Chapter 649: Joint March (5)

Before they knew it, a bout between Peng Daesan and Jade Dew Sword was unfolding out in the yard.

Calling it a bout was generous; the gap in realm was obvious, so it was closer to Peng Daesan humoring him.

But lately that Kunlun Daoist, Jade Dew Sword Bungsain, kept catching the eye.

Well, of course—besides the faces we saw every day, a guest our age had shown up, so it was only natural he’d keep popping in to show his face.

Still, he hadn’t been like this back at Kunlun, had he?

It wasn’t just a feeling.

Jade Dew Sword had received a special order from the Sect Leader: infiltrate—no, join—the Short Blade & Twin-Swords Society.

Truthfully, you didn’t need a “special order.”

If he’d tossed it at Qing like a joke—“Got any room in the Short Blade & Twin-Swords Society? Let me in so we can play together”—she’d have gladly stamped a new member card.

But from an orthodox sect’s vantage, the roster of members were all famed late bloomers, the heirs of the Ten Great Houses buzzing around.

Naturally it could only feel like some extremely secret society, quietly scheming some gain behind closed doors.

Beside them, Seol Iri was quietly gathering qi in a breath-holding trance, while the child sat meekly in Gyeon Pohee’s arms.

Qing looked at the child.

At a glance, the kid seemed motionless, tucked soft in Hee-mae’s plush hold.

But those pupils—jet black, without a gleam—kept wandering, stealing glances at the group, gauging everyone.

Only then did the child’s whole posture come into focus.

She seemed comfortably propped, yet she was actually bracing her torso with a subtle tension in the lower back.

Her shoulders were rigid, and not just the shoulders—her entire body was taut with strain, frozen like a still life.

All she did, in intense awkwardness, was read the room, over and over.

Why hadn’t anyone noticed sooner?

Then the child’s eyes locked with Qing’s.

In those unusually black, lusterless pupils, a small relief passed.

Why, Qing couldn’t say, but it was certain the child felt some unknown intimacy toward her.

Maybe when Qing pulled her out, that flash of the kid’s past had forged some wordless exchange.

Or maybe she and that friendless Lonely Star were of a kind, and the kid sensed that same kinship in Qing.

Or maybe it was just that falling asleep in Qing’s arms last night had felt safe—Qing couldn’t pin it down.

But fine. Anything is a thousand, ten thousand times better than outright wariness.

Smiling faintly, Qing sat down beside Gyeon Pohee.

She spread her arms, and only then did the child reach out and pitch herself into them, a light, bird-like weight.

Holding her close, Qing spoke softly.

“Your name, from now on, is Jayeo.”

The child flinched.

Qing, dexterous as ever, drew her sword one-handed, stretched out a finger, and scored characters in the packed earth under the veranda with a sweep of steel-qi.

Jayeo 慈與

“This one means to like, to love—‘ja.’ And this one, ‘yeo,’ is the one for giving, for being together.”

The child gazed down at the characters.

For some reason Qing felt shy, buried her face to the child’s ear, and whispered.

I want you to be someone who’s loved.

But nothing in the world is free. Strictly speaking, sometimes it is, but anyway—

Rather than waiting for others to like you first, it would be good if you could like others first.

Qing tapped the “yeo” in the name.

‘Yeo’ carries both the sense of giving and of togetherness.

Because what you give out, in some measure, comes back.

Someone will return more love than you gave, and someone else will skim off a vicious fee and send back only a portion.

Even so, to be together, you have to give.

To become “we,” not “me.”

“Of course, bastards who aren’t people don’t count. Things that don’t act human don’t need to be treated as human.”

The child said nothing, only kept staring at the characters.

“Why? You don’t like it?”

A small head shook side to side. Fine hair tickled Qing’s cheek.

“What is it then? Not that you dislike it, but not that you like it either?”

Again, a shake.

Chuckling, Qing asked again.

“So—do you like it?”

At last, a nod. Jayeo.

“Do you know who I am? I’m Heavenly Flower Sword, Ximen Qing. ‘Heavenly Flower Sword’ is the epithet people use because I’m too magnificent and they respect me. Ximen is the family name, and Qing is my given name. Do you know what that means?”

Shake.

Qing stroked Jayeo’s hair.

“Ximen Jayeo. From now on, if someone asks your name, that’s how you answer.”

Then, a tiny, thread-thin murmur at Qing’s ear.

“Ximen.”

“Gasp.”

What? She spoke? She could speak?

Well, she had a mouth.

And since she understood Qing, of course she could speak.

Her first word was “Ximen.”

No reason to be asking for the western gate of a temple out of nowhere; she’d simply tried out her surname.

The surname mattered more to her than the given name she’d just received; she’d yearned for it more.

Because—

“Then... Mom?”

At that, Qing let out a low groan.

Thankfully, unlike with that Mr. Yeom case, she didn’t go into convulsions; even so, gooseflesh rushed up the arms all the same.

“Mm. I can bear it, but—mm—now, that one needs a little thinking over.”

The child’s shoulders slumped.

Her master had said it had only been Martial Buddha’s test and that she’d intended to take the child into the Divine Lady’s Gate anyway.

But if you pressed it, it was because of Qing.

Even though Qing was a Ten-Thousand-Slaughters star, she’d become a splendid master and done her proud disciple’s part, and so the “fake” Ten-Thousand-Slaughters would be accepted, wouldn’t she?

And she’d already said it before Martial Buddha.

That she’d take the child. That she’d be responsible.

But that had only been to take her as a disciple, like her master had done for her.

Now, to tell a child who’d found more joy in a surname than in a given name, who’d thought she was being taken in as a daughter and been so happy she’d finally unlatched her closed tongue—that they’d be master and disciple rather than parent and child—it stuck in the craw.

And when you thought about it, what was the difference, really?

Hadn’t they said she’d been locked in a narrow room, force-fed visions of all the world’s things she couldn’t have, and had hatred pumped into her?

If what Jayeo had wanted most was a parent, then... well, it couldn’t be helped.

“Mom won’t do. Let’s make it Dad instead.”

Jayeo nodded, nod-nod.

Fortunately, Jayeo was broad-minded: so long as a parent existed, whether “Mom” or “Dad” didn’t matter!

Only—

“Mom?”

“Do you absolutely need there to be a Mom?”

Nod-nod.

Qing: Mmm. In that case...

“Hee-mae? Want to be Mom?”

“Mmm, I like being Aunt.”

Hee-mae’s “Mmm” meant “no.”

“What is this? You’ll be Aunt? Despicable maneuver? You don’t want the responsibility, but as Aunt you want to spoil her all you like? Pleasure without responsibility?”

“Mmm, my sworn sister and I are already family. Family shouldn’t do that.”

“Hm. Pulling out kinship degrees, are we.”

Anyway, there was nothing to say to that—pass.

You mess up the family record and you’re done for, yeah.

Qing turned her head the other way.

“Iri, you want to?”

“Are you choosing a kid’s mother like offering snacks? And why are you the Dad?”

At some point Peng Daesan was staring, incredulous.

Beside him, “Khhk—so moving,” Jade Dew Sword was streaming tears, both hands clamped over his mouth on the verge of sobbing.

Qing snorted, heh.

“Because I intend to raise Jayeo very strong. I’m the incarnation of strictness, and with an education policy far harsher than Mencius’s mom I’m going to hammer in the manners that will shape Jayeo’s entire life. Therefore Mom’s role is to take the whining and coddle. It’s the classic good-cop/bad-cop strategy.”

“Do people usually say that part out loud? And what even is—good cop, bad cop—”

“Doesn’t matter. If you don’t say it, no one knows. One day Jayeo could hit a rebellious phase and be like, ‘What did Dad ever do for me?’ Look here, Jayeo. See how hard I’m working to get you a Mom. Amazing, right?”

While the child nodded, nod-nod, Peng Daesan wore the most dumbfounded face.

Anyway—

“So, Iri? Mom or not?”

“I’m not confident. I have no experience...”

“Who does? Hm. What should we do, then. I’ll make Nana do it. But she’s in Sichuan, so... hmm, should we go visit Mom with Jayeo?”

“...But I’ll try.”

The instant Tang Nana’s name left Qing’s mouth, Seol Iri’s answer slid sideways.

Giggling, Qing ruffled Jayeo’s hair.

“Good. Now you’ve got a Mom. How is she? Do you like your Mom?”

Jayeo stared fixedly at Seol Iri.

For once, Seol Iri swallowed and put on a tense face.

Jayeo’s head shook.

Sadly, not to her taste.

“Oh dear. But blood-ties don’t change just because you like them or not. Even if Iri is a bit delicate, even if her martial level is low, even if her only strong point is a pretty face, there’s nothing to be done.”

Jayeo’s shoulders slumped again.

Seol Iri’s shoulders slumped, too.

Artificial Ten-Thousand-Slaughters or not, a Ten-Thousand-Slaughters was a Ten-Thousand-Slaughters—what a terrifying little kid, stabbing hearts to their faces.

Chuckling, Qing soothed Jayeo.

“It’s fine. You might like the next Mom.”

Jayeo’s head snapped up.

Seeing the question brimming in the eyes peeking up from her arms, Qing explained.

“In the Central Plains, more Moms is better, you know? The high-fliers sometimes have, like, seven Moms. You can’t lose to that, Jayeo.”

Heroes take three wives and four concubines, they say.

Meaning, as a hero’s child, having at least seven mothers would finally qualify you as someone’s kid!

Since it’s “three wives,” you need at least three so Jayeo won’t have to bow her head anywhere.

Let’s see—add Iri, then Nana, then Lady Moyong and Lady Gongsun makes four.

With four, no one can say “no Mom” anywhere.

And it was necessary for everyone.

If Seol Iri alone was “Mom,” Seol would suddenly be a woman with a child.

But if every female member of the Short Blade & Twin-Swords Society was “Mom”?

Then people would just go, Oh, Heavenly Flower Sword and friends are taking the kid in.

It was good for Jayeo, who needed a Mom right now, and as she grew older she’d naturally come to understand how it had all shaken out.

“Come here.”

With an oddly earnest air, Seol Iri reached out to Jayeo.

But Jayeo shook her head—plain refusal.

“Come along.”

Seol Iri, however, was firm.

Somehow, the dignity of a mother was already peeking through—she looked like the kind who’d be a strict mom one day.

Not confident, huh? Surprisingly? Not bad? Maybe she had uses beyond her face?

With a gentle push from Qing’s hand, Jayeo reluctantly wriggled over into the arms of the Mom she didn’t like.

Seol Iri hugged her tight and whispered with grim resolve.

“Remember this. I’m the first. The Great-Mom, got it? No—no, others are fine, but if a Mom with the surname Tang shows up later, then absolutely she ranks behind—”

Qing snatched Jayeo back on the spot.

So much for “uses.”