Chapter 511: Karma Drips Along the Thread of Life and Death (13)

Jong Jeongpil strode out of the Prefect’s palatial four-sided manor lighthearted and unimpeded.

He had glimpsed the new world to come and found the road that led to it.

The new age might be so distant these eyes would never see it.

But because of that, he could spend his whole life without holding anything back.

The road ahead might be a catwalk laid along a thousand-fathom cliff—sheer, perilous, narrow.

But difficulty is what makes a challenge worthy.

How could a man with a chest not feel his spirits surge?

His steps were irrepressibly cheerful.

He recalled their last exchange before he left.

“Then—what was the art you revealed back in the stone chamber, teacher? I tried a circuit of Small Heavenly Orbit as a successor would, and it truly seems a fully ordered, complete paragon among divine arts.”

“Ugh. ‘Teacher’? That’s a bit much.”

“They say when three travel together, there is a teacher among them. And are we not, in your teaching, to distinguish neither teacher nor disciple, but learn from each other and exert ourselves together? Then I should call you senior—but ‘senior’ reeks of distribution and rank, which is improper for us. So—teacher. What do you think?”

“...Call me whatever your heart likes. Great hero Jong Jeongpil, do all you wish to do. I already serve my master and belong to a school; I will only cheer you on in my heart.”

“Yes. Then—what is that divine art?”

“Oh, that. It’s just a nameless Immortal-Maiden Art. The preface—ah, but this. It cultivates the body’s lines long and round, so for a man to practice it the look might be... rather, yes, that. Still, there’s no side effect in the first move, so you may learn it.”

“Indeed! The Immortal-Maiden Art practiced by the peerless beauty of the world!”

He was sincerely awed.

If the teacher’s beauty truly reigned under heaven and above it, then an Immortal-Maiden Art practiced by her would be the treasure of treasures among divine arts—the one all women under heaven would wish to have.

Besides, she said it’s fine to learn.

That meant she hadn’t twisted the mnemonic or pulled a trick.

She had cast a perfectly sound divine art before that evil rabble who’d gathered to monopolize demonic arts!

How could I have doubted so noble a teacher!

I, Jong of the Jeong clan, had eyes and still failed to see!

Only then did he “understand” Qing.

She had set her resolve, but she already belonged to a school and had raised its name; she could not betray a family like that, so she merely stayed her hand.

He understood it entirely his own way.

“This successor first meant to win freedom for divine arts by struggle and revolution. I believed it meant shedding blood—changing the world by sacred redness. Thus I thought a war of liberation for Red Unification was the righteous path. Thus I meant to raise the red banner of the Red Army.”

“Ghk.”

“Startled? But no longer. Not by blood, but by will; not by Change (hua), but by Harmony (he). Therefore the name of our company that will change the world shall be the Righteous Harmony Society! Not war but enlightenment—the Righteous Harmony Movement!”

At that, the “teacher” cocked her head.

“Huh? Why is that... familiar? It sits oddly well on the tongue.”

“Hah! Then it must delight you as well!”

And so.

The smile never left Jong Jeongpil’s face as he set out.

Where to first?

Start by gathering the thirsty—drifters.

Yes, it would be good to pay respects to Brother Ten-Thousand-Slayer.

A brother who raised his sword to guard the common folk—spreading divine arts would give strength even to commoners fading away because martial training never reaches them.

Then surely brother would gladly join this solemn cause.

And now that he knew a peerless Immortal-Maiden Art, he might seek out Brother Nine-Knot Drifter, the uncle who wants an Immortal-Maiden Art for his niece.

Yoo Unryo, that half-mad one, is at least sincere about martial arts; I can broach it with him.

Pobidon? No.

Even sharing a meal, he uses his dried meat as an excuse to indulge every gluttony.

A slab of greed stuffed into a man’s shape; he needs more waking up.

Names flickered through his head.

Because he had done nothing yet, the things he could do were overflowing.

Thus the Solitary Blade—no longer chasing solitude—took the road, styling himself from now on the Righteous Harmony Blade.

Only, what would become of his days ahead—no one could say.

****

Within the Baekha River that runs north–south along the west of Yubang County, the inner side of the southernmost wall was the soldiers’ encampment.

Ordinarily it was unused, so merchants had filled it and opened a market—an expanse of open ground.

A market inside a military encampment meant for emergencies?

One might well find it strange.

But merchants, even as they used ownerless ground, had to pay for their spots.

And the Prefect-lord found silver and gold of unknown provenance bubbling up from somewhere—the very cornucopia of humanity’s taxes.

For reference, a “Cornucopia” is a mysterious treasure chest from which wealth keeps springing.

Originally it was the water-tub used when building the Great Wall of old—the sewer basin, a tub to hold river water.

That tub was so huge they said the water never seemed to go down no matter how they used it, enjoyed without limit.

So the meaning shifted to “endless treasure chest,” and the written form followed the meaning and became “Cornucopia”!

In any case, once you look closely, every oddity runs on human time and interest—so truly, in the Central Plains, nothing is strange.

The “poor merchants” lost their stalls overnight and had to clear the ground—but Qing had no need to feel sorry.

It was simply the proper end of illegal hawking, and “poor” never means “good” or “right.”

So a new facility rose on the soldiers’ ground the merchants vacated—an arena.

What, you don’t like that I fronted a little and bragged about a demonic art that isn’t even there, people of the Central Plains?

If you’ve got a problem, come swing.

As Qing declared, the place where life-and-death duels would be fought was open.

Before the first duel even began, the stands were past maximum density.

A fight is the greatest spectacle in the Central Plains.

A beauty is second.

And the Heavenly Flower Sword—closest to the peerless beauty of the world—is doing a life-and-death duel?

How are you supposed to stay home?

So soldiers, Yubang folk, martial artists—and snack sellers who never miss an opening!

The duel hadn’t even started, and there wasn’t a toe’s worth of space left.

“When’s the Heavenly Flower Sword coming out?”

“They say she’s that pretty? You saw her, right? What does she look like?”

“Pretty.”

“No—describe it. What about her eyes?”

“Pretty.”

“Her nose?”

“Pretty.”

“Her lips?”

“Pretty.”

“Say actual words, you little—everything’s ‘pretty’?”

“She’s just... really, really pretty, and there’s no way to describe it. Just look.”

“Oh—she’s coming! There! There!”

And those who hadn’t yet seen Qing’s looks confirmed the rumor made flesh.

Mm. “Pretty” was the accurate word, they decided.

It happened here and there.

Half the ring around the arena was soldier seating, so Qing threaded through and swept her gaze over the crowd.

What is this, the whole city out at once? Don’t you people have work?

Isn’t it the busy season? You’re not busy?

Well, not my problem either way.

Qing drew a slow breath in.

“As I said already: a tangled rope is useless until you untie it. So here and now we will untie old grudges. If you bear a grudge against me—or if you don’t believe or can’t accept what I’ve said—step out, and let’s settle it in the martial way.”

The martial artists were nonplussed.

Small wonder—the half ring of soldiers had already armed themselves with spears and sabers.

As if to say: if things go badly, we charge.

And up on the tall temporary towers ringing the place, each soldier held a bow—or leaned into a steel arbalest, sighted and ready.

As if to say: if things go badly, we shoot.

“Hold! Heavenly Flower Sword! A question first. Those soldiers on the towers behind—what are they?”

“Oh, them? They like a high view.”

“Why are they holding bows?”

“Isn’t a weapon a soldier’s companion? How would a soldier set his weapon down? Soldiers—am I wrong?”

“Correct!” “Correct!” “Correct!”

The chorus boomed in answer.

“You said this was ‘just happened to be the same road,’ did you not?”

“It just happened to be the same road.”

“That—no, look at this. You’re plainly thick as thieves. Why else would they crowd in and show spear and blade?”

“Come on. Look, the people of Yubang turned out in droves to watch—what’s strange about soldiers coming to watch? You’re all here to watch, right?”

“Correct!” “Correct!” “Correct!”

“There. Even the soldiers say so.”

What can you say to shameless stone-walling done on purpose?

It left them stunned and out of words.

“Now—let’s untie the knotted cord.”

No one was hearing anyone anyway.

Those who wouldn’t believe there was no Absorbing Qi Demonic Art—and Qing, who had lined the place with soldiers yet insisted they were “just spectators.”

Qing stood there with her sword angled down, and for a long stretch no one dared step forward.

Which was only natural.

If you mean to settle a grudge, it pays to watch your opponent’s techniques first.

See whether the soldiers really will only watch.

See whether the Heavenly Flower Sword is soft or not—whether she truly has the skill to face one Flower Realm master or three Absolutes at once.

Then—suddenly—someone popped out.

A bald stick of a man with not an ounce of flesh on him—no, not even muscle; skin stretched over bone.

“The Freak Monk!” “It’s the Freak Monk!” “Amukhalab!”

Knowledgeable onlookers cried out.

Watching fights is the Central Plains’ finest sport, and reading the tide of a match is a point of pride—so the instant they recognize something they shout, desperate to show they know, racing like the fastest carriage to be first.

Great. A Flower Realm jumps out at the opening bell.

Qing tensed a hair.

In decent company, one entering a life-and-death duel states his business first.

So the onlookers settled at once; the air grew still.

Everyone fixed on the Freak Monk and held their breath, waiting for his mouth to open.

At last, it opened.

“Who pushed this one!? What sort of person lacking father and mother does not know courtesy? In the Buddha’s name, never forgive! Killing licensed by Buddha!”

He hadn’t come out on his own—someone pushed him.

And “never forgive in the Buddha’s name”? Does that make sense?

“Senior Freak Monk, were you shoved out? Not to fight a life-and-death duel?”

“Accurate! Just so! This one will confirm! If Central Plains woman is endangered, will use demonic art!”

“As I already said, Saljungsal was the Blood Sect’s despicable trick.”

“That cannot be known. People in danger struggle unconditionally. If there is demonic art, they use it. If not—die and prove innocence.”

Unless Qing fought a life-and-death match and didn’t die, he meant to keep doubting.

Qing was dumbfounded.

Does that pass for logic? What kind of witch hunt is this?

A monk hunting witches?

Truly a Freak Monk living up to the name.

He clicked his tongue, turned his back, and went to take a seat among the onlookers again.

Boos swelled around him, but he didn’t care in the slightest.

No sooner had he done so than three men sidled forward.

Their eyes already brimmed with killing intent; when Qing looked at them, their throats bobbed hard—meaning their nerves were taut and they were ready to fight.

And yet the positions of the three were delicate; they hadn’t traded a glance.

Qing arrived at the conclusion instantly.

She had offered to take on up to three Absolutes.

It looked like three men who didn’t know each other had agreed to join forces to avenge a grudge.