Chapter 977: It’s Me, You Fuckers (13)

A beauty walked with light, delicate steps.

Beauty was something that shone on its own—and once it stuck to you, it turned sticky, impossible to peel off.

All at once, it ballooned huge inside their field of view. The whole world went hazy and washed-out, and in that blur there was only one thing perfectly clear: a face that was unmistakably beautiful.

Since ancient times, there were set phrases for praising a beauty.

Fish, so distracted by her looks, forgot how to swim and simply drifted along; and geese, likewise careless with their wings while staring at her face, fell straight to the ground. Flowers that had been blooming wide and showing off their beauty supposedly thought, If she’s beside us, we’ll be compared, and folded their petals to hide their faces, and even the full moon—If we’re in the same frame, my face will look huge—hid itself away.

Fish-sinking, geese-dropping; flowers-shaming, moon-hiding.

And the martial artists standing here now were fish and geese. For a moment, they even forgot why they had come here at all, and simply stared blankly at the peerless beauty drawing closer and closer.

Then—

“Could you all move aside, please?”

“Ah!”

With a sound like someone learning how to breathe for the first time, the martial artists snapped back to their senses.

The Heavenly Flower Sword. The Heavenly Flower Sword is here!

There was no need to ask who the beauty was. Of course it could only be the Heavenly Flower Sword.

If it weren’t that face, how could anyone use the epithet Heavenly Flower—the most beautiful under heaven?

That grandiose epithet had simply found the owner it suited best in all the world.

The Heavenly Flower Sword Seomun Cheong, finally appearing.

Move aside—with those single words, as if it were only natural that they would make room, Qing resumed the steps she had paused.

And so Qing cut across the crowd.

The people, faces slack as though witnessing something miraculous, went “Uh—uh—uh,” and stumbled backward, edging away and opening space.

With every soft step she took, the crowd retreated and a path appeared.

From above, the black would have been heads, and it would have looked like a straight, earth-colored stroke drawn clean through them.

A dramatic procession of beauty, splitting even a packed crowd in half.

Qing walked straight across the South Boulevard plaza.

A beauty entering from the south of the plaza and leaving toward the north—those left behind could only stare, regretful and aching, because even her back was beautiful, that slender silhouette so perfect it was maddening—

“Hey! You! Where do you think you’re going right now!”

Someone shrieked and grabbed the Heavenly Flower Sword—because hadn’t they nearly let her walk away just like that?

The beauty, her back to the crowd, stopped quietly.

Then she turned around, and the sight of a beauty with cheeks faintly flushed in the sunset felt as if the world itself had brightened.

The Heavenly Flower Sword looked at the middle-aged man who had shouted, and answered in a clear voice that matched her lovely appearance.

“Lately the nights have been cool, so I’m going to board a flower boat and have a refreshing drink.”

A flower boat was an entertainment strip you could find in any river city with good scenery. You launched a boat, lit lanterns, enjoyed the view—usually while drinking.

“W-what?”

“Oh, do you not know what a flower boat is? My goodness, you’ve lost half your life. Around this time the Yangtze is gentle—if you board a boat and ride it, it’s so soft and comforting, like stepping on the clouds of the immortals. And if you add a neat little spread of food and good liquor, is there any time in the world better than that?”

“No, that’s not—”

“One cup to the moon. Another cup to the moon’s reflection in the Yangtze. Another cup because we’ve welcomed such a fine spring day—haaah... and then you pick up a thick slice of braised pork, ahhh, the surface glossy—first you enjoy it with your eyes, that sticky sheen of sweet soy sauce. Then you put it in your mouth and—oh my, in this world—on your tongue the fibers just fall apart on their own, and the fat melts, so imagine it: that rich, dense oil clinging to your tongue while soy sauce and syrup go ssshhh—”

GULP. The sound of swallowing rose from here and there.

Everyone was thinking the same thing.

Ah. I want braised pork.

“And then you rinse your mouth with strong liquor—at that moment, the fragrant scent of alcohol puffing out as if it’s slipping out on your breath, the heat that sears from your throat down to your lower dantian, and without even meaning to you let out an exclamation—KIIYAAH—!”

The whole audience gulped again.

Braised pork with a drink... that’s lethal.

Amid the racket of swallowing, Qing smiled fresh and bright and dipped her head.

“So even if it’s later, I really recommend you try a flower boat at least once. Then I’ll be on my way. Ah—now that I’ve described it, I can’t stand it. I can’t.”

And she truly turned as if in a hurry, whipping her body around.

The middle-aged man’s mind jolted awake.

“Wait—stop right there! Stop!”

“Yes? Is there a problem?”

“I’m asking where you think you’re going at a time like this!”

“Uh... didn’t you hear? To board a boat.”

“That’s not it! Where do you think you’re going without making your statement!”

A “statement” meant issuing an official position or explanation—also called a public statement.

Qing tilted her head.

“A statement? Me?”

“Yes. You.”

“Huh. Why me?”

“You said you would!”

“Huh. Me? I never did.”

It was the kind of answer that made your words stick in your throat.

If she says she never said she would, what are you supposed to say to that?

The middle-aged man could only flap his mouth.

Qing, as if deliberately thinking hard, propped her index finger under her narrow chin. Then—ah—her expression brightened.

“Oh. Could it be you’ve mistaken me for someone else? My name is Seomun Cheong, and I don’t know who’s making a statement today, but—”

“What do you mean mistaken! It’s you! The Heavenly Flower Sword!”

That was the moment.

Qing’s brow creased.

“Then who are you? I gave my name, so something should come back from you, too. Isn’t remembering basic manners the least you can do?”

The middle-aged man flinched and rolled his eyes in a panic.

But damn it—every martial artist who had been near him had already scampered away, widening the distance and retreating.

So now it looked as if he were standing out front, representing the crowd.

His face went stiff.

If he revealed his name here, there was no telling what disadvantages might follow.

Being one of countless faces in the crowd and speaking while giving your name were completely different things. Once you did it, you couldn’t deny it—you’d be making an enemy you couldn’t shake off.

But if he mumbled it’s nothing and ran away, it was guaranteed he’d be mocked for it the rest of his life.

Because even if the Heavenly Flower Sword didn’t know who he was, everyone else here did.

Just like the righteous sects had their circles, the dark world had their circles, too.

And those dark-world types—heads bowed in front of the strong, and then cursing them behind their backs as a hobby—meant he’d be swallowing that backbiting for the rest of his life.

“Khmm. I am Jang Chiwang, an elder of the Hoechang Literary-Merchant Sect.”

Qing counted numbers in her head.

Three. Two. And?

“““THREE-SECT PARTITION!”””

A plausible epithet, shouted in unison. It meant this middle-aged man was, at least, someone with a name.

Well, sure.

Just from the blazing red of his karma, Qing had figured he was the kind of bastard with a decent amount of infamy.

And of course she’d expected a bastard like that to grab her.

Because the aimless riffraff who came here dreaming that luck might hand them a chance wouldn’t dare raise their voices and call for her.

To call her out, it had to be someone with both skill and a reputation—because people like that weren’t used to being ignored.

How could a type who strutted around getting treated like royalty in their own territory endure that? And if they were dark-world trash, they’d endure it even less.

Just as planned. Honestly, how did these dark-world bastards never miss the prediction by even an inch?

Of course, even if nobody had grabbed her and she’d slipped out while everyone stood around stunned, it wouldn’t have mattered.

She could just set the next “announcement day,” show up the same way, and say she was going off to do something else.

Do it again and again, and sooner or later someone would get caught.

“Elder Jang Chiwang, then. That aside.”

Qing suddenly spat out a booming “talking to herself” line—loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Three-Sect Partition? Who the hell is this guy I’ve never heard of, and why’s he talking down to me? An elder of some sect? Who does he think he is—like he’s from the Nine Great Sects and One Union or the Ten Great Houses, or like he’s one of the Ten Heavenly Stars of the Evil Path Alliance. An elder—does he think it’s some kind of official post? Some worthless, grubby little bastard picking a fight.”

In that instant, everyone present doubted their own ears.

Because the Heavenly Flower Sword’s loud muttering sounded, for some reason, painfully familiar.

It was the exact thought anyone who lived as part of the dark world—or as a wanderer close to it—had repeated thousands, tens of thousands of times in their heart.

Whenever some punk who held a seat in a backwater dark-world circle puffed his chest and acted like he was something because it was “a sect,” that was the thought that naturally rose up.

In other words—behavior so intensely, unmistakably dark-world.

A righteous prodigy—whose fairy-like appearance, and upright conduct, had painted her as a perfectly proper chivalrous hero—was the last person anyone could imagine saying such vile things.

So what about the one being insulted?

Jang Chiwang could only gape, stunned, his face screaming, What did I just hear? Did I hear that right?

In the meantime, Qing went right back to her needling.

“Hey. You’re the only elder around? I’m an elder too, you know? I studied under the Great Matron, the number one woman under heaven, so by the Taoist sects’ lineage order, I’m an elder from the same generation. So why are you talking down to me?”

Jang Chiwang’s mind flashed bright.

Come to think of it, it really was true.

But he hadn’t thought of it until now.

Why? Because using lineage rank and generation order to crush someone was petty and filthy—an act that was, in other words, “dark-world.”

So Jang Chiwang felt wronged.

Isn’t this not how it’s supposed to go?!

How could a young righteous girl say elder generation order with her own mouth—polish herself up, paint herself in gold, and throw authority around?!

Sure, dark-world trash did that every day, but righteous people weren’t supposed to!

If she was a younger rising star of the righteous side, then even if an elder spoke casually, she was supposed to accept it respectfully like it was a natural right! That was how it was supposed to be!

How could a little brat like this bark back in front of everyone and humiliate him like this?!

This isn’t how it’s supposed to go!

What a funny thing.

The dark world cursed the righteous side as hypocrites, but in truth, they deeply trusted that the righteous side would behave like the righteous side.

The dark world treated promises like jokes, and called betrayal and lies virtues, scattering them everywhere—

But righteous people didn’t lie with their mouths; they kept promises they made; and if you took a completely unrelated third party hostage and threatened them, they would grit their teeth and go, Damn it... I have no choice, and back down.

Wouldn’t the dark world laugh and curse them for being so soft, for being such idiots who deliberately chose the hard way when known, easy methods existed?

In reality, that “curse” wasn’t even a curse—it was practically praise and trust.

Of course, the dark world could feel wronged, too.

The righteous side got welcomed and treated well anywhere they went, while dark-world people got followed with fake fear in public and then pointed at and insulted in private.

And if the righteous side and the dark world acted the same way, only the dark world got punished for it—so of course, the righteous side had to act righteous for things to be “fair.”

Sure. There was a point to that argument, in its own way.

Anyway, Jang Chiwang was an aging Evil Path thug.

And it wasn’t easy for an Evil Path thug to even get old.

To get old at all, you had to throw off the ones above you trying to hold you down, and throw off the bastards below you trying to stab you, flailing and scrambling the whole way.

Jang Chiwang had eaten plenty of filthy humiliation in his life—and because of that, he believed he had the right to show filthy humiliation to others.

Even now, he forced his blank mind into shape.

This is bad. I need to fix it fast. Even if it makes me look weak, I need to apologize right now—switch to formal address, or mutual formal speech.

Because the issue was small, but if someone grabbed it as leverage, it could become as big as they wanted—and if he didn’t patch it immediately—

But he was already one step too late.

“The more I think about it, the more pissed I get. What—because you’re old, you thought I’d just go, yes, yes, and swallow it? Is being old some kind of achievement? Is clawing your way into an elder seat in some nobody trash sect something to brag about? Or what—are you some Ten Great Masters, a Mystical Realm master, is that it? In my life, I’ve never seen a piece of shit like you. Seriously. So—why are you talking down to me?”

A terrifying barrage of abuse.

Even the crowd listening alongside him felt humiliated—so what about the one taking it?

His face burned red, his clenched fists trembling. He had to do something, but his overheated brain wouldn’t turn at all, like it was going to drive him insane.

“......I—”

“Why can’t you talk? You mute? Or you think keeping your mouth shut solves it? I asked you why you’re talking down to me. Or do I look easy? No—I’m not easy. It’s that the Taoist sects’ lineage itself looks like a joke to you, so Taoist sect elders are—what, that thing—your Literary-Merchant Sect? Was that it? Anyway, Taoist sect elders are the kind of underlings a Literary-Merchant Sect elder can talk down to and order around, right? Is that it? Was I too rude to the great and mighty elder of the Literary-Merchant Sect? Oh, is this your glorious public statement, Elder-Elder-Elder-Elder? A statement from someone four times greater than those Taoist sects?”

Jang Chiwang’s heart dropped into his stomach.

This was why he’d tried to apologize and smooth it over!

He couldn’t apologize after hearing this.

If he apologized after she called his sect unheard-of, called it trash, called it a nobody sect—nonsense.

But if he got angry?

Then, in front of all these witnesses, he became the lunatic who had insulted the entire body of Taoist sects.

And even if he did get angry—what then?

They’d have to stake the honor of their sects and fight a life-and-death duel, but the problem was, there was no guarantee he could win.

Even among Harmonization masters, the Heavenly Flower Sword was a proven fighter, someone who had demonstrated her strength through countless life-and-death duels—and who knew? She might even be the owner of some Slay-in-Slay, terrifying demonic art.

And even if he somehow won, what about the righteous martial world’s retaliation that would inevitably follow?

So there was only one method left.

“......”

The secret art: clamp your mouth shut!

If it was trouble either way, then you clamped your mouth shut and held silence until the other side got frustrated and left on their own.

And in practice it was an apology, too—an act of begging, Please, just let it go this once.

Just endure it. This too shall pass...

Fortunately for Jang Chiwang, Qing had never intended to drag this out with one guy for long.

Because her rudeness was intentional from the start.

My master is definitely hearing all of this. So it’s embarrassing, and I’m sorry, and I really don’t feel good about it—but it’s been a while since I yelled like this, so it’s a little fun... still, I didn’t want to do it this openly...

But a rumor was a rumor.

A rumor this vicious and dangerous had to be crushed at the outset.

So there was no choice. Really.

There was no choice.