Chapter 525: Chaos (11)

Gongsun Yo-ye had been restless of late.

The Gongsun Gong clan was growing ever more prosperous.

A year or so since the Martial World Tournament.

They’d raised several new warehouses and knocked down the manor wall twice to expand the estate.

They’d hired many new warriors.

Thanks to that, mishaps cropped up now and then—but a house with real clout has the power to wave even mishaps away as if nothing happened.

It helped that they’d been formally recognized among the Ten Great Houses of the martial world; but more than that, the pace of growth had surged before and after one woman entered the household.

“Elder sister, heh-heh... please carry this?”

A woman with slit eyes and bead-dark pupils, lips red as if painted in blood, teeth set in a faintly predatory line—

she offered a tray with a suspicious chuckle.

It felt as if black lines of smoke curled off her; the teacups on that tray simply had to be poisoned.

“Ah. Thank you... little sister.”

“Thank me? Heh. Too much is as bad as too little. You might harm your health at that rate? And if your health fails, what then? Heh-heh.”

As if to say: please, harm your health.

But Yo-ye knew it wasn’t her intent.

Sama Ryeong was just like this.

Her younger brother, the young master Gongsun Cheonil, had held a formal wedding this spring with Sama Ryeong, second daughter of the Sama Clan.

For a daughter of a great house, she was... plain?

Personally and objectively, Gongsun Cheonil—whose looks were striking—felt “wasted” on this match.

But Sama Ryeong was kind.

Not only kind, but capable: even before the wedding, as the lady-in-waiting of the Gongsun Gong clan, she involved herself in every enterprise and promptly seized the commercial scene in Nanjing—a talented woman.

When Yo-ye had pictured a sister-in-law, she’d imagined something... villainous? Peevish, poisonous—that sort of feel.

Why did nothing fit except the looks?

In truth, Sama Ryeong was thinking along similar lines.

She’d heard this clan’s bile ran high as they fought to reclaim their surname; imagine her nerves, going to her in-laws even before the wedding.

Add that Gongsun Cheonil’s looks were anything but ordinary.

Yet Cheonil proved a good husband.

Mother, Father, and the clanfolk were all proper and courteous (a bit short on warmth, perhaps). Even before the wedding, a ring of warehouse keys flew into her hands—surely a symbol of the mistress of the house.

And the elder sister? With siblings so close, she’d feared snubs; instead—

the woman herself was so guileless that, if not fussed over, she’d swing a sword until she collapsed.

All the while awkward and shy—mm. What is this? Adorable?

In short, Sama Ryeong was delighted.

Compared to being jostled among the father, brothers, and sisters of the self-satisfied Sama Clan, life as the mistress of a house suited her far better.

“But is it all right to linger like this? The Heavenly Flower Sword is said to be in life-and-death duels with her enemies right now—aren’t you her closest friend? Shouldn’t you go to her aid?”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

Sama Ryeong laid out the story.

Yo-ye, who’d buried herself in the training hall all day, had no way to know the world outside.

No one had forced her since the tournament; she’d chosen the training herself.

Now that the clan had risen among the Ten Great Houses, what they needed next was a peerless master to make a name.

Besides, she didn’t know any other way to live.

“In that case—I must go at once—!”

“Heh-heh. I thought you might say that. I’ve already packed your things. Take them and go.”

To others’ eyes, it was the perfect scene of a wicked sister-in-law shoving out a splinter-in-the-eye elder sister—a sinister mistress seizing the house.

“Mm. Thank you, little sister.”

“Thank me? Heh—if you truly wish, I do have a wish to see the Heavenly Flower Sword. What sort of person is she, truly? Heh-heh.”

No ulterior motive—just the pure desire to see the woman she admired.

Among the next generation of leading martial women and the youngest of the present—

the Heavenly Flower Sword was the very person they longed to meet, the next First Among Women.

“I’ll... try.”

“Ah, and the clothes you’re wearing—please have them laundered at every inn you pass? You have four spare sets of undergarments, so don’t let yourself fall below two. The rice balls are a day’s supply and don’t keep, so eat them quickly?”

“Uh... yes...”

“And fifty silver taels, plus a few notes—I added those from my own purse, so use them freely—or rather, please spend them all if you can. They’re in a waterproof pouch, but notes can still get damp, so take care. Always split the silver into the money pouch; pickpockets are no joke—martial folk get caught napping too. And... be wary of old men, women, and children... if a suspicious person begs help... be careful with grudges—but if you must bind one, finish it for sure...”

She’d told her to go, yet the nagging poured on.

Gongsun Yo-ye sweated bullets but couldn’t bring herself to refuse.

She simply listened, politely, and took every note to heart.

****

A Royal Sword Form, executed with a crescent blade.

Of all possible paths, the blade traced the fastest, truest, optimal line.

The Black Tiger Gate master died in a single stroke.

He rushed in and was cut in two—torso flying, legs flopping—and spilled his innards in a filthy heap.

In that instant, Qing’s figure swelled vast.

Enemies, crowd, avengers—all saw a giant that touched the sky.

She merely stood and ruled the world.

Her face stayed indifferent.

What meaning has a common man’s death to a sovereign?

She wasn’t looking at the foe but at the world—

from the sky, gazing down on the earth, the Son of Heaven’s vantage, moving a million pawns on a board.

Qing glimpsed the heart-image held in the Royal Sword Form:

The sovereign stands alone, aloof—no enemy, no ally—simply existing, ruling all.

The sovereign extended a hand.

Only a blade-tip aimed—an unfeeling gesture.

Yet the Black Tiger Gate warriors felt a knife fall upon their own throats.

With a scream-like kiai they tried to shake it off; knowing they would lose if they charged, they still found themselves entering the fight—

because somehow, they must.

Black Tiger Gate—exterminated.

Drops ticked from the crescent’s tip.

The blade itself was relatively “gentle.”

It was the opposite end—the iron maul on the haft—that was monstrous, hung with flaps of human hide, pale brain-matter, and ragged gut.

Their core fighters were dead; extermination was a foregone conclusion.

In the underworld’s code, the weak get torn apart; and in truth, before the tearing, those of the demonic path usually bolt with the sect’s assets—that’s their way.

“Well then.”

In the hush, only Qing’s voice.

A hard swallow.

Everyone knew the next words.

“Next.”

As always, she tossed the line.

The avengers were flummoxed.

When did she learn the crescent blade?

Isn’t this a wipe?

Yet several nodded with grim resolve.

If we don’t kill her now, we never will.

Miss this window, and she becomes a giant beyond us for life.

Names were called, men stepped out.

But the number?

“How do nine Absolutes step out at once?”

“Isn’t it common knowledge that a late-stage Absolute matches three early-stage?”

Qing was nonplussed.

When did I ever declare I’m late-stage Absolute and will take three?

Thinking back—it was probably those earlier rushes.

Back then it had been a mixed lot; Qing was strongest in snarled melees, so she’d just accepted them.

She hesitated.

Send the signal—or not?

Even for a triple-decapitating Absolute, can I handle nine?

Can I block nine streams of sword-qi?

Then—

“Hold it! How is this remotely fair!?”

A voice cut in—one very familiar to the ear.

A woman popped out and strode to Qing’s side.

Small-framed, face hidden under a conical hat—but Qing couldn’t fail to know her.

“Eh? Nanaa?”

“I can’t with you. What are grudges worth if you’re going to be this brainless? What is this, a strongman show?”

“Mmm, not exactly... let’s talk after—”

“No.”

Tang Nanaa rolled her eyes and shouted, right then and there:

“Since this is a place to settle grudges, as Miss Seo Mun Surin’s friend I’ll lend my hand! My realm is only mid-Peak; if there are such gentlemen here, step up and join these underhanded cowards—or don’t!”

“Hey—how about not—”

“No thanks.”

More youths arrived on cue.

They took their places at Qing’s shoulders and hefted their arms.

“I too will aid the Heavenly Flower Sword. My realm is mid-Peak—if you’d balance the numbers, come now.”

“Same. Early Absolute.”

A hulking brute said, oddly polite; and another—whose jawline looked handsome even beneath his hat—added briefly.

“Eh? Sani, when did you hit Absolute?”

“Hmph. Someone else made a show of becoming Absolute first.”

“Elder sister, are you not glad to see me?”

“Oh? Jeogal, good to see you too. I’m grateful, but—”

“If you fall here, we of the Short Blade & Twin-Swords Society lose our leader and must seek revenge. In principle we should ‘nip it in the bud’—ah, do you know that phrase? It means, if something trivial threatens to swell, don’t watch—eradicate it first. This was when Emperor Zhang of Eastern Han died and his young son Emperor He took the throne; the clan of the Dou family, holding dreamlike power, were feted everywhere—officials queued for approvals and begged for handprints; they must have felt like emperors. At which point a certain Zheng Hong—”

“No, that’s enough. How did you all even—”

“By boat, naturally. Hu’eum is the Central Plains’ greatest salt entrepôt, and directly linked by canal to Kaifeng where the old palace stood. Boats go downriver far easier than upriver, so if you catch one on the Grand Canal, you arrive quickly. I don’t mean the canal’s freight line but a fast boat; the difference is—”

“I said that’s enough.”

Qing’s brow twitched.

In her memory, Jeogal talked plenty—

apparently those memories were rose-tinted.

Right—he was always this talkative.

“Mmh. I’m grateful you came, all of you, but... could you wait over by the command tent? I’ll finish quickly and come.”

“No.”

“It’s dangerous here—”

“And us? You want us to stand and watch you in danger?”

Tang Nanaa’s eyes flared.

Qing’s words caught.

What was she supposed to say?

You’re all weak.

If you “protect” me, it gets harder for me.

Even Qing—whose specialty was shameless truth—couldn’t toss that out here.