Chapter 410: When Mom Follows the Shamans to the Hills (6)

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

Someone was pounding on the front gate with an impatient hand from early in the morning.

However, once that sound crossed the villa's wide garden and slipped past the sliding doors, it didn’t amount to much noise for most people.

But Qing’s body wasn’t like most.

Even so, the reason she didn’t wake immediately could only be called a kind of unconscious indifference.

If she had to wake up at every sound in the night just because she possessed superhuman hearing, she wouldn’t get a single moment of sleep.

But when the pounding on the gate was joined by a desperate voice crying out, “Divine Lady! Earthwork Immortal Lady!” over and over again—

the situation became a little different.

Humans, after all, tend to be more sensitive to their own names even in sleep.

Qing opened her eyes in Gyeon Pohee’s arms.

Dawn’s pale blue light filtered through the sliding doors, and that alone made her irritation flare.

Who the hell is the bastard hammering on a gate at this hour and waking people up?

But the softness beneath her fingertips calmed the anger somewhat.

In the end, she’d fallen asleep last night without even washing, after kneading that chest like dough, both hands now comfortably shoved under her sworn sister’s robe.

Hm. Why the hell do I never get tired of boobs?

Still half-asleep, Qing squished what was in her hands while mashed into the bedding, wholly content.

While she was at it, she slid her hand across the soft skin of Pohee’s belly, then grabbed at her side, relishing the silky texture—

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

“Divine Lady! Please!”

But the pounding continued.

Qing groaned as she rose.

“Nggh... Poheee? You’re already up...?”

“Oh. You’re awake? Just sleep a little more.”

“No, nghh... is someone calling outside?”

“Seems like it. Lie down, I’ll go check.”

“No, I’m coming with you.”

She had gone straight to bed, so she was still wearing what she had on yesterday.

Her hair was probably a mess, but that’s what hats were invented for. (Not really.)

Throwing a veil over her face and yawning like her jaw might crack, Qing stepped out to open the gate.

It was dawn, dim and gray, yet a decent crowd had already gathered.

The thing was—their expressions.

Qing felt sleep vanish in an instant.

“Divine Lady, the curse—it’s returned!”

“You said the curse was lifted!”

“My husband, Divine Lady, he passed... and now I’m afraid the curse might cling to him... could you please exorcise it, please?”

Everyone opened their mouths at once for their own reasons—some out of shock, some laced with blame, some pleading through sobs, begging.

Qing’s expression iced over.

****

A circle of guards kept the murmuring onlookers at bay, forming a human barrier.

Qing slipped soundlessly through it.

Even to the constables, the famed shaman was a fearsome, difficult presence.

No one stopped her as she entered; they merely glanced around nervously, as though she were some inspector from the ministry.

It looked entirely natural.

Corpses lay lined up in the marketplace under coarse straw blankets.

They said the bodies were too badly damaged to be shown.

Seven so far—and now, a stretcher pushed its way through the crowd, making eight.

As it shook, an arm flopped out and rolled on the ground.

The scar on the back of the hand—it looked strangely familiar.

Qing carefully lifted the blanket to check the face beneath.

Master Carpenter Lee. She didn’t know the full name, but they’d joked around together often enough.

Of course, carpenters like him always managed to get rich by cutting corners.

Step One: Skim off construction materials.

Step Two: Inflate labor costs.

Step Three: Hire ghost workers who only exist on paper, etc...

So sure—if you went by karma, Master Carpenter Lee was probably just over the threshold into the “evil” column.

But in the Central Plains, that kind of scheming was considered a merchant’s basic survival skill.

Besides, though he scammed customers, he shared the profit generously with workers and earned respect for taking care of them.

So Lee had over a hundred karma points—was this natural death, then?

But she was pissed.

Very pissed.

Qing clenched her teeth.

Which sons of bitches was it this time.

Killing Moon Sect. Those bastards again—had they stopped even pretending to hide?

Should’ve poisoned them all earlier.

She’d hesitated and now—this.

She should’ve killed them all from the start.

Flames burned in Qing’s eyes.

Flames of a color not found anywhere in the Central Plains.

And in that moment—a sudden vision surfaced in her mind.

The light of lanterns blurring, the world swaying like a drunkard’s view.

Strangers leaning in, pretending to help her walk, slinging an arm over her shoulder.

Before she could even ask who they were, a sharp blade pressed into her side, demanding silence.

Her mind snapped awake—her vision cleared for a moment.

Dragged down a deserted alley.

Stabbed.

Slashed.

Cut.

The world fading—

Someone laughing.

Let’s wrap this up quick and grab a drink.

Then, blackness.

Qing stumbled.

“Pohee? Are you okay?”

Gyeon Pohee ran over and caught her by the arm.

A bead of sweat, formed at Qing’s chin, slid down—plop. plop.

What now...

Did playing shaman for too long make her an actual shaman? Possession? Psychic powers? Visions of the past?

And more importantly—who was showing her this?

Is this my ability?

You, Lee?

Or is it the status window again?

Why the hell show this to me?

No. That’s not it.

Why they’re showing it is obvious.

Qing’s lips stretched into a thin line.

Whatever trick this is—fine.

Yeah. I kind of like it. I might just play along this time.

Her head whipped left and right.

She’d seen the scene, after all—and the real killer always returns to the scene of the crime.

Whether it’s to show off, or nervously check if something went wrong, they always circle back.

And then—

One face caught her eye. Unfamiliar, but familiar.

Qing calmly linked arms with Gyeon Pohee like they were heading back home.

And then—without warning, she grabbed the man by the throat and hurled him skyward.

“Waaagh!”

The man screamed as he crash-landed in the middle of the guards—right in front of the corpses.

FWOOOOM

A noise ripped through the air.

A hammerhead struck the man’s ankle—SLAM!

Bricks forming the ground exploded and shot into the air.

Screams broke out from the startled crowd.

Qing didn’t care.

She gripped the now-crippled man by the collar, raised her hand high—

SLAP!

“Aaaagh! Agh, agh, agh!”

The man’s screams, torn from the agony and horror of his now-vanished ankle, broke and stuttered.

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

The marketplace fell deathly silent except for the sound of Qing’s palm smashing into the man’s right cheek.

Blood poured from his ear—his eardrum ruptured.

Blood welled at the corners of his eyes—her inhuman strength hitting too hard for mere tears to protect him.

Somehow, Gyeon Pohee had already seized the man’s arms and forced them forward.

The man struggled, but Gyeon Pohee—already nearing the Flower Realm and armed with the Divine Cult’s supreme arts—was no one a lowly martial artist could hope to shake off.

“Stop—please—augh—stop—agh—”

But Qing’s hand didn’t stop.

Not until the right side of his face swelled up black and blue.

Only then did she yank him forward.

And with her silent cue, the quick-witted Pohee released him at once.

The man collapsed like a ragdoll—right atop Master Carpenter Lee’s corpse.

Then came Qing’s voice—chilling, low.

“Why’d you kill him?”

“W-what... what are you talking about?”

“I asked why you killed him.”

Qing seized the man by the hair and yanked him forward, dragging back the straw mat covering the corpse, pressing his face up close to Master Carpenter Lee’s.

The man recoiled violently, shaking his head in terror.

“H-hhk—”

“What? You killed him, so what are you so scared of? You were giggling like an excited little bitch while you stabbed him, and now you’re afraid of a corpse?”

Onlookers gasped and choked on their breath.

“W-what do you mean—?”

“Still not enough, huh. Pohee?”

“Mm-hmm!”

Gyeon Pohee responded brightly and seized the man again.

Qing raised her hand high.

“W-wait! Wait, please! I’ll talk!”

“Too late. Ten slaps first.”

“Waaaait—!”

SMACK. SMACK. SMACK. SMACK.

A steady rhythm of flesh being beaten.

Then came the wet splatter—splutch, splatch—as his cheeks began to split and blood poured down.

After ten full blows, Qing asked again.

“Why did you kill him?”

“I—I was following orders—ACK!”

“Too quiet. Again.”

“I WAS FOLLOWING ORDERS!”

“Whose?”

“Brother Badger, ack!”

SMACK! The man’s head snapped to the side.

At his eyes—burning with injustice—Qing answered in a voice utterly flat.

“How the hell would I know who that is? You think you’re being clever, spouting names only you recognize?”

“Gui Gap Corps! Commander of Gui Gap Corps, Brother Badger—ack!”

“Now what the fuck is a Gui Gap Corps? You think this is proper explaining?”

“It was Brother Badger of the Gui Gap Corps—the strike unit of the Gwangju Zen Hall—he gave the order!”

A fresh round of gasps spread through the crowd.

Qing didn’t care.

SMACK!

“And you’re calling trash like that ‘Brother’?”

“N-no! It was that bastard Badger!”

“Why?”

“That, uh—”

Qing raised her hand again.

The man screamed, desperate.

“They said—if more workers died—the Jin Family Manor would halt construction again!”

“Who’d you kill him with? Who else? Who did you kill?”

The man jumped to answer as Qing’s words barely finished.

Truthfully, Qing wouldn’t know any of the names anyway.

But there were surely people here who would care.

“Pohee, break his arms and drop him.”

“Okay!”

Gyeon Pohee snapped both his upper arms outward like brittle reeds.

He already had one crushed ankle—so once she let go, the man collapsed to the ground like a pile of meat, twitching but unable to crawl.

“Let’s go. No—Pohee, it might be dangerous. Want to wait at the shrine—or back at the Jin Family Manor?”

“Nope. You’re going to fight, right? I’m going too.”

Pohee made her stance clear.

Qing opened her mouth—then decided there was no point. No matter what she said, Pohee wouldn’t listen.

“If it gets dangerous, run. If you get caught, I’ll be in even more danger.”

“Got it. Got it.”

Her face was covered by a veil, but no doubt she was grinning ear to ear.

Qing, having finished her business, turned and walked out of the marketplace without a sound.

The crowd stepped back, clearing the path for her like she was holy, and she strode briskly through.

“Nnghh...”

The man still groaned on the ground.

With his ankle crushed into something like dumpling dough and both arms broken, even writhing required tremendous effort.

Around him, one by one, knees began to kneel.

The sun was rising, but their presence cast a long, collective shadow.

The victims he’d named.

Their families.

Their friends.

Their neighbors.

“P-please, spare—”

His voice faltered.

In each of their hands were bricks—bricks torn up from the ground when Qing’s hammer shattered the road.

They gripped them tight, muscles straining, fingers pale.

“G-guards! Constables! Please, someone stop them—!”

No answer.

If the guards had meant to stop this, they wouldn’t have let him make it this far.

And so it began.

The oldest story in the world.

Revenge.

****

Unexpectedly, the front of the Gwangju Zen Hall was quiet.

Qing tilted her head.

She’d thought for sure some little bug would’ve run off to their hideout after seeing her bash that bastard to a pulp.

Or maybe—they really were underestimating her.

Dragging her hammer behind her, Qing approached the main gate of the Zen Hall.

The two guards flanking it raised their weapons and inhaled sharply.

“Halt!”

Two people inhaled, but only one voice rang out.

Not because they’d spoken in perfect unison.

But because—

The hammer head traced a sharp arc, caving in one guard’s forearm.

The elbow shattered and drove into his own torso, crushing his ribs.

The broken ribs speared into his lungs, punching a hole through.

And once a lung collapses—

a man can’t make a sound.