Chapter 558: Recuperation Trip (3)

With Qing awake, the party’s destination was, for now, return—toward the Martial Alliance.

Before leaving Hangzhou, there was at least one piece of good news.

“Um, this is...”

“Ah. Moonlight Sword—you’re back!”

It was the Moonlight Sword, sent along by a messenger from the Moon Palace Pavilion.

“Hm? And the money pouch?”

“Well, the guest, ah, broke the bathhouse floor, you see, and it was all top-grade timber with waterproofing, and the cost—well, besides the broken sections we’ll need to pull up to the pillar mortises, so we’ll have to hire craftsmen; and then we’ll have to let the best suite out at a discount for a while, which is a loss; and because it’s a top floor we can’t just bring in any carpenter; even materials alone are... in many ways our losses are grievous, so we were hoping you might, perhaps, see your way to... That is, we, too, must eat—no, we absolutely don’t blame the honored guest, we’re only stating the facts...”

He’d been watching her face for cues with a nervous sweat, and now out came the request to use the funds for repairs.

From Qing’s point of view, it was exasperating—not because she didn’t want to pay, but because Moon Palace Pavilion, the blameless victim, had to ask for rightful compensation like a criminal begging forgiveness.

“Hey, it’s fine. I smashed it to stay alive. That cover it?”

“No, it’s—more than sufficient! Inns suffer damage now and then; we’re always prepared at heart. And if you’ll let us pitch in gladly—besides, if the honored guest spreads her fame, we can use it as a selling point: the very room where the world’s foremost beauty, the incarnation of Hang’e, once stayed—there are ways to recoup...”

She had even thought to hand over some of the big allowance Grandpa had set aside—promissory notes and all—but he insisted on refusing.

She’d only grabbed her money pouch for a quick nighttime visit to see Nayeong’s face and hurry back; Qing, who’d once been a beggar and now had fat to spare, didn’t feel stingy about it.

It was the return of the sword that truly pleased her.

They wanted to trade on Qing’s name, but the primitive laws of the ancient Central Plains had no such thing as trademarks; there was nothing to permit or forbid.

Should they stain her honor, of course, they’d be repaid with cold steel.

The custom of the Central Plains encourages revenge—private punishment is a celebrated virtue.

The famous righteous hero Guo Wu beat a corrupt official to death and won renown; yet he still feared the law’s pursuit, so he changed his surname to Guan and made himself a new family.

“To think the lady would care even for a lowly inn like ours—your heart is as beautiful as your face. Are you the world’s foremost beauty in both?”

His genuine emotion was honestly touching.

Just what are innkeepers in the Central Plains? People who rebuild and rebuild and rebuild again, and keep going—truly remarkable.

Of course, it wasn’t exactly as Qing imagined.

He planned to greatly expand the bath, gild it with gold and silver leaf, christen it “Heavenly Flower Fairy Bath,” and advertise its beautifying effects. Had Qing known, she would have pressed promissory notes into his hand and told him to restore it to its original state.

This is why you never underestimate those who run inns in the Central Plains.

****

Nana, Iri, Ye, and Miss Moyong all begged to attend Qing personally, which put Qing in a bind.

She understood the impulse.

Serving a celebrity is a very old human instinct.

Be the right arm, the left arm, the right leg, the left leg—dismember and divide yourselves by rank; behind shining stars trail a retinue of maids with their noses in the air.

In a grand household even the slaves bask in the master’s prestige, because the master’s power becomes the servant’s power.

So these girls—well.

They glared and sized one another up, eyes wide like coins, each vying to attend the great master of the Realm of Harmony—the supreme evolved transcendence, the mega-evolution, the hundred-million-evolution—yes, yes, the super-super Flower Realm.

A true master should be magnanimous to such frail, pitiful underlings.

But it wouldn’t do to sour their friendship.

So they’d rotate day by day.

No one was to monopolize the honor of serving the youngest master of the Flower Realm—Qing’s generosity was as broad as the sea.

San kept sneaking glances, wearing a vaguely creepy look—he wanted in, to attend her too.

But he couldn’t say so aloud—men and women have their proper bounds.

Still, he could have asked.

Serving a Flower Realm master is a great honor; and San, of all people—her first friend—could have had a day.

Qing wasn’t going to squeal and hide like some dainty girl. He wouldn’t do it even if told to; and it was a pity to miss a chance to tease and boss him around. Was their friendship so thin that mere gender modesty stood in the way? A bit disappointing.

But she couldn’t very well be the one to say, You, attend me.

Sword-Friend had volunteered, too.

But his purpose was too impure—he plainly intended to babble sword talk at her all day—so denied.

So today’s attendant was Moyong Juhee.

She ate with Miss Moyong, was carried in her arms here and there, used as a makeshift stand; the ride quality—no, the service quality—was a bit poor for a lady, but, well.

You can’t compare a novice to professional bearers like Hee-mae or Grandpa.

While entertaining idle thoughts, Qing studied Moyong Juhee’s face.

That fluffy—if “fluffy” can apply to a human head—those springy, abundant curls were the very definition of fluffy.

Below that, Moyong Juhee’s face had changed subtly upon reaching the level beyond the pinnacle.

Her head seemed a little smaller, her features a bit clearer; her eyes certainly looked bigger.

Moyong Juhee bustled about for no reason.

Her posture was... distinctive.

Call it chest-out, shoulders back.

Everyone had noticed; no one said it.

She tried to act natural, but that tiny thing strutting chest-first was adorable. Holding her shoulders back all day must have made her sore; once she sat at the bedside she rotated her shoulders to loosen the muscles.

Hm. Then—

“Miss Moyong? Something seems different. What is it? After that rebirth—how should I put this...”

“Ah! No, it’s not that. Just a little, a tiiiny bit. Hehe. Does it look that way?”

She asked with a radiant smile like a sunflower in full bloom.

To be honest, it didn’t.

Rebirth doesn’t prettify you into a womanly shape like a full-body cosmetic surgery.

It reshapes you into a body optimized for the martial art you’ve trained.

So her arms were longer; the already dramatic curves below the waist had become so striking you’d need superhuman restraint not to stare.

But with double swords—well—the flesh attached up top would only get in the way.

In practice, it does. And it’s useless.

Qing’s grin turned wicked.

“As I thought. Your face is much prettier.”

“O-oh. That part...”

She drooped at once.

“And your carriage changed a little?”

“Ah. Hehe. Hehehe.”

Radiant again.

“Your thigh—may I poke it? Wow, a needle might not even go in.”

“O-oh. That part...”

Droop.

“And your upper body, too.”

“Ah! Right? Isn’t it!?”

“Ah! Yes. Your arms got longer, didn’t they? A martial artist needs long arms. Wonderful. Congratulations, Miss Moyong.”

“Ah... yes...”

Droop again. Cute.

“Um. Perhaps... anywhere else?”

“Where?”

“Umm, well—lower body, no—arms, no—face, no—anywhere else that changed? Surely, please.”

“Mmm. Mmmmm. Mmmmmm.”

Qing was delighted.

Why is it that the smaller and cuter they are, the more you want to tease them?

Exceptions include Nana—short, yes, but surprisingly grown-womanly in the bath, so she doesn’t feel “cute.”

Moyong Juhee’s face darkened in real time—unease, anxiety, sadness, despair.

Qing was about to take pity and say what she wanted to hear when Moyong Juhee lunged first, desperation blazing.

“Ah! The clothes must be thick. Look—if you look closely—no, you don’t even have to look closely—here, you can clearly see it—right? Right?”

Suddenly she yanked down her vest and tossed off the little apron-shaped undergarment at her neck.

She leaned forward, right up to the head of the bed.

“Oh.”

This wasn’t the plan.

Good for the eyes, yes; but her desperation made Qing feel a little guilty.

Maybe she’d teased her too much.

Qing repented a little and played along.

“Ah—your chest!? Impossible! Miss Moyong! A chest—a chest has appeared!”

“A—ahh... truly...! Snf.”

A bead of dew trembled in her even-larger eyes.

People cry when they’re too happy.

It wasn’t enough to make a fuss—but it wasn’t a lie either.

From absolute nothing to “there’s something?” level.

Which makes it remarkable.

From nothing to something—creating, quite literally, milk from the void. How is that not impressive?

Rebirth—what are you?

A miracle of pan-cosmic reality revision?

“Wow! Adorable! Neat and petite! Wow! Pretty! So womanly! Exactly my type! So cute!”

Qing rattled off praise as fast as she could.

If not for the hairline fractures up past her elbows she’d have clapped in rhythm.

Moyong Juhee’s face went scarlet; but the corners of her mouth soared toward the heavens.

“Th-then—if it’s your type—perhaps—would you like to... touch...”

“Eh,”

“No—no! I mean! Just! Not like that! We’re both women! There’s nothing improper! Purely to show off—no, not to show off—just to confirm, maybe—words just slipped, please forget it.”

Her head whipped around as she searched for the breast cloth she’d flung so boldly.

For the record, she’d thrown it forward; it had flown over the bed, so she wouldn’t find it no matter how she looked.

What is this creature?

Daring to flaunt the trembling-small-animal kind of cuteness in front of me?

Are you picking a fight?

Qing’s eyes narrowed to blades; a chilly smile touched her lips.

“My, Miss Moyong.”

The voice went cold.

Not her usual warm, honeyed tone—someone else’s sorcerous purr.

Moyong Juhee froze on the spot.

Gulp—an audible swallow.

Her tiny head creaked around like a rusty hinge, eyes huge and glittering with hope—at last? really? now?

“What’s this? I call, and you don’t answer?”

“Y-yes! I’m s-sorry!”

“Why do something you have to apologize for?”

“Ugh, I—I’m s—”

“Again?”

“I—I did wrong, so—then—may I—be punished—”

“Enough. What did you just say to me? Did you ask me to touch your chest? Heavens. Why?”

“N-no. That’s not—I was just too excited—”

“Shh.”

Her mouth snapped shut.

Qing reached out; as her hand drew near, Moyong Juhee’s face flushed even redder—heaven above heaven.

Just as the hand was about to—

“Ah—ah...”

A piteous, longing sigh.

“Hm. What should I do. You were very good this time. You cut down a lot of Blood Fiends, didn’t you?”

Ironically, Moyong Juhee had cut down the most.

The Blood Fiends feared Gongsun Yoye’s expanding sword energy and wouldn’t approach; they rushed the most “catchable” target—Moyong Juhee—and got butchered for it.

The real gap in the line had been Ye and Jegal Ihyeon; but of the two, one was a mountain of muscle with the look of an external-arts master, so—

Naturally the short, fluttery Moyong Juhee had looked like easy prey.

“So. Speak clearly. What do you want me to do? Say it out loud, distinctly, in your own words.”

“I—I want... my chest—my chest to be—”

“Hey. I’m teasing.”

Qing relaxed into a grin.

“Your breast cloth flew over the far side of the bed. Still—seeing it with my own eyes, there is a difference. Congratulations, Miss Moyong.”

“Uh—yes. No—no, I can’t tell by sight alone—if you could confirm more reliably—I can’t tell, so I was hoping you could—um—confirm—”

The surer someone asks, the less fun it is to grant.

Qing smiled nastily.

“My arms aren’t sound yet. Later, when I’m healed.”

“Th-then—it’s a promise? You promise?”

“Sure. A promise.”

Even with that answer, she felt wronged inside.

It wasn’t as if the little mistress would ever bring it up first; nor would she.

A promise, yes—but an empty check. In the end she got neither a sharp sting nor a sweet punishment.

It burned her up inside. Too cruel.

****

Afterward they slipped into the returning army’s column from Hangzhou to Suzhou.

The disappointment in Hangzhou at not seeing the Heavenly Flower Sword was considerable; but the literary men with real pull had already flocked to Suzhou earlier, seen her, and had their preferences forcibly “revised.”

The literati’s boastful prose became, in other words, hymns to Qing’s beauty; her face spread far and wide even without appearing.

Qing didn’t know.

You can’t scold her as an ignorant woman for not knowing her own affairs; she’d been at death’s door, unconscious. It’s excusable this time.

Back to Suzhou.

From Suzhou there’s a canal to Kaifeng Prefecture.

They planned to reach the Martial Alliance by government boat in one go.

“Kh-hup—Your Ladyship—this humble Wang Ssangryong is crushed that I cannot escort Your Ladyship to the very end despite your discomfort. I shall carry the grievance to my grave, and even in death my wretched corpse shall not rot.”

“Oh. Embalming.”

If only he didn’t run on like that; he had the bearing of a true Grand General.

But whenever they met alone, the broad shoulders narrowed, the stiff back bent, and the bold face melted into something sly like a palace eunuch.

“Please. Think nothing of it. I’m grateful for all you’ve done—mobilizing troops so readily. And even now, securing us a government boat.”

“Such grace—such unspeakable grace...!”

Tearful at the end of their private audience—an unforgettable image of Wang Ssangryong.

What a warmhearted man.

The Heavenly Flower Sword is but a martial vagabond.

A Grand General personally sending her off would look bad for both, so Wang Ssangryong withdrew.

Still, he had secured the government boat to Kaifeng Prefecture.

On the canal a government vessel is practically untouchable—an inviolable moving sanctuary none but Nature itself may disturb.

Nature can disturb it, of course; government boats sometimes run aground and sink. Humans don’t beat the great outdoors.

And so—toward Kaifeng Prefecture, toward the Martial Alliance.