Chapter 790: Diancang Expedition

Somehow, this world kept trying to make her into Yeonsul.

But Qing couldn’t accept it.

There was something like a low, subtle revulsion.

Maybe because of that damned status window?

Those uncanny letters floating in empty air—always pushing quests at her, waking her up in danger, meddling with her without quite calling it meddling.

Then what was that strategy guide she’d read in her past life?

What about everything else in the status window?

The quests?

Her monstrous strength, stamina, recovery?

The automatic language translation from the Hangul patch?

So the return-to-abode rite “brought the soul back”?

Then I just happened to time it perfectly?

In my hometown, unbelievably, there was an electronic game with the exact same setting as this Central Plains world—

I bought it, installed it, subconsciously made a character identical to Yeonsul in my past life—

and the moment I clicked the button to start my martial journey, I got yanked into my past-life body?

How am I supposed to believe that?

So I didn’t come to a game, I came to my past life, and—oh—so I’m Yeonsul, wow, sure, of course.

Unless your brain is a literal flower garden, unless you’re an empty-headed idiot, who the hell could believe this kind of idiotic bullshit?

Qing’s expression hardened into stone.

“Fine. Let’s say that’s true. Then can the memories—Yeonsul’s memories—come back?”

“Your Highness, they were already bleached away and erased in Naraka, so they cannot be restored by any method. If I had to put it in words, memories are like letters engraved into an iron plate—like melting the iron in Naraka and returning its shape to an ingot.”

Ashiya answered while still balanced in a handstand.

“Ah. Not an iron plate—more like an iron tool. The mind is forged into its own shape while living, but once freed from the flesh and reaching Naraka, it’s melted down like molten iron and returned to a pure state again. So, I apologize, but...”

“It can’t be done? See. I knew it.”

Yeah. Exactly.

This world—or the status window—was treating her like she was a complete idiot.

Fine, say this body is Yeonsul’s body.

Say this soul is Yeonsul’s soul.

So I’m Yeonsul?

That’s... a bit. Ah. Sure. That’s how it is.

And suddenly Qing understood the source of the revulsion.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t believe it.

It wasn’t even that she didn’t want to believe it.

No.

It was that it was never true in the first place.

Even if, in a past life, she had been Yeonsul—

what the hell did that have to do with her?

Past-life “me” was a different person.

Even if she was reborn, she could never become Yeonsul.

Then why had this pointless 고민—this “worry” dressed up as a temptation—shaken her at all?

There was only one reason.

Because Yeonsul had been a good person.

Yeonsul had been loved.

And Yeonsul had known how to love others first, willingly.

Maybe the order was reversed. Maybe Yeonsul was loved because Yeonsul was that kind of person.

If Yeonsul had been a monstrous villain—

if, just because she had Yeonsul’s body and Yeonsul’s soul, enemies swarmed all over the Central Plains, the entire world spat on her and cursed her and looked at her with filthy eyes and shunned her—

then of course she’d feel wronged, irritated, furious.

To be despised for things she never did, to have blades swung at her demanding payment for past-life crimes she didn’t even remember—what could be more disgusting than that?

She would’ve cut it off cleanly: I’m not that past-life bastard. It has nothing to do with me.

But the problem was that Yeonsul had been a good person.

A person everyone desperately searched for in her absence.

Someone that loved.

Someone that had been loved.

How comfortable and sweet was that story?

All she had to do was admit, “I am Yeonsul,” and she could swallow the returns on Yeonsul’s love—free, effortless, handed over for nothing.

So yeah.

They were looking down on people.

Of course, Qing herself was the kind of petty little bastard who swallowed what was sweet and spat what was bitter.

But even so—this was too blatant.

Here. Eat it. It’s good. Just close your eyes and pretend to be Yeonsul. You can enjoy the authority of the Heavenly Dynasty. Isn’t that nice?

It’s not nice.

It’s not.

You want me to inherit a life I didn’t live?

Connections that aren’t mine?

Because there’s no downside and only profit?

Don’t make me laugh.

Meanwhile, one woman who’d been making a ruckus and was starting to run out of stamina—

Ashiya, now dripping sweat in little beads.

“Um... Your Highness...? Could you... forgive me now...? This is... secretly really hard....”

“Mm. Forgiveness or not, I’m not the one who gets to decide that.”

“How can you be so merciful...”

Qing let out a small laugh.

Still, her heart felt lighter.

At least the real Yeonsul wouldn’t be in the underworld crying blood and cursing her.

Ah. Right.

“Then who is ‘Yeonsul’ in the palace right now?”

“We just... brought in a courtesan from Geonpyeong whose body was most similar to Your Highness’s beautiful jade form, and, um... it became that....”

“And nobody noticed all this time?”

“Surprisingly, no one doubted it...”

While working as palace staff, they’d gathered Yeonsul’s past easily and fed it to her—so she could act like Yeonsul.

No one would ever imagine they’d dare swap the princess.

Someone who died and came back might change.

And on top of that, she’d occasionally let slip clumsy fragments of “past memories.”

Hearing it, Qing almost felt like she’d be fooled too.

I am not Yeonsul.

Because I’m truly not.

And for that to be true in the real world, there was one last bond she had to sever.

So, Your Majesty—Your daughter, Princess Yeonsul, already died long ago.

The person before you is not Yeonsul. It is Seomun Cheong. Even if we share the same flesh, the same soul, we cannot be the same existence.

“Why are you making that face?” Her Majesty the Empress said. “What, is the watermelon not tasty? Summer is already waning, and this year there’s been so much water that it can’t be sweet, but still.”

“No, it’s not that.”

Wrong.

She had to say it before Her Majesty.

She had to let Yeonsul go and close it properly.

I’m not Yeonsul.

But—

Mm. She couldn’t do it.

How do you look a mother who lost her child in the eye and say, Your daughter is already dead, and I’m not your daughter?

Qing wasn’t that cruel.

More precisely: Qing was a cruel bitch in general, but when it came to people who gave her affection, she went soft and melted into mush.

“Um... Your Majesty.”

“Yes, my daughter.”

Qing braced herself again.

“Th-then, hypothetically... what is the reason a person exists as a single person? Even if it’s the same flesh, if there are no memories, if you can’t share the same recollections—‘recollections’ sounds odd, but if every emotion you receive together isn’t the same as before—then isn’t it impossible to call them the same person...”

Her Majesty the Empress stroked the head in her lap, slow and gentle.

“Yes. It must be hard to accept. But it’s all right.”

Suddenly the atmosphere was identity-crisis hour.

“That’s not what I—”

“Do you know what you promised me last?” the Empress said. “You said that even if you died and were born again, you would still be my daughter. In the end, you kept your promise. You were reborn and returned to your mother.”

“Uh, that—”

“This mother is the same. Just as you said you would be my daughter even if you were born again, your mother was the same. No matter what you were born as, your mother would gladly hold you. So you have no need to worry about such things.”

“No, that’s not it, I’m just a different person—”

“Yes. I see. My daughter.”

Mm. Yeah. This wasn’t going to work.

Qing gave up cleanly.

Her Majesty had already made up her mind—so even if Qing said she wasn’t her daughter, the Empress—

and wow, she truly did not listen.

Qing laughed bitterly.

Because she realized how deceitful people could be.

If someone came to you and said, In your past life you owed me a million gold, pay up—

would you need that million? Even if it was only a few copper coins, you’d tell them to get lost. Stop scheming. Quit your bullshit and leave.

But if someone came and said, In your past life you left a million gold, so I’m returning it to you—

wouldn’t you be tempted?

Even if it wasn’t money, but affection.

Maybe this was tangled up with Qing’s own anxieties.

If she got chased out of the martial world for being a calamity-star, for practicing demonic arts, maybe she felt relieved that she had somewhere to belong.

But what could she do.

She’d been born deceitful.

Haeryu and Lady Deokseong, unexpectedly, gave her a simple send-off.

“In my heart I want to follow and attend you, but please forgive me that I’m bound to the palace. Heehee—when you come next time, bring the young miss too.”

“Your Highness. I have seen you in good health, so now I could die without regret. No—my regret remains. My lifelong wish was to care for Your Highness’s young miss. Next time, for the sake of this lowly servant, please show me the young miss.”

“Young miss” had several meanings, but here it meant an imperial child.

Of course, Qing had not the faintest desire to bring Jayeo into this den of demons.

The one she didn’t expect was Gabiya.

“Your Highness, the grace you bestowed on us—I’ll carve it into my heart for a thousand years, ten thousand years—sob—can’t you not go? I’m a body that can’t live without you now. How can you do this to me, ugh...”

With tears truly hanging from her lashes, Gabiya actually startled Qing a little.

And if Qing had to admit it, she felt more regret toward Gabiya than anyone.

Haeryu was seeing off Princess Yeonsul—

but Gabiya was seeing off Qing.

Seomun Cheonhwa.

“Where are you going, abandoning this Heavenly Maiden—after taming me like this? Then step on me—step on me and go! You can’t go, you can’t! Aaaah! Wow, seriously—seriously step on me, waaah...”

Gabiya even flopped down flat.

Qing gently stepped on her, and finally passed through the back gate of the Forbidden City—Gate of Divine Might.

She’d heard that the Royal Censor of the Twelve Circuits was supposed to leave the palace quietly, without anyone knowing.

The appointment itself wasn’t a post you received before the ministers, either—it was an office granted in secret in a private audience with the Son of Heaven.

So maybe it was only natural.

And so—

the Forbidden City escape, at last!

The moment she stepped outside the palace, even the air felt different.

The palace air was... heavy, maybe. Stifling.

Because it was the Forbidden City: high walls, more walls, more walls again, packed tight into sealed compartments inside already towering fortifications.

And yet countless people had to live their entire lives inside that place—

Ugh. Horrifying.

Guess she wasn’t built for palace life.

*****

Ten days later.

Righteous-Proper Martial Academy, main gate.

Qing had rushed back with sincere diligence.

Even so, the distance from Beijing to the Righteous-Proper Martial Academy was no joke.

A two-thousand-li road—by Qing’s hometown sense, it was about like going Seoul to Busan and back to Seoul.

A round trip like that got you roughly in the same ballpark.

So when Qing returned to the Righteous-Proper Martial Academy, the sunlight was still hot, and only at night did you maybe start to feel a touch of chill—

early autumn.

And the moment word spread that Qing was back, a woman came sprinting out.

It was broad daylight, while the academy schedule was in session—so it wouldn’t be strange for someone to come greet her.

The instructors and assistant instructors would be teaching.

Jayeo would be in class.

Gunyeong would be playing around, but who would even tell Gunyeong the news?

But—

what the hell? Why is she coming out?

The familiar face sprinting over, even using lightness arts—

was someone Qing hadn’t even imagined.

“Huh? What? Why are you coming out here?”

“No, what the hell? How can you do this to me? If you were taking an instructor post, you should’ve said so—then I would’ve taken the academy Therapist post and come earlier! I only hear later and rush over, and you’re not even here, and you didn’t miss me, did you? I’m the only one who missed you so much I ran all the way from Sichuan and you—how can you be this cold? How can you be this heartless?”

Her original top-choice recruit—someone the academy had tried to bring in, only for her to kick it away in one shot:

Why would I go there? That’s hilarious. Am I someone who goes just because you tell me to? What a joke.

And then, later, she joined anyway, shoved out the existing academy Therapist, and seized the position.

Tang Nanna.

Their reunion, only now.

It was when there were just nine days left until the Righteous-Proper Martial Academy’s academic schedule ended.