Chapter 686: A Martial Artist Must Strengthen Himself — A Martial Artist Must Be Strong (5)

If you define crying as an excessive secretion of bodily fluid from the tear glands running down the face, then Sima Chunbong cried.

If, apart from the presence of tears, you define crying as entering some aberrant mental state beyond the threshold of sorrow or rage, then perhaps not.

To an observer, there’s no difference between the two.

That was why Sima Chunbong was sprawled facedown across the dining table, limp as a rag.

Qing looked at him and reflected a little.

Hm, maybe I got a bit too excited.

I’d been tickling him all the way to the restaurant—surely he’d heave a deep sigh of relief once we arrived, no?

As a punishment for daring to dodge punishment, I thought that was a little too light—

“I think I left something back at the guest hall.”

I turned my body, and—EEK—felt the torso hugging me go rigid; the sign of despair traveling through every point of contact—really, ah.

It was so thrilling I only went back and forth three more times, and then he just went completely limp with dead eyes, teeth clicking together, no reaction at all.

Any more and he really would have lost his mind. Honestly, his mental fortitude—tsk—this is why you can’t be a third-rate.

In truth, Sima Chunbong’s precaution wasn’t bad.

He was just a bit short on imagination.

If you put on iron plates, the simple solution is to slip your hands inside the plates.

Well, he couldn’t have imagined I’d actually do that.

You could call it lack of experience.

There’s never been anyone he hung around with who would play such unreserved, rough pranks.

I always tease him—“you’ve got no friends”—but there really were people it applied to!

Namely Seol Iri. And Sima Chunbong, too.

So while Sima Chunbong leaned like a corpse—I really thought he’d die—barely breathing, utterly spent, unable to hold his body together, just poured out like that—

A youthful voice spoke to him.

“Dead?”

“I’m alive......”

From vocal cords worked to the limit, a completely hoarse voice rasped out, gravelly yet thin as could be, quivering.

At that, Jayeo cocked her head.

“Crying?”

“No. This Sima does not cry. I am merely very exhausted......”

“Eat meat. Gives strength.”

Jayeo brought chopsticks bearing meat to the corner of Sima Chunbong’s mouth where he lay flattened on the table.

Sima Chunbong was a little moved.

Wasn’t she said to be the adopted daughter of the Heavenly Flower Sword? How can she be so dear, so commendable, so unlike my cruel and merciless foster mother? Her eyes do look a bit dead, though.

“Omf. This, Sima, ahm, this favor, ahm, I won’t, ahm, uh, let me, ahm, say—”

Only, something kept coming into his mouth.

Jayeo kept packing it in without pause.

Was she perhaps testing how much meat a person’s mouth could hold?

In truth, it was simply because of Qing.

Qing likes to fill both cheeks full and chew, so Jayeo naturally eats that way too, and, as a child, she thinks what she likes is what everyone in the world likes.

Everyone watched with their own version of a warm expression as Jayeo “nursed” the collapsed Sima Chunbong.

Qing watched and thought:

No, she’s sorting the meat out again.

Pretending to feed him while leaving only vegetables on her own plate in the end.

For a mere ten-year-old (estimated), it was a very high-order stratagem.

Shrewd and intelligent—our Jayeo is this clever. The kid just doesn’t study; she’s got a good head. She’ll be someone big.

Qing was pleased in a different sense.

It’s not like the kid refuses meat entirely; she’ll eat the lean, firm cuts quite well.

Chunbong is doing his part, accepting it decently; he looks flustered at the flood of meat being shoved into his mouth, but well—broadly building ties makes networks and assets, so perhaps I’ll let it pass this time.

Sometimes having a plan work will give perpetually shrunken Jayeo a bit of confidence.

Watching that scene, Qing said just one word:

“Wine.”

Changbin, seated between Qing and Seol Iri, stood at once and poured. The wine bottle held neatly in both hands made for a very demure tableau.

If only his hands weren’t shaking, one could have called it elegant—but alas, his artistic score plunged.

Sword-Friend kept yammering on about the Oro Sword Formula while, in the gaps, Gunyeong’s muffled groans echoed as she spooned down porridge.

Moyong Juhee, for some reason, kept watching my face.

Finding it amusing, Hyang joined in and focused on stuffing meat into Sima Chunbong’s mouth.

Beside them, Jegal Ihyeon trembled, saying training was daily life, holding a horse stance without even a chair.

Qing downed strong liquor and smiled with satisfaction.

Indeed, meals taste best eaten together. Right.

And then one more word:

“Wine.”

****

The reason Chae Seong-ha sought to enter the Righteous-Proper Martial Academy was to carry on his master’s last will.

When the divine beasts of the four directions dance as one, all the Central Plain shall rightfully kneel!

He who masters all Four-Directions Dance and completes the Four Gods Dance shall attain the greatest expert under heaven.

Only, in the vast realm of the Central Plain, he could not go door to door seeking each successor.

So Chae Seong-ha decided to become famous first.

Ambitious heirs would come of their own accord to challenge him; and those who would not?

Like an awl in a pocket poking through the cloth, he was confident he would naturally rise to a high seat within the Martial Alliance.

With the Alliance’s help, he’d be able to find them.

And already, had not an heir come to the same conclusion as he?

One could say applying to the Righteous-Proper Martial Academy was already paying off.

Chae Seong-ha immediately sent a courier letter.

—Something about the four directions, something about kneeling!

As heirs of the Four-Directions Dance, they could not escape this long destiny; it was a dueling ground where they would stake their lives against each other.

Of course, “staking lives” wasn’t all that bloody a notion; it meant the loser must serve the winner as his lord for life.

Some would say that’s harsher than a fight to the death.

Thus, under a bright moon, Chae Seong-ha leaned quietly against the deserted examination wall and waited for his opponent.

How long passed like that?

Even for a chilly spring night, it was excessive attire. Of course, even on a winter night, a thick outer coat of leopard over bear hide would be excessive for a woman.

It was the successor to the Vermilion Bird Dance, Chang Yohong.

“You. Azure Dragon Dance.”

She began with the familiar tone, but it didn’t sound particularly rude.

That was because Chang Yohong’s very voice was steeped in exhaustion; a deep self-mockery clung to it.

It felt less like rudeness and more like she lacked the energy to be polite.

It was a wholly different, somehow decadent beauty from the fire-fist, flame-leg display she’d shown by day.

“My. Miss Chang. Did you not see my bout?”

“I came the day before yesterday, so I didn’t know the face. I heard you got beaten to a pulp, and yet you look fine.”

“......I wasn’t beaten that badly, however.”

Chae Seong-ha offered his excuse a beat late.

He’d intended to defeat the famed Heavenly Flower Sword and make his name in one stroke, but since he’d become famous anyway, one could say the objective itself was achieved.

It just wasn’t the picture he wanted.

Out of words, Chae Seong-ha lifted a courteous fist-salute with a snap.

“Then, according to the long-cherished wish of our line—”

“Wait.”

At that, Chang Yohong held out her palm.

“You just want the Vermilion Bird Dance anyway. Then let’s not waste needless strength and just teach each other.”

“According to our line’s long-cherished wish, the loser must serve the master of the Four-Directions Dance—”

“Not interested. In serving or being served. Why should I devote my life to some ‘long-cherished wish’ in the first place.”

“Yet you yourself have inherited the art of one of the four gods, Miss Chang. How can you so lightly cast aside your school’s vow?”

Chang Yohong let out a long, heavy sigh.

“I heard you handled wind. Must be nice. Look at me.”

She lifted her own arm.

“Because a steel-foundry master handles molten iron, does that make the iron not hot? I’m the same. You think I go around like this because I like it? I’d love to wear pretty clothes—or at least something plain and normal.”

“Clothes... you say? For so small a reason—”

“Small?”

A deep groove split Chang Yohong’s brow.

Then another long, weighty sigh.

“You said let’s fight. What happens when wind meets fire?”

“We can only measure long and short by pitting them—”

“I’m not saying I’ll win. Whether I win or you win, the city will. In a dry spring, if there’s a fire, it will roar.”

“Are you threatening to set the city ablaze right now?”

Chang Yohong pressed her fingers to her forehead.

“I said a fire will break out. Not °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° that I’ll set one.”

“Ah, then let’s move the venue—”

“Where would you fight. In the mountains. Better a city burns than a mountain fire, is it? In the fields. Is it fine to burn someone’s fields.”

“Uh, hm. Then we can wait until rain, when the world is soaked enough, and settle it then, can’t we.”

“Do we really have to go that far....... Fine. Either way, not today. Think about it well. No need to waste strength; we can just teach each other and go our ways.”

And with that, Chang Yohong turned her body and, looking weary, drifted away.

Just then.

Chae Seong-ha barked out a shout.

“Don’t be ridiculous! Miss Chang, you more than anyone wish to fulfill the vow!”

Chang Yohong halted.

“If you truly wished to give it up, why propose an exchange of what we each have! And why leave seclusion to enter the Righteous-Proper Martial Academy!”

“Haa....... I—”

“You are simply kind, Miss Chang!”

Chang Yohong’s face went blank.

It was the look of someone thinking, What did I just hear?

“I was thoughtless! Because you are so very kind, you cannot bear the destruction your own divine art brings! Then I—I will help you!”

“No, help with... what...?”

“So that you can control the Vermilion Bird’s flames! I have a way to govern wind, and surely there are such subtleties in the White Tiger and Black Tortoise as well! Therefore I—I will find a perfect way to control flame, and help you shed that thick fur coat and don the beautiful garments you want, so you can unfurl your divine art as you please!”

There was not a speck of hesitation in Chae Seong-ha’s expression as he spoke; it was firm and earnest.

If there is a face called sincerity, it might be that face.

At that, Chang Yohong thought:

What is this, this dumb bastard.

Since when does a truly kind woman go around fully outfitted in firefighting gear, ready to set a blaze at any time? She even sleeps in it, a quilt-sleeping-bag hybrid garment, in case she’s attacked at night.

Chang Yohong could kindle flame without a shred of hesitation if it meant protecting herself. Whether it burned a city, a mountain, or the entire Central Plain.

But then she’d be a public enemy of the martial world.

She’d pick up some epithet like Arson Witch or Fire-Mad Witch and flee under pursuit from all under heaven.

That’s why she applied to the Righteous-Proper Martial Academy.

To learn proper martial arts, not the Vermilion Bird Dance.

But how great an art could the Academy actually teach.

It’s the stuck-up Martial Alliance corralling all sorts of strays and drifters to teach them.

Still, it would surely be far better than the neighborhood halls or buying dubious manuals off the market.

So she’d said they should teach each other.

Wind doesn’t set fires.

Might as well switch from the accursed Vermilion Bird Dance to the Azure Dragon Dance.

What does he even know to prattle about kindness.

Men never care about other people’s eyes anyway; they strut around bare-chested with their shirts flung open.

To go around in this state in a woman’s body—unable to grow her hair long, skin tanned dark, and because it’d look odd if only her face were tanned, forced to burn the torso she cannot show—she was sick of it.

And the act of using martial arts itself was a great danger, so living quietly, holding her breath, was even more so.

She was only lucky no one bothered the crazy woman wrapped in bear hide with a leopard-skin coat over it; otherwise she might already have become a public enemy.

And after he “helps,” what then?

Because he bestowed a favor, should she serve him as lord for life?

He hasn’t even lived it, and yet here he is—peeking over a wall with that sleek mug, glowering at a fierce woman—and he’s been traipsing the rivers and lakes laughing it up with not one but two of them?

And then what?

Some of us can’t make a single friend for fear that getting entangled will mean starting a fire.

Chang Yohong clenched her fist; it trembled.

She felt like landing a single fire-fist right on that smooth face.

But even that was tiring......

As she turned her back again and walked away, the same steadfast cry chased after her.

“It’s all right! It will all be all right! I will help you! Please, do not deceive yourself and suffer any longer!”

Ah, hell.

Chang Yohong shook her head side to side.