Chapter 912: Tripitaka Master and the Thief of Benevolence and Righteousness (5)

The sight of Qing riding a black horse and leading a pack of monster bandits had a certain persuasive power—one that, in more ways than one, fit the Bull Demon King better than the Tripitaka Master.

Anyway—Pyeongan Province’s far northeastern edge, Pungcheong Village.

From far off, the town’s overall view felt weirdly familiar.

Thatched cottages were a common architectural style across agrarian cultures, something she’d seen plenty in the Central Plain too.

And yet there was this friendliness to it, like she’d stepped onto a folk village set back home, or the stage of a historical drama... hmm. Was it just psychological?

Also... thatched cottages look kind of cute.

In reality, the people living in them were not cute at all.

Not cute—pretty horrific. A house was a thing with a roof that blocked the wind, and you comforted yourself with that while hating it, like a bitter beloved piece of property.

Because it was too cramped, and bugs swarmed everywhere...

The basic structure of a thatched cottage was one room plus a detached kitchen—what was called Joseon’s national standard floor plan: the three-bay thatched cottage.

Measured in the “immortal” unit system that was so scientific and superior that anyone could instantly picture its size the moment they heard it—the floor-unit—a three-bay thatched cottage came out to about fifteen floor-units; take out the kitchen and it was around ten.

A single ten-floor-unit room for the whole family.

A typical man’s household in this era meant two parents, one wife, and four or five children—so eight or nine people had to cram together in a ten-floor-unit room.

It was basically an animal pen.

And yet there was no problem at all!

Because in Joseon, a “commoner” living in a thatched cottage had always been treated by the ruling class like something close to an animal.

Even in the best era Joseon ever had to offer, when a sage king tried to create letters and teach them—what did the gentry say?

Why would those animals need letters?

They said it right to the king’s face as a proud declaration of principle, while he was proclaiming his love for the people.

If that was the most “generous” era for commoners in Joseon’s history, then to Joseon’s ruling class these people were never humans to begin with—just part of their property. Livestock.

And if your livestock—say, your dog—brought back a pheasant and was tearing into it, what would the owner do?

[“Oh my—what’s this? Where’d you catch such a sturdy horse? And what kind of masquerade is that supposed to be? Were there even monsters in Joseon’s eight provinces that looked like women riding horses? Ah, who cares—hyaa, what a fine steed. Could the Ochu Steed from the Records of Chu and Han have been a horse like this?”]

What the hell now.

A man had suddenly run out and blocked the way, grinning and babbling with a kindly-looking face.

Unlike the gaunt “monsters” with hollowed cheeks, he looked perfectly fine—round-faced, neat, and clean in his manner.

And on his head—

Oh. That’s the real thing.

A horsehair hat.

Kind of... cool, actually.

As Qing looked down at the subtly beautiful shape of it—the kind of style that shone even in this primitive ancient age—the man’s gentle smile deepened.

[“So here’s the thing. You’ve brought back a fine steed. And it’s the law—if you privately butcher a horse like this, you’ll get a heavy flogging, you know? Mm. So for your sake as well, I think this horse ought to be sent up to Hanseong.”]

A deep groove cut into Qing’s brow.

Who the hell was this bastard, talking like he could decide to eat someone else’s horse or send it to Hanseong?

Sure, if it were Lu Bu’s personality, he’d refuse to carry a weak barbarian like this and bolt off to find a new father again—

Mm. But “eat it” did sound a little tempting.

PRRRFF.

Whether it was an animal’s instincts, Lu Bu let out an uneasy whinny and backed up a couple steps.

[“Still, you did the work, so I can’t send you off empty-handed. I’ll specially put some grain in your hands, so today you can cook a proper meal and eat your fill, hm? Now, come down. Come on—hand the reins over here, hm?”]

Qing’s eyes curved into a pretty crescent.

But there was no warmth in them—only a sinister gleam.

As the man reached out for the reins, Qing leaned forward and stretched out her arm.

Her fingers—pale and long—clamped down on the man’s kindly jaw and yanked him straight up.

A divine display—lifting a man with one hand.

The man in the horsehair hat kicked his legs wildly; in pain so fierce it looked like his jaw might pop loose, he grabbed Qing’s wrist with both hands and hung there, straining.

“Mmph! Mmmph!”

[“Who the hell is this bastard, robbing people this confidently? Why are you taking someone else’s horse however you want?”]

“Mmmph!”

[“And what? You’ll ‘give us’ some grain? You’re going to steal a steed that wouldn’t be enough even if you paid in cartloads of gold in the Central Plain, for a handful of grain?”]

“Mmph! MmmMMMPH!”

Qing’s mouth drew a smooth arc.

When she was sort of pissed, her face twisted.

But when she was truly pissed, her mouth split wider and a vicious smile burst out.

If the people who knew Qing had to classify her rage, they’d diagnose her as sitting at “Major Rage.”

[“This bastard’s funny. A fat-faced bastard with grease shining on his skin from how well he’s eaten—‘you worked hard’?”]

The corners of Qing’s mouth pulled all the way toward her ears.

Qing—mad. Total fury.

[“So what, then. This means you knew exactly what these guys were doing, right?”]

When she’d been heading toward the village, she’d still thought, Maybe the district head has something to say. Let’s at least hear him out.

Now?

There was nothing to hear.

He wasn’t startled or afraid at the sight of a bandit pack dressed as monsters—he’d strolled up smiling, like it was a familiar thing.

And he’d come out immediately.

Meaning he knew roughly [N O V E L I G H T] when this “masquerade troupe” of bandits returned, and he’d been waiting.

Why?

To steal the loot the bandits stole—stealing from thieves.

A thief-thief, if you had to put it into words.

[“Hey. What is this bastard?”]

[“Ah... th-that’s our Civil Office Chief, sir.”]

[“Civil Office Chief? So—magistrate’s underling?”]

[“An ‘underling,’ you say? You’re truly fluent in our speech. But he isn’t the magistrate’s underling. ‘Underling’ means a servant who does menial cleanup, doesn’t it?”]

[“Then what is he?”]

At that, the monster’s eyes flashed.

[“He’s worse than the magistrate. If you have to name it—he’s the magistrate’s enforcer. The two of them are stuck together, sucking and licking and raising hell.”]

******

Joseon’s town leader was the magistrate.

And under the magistrate were the local clerks who handled administrative work; among those clerks, the six administrative representatives were called the Six Offices.

Civil Office Chief. Household Office Chief. Rites Office Chief. Military Office Chief. Justice Office Chief. Works Office Chief.

And those Six Offices were the spearhead standing at the very peak of Joseon’s corruption.

Among them, the Civil Office Chief, the Household Office Chief, and the Justice Office Chief were bundled as the Three Filth Chiefs—trash among trash, a holy trinity of pure garbage.

And among those, the Civil Office Chief held the strongest power.

In truth, the Civil Office Chief was Joseon’s worst nightmare given flesh.

People even said this:

Among magistrates, once in a while you might get a good one.

But across all eight provinces of Joseon, among the Civil Office Chiefs, there wasn’t a single one who wasn’t trash.

Even if a rare good magistrate arrived to practice benevolent governance, the Civil Office Chief would often mobilize the Six Offices, kill the magistrate, and bury him.

Thanks to that, a good magistrate got killed by the Civil Office Chief.

A magistrate who survived became an evil magistrate—teaming up with the Civil Office Chief to exploit the people.

So it wasn’t an exaggeration to say the most fundamental root of Joseon’s corruption lay right here—with the Civil Office Chief.

Pungcheong Village’s Civil Office Chief was trash worthy of the title—pure, absolute garbage.

Colluding with the magistrate and the rest of the Six Offices, he drained the people by every method imaginable.

They said there wasn’t a single household among the commoners of Pungcheong Village that didn’t have a family member who’d starved to death.

He’d “educated” his sons well, too—those brats would beat slaves for fun until they were crippled.

Joseon’s eight provinces were poor, but their meat dishes never stopped, and there were rumors the source of that meat was... human meat, no question.

When the commoners stayed still, did rice appear? Did meat appear?

It was the Civil Office Chief who ordered them to go outside and catch monsters if they had to—forcing them into banditry.

And it was the Civil Office Chief who took most of what they gained through banditry, claiming it was interest on “loaned grain.”

[“All right. That’s what they say. Got anything to say?”]

Behind an isolated ridge outside the village, the Civil Office Chief—kneeling with his limbs bound—shouted at Qing.

[“A-and you think you’ll be safe after this? The nation’s law is severe—”]

Mm. Still not getting it.

Qing was just about to raise her hand and hit him—

[“How dare you, you bastard! In front of Master!”]

[“How dare you talk back!”]

[“Respect! Show respect! Respect for Master!”]

One monster flew in with a kick and slammed it into the Civil Office Chief’s shoulder; the rest of the pack pounced like hunting dogs, kicking and stomping him, smashing him with clubs until he was thoroughly wrecked.

...Yeah. They’d been holding a lot in.

Qing awkwardly lowered the hand she’d raised to strike, putting it back where it belonged.

But still—mm.

This wasn’t it.

At this rate they were really going to kill him.

[“Enough!”]

The majestic shout calmed the monsters who were happily stomping him.

[“That’s enough. At this rate, he’ll die.”]

[“Master, this one isn’t worth keeping alive! He’s a bastard who deserves to die!”]

[“Now, now. In this world, there is no bastard who ‘deserves’ to die. How can you cut off a life so easily?”]

[“B-but—”]

[“Now.”]

The monsters wore faces full of resentment and injustice—yet they couldn’t defy her—so, unwillingly, they slowly backed off.

Then the Civil Office Chief, curled up desperately with his limbs tied, looked up at Qing.

The desperation in his eyes—

Qing snorted.

[“Idiots. If he dies, that’s the end of it—and it’s easy. The more of a bastard he is, the longer he should live, suffering long and slow in regrettable pain, so he can reflect on his sins and regret them. You should skin him somewhere people can see, hang him up alive, toss dirt on him when you get bored, and make him starve to death. Why are you trying to kill him comfortably?”]

[“Gasp!”] [“Th-that...!”] [“We... we weren’t going that far—”] [“Shut up! When I think about my kids starving to death because of that bastard, Master’s words are exactly right!”] [“Right! That bastard can’t die easy!”]

Gongryang Sayoon whispered into the Plunderer Demon’s ear.

The Plunderer Demon exclaimed in admiration.

“Truly the demon among demons—something a great demon would say! Vicious woman. To think the Heavenly Flower Sword carried this kind of killing intent—!”

“I don’t really want to hear that kind of talk from a martial-arts bandit.”

“This is praise. They say if you aren’t ruthless, you aren’t a real man—so if you ever have someone you need to kill, will you do it with me? Our comrades have a business going, and you’d be very welcome.”

“Mm. If it’s only killing bastards who deserve it, I’ll think about it?”

“Mm. Sadly, it doesn’t seem to be like that. Still—if you can’t restrain that great demon’s killing intent, come find me later.”

A recruitment pitch from the Blood Cult!

Qing didn’t know what “business” the Plunderer Demon’s comrades were running, so for a moment she wondered if he was some elder barbarian doing independence activism or something.

Anyway.

The monsters who’d tasted blood showed the whites of their eyes like real monsters—glittering, murderous.

As if answering them, Qing mounted her horse and, atop Lu Bu—who kicked his hooves high—let out a fierce roar.

[“All right—hang this bastard off the horse! We’ll storm the government office in one charge and smash it into scraps! If your husbands burn, then you’ll be free people now! Come on—let’s go! Sing the song of the enraged masses! O Buddha—bring forth wrath!”]