Chapter 450: Every Treasure Has a Sad Legend (11)

The only reason she had even noticed the village in the first place was because of the smoke from cooking rice. So in Qing’s mind, when she returned, the table ought to be already set with food.

“My meal!”

She shouted that as she flung the door wide open.

But all she saw was Elder Cheon Yuhak lying on the floor, looking up at her with eyes that asked, What the hell is this brat doing?

No food?

Qing’s expression drooped.

“Those bastards put the pot on and then ran out to fight. It all burned.”

The kitchen where Oh Sanchu’s younger brother had been cooking was empty of people, full only of fire.

So the rice had turned to charcoal.

Always remember to control the flame.

“So we’re cooking again, but damn, we’ll starve to death at this rate. Is that little kid cooking the rice, or is she out there in the fields harvesting green grain before it’s ripe?”

“Mm. I’ll go check.”

So Qing trotted off to the kitchen.

And there she found Jin Jangmyeong, only stomping her feet in place.

“Jangmyeong? The rice?”

“Not yet.”

“Eh?”

Jin Jangmyeong slyly turned her head away.

Qing looked around and found two pots shoved into the corner.

One was filled with pitch-black charcoal.

The other, when she opened the lid—hm? What the hell is this?

Porridge? If it’s porridge, it’s too sticky. If it’s rice, the grains are a disaster. Is this solid, or is it liquid?

The culprit behind this strange phase transition of rice shrank her neck.

“Maybe... a little too much water...”

“Mm. Not a little. Completely drowned in a flood. Huh? Wait. Jangmyeong, you don’t know how to cook rice? You’ve never even been on rice duty?”

“The elder said he likes soft rice... so I added more. But this pot isn’t like the one we use at home...”

Typical of someone who can’t cook:

When the pot changes, they can’t manage the water.

Before joining the Shin Clan, Jin Jangmyeong had been too sickly, always tended to—of course she had no history of cooking rice.

At best, she might have been on “rice duty” at the Shin Clan, which meant literally just cooking plain rice, not actual cooking.

And the Shin Clan pots had etched water lines marked between soft rice, hard rice, and in-between.

“Mm. Well, it’s just porridge. No, it’s not even porridge, but... anyway, it’s edible.”

Qing rummaged around the kitchen, poking into things, and in the pantry she found some greens, dried fish, salted meat, and the like. She tossed them together, stir-fried it roughly, and put it out.

As for the rice? Porridge? The in-between something? She added a little more water, boiled it hard again, poured in soy sauce, and cracked in a heap of eggs—

“Jangmyeong, stir that. Not gently. Put your whole strength into it.”

“Mm.”

So those tiny hands, with pitiful first-rate strength, stirred furiously—

And the disaster rebirthed itself into egg porridge.

“Oooh.”

Jin Jangmyeong’s eyes sparkled as she tasted it.

“You’re good at cooking. You could be a chef.”

“Wouldn’t it be a huge loss to the martial world if a peerless master like me ended up a chef?”

“I don’t think it’d be bad. If I become the boss and you’re the chef, and we hire a busboy, we could open a little inn in the countryside...”

“No way. That’s an ominous thing to say.”

“...? What’s ominous—”

“Hey. And it’s not cooking. It’s just rice.”

The truth was, Qing couldn’t cook.

She just had a good palate, so when she threw things together she knew roughly what it would taste like.

She could put out something edible, but real cooking was out of the question.

“Then we’ll just run a rice shop—”

“Why do you keep on like this? You unhappy with life in the Shin Clan? Someone bullying you? No, can’t be. You’re more the type to bully others than be bullied.”

“I was just thinking. It sounds fun. If trouble starts, we beat people up, collect repair fees. Ah, and if we set up shop in front of the Shin Clan, the brothers could come down and hang out.”

What’s this? A hidden powerhouse chef?

Actually, it did sound fun.

And when demonic bastards came, they could be drugged with paralytic poison and used as study subjects for medicine.

In front of the Shin Clan, if any fools came for revenge, everyone could just pour out and beat them bloody.

And if someone truly strong came—just call out for Master, and she’d come flying on her sword.

So Qing casually brought it up at the table.

Once she said it, she realized it wasn’t because she disliked life in the Shin Clan.

It was just idle talk.

“Heh. You think it’d be fun?”

“Wouldn’t it?”

“Plenty of people dream of retiring and running a quiet inn somewhere. But that’s no life. You think being ordered around by every customer is easy?”

“Ah. Careful. That’s a dangerous way to phrase it.”

“I say it because I’ve tried it all. Merchant, busboy, innkeeper—they’re all slaves to the customers. You think living off other people’s money is easy?”

So said Cheon Yuhak (the thief).

“Mm.”

“Well, this meal turned out better than expected. But this isn’t porridge, it isn’t rice—what is it?”

“Water ratio fail. It’s Jangmyeong’s creation.”

“Well, if it tastes good, that’s enough. It all comes out the back end anyway.”

“True. Should I bring you raw rice and water? It’s all the same once it comes out.”

“Too old. Can’t digest raw rice. You eat it. Aren’t you at the age where you can chew through iron?”

Not really table talk.

But for Cheon Yuhak and Qing, who specialized in rolling around in the dirt, their guts were iron anyway—they didn’t care.

Only Jin Jangmyeong, raised delicately, quietly put down her spoon.

But then Qing, sneaking a glance at Cheon Yuhak, cautiously broached the topic.

“Ah, but Master—do we really need to hide away the Absorbing Essence Demonic Art, and in secret at that?”

“Then?”

“From what I’ve seen, the world’s crawling with bastards who deserve to die. Why not just clear them out whenever we run into them, like this morning?”

At that, Cheon Yuhak let out a long sigh.

“My heart feels the same, after what we just saw. But how? Kill some, destroy others’ dantians, drive some off with a lecture and a beating? Who lives, who dies? By what measure?”

“But we can’t just wait for them to commit evil. We were one step too late just now. What if we’d come earlier? Would we really have spared those monsters? You think they’d repent?”

“Mm.”

“If things harmful to the world should be eliminated, shouldn’t that mean people too—those who should not live? Irredeemably evil—”

“Enough. I understand your point.”

Another heavy sigh from Cheon Yuhak.

“Then where’s the line? How evil, what life they’ve lived, what circumstances they had—how can you know if someone deserves death or not?”

“But still. If they’re drawn here knowing the Absorbing Essence Demonic Art exists, aren’t they all the same sort of bastards?”

“Mm. True. You never were greedy for martial arts. If only everyone were like you. But when it comes to peerless techniques, even the ungreedy grow greedy. That’s why I said it has to be destroyed.”

Qing couldn’t understand—she didn’t covet martial arts.

And the elite heirs of the orthodox sects or noble clans, promised rare techniques already, couldn’t understand either.

But how many disciples of the Nine Great Sects or Ten Great Clans, or the famous Evil Factions, actually existed?

For the majority of martial artists, peerless techniques were treasures higher than the clouds—every day they thirsted for stronger, rarer, more miraculous skills.

So the Absorbing Essence Demonic Art?

Who cared if it was evil, who cared if it was dangerous? What mattered was that it was a famous, powerful art—and that they had the chance to hold it.

The horrific side effects?

For those stuck with second- or third-rate martial arts, living as mere scaffolding of the martial world or outsiders, such things weren’t even worth considering.

No basis, no reason—but surely they would overcome the side effects.

This wasn’t a martial problem. It was human.

Who goes to a gambling den expecting to lose?

Every gambler rushes forward with a strange feeling: Today I’ll hit the jackpot. Today I’ll set the record. My hand will draw perfect tiles, I’ll win every round, I’ll be filthy rich.

The Absorbing Essence Demonic Art was the same.

Once you learn it, the side effects?

Too much essence makes you insane? Then just suck less.

Become the enemy of the martial world? Then hide it. Use other arts, who would know?

Once you reached the Supreme Realm, no one would dare touch you anyway.

“That’s what treasure is. Even men who lived swinging swords in peace are bewitched by it. So remember this well. You must remember.”

It was the admonition of a Divine Thief to her successor.

They didn’t act just to pay for the techniques they received.

They acted because they understood that treasures brought chaos and blood.

Cheon Yuhak, usually never serious, now spoke with gravity. Qing couldn’t help but nod.

That was why, despite all the karma he shaved off with his scams and swindles, his karmic color remained a steady blue.

“Now do you see how shameful your words were? ‘They’re all the same, let’s kill them all?’”

“Hehe. Then what about the famous demonic lords, the ones already notorious? Isn’t it better to wipe those out? What if the manual fell into their hands?”

“Mm. A demonic lord already infamous—true, the world would be better without them...”

“I don’t mean hunting them down. Just don’t sneak around. Walk openly. Drive off the small fry, wipe out the wicked.”

“Mm.”

“Anyway, those who knew the geography must already be lurking in suspicious places. If we keep going like this, won’t the manual fall into dangerous hands?”

Cheon Yuhak stirred his bowl of egg porridge.

After a long while, he let out a deep sigh.

“You’re right. Remember I mentioned gambling? That was me. I thought I could just walk into Mount Lao, find the manual, and burn it. But I see now—that was just baseless bravado. If someone else took it first, or went off secretly, a cursed Absorbing Essence Fiend would be born.”

And then he muttered,

If I do not enter hell, who will enter hell?

The words of Kṣitigarbha Bodhisattva.

Amazingly, Qing knew them too!

Because that was the spirit of Shaolin monks, the opening of the Muscle-Transforming Scripture rooted in Buddhism.

To guide the wicked and save all beings.

Though in practice, if Kṣitigarbha heard, he’d probably snap his staff and break his precepts out of frustration.

Still, it was originally from the Sutra of Kṣitigarbha, about his vow to save even the damned.

And here it had been twisted into: I’ll beat the wicked to death and go to hell myself.

How absurd.

But Shaolin was a fake temple from the start.

Just a sect dressed in Buddhist robes.

Martial arts were, at their core, arts of harming others.

And yet—wielding the strongest martial arts in the world, they declared not “I live for myself” but “I’ll strike down evil for the world.” That ambition was tremendous.

But Kṣitigarbha might save all beings.

Humans? They could barely protect the innocent.

Qing let out a silly laugh.

A technique for removing rivals:

Lower yourself. Make them underestimate you.

A fool’s achievements become accidents, drawing no one’s suspicion.

A skill of negotiation and persuasion:

Make an utterly unacceptable offer.

When the other side recoils, then present the real, practical one.