Chapter 463: A Sad Legend, What Kind of Legend Is It? (13)

They had prepared to camp in the mountains, yet for the second day in a row, they were already coming back down after only one night.

Cheon Yuhak drew a big circle on the map.

A wide ring around the eastern waist of Mount Lao

“This should be where the Tyrant Force Sect are holed up. So this time, let’s climb from the west.”

“Hm. But since their Young Master got turned into (meat pancakes), won’t they come down hunting revenge?”

At that, Cheon Yuhak flicked his knuckle hard against Qing’s head—thunk!—then immediately rubbed his own joints with a wince.

Anyone not a Profound Realm master should never try knocking Qing’s head.

It was like rapping on thousand-year cold iron; the one hitting took more damage.

“What kind of filthy mouth—ugh. Can’t you speak more properly?, really?”

“But it is the truth...”

“Bah. Sa-bul-geup-seol, Eon-bi-cheon-ri, Ak-sa-cheon-ri—they all say once words leave your mouth, they cannot be taken back. Gu-hwa-ji-mun and Seol-jeo-yu-bu—the lips and tongue are the root of all evil. A gentleman does not speak carelessly, he thinks thrice before he utters, and keeps his words measured. And what is this—blurting filth without thought? Eo-bul-taek-bal!”

(Sa-bul-geup-seol = “words spoken cannot be chased”; Eon-bi-cheon-ri / Ak-sa-cheon-ri = “words travel faster than a thousand miles”; Gu-hwa-ji-mun = “misfortune comes from the mouth”; Seol-jeo-yu-bu = “the tongue is the axe.”)

In short: Bul-eon-jang-dan—don’t gossip others’ faults.

Sam-sa-il-eon—think thrice before speaking.

Geun-eon-sin-haeng—guard your words.

And Eo-bul-taek-bal—running your mouth like a fool.

“Ugh. Then... Ji-ja-bul-eon...”

Ji-ja-bul-eon—the wise keep their mouths shut, meaning don’t flaunt your knowledge carelessly.

Cheon Yuhak smiled, satisfied.

“Hm. You’ve studied more than I thought. To understand and recite characters like that. Still—speak nicely. Don’t call it.”

“Hehe.”

Not that Cheon Yuhak, who moonlighted as a shady peddler and crooked trader, had much room to lecture.

But that’s parental love: even if he didn’t keep the rule himself, his disciple had to.

“Anyway, only the Sect Lord of Tyrant Force would be furious about losing his son. The others? They’ll just swallow curses, angry they’ll be punished for someone else’s brat dying when they never lifted a finger. Worse, unless they find the Absorbing Qi Demonic Art, that fury will fall squarely on their backs, so won’t they search all the more desperately?”

Well, if you raised your own son like that, isn’t it your own hand that killed him?

Taught him: don’t work, just rape women.

“Hm.”

But Qing bit her tongue.

She’d just been told to mind her words, she couldn’t go breaking it at once.

“It’s laughable though. What right do they have to fury? A child shows what the parent is. If they never taught him, then wasn’t it the parent who killed him?”

“Ah.”

As they say: you see the master by the disciple.

But then again, Cheon Yuhak himself had a tongue sharp enough that he had no right to scold others.

“Anyway, let’s head to Cheongdo before sunset. The Tyrant Force Sect have to at least pretend to be searching for the culprit. If a stir breaks out in town, that won’t be good.”

****

And so—Cheongdo!

Nothing much.

They’d heard it was a backwater, but it really was.

Until some future nation that loves moustaches, crooked salutes, and flipped temple symbols came to colonize, it was nothing but countryside.

Still, the land was fertile and the river water clear. Not a complete dump.

And “clear water” wasn’t just a phrase—few places in the Central Plains had water as pure as Cheongdo.

Sangjang County sat southwest of Mount Lao, a small city at the foot of Gebong, the tallest peak.

It had a tidy trail that drew tourists, enough to be called a city.

Except—no rooms.

With exaggeration, one out of three passersby was a martial artist.

Even as they scouted inns, shouts rang out—“Die, bastard!” “Do you know who I am?”—yet few bystanders even looked. They’d seen it all too often.

So no surprise—every room from luxury guesthouse to shabby inn was full.

Outside the city they’d already seen campfires and people huddling around.

But that didn’t mean they had to sleep outdoors.

With silver, you could always rent someone’s house.

Still, what they found was shabby compared to the coin they paid.

At dinner, every tavern and restaurant was packed, so they ended up pressed in a cheap eatery.

Curiously, while the drinking houses were overflowing, the teahouses had space.

Qing insisted on the teahouse.

The meal was thin—so they had to chase sweets.

Half excuse to escort her tea-loving master, half her true desire.

Whether food or sweets, she’d never close her eyes until one or the other was hers.

They rented a side room upstairs at the largest teahouse. The city bustled below, though only three of them watched.

Qing was too busy eating sweets.

Why gawk at a street full of rogues?

Then—

—“Stop right there, you bastard! I said stop! Nobody’s going to eat you alive!”

A ruckus tumbled closer, until someone leapt through the open wall into the room.

“Forgive me! Could you please hide me, just for a moment?”

For someone barging in, he was quite polite.

“My friend, we’ve no wish to be dragged into disorder. Help one side, and the other takes you as enemy.”

“Sir, it is not that! No trouble will follow, I swear. Please, think of it as saving one life—!”

Desperate, but courteous.

To Qing’s eyes, not exactly good karma, but not evil either. For a martial artist, he’d lived decently.

And more—hm? Had she seen him before?

“Hm. Hiding under here will do?”

“Thank you! Thank you, young lady!”

The man dropped his pride and crawled under their round table.

Jangmyeong and Murong Juhee squealed, shoving their chairs back.

Natural reactions for young women.

But Qing didn’t see the issue.

Why? She wasn’t even wearing a skirt.

“What’s the matter?”

Cheon Yuhak gave her a side-eye.

“He doesn’t seem bad? And... doesn’t he look familiar somehow? Like someone you know through someone else? That kind of feeling.”

“Hm. If so.”

So Cheon Yuhak let it be.

—“That bastard! Where did he go? Hey, you see a guy with a cut on his face? Huh? Over there?”

Rough voices from outside.

As they traded glances—

someone else vaulted into the room.

The wall was for viewing, not climbing, but—

“Oh? Guests inside?”

Qing’s eyes went wide.

She knew this man.

“Seven-Hero Vagabond! Elder Yu Randal, isn’t it?”

Off by two.

It was Nine-Hero Vagabond Yu Randal, the master she’d met during the Nagnyeong flood.

“Not seven, nine. Hm? And do we know each other?”

In truth, Qing’s face was unforgettable once seen.

She had three of them.

But if he didn’t recognize her, the disguise was working.

Qing couldn’t reveal herself, so she spoke truth.

“I’m Nan-hwa’s friend. Hey, this is Nan-hwa’s father. Greet him.”

“Hello.”

Jangmyeong bowed.

Yu Nanhwa was Yu Randal’s daughter, currently training in the Moon Maiden Sword Formula at Divine Lady’s Gate.

Yu Randal’s expression softened.

“Oh? Elder, you too came seeking demonic arts?”

“Yes. But since you’re Nan-hwa’s friend, I’ll tell you: never touch such arts. What use is strength gained from wicked martial arts? Stay away from this filth. Leave now. Listening to your elders will never harm you.”

The lecture came immediately.

“Indeed. Wise words.”

Cheon Yuhak nodded gravely.

Yu Randal bowed slightly in return.

Qing just stared.

If he wasn’t here for demonic arts, then why?

“I’m already known for my sect’s arts. What need have I for demonic skills? No, I came hunting my son-in-law.”

“Son-in-law? Nan-hwa’s already married? Huh? But last spring—”

“No, no, not yet. Hm? You saw her last spring? How was she?”

“She looked very pretty. Right?”

“Mm. Almost like reborn.”

Yu Randal’s face blossomed.

“They even gave her the nickname Hwan-myeon-tal-myeon—‘Face Changed, Face Shed.’”

Qing and Yu Randal both looked awkward.

Sounded more like teasing than praise.

Jangmyeong rushed to clarify.

“No, no. She gave it to herself. Asked us to call her that.”

Yu Randal nodded. Yes, his daughter would.

“Ehem. Anyway, I picked a fine son-in-law, but the bastard won’t listen and keeps running off.”

“Ah.”

So much for “no trouble.”

“My mind! Did anyone see a fellow with a cut on his face? Name of Nang Yacha.”

Qing tilted her head.

Nang Yacha? Heard that somewhere.

“Ah, hm. He went that way. Closed the door behind him, too.”

“That brat. A vagabond should have vagabond pride, not sniffing after demonic arts. And you, don’t linger here. Off with you. I’ll be going. And apologies, sir.”

“No apology needed. Farewell.”

Yu Randal stepped out.

From room to room his voice boomed, calling for his son-in-law, then faded.

“You can come out now.”

The fugitive crawled from under the table—Yaktae-gang, alias Nang Yacha.

He glanced around nervously.

“You... you’re Lady Nan-hwa’s friends?”

“Something like that. But isn’t Nine-Hero Vagabond good enough for a father-in-law?”

“Lady Nan-hwa—you know, right? If Elder Yu Randal just grew his hair long—”

“Hey, didn’t you hear? She trained the Moon Maiden Sword Formula, got much prettier.”

“It’s not that. She just... doesn’t think of marriage at all. I can’t imagine her ever settling down.”

After saying she looked just like Yu Randal with long hair, his protest had little weight.

Anyway, Qing wasn’t about to force a marriage on someone running from it.

“True. Marriage should be for love, not because of a father. But Nang Yacha—are you here for the demonic arts too?”

“I heard the rumors, so I came. But—just the day before yesterday, didn’t you see Amukhaplab, that old monster from Qinghai? If someone comes all the way from Qinghai, what chance have I but to bleed? I’ll be leaving.”

Yaktae-gang’s motto: join when you should, leave when you must.

It was why he, a vagabond, still lived safe.

He clasped fists.

“Yuk Mo thanks you for your kindness. Be careful.”

He bowed to Cheon Yuhak, vaulted the balcony, and was gone.

Why they all used walls instead of doors, who knew—

—“You bastard! Hey!”

—“Ack.”

Wrong time.

Two men clattered off again, yelling.

Cheon Yuhak clicked his tongue.

“This doesn’t look good.”

“Right. Chasing a son-in-law who doesn’t want it is wrong.”

Qing agreed.

But Cheon Yuhak only scowled, as if she were missing the point.

“What nonsense? Didn’t he just say? He saw Amukhaplab, that lama.”

“He’s famous?”

“They call them the ‘Alabdaltekbulshinsas,’ odd sorts. That’s not the problem. The problem is—if he came from Qinghai, how did he arrive so exactly on time?”

How could word travel across the Central Plains in time?

No way through rumor or courier.

“Another Treasure Map?”

“That’s what’s strange. Even if the original was copied, how could it reach all the way to Qinghai?”

“Well... it did, since he came?”

Qing remembered something from home.

What was it? Don’t waste time on counterfactuals for things already happened?

The razor? Beckham? What did a footballer have to do with razors? Well, they did do ads... Oh. Tonkatsu sounds good.

But Qing had learned resignation.

No way to verify old homeland notions—better to shrug and move on.

Of course, some things could never be shrugged off.

If she craved it—she’d cook it.

Pound pork, coat in crumbs, fry. Done.

But Cheon Yuhak’s frown did not ease.

Qing had stolen a Treasure Map from the Green Forest Chief.

Strictly speaking, she stole his life, the map came with it.

Another map had been with the Byeongju Three Fiends, who roamed the northern border of Shanxi.

Now Qinghai?

Even the Daoists of Mount Kunlun had abandoned their mountain as too remote, relocating east near Qinghai Lake.

So how had a Treasure Map ended up with lamas in that desolate place?

Unless someone was deliberately scattering the maps.

Which was why Cheon Yuhak could not help but scowl.