Chapter 448: Every Treasure Has a Sad Legend (9)

Human thought—truth is, it rarely escapes a certain narrow range.

That’s why they say: all people’s thinking is more or less the same.

Of course, there are those rare few who step outside the universal bounds, whose ideas are so outrageous they get called geniuses—but that’s precisely because they’re so scarce.

So Elder Cheon Yuhak’s thought—“let’s ask someone familiar with Mount Lao about the terrain”—wasn’t particularly brilliant.

If anything, considering the breadth of learning of a Senior Instructor of the Hanlin Academy, one could say the idea came far too late.

He only thought of it after blundering around the mountain for a whole day and realizing, ah, this isn’t it.

That was because he’d been in too much of a rush.

The treasure in question was Saljungsal—the most vicious thing under heaven.

And on top of that, with his disciple watching, he wanted to flaunt the Divine Thief’s prowess, rushing forward without any proper countermeasures.

Either way, this wasn’t a special thought.

Even without learning the words of Confucius, Mencius, or Xunzi—“if you don’t know, then ask”—anyone who isn’t a timid coward (a pitiful nose-watcher) or an anti-intellectual (an idiot) knows such common sense.

So even the low-learned riffraff of the Four Evils could have come up with such an idea.

And how easy an outlying mountain hamlet must have seemed to such men.

Of course, the people of a fortified outlying hamlet were not fundamentally good.

Like the wall that ringed their village, their hearts had a high and sturdy barrier dividing insider from outsider.

But is that reason enough for extermination?

Of course not.

“Mm...”

Qing let out a heavy groan.

Of course, she didn’t stop at just groaning.

Her Moonlight Sword drew a crescent into the dirt with pure qi-force, and along that arc it neatly separated Oh Sanchu’s ankle from his leg.

“Mmphhh!”

Bound tightly by the Divine Thief’s secret restraining art, Oh Sanchu moaned in pain behind the gag.

Qing prodded the severed foot with her blade’s tip, flicked it upward, and with a dexterous sweep of the sword sent it flying off into the distance.

Through her sword-training with the Divine Thief, Qing was already capable of using her blade like a hand.

Oh Sanchu’s foot traced a parabola through the air, landing with a plop among the mound of corpses. It nestled there as if it had always belonged, as natural as can be.

What was one more stray sole among a mountain of dead? Just another grain of sand on the heap.

“You girl...”

But even Elder Cheon Yuhak’s words carried little weight.

Qing offered a half-hearted excuse.

“He looked like he was trying to run.”

But Oh Sanchu was already tightly bound, one instep flayed of flesh.

Run? The idea was absurd.

Had he actually managed to flee in that state, it would have been such a wonder one might forgive him just to applaud the feat.

“Mmphhh!” Oh Sanchu curled and thrashed on the ground like a shrimp. A remarkable talent, really.

Qing gazed down at the pitiful display, then turned to the pile of corpses that had once been villagers.

Oh Sanchu and his brothers knew nothing of Mount Lao, and so, not knowing, they decided to ask.

But in truth, asking when you don’t know requires no small amount of courage.

That is why the philosophers of the Hundred Schools spread through the world pleading: “If you don’t know, then ask. It is no shame at all.”

Because people feel ashamed simply by admitting ignorance. That is why they so emphatically urged it.

Oh Sanchu and his brothers swallowed even that humiliation, and asked about Mount Lao.

Unfortunately, they had chosen the wrong village to question—for the surroundings were all flat, open fields.

How dare you say you don’t know?

I swallowed my pride and asked, and you dare tell me you don’t know?

The mountain is right there, and you mean to say no one here knows?

Do you take me for a fool? You mock me outright!

And while at it, they relieved the sexual urges they hadn’t had time to vent before rushing over.

For the record, even had there been a seasoned mountain guide, the outcome wouldn’t have been much different.

Good information is best kept to oneself.

Whether they had dragged a guide along as unpaid escort or simply taken the knowledge, the poor fellow was fated to die all the same.

And afterward?

Would Lesser Death-Reaping Saber want others to know he’d gotten information here?

And the dead, after all, do not speak.

Just as this mound of corpses piled and twisted, tangled, folded, crushed, snapped—wordless, lifeless.

“Click. Vile creatures.”

Elder Cheon Yuhak clicked his tongue.

For a man of the Central Plains who had lived long, such a sight was not particularly shocking.

Least of all to the Divine Thief, who had spent his life removing (stealing) dangerous treasures.

This is why the Divine Thief steals treasures.

For anything perilous only draws the greedy, those already corrupt, and twists them into worse monsters still.

The wicked, when combined with greed, can always become far worse than they were.

“I see a few in that tile-roof house over there cooking rice, don’t you? Ai, must be past mealtime, I’m starving. What are you waiting for? Go get us some food. A disciple ought to offer her Master a meal, no?”

Meaning: disciple, go fetch food.

Of course Qing knew exactly what that meant.

It was her Master’s way of saying: I’ll handle these men—go elsewhere for a bit.

Feigning deafness, Qing looked deliberately at Jin Jangmyeong.

“Ah. Jangmyeong? You heard that, right?”

“Me? I’m not Grand Academician’s disciple...”

“What are you talking about? You don’t take care of offerings for your Martial Uncle? What, you plan to let your elder’s stomach growl? Shall we gather everyone when we return and have a little meeting under my senior, with you below?”

Qing was the youngest junior-sister of the First-Generation Head Disciple line, and Jin Jangmyeong the youngest junior-sister of the Second-Generation Head Disciple line.

Call both lines together, and that made a full assembly of First- and Second-Generation disciples.

Of course, even such a gathering would not be grim.

At Divine Lady’s Gate the atmosphere was always light: laughter, chatter, skipping work thanks to their adorable youngest Martial Aunt, teasing her hunger, asking what she wanted to eat.

“You wench, I said cook rice, why dump it on someone else? Is your ass too heavy to move?”

“This is an internal discipline matter, all right? You just watch and eat.”

“What was that?”

“Ah—raindrops!”

“What, does it only ever start raining whenever you’re trying to change the subject?”

“Whoa, I thought someone had poured water over me. Looks like it really is about to pour. Master, shelter from the rain first. I’ll wrap things up here. Jangmyeong, hurry and cook!”

At Qing’s deliberately bright voice, Elder Cheon Yuhak let out a long sigh.

“Don’t trouble yourself too much. We were strangers to begin with. Settle it cleanly. Even if spilling more blood feels cathartic in the moment, such cruel deeds will only wound your own heart.”

“Heh-heh. The cruelty was theirs. I’ll tidy it up neatly and join you. Looks like it really will pour, so please, go inside,”

Qing laughed as she nudged her Master along.

Her mouth smiled, but in her eyes a murky, ominous gleam spread.

****

Qing prepared Lesser Death-Reaping Saber Oh Sanchu and his brothers well.

For her, to “prepare” an evildoer meant snapping both arms and legs—cleanly disabling them, preventing escape or further tricks.

Only after she had finished this did she remove Oh Sanchu’s gag.

“Well? Anything to say?”

“Listen, let’s talk—what do you want? If it’s silver, I’ve a promissory book. About fifty gold taels’ worth in it. If you want, I can add hundreds more. Just take it.”

“Do I look poor to you like this? I’m rich, you know.”

“Then—what do you want? Fine, how about the Death-Reaping Saber? It’s a peerless divine art, one that forged a Profound Realm master.”

“I’ve got plenty of divine arts myself. So many I sometimes forget what I even learned. I’ll lie down to sleep and suddenly remember, ah right, if I’d used that other one back then I’d have won easy, and I’ll end up kicking the blankets in frustration.”

As she answered, Qing busied herself.

What she was doing wasn’t immediately clear—dragging out old blankets, wrapping each of the brothers up one by one, tying them snugly with straw rope.

For reference: twisting straw rope was a common pastime of Central Plains peasants. Every household had bundles of the stuff lying about.

“Why, why are you doing this!? What grudge have you with me? If it’s with my father—”

“No. You were the one who launched a sudden killing strike. I didn’t even know who you were, so how could I have a grudge against your father?”

“Then I apologize! I was merely enraged when I saw you about to harm my brother!”

At that, Qing stared at him steadily.

“Why did you kill the villagers?”

“My father doesn’t know I came here.”

“Ah. To silence witnesses? Then I’ll try silencing you too.”

“Why so vicious? Just killed some worthless rabble, that’s all. Ah... don’t tell me... this was your home village?”

“Nope. First time I’ve ever been here.”

“Then why!?”

Oh Sanchu burst in baffled rage.

Qing too couldn’t understand.

The villains of the Central Plains—

Why are they all like this? What’s wrong with them? Was there ever any need for me to agonize over who had the right to kill, whether I had the right to kill?

It was because their very mode of thought was different.

Qing’s homeland had been the most peaceful, the safest nation in its world.

Murder itself was unthinkable, unimaginable, inconceivable that she would do it or that it would ever be done to her.

But the Central Plains?

Here, men stabbed each other dead over petty arguments, over trivial gain, or simply whenever they saw an opening.

Even respectable craftsmen might, at a glance, turn into robbers, rapists, human traffickers—it was natural.

Not merely martial artists, but all Central Plains folk. In fact, all humanity in this era.

This was life in an uncivilized age.

By the measure of Qing’s world’s history, this was still a primitive antiquity more than a century before the very word human rights would even exist.

She clicked her tongue.

“Enough. This Death-Reaping Saber—do you actually have the secret manual? I only take payment upfront. Hey, stay still, I just wrapped you.”

She slapped one brother across the cheek as he flailed inside his blanket cocoon, broken limbs jerking with pain.

“No one carries a manual around. It’s in my head.”

“In your head? Then I just have to split it open and take it?”

“Promise to spare me—”

“No, I’m no fool. If your father’s son dies, then suddenly some stranger is going around using the Death-Reaping Saber’s techniques—won’t the Death-Reaping Saber himself come hunting to avenge his boy?”

“Mm...”

“Then recite the incantation. If you don’t finish before I wrap the last of your brothers, there’ll be no more negotiating. I’ll kill you all and bury you.”

Oh Sanchu opened his mouth carefully.

But Qing only half-listened, busily unfolding another blanket, spreading it on the ground.

Panic rose in him.

She had said once all his brothers were wrapped, negotiation was over—yet she bound them steadily without delay, leaving him no time for tricks about whether to recite or not.

“...Thus, ten thousand lives may be reaped... There, I’ve said it! I’ve said it all!”

“Mm. Red, huh. Not that impressive.”

“I’ve said it all! Now—”

“No. You called it a divine art, didn’t you? How’s this a divine art? Ah, unless the cultivation method is strong? Then recite the heart method too.”

“What are you—wait, stop, I’ll recite! In witnessing life and death I saw the world as nothing but...”

Qing kept working as background noise, rolling up another brother.

By the time he finished reciting the incantation, she was tying the final knot on the last.

Death-Reaping Saber, red.

Death-Reaping Heart Method, golden.

“Ohh, golden. So it was the heart method that was good. Figures. No wonder you reached Profound Realm. Internal strength really is what matters.”

“What are you talking about?”

“No need to know. If you did, you’d get hurt—or die. I’d kill you myself.”

She spread out yet another blanket.

Oh Sanchu shrieked in fright. His brothers were all cocooned, leaving only him.

“Why the blanket!? I recited it all! We had an agreement—”

“No. Why? Did you think I’d memorize your incantation word for word just by hearing it once? Can you do that? Want me to recite my arts for you?”

“That’s—”

“Now, lie down nicely. Ah, I want gimbap. When we go back, I’ll have someone make it. Hm... wait. Is there seaweed in the Central Plains? Don’t think I’ve seen any.”

“What are you even—mmphh!”

That was the end of the chatter.

Qing very naturally shoved the gag back into his mouth.