Chapter 928: A Strange Bitch, A Strange Guy, A Strange Guy (13)

The argument—being carried out by the wrong people in the wrong place, and producing absolutely nothing of value—about “how to bestow the most miserable and painful end” had been, from the start, a battlefield overwhelmingly favorable to Qing, the person grading it.

Coming up with a brilliant idea was hard.

Crushing someone else’s idea was easy.

Creating was difficult, but nitpicking something already made—grabbing flaws and forcing it down with malicious backseat-driving—didn’t even require thought.

“Hm. Three points again? Human life isn’t made of steel tendons. They’ll die before that.”

“Oh, four points. This one was a bit fresh—hm, but it’s plagiarism, so disqualified. You just swapped the iron plate from the Red-Hot Iron-Plate Execution for an iron pillar.”

“Are you joking? ‘I’ll make you the most infamous villainess in history’? Once you’re dead it’s over—who cares about history after that? You’re losing your original intent.”

“One point. It’s too boring and pretentious. Just—kill them so their body and mind hurt like hell. No, really, is that so hard? Focus on the essence.”

The self-proclaimed emperor’s eyes twitched.

Not just his earlobes—his whole face was flushed red, like he’d been preheating way too long.

Because it was infuriating. Infuriating enough to want to kill her.

Anyone from Qing’s homeland would find it easy to relate: it was the attitude of a superior—or a client—who kept rejecting a plan by grabbing nonsense “gotchas” and sending it back again and again.

The font’s too big. Do you think development costs grow out of the ground? You think young people will buy this? Don’t make me laugh—research it. Be realistic, would this ever sell? Is this plan a joke?

When a person was repeatedly exposed to that kind of forced, unreasonable tearing-down, a single line inevitably rose up in their chest—sharp and unmistakable.

Then you do it.

But a subordinate could only swallow those words.

The self-proclaimed emperor could say them.

—Y-you—! Every time an adult speaks you talk back—fine, then you say it! Tell me, then, about a creatively horrifying execution!

Qing answered with absolute confidence, brazenly pushing her already-forward chest out even more as she declared—

“No. Why would I?”

—Didn’t you keep nitpicking and yapping!

“So? Why would I? You’re the one trying to be emperor. You’re the one who needs an authoritative punishment. Not me.”

—Grrrr...! Just how great do you think you are? You must have some terrifying plan that would make you piss yourself the instant you heard it!

“Seriously. Thinking like that is why you don’t improve. Since when do you need qualifications just to give an opinion? When someone listens to a poem, do they have to be a better poet than the poet to talk about it?”

—W-What—th-that—s-such—sophistry!

The impersonator shouted, completely stuck.

Because even in Qing’s homeland—meaning even hundreds of years from now—there still wasn’t a sharp answer to that unbeatable logic.

Qing’s mouth curled into an unpleasant, crooked smile.

Good. Hooked.

She’d already designed it up to this point—so why, exactly, did she never use this brain in daily life?

Great. I’ll drag out the “why would I” direction a little longer, then toss out a few torture methods I picked up back home—something about a neighborhood bull, wasn’t it? That would buy at least another quarter-hour. By then, I can start backing off and run.

The moment Qing thought that—

...Hungry... Kiii-eek... heart... kkyyaaaAAAH... hurts...

Distant shrieks drilled into her ears, mixing with the background sound of BLADES—CLANGING, CLATTERING, RINGING—metal on metal.

The sound of fighting.

Not just fighting—fierce combat.

Qing’s face hardened in an instant.

They caught the princess’s escape group.

And the beastlike shrieks the enemies were making—hungry words that fixated on hearts—

Qing’s expression curdled violently.

Blood Cult bastards.

No—I’m the idiot. Who else causes this kind of ransacking havoc besides those bastards? I should’ve noticed sooner. I’m an idiot. An idiot.

That was the moment.

“You goddamned bitch—how dare you toy with me! Strike! Kill them all! Leave none alive!”

At last, the impersonator’s actual voice burst out.

The instant he heard the sounds of battle, he must have realized Qing had been trying to evacuate the princess.

He rose immediately, kicking off the golden throne.

“Where do you think you’re going! You’re not going!”

Qing bellowed and flipped her palm, yanking hard.

Her upturned palm drew back to her waist, then glided forward, twisting a half-turn to form a decisive hand-shape.

A gigantic Buddha’s palm lashing through the air.

“Brahmic” meant the sound of awakening that filled the heavens—and the mortal bell-tone most like it covered the world.

WOOOONG... WOOOONG... WOOOOONG...

A Brahmic bell that almost snapped, yet never truly broke—continuing, continuing.

As though the Tathagata’s touch leapt over empty air on that very timbre.

A massive internal force erased distance and buried itself into the enemy’s body.

Struck mid-flight, the impersonator lost all speed and plunged straight down—

THOOM!

It didn’t feel like a human body fell.

It felt like a huge boulder slammed down, the heavy ground-shock traveling up through the soles of their feet.

Was he really that heavy?

No.

It was just that the palanquin bearers had released the enormous golden pyramid all at once, and the deafening crash as it hit the ground happened to roar through at the perfect time.

“The Demon Emperor has commanded it! Kill them!”

The palanquin bearers brandished weapons and charged.

At the same time, Jurchen orders snapped out—Exterminate the enemy!—and the Eight Banners whipped their reins and screamed out that bizarre battle cry—

“KkyyooOOHT!”

Hooves hammered the earth, countless drumbeats flooding the ground.

Cavalry slicing past Qing left and right.

Their cries.

Somewhere at the front line, screams erupted as they collided with the enemy—commanders shouting in Jurchen.

And in the middle of it, Qing stood alone, her gaze fixed calmly on some point within the battlefield where chaos was blooming.

It had to be.

She could fight the Blood Cult demonic practitioners alongside the Eight Banners.

Or she could plunge into the forest and help the princess’s escort force that was breaking through.

But there was a more important role still left to do.

She had to split off the enemy’s strongest—most lethal—power from this fight.

Qing stared at one point.

Between Eight Banners riders and Blood Cultists flashing past and cutting off her view, the impersonator’s figure appeared and vanished—still standing straight, still glaring at Qing.

What is he doing?

He’s not plunging into the forest after the princess. He’s not roaring and surging in immediately, either.

And then—

A chill crawled up the back of Qing’s neck. Her body hair lifted.

Her knees started tingling from the inside out, as if strength was draining and she might collapse at any moment.

Qing swallowed.

Damn it. Even if you’re furious, you can’t be furious like that.

He had his weight perfectly controlled.

One corner of his mouth crooked up—only one—

—but his eyes were like blue ghostfire rising.

That wasn’t ordinary anger.

A foe who explodes and loses reason to rage is not frightening at all.

But that kind of cold anger was cheating.

No—why? He ate one Tathagata Divine Palm and dropped. Why did his head suddenly cool off? If a low-level opponent hit you, shouldn’t you go berserk and charge right away?

—So. You really were Seomun Cheong.

In today’s martial world, Tathagata Divine Palm was actually more famous as the signature decisive art of the Heavenly Flower Sword than as Shaolin’s divine art.

Because Qing had returned it only a few years ago—meaning the only master currently using Tathagata Divine Palm in the martial world would be the Heavenly Flower Sword.

And even aside from that, if a woman performed a Shaolin signature technique from a sect that barred women, it was hard to imagine anyone but the Heavenly Flower Sword.

—Do you remember the name Yu Ryang?

Sixfold Voice Resonance whispered right next to her ear.

Not the voice that had been forcing grandeur while claiming to be emperor, but a whisper packed with eerie, venomous rage.

It was cold enough that her legs almost went slack.

Qing’s mind spun fast.

Yu Ryang? Who’s Yu Ryang? Hm... I don’t know. But the fact that a Blood Cult bastard is this mad means... it’s probably one of the human-not-even-beast trash I killed.

There was a proverb from Qing’s homeland—one of the most wrong proverbs ever uttered, pure bullshit:

“The one who hits can’t sleep with their legs stretched out, but the one who’s hit can.”

Because the one who’s hit holds the grudge for life, but the one who hits forgets it as a fleeting amusement and goes on eating well and living well.

And Qing was downright righteous.

If it was a Blood Cultist’s acquaintance, then it was a Blood Cultist. And then they deserved to die anyway—whether it was a man or a woman, it wasn’t her fault.

If anything, it was a good killing: killing evil people.

But if he already had a grudge against her?

Then... what. I should scratch it harder.

“Hm. Even if you ask like that... could you even hear the answer?”

—I asked if you remember Yu Ryang.

“Oh. You can hear.”

Qing grinned—an irritating, smug smile.

“Do you remember how many dumpling buns you’ve eaten in your life?”

—......?

“Ah, you don’t understand. Fine—then, dumpling buns are like this: I’ve killed so many evil people that killing someone who deserved it was as natural as eating a meal. So why would I bother remembering exactly who I killed?”

—Then from this moment on, you will remember. Yu Ryang is my daughter—and I will make you suffer the same pain as my daughter. I will scald you in boiling water and hang you out.

Ah. Now I remember. “Scald” did it.

Soul-Seizing Demon Princess? Soul-Seizing Demon Emperor’s daughter? Back in that Blood Cult den in Hangzhou, they used some insane sobriquet like that.

Then this was the Heart-Eating Demon. The Heart-Eating Demon.

“Oh, I remember now. So her name was Yu Ryang. But why are you taking it up with me? No matter how she died, it’s natural causes. If she died because she did things worth dying for, then that’s a good death. Anyone listening would think I murdered an innocent person. Isn’t it your fault for raising your daughter wrong?”

Qing kept grinning, grinning—like, He’s definitely going to explode now.

But—

—Regrettably, my daughter is alive and well.

Qing’s brow snapped down.

Alive? That thing? And “well,” too?

How? What—was the Central Plains medicine and pharmacology really “world number one”—

—or, since this was a world where cosmic mystery internal power actually existed, was internal-power medicine truly invincible?

—Good. It is decided. I will boil you and heal you, and make you live your whole life unable to die and unable to live. It will be regrettable news for you. Suffer, for your entire life, the pain that Liang felt.

“Damn it. I should’ve just boiled her all the way through instead of scalding her. I learned something today. Yu Ryang or whatever—if you see her next time, can you tell her she’s really dead? Dead. Tonight’s dinner is Yu Ryang Soup!”

—Y-you...!

“Then I’ll be going now. Goodbye!”

At the same time, Qing’s body split into eight.

Afterimage Displacement through Ripple-Wave Footwork—eight translucent images of Qing scattered, flying, crawling, leaping in different directions, and one image vaulted over a mounted Eight Banners warrior—

—regaining its original color—

“BAM!”

With a playful shout, she kicked the head of a Blood Cultist who was raising a blade in a reverse grip, about to stab down into a fallen Eight Banners warrior.

In an instant, her instep crushed the bridge of the nose—and it wasn’t just the nose; the center of the face seemed to cave inward.

Blood and tooth fragments sprayed as the Blood Cultist flew away.

—Seize her! All of you, seize that bitch! Bring her to me alive! As long as she doesn’t die, that’s enough!

The enraged Sixfold Voice Resonance shook the air.

The Blood Cultists’ heads snapped around, red-lit eyes glowering—ferocious enough, sure.

But isn’t this the wrong time to be looking at me?

The Eight Banners punished the distracted Blood Cultists without mercy.

This was why soldiers needed a good commander.

“Catch meee if you can!”

Qing yelled—somehow with a trace of coquettish lilt—and bolted toward the rear.

Her brain only ever got smart at times like this.

To the left, the forest—the princess and the escort force.

Ahead, armored cavalry.

If she wanted to pull the enemy’s anger and peel away, the road to the rear—or the forest to the right.

To fight a master, the forest was advantageous.

But the open road to the rear would let her strip Blood Cult strength away quickly.

If the Heart-Eating Demon took the bait, then she’d dive into the forest.

A shrill—

WHEEEEE!

The sound Qing hated most: the pursuit signal whistle.

At the same time, from both forests came a scream—

KRAAAAGH!

—the sound of brush violently thrashing, and countless presences rapidly closing in.

Blood Hungry Ghosts, or Blood Ghosts, whatever they were—how many did they bring?

But as if wary of a possible master among the escort force, the monsters’ shrieks started from farther out.

And Qing’s feet were truly fast.

Three steps of Heavenly Demon’s Army Descending Step—using it as an ignition—she hit top speed instantly, scattering black ash underfoot in a gritty burst.

Behind her, the Heart-Eating Demon’s shout followed, thick with startled fury at this unexpected full retreat.

“Bastard!!! Stop right there!!”

“Don’t give me orders!”

Qing snapped back without losing, sprinting on.

The Heart-Eating Demon ground his teeth and charged after her—

THOOM! THOOM! THOOM!

Each step slammed down, packed with brute internal power.

And his speed?

THOOM, THOOM, THOOM! THOOM! THOOM!! THOOM!!

The ground-shattering impacts closed fast.

Qing flicked a glance back.

A musclebound giant was surging in like a cannonball—

A literal muscle tank.

A furrow carved itself between Qing’s brows.

No, seriously—this is too much. Way too much. Using a method like that—

Master, you said that if it was just lightness skill, I wouldn’t lose to a Transcendent master.

Because the Heart-Eating Demon wasn’t using lightness skill.

He was just loading stupid amounts of internal power into his feet and kicking the ground.

Every time he kicked, a crater the size of half a room caved in and a pillar of dirt exploded upward.

The recoil alone was launching his body forward.

It wasn’t lightness skill—it was just a brutally stupid charging method.

“Fight fair with lightness skill! You’re in the Transcendent Realm—what is this disgrace!”

“Shut up!”

“I said don’t order me—kkyiAAK!?”

WHOOOOOSH!

Something huge surged in—

Qing threw herself desperately aside.