Chapter 951: I Want to Watch (5)

The sect leader flew into a rage.

“How dare you! Reveal your identity! I need to know who dares to put the Azure Dragon Gate’s name in their mouth!”

“I’m sorry. Please calm your anger. I do apologize for carelessly raising the sect’s name.”

Qing performed a respectful clasped-fist salute.

Because, thinking about it, the sect leader’s feelings did make a certain kind of sense.

She’d suddenly started going on about the Azure Dragon Gate and basically stabbed them with, So this is what you bastards are like, huh, so even a mild person would have reason to get angry.

At that, the sect leader’s shoulders—Pyeong Hon’s shoulders—straightened even more.

When Qing bent, he grew more puffed up.

“I also apologize for causing a disturbance.”

The sect leader gave a snort.

“I told you to reveal your identity, and you beg forgiveness instead. Well. It’s late, but it’s a wise choice. Tsk, tsk. If you were so afraid of the Azure Dragon Gate that you were going to tuck your tail immediately, why did you bark so viciously?”

Qing’s brow twitched.

In truth, if she revealed her identity now, this would be resolved simply. The Azure Dragon Gate sect leader would change his attitude, acknowledge fault, and offer an apology.

But Qing didn’t want that.

It wasn’t because she needed to hide her power. Sure, it was fun—but that wasn’t the reason.

She hated the idea that injustice could be injustice or not depending on the status of the person pointing it out.

If Heaven’s-Flower Sword, disciple of one of the Ten Great Masters of the World, pointed it out, it became injustice—but if some random passerby pointed it out, it became “picking a pointless fight”?

Dog-shit behavior was dog-shit behavior no matter who pointed it out. It didn’t change according to social standing, raw force, or “inherent” moral worth.

Of course, when it came to moral worth, you did have to consider whether someone had the right to criticize—but even so, a bad thing couldn’t stop being bad just because of who said it.

“Sect Leader. The reason I apologized is because Pyeong Goun’s wrongdoing is separate from the Azure Dragon Gate, and yet I carelessly put the sect’s name in my mouth. I’m not shrinking back out of fear of oppression.”

“Hah. And yet you hide your face and conceal your name. If you were truly upright, why can’t you speak the three characters of your name? Could it be you have a reason you can’t let the world know? Perhaps you’re a demonic master—or a wanted criminal.”

So he really was a “sect leader,” someone of standing—he came in with a sharp attack.

Just as Qing had thought earlier, anyone could point out another person’s wrongdoing.

Qing understood that, but still—no matter what—the picture was ugly when a bad person told you not to do bad things.

So the sect leader’s war of words had a certain seasoned flavor.

Reveal your identity. I’ll retaliate.

If you don’t reveal it? You’re hiding because you’re scared.

And then, further: You can’t even say your name because you’re not clean either, right?

But?

He picked the wrong opponent.

In a fight of mouth and tongue, who could possibly beat Qing’s mouth?

“Sect Leader. Isn’t that a strange thing to say? Does chivalry only count as chivalry if a master, a respected scholar, or someone of high status speaks of it? If some nameless nobody speaks of chivalry, does that become an unwise—meaning foolish—act?”

The sect leader looked flustered.

Because Qing was right.

Chivalry was chivalry only when a strong person did it—if a weak person did it, they were just someone desperate to die.

And even then, if only they died, it would still be lucky.

Wouldn’t it instead worsen the situation, or embolden villains to rampage even more?

In the end, chivalry done with half-baked skill was a nuisance that made things far worse than not stepping in at all.

However, that was a purely realistic viewpoint.

And any discourse that tried to “compromise” morality for realistic concerns—officially, you could never declare it proudly.

For example?

When you help someone in danger, you might be held responsible afterward, so it’s better to pretend you didn’t see anything.

That was the kind of thing you could say easily to family or friends—or anonymously.

But could you say it in a speech, in front of countless listeners, with your face exposed and your name declared?

If you see someone in danger, pretend you didn’t!

If you save someone drowning, they’ll demand your bundle—who knows what disadvantage you’ll suffer later, so why save them!

Just leave them!

Live or die, that’s their fate!

I matter. Who cares about someone else!

That was exactly the situation the sect leader was in.

Right now, it felt like every idle bastard in the city had gathered here.

If he said, Yeah, a man without skill running his mouth—what chivalry is that, rumors would spread through the entire martial world that the Azure Dragon Gate sect leader had scorned heroes.

If he said, I’m wrong and you’re right?

That would shred his face completely.

And to a person of the Central Plain, face was a grave matter.

While the sect leader stammered, unable to go either way, Qing pressed her attack again.

“Sect Leader, in this matter, shouldn’t it be right for Pyeong Goun himself to come out and explain?”

Hand over your son.

“Of course, to Pyeong Goun it may have been nothing more than a prank for fun—but doesn’t the frog die from a stone thrown for fun? How can we simply pass by the evil act of sticking struggling wanderers—who must worry about even a day’s meal—with an expensive bill, then laughing as they flail?”

Your son is a total bastard.

“If you truly cared for your child, you should have disciplined him strictly and raised him with proper character. But it seems you did not—so even now, you should acknowledge the wrong and guide him to reflect. Isn’t that right?”

What kind of spectacle is this, because you couldn’t even keep your kid on a leash?

You should’ve taught him a lesson even if you had to break his legs—tsk.

It was a dizzying series of sustained strikes.

The crowd’s gaze landed on the sect leader.

Qing had finished her attack and passed the turn—now it was the sect leader’s turn to answer, no matter what.

Veins stood out on the sect leader’s forehead.

Qing looked at those bulging veins and thought: Ah. This bastard is completely rotten.

Honestly, the way to get past that attack wasn’t difficult.

It was absurdly simple—just produce that brat Pyeong Goun, let out a long, heavy sigh, and say, Raising children really isn’t easy, and that would be that.

Then the sect leader’s failed parenting wouldn’t be “failure,” but the deep love of a clumsy father—and the sect leader could gain sympathy and pity instead of taking a loss.

And if Pyeong Goun took the chance to bow his head hard and become a new man—people always judged someone who’d been a thug and then reformed more favorably than someone who’d been kind from the start.

But he flared up and popped his veins?

Meaning he didn’t want to.

So what was he going to do?

“It’s slander! You bitch! You dare try to toy with our sect with cunning schemes!”

“Huh?”

“Right! In the first place, it’s only your claim—so what exactly did my son do wrong?!”

Qing’s expression hardened.

What kind of move was this?

But the sect leader seemed to have found his footing and continued his turn.

“My son is a boy who left with only his allowance because he did not want to lean on the sect. Then his travel funds ran out and he took on wanderer work—he merely wished to treat those who shared hardship with him to one generous meal, and yet you twist and distort it with such malice!”

“Usually, ‘treating’ means you prepare something or buy something and share it. After eating, you can’t run away saying you can’t pay and call that ‘treating.’”

“Run away? That’s only your misunderstanding! My son merely went to fetch the money, and it simply took time to find it!”

“Then a man who’s ‘finding the money’ leaves people standing outside and makes them wait for over half a shichen?”

“I admit it’s a situation that could be misunderstood! But if you search too hastily, doesn’t it become harder to find?”

...Ah. He’d started outright insisting now.

More than that—this bastard knew everything already.

With this much commotion outside, of course he’d call his son and ask what was going on. Not doing that would be stranger.

“No—he said from the beginning he was going to stiff them. He ordered the most expensive alcohol just for himself and drank it all himself, then proudly said, I have no intention of buying food for you sword-sellers. Why would I buy food for low trash like you in the first place? That’s what he said.”

“My son would never say such a thing! Do you have proof?! Proof, I said!”

“What is this? I just told you. The wanderers heard it clearly.”

“In the first place, it’s only those men’s one-sided claim! Is there anyone else who heard it? Hey—there must be people here who followed from the inn. Is there even one person who heard my son say such a thing?!”

Of course there wouldn’t be anyone who heard it.

Because an inn crowded with people was an environment where it was hard to hear even your own group, let alone someone else.

Unless you were paying attention from the start and actively eavesdropping.

And even if someone had heard it, they wouldn’t step forward in this situation.

Qing wasn’t from around here—but locals wouldn’t want to offend the local sect.

“Look! There isn’t, is there! You misunderstand whatever you like and then slander and insult people for nothing—how can you do such a thing?!”

Ah. Of course.

That bastard started singing misunderstanding, misunderstanding the second a sword was at his throat—so that was something he learned from his father.

Well, who else would a child learn from...

“So everything is a misunderstanding? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes!”

“The wanderers heard it clearly with their own ears, and he even smashed the inn floor and ran—but the claim that he tried to stiff the bill is a misunderstanding?”

“The inn floor—cough—that must also be a misunderstanding. For example, um, yes! The inn was old, so it happened to collapse at that very moment!”

Maybe he’d heard the story from his son but hadn’t heard about the smashed floor and emergency escape attempt—because the sect leader stuttered briefly before producing an excuse that hit Qing with a violent sense of déjà vu.

Wow. Really. Like father, like son...

This feeling, after a long time.

The feeling where you’re so dumbfounded you can’t even speak.

It was incredible.

Whether Qing felt that way or not, the sect leader kept insisting.

“Cough. You insulted my son without cause, and that insulted our sect’s disciples, which is the same as insulting our sect—so ordinarily, this is not something I can simply let pass. But!”

He stressed the word as if telling her not to interrupt—

“But this all began from a misunderstanding, and it was, in its own way, an attempt to practice chivalry—so, with a senior’s heart for a junior, I will no longer blame you!”

“No, why are you suddenly trying to wrap this up all warmly—”

In that instant, the sect leader threw something, cutting off Qing mid-sentence.

She caught it on reflex, then looked—something that gleamed like lightning: a gold ingot, long-shaped, stamped with the mint’s name and weight.

A full geun of gold.

“This is enough to cover the bill, and also the cost of the clothes you dirtied. Then stop slandering an innocent child for nothing, and disperse!”

Then he turned around and went back into the sect.

He even brought his disciples with him and—

BANG!

—slammed the main gate shut.

It meant he had no intention of talking further.

Qing scratched the back of her neck, then let out a long breath.

She could make even more of a disturbance if she wanted.

But honestly, in a war of words—there was a guaranteed winning method.

Just close your ears and keep insisting.

Confucius once walked with a disciple and found someone shitting by the roadside. He scolded him: you are a person—how can you shit by the roadside like an animal, are you a person or an animal?

The man, ashamed, covered his face and fled far away.

But a moment later, wasn’t there someone shitting in the middle of the road?

So Confucius passed by as if he hadn’t seen anything.

The disciple asked: you scolded the man shitting by the roadside, but why do you leave the one shitting in the middle of the road alone?

Confucius answered: would a man shitting in the middle of the road listen to words? A bastard who won’t listen is rotten anyway—he won’t listen even if you raise a club, not to mention words. You simply must not deal with him.

It was the famous tale of the unmovable lowest fool.

When Qing first heard it, she’d been amazed all over again: so people of the Central Plain were shitting by the roadside even fifteen hundred years ago.

And if it was recorded like that, it must’ve been the same even before Confucius—so public shitting was a deeply rooted tradition nearly three thousand years old...

Anyway.

Confucius was the strongest debater of that era—someone who beat countless figures with words.

Of course, by the standards of that era, he was also the strongest man of the Central Plain in martial arts and body—an absolute human weapon made of muscle—so even if he beat someone with words, they didn’t dare talk back.

But even accounting for that, he was the strongest debater of his time—so when Confucius said, You can’t beat someone you can’t reason with, it carried weight.

And the characteristic of someone you can’t reason with: they don’t listen to anyone else and insist only they’re right.

So if Qing made more noise here, he wouldn’t pretend to listen anyway.

“Tsk. Shameless. As expected, those Tang bastards’ brazen lack of shame—ah, I wasn’t talking about you.”

Kim Heojung clicked his tongue.

He slid from ordinary Central Plain disgust into a hurried correction—honestly, you could say he’d improved a lot.

Against Kim Heojung’s needlessly deep voice, Moyong Juhee quietly grabbed at Qing’s collar.

“Um, Miss. Or should I reveal my identity? It’s Hebei land, but it’s close to Liaoning, so they won’t be able to ignore—”

“No. It’s fine. Let’s go back first. What the hell—trying to eat a meal and we end up seeing something filthy. Ah, shit. Thinking about it makes me starving.”

“Are you... okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. Misunderstanding. Misunderstanding. A rich father and son really love misunderstandings. Right?”

“Ah. Yes.”

“Then I’ll get misunderstood too.”

And then—

Heh, heh, heh.

—she let out a truly wicked laugh.