Chapter 495: Snow-Claw-Zhao-Zhao-Zhao-Zhao-Sword: Speak of Cao Cao, and Cao Cao arrives (12)

Warriors with clenched fists formed up around Qing like a ring of bodyguards.

In the treasure room behind, the ones piecing together the Absorbing Qi Demonic Art wore parched, fervent faces—and turned their blades outward.

Thanks to that, Qing could finally breathe.

Wow, this actually works.

Saved by the humanities!

If this were the sciences, we’d coolly assess both sides’ force, make the rational call—no hope—and commit tidy suicide.

Yes, this is the triumph of feeling, the glory of the dignified liberal arts!

Staring at the stout backs of the warriors guarding her, Qing gently closed her eyes.

Again, in a lonely, blood-slick marsh, a towering wall of blood rose, and between its slabs an entrance opened—shaped by the strange flow of fluid.

Entering Demon, third attempt.

This was the terror of Entering Demon.

First comes the easy “enlightenment.”

Isn’t martial arts ultimately for killing people well?

Then the art that cuts people best is the supreme art.

From third-rate thugs up to absolute champions, that’s the line they toss around; the moment you truly understand and assent to it, the gate to Entering Demon slams open.

But there’s something worse.

The endless temptation.

Even after you think, On second thought, Entering Demon is a no, and back away—you can still step into that state whenever you like.

Unlike normal harmonies of enlightenment—where, if you’re interrupted once, you must endure until the next inspiration—learn it once and you can Enter Demon any time.

An irresistible lure.

Close your eyes and jump; past the door, you too become a Flower Realm “appeal-to-pity.”

You step into the true superhuman state that bends nature’s laws—a place where idea becomes martial form.

Side effect: the art starts driving you.

— ...

Sightless though the Baleful Star was, Qing still felt a chill gaze from above.

What, you sulking? You got beef?

So what are you going to do about it?

Qing pattered forward and dove past the door into the rising blood—arching like a dolphin, plunk.

Viscous liquid clung richly to her body.

The rusty-iron reek that filled her lungs was so blissful it sent pins down her spine, as if it were poking her bladder.

And through drowned ears came voices from outside.

—Back there! Behind! The witch again!

—Halt! Stop! None shall pass beyond this point!

—Protect Peerless Thunder-Smile Girl! Absolute Guard! Defend to the death!

Qing smiled within the blood.

Solid bodyguards.

Since they’re guarding a Blood Sect witch, that makes them “blood guards”?

And since blood is red—Red Guard?

Since blood is red—Scar—no, that’s pushing it.

—Damn it! Stop her! She’s trying to Enter Demon! As if a bitch already wrapped in demonic arts would ever “share” anything once her mind snaps! She learned the Heart-Plucking Art—she’ll start by sucking your hearts dry!

Qing bristled.

What did they take her for.

We red comrades would never fall for such childish fabrications and—oh, hell.

A buried instinct rang the bell.

A dull ache at the lower dantian—that meant an attack was knifing for her lower belly.

Once the body sensed danger, consciousness returned in its proper order.

Not even the Great Heavenly Emperor could stop that reflex.

She felt a rough pull on both ankles from outside the sea of killing intent—and then shlup! She was yanked out flat, like a radish from dirt.

Her eyes opened—one throwing knife flew in.

Ting. Qing’s sweeping arm hooked the blade; it spun off with a taut whirr.

“Too much! Is this how we do each other? You don’t want the transmission? Throw away the Absorbing Star Great Law?”

One punk answered.

“Are you threatening us with a divine art, young lady? Did you not declare the four seas are one family—that you, I, and we all shall be sibling-disciples to make a world under heaven? How then do you, like the oppressors who privatize divine arts, use learning to coerce? Or was it all a lie to wriggle out of danger?”

Hostile gazes stabbed her in volleys.

What the hell—why is he...convincing?

Qing snapped to.

“Y-you would be...?”

“I am called Jong Jeongpil—just an ordinary man.”

Qing waited a beat.

Anyone who calls himself “ordinary” is never ordinary.

And right on cue—

“Five Vagabonds!” “Solitary Blade!” “Solitary Blade!”

Three characters for the epithet—not a normal guy.

The Five Vagabonds were the strongest of the drifters.

That Uncle Yuradal was Flower Realm; the mountain of fat over there was Flower Realm; then this bastard was likely Flower Realm too.

The fatso Pobidon popped his eyes.

“Brother Jong? Why is my younger brother...?”

“Brother Jang.”

“Mmm, little brother? Why not come over here? You’ve got the ability to have divine arts without begging for them, hm?”

Solitary Blade Jong Jeongpil gave a bitter smile.

“Brother Jang. In my short life I’ve walked the martial world with no companions. A sword that wanders alone—Solitary Blade. Do you know why? Because I never found the reason I was born. I refused all ties, wandered free to search for it. For if I were pulled by human affection and bound by human time, I felt I would never find a pure reason.”

“Mm.”

“And only now I’ve realized the mission of the age. Now my eyes see only the future. A future where all warriors unite and temper a common discipline. Where enlightenment is shared as the world’s, not one’s own, and we reach the end of martial study by the strength of all, not by one alone! Where the martial world under heaven does not lie ‘under heaven’ at all—but together ascends to the immortal realm beyond the sky, into a cosmic future!”

“My brother... were those ravings the moment you went mad?”

“No, Brother Jang. My mind is clearer than ever. My ideal looks to the future and my eyes to the present. Here and now, as the greatest and rarest divine art casts off the yoke of ownership and becomes everyone’s, I will make that moment the first step of my long-cherished wish!”

Watching that back, Qing broke a nervous sweat.

Great. A real Red showed up.

And not just any Red—a Flower Realm Red.

Beads gathered under her human-skin mask.

Having declared his program and job-switched to True Red, Jong Jeongpil turned his gaze on Qing.

Crisis pricked.

We cannot let the mood get any redder.

“Ah—yes, Great Hero Jong. Mm. I... thank you for enlightening this humble maiden. I, Peerless Thunder-Smile Girl, Supreme Nyeonyeong, Greatest Beauty of All Ages, almost made a grave mistake. I thought my greatest sin was being born with unmatched beauty, towering intellect, and overwhelming talent—but I nearly committed an even worse sin.”

“What sin?”

“Why did Heaven birth me, Supreme Nyeonyeong Thunder-Smile Girl, and then birth other women? I, Eon Yeonyeong, am a great sinner whose very existence calls to mind the world’s injustice. Being too perfect is a crime—a crime. Ah, I truly am a beauty who endangers the world—yes, I, Eon Yeonyeong, Supreme Nyeonyeong, I alone am beauty peerless.”

Nonsense is useful: it dulls hostility, keeps you from being hated, flips the air.

Minor side effect: they treat you like an idiot.

“For Heaven’s sake. You’re not ugly, but you’re hardly that beautiful either. Please, come to your—”

“Therefore I’ll lessen that sin by sharing divine art here and now! Everyone! Are you ready?”

“...?”

“Are you all ready to be reborn through divine art?”

“Yes!” “We are!”

A few voices this time.

Qing went full hype-host, cupping a hand to her ear.

“All together! As sibling-disciples of the revolution for a new age! Smash! The old order’s! Vile customs! With everyone’s! Self-directed! Study of the martial way! Let’s all become immortals of the Ascendant Realm! Are you ready to smash that immortal realm to pieces!”

“Right!” “We are!” “Yes!” “I’m ready!”

In this martial world, “audience work” usually means street peddlers whining for wine.

This was entertainment tech from the future—the stuff of a supreme divine art.

As the cheers poured like wildfire, Qing pumped both fists and closed:

“Now! Behold! I’ll show you something! The very mystery of a divine art!”

She shut her eyes; a thoroughly unpleasant five-colored aura seeped out.

“Oooh! The divine art—!”

In her mind, a blood-red plain spread; for some reason the sky was pitch black—hey, where did the mercury sun go?

The Baleful Star had vacated its seat entirely.

Its absence felt oddly empty.

Qing didn’t care—she sprinted for power.

Thus, Entering Demon, fourth attempt.

She leapt past the door into the sea of killing intent—plunk!

But martial artists aren’t idiots.

At least, Jong Jeongpil wasn’t.

“Stop! You—Eo-nyeo—no, Eun-yeo—Eon Yeon—what kind of stupid name is that—whatever you are! Up to your tricks again!”

Qing’s eyes flashed open.

“Damn. I was almost through.”

“So you never intended to share anything—you were stalling with lies—”

“Focus, people! First move—Scatter the Mind, Draw Out the Soul!”

A terrifying name for a move, no?

And it’s the first move.

No wonder its reputation as a vicious demonic art isn’t fake.

“What—already!?”

“From the Yin-White point, raise the Bubbling Spring and stand to the earth! Divine art begins by standing correctly—everyone up and follow!”

For the record, “Yin-White” and “Bubbling Spring” are acupoints.

At once, everyone fixed their posture.

Whether hoarders or dreamers of sharing—you still had to etch the mnemonic into your head.

“From the dantian touch the Gate of Origin and Central Pole—without leaning—reach both Listening Gates. Flow forward three-to-seven through Sea of Blood and Yang Mound; focus, pass below Sea of Blood through Slanting Eye to Meeting of Valleys; Yang Mound splits to Double Dragon Spring and Middle Poison—four-to-six! Flow so that the true qi from Meeting and Double Dragon passes the Great Rushing to Bubbling Spring, while Middle Poison’s true qi goes to Shining Sea—then match speeds into Bubbling Spring!”

It was a fairly detailed commentary.

The hall hushed; they listened and circulated qi, taking the stance.

“From Bubbling Spring to Sole Heart; when turning Sole Heart to Supporting Mountain, empower the calf; pass lightly Yin Gate at the back of the knee; empower again at Victory Tally. Return the remaining true qi to the dantian! Thus the returning qi braces before and beside Bubbling Spring and firms Supporting Mountain and Victory Tally! This is the first stage of drawing out your foe’s soul—the stage of standing correctly!”

Warriors awkwardly took the strange base posture.

Heels high, calves and buttocks tensed hard.

For the record, “buttocks” and “butt” are not the same.

Behind the pelvis is a rounded region: the “cheeks.”

Split that circle horizontally: the lower half is the “rump,” the upper half is the “butt.”

So what people usually call the “butt” is only the upper half; the lower half is rump; the whole is the cheeks.

Qing then recited the upper-body points in order, transmitting the through-flow of qi; a few warriors breathed, Ahh, in wonder.

Blindly trusting a stranger’s mnemonics is an awful way to die—lowest of the low.

Screw it up, your meridians knot; you live not living and die not dying.

But as they listened, qi did seem to find a natural path; those who tried it realized this delicate inner work wasn’t some common trick.

Thus the basic stance:

heels raised; shoulders loose and hanging; the distinctive feature was a flow that ran to the head and sharpened eye-force.

“...Once you stand straight, walk straight out—and the divine art’s motion must never break. Your steps are feather-light, silent; heels travel one cun; and the key is...”

They tried to follow; as befit a refined divine art, holding true center proved hard.

Those with higher attainment sensed the art held deep principles of softness.

At peak-level, some even mimicked the footwork passably from words alone.

Practitioner and onlooker alike felt...queasy. Off somehow. Is this right?

Those of lower realm couldn’t manage “soft” anything—their bodies creaked; suspicion rose.

“Is this correct? I can’t make it work.”

“Hmm. Shall I demonstrate? It’s not easy with meridians and sinew work alone. Watch. Like this.”

Qing displayed the divine art’s first move—the proper footwork.

Heels lifted; she stepped feather-light.

A one-cun vertical glide rose soft up the backs of her legs—

—and the motion landed squarely on the cheeks.

With heels raised, the pelvis tilted; the rump broadened, the butt narrowed.

And Qing’s cheeks were no mere cheeks.

Super-ultra-jackpot scale, grand as Mount Tai, setting men’s hearts ablaze.

That vast mass swayed left and right—astonishingly elegant for such tonnage!

It traced infinite paired ovals, swaying graceful and high-born.

A soft shff-shff of cloth on skin murmured; from behind, eyes could not leave her rump.

From the front, moist eyes—sad, wistful, pleading for something—seized the gaze.

Pure yet lascivious eyes made men’s hearts drop.

The step that swayed breasts and butt like no courtesan under heaven—yet also elegant and pure, with a noble grace.

Shrr-shrr—like falling snow.

Cloth brushed bare skin.

The faintest sound—the loveliest on earth—slid through a silence so taut no one dared swallow for fear of breaking it, then drifted farther away.

A Daji descended among men—paramount temptress, and the most exalted of women.

That enchantress padded shff-shff through the stupefied men—

—toward the outer passage.

Art of the Stripping Immortal, First Move: Scatter the Mind, Draw Out the Soul.