Chapter 624: I Am Wronged (14)

“The Repentance Hall exists so disciples’ hearts don’t get wounded.”

No matter how long you lock evil away, evil itself does not change.

But if you execute the monstrous evildoers, the one who swings the blade must bear killing-work.

And if you abolish their arts and imprison them?

Then you isolate only those who harm the world; confinement is a benefit to the realm.

Since you don’t cut them down, no one needs to heap up killing-work. If someone insists on taking that life, we hand the prisoner over; if they claim rightful vengeance, we do not particularly stop them.

“Our Kunlun is not so poor we cannot feed a few demonic heads. And even if we were poor, we would not abolish the Repentance Hall. A Kunlun disciple’s heart being wounded is a loss greater than gold; even if maintaining the Repentance Hall cost a fortune, how could we call that expensive?”

“Ah...”

“It also serves as proof that evil isn’t grand—and that the honor piled up by evil deeds is, in the end, a non-existent mirage.”

Look at those squalid, shabby demonic heads.

Back on the rivers and lakes they feared nothing, thought themselves the most precious under Heaven, lived high in fine houses, ate fine dishes, strutted and preened.

And now?

They pick fallen scraps off the floor; they gripe that one man’s drumstick is plumper and another’s shows bone.

They stake their lives and go purple in the face, fighting over a game of flicking stones shaved from pig bones.

They are, in a word, pitiful idiots.

“Thus when disciples tend the Repentance Hall, they can confirm that the reality of ‘great evil’ was nothing but endlessly selfish, shabby individuals.”

Men so wicked their names shook the world.

And what are they really?

Once power is gone, the hearts left behind are merely paltry and shabby.

Individuals with nothing but greed and no self-control.

“Even a ‘great demonic head’ isn’t some metaphysical evil laid on him by the world; it’s a string of indulgent choices that followed nothing but greed. The wealth and glory gained by evil does not raise a person’s essential grade.”

Thus disciples realize that the outcomes of greed and evil are mirages that, once power is lost, are stripped away and vanish.

There are values that are not mirages.

Values that remain even if power is lost.

Cultivation toward personal completion.

Friendship built heart-to-heart, not tied by profit and trade.

A beloved partner and family.

The kindness returned for what one has given, and so on.

“Did you see the demonic head locked in the furthest cell? In the past he was called the Butcher Demon—the demonic head of demonic heads who shook all under Heaven. He was also a fiend who learned one of the Ten Great Demonic Arts.”

“You mean that old man who pretends to be dignified?”

“Yes. At some point he started that act—likely because he grasped the Hall’s purpose and, in his own way, decided to ‘weigh himself down’ to obstruct it. But will the foul things he did be forgotten for that?”

“Foul?”

“As if he were some grand senior to demonic heads—if the portion of rice was even a little small, or if there wasn’t enough meat, he threw fits.”

But what harm can a man do when his arts are abolished and he’s locked up?

So the ‘solution’ he came up with was to throw his excrement.

“Ugh—him?”

“Isn’t it the height of squalor? So we served every meal as water and barley flour, and said he would keep eating that until he knelt and apologized. Did he last about a month?”

“Water and barley flour” may sound harsh, but that’s just tsampa—the usual fare of the Qinghai herdsmen.

“He knelt and apologized?”

“He pretended to stumble and kneel and mumbled a ‘sorry’ that barely swirled in his mouth—hardly one I’d call an apology.”

If only he’d done it properly.

Kneel and—crack!—be an adult.

“I acted beneath a grown man’s dignity; I apologize for the filthy prank before. The only joy in the Repentance Hall is mealtime, and it’s petty to play games with people’s food.”

Had he done that, some shred of the prisoners’ deference to a senior demonic head might have remained.

But a fellow who put on weighty dignity as a “senior” caved that sloppily—and that cravenly.

From that moment he was just an old idiot who does nothing but put on airs.

From then on, the prisoners’ form of address changed: the seven-character “Elder Light-Slaughter Demon Lord” was “innovatively” shortened to three—“Hey, Butcher Demon.”

This is how evildoers operate—and why karmic payback comes for them.

Unwilling to bear even the tiniest loss before their eyes, they always try some trick.

And it comes back as a greater loss.

“Before I told you of the Repentance Hall, I wanted you to see and hear for yourself, to grasp the essence of those squalid evildoers. Now that you’ve lived it a day—do you still think evildoers should simply be cut down and that we have no need of the Repentance Hall?”

“No. I think I understand what you mean. Truly—there’s nothing left of their pride or anything.”

Cheonbija smiled fondly.

“If you understand, that’s enough. If you feel no need to remain longer, you may stop; but in my heart, I would like you to fill the five days. Seeing in ignorance and seeing in knowledge are different; I would have you see again the shabbiness of evil and impress it upon your heart.”

“Aw, even if not for that—you first ordered five days; if I came out in the middle, even with permission, how would that be good?”

“Heh-heh. Our little junior sister knows how to save this old senior’s face.”

Cheonbija, who’d been properly worked over by a “grandpa massacrer,” found anything Qing said adorable; one could call it a serious case of being addicted to her cutesy antics.

Not that he’s to blame.

Great elders are endlessly distant seniors; disciples Qing’s age don’t march up to their master’s master—or their master’s master’s master, the Grand Sect Master.

Thus “old masters,” righteous or unorthodox, are lonely by nature.

Clans—the blood-family houses—fare a bit better; but for a sect’s elders, every day is quiet and dull.

So they are pitiable old men who can never escape Qing’s wicked clutches.

“Ah—right. I squeezed the demonic heads for the martial arts they had. Still, they’re under Kunlun’s care, right? Could I bring some paper and a brush? I’ll write them up as a book and hand them in.”

Qing confessed her misdeeds.

There was no reason to hide that she’d wrung arts from demonic heads.

Strictly speaking, those demonic heads are something like Kunlun property; to skim and keep quiet would be wrong.

That would just be theft.

But Cheonbija shook his head.

“What value would demonic heads’ arts have to Kunlun anyway? Externally, we already have more refined arts than we can learn. Internally, demonic heads’ cultivation is wicked—or warped by incompleteness. Either way, they are inferior grades that invite demon-heart.”

Cheonbija looked worried.

“And how would you trust the mnemonics sung by such petty scoundrels? There’s no need to drag their arts out. Well—useful little tricks, perhaps. There must be one or two who learned Feigned-Death Technique or Wall-Climbing Art.”

It was permission to pick a few out when bored.

For reference, Feigned-Death Technique is playing dead.

Wall-Climbing Art is, well, climbing walls.

“Should I still write a book for you?”

“Back when our main seat was actually on Mount Kunlun, the terrain was atrocious and barren; if you speak of Wall-Climbing and Feigned-Death under Heaven, Kunlun is first.”

High, sheer mountains made cliff climbing daily life; and when blizzards slammed an already barren place, being cut off from the world was common, so Kunlun survived by Feigned-Death.

It isn’t as if Kunlun abandoned Mount Kunlun and moved to a foreign land for nothing.

We’d planted ourselves in a place unfit for people to live.

Since she was out, she ate lunch with friends.

She even invited True Person Cheonbija, but he only laughed and told her to eat with her friends—and thanked her just for saying it.

Not just saying—he was truly grateful; with a single sentence, points poured down in a shower.

Since she was out for once—and since she meant to fill the five days once she went back—she thought she’d loop Sining city with everyone and even grab dinner before returning, but—

Iri was training hard.

Well, Iri’s been resentful about how pathetic her inner energy has been—if a single moment opens, she dives straight into foundation building; a training maniac.

San was training hard, too.

San, for all the subtlety, is surprisingly diligent and throws themself into cultivation.

Even Hee-mae was training.

With her path to the Flower Realm blocked, Daoist Bungsain had suggested trying quiet meditation in the training hall.

You can’t drag friends out to play when they say they’re going to study.

So what can you do? Go back early.

At the Repentance Hall entrance, in a little guard-post-like booth, Daoist Danlun was in samādhi with a book.

Granted, the prisoners are quadruple-crippled—there’s simply no way they’re getting out.

Still, shouldn’t you at least pretend to keep watch?

Of course, Qing never holds back when she’s curious.

“It’s really okay to leave it this loose?”

“Mmm. Make a bit of noise when you come and go.”

“I came right in the open. Anyone would think I used stealth to sneak in.”

“It’s not as if the demonic heads can escape. No reason to waste mind-strength tiring ourselves.”

“That’s a statement denying vigilance itself. Someone suspicious could come from outside.”

“If someone can infiltrate to the heart of the Kunlun Sect, then letting him slip by is only courteous.”

In one sense, truly arrogant words.

But a member of the Nine Great Sects has earned that confidence.

“Did you see the Sect Leader well?”

“Yes. He spoke to me about the Repentance Hall.”

Qing gave a brisk summary.

Master Danlun added a word.

“In addition, the Repentance Hall is practical.”

“Practical?”

“If you kill a demonic head, you pile resentments, at least on the surface. You also confer a banner of justification.”

On the surface.

In truth, a demonic head’s relationships are nine hundred ninety-nine of a thousand tied by profit; killing him doesn’t often spawn real vendettas.

But on the rivers and lakes, revenge is treated as a form of self-proof.

Given the demonic heads’ useless habit of spraying sworn-brother talk—‘elder brother,’ ‘younger brother’—they trumpet their revenge widely even when they don’t feel like it.

Even in Kunlun, not every disciple holes up on Sun and Moon Mountain forever.

Nor can you assign masters to guard every disciple.

So if you run into someone who has publicly declared you an enemy, demonic heads—who live by face because they have none—won’t let it pass; they at least have to leave a bruise.

That’s the demonic way of life: posing as “tough.”

But if you lock them in the Repentance Hall?

“You avoid troublesome quarrels. For the price of feeding barely a dozen-odd men, that’s cheap.”

The more she heard, the more persuasive it sounded.

At first she’d thought: what’s pretty about this—feeding, housing, and clothing those who deserve death? Isn’t this throwing money in the cesspit?

At this rate, wouldn’t it be reasonable for our Divine Lady’s Gate to install one?

Not bad.

Build one—and if an ‘evil woman’ makes trouble in a Nine Sect Repentance Hall, we could bring her to ours.

But... does our atmosphere need it?

Divine Lady’s Gate is basically a society of true homebodies.

Even when leave is freely granted at this rank, no one goes out.

Barring a rare sightseeing trip by a few elders, why bring outsiders in to “teach lessons” when we live perfectly well among ourselves?

Thus, Seomun Cheong—no, Institutional Supreme King Deity Molsal’s Dayeoreum—returned unharmed to the Repentance Hall.