Chapter 570: Toward That Remote, Rural Backwater (2)

As always, the first stop was Axe-Handle County.

She needed to take Gyeon Pohee along per her master’s strict order—or Grandpa Choi if that failed.

Even aside from that, she’d left a sword with the company.

Its “owner,” a supposed martial man, handled weapons so roughly that even a masterpiece into which a smith had poured his life’s blood would never stay intact.

The Moonlight Sword (No. 10) had cut stone walls and bedrock, had sliced through muscle and flesh laced with protective qi, and had sheared other people’s weapons; little chips were missing here and there, hairline cracks had spread.

One could say the only reason it still counted as a famed blade was that it hadn’t outright snapped.

And so, to fetch the weapon and a carrying stand—

Seol Trading Company.

“Gasp—my lady! By the spirits!”

Her face had healed, so she looked fine—despite sitting planted in someone else’s lap.

The company staffer didn’t care in the least.

What’s so strange about a Great One riding a person?

If they opened applicants for “Heavenly Demon Sovereign’s Stand” among the converts, every last one would come running—glorious bloodbath guaranteed.

And it wasn’t as if this was the first time they’d seen it.

“Have you come to see Lord Choi?”

Qing cocked her head.

Wasn’t that form of deferential address a bit off? Did the ancient Central Plains even have such an “over-deference rule”? Must be a translation glitch somewhere.

But pointing out over-deference is the mark of a small mind.

Qing, being magnanimous, didn’t bother.

“I’ll see Grandpa too while I’m at it. Where’s Hee-mae?”

“Ah—yes! In the practice yard. Shall I send word?”

“No. She’s training—no need to interrupt. I’ll go myself.”

“Yes, my lady. Also, this...”

“Oh—hmph—snff—figs. Dried figs, right?”

“Oho! As expected—miraculous! You pierced the snack in my pocket with a glance!”

More like pierced it with a sniff, but she’d still nailed it.

Her sense of smell could dare to rival a dog’s.

Staffers sidled up in her wake as usual, shyly offered snacks, and scurried off.

Where did they even get all these treats, and how did they always know when she’d arrive?

Answer: if Qing was at Divine Lady’s Gate, they kept fresh snacks on hand daily “just in case.” If she didn’t come, they ate them themselves—or gave them to a friend, a child, a lover, a spouse—greasing the wheels of every relationship. No real loss.

Qing didn’t know any of this. She simply ate what she was given—because she was given it—and because it was delicious.

The long-keeping things she stowed away. The perishable sweets she devoured on the spot, chomp-chomp, which gave the staff great joy.

At the inner courtyard of Seol Trading Company, she opened the tall gate of the high-walled practice yard—and there was Gyeon Pohee in a strange yet splendid posture.

Both arms lifted high, wrists crossing as if to graze, the movement crisp with precision.

Her expression was grave—unlike the usual simpleminded Pohee. What the—why did she look cool?

“Eh?”

Qing popped off Seol Iri’s lap, landed, and took a few quick steps—and then, suddenly, flung her arms wide and caught a dropping silhouette out of the air.

“Ugh!”

If only her body had been fully sound.

Meaning to catch him, she sank through ankles, knees, hips, torso, shoulders, arms—absorbing the whole falling shock. Bone, muscle, tendon all protested in a chorus of sharp pain.

Ximen Qing: recovery complete in... plus four days.

But—she held.

Qing looked down at Peng Daesan, nestled demurely in her arms like a precious young lady being served.

“Tss—what—hff. Why are you falling from the sky?”

“...I wouldn’t have been hurt even if you hadn’t caught me.”

“Wasn’t that pretty high? What, San—flying now? What is this—‘what falls has wings’?”

“Mm. Might you set me down?”

Qing grinned.

If asked to put him down, the proper human thing was not to.

“No. Stay. Ow—don’t move. If you move, I hurt. I’m still convalescing, okay? Bones not all knit, okay?”

Peng Daesan, who’d been about to force an escape, flinched.

He squirmed in her arms like some princess of the Western Regions—grimacing or not, she didn’t care.

“Sworn sister!”

Gyeon Pohee’s face bloomed like a child’s as she raced in.

Qing, in turn, pitched Peng Daesan to the side and opened her arms to welcome her—

Halt. Three paces out, Pohee squealed to a stop and shuffled two steps back.

“I—I’m sweaty...”

“It’s fine. My legs hurt. Quickly.”

With a silly little giggle, Gyeon Pohee scooped Qing up.

Mm. This comfort—no mere “Stand Applicant” could imitate it. The utmost care, every trick conceived to serve the Great-Harmony, Divine Heavenly Flower Sword that is Qing with more comfort—humanity’s finest ride.

Not a single pressure point; perfectly supported; every contact plush and soft—and also, mm, a bit clammy...

In exchange, she got to admire Hee-mae’s wanton face up close, drenched in sweat—profit in its own way.

A wet Hee-mae was about five times more wanton.

“This won’t do. Hee-mae, go wash. You’re coming with me to the Kunlun Sect.”

“Want to wash together?”

Qing spoke of the far-off Kunlun Sect as if it were a stroll behind the house. Pohee had no questions about that part.

“Tragically, next time. I’ll greet Elder Ban and see Grandpa. Hurry.”

“Mm!”

Qing shifted back to Seol Iri’s lap with a smooth “transfer,” then crooked a finger and her people moved like trained birds.

“So, San! What, you didn’t go home?”

“You! There’s nothing uglier than a man with lingering feelings. He clung like a leech just to see Qing—loitering and—”

“Mm. I was leaving, but the elder advised me to train.”

“Ah. Grandpa? Was that for Hee-mae’s battlefield experience? Thanks for the effort.”

Peng Daesan’s brow twitched.

That woman needs battlefield experience?

In truth, Gyeon Pohee needed no such thing.

She never relaxed in front of an enemy by nature, and was born without a limiter in her hand—she simply didn’t understand the concept of mercy.

As the youngest of the Palace of Rapture, she had never once received mercy; she’d never had the chance to learn it.

“And you plan to go all the way to Qinghai like that? In that condition?”

“Hey, I’ll rest plenty on the way and be fine. Instead of lying around eating the stores because I’m hurt, I can lie down in a carriage. Either way I’m lying down, right?”

“What—hah. And the ‘physician’ over there let you babble like this?”

“What? You want to try me? A lecher who loafs around hoping Qing will notice, and you dare—!”

“You won’t listen even if I try to stop you. Tsk. I’ll at least see you through until you’re sound.”

“See? See? This is what you wanted! And how are you different from the women who chase you? Lurking and loitering until I come out—”

“I’ve heard everything now. Do I look like a man with nothing to do?”

Peng Daesan’s conscience was clear.

He’d only come to see what was supposedly the greatest waterscape in the Central Plains; then he met an old poet and chatted; then an elder grabbed him for martial training.

He thought he might see a friend’s face—maybe—but he’d planned to rest through winter and go.

Even a layabout wouldn’t linger just to tag along on a friend’s trip.

Only—no man leaves after losing. He’d stay only until he could take a proper win off his friend’s sworn sister.

“Oh? Really? If San comes too, that’s reassuring. Ooh—San, they say a good friend is a treasure—you’re actually good. What, why are you being admirable?”

And Qing welcomed him like that.

A countryside she’d never seen—and likely never would otherwise. Might as well take it in now.

If a hurt friend insisted on a rough road, saying “do as you like” and watching wasn’t a friend’s way.

“Elder Ban! How are you?”

“Ah, my lady. I was just wondering whether to bring it to you—perfect timing. As expected.”

“Come on—I should pick up what I left. I didn’t even pay a fee; don’t tell me you were going to deliver.”

Even Ironworks Elder Ban’s expression had grown mild of late—a sure sign Seol Trading Company was a good place to live.

The iron shop itself had set up carved wood and iron statues here and there—Divine Lady or Tathāgata—softening what would otherwise be all hammers and forges.

“Here—the sword, newly serviced.”

Welcome back, Moonlight Sword!

...But was this No. 10 or No. 11?

While Qing pondered, Elder Ban’s son presented an item with both hands.

“And this—I made it after studying the crescent saber you left last time.”

“Oh. A mace.”

A hexagonal, flanged mace: a thicker, longer iron mass at the tip, lined with big, blunt studs.

“If you slide open the guard below the sword, you can socket this onto the base and link them. Since the crescent saber is banned by the authorities, I devised this.”

“Oho. The Iron-Mace Crescent—no, that one’s back already. Hm, but this isn’t a saber. What do we call it?”

“If we must name it... a sword-tip mace, or a breaker.”

Instead of a crescent blade, a vicious long-sword up front; behind, a long iron mace—a mace-staff.

“Maybe... ‘Mace–Moonlight Sword.’ Rolls off the tongue. Good, right?”

“The owner names the tool. As you wish.”

Elder Ban notably did not say “good.”

Qing, oblivious, giggled, took a big swing with all her might—

“—Ow.”

Ximen Qing: recovery complete in... plus three double-hours.

After paying respects to Grandpa as well—

“Please, go easy till you’re healed. Don’t caper like a colt with its tail on fire.”

She came to greet him and got nagged for her trouble.

Qing felt wronged.

Did she want to caper?

The world wouldn’t leave her be—what could she do?

Three heads nodded from left and right.

Only Gyeon Pohee tilted hers, the lone dissenter. As expected—Hee-mae was the only one who understood her.

She popped in on Seol (Head) too and handed over the promised “chest.”

“Here, Seol. I brought the Seol-Ryeon bosom. I wrote down the method for the filler—if you’re going to use it, change it every ten days or it’ll harden into stone-tits, okay?”

“Did it have to be this big?”

“For when you switch back to being Seol later. Disguise is erasing old features and adding new ones. One pair of royal breasts can head off future trouble.”

Seol looked genuinely startled.

“You? With thoughts that deep? Did you eat something wrong? I knew this would happen—you pick up anything you see and pop it in your mouth. So what did you eat to get clever?”

“What was that? A declaration of war?”

“Kidding. Whatever you eat goes straight to those great big jugs; no medicinal property ever reaches your brain, so there’s no way.”

“Picking a fight with a Flower-Realm expert—yes or no?”

“Mm. Hefty. Five geun each? You carry quite the udder. Doesn’t it weigh you down?”

“That’s one of the best parts of becoming a master. Right, Hee-mae?”

“Mm. Mm. Right. Doesn’t hurt when you run.”

Seol Iri and Tang Nana exchanged a miraculous look of perfect understanding.

Hey. You. Did you catch any of that?

No.

Only Peng Daesan, face strained with discomfort and embarrassment, averted his eyes—delivering exactly the reaction Seol had hoped for.

But honestly, no one wanted to see a man blush; it was a net loss.

They chose a big merchant vessel bound for Sichuan.

Qing possessed the Dragon King Pass, a treasure of the realm with a miraculous function unprecedented before or after—exemption from tolls.

Thus, it wasn’t that she “caught a ride” on a merchantman or rode for free.

It was that she selected which merchantman would carry her. The sudden appearance of the Dragon King Pass had shipowners tripping over each other to host her, throwing the docks into an uproar.