Chapter 556: Recuperation Trip (1)

Qing fell over and, as best she could, gave a smile.

Why — just look at movies and other media: the whole bit where a person burns themselves through hardship and collapses with a satisfied smile after overcoming everything is so gloriously heroic.

So Qing told herself she’d finished in style. That was her thought.

That’s how mass media betrays people.

You should know there’s a huge difference between how you imagine you look and how everyone else actually sees you.

Qing’s imagination: lying there like the dead, but with a calm, triumphant smile that tells her friends, “I’ve done it — I leave the rest to you.”

What her friends saw: “Ugh — that bitch is gonna die! She’s really dying!”

Qing’s knees gave out and her legs folded.

Naturally the heaviest part — that enormous, almost comically massive backside — hit the ground first with a thud.

Her torso tilted with the momentum and the back of her head smacked the earth.

Her feet bent like sickles and her arms splayed at strange angles; if you wanted an image, her body made a crude swastika-like shape.

A smile, my foot. As soon as she hit the ground she coughed and spat up a mouthful of blood, and the overflowing blood ran past her lips and streamed out in every direction — east, west, north, south, every way — until it was ridiculous.

The blood that didn’t spill outward forced its way into her windpipe; she gasped and choked, a terrible, rattling dying sound that made everyone panic.

So Tang Nana screamed, threw herself on Qing, pressed the cheekbones hard to force her mouth open, pulled out her tongue, turned her head — and then, trembling, Qing convulsed.

A full-body tremor ran through her; she jumped and jerked like an epileptic, madly thrashing as if possessed.

The expression Qing had been wearing turned bitter.

“Uh... hm. I guess I was ugly, huh....”

“To be honest, I don’t even know how you’re still alive. You should’ve been dead ages ago — it’s weird you aren’t.”

Tang Nana cried the whole time.

She cried while pulling the wound open, cried as she drove needles into the trembling body, cried as she administered medicines and forced Seol Iri to stitch the wounds.

Tang Nana’s medical skill wasn’t just one practitioner’s worth; among women she was one of the best.

By Tang Nana’s medical knowledge, Qing had already been dead back then.

A body trembling and a failing heart are symptoms of severe blood loss.

Medical texts say: when blood has drained, breathing becomes shallow and rapid while the heart beats slowly and the body trembles in a delirium — how do you stop that?

One: stop the bleeding quickly.

Two: secure the airway and offer prayers.

Aside from that, with such grievous wounds a person rarely survives: the internal organs are vulnerable to the world’s poisons. If someone does live on, what follows is obvious. Fevers boil, wounds fester, yellow pus runs; all ordinary medicines fail. People resort to faith — cutting flesh from the thigh to feed the patient, incising and letting the blood be taken, boiling and administering sacrificial broths — that realm of remedy begins.

So Tang Nana cried.

But —

“Uh, I’m actually pretty sturdy by nature.”

“Sturdy? If you hadn’t been here, she would’ve just died, you know?”

“Well. I fell trusting you, Nana.”

“Ha. I really can’t live. I can’t. Anyway — after you fell, those Blood Fiends stopped moving...”

The lesser Blood Fiends didn’t even think about approaching Qing anymore; their eyes refilled with malice and appetite and they continued their business directed at the heterodox fighters — the most hostile form of begging for food in this world: “One bite of my heart, please.”

The others — those whose spirits were subordinated to strict chain-of-command, whose obedience mattered more than their lives — behaved the same way.

Chang Sanya’s order had been to sever or maim that woman’s limbs and hold her fast. Why he wanted that done to the little master, who knew? But orders from higher-ups came first, so they obeyed.

But Chang Sanya, who gave that order, had been split in two and was dead; there was no one left to obey him. The only command-holder remaining was the fallen little master. But the fallen little master could no longer give orders; the hierarchy had to be readjusted.

“So now?” “What do we do now?” “Free time?” “I’m hungry.” “Me too.” “Me too.” “Me too.”

And no one dared touch the prey the big master had marked. So heads swiveled at once.

“There’s food over there?” “A heart.” “A heart!” “I want to eat too!” “Show me the heart!”

“...Suddenly they all charged toward the heterodox lot. That bought time to deal with Qing. You’ve really been lucky in all sorts of ways.”

“Yeah, I kind of expected that.”

Qing scratched her cheek, and Tang Nana slapped her hand lightly. Then with her fingernails she gently, carefully scratched Qing’s cheek.

“Bones aren’t intact, and you keep raising your arm. Where does it hurt? Here? Is this itchy?”

“No, not really itchy. Just....”

“Anyway, you knew that if we took out the Blood Cult leader, the Blood Fiends would attack the heterodox, right?”

“No. Not really. I just figured they’d only obey orders — if we killed that Chang Sanya fellow, they’d stop moving, wouldn’t they?”

“Ha. You did one cut thinking that and then collapsed?”

“Well, even if not, you’re here. Even without me, San and Keow held the line well; if they join in it’d be fine.”

It was surprising she’d charged at the heterodox, but in any case it had worked out.

What Qing had really worried about was the heterodox reaction. No matter how desperate the heterodox were, they wouldn’t dare attack the legitimate heirs of the Five Great Houses — but there’s always that one-in-a-million chance.

If those bastards ran in like lunatics, what then?

What could I possibly do? I had to trust and rely on others.

All Qing could do was hold off a slaughter by the Blood Cult as best she could. The rest she had to trust her friends to handle.

It was a helpless plan in the end, but these guys were elite fighters on the fringe; they were competent enough to handle the rest without Qing. Right?

Still — calling them “super-elite” was embarrassing. Tang Nana was an herbalist, fine, but the rest calling themselves “super-elite” — who on earth dares to put “super” in front of their rank and then go on about having attained enlightenment and shouting “I’m super-elite!”? God. If it were me I’d be too ashamed to look anyone in the face.

Tang Nana tilted her head at the suddenly hostile stares.

“Anyway, we bought time and were able to stitch Qing up in a rush...”

The battle between the heterodox and the Blood Cult, a fight for hearts, was in full swing; it was the perfect moment to withdraw. But they couldn’t — because Qing’s condition was too critical to move her.

If there was any good fortune, it was that Gongsun Yoye had brought plenty of restorative essences, fortified tonics, and the like.

While Gongsun Yoye dissolved a concentrated restorative into some medium and fed it to Qing —

“Wait.”

“Huh? That — the thing we gave — I... I was busy stopping the bleeding so I don’t know. That woman did it, right? I didn’t do it.”

“So you mean I stole and drank the restorative? That thing must have cost her a lot. She should watch her lifespan. Is she even okay?”

Tang Nana’s temper flared. Bandages wrapped around her whole body, looking like a bundle, and here she was worrying about others. She’d picked up a bit of medical technique, but matters of jing and original vitality were a completely different secret tradition — Tang Nana would ask about those things all the time.

“Hm. That woman... she seems... fine.”

Tang Nana skirted the subject.

But original vitality is not something you can pull out and refill like a conveniently emptied pouch. Of course doing that shortens one’s lifespan.

A body tends to try to recover its health naturally — with long restoration and careful nourishing one can recover a fair amount — but hard work, stress, mental shock, drug abuse, excessive lust, any of those can damage the original vitality. To say “restore the original vitality” is exactly to speak of that precious essence.

Yet artificially pulling it out to use is downright taboo, probably insane. Tang Nana had to admit Gongsun Yoye’s action was extreme.

That said, it didn’t mean Gongsun Yoye would necessarily end her days like some ignorant commoner wracked by old-age illnesses — who could tell? If some great method were applied she might restore the original vitality in a far older technique, but those methods weren’t child’s play.

Gongsun Yoye didn’t want that; and a soft-hearted Qing would only feel uneasy about it. Besides, did only she risk her life? I risked mine, too.

“Anyway...”

Because Qing’s muscles were so solid, Seol Iri took charge of the suturing and needling.

Seol Iri’s needling was shaky; she jabbed needles in multiple times and occasionally a drop of blood would leak out — a small catastrophe. Yet when it came to sewing the wound closed she became unexpectedly skillful, so much that she looked like a village woman who mends for a living rather than a martial artist. The noble, proud Miss of Bing Palace had probably never touched a needle, but to Tang Nana it seemed like a talent.

“Hah. A martial woman with sewing talent — isn’t that funny? I saw it coming.”

Qing felt a little touched hearing that. Her hands were clumsy and yet she’d sewn so much — how much had she sewn? Still, if she tried to spin it positively, she had at least one thing she was good at. Sewing isn’t shameful — there’s no low or high in honest work, right?

“Anyway, the emergency’s done...”

So the three women busied themselves keeping Qing alive while three men kept watch, eyes glittering like sharpened blades.

During that time the number of the martial scouts had been halved and many had disappeared. Fortunately they were all low-level, and among the fighters who kept swinging and crushing the Blood Fiends’ skulls, five were of Flower Realm mastery.

“How’s Qing?”

“We need a proper medical place! Move her gently, make a stretcher, something! Thin blankets!”

“I’ll go fetch them, sisters!”

Jegal Ihyeon hurriedly left the spot.

A little while later a well-made stretcher appeared, carried by a muscular man.

“How is it, Sister Dang? Is this enough? If reinforcement is needed, say so and I’ll adjust.”

To Tang Nana it looked like something that would sell out if put up for sale. After ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) all, the Jegal family were famous not just for heads but for workmanship.

“Load Qing on it. You take her legs, Gongsun take her head, you get the hips — support the flesh, not the bones. Ready? One, two.”

Tang Nana lifted Qing onto the stretcher, arranged limbs neatly and bound her with cloth. They were ready to move.

“All right, done. Wake her up now, too.”

Now they had only to slip away while the Blood Fiends and the martial scouts kept fighting.

At that moment—

“—You lot, can’t you stop fighting this instant?!”

A voice thundered. It needed little inner power yet was impressively loud; such vocal presence could be called a gift. Any great general leading an army would possess that kind of volume. Wang Ssangryong’s loud proclamation rolled out.

Dong-dong-dong! Drums sounded from every direction. The war drums beaten by soldiers rang out high — one of the old military signals that meant you’re surrounded. The true art of war is winning without fighting. (Although to call a tactic that breaks morale without drawing blood “deadly” is a stretch.)

“Thousands of cannons already surround you! The law is strict — how dare you make such a commotion beneath the heavens!”

Of course the Blood Fiends don’t care about law, so they kept attacking. The martial scouts likewise couldn’t just let hearts be torn out, so the fight continued.

So the drum sound did nothing. Besides, even if it hadn’t been Wang Ssangryong, they were already prepared to leave. The drums were the last thing they needed.

Amid that noisy afterbeat, one martial artist who had surpassed his limit opened his eyes. Exceeding the pinnacle to reach the level beyond, refining the spirit within into starlight and radiating it — a newly reborn superhuman stepped onto the threshold of the transcendent.

That newly reborn superhuman, Moyong Juhee, planted two swords vertically in a dazzling show. One blade gleamed like the sun; the other carried the cool strength of moonlight. The principle of Sun-and-Moon martial emptiness — sun above, moon below, heaven and earth in harmony — wrapped around Moyong Juhee as she cried out with decisive will.

“I will protect the little master! No one will pass until they step on my corpse! Now, come at me!”

“....”

“....”

“....”

Of course, no one charged.

Dong-dong-dong-dong! The drums beat loudly in the clamor.