Chapter 984: Tears, Drop by Drop (5)

The Heavenly Flower Sword’s position statement ended in a muddled, limping way after the Great Matron’s sudden appearance.

The Great Matron, who had been watching the Evil Path Alliance patrol officer’s group withdraw, turned her back with an indifferent air like there was nothing else worth seeing—and the Heavenly Flower Sword, as if it were only natural, followed behind her master.

And among the countless martial warriors seated in the plaza, not a single one could stop her.

Because it was a place where you could feel, in vivid detail, what the presence of the Mystical Realm truly meant.

In truth, how often in your life did you ever come face-to-face with a Mystical Realm martial warrior?

It was easy to flap your mouth about the Ten Great Masters, but not easy to meet one in person—much less to face their divine authority.

Seven blades, flying through empty air by their own will, growling.

The target those blades were pointed at was clearly you—so much as twitch a finger, and you would be pierced by seven flying swords.

Even with hundreds of people gathered on the spot, everyone froze with the same thought.

But how could only seven swords possibly aim at hundreds of individuals at the same time?

And yet it was possible—that was why it was called a profound realm, why the dignity of an absolute master was such a thing.

Only after a long while did they finally breathe out a sigh of relief, their hearts unsettled and muddled like the morning after a subtle nightmare.

Only then did they start looking at each other’s faces, and yet, with the lingering aftertaste still not gone, they couldn’t bring themselves to speak out loud—so they asked with their eyes.

So what about the seed-extraction demonic arts? What was that supposed to mean?

Sure, the Heavenly Flower Sword had denied, in public, that she’d ever cultivated something like that.

But wasn’t that only natural?

Even if she really had learned seed-extraction demonic arts, she wasn’t going to come out in front of everyone and go, “How did you know? Yeah, it’s me. This lady is the seed-extraction witch. I’ll suck dry the inner power of every martial warrior in Murim and take this world into my hands!”

So what the crowd wanted was a more detailed explanation—more than that, they were hoping someone would demand verification by some method or another. They had been ready, even if they had no intention of stepping forward themselves, to shout in loud agreement—yes, yes, that’s right—if only someone else did.

But what explanation did the Heavenly Flower Sword actually give?

It’s me, you jobless bastards.

You believe that? If you’ve got a brain, think.

And then?

The Blood Cult is a male-on-male sex club, a same-sex-obsessed bunch—its goal is to violate every man in the Central Plains!

And then?

The Greenwood Bandits tried to strip the Heavenly Flower Sword, got stripped clean instead, and the Evil Path Alliance is trying to use that as a pretext to take the Greenwood Bandits.

Or: if you catch the Heavenly Flower Sword, you become the owner of the Greenwood Bandits. Sure, you’d have to serve Paejon as your lord—but you’d have an absolute master as backing, so it’s actually a better deal. If anything, it’s a win.

But the Heavenly Flower Sword has no reverse gear.

Paejon or not, if it pisses her off, she slams into it!

Beyond that... well, absolute masters really are absolute masters. I finally understand what “absolute” means now. And so on.

In the end, that was about all the “position statement” accomplished. It even ended in a vague, limp mess where, regarding seed-extraction demonic arts, they hadn’t really heard any explanation at all—just got cursed at the whole time.

There’s a limit to how much you can disrespect people. Do we really have to take this kind of blatant disrespect?

But what can we even do? We’re still talking with our eyes because we’re scared she might still be hearing us.

For those reasons, the crowd began to disperse—half hollow, half unsettled—each in their own direction.

If there was any comfort at all, it was that at least each of them now had a story to go home with—home, sect, hometown—something to talk about and get drinks bought for.

You lot, do you happen to know this? I was at the Heavenly Flower Sword’s position statement, you know. Ah, you didn’t know? Ahem—my throat suddenly feels scratchy. I should wet it and oil it up—what? You say I have to at least give you a taste of the story? Right, right. So—do you know the Blood Cult’s true identity? Ah, I’m craving braised pork—proper braised pork. Listen and don’t be shocked. The Blood Cult’s true identity is...

What? Their “blood” wasn’t blood, it was an acupoint? And a man’s, at that!? KRAAAAGH!

And then, the Greenwood Bandits... (omitted)

Anyway, this was an utterly ordinary, one-way way that rumors spread across the Central Plains.

So this statement too would spread far and wide, rippling outward into every corner of the Central Plains...

*****

Because there were so many eyes on her, Qing followed behind her master as she exited—naturally, calmly, as if it were obvious.

But inside, she was extremely anxious.

Because her master had appeared in person.

Had her master been resting, and then suddenly wondered, “Is my disciple doing well,” and came down, only to find everything a mess—and it just happened to be the perfect time to appear?

As if.

She must have been watching from the start, and only when Qing looked ready to slam into Paejon in earnest did she finally step in because she couldn’t endure it anymore.

Meaning from the beginning—she had seen everything. Every bit of Qing deciding she was committed, every bit of Qing pouring out crude insults because she found it obnoxious...

So Qing’s heart felt uncomfortable, like a child following behind their parents after doing something wrong.

Or like a new hire following behind a senior with a filthy temper after causing a disaster at a client site.

This... this is definitely a Nuclear Forehead Flick moment, right...?

That Nuclear Forehead Flick really hurts like hell...

And Nuclear Forehead Flick aside, mm.

This was the Ximen Surin who always said it.

A disciple must set an example as the representative and pride of women martial warriors. A disciple must remember this—every tiny step in conduct, every meaningless hand gesture, even a passing expression, all represent women martial warriors.

But.

Qing had been born a man. Not some hyper-macho “real man,” but still just a man.

How could Qing represent women martial warriors?

So one day, Ximen Surin would realize Qing’s true nature, and she would end up disappointed, thinking, From the start, this bitch was hopeless.

Even so—Qing always hoped it wouldn’t be now.

As late as possible. If possible, never.

So every step Qing took behind Ximen Surin felt heavy, like each foot had a thousand-pound weight strapped to it.

How long had it been like that?

While Qing sat quietly, crumpled down in front of her master, Ximen Surin finally opened her mouth.

“This master watched over my disciple.”

Qing’s heart dropped through the floor.

Whether she knew that feeling or not, Ximen Surin continued.

“Truly splendid—and admirable!”

“Your disciple—huh?”

“Hehe. Did you see the faces of those empty-headed men? Those pathetic men who swarmed in because my disciple was in a woman’s body and they thought she’d be easy—now they’ve finally faced the spirit of a proper woman martial warrior, and they can’t even form a single rebuttal. All they can do is watch their own tone!”

As her master’s voice rose, Qing cautiously read her expression.

“It is precisely One Man Guards the Pass, Ten Thousand Cannot Break Through—no, it must be One Woman Guards the Pass, Ten Thousand Cannot Break Through! I am truly proud of my disciple!”

Qing’s spine, which had been held stiff and straight, loosened just a little.

She really is happy, right? This isn’t some setup where she throws a curveball—hard cuts the rhythm—and then a Nuclear Forehead Flick comes flying, right?

“Watching my disciple’s dignified 모습, this master could not help but slap my knee. In truth, when a woman has an unjust suspicion upon her, all she does is put on a sorrowful face and spill tears, appealing with her frailty. The world babbles that it cannot defeat a woman’s tears, but what a barbaric saying that is.”

“Exactly. Your disciple thinks so too.”

“But my disciple is cold and ruthless first—so those pathetic men who expected a woman’s tears finally realize that not all women are soft and easy, and they do not know what to do. When this news spreads widely, the women sisters of the rivers-and-lakes will also come to realize something. This is innovation—shattering the image of the ‘woman’ that the world imposes on women martial warriors. We might call it: woman-shattering.”

“Hehe...”

“While this master sent my disciple out into the world, I was not without worry that your unrestrained conduct had not been corrected—that you hid it in front of your master, and only let it out once you went outside. But looking back now, it was truly meaningless.”

That “worry” hadn’t been worry—it had been truth.

Anyway, Qing smiled. She decided to smile.

Whether it was “woman-shattering” or whatever—her master’s theory of women always had some uncomfortable edge to it whenever Qing heard it.

But good is good. She says she likes it.

This is filial piety. What else is filial piety if not this?

But then, mm—if that’s the case, what was the point of all the “beauty conduct” Qing had learned through countless blasts of collateral damage?

If she was going to praise Qing for not being womanlike—then why, whenever Qing wasn’t womanlike, did she bring down thunderbolts—no, nuclear thunderbolts—on her?

In fact, the reason was simple.

Ximen Surin’s affection for Qing had long since crossed a certain limit, and the world called that state “a doting fool.”

A doting fool’s defining feature: everything looks cute no matter what.

So even if Qing had not displayed a proud, woman-shattering attitude, but instead had imitated Tang Nanna—Lady Tang’s daughter Mo Nanna’s “finishing move,” First Squeeze Wins, Ten Thousand Blossoms Rain Down, the ultimate form—her master would still have appeared on the spot, roaring, Who made my disciple cry?, and demonstrated terrifying power with seven flying clubs—a nuclear sauna with no collateral-damage splash.

But Qing, who hadn’t grasped that far—more precisely, Qing couldn’t be allowed to grasp it—had been wringing her hands in dread.

Part of her felt wronged, but, mm, whatever. Good is good.

“Hehe...”

“Hehe...”

“Hehe...”

“Hehe...”

Anyway, both master and disciple were content, so it was good.

They said if the ending is good, everything is good.

*****

War—war never changes.

But people can change.

So what changes a person?

A person becoming worse is so common, so easy, that there’s no need to even examine it—so set that aside.

More precisely: what in the world makes a person change for the better?

Is it because a shocking event that shakes the foundations forces them to face their inherent twisted nature head-on, and they decide to change?

Or because everyone has a kind fragment somewhere in their heart, and by some trigger they retrieve even that shard?

But countless saints and thinkers have said that what changes a person is the situation they are placed in.

So if you create the situation, you can naturally reform them into a new person—education being one such argument.

Anyway, in that respect, Sasa Bo-yeol was a changed person.

The reason he had accepted Qing’s suggestion and gone to the Seol Family Trading House was because of the false accusation that he had betrayed the Evil Path and joined hands with the Heavenly Flower Sword.

But even if he hadn’t left, there likely wouldn’t have been much of a direct blow. He would’ve just been summoned, gotten cursed at a bit, and told, “Do better next time,” or something.

Sasa was high-tier talent among high-tier talent—a poison master and a clinic specialist for martial warriors.

Even so, the reason he had chosen to leave was, in truth, also rather calculated.

With retirement approaching, he had more worries about continuing Evil Path work—and the old age of the Evil Path was usually not good.

And despite being a Transformation Realm martial warrior in his own right, he had quietly endured constant contempt—being treated like some “poison freak,” maybe.

The Evil Path’s attitude toward him had long displeased him.

But lately—life felt good.

Every day was enjoyable.

If he went out for a walk, the whole town would hurry to fold at the waist, bowing deeply—Oh, the divine physician has come out?—showing extreme reverence while gazing up at him with eyes glittering full of goodwill.

After all, in Jagwi County there was practically no one—exaggerate a little, and it’s literally no one—who hadn’t benefited from Sasa Medical Academy in one way or another for illnesses and injuries both large and small.

It was the respect naturally given to the head of a charitable clinic that practiced medicine almost for free.

But did that mean Bo-yeol’s life was poor?

This wasn’t a business he ran with his own money, so he received a separate monthly stipend—and the amount wasn’t just ample, it was overflowing.

And the merchants in this town would eagerly bring him rare snakes and precious tea—things you could gladly pour money into—emptied their pockets for him, didn’t they?

It was the richness of a life lacking nothing.

He even had plenty of time to enjoy tea!

There were few patients severe enough for Bo-yeol to step in personally, so in truth he was closer to a master who researched and taught medicine than to a practicing physician.

Not that Bo-yeol had become so devoted that he spent his free time personally tending patients like some saintly doctor, either.

So Bo-yeol’s days were satisfying.

He’d care for his adorable little ones—his pet snakes—then call someone over and serve tea to drink together (when you’re old, it doesn’t taste good to drink alone), teach a little medicine, walk around and enjoy being treated with reverence...

And then.

Good things always end abruptly, without warning. That was the cruelty of life—of fate, they said.

Or: Heaven’s Net Is Vast; Though Its Mesh Seems Wide, It Lets Nothing Slip.

And they called that: karma.