Chapter 491: Snow-Claw-Zhao-Zhao-Zhao-Zhao-Sword: Speak of Cao Cao, and Cao Cao arrives (8)

A startling fact!

Qing was vicious even among the vicious.

If it could be done with a clean death, she—unless pressed—never gave one.

Anyone who’d suffered under Qing would already understand.

So why call it startling when everyone knew it?

Because no one had ever survived Qing.

Her repellent habits therefore always hovered on the side of surprise.

Anyway, for such reasons, the Empty-Blood Hall Lord Am Haryong’s attitude displeased Qing.

Why—since she’d gone to all this trouble to come here—couldn’t he at least sob and wail, shriek with rage, thrash around and cry out, “Why can’t I be happy!” so she could savor the torment?

It wasn’t fair.

If she worked this hard, shouldn’t she get something out of it?

And the pain, sorrow, and screams she crafted were, in fact, the most electrifying reward, setting every nerve alight.

“You call that a threat? Even ignorant highway scum say, ‘Hand it all over and I’ll spare your life.’ Tsk tsk. Robbed by a dimwit like this. How am I supposed to live with the shame.”

“Could you at least pretend to feel wronged?”

“I’m eighty. I already figured today or tomorrow. Looks like it’s today.”

Am Haryong strolled out, unruffled.

Qing flashed her blade up.

“Old man. You don’t seem to grasp the situation. You lived enough; at least earn yourself a fine death. Miss Mu Yang, pass the salt. I’ll flay him and pack him thick.”

“Ever think of joining the Blood Sect? Fancy finding a talent like you in a hole like this.”

“Hey, can you stop right now? Do I have to smash your legs to make you appreciate your legs?”

“You came for the Absorbing Qi Demonic Art, didn’t you? Stop pestering and wait.”

So saying, Am Haryong grabbed the ring of an iron hatch set in the exact center of the control room floor and heaved.

“These bastards—told them rain seeped into the hatch and to oil it, and they wouldn’t listen to the end. Even brazed together it’d be less solid than this.”

Qing’s eyes thinned.

Was this Blood Sect codger playing a trick, or had he truly gone to hell with it all? Hard to tell.

What if it was some kind of self-destruct trigger.

Secret bases like this always had a suspicious self-destruct, didn’t they.

“You’re not pulling something, are you? You haul that and the whole stoneworks collapses and we all get buried together underground, that sort of thing.”

“Dim girl. Why do you think we gutted a sound mountain like this? My role is to gather the hardest men and shove the Absorbing Qi Demonic Art into the hands of the hardest of them. Now I see—the art had its owner all along. With a perfect, vicious witch standing here, the martial world’s future will be a spectacle.”

Nope. I’m burning it.

You picked the wrong person entirely.

If the demonic art goes up in flames after your twenty-year dig, you’ll be thrilled.

Qing swallowed the retort.

Mechanism craft in the Central Plains was far more primitive than she’d thought, and it didn’t run on cosmic mysteries—Heaven–Earth qi or suchlike—but it was still an unknown field to Qing.

So shelve it.

If she burned the old Blood Sect rat right here in front, the look on his face might be worth it.

After a long, wheezing struggle at the floor hatch, Am Haryong finally flopped flat, panting.

“Ugh—huff—too hard for an old man. Just kill me. My days end here; what glory am I exercising for.”

“Hey. Move.”

Qing took a step, but a small tug on her sleeve stopped her.

She turned; no one was there.

Because the culprit was small.

She dipped her gaze: Jin Jangmyeong, eyes huge and clear, pleaded with a face full of worry.

“It’s dangerous.”

“What choice do we have? If we go back downstairs now and hunt for the demonic art, the Evil Path is crawling there.”

“But—”

“And if you ease it open, you can feel everything. If anything catches, I’ll drop it at once—so don’t worry.”

Qing was fanatical about her own safety.

A woman who could distinguish with a blade the feel of each organ she cut wasn’t about to miss the tactile catch of a mechanical latch on an iron door.

Calmly, Qing took the floor ring and lifted.

The rusted, heavy iron hatch screamed, scraping at the eardrums.

Just by weight it had to be around a hundred jin; add rust to a thick plate, and there was no way a mere Second Rank, late-stage oldster could open it.

Careful, careful... hm?

No mechanism at all?

At last the floor hatch yawned wide.

A vertical shaft lay bare; far below, a small square of light fell in.

Pretty high. No lift?

Sadly, nothing but rope ladders pegged to the wall—stone-age level, really...

Qing stifled her regret.

“There. The Absorbing Qi Demonic Art you wanted is down there. The hatch is open; kill me or spare me as you please.”

“Hnh. Cute trick. You go first. I’m dumping you below. Then won’t the Evil Path idiots, their trip wasted, take it out on you?”

“Do people usually announce that? What a wicked girl. To think the art I worked so hard to prepare passes to a fiend like you—well, the twenty years were worth it. Ugh—”

Still smirking, Am Haryong finally took a kick.

Clutching his side, he rasped and writhed on the floor.

“You Blood Sect maggot—because you’re old and I spoke nicely, do I look funny to you? You keep getting on my nerves. Want to die, old man? If you want to die, beg more politely. Even if you beg me °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° to please kill you, I’ll have to think about whether to give you a clean death—what a joke.”

Elder Cheon Yuhak let out a groan.

A very young woman had just kicked an old man; a scene to fear being seen.

Even knowing his disciple was a famed orthodox adept and the old man a vicious Blood Sect fiend, the thought arose.

Back in Qing’s homeland, they called it the “beaten dog” effect:

humans, by nature, pity the weak.

In human evolution, protecting the weak favored survival—or so they said.

“Kh-heh-heh, why so angry.”

“I wasn’t going to spill blood today, but that’s shot. You’ll see.”

“Ever hear the saying there’s nothing scary about the man who says, ‘You’ll see’?”

“Enough. Down you go, nicely.”

“Fine, I’m going. Go. What a foul temper you’ve got for a fresh young thing.”

“Hold it. Here. Mr. An. You’re free now.”

Qing slipped the rope from An’s neck and looped it neatly around Am Haryong’s.

“If you try anything funny on the way down, you know.”

“That a harlot like you becomes the Absorbing Qi Witch—the world’s future is pitch-black. Kh-kh.”

Am Haryong chuckled nastily and crawled into the shaft, piece by piece.

His side clearly hurt; he twitched and clenched his teeth, and though it showed plain as day, he didn’t loose a single groan—a true diehard.

Qing watched—then suddenly yanked the leash hard.

“Kh—huk—khhh.”

At that jerk he lost the rope ladder and hung by his neck, clawing desperately.

Just as his hand nearly touched the ladder again, Qing jounced the line and shook it off.

Of course, pendulum laws sent him swinging back; he slammed the wall hard, then barely caught the ladder by his chin.

Qing peered down with a sadist’s smile.

Murong Juhee, seeing that face, went a little hazy-eyed—but luckily everyone else was aghast at Qing and didn’t notice.

“So after all the kill-me, spare-me, you still want to live? You kept saying you’d lived enough—I figured you’d go limp and give up.”

“Damn wench—kh—grrr—”

“Words don’t get through. Think of this as a demo of what happens if you try anything. Behave. You understand?”

“...”

This time, apparently truly stung, Am Haryong clamped his mouth shut.

Qing followed him into the vertical shaft, climbed down four rungs—

Thunk!

The rope ladder suddenly sloughed away.

And Qing, a material resident of the world with mass, couldn’t very well shrug off gravity’s temptation.

Only, gravity underestimated Qing.

In an instant she flung her limbs wide.

Hands and feet hit the walls and squealed down, then locked; with force, one can resist gravity!

And then—thud!

“Argh!”

The weight slamming into her back yanked the cords in Qing’s limbs taut; pain lodged a loud protest.

“Mm. Sorry, friend. Are you all right?”

“If you’re sorry, would you kindly climb off—fast?”

The culprit was Namgung Sinjae, next in line on the rope ladder.

Good thing the rope cut quickly; it was just Namgung Sinjae.

If the whole party had piled onto Qing, even the strength of a longshore brute couldn’t be guaranteed to hold.

Of course, Qing was a brute who might have held anyway.

Namgung spread his limbs along the walls and, looking a bit ungainly, scrabbled back up.

So, it was a trap after all.

Likely designed to snap under a certain load.

That old man’s stratagem wasn’t child’s play.

He acted like he wanted to live so they wouldn’t suspect, lest they refuse to descend.

Even though he knew he’d fall if it snapped.

But we held, didn’t we?

Damn it, I can’t let that old bastard die easy.

Qing looked down.

“I’m going down like this and bringing the demonic art back!”

She shouted, then eased the pressure in her limbs just a hair.

Pressed hand-and-foot to the wall, Qing slid down in a steady scrape.

Perfect for peeling the skin off.

But nothing at this level could mar the beautiful palms of the Minor Demon Witch.

Only, her shoes ran hot—ow!

Qing tucked her feet and let her arms carry the weight, dropping straight down.

It loaded her arms more, but tucking her legs brought one advantage: her body stayed upright.

Thus she slid and, at last—tap—landed lightly below.

“Ugh. What is that smell.”

Even stench had ranks; the first was corpse-rot.

At a reek so awful it felt like her nose might fall off, Qing pinched it and looked around.

To one side sat a single handsome chest that screamed precious at a glance.

And the source of the smell: dozens of bodies draped all over the stone chamber.

Most were shriveled, twisted husks.

Here and there lay ordinary corpses with neat holes punched through their hearts.

Who decorates a room with corpses.

Qing grimaced and was taking it in when—

“Kh—khek—curse you—long-lived—wench—tough—”

“Ah! Old man! You’re alive!”

Qing greeted Am Haryong, sprawled on the floor.

Either luck had him fall soft, or he’d managed to land with both legs free.

With blood pooling at the corner of his mouth, he didn’t look long for the world, though.

Qing beamed.

She’d planned to let him watch as she burned the demonic art; it would’ve been such a shame if he’d died in the fall.

“You thought I meant to master the Absorbing Qi Demonic Art? Wrong. I’m burning it. A vile art like that has no place in the world. Do you understand me?”

“Kh—kh—khek—huhh—can you truly—do it? You think the Absorbing Qi Demonic Art is just some demonic art? It can make you the best under Heaven.”

“Hnh. Watch closely—no whining. All right then. Curtain up!”

Humming, Qing opened the chest.

Of course, she wasn’t careless.

Her fingertips felt for any trick—if there was another trap laid—but surprisingly it opened smoothly. Huh. Intact?

Inside lay a single manual.

In that dark, clotted hue that looked written in blood, four crooked, ugly characters announced themselves: Absorbing Star Great Law.

Beside it, on red brocade, lay a richly decorated dagger; Qing, picking it up idly, jerked in surprise.

How could a dagger be this heavy? Roughly ten jin?

How does a dagger weigh ten jin?

On inspection it was just a dagger-shaped ornament blazing with jewels, not even edged.

The gold alone screamed not-a-trifle, so into the pack it went.

Only then did Qing lay her hand on the manual.

Sparkle-sparkle—her status window chimed a gaudy alert for a new art pre-registering.

Proof the manual was whole.

Qing popped the arts window.

The name of the newly registered art glittered.

[Heart-Absorbing Art]

Two deep furrows cut between Qing’s brows.

“Eh?”