Chapter 611: I Am Wronged (1)

On the last night of the twelfth month, the most pitiful of moons—the “Year-End Moon,” as it’s called—hung high in the sky.

Some once described the new-moon night as the most sorrowful and seductive of all moons.

A faint blue crescent, thin and waning, a body about to fade from the heavens.

The sadness of a thing soon to vanish.

But tonight was an exception.

For this was the night when everyone craned their necks to look up at that moon.

Thwoom...!

In the distant sky, fireworks bloomed.

It was a rare sight—the imperial palace bestowing its grace directly upon the common folk. Expensive gunpowder was burning in midair, after all.

You could even say, “Your taxes are going up in smoke,” and you wouldn’t be wrong.

Anyway, fireworks that use gunpowder require government approval and cost dearly, unless lit by the authorities themselves on the last night of the year.

This was the palace’s official signal: the end of one year, and the birth of the next.

“May the new year bring you all the blessings you desire!”

“New year’s joy, sound body, smooth affairs, and lasting peace!”

“Happy New Year—may you be healthy, may all go as you wish, and may peace be with you!”

“Red pouch! Red pouch!”

“Red pouch” meant give me a red envelope—or, to put it in Qing’s hometown idiom, time to settle accounts.

Lunar New Year’s money was a custom alive and well even in the Middle Kingdom.

Daaang... the bell tolled on earth.

Boom! Fireworks burst in the heavens.

Below the slopes of Mount Ilwol, the bright lights of Sining shimmered.

Temple bells rang out across the city, fireworks flared high—

It was the start of the greatest festival in the Central Plains: the Spring Festival.

Sixth year. Begin.

It had been spring when she first fell into this primitive ancient Middle Kingdom—so it’s a little off—but when you count age, you use the new year as a reference anyway.

Even back at her old job, before the “transfer,” they lumped together January and December hires as one cohort, didn’t they?

...Or not? No, that doesn’t sound right.

Then again, I don’t really remember anymore...

“Eui-mae, happy new year!”

“Hui-mae too! This year you should rise to the Flower Realm and all that.”

“Mm. I’m not sure...”

“Don’t overthink it.”

“Then what about you, Eui-mae? Can’t you just tell me what it was like? Uncle Jo said no, Grandpa Choi said no...”

“Hearing someone else’s enlightenment won’t help you—it’ll only get in the way.”

Gyeon Pohee’s face pouted, clearly unconvinced.

“San, happy new year. Mm. Wishing you to reach the Flower Realm might be a bit much, though. What kind of freak of nature reaches the Flower Realm in a single year? Unless they were Heaven’s mistake—a once-in-a-millennium genius. So at least, try to reach mid-stage Super Transcendent.”

“Forget what you said—why are you naturally giving blessings like that?”

“Because I’m the senior master? No, wait. Not more of a master—the only master here.”

“Hmph. Then this year, your goal should be to kill that frivolous personality of yours.”

“What is this? Frivolous versus incompetent? Obviously, I’ll take the first!”

Just then, a lovely face slipped between them.

It was Seol Iri—the pretty face, and little else.

“Lady Seomun. Happy new year.”

“Of course, Iri. This year, um... hmm... yes. Stay healthy. That’s all you need, isn’t it? Cultivation and martial arts aren’t everything, right?”

“No. I’ll become a master.”

“No, no. I’ll be happy just if my Iri is healthy and whole. A person should have some modesty, you know? I’m already proud that my Iri has all her limbs attached and eyes, nose, and mouth in their proper places. I’m so proud I could cry.”

“This year I’ll definitely reach Super Transcendent.”

“Mm. Iri? Usually people set their yearly goals a little higher than that. ‘This year I’ll reach Super Transcendent’? That’s like saying, ‘This year I’ll make sure to breathe!’ or ‘This year I’ll try not to crawl!’”

“You’re so mean.”

And with that, she turned away sharply.

“Where are you going, Iri?”

“To train.”

“What training? The year’s barely started! It’s always the dim ones who study while others rest and play while others study. Come here, Iri. Come on. Let’s go greet people and collect envelopes.”

Qing spread her arms.

Seol Iri looked at her with a faint, conflicted expression—or so Qing read it—before finally, without erasing the small furrow in her brow,

threw herself into Qing’s embrace with a look of pure reluctance.

At this point, Qing was delighted—teasing her every chance she got.

But what can you do? Human relationships are rarely equal; the one who wants it more has to bend.

“All right, everyone, we’re tired, but let’s pay our respects to the elders before bed.”

Around them were friends—bright, laughing Daoists of Kunlun.

Below, the earth blazed with fire; above, the heavens flared with light.

The trek to the Kunlun Sect had been worth it.

Honestly, there was no real need to rush just to mark the turning of the year.

But still—what reason is there to greet a great festival on the roadside?

If you can share the moment with others, even exhaustion’s a small price.

Even hauling the half-dead, one-armed Amukhablap on a litter.

By the time they arrived at Kunlun, everyone but Qing, who remained unnaturally lively, was half-dead from the effort.

Sweating under thick fur coats, panting, faces flushed—they’d torn off their hats and veils long before arrival.

They reached the mountain after sunset, about two double-hours past dusk.

But after bathing, everyone wore smiles for the new year.

Sometimes you need to push yourself; you can’t always live leisurely.

If anyone overheard that, they’d scoff: Push yourself? When have you ever not? Your whole life is one long overexertion.

“Come on, let’s go greet the Sect Leader.”

Qing climbed Ilwol Peak with bold steps.

Qing has always been sensitive to atmosphere.

When everyone’s spirits were high for the new year, she got carried away too—humming along, probably a few centuries early for public release.

She’d greet the Sect Leader—not for the red envelope; she was rich enough already—but because it wasn’t about money anyway.

They call it luck money—a token of affection, a wish for fortune, a gesture of goodwill.

But—

“Junior Sister, reflect in the Repentance Hall.”

“Ah... me?”

“Junior Sister. No matter how vile your opponent, there are still lines that must not be crossed. As a disciple of a Daoist sect, how could you display such vicious handwork?”

No luck money. Just a scolding—and orders to sit in repentance.

“This time, fortunately, the mad monk offered to take all responsibility himself. Said he’d declare he ordered everything.”

“Ah—Ahab—no, the mad monk did?”

“Yes. Said it’s better for an old man already infamous for his temper to bear the blame than for a young woman to carry the stain. People won’t find it odd anyway. It was an extraordinary decision—be sure to thank him.”

“Hm. He didn’t have to do that...”

“Oh ho. I thought you were mature and composed, but you’re still a child. Well, you only turned twenty-one—no, twenty-two now. I nearly forgot. Hah.”

Qing’s brows drooped under the reprimand.

She was, after all, one of the most beautiful women under heaven—her pitiful look could melt the heart of any man and make him forgive her instantly.

But True Person Cheonbija was unmoved.

Well—almost unmoved. For a heartbeat her heart wavered at her young junior’s teary eyes.

But she endured!

When you must scold, you scold. To overlook it just because she’s pretty only spoils her.

“But they deserved it...”

“I know your heart. Even so, it was improper conduct—especially before others.”

“They slaughtered innocents for pleasure! Probably dozens or more! What about the wronged souls of those people? Shouldn’t the ones who caused that agony die in agony?”

“Heavens... such deep hatred in your eyes.”

Her pupils flickered with a dangerous hue.

Cheonbija quietly murmured, Oh, Celestial Lord... invoking her Daoist name.

“What a killing aura you have... no, forget it.”

She bit back the rest. Like master, like disciple, indeed. She’d thought this girl calm and demure—envied her serenity—but no.

Fate has a way of tying together those meant to meet.

“It’s true those men might deserve a painful death. But that’s not how one should act before others. If everyone became cruel in the name of justice, what kind of world would we have?”

“Then wouldn’t fear at least stop people from doing evil?”

“No, it would only flood the world with blood. And since no one’s perfect, and everyone’s sense of right differs—what then? If we torture all villains to death, can you guarantee no innocent ever suffers that same pain?”

“But if it’s proven they’re truly villains, then it’s fine, isn’t it? Like this time.”

“Then tell me—how far does ‘truly’ go? How cruel may justice be? The human heart is fickle; even small personal grudges can grow into hatred. And if that hatred spreads, we’ll have another age of blood, like the Warring States and Ten Kingdoms eras.”

“...That...”

Qing’s lips parted slightly.

An age more primitive than this one.

East or West, there had once been a time like the one she described—an era when vengeance was a right, and suffering was the criminal’s duty.

An age when blood called to blood—a barbaric chain of revenge.

That was why it had been called “the primitive age.”

Three thousand years ago, the famous Code of Hammurabi had laid down “an eye for an eye, blood for blood.”

Educated people call it the principle of lex talionis—

Not to encourage vengeance, but to limit it.

Lose an eye—take only an eye.

Bleed—take only an equal measure of blood.

It was an attempt to end the endless cycle of cruelty born of revenge, not a slogan urging “Try revenge—it’s great!”

Even so, Qing couldn’t accept it.

Death for death?

But what if they caused many deaths?

You’re saying those bastards should be sent off gently with a single death?

I can’t accept that. I won’t.

And whether they were truly evil or not—doesn’t that not apply to me?

If you measure by karmic merit and sin, the numbers make themselves clear.

Of course, that was all internal.

Outwardly, Qing’s sulky face made it obvious she wasn’t repentant at all.

“Was the massacre in that village such a wound to you, child? Know this: hatred carves a scar just as deep.”

“It hurts me more that scum like that can live and breathe. Are they even human? They deserved it. If anything, dying after just two days was a luxury.”

Cheonbija shook her head.

“I’m not scolding you for punishing evil. Your resolve to establish justice through the villains’ downfall is commendable.”

Then Cheonbija smiled faintly.

“So, I order you to five days of seclusion in the Repentance Hall. Though I am not of your sect, if you would call this old woman Elder, then please obey.”

At that point, what else could she do?

Qing, sulking, could only answer, “Yes...”