the Sword Wall and grasped the Heavenly Martial Emperor’s final enlightenment—understanding sword intent just from the traces of sword marks alone, a rare talent who could grasp ten truths from a single clue.

The young master most likely to become the next Number One Under Heaven.

Owner of the 如來神掌 (Tathāgata Divine Palm), Shaolin’s secret supreme technique.

And on top of that, she was said to be so beautiful, she could be called the most breathtaking woman under the heavens.

Anyone who heard the whole story would dismiss it as an utter lie.

Why not go ahead and say she was the Moon Maiden herself, and name her Ahcheong?

Truly, it was like the return of a mythical heroine told only in tales.

“They say she took down the Flame Demon Lord while still in advanced-level mastery. I suppose she must’ve learned well how to fight someone stronger than herself.”

“The gap between peak mastery and the Flower Realm doesn’t explain it that easily... But whether something’s possible or not doesn’t really matter in the end.”

“True. Be good to the girl. I hear even the heads of the Nine Great Sects hold her in high esteem. If she really is the next Number One Under Heaven, then it’s only right to treat her accordingly. I used to think Naram was making too big a fuss—but maybe it’s worked out for the better?”

Senior disciple Do Daljeon frowned.

“Even so, isn’t she our Grand Senior Sister? Should someone set to be the next head disciple really be flailing around without a shred of dignity? I was already thinking of giving her a stern talking-to.”

“Let her be. Wouldn’t you rather have a future sect leader who’s close friends with the future Number One Under Heaven than one who just clings to their image? It’s better for the sect’s future that way.”

“Mmph. Aren’t you being a little too lenient with that one disciple? If you show such blatant favoritism, it’s hard not to feel neglected as the current senior disciple.”

To that, the sect leader let out a loud laugh.

It was the moment Qing’s status as honored guest was sealed.

Some might say it was too opportunistic—but in truth, the head of a sect must be capable of such decisions.

Of course, it wasn’t just an investment in the future of the martial world. It was simply that she was too praiseworthy, too admirable.

With wounds like hers, she should’ve been resting in a nearby city.

And yet she’d dragged her injured body all this way to arrive without delay. That alone deserved gratitude.

And she hadn’t come alone—she’d brought reinforcements that might as well have been a heavenly army.

Now that His Highness had said he would stay for at least a month, the support request sent to the Murim Alliance earlier this month would surely arrive in time.

Of course, if they didn’t show up in that window, they’d have to cling to Qing’s robes and beg her not to leave.

The prince had already treated the Celestial Flame Sword as a close friend, so even if it was humiliating, they could ask her for help.

So—treat her well!

Stake the sect’s reputation and treat her well!

For the present of the sect, and its future too!

And so, the sect leader and senior disciple—master and disciple—locked eyes in a moment of steely, united resolve.