Chapter 506: Karma Drips Along the Thread of Life and Death (8)

Yubang County’s ancient name was Qingzhou. The famed Qingzhou Troops—Cao Cao’s elite—were raised right here.

Strictly speaking, though, in that era this place was called Beihai, and Administrator Kong Rong—Confucius’s singular descendant—was a native son.

“Kong Rong” might sound like a forgettable name, a face in the crowd.

But he was one of the Later Han’s brightest lights—a true scholar so clear-headed you’d doubt a Central Plains man could be that lucid. You can see it from his shockingly direct theses:

“Why are we to revere and serve our fathers? If you parse it, he merely relieved a lust and left a drop. And why revere and serve our mothers? She simply expelled what had formed inside, as she would any other waste.”

Cao Cao used those lines to proclaim, “A paragon of unfilial conduct!” and wiped out Kong Rong’s three clans. But Kong Rong himself was renowned as genuinely filial—a blazing exemplar—so the charge was slander.

Kong Rong wasn’t abusing parents.

He was attacking how filial piety, the teaching of the Ancestor and Confucius, had been hollowed into a political display for others’ eyes. Think of Yuan Shao, darling of scholars for doing the double “three-year mourning.”

And Cao Cao—never one to be left out—who orchestrated a political ethnic massacre in Xuzhou to sap its power, then sold his dead father to defend himself.

Maybe because this is Kong Rong’s city—

—here came the cortège of Princess Yeonsul, the realm’s quasi-mother.

By principle, the Son of Heaven is parent of all under heaven, and that status applies to the whole bloodline, not personal acquaintance. Princes and princesses become the people’s quasi-fathers and quasi-mothers.

Naturally, one should kneel, knock the forehead, and present the attitude of a child attending a parent.

Instead, steel flashed blue, and indifferent eyes scanned the army. Inheritors of Kong Rong’s spirit, perhaps?

“Oh, my lady, look! The people of Yubang are preparing to stand in attendance for you. Admirable folk! What sort of welcome ceremony will it be?”

“That’s not a welcome. That’s a pre-execution setup. Most likely.”

They were martial artists sniffing around to see if they could steal the finest demonic art under heaven.

How in the world does that read as a “welcome”?

(For the record, standing in attendance means standing to serve a superior—an honorific way of saying one came out to greet.)

Anyway, as we approached Yubang, the two armed castes—army and martial artists—drew near.

Yet there was almost no tension.

Because officials and martial artists don’t touch—that’s the unspoken detente.

To soldiers, “martial artists” are just gangs with swords.

To martial artists, “the army” is a bottomless pit—poke it and the backlash swallows your three generations.

They edged closer—

“Hey, that woman on the white horse—isn’t she pretty? Who is she? A young lady-official?”

(“Lady-official” = a woman in office.)

“Pretty? Where—oh.”

“Not kidding.”

Pretty? Where, where—there. She is. No, come on; you’re only saying that because she’s among soldiers. You’re not first-rate, you’re second-rate—you can’t even sharpen your eyesight. Smells like a scam, brat, and so on.

Bored senseless while waiting for Heavenly Flower Sword, the rumor—a pretty woman is coming—raced through the gathered fighters like wildfire.

And she was truly pretty.

A fairy out of place on a white charger—but when a face is beautiful, anything you wear and any posture you strike becomes a finished piece.

Then—

“Wait, that’s Heavenly Flower Sword! Why is she over there?!”

Their eyes shone with three glares at once: disbelief, outrage, and anxiety.

Why is that one appearing inside the ranks?

And not just any ranks—troops under the Provincial Commander’s banner.

A man in a general’s hat rode at the fore—the Provincial Commander, clear as day—with Qing abreast of him. They muttered a moment; signal flags popped; the column slowed and halted.

Look at these bastards’ faces.

Qing chuckled and made a point of sweeping her gaze around.

Everyone wore the look of someone hopping from foot to foot, yet frozen—eyes alone shouting, Why are you coming out of there?

So how could Qing not offer a little toast?

“Hello, everyone! You know me, right? Seo Mun Qing.”

“Three-Headed Beauty!” “Heavenly Flower Sword!” “Heavenly Flower Witch!”

There it was again—Three-Headed Beauty. Sigh.

And Heavenly Flower Witch? That one was new.

It was the freshly updated epithet for Qing. She’d practiced a “demonic art,” so—witch.

“Most beautiful witch under heaven”—praise or slur? Hard to tell.

Smiling, Qing looked down at the martial artists from horseback.

The clever commander’s horse struck a grand pose of his own, glowering down with her.

Taking in the sight of a properly turned-out Heavenly Flower Sword, the fighters were—at first—awed.

But that smile... something wicked about it.

Hehe. Stings, doesn’t it?

Heavenly Flower Sword stood still—point made.

If you’ve got something to say, say it.

But not everyone has speaking rights.

If recognized masters are present, the lesser hands know to shrink back—that’s the martial world’s tacit law.

It’s a hard life, being lesser.

This is why you become a master.

“You there, Heavenly Flower Sword. You—”

“Hold a moment. Who are you, sir?”

One of the high-level ailments of masters: they assume everyone knows who they are, cut their own introductions, and jump to the thesis.

“Ahem. I am Wei Damyeong.”

“Ah! The esteemed Ten-Thousand-Slayer. The martial-world speech-student Qing pays respects. I beg pardon for not dismounting; circumstances keep me in the saddle.”

Qing folded at the waist, courteous.

Ten-Thousand-Slayer Wei Damyeong—one of the Five Vagabonds, counted on the “orthodox” ledger. Word was he’d earned the epithet by cutting down foreign raiders and nothing else.

Qing’s manner left Wei a little blank.

Reports from Mount Lao survivors painted her as a witch—cruel in the hand, delighted by killing, talented at deceit.

Which, to date, is the most accurate portrait of Qing—but Wei, the orthodox “Young Dragon,” found it hard to square “witch” with the woman before him. Truth is this slippery.

“I’ve heard you, having falsely borrowed another’s name to slander and accuse, must carve a blood road through five cities to Hangzhou to beg forgiveness. How then do you appear under army escort?”

“There’s a misunderstanding. It just so happens a training evolution is passing. As for me being escorted by the army—how could a private subject misuse the Emperor’s troops?”

(Misuse = use another’s property, or use something contrary to its proper purpose.)

Summarized:

I was just going by, and the army just happened to be going by too.

Also—this isn’t just “any army,” you know that, right?

Wei Damyeong was struck dumb—nose and mouth both stopped up.

A little more and he’d have shut his eyes too, successfully sealing his whole face. A pity to have fallen just short.

“Er. So. Then—from here on you’ll proceed separately?”

“Oh, I’ve been proceeding separately all along. The army is conducting the army’s training. Isn’t that right, Grand General?”

“Mm. Mm. Correct.”

Wang Ssangryong assented.

The fighters’ outrage meter spiked.

Separately, yet the two chatted like old friends.

Anyone could see they knew each other.

“Mm. Grand General—improper as it is for a mere subject to ask the army’s schedule, is the onward path a strict military secret?”

“It is not. Training must be like war, but confronting civilians breeds anxiety; therefore if anyone under heaven asks, we should disclose the schedule. The Western Army will remain in Yubang four days, then move for Imgi County. This was planned roughly six months ago.”

“What a coincidence!”

So once again—the same schedule.

And it’s been planned half a year.

Hearing the bleak news, many finally shut their eyes, or covered them, or rubbed them down.

Full facial lockdown achieved.

“G—haa.”

Wei tried to speak; words failed.

Well, then. I’ll do the talking.

“Everyone—you must have lots of questions. Let me clear them up at once! First: I, Heavenly Flower Sword Qing—have I learned, or memorized the manual of, that damned Absorbing Qi Demonic Art (Saljungsal)?”

Eyes snapped wide, all at once, faster than a blind seer from the Far East throwing off his cataracts.

A sudden mass address.

“The answer is—no! I came to erase that cursed art from the world!”

A swelling boo—cries to stop lying.

Qing felt wronged.

So truth gets persecuted like this, huh.

“Wasn’t it suspicious from the start? I cut down the Green Forest chief and took a Treasure Map, learning the intel on that vicious art. Yet there were multiple copies of the same map. Anyone else here carrying one?”

At “I slew the Green Forest chief,” gasps popped like corks.

Qing herself had just confirmed the not-so-credible rumor.

She raised the Treasure Map high.

A few responded.

“Oh?” “Me too!”

“See? Multiple identical maps. And what about the rumor you heard? How could news of a world-shaking demonic art be so broadly broadcast—unless someone decided to seed it?”

A buzz rolled outward.

One man bellowed:

“Don’t be ridiculous! Then why did you hide the truth and borrow another’s name to commit that slaughter?”

Qing stayed unruffled.

“The only falsehood in my actions was borrowing a name. Now, listen. First: Peerless Thunder-Smile Girl—was that a lie?”

Even saying “Peerless Thunder-Smile Girl” with her own mouth, Qing was unabashed.

Because that one’s funny enough to carry. Calling yourself the world’s unrivaled beauty might feel embarrassing; “Thunder-Smile Girl” is impish—it slides.

Normally such self-praise should spike the outrage meter, but the crowd roughly accepted it.

Because... it wasn’t wrong.

“Second: Eon Yeonyeong was once a Marshal Alliance inspector, then massacred her clan and joined the Blood Sect. She is a Blood Sect witch.”

Nods.

“Third: when martial artists fight to ends for their aims, if you call that slaughter, then the martial world is merely a slaughter syndicate. Isn’t that so?”

It had force; some nodded.

Of course, those with family or friends lost felt otherwise.

“How is it a life-and-death duel when a high master like you massacres the weak!”

“Then what about the six Flower Realm masters who combined against me? I can name at least four—Jeollak Fortress’s Holy Lord, Pobidon, Solitary Blade, and the Freak Monk. They joined hands to catch a single Absolute like me—shall we call their move an unlawful massacre?”

Pettily invoking Flower Realm!

Admit it here and you hand Flower Realm masters a license to kill by honor (not really).

Mouths clamped shut.

Of course, it wasn’t only Qing being petty.

They’d picked a fight because an Absolute seemed easy, and now wilted when Flower Realm names came up—pettiness on both sides.

Truth be told, if she’s allowed to run her mouth, Qing’s jaw is just about best under heaven.

Earlier they screamed “demonic art!” and swung first—that’s why she tumbled and ran.

But now? The army is at my back.

How could she not be delighted?

She chattered in high spirits.

“And another thing. There’s this ridiculous misunderstanding that I’ve learned four of the Ten Evil Celestial Arts—no, five—well, strike Absorbing Qi Demonic Art; I’ve cleared that up. So, four.”

“‘Misunderstanding’?! I saw it with my own eyes! You wielded Lesser Demonic Art and Black-Kill Demon Palm, spat violet lightning, and your eyes wore the Heavenly Wheel’s Demonic Sight! How can the world’s witch, who gathered four of the Ten, speak so boldly!”

Ah. So that bastard was in the stone chambers.

Hmph. Four? Is it really four?

Qing only let a smile curl.