Chapter 560: Recuperation Trip (5)

Jo Hyeonryang is the Chief of the Martial Alliance.

If time allowed, he could spend the whole night in praise of the Heavenly Flower Sword — the honorary granddaughter of all — ready and willing to dote like an old fool.

But when has the Alliance Chief ever been a seat where one may live as one pleases?

He was duty-bound to hear, in detail, exactly what had happened.

Through no intent of his own, the exchange took on the shape of an interrogation; yet Qing stayed courteous, never losing her smile — ah, adorable, truly. A granddaughter, a great-granddaughter, anything — please, just one like this.

No martial talent needed; only a heart this lovely.

What heart was that, exactly — Jo Hyeonryang himself could not have said.

In any case—

“So, then, we may conclude the Blood Cult does not, in fact, possess the Absorbing-Demonic Force.”

“Yes. That is what the circumstances indicate.”

“That alone is harvest enough. You needn’t worry about the slander that you carry the Absorbing-Demonic Force. I’ve dispatched an Alliance survey team to Nosan. They’ll sweep the site with a mix of ron— ahem, independent men of the roads and a few suitably unorthodox types.”

“Ah.”

There was such a method?

She realized she needn’t have merely spoken — she could have pointed at beds, traps, and the little lairs those Blood-Cult dogs used to eat, sleep, and snicker while they laid their snares.

Of course, what Qing said and what the Alliance and third-party investigators conclude are weights of very different measure.

“There will still be fools who lunge at you, but your realm is your realm; they won’t be a great calamity.”

There are some who will not believe, regardless.

Back in Qing’s homeland, there were flat-worlders and those “raise-them-naturally-without-medicine” crusaders — would-be filicides — to prove the point.

But that belongs to the realm of impairment, not intelligence.

Anyone who clings to “Seomun Qing the Absorbing Demon” will not be worth enough trouble to make Qing suffer.

“Oh. And I met Eon Yeonyeong, Alliance Chief. You may find this hard to believe, but it looked as though she has already surpassed the Translucent Realm.”

Startling news — but Jo Hyeonryang did not startle.

He startles for things that can be believed.

Still, Qing is a Flower Realm master; he cannot lightly dismiss her words as mere fancy.

“Are you saying that Yeonga — mm, these words fight my tongue — that dear, good child... ai. Are you saying Eon Yeonyeong reached the boundary of Life-and-Death?”

“She herself said she had not. But with my own eyes I saw her call up hundreds of sword-shaped auras as if it were nothing; using remote force to snatch and toy with a super-transcendent — yes, a Possession-tainted master, so not a whole exemplar — and then dunk him into boiling water and kill him brutally.”

Eon Yeonyeong might feel wronged.

“Oh my, I offered help and this is what you say?”

But Qing did not lie.

Jo Hyeonryang’s face grew grave.

Unbelievable — from anyone else.

Had a late-stage upstart said such a thing, he would have chalked it up to trickery: externalized sword-auras can be faked; capturing a super-transcendent by remote force? Two conspirators in concert could stage it.

But the Heavenly Flower Sword’s word can be trusted.

To begin with, this child is not simple enough to be duped by parlor tricks.

She is the peerless prodigy who reached Flower Realm at twenty-one.

And above all, it is unimaginable that a person so upright, proper, and just as the Heavenly Flower Sword would bring him falsehood.

On top of the mandarinate sharpening knives against the martial world, now they must worry about a Blood-Cult demon whose details are unknown. Has peace been too long...?

There was, at least, this consolation:

“She is within the Blood Cult’s fold, yes — but she plainly has motives of her own. A very black-hearted woman — ah, pardon me — she cooperates, yet subtly gives with one hand and takes with the other. It felt like hostility. She must have a separate aim.”

A blessing to hear.

Jo Hyeonryang let out a long sigh.

How did that good child come to this?

To boil a man alive — how wretched, how horrific.

And to think what the Heavenly Flower Sword suffered, watching it — his chest ached for her.

(Mae Hee might have a different opinion.)

“So then — do you perhaps know anything about corpse-puppetry or the Eon family’s arts? It did not look like a realm reached by normal means. If there is some sorcerous method to force one’s realm up—”

To sorcerers’ ears, that is an infuriating notion.

If such means existed, sorcery would have ruled the world long ago; cultivation would not be martial learning but sorcerous learning.

And yet — how are sorcerers treated today?

At the slightest thing, people cry, “Vile, crooked magic!” and treat them as wicked and sly, beneath even the scraps of a dog’s bowl.

In truth, the roots of martial arts lie in Buddhist asceticism and Daoist cultivation; and Buddhist asceticism itself traces to the yogic discipline of the Indus. Martial arts are but one branch of the larger tree of arts.

Still, the warriors’ argument has merit.

There exists a well-founded martial learning that offers a straight path to perfecting the self, grasping the world, and finally ascending beyond.

Those who shun the straight road to learn side-path sorcery usually nurse a crooked heart: beguiling others, eroding the will, controlling corpses, killing by curse, and so on.

Sorcerers protest that these are the excesses of a few immoral outliers.

But common sense does not call what is in fact the vast majority “a few.” No one buys it.

So asking Jo Hyeonryang was in vain. He knew little of sorcery.

He had heard only of corpse-puppet arts, soul-snaring, spirit-summoning.

He had even thought corpse-puppetry was devised to carry the dead and ease the grief of the living — but seeing Yeonga, he had to concede sorcery is indeed something accursed.

One cannot scold the Alliance Chief and orthodox elder for ignorance after so long a life.

A master of the Translucent Realm cannot reach that height by stuffing his head with miscellany; the higher one stands, the more natural it is to know nothing beyond martial learning.

Besides — the high need not know.

They can work those who know!

“Mm. In matters of sorcery, Kunlun would be first under heaven, would it not? If anyone, the Kunlun Sect would know details.”

“Ah — is a Daoist of Kunlun presently staying at the Alliance?”

“Kh-hem. Those bumpkins are buried in the backcountry. Khm. It is... far.”

“Ah. So I must go there myself...”

In answer, Jo Hyeonryang turned his head and studied the wall, as if its patterns had just granted him a newfound enlightenment.

Ah. So I am to go in person.

From Divine Lady’s Gate to beyond Sichuan and Gansu — in this condition, in a carriage? Hm. Far...

Then—

Jo Hyeonryang clapped his hands. “Ah. Yes. Chunbong might know.”

“So it was Chunbong, not Bongchun. So close. You mean Hyunhwa, yes? Mm, Jegal Yi didn’t know — will Lady Chunbong?”

“She reads for pleasure and has mastered all manner of odd texts. And besides — she’s a good child, but you know that feeling? The kind who looks like she would enjoy wicked sorceries.”

“Mm. I did have that feeling.”

Narrow pupils in a wide rim of white, knife-edged eyes, pointed teeth — a beauty who looked like she could cast a curse.

For some reason, she seemed like the sort who would know sorcery inside and out.

Sima Chunbong would have cause to feel wronged hearing this.

Or else this Sima might grin with a dirty smile and lament that she’s so excellent that people now expect sorcery from her too.

Thus — Jinang Hyunhwa, Sima Chunbong.

“Oh. Wow.”

Qing could not hold it back. A thousand-fold effort to restrain the exclamation failed at once.

Why am I the “three-head beauty”?

The real three-head beauty is someone else.

Or not? When one part is larger than the head, calling it “three-head” gets awkward...

In any case, Sima Chunbong was tall and statuesque — and her chest even more fearsome.

Are those watermelons or breasts?

Perhaps they are watermelons.

Is she carrying two watermelons?

In all fairness, this must be verified.

Sima Chunbong, we demand the truth.

Rumor says they’re melons; kindly split one and prove it.

Sima Chunbong burst into roaring laughter, catching Qing staring right through her chest.

“Khahahat! Heavenly Flower Sword! Even you cannot help but cry out in awe when you behold the Capital’s Shining Wise Flower, the brightest intellect of all ages — this very Sima! Ah, the fate of the brilliant! How cruel it is!”

Ah, right — she was like this.

All that stuck in Qing’s head had been the giant chest, the wide whites of her eyes, and the rustic name. Now she remembered the rest: an entire gallery of oddities, this Big-Chest Lady — no, Lady Sima.

“You, at least, understand this sorrow — the loneliness of one who shines alone among fools, the grief of it, do you not?”

“Oh, that I know well. I keep them company because they’re friends, but honestly, tending peaks and super-peaks — I’m not a nanny. A great master of the Flower Realm having to watch over a pack of super-transcendent brats.”

Sima Chunbong flinched.

“Heavenly Flower Sword — just now? Flower Realm, the Realm of Harmony? You mean to say you attained Harmony?”

“That’s how it turned out. It isn’t something to broadcast yet.”

In Sima Chunbong’s head, a busy ledger of rivalries unfolded.

Ordinarily, the record would prove that Sima Chunbong is the superior figure.

Height. Qing is a little taller, but for women, taller isn’t better — point to Sima.

Even seated, Sima’s head sits higher; this shows the disposition to study at a desk to greater advantage — point to Sima.

Martial arts. One could concede Qing the win — but that is not an objective, fair contest.

Qing may surpass in martial skill, but her head cannot compare to Sima’s.

Martial strength is only strength.

A head is scholarship and strategy, professional competence and organizational performance — in particulars, a one-to-ten superiority.

Thus, comparing Qing’s martial arts to Sima’s intellect would be cruel to Qing.

So — not martial strength, but achievement and renown for age.

As the youngest Deputy Strategist, soon to be the youngest Chief Strategist of the Martial Alliance, Sima’s record stands toe-to-toe — call it a draw.

But Flower Realm?

Youngest super-transcendent and youngest Flower Realm — the weight is different.

To match this, Sima must become Chief Strategist immediately.

Alas — this time, she must concede defeat.

First thing upon returning home: demand Father retire at once, take Uncle the Deputy Strategist by the hand, and go fishing in some quiet country.

Truly a filial daughter of blazing resolve, Sima Chunbong.

“Kh-hm. Very well. Only at this level may one be counted the lifelong rival acknowledged by Sima! Hoo-hoo... hoo. Now then, what burning, earnest desire moved the Heavenly Flower Sword to seek me out?”

“I didn’t quite seek you...”

“How lacking in candor! Hoo-hoo, fine. I, Sima, will kindly pretend to be deceived. Come, then — what wisdom would you ask of this radiant mind!?”

Do people normally say you are asking them?

Qing decided to let it pass.

“I wondered if you knew sorcery well.”

“My, my. Why your interest in a left-hand path, I cannot guess — but you have come to the right place. Ask anything, and take away the brilliance of my mind.”

“Mm. Do you know what the Corpse-Blood Poisoner is?”

Sima Chunbong laughed aloud.

Her impression was so strong she looked like the final boss, the last hidden mastermind.

Still — the confidence in that laugh made Qing feel she had asked the right—

“Very good, Heavenly Flower Sword. The victory is yours.”

“Eh?”

“If you wished to hear the three words ‘I don’t know’ from me, then I shall admit defeat cleanly and say them. I will not make shabby excuses.”

Ah. She doesn’t know either.

Qing was drawing breath for her next question when—

“However! Since the Master did not speak of monsters and spirits, it follows one should not speak of bewitching things that confuse the heart; thus, that I have not inquired deeply into such matters is no fault in me. Indeed, for the world’s highest intellect to waste her focus on such things, neglecting what is weighty, would be a great loss to the realm; therefore I ought not know. So to say that you ‘won’ or that there is something I ‘do not know’ is not, in fact, in accord with principle, and hence—”

Sima Chunbong rattled off her words like a drumroll.

Not a shabby excuse — some other species of self-defense.

A martial woman, and yet not a single breath between the fusillade.

Qing waited a good while, admiring the cloud pattern carved into the bedframe — not machine-made, so neat, repeating so elegantly. What was that called... fr— fr— fr— anyway, very pretty.

“Fuu. Well then — anything else you would ask?”

“Corpse-puppet arts, then — specifically, any Eon-family secret method to force a person’s realm upward?”

“Please do not attack me with sorcery. I have already conceded defeat; to add to it would be shabby and improper.”

Which is to say, she did not know.

Mm. In the end, she would have to go to the Kunlun Sect and ask.

Right. And she had to see the Sword-Cut Wall anyway...