Chapter 502: Karma Drips Along the Thread of Life and Death (4)

The Flower Realm is... a bit like that.

You have to let your guard down to spring an ambush or slip in poison or anything at all.

If you meet head-on, what can even I—an Absolute beyond Absolutes—really do?

Her body felt light, her mind razor-clear.

The long-silent true qi of Dao and Buddha unfurled their wings all at once.

Taoist Qing, on stage.

Dao and Buddha—full release.

Pure breath melted through her four limbs and hundred meridians; the bristling mind settled into warmth instead.

For the first time in a while, that sunset-glimmering Guardian Qi slid over her skin and laughed as it welcomed her.

And then, the sword danced.

Look at the sword and the person is gone; look at the person and the sword is gone. Because the two are one, they can’t be told apart—Oneness with the Sword.

Among the monkeys, the Moon Maiden’s innocent sword-dance—no fixed forms, no set shapes, only a natural romp that wove wherever it pleased.

The very act of unfolding swordplay lifted her spirits, set her alight; even the texture of slaughter at her fingertips receded far, far away.

Now and then, a solemn bell-tone rang.

“Central Plains bastard!” “Qing!” “Heavenly Flower Sword!”—voices all different. Whenever masters closed on her and let their killing intent bloom, Qing scattered to show them up and left no trace.

Wave-Skimming Steps load harder the more obstacles there are, and people are the worst obstacle of all.

A spear of pain flashed—like a long needle driving into her brain.

But only for a moment. The crystalline true qi of Great Clarifying Heart-Method cupped her head and soothed it at once.

“Running again? Get over here! Come fight me fair!”

Qing laughed.

A Flower Realm master telling an Absolute not to flee and to fight fair?

Granted, the illustrious Qing—yes, that Absolute—does count as Flower Realm class.

Your anger is my amusement. Stings, doesn’t it?

Her eyes curled, sly as a crescent moon.

It put a beat in the hand that cast the sword.

Moon Maiden Sword Formula, Second Move:

A Guileless Child Plays with Monkeys.

Once upon a time, in the far, far past—

A girl who had grown up alone in the mountains met a troop of monkeys.

The Moon Maiden’s first encounter with something that wasn’t herself.

They looked similar, but the monkeys did not share her words; they played not by speaking but by clashing blades.

A sword that had, until now, threshed the empty air in loneliness finally struck something.

Her sword-dance began to take shape.

No longer the crooked scribbles a child scratches at random across the sky, but the cunning of I see you, and I fully intend to hit you once.

Thus her dance ceased to be a solo; it rebirthed as a round dance that blended with its partners.

Steel met steel; when the foe shoved, she slid back, quivered, spun. She changed partners, met new eyes, leaned weapons together—her hems whispering as they flowed.

Why is battle a dearer intimacy than dance? Because it burrows deeper than mere skin-to-skin touching.

Like Qings edge threading through an enemy’s heart.

Truthfully, the genuine Moon Maiden Sword Formula’s Second and Third Moves are not all that different.

Faster. More violent. With more power. With more softness.

But that is exactly what the martial path chases:

More—ever more—force.

Moon Maiden Sword Formula, Third Move:

Amid Calamity, the Blue-Clad Girl.

Though the world burns with disaster, the Moon Maiden’s world alone remains nature—an island apart, still at peace.

And the Moon Maiden grows.

No longer a child: limbs long and lissome; a swelling chest—awkward, jostling, only a painful lump of flesh that makes her pout.

Still, the added height, the lengthened reach, and the jump in strength—those, she quite likes.

She became a woman, yet she was still the blue-clad girl of the peaceful woods.

Yesterday, today, and tomorrow, she would romp with the monkeys, swinging branches and throwing back pure, ringing laughter.

Suddenly, the Moon Maiden looked around.

A vast plain she felt she had seen somewhere.

The play-forest was gone; an ice field spread, white with snow. Her eyes only sparkled with curiosity.

The four characters for guileless purity hold no fear.

In the next instant, the Moon Maiden—Qing—blinked.

Lay fine snow in place of blood. Raise a chalk-white ice wall instead of walls made from coagulated gore—and right here you have the town under that talking star that once looked down.

In the sky, where that grotesque, mercury-boiling star had hung, only endless wind-tossed snow flew upward without end.

Why a snowfield?

Why else—because it’s the road not yet walked.

The realm where my heart dyes the world—the dawn of Ideation—my Ideation is still virgin, a pristine snowfield that only I can walk.

Qing looked at the ice wall and understood at once.

Ah. This is still a liiittle short. What a pity.

She turned her back and filled her eyes with the endless breadth behind her—

A wide, blown-open land; a single file of footprints reaching until the end could not be seen.

She smiled, unburdened.

Still—I’ve come this far, haven’t I?

Right. To hell with Entering Demon.

Why was I so fixated on it?

Power is necessary, but I already get drunk on cutting; if I also let the art itself swing me, then truly—the birth of a Great Demon.

No way. I’m not “Great Demon Qing.”

I’ve achieved Oneness with the Sword. The Flower Realm is right there.

Inside her dantian, little Qinggs clapped, hugged, and spun—true qi sprites of Dao and Buddha celebrating.

Her new tactic was taking: if the slaughter threshold kept rising, one day it would dull at last.

Qing breathed out—long and clear.

Men writhed and groaned on the ground.

After she rampaged, the sheer number of people still alive was enough to make her rub her eyes in surprise.

She glanced around; warriors flinched and backed away.

She lifted her gaze toward the direction where the Shin Family Tomb’s entrance had been blown open—more precisely, above it—and gave a small nod.

“Well then. Time to get going.”

Her figure split into eight.

One translucent Qing spread her arms wide, lifted into a graceful flight, kissed the earth, and set off with light, pattering steps.

“The Heavenly Flower Sword is running!” “Catch her!”

At last, as if their wits snapped back, the seekers of Absorbing Qi Demonic Art answered with shouts.

All at once, eyes turned vicious; killing intent surged; pupils grew muddy with greed.

But Qing had already reached the outer edge of the broad clearing before the stone gate.

“Hah! I’m off to Yubang! Chase me if you can!”

She called out, whipped into the brush, and vanished.

Warriors thundered after her.

Even so, more than half stayed in the clearing—each making what he thought a rational call.

Having seen Wave-Skimming Steps with their own eyes, they knew a mountain chase would be futile.

But the next city—Yubang?

How is a city named Yubang?

Is it one Liu Bang founded or what?

They would be passing through Yubang County anyway; whether they set their net before the gates or inside the city, waiting would bring her to them.

Some hurried straight down the mountain to report to their sects or gather acquaintances, so they could be the first to lie in wait for the Heavenly Flower Sword.

Thus even the pursuers, watching Qing’s shape dart away, went pale and unconsciously eased off their pace.

Trees whipped by on her left and right.

Her lightness arts were peerless under heaven.

Those lightning zigzags—tat-tat to either side—proved she deserved the name.

A thread of voice-transmission slipped into her ear.

—Girl, is running all you’ve got? What’s your plan now?

—Ah! Master! What about the kids!?

Her face blossomed.

She turned her head; there—between the trees—an outline flickered in and out, pacing her stride for stride.

—For the moment, hidden up ahead. Can’t you lower that blasted volume? Is that voice-transmission? You’re just shouting in one direction.

—Thank goodness! I’m running; it’s hard!

Voice-transmission only sounds when it reaches the target.

If the target is moving, hitting them is harder; transmitting is harder too.

Of course, Qingg declared all this proudly despite being unable to modulate her volume even while standing still.

She glanced around.

—Master!? It’s the Martial Alliance! We went in to destroy Absorbing Qi Demonic Art, but we fell into the Blood Sect’s trap and got framed for learning all sorts of demonic arts! Couldn’t you spread that for me!?

That was the root of her confidence.

Evil Path thugs? Drifters? Who would believe a mob that gathered to hunt demonic arts anyway?

Eon Yeonyeong—she has this oddly innocent streak when you look at her.

If I insist it isn’t demonic arts, that’s that.

Qing was following Seo Mun Surin’s teaching to the letter.

Agitation and fabrication were still a shard of a future too early for Central Plains folk.

—A frame-up, is it? Well... demonic arts are how you use them.

Elder Cheon Yuhak had watched his disciple hurl demonic arts with his own eyes—from behind a pane of crystal in the spectator gallery.

Does that make her wicked?

What kind of depraved demon meets your eyes and then beams a dopey, generous smile, flashing bright affection?

Yes, her hand is brutal to the point of being a born killer. But he had never once seen that violence turn on anyone but the wicked, and he was sure it had been so all along.

—Ah! Master! By the way! You still have the Mount Lao map, right!? Can I have it!?

—Angle a little left. I’ll meet you ahead.

Running fast, the two trimmed their lines and narrowed the gap.

Before long, Elder Cheon Yuhak—disguised—matched pace at her side and flicked out a map.

“Ah, Master. Also—if the Martial Alliance starts talking rescue team or whatever, please head that off. That turns into a full-on brawl. Tell them if they leave it alone, it will resolve itself.”

“Eh? How? You mean to obey that vicious woman because she’s got some leverage on you? How will you carve a blood road alone all the way to Hangzhou?”

“I’ve got a plan, okay? The map you borrowed—where is that? Where am I headed?”

“The Provincial Commander’s garrison? Why there? Ah! Do you have strings in the army?”

Scholar Cheon’s face had brightened.

However you may scorn the bureaucracy, constables and soldiers are a different matter—they’re the Emperor’s property.

Qing nodded, grinning heh-heh.

It wasn’t for nothing she’d asked whether she could borrow Eon Yeonyeong’s help.

Come to Hangzhou, is it?

Fine. Then I’ll go.

But what—she thought I’d crawl in there after “some hardship,” bleeding out and begging?

No. I’m going in easy—and proud.

They say you don’t lay hands on officials or soldiers.

Even if not that—really, what martial artist wants a proper feud with the army?

Defy them and shells fall like rain.

In the end, she would have to poke around the Imperial Palace anyway.

It couldn’t be put off forever.