Chapter 664: Heaven-Earth Seeing Hound (3)

There was a piece of news scorching the Central Plains’ martial world right now.

Meet anyone and they would chatter about it—the talk of the town across today’s martial stage, plain and simple.

The Righteous-Proper Martial Academy is opening!

They say the name “Righteous-Proper” was bestowed long ago by a fore-ancestor of the Martial Alliance Chiefs, with the meaning: set Righteousness and Correctness in the world.

Back then, quite a few asked, then why not just call it the Proper-Righteous Martial Academy?

But as it was, the orthodox elders already drummed “proper righteousness” into their disciples’ ears until calluses formed—

(Granted, the value a group hammers most is what it lacks and needs. The orthodox martial world had its own rowdy era.)

—so if it even went into the academy’s name, wouldn’t that feel too old and stuffy?

Swap the front and back characters and a fresh mood pops; use the familiar label and the value itself turns bland with over-familiarity.

Of course, that was also a time when the orthodox world leaned toward strong-rule—either the expert was right, or you got beaten by the expert.

There was no one who could defeat the Alliance Chief’s peerless martial skill. In the end, even while muttering, “Still feels like Proper-Righteous would be better...,” they could only have the plaque carved and hung.

In the end, his foresight proved right.

Back then the Martial Alliance was little more than a loose social club and a conduit to the imperial palace.

Even the “academy” was just gathering junior disciples for a seasonal term, fostering camaraderie, and inviting imperial dignitaries so faces could be broadly learned.

As the orthodox world’s “Are we not one of us?” spirit intensified, the scions of the big orthodox houses—already all friendly with one another—held their Dragon-and-Phoenix Gathering separately, so there was no need to recruit for seasonal boot camps.

And while following the throne, they also kept a prickly distance. The Righteous-Proper Academy’s purpose shifted.

Open to the public a chance to build ties with the Martial Alliance—already half the ruling power of the martial world!

Granted, in the worldview of the Central Plains, that sits at the outer ring of “connections”—the knowing-someone tier.

Even so, once you bear the academy’s name and walk the martial path, countless benefits fly your way.

For example, you might wrangle permission to set up even a small training yard at a major orthodox house’s place of business—or if you build in an unorthodox zone, you might win hefty backing.

Even without setting up a yard, flash the Righteous-Proper Academy name anywhere and you’ll be received as a guest—an unstated rule among the orthodox.

And setting post-graduation perks aside, to wanderers forever itching for new inner arts, the academy looks like a field of fat, unknown opportunities.

It’s the daydream wanderers often have.

“Have you ever seen such a prodigy! Take him in as a disciple at once!”

“Your martial talent isn’t astounding, but seeing your character and diligence, I must accept you!”

That sort of daydream.

Of course, even what the academy teaches is worth bowing for at a wanderer’s level.

Even “common” arts, unlike the street versions, preserve the original line well—or have been studied and refined for greater power.

This Righteous-Proper Academy is opening!

Wanderers dreaming of wind and clouds are swarming to Kaifeng like a hive.

Which, in other words, is the staff’s nightmare.

In the primitive antiquity of the Central Plains, there’s no “information system” like in Qing’s homeland, and there’s also no rigorous identity registry (yet).

The flood of admissions inquiries—and the heaps of recommendation letters—you could exaggerate and say you could fill a pit and swim in them.

Thus the Alliance’s military clerks swallow their screams. With overtime piling on, the shadows under their eyes only lengthen.

To make it worse, domestic squabbles from constant late nights—day after day.

Sima Chunbong, the Alliance’s youngest deputy-adjutant’s go-between (a “runner for the deputy adjutant” isn’t exactly a post that needs the “youngest” tag), was already thinking of a warm spring day—sprawled on the front hall floor, sun on her face.

Anyway, for academy trainees you can all but admit anyone by character alone.

Character, in truth, matters more than talent.

Even if an academy grad remains third-rate, people will just say, well, he lacked talent; no one will claim the academy’s curriculum is trash.

And if the fellow’s got character, he won’t stand there blaming the academy’s curriculum either.

So look at those foolish fools.

When you’re dim, your body suffers. They could just select by personal decency, but they pretend to be busy and manufacture work.

“Look, look. She’s really lying there doing nothing.”

“Leave her. Hasn’t she been like that forever? If she’s loafing, it’s because she already finished her work.”

That was true.

The great Lady Sima had already handled every task assigned, and even if she had hands to spare, she had no desire to help with such stupid work.

And the way common folk envy and resent a genius—she was long used to it.

Lying on her side, Sima plucked up a red-bean cake and popped it into her mouth.

“That makes it more annoying. No, why does her face look like that—it ticks me off. Feels like she’s looking down on me.”

“Enough. She does her job well. And is there a strategist here who hasn’t taken help from Chunbong? You too, right?”

“Mm. After constant overtime, my nerves are a bit frayed, I think.”

So: everyday conduct matters.

She often helped others with their tasks, and she also often finished early and flopped down; whichever it was, people were used to it and saw no reason to pick a fight.

Anyway, though Sima Chunbong looked to be lazily enjoying herself on the conspicuous front-hall floor inside the Strategists’ Hall,

in truth she was, with that outstanding brain, continuously processing work. (So she believed.)

Come to think of it, trainees can be admitted on a rough character check.

Unless someone is truly stupid, no one would do anything egregious while wearing the academy’s signboard.

Status matters: once people hear you trained at the orthodox Righteous-Proper Academy, even a lout will try to pose as a respectable knight in public.

If so, how to make this academy opening an even greater achievement?

Sima Chunbong’s handling must be the best in the Central Plains—this must be the greatest academy in history, producing the strongest cohort.

To do that?

A streak of genius flashed across Sima Chunbong’s mind!

If you admit more excellent talent, the outcomes must be more excellent.

But to attract excellent talent, you must be more appealing.

Then how about this: a chance to form ties with the current center of the Dragon-and-Phoenix Gathering and future master of the martial world—this very Sima?

And if, besides, successors from less dazzling orthodox houses and Ten Great Houses step forward, the effect might be half again as enticing.

Sima Chunbong sprang up.

She drew a sheet from her breast and began writing in one breath, filling it in no time.

The Strategists’ Hall had already given up its daily life to overflowing workload and normalized overtime.

And now, this was the moment the hall’s workload grew even heavier.

— — —

Ordinarily, when Qing reached Jagui, she would rest a bit, eat dinner, and then head home—to the sweet house that was her house.

But—

“You come, and you can’t even park your butt before you go? Just eat and whoosh—done? That’s cold, ice-cold.”

Grandpa Choi Riong showed his growing hurt every time Qing did that, but this time he seemed truly wounded.

He had, after all, evolved from “Father pleader” to “Grandfather pleader.”

“Jayeo, don’t you want to stay and eat more snacks? Grandpa already rushed an order of several. They’re sweets soaked in a honey-like date from the Western Regions; even the emperor can’t get them because they’re never in stock.”

Gulp. Gulp.

Jayeo swallowed her saliva.

For some reason the swallowing came from two places.

Qing, with no choice, answered.

Absolutely, it was not because of a honey-like date from the Western Regions—surely date-palm—absolutely, absolutely not because of date-palm sweets.

The reason she ate dinner and went up even while hurting Grandpa’s feelings was that her master was usually up there.

A disciple who’d come that close could hardly sleep below and go up in the morning.

But her master would be staying in Qinghai a while. So this once, couldn’t she soothe Grandpa?

This decision had nothing whatsoever to do with those sweets that even an emperor couldn’t get, nope.

“Mm. Then just until breakfast tomorrow—”

“Hmph. Only at times like this do you act industrious. Why not wake when you usually do, and eat a hearty brunch before you go?”

“Oh, Grandpa. That’s what I meant. Mm, after dinner we should get moving a bit—should we take Jayeo and stroll the night market?”

“Oh, that’s nice.”

It would have been nicer if the one-eyed nuisance hadn’t cut in here.

“Lose one eye and you lose half your sense, too?”

“Even if both were good, so what? Could you even keep what’s already in your hands?”

The two of them looked to have a very bad relationship.

Which wasn’t odd.

A boss who’d been like a dog at the last workplace, and the former underling—if they got along, that would be odd.

He’d radiated displeasure even back in the Church; now that he was out and no longer a subordinate, he had no reason to pick his words.

Hee-mae followed automatically, and Seol Iri quietly took a flank. With the night-market stroll, the party became fairly big.

Only, the relationship graph of the party was a complete mess.

Qing alone was Jayeo’s adoptive father, the adoptive mother of her son-claimer, the daughter of a father with creeping senility, and the younger sister role to her sworn sister.

Turn that into a party chart and bizarre arrows shoot all around—a strange genealogy, a true mongrel tree.

And as for the “market stroll,” should it even be called sightseeing?

Almost every shop in the market either belonged to Seol Trading Co. or was half-owned by its capital.

And everything of Seol Trading Co.—including its human assets up to and including power of life and death—belonged to Qing.

So it wasn’t a market stroll so much as an inspection of business premises.

Anyway, Qing “didn’t know.”

Jayeo received armfuls of gifts until Aunt had to sling on a bundle (the staff had started offering snacks directly to Jayeo now), and Grandpa looked quite satisfied—so that was that.

If there was one blemish—

Mm. If you go somewhere, do you really need to buy local gifts to bring back? Don’t they sell all that in Jagui?

It even looks better in Jagui.

Qing, who would return from anywhere loaded down with gifts for Divine Lady’s Gate disciples—

seeing Jagui’s market, mm.

How to put it...

Like going abroad and buying a “local specialty,” guarding it all the way home, then finding it sold at the convenience store by your house.

Still, you can’t buy travel gifts at the shop by your house; and it’s weird to buy what’s sold at home while far away to bring back...

The next day.

This summer looked sure to be a blazing drought-sky; even in early spring the sun was blazing, the heat already toasty, as if the scorchers of high summer were plainly visible.

And Jayeo finally found one merit in her foster mother.

Coolness!

If Qing had known, she would have teased, So you’ve already discovered the only merit—too bad, nothing more to find.

Anyway, even under the hot spring sun, after a hearty brunch, Qing strode up the mountain with energy.

Half cold, half heat—what makes one most satisfied about reaching the expert realm is the body changing to feel the weather less.

She climbed Mount Wu, and beyond the high ridge the tip of Divine Lady Peak poked up.

“Ah! What is this!? Even with the sun at noon, this blinding brilliance I feel!?”

“No! It can’t be! The Great Ancestor of Light doesn’t come at this time! She always comes after the sun sets, to stand in for the sun!”

“Then am I dreaming? Ah, if this is a dream, I never want to wake. Life is fleeting—a spring dream.”

“No! Sarang—hey—did you die standing up?”

“Impossible! This Sarang cannot die before eating the candy the Great Ancestor gives!”

“As expected, Great Ancestor! Now she even raises the dead!”

Qing cocked her head.

What is this? Yeonseo and Sarang again?

Why are they always on gate watch?

Do they run a 24-hour, no-relief rotation at the main gate?

Or were they hired as gate guards rather than taken as disciples?