Chapter 569: Toward That Remote, Rural Backwater (1)

Peng Daesan doesn’t particularly enjoy sightseeing.

He’s always been that way: a mountain is a mountain, water is water, a building is a building. How different can the way people live really be? What’s there to marvel at?

And yet, Peng Daesan roams a lot.

How did that happen?

At first, it was because his household was full of noisy busybodies, and he couldn’t stand the fuss—so he “went for a stroll” (i.e., fled). That was the start.

The women who trailed him were bothersome, irritating, exasperating. The young Peng Daesan’s brow twitched.

Fine, let’s see how far you can keep up—he headed for the mountain, and the way those tenacious creatures carried on was something to see.

Breath scraping at the top of their throats, sweat pouring like rain, and if snow threatened they couldn’t even show a hint of it, just turned red as if dying.

They dabbed sweat and pretended elegance, held their breath by force, climbed in pretty (uncomfortable) clothes—until one after another they fainted dead away.

That was the moment Peng Daesan understood the true taste of traveling on foot.

So—from mountains to fields, to rivers and lakes, then temples and ancient ruins.

Peng Daesan walked about openly, face bared, padding along on his two feet; sometimes he tagged along with a caravan and sometimes not (though he’d never actually been refused), ambling at an easy, idle pace.

Thus, even if Peng Daesan pulled his hat low to hide his face and took a boat to sightsee Wu Gorge on the Yangtze, he had no particular impressions.

The cliffs rise on both sides. The end.

Sure, it’s splendid—but that’s it. What’s so worth seeing about cliffs that just sit there?

“Divine Lady, please grant me a son like a qilin...”

“Deliverance-from-torment—Bliss—Birth-on-the-Other-Shore—Severance-of-Flower...”

If there was anything unusual, it was this: quite a few people bowed and prostrated toward Goddess Peak, the summit of the Divine Lady’s Gate.

Some chanted; some made wishes; some even performed five-point prostrations—palms, insteps, and torso pressed to the deck—squirming along with the boat’s drift so their crowns pointed toward Goddess Peak. Strange creatures.

For village folk-religion, it looked rather serious. He hadn’t seen this when he passed through a few years back.

The people were more interesting than the cliffs—hm. I should come again tomorrow and take another look.

The next day.

The number of those praying and bowing toward Goddess Peak had dropped.

Was it because the boat was expensive, or because the day before was a fluke? Who knew. I should come again tomorrow.

The day after.

He took a cheap boat—creaked, noisy, tossed about by the savage currents of Wu Gorge.

Like this, even if I peer around I’ll only get splashed. I’ll come again tomorrow.

The day after that, the fog was thick.

Come again tomorrow.

The day after that—fog again. Come again tomorrow.

And the day after—fog again. Again.

Then a clear day—Peng Daesan boarded and observed the people praying and bowing.

And the next day. And the day after.

“Little brother, you must be quite taken with Wu Gorge. There are countless gorges under Heaven, yet if you haven’t seen the Three Gorges of the Yangtze, you cannot say you have seen them. And of those, Wu Gorge is first: the Divine Lady turns away with a coy air, her form poised above a thousand-fathom precipice—just like a man chasing a beauty.”

“...Who are you?”

“An old pleasure-seeker named Won Hongdo. I’m trying to write a poem on Wu Gorge, but this sublime landscape leaves my vocabulary wanting. So I look and look again to coax my inspiration—and you keep showing up on this boat and that like part of the scenery. How could I not ask? What about Wu Gorge so captivates you, little brother?”

“Just... so-so.”

Peng Daesan had nothing else to say.

Cliffs that have stood for millennia don’t change overnight; seeing them every day, they’ve grown familiar to the eye and simply boring.

Then why am I even looking at this?

Tomorrow—hm—anything else to see nearby?

Why stay in Axe-Handle County—prosperous city or not, a countryside with nothing much to look at?

Perhaps I should return to the clan tomorrow.

“So-so! That’s amusing! Perhaps the charm lies in how it seems nothing much yet keeps your feet returning. Mm. Good words. Will you take a boat again tomorrow? Then I’ll repay you with fine wine.”

“Mm.”

Peng Daesan considered it.

When an elder of great age offers wine, declining isn’t polite.

So he’d have to take a boat tomorrow. He’d intended to head home to the clan, but an unexpected acquaintance had snagged his ankle.

The next day, he drank with the elder.

The next day, he returned the favor with a cup.

And on the day after that...

“You punk, how long do you plan to cling here wasting time? Tsk tsk. A man sitting around idle with nothing to do—what a splendid achievement. Tsk.”

“Grandpa Choi.”

“What’s this ‘grandpa’!”

Choi Riong snorted through his nose.

Just look—some gnat of a brat, not going anywhere, taking a boat for no reason and coming back again; in any case, his intent was impure and slick as oil.

“Tch. Instead of that, swing a blade one more time! What are you doing gawking at water like a fool? So weak—if I were at your stage I wouldn’t even be able to sleep. Slick-faced pups are always like this. Not a solid bone among them.”

Peng Daesan, for his part, has a nasty temper under the surface.

If not, he wouldn’t have climbed mountains and trekked rough country knowing full well women would trail him; he wouldn’t have left fainted women and coldly gone his way.

And “slick-faced pup” is exactly what he hates being called. He trained to avoid hearing it—and until Qing appeared, he’d been counted the number two (number one was Shaolin’s Wol Bong) among orthodox juniors of the Ten Great Houses, and the top late-generation talent of the Five Great Houses.

Moreover, as the heir of the Hebei Peng Clan, Peng Daesan knows his station and his house’s power.

He is absolutely not the sort to sit and be scolded by some elder from a mere trading company—except...

“I—er. My apologies.”

Peng Daesan let his gaze slide away.

And he wondered: why am I listening to this?

Qing had introduced him as the old attendant who looks after her, but the way he treated her might as well have been a paternal grandfather.

If he was a friend’s grandfather, then of course he was an elder to revere; he couldn’t very well talk back.

“A man with no backbone, ducking his head because of one scolding. Tsk tsk. I don’t like it.”

Truth be told, there was no pleasing him anyway.

If Peng Daesan had bristled, he’d have said, “A whelp with no eye for experts and no respect gets himself killed anywhere he goes.”

“Stop dawdling and go train! Starting tomorrow, come to the company and spar with Hee-mae—that’ll do nicely.”

Peng Daesan paused to recall who that was—then realized he meant that wantonly sexy woman.

Qing’s sworn sister.

So instead of loafing, come watch that woman’s martial arts?

“As you wish.”

Come to think of it, there was no reason to refuse.

Rather than ride boats and stare at those nothing-to-see cliffs, teaching someone would at least yield something...

That evening, Peng Daesan rolled across the floor about twenty times.

He hadn’t realized he’d be the one receiving instruction, not giving it.

****

Qing is a medical woman and knows a fair bit of medicine.

She can’t run a full pulse reading or place serious needles, but she can handle simple prescriptions, stitch or wrap a wound, and lance and drain pus—one person’s worth of work.

So, hearing her own condition, she could make a rough estimate.

Given that my recovery runs about three times faster, my bones should be mended within a month.

Then if we leave now, I’ll be fully healed before we reach the Kunlun Sect.

Ximen Surin’s hand, which had been stroking Qing’s hair, paused.

“And where do you think you’re going in that broken body?”

“Hehe. If we swing through Sichuan and take it easy, I’ll be healed before a month’s out. I can’t train like this anyway—better to spend the time moving than wasting it, right?”

Ximen Surin was flabbergasted.

Because I can’t train due to pain, time is precious, so I’ll spend it traveling.

It made sense. The kind of sense that earns a beating.

Convalescence is not idle time thrown away doing nothing but eating, sleeping, and defecating.

Convalescence is paying with time to make a sick body well.

Strut around carelessly and bones might knit wrong; inflammation might flare wrong; bedsores might bloom and pus spread—lifelong misery.

“What sort of monstrous notion is that?”

“Nana will be with me. Won’t that be fine?”

Ximen Surin looked down at her disciple’s grinning face.

The ailing girl crawled up morning and evening to “pay respects,” and even when told not to, this kind of stubbornness was stone-hard.

In the end they compromised at “get carried to the door,” and even so—well, with a hurt disciple there was no training to assign.

So she’d told her: don’t strain yourself, lie down a bit.

And the shameless hussy didn’t even refuse this time—instead she oozed over, laid her head right across her master’s lap, and sprawled.

Heavens, what law of the world is this? Who’s the master here? Where did my moral instruction fail? The eyes went dark and dim.

Not that she could cuff an injured disciple—so, fine. We’ll see once she’s healed.

Qing might protest.

She had taken a nuclear forehead flick last time, yes—but when she curled into that embrace, there were few times her master had smiled so broadly and fondly.

So, well—what offerings does a disciple have? Mind the master’s mood.

And in fact, once Qing laid her head down, the corners of the mouth relaxed by themselves, and the hand drifted down to a soft, soft stroke, as if automatic.

Filial piety isn’t anything grand.

Link an arm with your elder in the market—that’s filial. Grand gestures—mm, true, if you can do something grand, even better.

“Sigh. If I told you not to go, you’d listen—but your heart’s already left. What meaning is there in holding you back?”

“Hehe. I’m sorry.”

Ximen Surin looked down at her disciple’s face.

She didn’t know why the girl was in such a rush or what chased her, but the heart within could not be in a good state.

Hold her back out of worry and it would only brew more impatience; better to let her go, even if uneasy.

Only—

“Take your sworn sister along. If not, then take that Choi fellow.”

Though that Choi pup’s realm is higher, his inner strength is meager and he’s clumsy with weapons—no different, before the Flower-Realm wall, from your sworn sister.

If I’m sending someone with you, I rest easier with a woman; no matter how comfortable you are, a woman’s attendance is different from a man’s.

Besides, that Choi brat is mustering experts below for a big venture on the disciple’s behalf; no reason to pull him away and hinder his work.

****

“You’re leaving already, when you’re not healed?”

Jin Jangmyeong’s voice was sulky.

“I’m just going to pay my respects to the Kunlun Daoists. And while I’m there, I’ll see the Sword-Cut Wall. Why—want to come? Should I ask Master?”

“No. I’ll reach Pinnacle first. Then we’ll travel. We promised.”

Qing’s smile deepened.

It seemed what happened at Nosan had made her recognize her weakness.

But she wasn’t crushed or lost in training—she’d simply grown more adult.

When you can’t do it, you can’t—but don’t give up.

Qing ruffled Jin Jangmyeong’s hair.

“Our Jangmyeong is already all grown up? Mm, though your body’s still a pipsqueak. What is this—dwarfism? Our little one is little.”

“What are you saying? I’m twenty.”

“Good heavens. The little one is already twenty? Mm. But twenty is still a baby, isn’t it? Still at the stage of babbling?”

Amazingly, she meant it.

Isn’t twenty a baby?

Can’t do anything properly—needs constant care.

Jin Jangmyeong, however, did not catch on.

“What are you on about. You’re only one year older.”

“Right. That was the setting. Ahh—babysitting is exhausting.”

“I’m not a baby.”

“The day will come when you grin at being called a baby. So enjoy it now.”

“Not enjoying it at all.”

Well, she had her troubles.

Jin Jangmyeong was always found being hugged this way and that by much older disciples.

It was one reason she came to Qing’s cliff-hut after training.

Anyway—pack.

She didn’t have much to begin with, and if she needed something, buying it on the road was easier.

No need to hump a full load on her back like a red-gift grandpa as in her drifter days.

Back then she had no money—and even if she had it, there wasn’t much to spend it on—but without it you could get in trouble, so she carried her whole household on her shoulders.

“Physician Tang! Come again!”

“Prefer not to...”

Tang Nana, dragooned into free service, looked thoroughly tired—but if they passed this way again, of course they’d stop in.

“Seol Iri! See you next time!”

For some reason, Seol Iri was popular.

She spent all day “cultivating” in someone else’s hut and only showed her face at mealtimes—

Or was it the opposite—that because she wasn’t around much, she drew favor?

Gunyeong only got more trivial the closer you got, the more you knew.

“Grandmaster Aunt! Safe travels!”

“Ahh, Grandmaster Aunt—my sun, my light, my snacks—once you go, it’ll be eternal winter till you return. But it’s almost winter anyway, so that’s actually a win, right? So you have to come back before I take a loss!”

Leaving Sarang’s last shameless line behind, Ximen Qing descended the mountain.