Chapter 996: Live a Good Life (9)

The Priestess Order Temple’s daily routine for Qing was free training.

Ximen Surin had judged that sparring no longer meant much. Qing’s combat was already overflowing—not only with orthodox fundamentals, but with applications, improvisation, and every kind of practical trick for real fights. If something happened, there was Northern Sea Divine Art. And if no one was watching, she could just use it aggressively and be done with it.

So at this point, the only “benefit” left in sparring would be the act of cracking the martial artist called Ximen Surin itself—and why would she need that?

Unless she wanted to become the kind of disciple who actually tried to eat her master alive, anyway.

Train as your heart leads you.

It was fine to throw yourself into something “pointless.”

So long as you didn’t waste hollow time with an empty mind, every tiny effort, every small movement—each trivial moment—would gather and, someday, become a great mountain that reached the cosmos.

Her disciple still had more time left than anyone else she’d ever seen, so there was no need to chase in a hurry. Just go wherever your heart pulled you.

So Qing was doing exactly that.

First: Skyward Laugh Kill. Listening to laughter steadily, observing it, collecting those laugh-sounds.

The only problem was... the way she collected them.

Qing walked into the Priestess Order Temple’s Third-Generation Disciples’ living quarters and shook the small cord beside the door.

DING-DING-DING-DING!

“KYAAHAHAHAHA!” “AHAHAHA!” “KIHIT-HIHIT-HIHIT!” “PUHAHA!” “KIIEEE—!”

The third-generation disciples suddenly clutched their bellies, flopped down, and rolled around, exploding into helpless laughter.

This was the power of the Laughing Bell!

The Laughing Bell had originally been designed in Qing’s homeland to boost soldiers’ morale.

Ring the bell, and everyone laughs.

In that future, the benefits of laughter had been scientifically proven—mental and physical enhancement on the level of a near panacea.

For soldiers dragged in by force, stripped of motivation, and ground down by ineffective training and cost-cutting labor, the existence of the Laughing Bell must have been like a star shining in the darkest night.

So wasn’t a bell that made soldiers laugh the most human-centered, highest-value invention in all of human history—even among all those highly advanced future artifacts?

Yes.

The greatest invention in human history, made from the fusion of cutting-edge technology and scientific thinking, had revealed itself centuries early.

However.

Tragically, the primitive ancient humans—namely, the Priestess Order Temple’s third-generation disciples—were far too uncivilized to feel the science, the rationality, and the blazing love for humanity underlying the Laughing Bell.

These Central Plains people already had absurdly low thresholds for “fun,” and weren’t girls supposed to burst into laughter even at fallen leaves rolling by?

So they were just... happy!

When Great-Grand Senior Teacher suddenly appeared, went ding-ding-ding on the bell, and with her other hand added a messy harmony by making DENG-DENG-DENG like a giant temple bell, everyone laughed for real, laughter bursting out of them like it was overflowing.

Riding that response, Qing stretched out her arms and legs and swung them around, putting on the free-form dance enjoyed centuries later—technical term: flailing.

Back in her homeland, it would’ve been a dance with absolutely no roots or discipline, but the Heavenly Flower Sword’s limbs were so long that the lines of her movement were no joke.

Then Jayeo, who was already used to her “mother (father)” getting excited, would stand right beside her, face serious, wriggling violently and dedicating herself to flailing as well.

And then it became a frenzy of a festival.

In the living quarters’ wide room, young women in their prime all fell into a trance of dance, heat like a future ballroom, a blazing evening of enjoyment taking root—

And then, suddenly, behind Qing:

Ximen Surin appeared.

“You little bitch!!!”

SMACK!!!!

“KKUAAAGH!!!!”

Sadly, it all ended with a Nuclear Forehead Flick from a passing Ximen Surin who’d witnessed her disciples’ bizarre thrashing.

But still, that strange, fast-tempo dance somehow looked beautiful and subtle and joyful—and also weird, but stylish!

As expected of Great-Grand Senior Teacher! I can’t help but admire her!

Because even if it was flailing, Qing had reproduced from memory dances she’d seen before she ever left her sect.

And a master whose body obeyed freely could draw imagined shapes with their body.

Plus, she was slim with long limbs, so her dance lines were... not ordinary dance lines at all.

In the end, it started spreading like wildfire among the disciples.

The Heavenly Flower Sword has unleashed dance upon the Priestess Order Temple!

Of course, the Laughing Bell was only possible after the disciples’ scheduled day was done. She couldn’t steal training time, after all.

Likewise, serious Skyward Laugh Kill training was also a bit of a problem to do within the sect.

You couldn’t exactly train demonic arts that shook minds through sound inside a sect.

Thankfully, there was a place near the sect that was perfect for training Skyward Laugh Kill.

A waterfall.

If she released a minimum-output WUAHAHA roaring laugh under a waterfall with water pouring down, it was hard to hear even standing right next to her.

Jayeo, splashing and paddling in the pool before the falls—SPUTTER-SPUTTER—was living proof of that fact.

Training Skyward Laugh Kill under the waterfall had more advantages than just blocking sound.

Laughing out loud itself wasn’t easy when streams of water kept driving into your eyes, your nose, your mouth.

If she got used to that, she’d be able to handle it even in extreme situations during combat.

And while she was being pounded by pouring water, she started to understand why “training” scenes so often showed meditating under a waterfall... or maybe it was more like understanding the old folks who stood under the cold-water dump at bathhouses.

And if she got bored, she could watch Seol Iri—who always followed along for some reason—standing quietly under the water, soaking wet, circulating her energy.

She could wash up while she was at it.

And if she awakened water energy like this, would she enter Water Torture Martial Arts—no, Black Turtle Martial Arts?

Well, she didn’t particularly want to drink soup through her nose, so if it didn’t happen, she wouldn’t be sad.

When Jayeo sidled over and stared at her silently, training paused again.

Qing played with her for a bit.

And after finishing another fulfilling day of training and returning, Qing ruffled Jayeo’s hair and asked,

“Our Jayeo—wanna go practice writing?”

“...No.”

“Gasp!”

Jayeo refused?

Honestly, every time Qing asked, Jayeo always said yes, so that had clearly been obedient behavior from reading the room.

And because Jayeo had always seemed so pitiful like that, hearing her express dislike like this should’ve been impressive—moving—something to be grateful for, like, thank you for opening your heart—

...It should’ve been.

Mm. So you really hated writing.

Sure. Who cares about letters? As long as you can write three—no, four—characters for your name, that’s enough.

For some reason, Dad feels like he’s about to cry....

But Qing was a famous old-man slaughterer.

If you could slaughter old men, then killing a kid was something you could do with your eyes closed.

“Hah. Too bad—it’s not just writing. Guess I’ll have to do it all alone. Jayeo, go play with Heema. Dad’s going to go write huge letters. Like, huge.”

“Huge?”

“I’ll write them as big as Jayeo. I’ll hold a brush this big and—PA-PA-PAK!”

“Oooh.”

In an instant, a strange sparkle of life lit up in her dead-black eyes. (Jayeo was always like that.)

“I should bring the moms too. And Auntie. We have to compete and see who writes best.”

“Oooh—!”

Jayeo didn’t know letters, that was the issue, but her handwriting itself was actually quite good.

Because the writing she’d learned by watching wasn’t normal writing—it was the kind where everyone kept flattering her, good, good, good, trying to get her to write one more character, so the little kid genuinely believed her writing was pretty.

“So. Jayeo going? Jayeo not going?”

“Going!”

And thus: the World’s Greatest Writing Contest!

Contestant One: Seomun Jayeo.

A genius of the martial world who, at a young age, went unnoticed due to unremarkable talent and shallow learning!

Contestant Two: Jin Jangmyeong.

A short kid with short words—but because their overall ability was short as well, they could honestly be called the weakest among Qing’s friends.

The question is: will Jin Jangmyeong’s writing also be short?

Contestant Three: Heema!

The owner of a heart that surpassed even Qing’s—colossal motherhood, idiocy no less immense, and a lewd beauty that bewitched men and women, young and old alike.

A witch who truly belonged to all under heaven!

Contestant Four: Seol Iri!

A pretty face and a pale expression totally mismatched with a uselessness that was... charming—

Qing trailed off mid-introduction.

Wait.

Is this right?

How is it possible that the smartest person among these four might be Jangmyeong?

Is Jayeo’s education... okay?

Should she invite Tang Nanna to come visit?

The only “intellectual” around was that cross-dressing pervert who loved teasing—better not to get close for a child’s emotional development...

“Isn’t this a signboard? Is it okay to just write on it?”

“Ah. Yeah, go ahead. It’s the Evil Path Alliance signboard.”

“...?”

And so the fierce arena of the First World’s Greatest Writing Contest opened—

...Yeah, right. It was eleven characters. How long could that possibly take?

They said the “year” was spent agonizing over how to write a signboard, and when you finally wrote it, you were supposed to sweep it out in one breath—one stroke, one flow.

If you removed the agonizing part, well.

And thus Qing announced the glorious winners of the First World’s Greatest Writing Contest.

“First, I will announce the Special Prize. This prize is awarded to the person who wrote the prettiest letters, and the winner of the Special Prize is—truly, truly—”

She had no idea why everyone was craning their necks for this.

“Special Prize: Seomun Jayeo!”

“Oooh.”

“Jayeo’s writing isn’t pretty because she’s my daughter—objectively, it’s the prettiest among the participants. Honestly, the others should reflect. If you write worse than Jayeo, then what even—ah, my vision is blurring with tears!”

“No, Jayeo’s always written well. I taught her.”

“Hehe. Niece—so impressive.”

“Khh-heh-heh....”

Special Prize: Contestant One, Seomun Jayeo!

“Alright, focus. There’s no time to just sit here liking things. Next is Third Place.”

In Central Plains terms, Third Place was called the “Flower-Finder.”

“Third Place: Jin Jangmyeong!”

“Hmph. That’s me.”

“Our little one is short, but their writing is big and bold, and they’ve got their own spirit alive in it. It doesn’t exactly match the purpose of this contest—who wrote the worst—but it still qualifies as fine penmanship, so we award the honor of Third Place.”

Third Place: Contestant Two, Jin Jangmyeong!

“Now, next. Second Place.”

Second Place—in Central Plains terms, the “List-Eye.” In Qing’s homeland, you might call it “runner-up.”

“Second Place: Heema!”

“Waa.”

“Your round, cute letters don’t match a signboard at all, and more than anything, you carved tiny little letters between everyone else’s big ones. You were the biggest, yet your letters were the smallest. Either way, your self-assertion is strong enough to piss people off—wow, I’m dead. You receive the honor of Second Place. You receive the honor of Second Place.”

Qing was saying absolute nonsense.

And now, finally, it was time to announce the champion: First Place.

As if this actually mattered, Seol Iri swallowed and stared at Qing with desperate eyes.

Because Special Prize went to Jayeo, Third Place to Jin Jangmyeong, Second Place to Heema.

So then who would First Place—victory—go to?

“Contestant Five! Yeonseo and Sarang!”

Yeonseo and Sarang, off to the side, widened their eyes.

“Even though the two of you participated as one team, taking turns stroke by stroke, your writing styles didn’t match at all, so it doesn’t harmonize. The shape of the letters is extremely free—a chaos never seen before. In recognition of that astonishing individuality, I award you First Place. Sarang and Yeonseo—champions!”

“KYAAH! We did it! Champions!”

“Wait, hold me—let me faint for a second.”

“No, I’m fainting first!”

“Wait, I did it first!”

“Whoever faints first wins!”

And then, of course, they fainted at the exact same time and fell on their butts at the exact same time—an acceptance speech never before seen anywhere.

Only Seol Iri, who hadn’t received a prize at all, glared at Qing with a subtly furrowed expression.

Qing comforted her.

“It’s because Iri unexpectedly writes well. I thought it’d be a total mess. I’m seeing you differently.”

“Yes.”

Seol Iri’s lips lifted slightly.

“More precisely... Jangmyeong above me, below Jayeo?”

“No.”

Seol Iri’s expression snapped sharp again.

Jangmyeong above her? Below Jayeo?

They said there was no age in writing, but still—being “above and below” like that felt miserable in a very particular way.

And so the First World’s Greatest Writing Contest ended.

They really did play hard, like idiots.

Anyway, everyone chattered about going to soak in the hot bath and dispersed in a noisy wave.

In the empty spot they left behind, a single finished signboard remained.

Eleven characters—Heaven Under Heaven Evil Path Thug Grand Coalition—completed by six people writing two or so characters each...

And it was abandoned, just sitting there, shockingly ignored.