Chapter 395: There’s One Restaurant on the Plain Hill, and Two Hammers (2)

Qing gazed up in silence.

The name Jin Family Manor—once gilded in gold—was now stained with blood, crookedly hanging askew.

A signboard is the face of a sect.

And when that face is tilted, it’s as if the whole place is twisted. The front gate was tightly shut, no guards posted, not even a whisper of life. Just desolate stillness.

Huh. Did I come to the wrong place?

Maybe this isn’t the Jin Family Manor I was thinking of.

I mean, it’s not like there’s only one Jin clan in all of the Central Plains...

Unbeknownst to Qing, in the Central Plains, families that share the same character for their surname are treated as the same clan. So yes, there is only one Jin clan.

Even that big-eared guy who used to sell straw mats once went around claiming he was descended from the royal line.

That said, lineage isn’t judged by ancestral hometown but by current property. So just having the same surname doesn’t mean much—maybe you’re slightly more familiar, but that’s all.

“Oh dear, miss, you shouldn’t be standing there.”

Someone called out.

Qing turned to see an old woman she didn’t know, wearing a grave expression.

“Huh? Why not?”

“That place is deeply cursed. If you get involved, you’ll be dragged into misfortune too. They’ve already devoured hundreds of people, that family has.”

“A curse? What did they do to deserve a curse?”

Qing, being of Korean blood, instinctively equated curses with retribution for wrongdoing. There are few peoples in the world who blame misfortune on their own faults like that—it’s a rather moral cultural tendency.

But in the ancient, primitive, unenlightened Central Plains, a “curse” was just a misfortune you stumbled into if your luck was rotten.

“Curses don’t need a reason. There’s no shortage of bastards out there praying for the downfall of successful families. And if they mess with someone truly potent, well... this is what happens. Tsk, tsk.”

“So... what happened, exactly?”

“Sal. Death aura. This house is soaked in it. Anyone who gets involved ends up holding funerals.”

There was something odd—something mad—in the old woman’s eyes as she said it.

It made Qing gulp.

“Oh no, Mother! I’m so sorry! Please forgive us!”

“What? Who? I have to find my son.”

“Mother, it’s me! It’s Dong! Your second son!”

“Ah, Dongie. Then go find your older brother. It’s already mid-afternoon—he must be hungry.”

The sun was already high overhead.

The young man bowed repeatedly.

“Honored martial lady, my mother’s mind hasn’t been sound since she lost her eldest. Please don’t take offense, and forgive us with your generous heart.”

“Oh, no, it’s all right. But shouldn’t you go follow her quickly?”

“Thank you! Mother! Where are you going!”

“They said not to use the water radical when naming me. But he went and became a carpenter anyway. That boy. Dongie, have you seen your brother?”

Clearly not all there.

Qing looked up once again at the crooked signboard of Jin Family Manor.

The old woman’s piercing gaze, her talk of curses and sal, sent chills creeping up her spine.

Just then, clouds swept in and blotted out the sun, casting a cold shadow over everything—

Creeaak.

The door slowly opened with a warped groan.

“Ooh...”

Qing reflexively stepped back.

You can cut down a person, but not a ghost.

In a world where people could fly through the air and split mountains with a flick of their fingers, who’s to say curses and spirits don’t exist?

Qing gripped her sword hilt tightly. Through the crack in the door, a face appeared—an elegant, traditional beauty.

If that’s a ghost, it’s one hell of a pretty one...

“Who... may I ask?”

“Lady Jin! It’s me. It’s Ximen Qing.”

Qing pulled back her veil as she spoke.

Jin Seol’s eyes went wide.

****

After greeting the weary-looking Lord of the Jin Family, Qing finally got a very late lunch.

She’d skipped it to arrive as early as possible.

The Martial Alliance’s deployment was set to last until winter.

And it was currently early February.

Which meant: not quite two months left.

Why not quite two months? Because this year had a leap second month—a double February—as the lunar calendar required an extra month every two or three years to keep the seasons from drifting.

So she had rushed, only to arrive in Guangzhou after lunch hour had passed.

“What happened here?”

“While we were at the Martial World Assembly, the Blood Cult attacked our main estate. Because it was tied to the Blood Cult, the corpses were left as they were... I didn’t realize how impossible it was to get the stench of corpse rot out.”

Corpse rot refers to the blackened fluid released when a body decomposes.

It’s a carpenter’s worst nightmare.

Once it seeps in, not even the stain, let alone the smell, will ever come out.

Rooms with such corpses are always torn down and rebuilt.

“The Blood Cult? Then what about the Martial Alliance?”

“They offered to send reinforcements... but the household decided to delay.”

“Huh? Why?”

“We’re in no position to host anyone. The decision was to first clean up the estate, then ask for aid once we were ready to receive guests...”

The problem was, they couldn’t clean up the estate.

Workers kept dying during construction.

Rumors said the Blood Cult had left behind a vicious curse on the grounds.

No one wanted to step foot in it, let alone be hired as a servant.

Only the staff who had accompanied them to the Martial Assembly remained.

“A curse, huh...”

Jin Seol shook her head.

Her classically beautiful features twisted in rage.

“There’s no such thing as a curse. Those damned unorthodox bastards did something—but we didn’t realize. And now that things have gone this far, everyone thinks it’s a curse.”

At first, they thought it was a real curse.

They brought in mystics, monks, even shaman women to cleanse the grounds.

But the deaths didn’t stop.

Then the unorthodox sects started mass-recruiting new disciples—throwing in even low-grade elixirs for free. Only then did it dawn on them.

So the workers weren’t dying from a curse—those bastards were behind it.

“Unbelievable. Bastards like that deserve to be wiped off the face of the earth.”

Qing scowled hard.

Jin Seol nodded.

“We realized it far too late.”

The Central Plains’ love for superstition is practically genetic.

No—Central Plains is superstition, and superstition is Central Plains.

Just look at Qing’s own homeland:

The Red People’s paramilitary burned away every old custom and evil practice to usher in a new age. But they couldn’t bring themselves to touch superstition—the pride and soul of the Chinese identity. So they kept it in their hearts and passed it on to their descendants.

So once word gets out that a place is cursed... who would dare step foot on it?

“By the way, Lady Jin? The Martial Alliance support unit is scheduled to arrive.”

“What? Why?”

Qing explained.

What happened in Guangxi. How the Alliance support was delayed, and Qing ended up solving the issue herself. And how, as compensation, the arriving troops would be redirected to Jin Family Manor.

“And show this mess to them?!”

Jin Seol stomped her feet.

“Well... what if we break the curse instead? If even one person works without dying, people will think the curse is gone. Why not have the workers stay on the estate?”

“That’s something we should have done long ago...”

Too late now.

Qing asked:

“So construction was stopped midway, right? That means the materials are still here?”

“Yes. High-grade materials, just sitting there collecting dust.”

“Then let’s fix up the estate.”

Qing said it like it was nothing.

Jin Seol raised a sharp eyebrow.

Was she even listening?

“Didn’t I say that’s not possible? Carpenters are extremely sensitive. Even when we bring them in from far away, they take one look and leave.”

But Qing remained unconcerned.

“C’mon, there’s a perfectly good carpenter right here.”

Jin Seol blinked.

“Where?”

Qing pointed to herself.

“Me. Ximen Qing. Or rather, the Nagnyeong carpenter of the Seo Mun clan.”

****

In the Central Plains, trades inherited through generations don’t distinguish between men and women.

A fisherman’s daughter becomes a fisher. A farmer’s daughter becomes a farmer. A carpenter’s daughter becomes a carpenter.

It’s hard, physically taxing work—so women don’t tend to stay in it long. But it’s not unusual.

Even wives and concubines are considered to carry their professions into marriage.

So Qing knowing carpentry wasn’t particularly shocking.

“You can really do carpentry?”

Lord Jin Jakang, head of the Jin Family of Guangdong, didn’t look like a martial man.

More like a stern scholar drenched in ink, lean and severe—bamboo-like, even.

Qing’s first impression: Whoa. Professor.

But his tone was surprisingly gentle. Even when Qing asked him to speak informally, he declined politely.

“Comfortable words bring comfortable hearts. How could I be disrespectful to a guest?”

That one sentence said everything about Jin Jakang’s character.

“I can work like ten men. If the Jin clan can lend a hand, we can get this place fixed up. I already checked the materials—they’re perfectly preserved under the tarps.”

“I know this isn’t a request to make of a guest, but I must shamelessly ask. Please help us.”

“Oh, it’s nothing. But, Master Jin... just repairing the place might be a little boring, don’t you think? So, on that note...”

Qing began laying out her grand plan.

Jin Jakang’s eyes began to gleam.

The Jin Family Manor sat on the best land in all of Guangzhou County.

No exaggeration.

A central location with roads extending in all directions. Natural waterways ran through the grounds. Underground water veins ensured multiple wells. Even better feng shui than the government offices.

Which meant the manor sat dead center in town—visible to everyone, every day.

And now, for the first time in ages, a sign went up at the gate:

“Seeking laborers for the estate restoration project. Lead carpenter is the best in Henan Province—a renowned ‘Earthwork Immortal Lady’ also known for her spiritual power. As a specialist in hazardous construction sites, we hope for many bold applicants.”

Below that: room and board provided, generous pay.

“Best carpenter in Henan? They brought her from way out there?”

“Only someone from far away would work on a cursed house.”

“They say she’s a shaman’s daughter. Maybe she knows what she’s doing. Seems worth a try—if I work for a month or so, I can take it easy come farming season.”

“Hmph. That Blood Cult curse is no joke. I’d bet my neck there’ll be a string of deaths.”

“Yeah. I’ll wait and see how it plays out.”

Not that anyone actually came to apply.

The sign wasn’t for them anyway.

Its intended audience was elsewhere.

“Master! Master!”

“What’s with the fuss?”

“The Jin family’s restarting construction! They say they brought in a carpenter all the way from Henan! The top carpenter in the province! And she’s a shaman who can resist curses!”

“Seriously? They sent someone to Henan and brought her back? That doesn’t add up. And since when do shamans do carpentry? If this were real, wouldn’t it be all over the Murim rumor mills by now? And what, the male carpenters of Henan just sat there while a woman took the title of best carpenter? What a joke.”

A story full of holes from start to finish.

“Looks like the Jin bastards are getting crafty.”

“Hmph. So even the righteous sects resort to lies when they’re cornered.”

The sect master chuckled and glanced to the side.

A pale, scholarly-looking man sitting nearby smiled gently in return.

“Once even the shaman carpenter dies, no one in the world will dare take on the repair job. Construction won’t matter. Who’d want to buy cursed land? They won’t even be able to sell and move. And then, perhaps Master can buy it up for a pittance.”

“Keh heh heh... That’s why I need smart men like you. So, same as before?”

The scholar offered a warm, agreeable smile.

“Same won’t do. Make it as brutal as possible. Kill her and hang her body in the marketplace.”