Chapter 650: Joint March (6)

Originally, to mark my entry into mid-Harmony, I’d planned to wildly crank up the motivation of my beloved Short Blade & Twin-Swords Society members.

But hitting mid-Harmony doesn’t suddenly unlock some special new trick.

And when I thought about it—whether early Harmony or mid-Harmony, to these bottom-rankers both are lofty heights they can’t even dare look up at, so what would it even mean to them?

You feel the difference between five thousand taels of gold and ten thousand; but if you compare one billion to 1.1 billion, the difference is larger and yet... it’s still just “a lot,” isn’t it?

Of course, not to someone who actually has a billion.

For me, already a master of the Flower Realm, the only bitter point was that I couldn’t properly broadcast this great achievement.

So, fine. The grown-up here will endure.

It’s my heavy responsibility for keeping a circle of martial nobodies who can’t read the footprints of a giant.

Which is why I decided to brag to the elders.

“Mid-stage, you say?” “What?”

“...Given the disciple’s qualities, it isn’t exactly shocking. Excellent. The disciple has chosen the path of the sword.”

For something “not shocking,” their reactions were about three beats late.

I kept a prim face.

Beaming here would look tacky.

To the three Translucent-realm masters, it was past “unbelievable” and into “what even.”

Didn’t she step into the Flower Realm last autumn?

Mid-Harmony in winter?

So then late Harmony in spring and Translucent by summer?

Well—not quite.

Mid-Harmony is the step where you choose the work you truly mean to pursue.

If you already know your own sword and clearly the sword you want to hold, you could rise quickly, sure.

But plenty of people wander their whole lives at early Harmony.

Because the human heart is hard to know clearly.

And this is the time when you deny the martial you’ve held as solid truth and overlay it with your own mind-image.

Easy to say—before Heavenly Flower Sword, you’d trained at least thirty years, believing these moves and these mind-images were the most correct answers; how do you casually deny the very roots of your martial?

Ah. Is that it?

Martial Buddha tried to square it.

The youngest to reach the Flower Realm; who knows when she first gripped a sword—add a few years, maybe ten and change at most.

The years spent blind-believing in “what she has” are fewer, so wasn’t it easier for her to seize her path and her handle?

Ximen Surin had roughly the same thought.

My disciple can study many arts; how many outside-line arts has she learned?

So by seeing a wide variety of martial forms, she didn’t cling to that worship martial artists usually have for their own style—put nicely, pride; put bluntly, the stubbornness that their thing is the correct answer.

Namgung Daero simply stopped thinking.

Mm. Magnificent. Mmm. Magnificent.

Anyway, Ximen Surin was only satisfied.

The other two Translucent masters were... complicated.

But Qing had no reason to tune her rise for their sakes, so let them be complicated.

Qing straightened her posture and lifted her back.

“Master. After careful consideration, this disciple has decided to take the child in.”

“Mm. Though the disciple isn’t of many years yet, in light of your attainment you are certainly qualified to be someone’s teacher. But to take a disciple is to shoulder an equal weight of responsibility; do not take this lightly. Keep this in your heart.”

Ximen Surin offered her counsel.

Qing spoke again.

“What the child needs now—what she urgently needs—is not a teacher to instruct her, but a parent to care for her.”

A crease formed on Ximen Surin’s brow.

Truthfully, she didn’t love it.

We’re barely into the new year and Qing’s only twenty-two; for a common household woman that wouldn’t be strange at all, but...

Marriages for female martial artists are much later; to Ximen Surin’s eye, a youngster saying she’ll take a child—she couldn’t just clap and say, Your resolve is admirable, and wave it through.

But since it was a kind disciple’s considered decision, a master couldn’t simply forbid it either.

Had Qing said it in private, she might have scolded, Do you think that’s easy? and opposed it, but bringing it up now of all times—hm, the disciple could be sly.

So all she could do was furrow her brow and look displeased.

How could the two Translucent masters not feel that?

Martial Buddha stepped in to back Ximen Surin.

“Mm. Thy heart indeed bears the Buddha’s intent. Yet remember—this is by no means an easy choice. Moreover, the child isn’t whole, is she.”

“Which is why she needs a parent more than a teacher.”

“Ahem. Raising a child is no ordinary task. You there—am I wrong?”

“The senior is correct. Raising a brat—no, a child—when does it ever go the way you want? You think you taught everything, left nothing lacking, and yet this kid—huff—where, from which point, did it all go wrong...”

From Namgung Daero came a strangely heavy, heartfelt attempt to dissuade.

But Qing had her own thinking.

“Truth is, I’m not trying to lock it into something grimly strict and solemn. The child needs a parent over a teacher right now. If I had to phrase it, ‘playing family’—mm, call it ‘play’ and it sounds pretty impudent, but when she grows up and her head thickens, won’t she understand?”

That was why I was “Dad,” and why I planned to infinitely proliferate Moms.

From the start I wasn’t that confident.

How am I supposed to raise a kid?

I only knew how to dote on other people’s kids; I’d never thought about it, so of course I wasn’t remotely prepared.

A human child curls up in the womb for ten months so the parents can prepare—that’s the heart’s preparation, isn’t it?

“Mmm.”

At first listen it sounded okay.

But in raising children, there is no such thing as “it’s fine, unconditionally.”

It would be lovely if, grown, the child understood your intent for her; but, well, some people blame their parents even at full age.

Ximen Surin let out a long sigh.

“If this is the disciple’s will, and you have cared and thought on it, then you are already qualified to take the child. If so, your master will no longer oppose you.”

Thus—

Official adoption, complete.

****

They’d roughly finished cleaning the Blood Thunder Sound Temple which had been decorated with innards and meat, and now it was time to end the expedition and return to the Kunlun Sect.

And Qing ran into a very big problem.

No—Jayeo was illiterate!

Couldn’t read a single character!!

Of course the Blood Cult wouldn’t have taught her characters.

They barely had time to pump in hatred, what characters.

And honestly, half the Central Plains are practical illiterates who can’t even get through a quarter of the Thousand-Character Classic.

At most, they can scratch the numbers in their names—if that; and most can’t even write the “alternate-form numerals.”

For reference, those look like this:

The alternate for one 一 is 壹 or 弌.

Numbers are easily altered and used for crimes; the basic digits are so easy to tweak with an extra stroke that they made difficult forms.

So if the world heard this, they’d say, What’s the problem with illiteracy? You can talk, can’t you.

At that age a kid naturally wouldn’t know characters; wouldn’t it be stranger if she could read and write well?

But to Qing, it was a serious matter.

Because of where Qing was from.

Illiterate, in this world?

How could that be.

To live like a human and not be ground down, you have to learn characters.

To Qing, that was basic common sense.

Thus began Qing’s Thousand-Character class.

“Now, look. This is ‘天—heaven.’ It means the sky.”

Jayeo stared blankly at the “heaven” Qing had carved into the earth.

I readied my explanation:

Since there’s a line drawn above the shape of “person 大,” it means “sky.”

But Jayeo turned from the character and looked at my sword, making my careful, child-level lesson plan suddenly feel silly.

“Knife.”

“Why? Want me to teach you how to use a knife?”

Nod-nod-nod—Jayeo nodded with fierce vigor.

“Hm. It’s still early for you, Jayeo. But, it can’t be helped. Watch.”

I flung out sword-qi and cut; man-made starlight carved deep scars into the frozen winter earth of Qinghai.

刀 (knife), 劍 (sword).

“Here. This is the ‘knife’ dao. This is the ‘sword’ geom. The dao is much easier to use than the sword, right? In practice too—that’s why the sword is called the ‘king of ten thousand soldiers.’ Mm. But—”

I slashed again.

双刀 (twin-dao).

“If the sword is hard, you can use them like this. Now, shall we start with easy characters? ‘Heaven.’ You remember it?”

Shake.

“Hm. Don’t remember? Then copy it. Go on, write.”

And then—

Qing felt faint.

They say a prodigy grasps ten from one.

But Jayeo was “ten-from-one in reverse,” and even then—Amitābha.

Teach ten and she grasps one; then teach ten more and she grasps another one—and forgets the first one.

Qing’s vision went dark!

No!

Don’t tell me Jayeo’s a blockhead!

My daughter, a dunce!

She hesitated over 地 “earth,” stealing glances.

I—mm—pressed and stroked Jayeo’s head.

“Mm. Your vessel is very large, Jayeo. Great people ripen late; they say it takes time to fill a big bowl. You’ll be someone great. Mm. I’m so proud I could cry...”

From the first steps of the Thousand-Character Classic, Qing hit a wall.

She kept sneaking glances; she was doing it because I told her to, that’s how it felt.

The boredom and lack of fun were written all over her.

This was not the literacy lesson I’d imagined.

This is the sky; this is the earth; hm? Me? Person? Right, ‘person’ is written like this—something like that, teaching one or two characters with a “feel.”

But—yeah, no.

Study is, by nature, not fun.

So then, how do you get a kid to learn actively?

Naturally, I didn’t know.

If I did, I would’ve been a prodigy raising my name back home already, grown into someone important, glorified the nation, and bathed in meat-and-wine forests.

Since I didn’t, I played video games, and here I am like this.

Hm. Come to think of it, aside from the fallen pepper, it’s not so bad.

It’s just a pity I can’t give Jayeo video games.

Who knows?

She might cross over to that future world and battle two-dimensional invaders and become a millionaire wielding vast wealth and power.

With the road blocked, all I had were empty-calorie thoughts.

Taking in a child is absolutely not easy.

I was about to sigh, but—no, there’s a kid here; I can’t sigh to her face.

Of course, I did have a brilliant move—Ximen-Surin-style pedagogy, the Central Plains’ top expert in etiquette indoctrination.

But where on this tiny thing would I even strike? And I had not the slightest wish to add even a slap to a child who’d clearly been hit plenty already.

If you’re going to spank from love, that’s at around fifteen or sixteen, when they’re long-fused adolescents.

Jayeo, you little brat, you’re dead later.

We’ll see when you’re older.

By then you’ll know the greatest of faith, hope, and love is a nuclear strike.

Well, maybe it won’t matter yet.

She’s still a total baby; why force characters already?

A strong body is enough.

At eight you’d be... first grade of primary school? First grade is a bit early for writing character forms.

And our Jayeo doesn’t look like the liberal-arts type, and she won’t be a science type either, but in this primitive ancient Central Plains, the best field is clearly phys-ed—well, minus “arts,” pure athletics is the top profession, no?

And as a “fake” Ten-Thousand-Slaughters, she’s bound to have terrifying talent for martial arts; it’s a winning lottery you don’t even have to scratch.

Mmm, what do I do?

If the kid becomes, like me, a once-in-a-century ultragenius and her martial skyrockets—

She’s seen enough blood already; if she learns too fast, will there be side effects?

Not a worry I needed to have this early, but still.