Chapter 532: Poison-Blade Uproar, Poison-Blade March (5)

Sleep, astonishingly enough, is not that grave a matter for a martial artist.

Qing doesn’t like the method, but with live-combat compressed meditation for two hours she can shove off fatigue and weave her mind clear as glass.

Of course, it’s a stopgap. Do that every day and you’re begging to go crazy. You need at least one good night’s sleep every five days; strictly speaking, it’s a trick for deferring exhaustion.

You could call it the biggest divide between commoners and martial artists: everyone gets the same twenty-four hours—whether you can use them efficiently or not.

That said, there aren’t actually many martial artists who do it. One in ten? One in a hundred? Unlike Qing’s homeland, in the primitive antiquity of the Central Plains there just isn’t much to do after sunset, and there aren’t that many so desperate and ruthless about cultivation.

In that sense, the Short Blade & Twin-Swords Society is a very wholesome club of real martial artists.

Gongsun Yo-ye, who has carried her clan’s long-cherished wish like it’s only natural, and Namgung Sinjae, who holds the curious value that if you stack inner strength at night you can swing the sword one extra time by day—those two were already like that to begin with. Since Qing’s entry into Absolute, Paeng Daesan took a hard breath and got diligent; Murong Juhee too (she just can’t sleep well at night, but to others it looks that way); and Seol Iri is no less relentless.

Jeogal Ihyeon, though, says muscles only grow when you sleep, and he guards his sleep like a dragon guards its hoard; Tang Nanaa was never that interested in martial arts to begin with.

So from the Paeng and Murong elders’ viewpoint—no, as they put it, “Our child made friends with the Heavenly Flower Sword and look how admirable they’ve become!” As the saying goes, you need a worthy rival to grow.

As old people always do, the clan elders never miss a chance to brag about their children. No wonder that oddly named training club, the Short Blade & Twin-Swords Society, is riding high. There’s a reason Mucheon Pavilion, which hosts the Martial Alliance’s most honored guests, was given over to them—even if only unofficially.

Anyway, sleep isn’t particularly a grave matter.

And yet.

After a good boil in hot water, Qing came back to find four women spread wide on the bed with generous space between them. The higher the room grade, the bigger the bed, so there was plenty of room—but their eyes were all sending the same plea: please come here.

Qing has a strong pushback against curses, fists, spears, and blades, but she turns to jelly in the face of warmth. She’s the type who can’t muster force against affection. Even if she slid in between two, that would leave one on each side—and the other two would feel left out.

“Mm. Girls?”

“What are you doing? Why aren’t you coming here.”

“Over here.”

The small, long shapes at the extremities left and right called, hurrying her along. And the other two were sending bright, round eyes that said, You’re coming to me too, right?

Mm. Proof of friendship is hard. Do you have to share one bed to be friends?

Qing tried to set up fairness in her own way.

“Nanaa and Miss Murong slept with me yesterday, so tonight I’ll sleep with Yo-ye and Iri.”

Nanaa flared.

“What do you mean, what is that? Qing, how can you do this to me? Are you telling me to my face you’re going to sleep with other girls and leave me out? Say it straight. Me or them?”

“You’re not a child...”

Murong Juhee can only sleep deeply and at ease if Qing is beside her; she too didn’t want to sleep apart. So Qing offered a kind of mediation.

“Uh, why don’t we just all sleep together?”

Thus, Formation One.

Qing in the middle, and the four taking one side of the square each.

“Mm. Is this right? Kyaa—please stop tickling my feet. Who’s pulling my hair.”

“They’re holding hands.”

Meaning, if Qing stretched out like a big letter I, those on the left and right could at least hold hands, while those above and below, deprived, grabbed feet and clutched hair.

Thus, Formation Two.

Seol Iri on the left, Gongsun Yo-ye on the right. Tang Nanaa on Qing’s stomach. And Murong Juhee at her back.

Centering wasn’t hard with two clinging tight on both sides, but—

“Is this right? Miss Murong? Are you okay?”

Murong Juhee had two people stacked on her. Qing was a head taller than Murong Juhee, wasn’t she?

“Nh... this, the pressure, I’m... fine.”

“Then that’s solved. Sleep. She says she’s fine.”

“No way she’s fine. And I’m not fine, either. What is this.”

All night she’d have to keep balance; her chest was faintly aching with a head set on it; and from behind came short, tight breaths pressing her ribcage. Sure, what martial artist can’t bear the weight of two people—but a gentle, constant press is its own category. I can put up with some of it, but this is making Miss Murong way too uncomfortable.

“No, Miss Murong, really, I’m fine. Hff. It’s just the right... pressure, hff. I’d be happy to be under Miss Qing.”

“No, Miss Murong, that’s not how it should be. You can’t just say it’s fine. If you have something to say, say it clearly. If you only accommodate, it hurts the bond.”

“But I really like it just like thi—”

“Don’t do this. Up, all of you. This isn’t it.”

So with Murong Juhee on the verge of tears, Formation Two was scrapped as well.

“Enough. Yesterday it was Miss Murong and Nanaa with me, so tonight it’s Yo-ye and Iri.”

“What! I don’t accept—no, I refuse!”

“Throwing a fit won’t work.”

“Kh-hup, Qing, how can you do this to me...”

“Fake crying won’t help.”

“Look at her—look at that girl! She’s so triumphant! How am I supposed to sleep apart with that going on?”

At that, Seol Iri slowly folded the hand sign where you extend thumb and pinky—the sign that means “phone” in Qing’s homeland. For reference, in the Central Plains it’s the hand sign for the number six, and otherwise it’s used to mean “awesome,” which, in practice, gets used in childish ways like I’m awesome, or Aren’t I awesome? If you flash it at someone else’s feat, it can mean praise, but given Central Plains temperament, praise is supposed to be a big fuss and a grand treatment, so you hardly ever see it used that way unless you’re close friends.

“Tsk. Iri, you can’t do that either.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“I saw that hand plain as day. Now you’re lying?”

“I didn’t.”

Seol Iri’s gaze slid away.

Those two really need to get closer.

“This won’t do. Tonight I’ll sleep with Yo-ye and Iri to keep it fair, and starting tomorrow we split into two teams. Nanaa with Iri in one team.”

“What!? Why me?”

“I don’t like it.”

“My call. If you don’t like it, I’ll just sleep with Yo-ye and Miss Murong only.”

“Tch.”

“No.”

“Make the call. So what are you going to do?”

Tang Nanaa and Seol Iri glared at each other fiercely. Then, as if arriving at some point of tacit agreement, they both went “Kk,” and at the same time gave a helpless nod.

“Miss Qing? Um, I’m fine with us all sleeping together—I can brace from underneath and the others can take turns on top...?”

“I’m uncomfortable too, you know? When you sleep, you should sleep deep. Is that usable? Still, Miss Murong, you’ve really become a person.”

“Yees...”

Miss Murong, after all, led a faction at the Dragon-Phoenix Gathering; call it the mediation of someone suited to that level—or maybe just a bright nature.

Tang Nanaa cocked her head.

“She’s also, like, incredibly suspicious though...”

Anyway, sudden formation of a battle-buddy team, but the more I think about it, the better it seems.

Yo-ye can make a few more friends out of this. Miss Murong is upright enough—she’ll do fine.

For Nanaa and Iri, Miss Gongsun is probably too high-difficulty. Those two had no friends to begin with.

Wait—among the women members, besides Miss Murong, none of them have any friends? Is the Short Blade & Twin-Swords Society really okay like this? Without me, they’re exactly that relationship—why that friend-of-a-friend you barely know? The kind where they’d sit stiff and not trade a single line.

The men get on just fine among themselves—is it because they’re women? Do women have those woman-ish things going on? I honestly don’t know. How would I know that to begin with?

It looked like it would become a night of Qing thinking deep thoughts.

Drrrrng. Soft breaths.

Qing can sleep anywhere.

****

They’d already spent four days in Taizhou. Time to eat breakfast and hit the road.

Mm. I need to shake these kids off a bit. How?

Once we pass Suzhou it’s straight to Hangzhou.

Qing, face glossy and blooming wide, thought that. The one most delighted to have met her friends was the one having this thought. So she hadn’t thought at all about mixing it up in the dueling grounds until the day of departure from Taizhou—then suddenly it occurred to her.

So this is the fate of the strong, maybe. With such fragile kids in tow, how am I supposed to feel secure enough to do anything? The only way is to stay in Suzhou and slip out secretly, right?

And so, they departed Taizhou with the troops. A churning crowd of gawkers trailed behind; the men who realized there’d be no fight to watch finally remembered the livelihoods they’d left and fell away, and in their place the blind devotees of Young Master Ok Girin filled the ranks, flipping the gender ratio. You could call it a gender inversion.

Anyway.

From Taizhou if you take the official road straight east, you hit the city’s coast. The march plan was: after reaching the coast, head south, cross the Huai River when they reached it—getting in some river-crossing drill while they were at it—and from there proceed to Suzhou.

So: the coast. After a night there, they kitted up again, went south, and then halted in a small city called Yego County, which sits on a tributary of the Huai. It was still somewhere between lunch and dinner—a bright, blazing hour.

Why are we stopping already? Qing thought—and right then the Great General Wang Ssangryong approached and reported with formal care.

“From here to Nantong there are no suitable farmhouses to lodge in. It would be best to stay here for the night.”

He kept it ceremonially even, but anyone could see he was asking permission as he reported—Shall we go? Shall we stay?—the zeal of a man escorting a precious lady and wishing to house her in a proper inn.

“Mm. Let’s do that.”

From Qing’s side, there was no reason to meddle in the march schedule. For the soldiers too, camping beside a city and taking rest time would be better. It’s not like there’s any reason to rush to “meet a pretty girl.”

“But there aren’t any houses on the way? Why? The official road is so well laid.”

“Sis, the freight goes by the Huai anyway. Even if an official road exists, there’s no traffic to speak of.”

“Still, none at all is strange, isn’t it?”

“Mm. As I know it, it’s because the raiders’ appearances are so frequent.”

“Raiders?”

“They’re called Japanese raiders, but real Eastern Island barbarians are rare. Much more often they’re bandit packs disguised as them. Of course, even if they’re a minority of all bandits, their depredations are egregious enough.”

“Mm. What exactly is the army doing? Ah—no offense to you, Great General. This isn’t your jurisdiction to begin with.”

“Tch. Shandong isn’t exactly pristine either. I heard the commoners begged and begged until they were exhausted and went to the Hwangbo clan for help.”

That was Paeng Daesan, who lives just up the road. At that, Wang Ssangryong broke into an instant sweat.

“Th-that... the thing is, the raiders do know to fear the army, and they’re so here-and-gone that even if troops deploy, they’ve already bolted. So deployment ends up futile...”

“Eh? So you didn’t deploy at all?”

“Th-that, th—! That’s right. Instead the troops got worn down and lost combat power, which would be disloyalty to the august Imperial House...”

Wang Ssangryong’s sweat production grew markedly efficient. Sweat pouring, pouring.

“That is not the case. I devised countermeasures of my own: along the coast I placed Thousand-Unit Posts as outstations; that’s why under my watch the raiders did not dare invade. A-and, if you ask the people of Shandong, you’ll hear that after those adjustments the raider damage dropped noticeably, and as for small raids of a dozen or so, there is, in practical terms, no way for us to—”

What is this? I thought this uncle was a great commander.

Qing’s eyes narrowed.

And Wang Ssangryong’s flow turned into a veritable torrent.