Chapter 378: I Told You to Go Have Some Fun, Didn’t I? (8)

Qing checked the moon outside.

Let’s see, the time right now... end of the Rat hour, or maybe the start of the Ox hour?

She wasn’t just guessing.

Celestial observation didn’t exactly give a precise read on time.

The meeting had been set for midnight, so it was already half an hour past.

Still, Qing hadn’t overslept. She was alone, yes, but she had taken her place at the meeting location well in advance.

Dragon Palace Pavilion, Dragon King Room.

The name alone said it all—it was the best room in the whole place.

And just one floor below the seventh-story Dragon King Room was the Plum Blossom Room.

Qing had spent nearly an hour with her ears perked, listening carefully to the sounds around her.

But nothing out of the ordinary.

Ever since the appointed time had passed, all that came from below were murmurs like, “Why isn’t this bitch here yet? Did the letter not reach her? Or is she just ignoring it?”

After obsessively eavesdropping, Qing was fairly certain no one had come en masse, nor had any allies been hidden away in other guest rooms.

Alone? Seems alone.

Just in case, she gave it another half an hour. Still no signs of company.

Only then did Qing open the outer door.

Not a window—a door. In high-end upper-floor guest rooms like this, the walls themselves were installed with sliding doors.

Qing jumped lightly down onto the eaves of the floor below.

Her side let out a little shriek of pain, but this level of discomfort was tolerable by now.

She held back a groan and knocked roughly on the door, packing all the bitterness from her side into her knuckles.

With the soft patter of approaching footsteps, the door slid open.

“Hehe, I didn’t expect you to come in from the window. Well, go on, come in.”

Not particularly hostile, huh?

Qing relaxed just a bit.

The sender of the letter was a shriveled-up old man, skin blotched with liver spots, the rest greasy and pale like old meat. His face was a concentrated mess of deep wrinkles—as if he were a hundred years old.

“So. You claim to know my secret?”

“My, how impatient you are. You keep a man waiting for half an hour, and then you barge in and get straight to your business?. That’s no good. I go by Bo Yeol of Sa Sa’s lineage.”

“I’m Xemun Qing of the Celestial Fire Sword.”

“Right. Do you enjoy tea? Since you’re here in Guangxi, it’s only proper to drink Liu Bao.”

Liu Bao tea—one of the most renowned teas in the world, and practically the only specialty of Guangxi Province.

Naturally, the Gyerim Sword Sect had been shoving it at her nonstop in their hospitality.

“I’m already sick of it. And it was the caterpillar-poop kind too. Don’t you have any Longjing? Liu Bao’s herbal stench doesn’t suit me.”

Caterpillar-poop tea, or Chongshi tea, was brewed from the excrement of tea-leaf-eating larvae.

It wasn’t just expensive—it was ridiculously rare.

Bo Yeol’s expression soured.

“Gyerim Sword Sect served you Chongshi?”

“Yes.”

“Tch. Those rotten little water striders. Serving caterpillar-shit tea to some kid like it’s a gift fit for kings. Tch. Whatever. Just drink this. It’s not like I’m going to call someone at this hour to fetch different leaves, and I doubt you want anyone seeing your face anyway.”

Grumbling, he busied himself mixing hot water between several kettles atop the brazier to get the temperature just right.

All the while muttering,

“Longjing, my ass. People who don’t know tea always ask for Longjing. It’s the only name they know. And who says Longjing is even that great?”

Suddenly the room turned into a tea ceremony.

Qing blinked slowly, then let her gaze drift to the table where a small stack of sweets sat like gold ingots.

Translucent, pale rectangular slices with little yellowish rinds embedded inside.

What the hell is this?

Too suspicious. Way too suspicious.

Because it’s suspicious, I have to taste it.

Nom. Yum.

The sweet was a preserved kumquat yokan, made with boiled-down golden citrus.

More than just a typical yokan, it was overloaded with kumquat syrup, making it extra chewy—wait, this...

Wow! Sweet and sour!

The taste of home, felt for the first time in forever, lit up Qing’s face.

“Hey now, the tea hasn’t even steeped, and you’re already devouring the snacks?”

“Mmm. Yes.”

This wasn’t the time to be eating and goofing off.

Qing drooped, quietly setting the yokan back down.

The room quickly filled with the herbal aroma of well-aged tea (meant in the good sense).

“All done.”

In proper Central Plains etiquette, tea ceremonies were formally classified under tea rites.

It was customary for the younger to pour for the elder, and that’s likely why the old man, despite being the one who brewed it, declared it complete.

Normally the host would serve the guest, but this wasn’t exactly a host-guest dynamic.

Qing had been drilled in tea etiquette by Ximen Surin’s nuclear-grade training.

With a movement elegant enough to impress a seasoned tea master, she poured out a cup.

Bo Yeol tapped the table three times with his fingers—a Southern Central Plains gesture of gratitude.

Qing inhaled deeply, drawing in the fragrance, and wet her lips with a small sip.

Mmm. Tastes fine. But it reeks of ginseng...

That ginseng scent was a signature of Liu Bao tea.

“So. You say you know my secret.”

“Hmph. Still impatient, I see.”

“It’s the middle of the night. Who’s got time for patience?”

“Hehe, not wrong. Right. Perhaps others wouldn’t notice, but you can’t fool my eyes.”

Qing tensed slightly, staring hard at Bo Yeol.

What exactly does he know, claiming it’s my secret?

“You, girl—you are the infamous Witch of Xiaoshu.”

“...Huh?”

“Hehehe, an absolute masterpiece. That the finest rising star of the orthodox sects, the Divine Dragon herself, turns out to be the Witch of Xiaoshu? Who in the world would’ve imagined?”

Bo Yeol chuckled, clearly entertained.

Qing asked cautiously, a little disappointed,

“So. That’s it? That’s the secret you claim to know? That I learned Xiaoshu Demonic Arts?”

Seriously? That’s it?

She'd spent the night in the most expensive room, sleep-deprived, lying pressed to the floor for a full shichen just to eavesdrop for danger signs, all for this?

Surely that’s not it?

“Of course there’s more.”

Qing felt both relief and renewed caution.

As expected. Get to the point, old man.

“Now then... how many people even know that the previous Witch of Xiaoshu was affiliated with the Blood Cult? Since you inherited the Xiaoshu Demonic Arts, doesn’t that make you a Blood Cult demon as well?”

“Uh-huh. And?”

“You fooled the world perfectly. Even I never suspected your true identity.”

This guy’s useless.

Qing was disappointed again.

She hadn’t come here just because of some vague fear over being exposed.

She’d wondered—maybe this was someone with a status window. Or perhaps a fellow traveler from another era, like her.

Maybe someone with more intel than her, someone she could ask for help—or at the very least someone she could gossip with about "100 Reasons Why the Central Plains Are So Backwards" or “Failing at Modern Cooking in Ancient Times.”

But this? Calling her out at midnight just to say she knew Xiaoshu Demonic Arts?

This was robbery. Emotional fraud.

She was the one losing out here. Like a jeweler scammed for a million coins.

Seriously, give me back my hope, my nerves, my money and time.

If she wanted to recoup her losses, she’d have to destroy all the fancy sweets in revenge.

Qing launched a furious rampage of kumquat yokan consumption—an act of barbaric gluttony so vile it would be like swiping snacks in front of a drunkard: something no civilized human ought to do.

Even in the face of Qing’s terrifying retaliation, Bo Yeol just chuckled again.

“There’s no need to be so impatient. I didn’t summon you here just to say something unpleasant.”

“Hah. You’re only saying that because I caught on. Actually, my real identity isn’t even Xemun Qing.”

“Oh? The Martial Alliance really is a mess. I heard a while back one of their patrol officers turned out to be a Blood Cult spy, and now the Divine Dragon? So what are you really, then?”

Oh? He knows about Eon Yeonyeong.

Qing, who had been enjoying impersonating Yeonyeong lately, was about to pull the same trick again—only to be preemptively blocked.

“It’s a secret. Not telling. Figure it out if you can. So, why did you summon me? Going to tell me to obey or you’ll reveal my identity?”

“Well, yes. That’s about right.”

“You’re not scared? Summoning the Witch of Xiaoshu like this? Want a taste of the Demonic Arts?”

“I left a letter in my guest room. If I don’t return, someone will come looking. When they find it, your identity will be revealed for all the martial world to see. If you’re okay with that, then so be it.”

“Wow, that’s just... terrifying blackmail.”

Qing wasn’t scared in the slightest.

Her master had already taught her the sacred martial principle of “If I insist, it’s the truth.”

Still, hearing all this did make her curious.

What could possibly be so important that he laid out such fine tea and expensive sweets?

She’d already confirmed—after an hour of intense eavesdropping with her ear glued to the floor—that this old man had come alone.

“So? What do you want from me?”

Qing never held back when curiosity struck.

If he dared to say something like “strip” or “let’s share a night together,” then she’d combo his ass with Demonic Arts + Dark Killing Palm + Self-Turning Demonic Technique + Samsara Nightmare, the full Ten Great Demonic Arts deluxe set to the underworld.

Too bad she only had two hands. Otherwise, she’d even toss in Hundred-Eight Asura Sword.

Or maybe she could hold a sword in her mouth like that one guy and use five demonic techniques at once?

Sadly, this old man wasn’t particularly horny.

He simply pulled out a small medicine bottle from his sleeve.

“Here. This is called Bloodsilk Poison.”

“What, you want me to drink it? ‘If you want the antidote, obey me’ kind of thing?”

“A Blood Cult demon, ignorant of poison? You don’t even know Bloodsilk Poison—one of the Ten Deadliest Poisons in the World?”

Qing tilted her head.

“Another ‘top ten,’ seriously? Who even compiles all these 'Strongest Ten’ collections? And if it's a ‘deadliest poison,’ who ranked these ten? Who taste-tested all the poisons in the world and graded them for pain and lethality?”

“Ahem. Hem. Hrmm.”

Truthfully, aside from a few genuinely famous toxins, most “top ten” lists were padded with popular names.

And poison masters always slipped in their own creations to pad the list.

Bo Yeol had done just that, slipping his own concoction into the Deadly Ten, and now that Qing had hit the mark, he coughed awkwardly and chugged some tea.

Then reached for a sweet to wash out the bitterness—only to freeze.

Where were the snacks?!

No more yokan. Qing had eaten them all.

Now Bo Yeol had no way to cleanse his astringent tongue. He could only suffer.

Such was the terror of Qing’s snack-based vengeance.

“So. What do you want me to do with this?”

“Feed it to Kang Suyang, head of the Gyerim Sword Sect. That wouldn’t be a bad thing for you, would it? I won’t ask what the Blood Cult is planning, but surely you’d be glad to see an orthodox sect disappear, no?”

That was Bo Yeol’s true motive.

Bloodsilk Poison was essentially Sa Sa’s personal signature. After Kang Suyang died from it, Bo Yeol’s involvement would be revealed sooner or later.

But by then, the mission would be complete—he alone would have taken control of Guangxi on behalf of the Unorthodox Alliance, and he’d reap the rewards alone.

Qing puckered her lips.

Just as I thought—he was being friendly for a reason. A heretic is a heretic.

Still, she hesitated.

Because... that poison was just too tempting.

I want it. One of the Ten Deadliest Poisons in the World!

Qing had already poisoned two master-level experts.

Whether this really was one of the ten deadliest poisons or just hype, it was clearly a serious killer.

This could take down even a Grandmaster who had reached the Flowering Stage.

It was a noble thought. An upright swordswoman taking down an evil master.

“So basically, I kill Kang Suyang with this, and you pretend you don’t know I’m the Witch of Xiaoshu?”

“Yes.”

“Hm. Got it.”

With that, Qing snatched the bottle of poison.

Hell yes. One potent toxin acquired.

Of course, she only said she understood. She never said she’d do it.

One might call her an innately conniving bitch—completely shameless as she conned a powerful old man without blinking.

“Yes. It’s nice when people understand each other. Don’t think of it as blackmail. It’s mutually beneficial, isn’t it?”

Bo Yeol, not realizing he’d just been completely played, smiled brightly with his wrinkled old face.