Chapter 632: Kunlun Sect vs Blood Thunder Sound Temple (8)

Qing stopped by the guest hall’s training room again today.

In any respectable martial sect, even the guest hall has its own yard and a dedicated practice chamber.

Not every guest hall, of course—the grade has to be high.

Just as the Short Blade & Twin-Swords Society uses the top-class Mucheon Pavilion’s practice hall as freely as if it were theirs.

How long has Seol Iri been holed up now... mm—how long was it? No idea.

Qing was in the Repentance Hall, so there was no way to know when Seol Iri first shut herself in.

Once Qing came out of the Hall, all she heard was that the girl had gone in carrying fasting grain and planned to stay inside for who-knows-what.

Even so, Qing would knock in the evening and try calling her out.

Training’s great and all, but isn’t all of this, in the end, so we can eat and live?

Besides, as for Gunyeong—her realm is so meager it’s barely worth calling her a martial artist, and yet she’s making a fuss and not showing her face.

The only thing Qing actually likes about her is her face; if she doesn’t show her face, what on earth is the point of Gunyeong’s existence?

So Qing would call her once a day: let’s go eat.

Knock, knock—tok, tok.

“Gunyeong, want to have dinner together? Come out and eat with me. I never get to see Gunyeong’s face. Won’t you come outside?”

She says this, but she doesn’t really expect anything.

Is this Qing’s first or second day dealing with Seol Iri?

When Gunyeong starts proper Accumulation, that wicked girl is the type to set her jaw and do nothing but stockpile energy.

Qing pricked up her ears outside the practice chamber.

By now, from inside, she should hear: “I’m not Gunyeong,” followed by “It’s okay.”

Then—“okay, bye”—she would turn around, go eat, and that would be that.

Honestly, it’s more of a just-in-case ping before eating; it’s not like Qing truly loses her appetite without Seol Iri.

The Kunlun Sect’s food is really tasty, too.

Wonder what they made today.

Qing was grinning, swallowing a little saliva as her mouth started to water.

But—huh? No answer?

What, is she dozing?

So all this time she looked diligent, but was actually just pretending to study?

Somehow... that tracks.

“Gunyeong? Let’s eat. Hm?”

No answer.

What is this—rebellious phase? Why won’t she even answer?

It’s not like I’m some parent chasing after her cramming-student daughter with a packed meal and spoon-feeding her.

Come to think of it, exams are ultimately for one’s own good, so why should parents have to tiptoe around—mm. I guess I was an unfilial child.

Qing knocked one last time—thud, thud, thud, thud.

Even if she’d been napping, that would be loud enough to jolt her awake in one go.

But there was no answer.

Qing is fully qualified to be called an expert—an authority—on Seol Iri’s ecology.

Seol Iri might sulk and get prickly, but she never skipped answering; by now Qing could tell something was wrong.

“Gunyeong? I’m coming in.”

Just in case, she gave a warning.

Then she pulled the practice room door.

Screeeee—jingle-jingle-jingle.

Unlike the Repentance Hall’s doors, which open and close soundlessly, a practice room’s door opens with gaudy, raucous noise.

Not from neglect, but by design; it’s the same for any training room.

Because if someone slips in while you’re cultivating, something big can happen.

The moment she opened it, air like from an icebox rushed out—harsh cold curling as white vapor.

Did she leave a window open?

Normally practice rooms aren’t built with windows.

In the middle lay a woman sprawled out.

Not merely lying there—she was stark naked, bare white body exposed.

Gasp!

Qing sucked in a breath and hurried in.

Up close, it was even more of a wreck: the lower face was stained pure red with blood, twin trails from the nose, and even vomited blood.

Her body was cold as a block of ice, so Qing quickly checked breathing and pulse.

Her breathing was deep, even, with no hitch; the pulse was strong and steady.

From a physician’s viewpoint—hm. Perfectly healthy?

Her expression, strangely, was utterly peaceful, wearing a Buddha’s smile.

Who knew that was the sign of a golden sleep.

What is this? This girl is smiling?

Found smiling in the practice chamber?

What could you possibly do to end up lying there stark naked, drenched in blood, sleeping with a grin?

First things first, Qing shut the practice room door tight.

She was afraid someone might see a blooming young maiden in the nude.

Then she grabbed Seol Iri by her fringe and gave her a good shake.

A bit rough, but when Seol Iri falls asleep she simply refuses to wake.

There’s always the cheek-tapping method, but—then blood gets on your hand.

“Iri? At least put a blanket on if you’re going to sleep. Do you want to catch another cold?”

As soon as she said it, she remembered—the girl truly can sleep anywhere.

Didn’t she once sleep in a cold water channel?

“Uung... Ximen—Miss Ximen?”

With enough shaking, Seol Iri opened her eyes.

She looked at Qing and—bashful and bright—smiled, half relief, half gladness, half affection, with a wicked little eye-smile whose concentration was, say, five ohs more than usual.

Qing’s heart dropped.

A harmful smile—right through the heart.

Because Seol Iri is so sparing with expressions, it was a rare sight; it’s a shame the Central Plains doesn’t have cameras yet.

Ugh. This is the sort of thing you should capture and keep.

From observation, Seol Iri either has low blood pressure or it’s just her type; even when you wake her, she hardly ever really comes to.

Usually she stares blankly at Qing with half-lidded eyes—“please do it for me”—right?

Give her a quick wash, dress her, drag her out, feed her breakfast—and only then does she start to come around.

But now she smiled? What configuration is this?

Which button do you press to make a smile bloom?

What did I do? Or is it environmental?

Does she smile when she wakes up naked?

Or was it grabbing her fringe and shaking?

Qing was in the middle of analyzing the difference between the usual wake-up and the smiling wake-up.

Seol Iri, as usual—as if everything were ordinary—whispered in a voice that to Qing sounded oddly excited.

“I’m Super-transcendent now.”

“Gasp. No way. Super-transcendent?”

At that, Seol Iri’s eyes arced even more—

Qing is the sort who cannot adore pretty and cute things in a simple, gentle way.

“Only now Super-transcendent? Gunyeong. People your age don’t boast about being Super-transcendent. You’re twenty-three—no, you had a birthday. Twenty-four now, and only now Super-transcendent? Oh dear, my child is this underwhelming.”

Seol Iri’s eyes straightened.

The smile vanished—regrettable, but some things have to be said.

“People don’t brag about what they’re supposed to do as a matter of course. How is it different from someone over twenty saying, ‘I can use chopsticks now’? ‘I can walk on my own now’? You should be ashamed of crawling till now.”

“No. It’s different. No.”

“So what are you doing, stark naked? You burrow in here to train, and it turns out Gunyeong’s the type who cultivates in the nude. Sure, I get it. Not wearing anything is the most comfortable.”

“No, no. No. No.”

Qing’s gaze slid, slowly, down Seol Iri’s bare body—

“Mm. It’s nice to look at, but—let’s at least put some clothes on first. I’m scared someone will see.”

Congratulations—Seol Iri has reached Super-transcendent!

Hee-mae was literally locked in a training wing—a detention training institute—so there was no helping that, but when Peng Daesan heard the astonishing news, his reaction was:

“A brutish method. Was there really any reason to go that far?”

“A brutish method?”

“That’s something from way back. I’ve heard it was attempted only with a master on hand and elixirs ready, and even then with extreme caution. If it’s so dangerous that they called it the Life-and-Death Gate, what does that tell you?”

“Eh? Iri?”

Qing looked at Seol Iri with censure.

Yes, she had deliberately scolded her more to push her realm up, but she hadn’t teased her into wagering her life.

Qing was desperate for Harmony herself, but their life-and-death duel had ultimately borrowed a general’s prestige.

At minimum, she had arranged her own way to live first.

But Seol Iri shook her head.

“No. In the North Sea, this is just how it’s done.”

According to Seol Iri, forcing through the Conception and Governing Vessels is a time-honored North Sea tradition.

So—what, the North Sea is primitive even in how it attempts Super-transcendent?

Of course not.

It’s a peculiarity of the Ice-White Divine Palm lineage.

The Cold-Aspect core implanted in the dantian is already a divine thing beyond the laws of the human world.

So once you force through and connect the Conception and Governing Vessels, the Great Circuit completes with rebirth of bone and flesh.

With rebirth, the body optimizes to the ice core—hence the Super-transcendent realm.

It’s the reverse order from the current mainstream, where one transcends oneself by enlightenment, then—through the optimization of rebirth—opens the Conception and Governing Vessels.

In any case, with Seol Iri as the last, every member of the Short Blade & Twin-Swords Society has now reached Super-transcendent.

Jegal isn’t a combatant—he handles commentary and explanations; Nana is medical support and poison deployment—hardly a martial artist.

Changbin has kids and is a pants-member, a ghost-member, a dormant honorary member—so exclude him, and there you are.

There was one person who happened to pass by and take in a glance of Qing’s party’s harmonious meal (with a side of gluttony).

When that person reached the Sect Leader’s Hall, Cheon Bija bowed flat.

He folded his waist in half till his crown was about to touch the floor—the very picture of why people say one “hammers down” a greeting.

“Ah, senior! You’ve had a hard time coming such a long way. Are you not fatigued?”

Only—the picture was a little odd.

Cheon Bija, a Kunlun Sect Leader who, even for his age, was curiously full of fine wrinkles, looked outwardly like a ninety-year-old.

By contrast, the man being greeted as “senior” still looked like a young man—skin taut, not yet past his thirties.

“What’s ‘hard time’? What’s the big deal about a monk walking? So what is this business where you tattled to call in all the back-room old men?”

The young top monk, in Shaolin’s saffron robe, answered naturally, speaking down.

To onlookers it might seem strange, but in truth there was nothing odd at all.

Because the man was none other than Martial Buddha Muhak—

Ranked first in the martial world, the Foremost Under Heaven.

“Well—”

Cheon Bija had just begun to explain when—

“Ah. Right. On my way in, I saw the Heavenly Flower Sword kid. I’d already heard she’d reached Harmony, but isn’t it something all the same? It seems True Person Ximen is here too—I deliberately didn’t go see her. She pretends otherwise, calling the girl a lacking disciple, but she’d only end up bragging about her disciple again. And in front of her—look there—the Ice Palace girl is in Super-transcendent too. I’m satisfied, seeing youngsters with bright futures even by my standards, but at the same time I felt a grave crisis. A very serious problem.”

“Pardon? What are you suddenly talking about?”

“No, listen. Look at the Heavenly Flower Sword’s usual circle of friends. The Namgung scion, the Moyong scion, the Peng scion—their house brats have all reached Super-transcendent, and now the North Sea girl has followed suit. Does that age make any sense?”

“Isn’t that a delightful thing? Most likely the Heavenly Flower Sword, having reached Harmony, led the way, and—mingling with peers—the competition spurred them to train fiercely and reach where they are.”

“That’s the problem. Why is she only running with scions of the great houses? What’s your crybaby doing? If we set aside our baldy runt, how many among the orthodox Nine Sects’ late-generation standouts have reached Super-transcendent right now?”

Only then did Cheon Bija’s face grow grave.

Even if they now live under one Martial Alliance roof, in the rivers and lakes the Nine Sects (plus one) are traditionally held a notch above the Five Great Houses (plus five).

But look at the young ones of the Ten Great Houses now.

Sword Fang, Jade Qilin, Sword Blossom, Little Xuanyuan.

Granted, the focal point is the Heavenly Flower Sword, and she’s aligned with the Divine Lady’s Gate (strictly speaking, not quite, but still).

“Even so, we can’t just force it.”

“What’s so impossible? When young folks clump up and roam in a pack, friendship’s born and all that—were friends ‘friends’ right from the start? Once you’re past twenty, you’re grown; maybe they’ve stayed too tucked inside their own sects. So put a few next to the Heavenly Flower Sword—even half her example would be a boon.”

A so-called membership quota for the Short Blade & Twin-Swords Society!

How about having each of the Nine Sects select one disciple to join and mingle?

The expression on Master Muhak’s face was drained of all levity—dead serious.

In truth, the rivalry—subtle or not—between the Nine Sects and the Great Houses has been famous since olden days.

“Rivalry” is the polite word; in times when the martial world was much harsher than now, the friction could fairly be called power struggle.

In any case, such was the Short Blade & Twin-Swords Society’s reputation—shooting up and up.

Thus, more people in the days to come will awaken to the Society’s true meaning, the profound import hidden in its name!