Chapter 432: Journey to Taewon (3)

"Eh? But why is that Seol brat handling Taecheong Trading Company’s business?"

"Khm. Well, what’s the point of having a smart guy if you don’t use him?"

"Sure, that Seol brat’s the greatest intellect in an entire city, but is it really okay to work him like that?"

"Well, hmm, yeah! I’m doing it for his own good. The Seol Family Trading Company’s tiny as a booger, can’t possibly contain a man of his caliber. Right, that’s all it is—nothing to do with ‘working him’ or anything."

Nestled quietly in her seat, Qing tilted her head.

Really? That’s... convincing?

"Mm. Well, that Seol brat is a bit of a big shot."

"Exactly. Big fish have to go out to sea."

Of course, someone should probably ask how that big fish feels about being driven out of fresh water into the salty open ocean just for being “big.”

But before Qing could think too much about it, a lavish dining table—laid out exactly to her taste—appeared before her.

All sorts of slow-cooked, tender meats; sweet and salty seasonings; spicy marinades; and lightly seasoned dishes that preserved the ingredients’ original flavors.

"What’s this? Why’d you set all this out? I was going to eat after I went inside."

"Set out? Hah. I just reheated a few leftovers. If you’re not eating, I’ll just toss it to some beggar."

Qing didn’t really have a “favorite” when it came to food—she had the kind of tongue that found everything delicious.

If she had to choose, her extreme favorite was melt-in-your-mouth tender meat.

And tender meat, by nature, took long, slow cooking to achieve—meaning it was always the result of meticulous care and was high-grade cuisine.

So she knew that was a load of nonsense.

Reheated leftovers?

How could something so rare and expensive as this assortment of braised meats possibly be “left over” in such abundance?

Still, she didn’t bother asking.

She probably felt guilty that Qing always stopped by without eating and went straight back to the Divine Lady’s Gate.

Well, what could you do?

Qing might as well pretend to be fooled.

As she sat down and reached for her chopsticks, an older woman she didn’t recognize from the trading company came up and set down a thick banquet pot in front of her.

"Um... My Lady, this is for you."

The moment a somehow sharp yet savory, familiar smell hit her nose, Qing instinctively sniffed at it.

She stirred the contents with her chopsticks, and—ah!—her eyes went wide in shock.

"Eh? What is this? Wow, what the—what is this?!"

"It’s something the High Priestess tried making once. If you’d taste it and share your esteemed opinion—"

Before the woman even finished speaking, Qing urgently scooped up a spoonful and slurped it down.

Spicy but not biting, rich yet somehow refreshing—the broth slid down her throat, and her eyes instantly lit up.

It was like catching the scent of home in a strange inn—no, at this level, it wasn’t just a scent, it was her soul, her spirit, the very essence of her people in a bowl.

A stock simmered until the bones melted, with little water, using heaps of onion and napa cabbage to draw out the vegetable sweetness.

Garlic, onion, scallions, and even precious red chili peppers went into the pot to create a bold, spicy broth, packed with pork, various offal, and even tender beef short rib.

As for vegetables—napa cabbage and radish greens, piled high. It was a kind of spicy meat soup the Central Plains had never seen before.

A bowl that carried the lifeblood running through Qing’s veins.

"Wait—rice, rice! Got any cold rice? Cold’s even better! Hurry, hurry!"

"Rice! Bring rice at once! Serve it cooled!"

Suddenly, an incredible aura radiated from the older woman, but Qing was too absorbed in her soup to notice.

Only Yeom Hwiyoung, across the table, was staring in disbelief.

Why is the supreme Flame Priestess working in the kitchen? And she even looks the part of a village housewife... She should just stick with that.

The kitchen hand committed the “crime” of fanning freshly cooked rice to cool it—using inner strength, no less—whipping up a wind like a small typhoon.

The moment the rice arrived, Qing urgently dunked a whole bowl into the soup.

My god, soup over rice—how—here—wow—this—yes!

"Ahhh, this is it, this is it!"

Without pausing to breathe, she emptied the enormous banquet pot.

If anything was her lifelong regret, it was that her body was too strong to sweat—this was the kind of dish you had to eat dripping sweat for the full satisfaction.

"Does it... suit your taste?"

"Yes, it’s the best—absolutely the best. Wow, there’s a soup like this in the Central Plains? What’s it called? Can you order it somewhere?"

"Ah..."

Instead of answering, the older woman swayed, then collapsed on the spot. Qing barely caught her before she hit the floor.

"Are you all right?"

"Hah... Yes. You... you say it suits your taste?"

"Of course. It’s the best."

"Then... I have no regrets..."

Her head lolled to the side.

Well, to be fair, one had to understand the position of the Church’s supreme Flame Priestess.

To the fanatical devotees of her faith, Qing wasn’t a human being.

She was a living Sage-God, and not just any Sage-God, but a benevolent master who granted wishes in real time.

Already, from Xinjiang to Gansu to Shaanxi and its neighboring cities, you could easily find an unfamiliar type of Buddha statue.

A voluptuous female Buddha or Bodhisattva figure, with a cloth draped over her face, and a halo not in the usual soft glow but in the blazing form of the sun.

This baseless Buddha, called the Flame-Buddha, was quickly spreading as a household protector, a bringer of warmth, and a fortune-bringer for the future.

Testimonies claiming to have witnessed its divine power were multiplying.

Of course, most were planted by Church operatives, and the rest were the result of covert support from the merchant guilds that dominated each city.

Now, theologians from the main temple had gone out among the people, building Flame-Halls to preach doctrine under the bright sun—making real the future the temple had always dreamed of.

So for a priestess to successfully make an offering to the Sage-God—her life’s work was complete.

People could faint from excessive emotion.

Of course, this was about as over-the-top as over-the-top gets.

Qing quickly checked her pulse—yep, perfectly healthy.

So what was my soup called, anyway...?

According to Choi Riong, the woman had been a kitchen hand back when Qing stayed in Chang’an, and had made the soup by analyzing Qing’s eating habits.

The fainting, he added, happened now and then—no need to worry.

"Ah. Then I guess I can’t get it anywhere else."

"If you want it, just come back and have some."

Gruff words, but really, it was a request for her to come by more often.

The thought warmed Qing’s heart—just a little.

"Careful, old man, or I’ll show up every day and eat you out of house and home."

"I’m not so small-time I can’t feed one girl. And if that ruins me, well, then I’m ruined. What can you do?"

They sipped tea and chatted a bit longer.

"I should be heading back now. Truth is, I slipped out in secret. Feels great to get out. The Central Plains are more livable than I expected, but also more of a mess than I imagined. Seeing for yourself really is better than hearing a hundred times."

"Eh. Running away from home at your age?"

"Wasn’t my idea. My aunt talked me into it, so it’s not my fault. Anyway—long life and health to you, Mother."

Contrary to her expectation that Yeom Hwiyoung would cling like a leech, he left rather lightly.

"Are you saying we should go back to the Divine Lady’s Gate?"

Rangrang shook her head.

"Rangrang is exhausted from travel. Rangrang cannot move any further. Rangrang demands guest-of-honor treatment at the Heavenly Flower Sword’s trading company."

"My trading company? It’s not mine."

"If the Heavenly Flower Sword says it is, then so it is. In any case, Rangrang cannot move further. Rangrang will fulfill her duties as a resident guest of the trading company."

And Gyeon Pohee generally avoided the Divine Lady’s Gate—Seo Mun Surin wasn’t exactly welcoming.

If she took her along, she’d just mope with her shoulders slumped, so Qing left Pohee at the trading company as well.

Qing then hiked up the slope toward the summit of Divine Lady Peak.

The huge bundle on her back was, as usual when returning, packed with armfuls of gifts for her disciples.

Of course, with her body, it wasn’t heavy—but her heart felt so light she could almost float.

It almost felt like the road home was even warmer and more comforting than home itself.

"Ah! My eyes! All of a sudden, it’s dazzling! Like brilliant light in the middle of the night!"

"This radiance—it’s the radiance of Great-Grandmaster! Great-Grandmaster, welcome back! Wow, you’re even prettier than I remember!"

"Totally like mala! Mala soup!"

"Mala soup is the best! A whole new world!"

"Great-Grandmaster is the best! Totally mala soup!"

Her two disciples, Yeonseo and Sarang, squealed and fussed.

Qing smirked and played along.

"You two always seem to be on guard duty when I arrive."

"Hehe, I guess the Divine Lady must have assigned us to greet you, Great-Grandmaster."

"Mala soup? They serve mala soup at the offering table?"

"Kyaa! I love it! But they say only once a month..."

"I wish it was every day."

"No way. The cleanup would be a nightmare. Have you ever been on duty when mala soup’s served? That red oil is pure evil—"

"Don’t care! But wait—gifts! Those are gifts, right?!"

"Let’s go inside first. We have to greet the Sect Mistress and my master."

"Ah, yes! We’ll come by later then!"

"Tada! Catch, Great-Grandmaster! The most beautiful woman in the world has returned!"

From the look of their antics, life at the Divine Lady’s Gate was as uneventful as ever—aside from the new dinner menu.

"Master-Aunt, you’re here? Wow, you’ve gotten even prettier!"

"Aw, what do you mean, ‘prettier.’ Everything okay here?"

"Only thing is everyone put on weight over the winter from eating too well."

Ever since the Empress’s surprise visit, the Divine Lady’s Gate had become owner of all the surrounding land.

The finances, already more than adequate, had now overflowed into sheer abundance, and the first thing they’d done was drastically improve the menu.

The sect believed in doing one’s own chores, but in winter, apart from gathering firewood, there wasn’t much to do.

So everyone ate better and moved less—hence the weight gain.

"Ah, Master-Grand-Aunt! When did you get here? Candy?"

"Candy."

"Candy!"

Like they’d been waiting for it, the second-generation disciples held out their hands, and Qing handed over candy as if she’d been keeping it for them.

But... there weren’t many disciples asking for candy?

Wasn’t my return supposed to be synonymous with candy?

Has the menu gotten so good they don’t even care about candy anymore?

Weren’t we always the sweet-toothed Divine Lady’s Gate?

Tilting her head, Qing headed toward her house at the summit, planning to drop off her bundle, then greet the Sect Mistress and her master.

Climbing up, she felt the wind whipping past her.

Yes... this wind—it finally felt like she was home.

Her place at the very top, overlooking the Yangtze River, was battered year-round by knife-cold gusts.

Of course, cold never bothered Qing anymore—just a simple thought of, Oh right, I’d forgotten about this.

Letting the wind whip her robe hem, she bounded up three steps at a time.

Then, with her superhuman hearing, she caught another sound mixed with the wind—a sharp, cutting noise, like steel slicing the air.

Turning a corner, she spotted a tiny cottage.

In its front yard, a small, not-yet-grown kid was swinging a sword.

The still-pint-sized Jin Jangmyeong.

Why’s she practicing here?

It was free time after work hours, but still—was she being left out?

Yet last year, Jangmyeong had been practically untouchable as the youngest of the senior disciple, always wrapped in someone’s arms under the excuse of being small enough to hold.

Had her swordsmanship improved?

It was the Shinnyeo Sword Formula—rough, powerful strikes for a woman’s style.

Each move gave off a faint golden sheen of sword energy, the strength behind them surprisingly fierce.

But what really stood out was the visible aura radiating from her whole body.

As if her qi had risen to the surface... except it wasn’t that.

It was just steam—from working up a sweat on a dark, cold evening.

"Oh. Little one. First-rate warrior—mid stage? Late stage?"

Jangmyeong turned sharply, eyes going wide.

Then she dashed over, and Qing spread her arms to receive her—

But right before they collided, Jangmyeong stopped one step short.

"Eh? What’s this?"

"Sweaty. I sweated a lot."

"Who cares? Come here."

"Damp."

"Are you trying to ruin the reunion scene? Come on."

Finally, Jangmyeong dropped her sulky face, jumped, and clung to Qing.

Qing hugged her tight and whispered in her ear.

"Mm. You really are damp. Very damp. If I squeeze you, sweat might just pour out."