Chapter 679: The New Semester Has Begun (13)

THUD—a low, muffled sound.

Not loud, but every face in the crowd crumpled like they were about to cry.

Some attacks hurt just to watch.

A flashy slash, a brilliant form with blood spraying—less painful to look at than a fist that buries itself clean in the solar plexus.

Because it’s a pain everyone’s tasted at least once.

Especially here in the harsh Central Plains, where if you don’t throw a punch at the end of an argument you’re branded a coward.

“Guhhk.”

Chae Seong-ha rolled on the ground.

He’d taken a true vital strike from the fist of a true master—one that held the subtlety of nuclear fission.

What is the subtlety of nuclear fission!

By what exalted method does it make a reckless brat crawl the floor so meekly?

Nuclear fission is the very epitome of a living blade—no, a living strike.

You use inner power yet do not discharge it outward; you govern the wielder’s own body, so you do not harm a person with qi.

You read the opponent’s capacity and, beyond sparing his life, you show such care that his muscles and bones take no damage that would linger after.

And yet you utterly neutralize him—an ethic that prizes human life and preaches love of humankind to all the world.

Reduce that to one line?

Hit as hard as possible right up to the limit where you don’t cripple him!

Of course, that’s because Qing’s study is lacking.

A master who truly grasps the subtlety of nuclear fission does not use force, but discharges inner power—by the Weight-Adding Method—striking within, and still never harms.

Thus the true subtlety reaches a defense-ignoring point that seeps through any body-protecting steel-qi or outstanding heart-guard sutra.

Those struck by this thermonuclear chastisement, their limbs twist, their bodies feel split in half, and the pain is so immense they roll in the dirt—men and women, adults and children—tears, snot, and even spit streaming.

But Qing is only at the entry of Ximen-Surin-Style Nuclear-Fission Everlasting-Peace Divine Art ~Pain Knows the Answer~, and so she merely employed an external skill that relies on physical force.

The result was Chae Seong-ha with big tears beaded—but not streaming.

Qing looked down at him and thought:

He’s forcing down even the ragged, hiccuping breaths—so he still has enough consciousness left to keep up appearances.

Mm. He needs more training.

If it had been Master’s original Nuclear Forehead Flick, he’d have been bawling and rolling, face be damned.

So this is the difference between Flower Realm and Harmony—between classes.

Qing newly appreciated her master’s greatness.

Anyway.

Despite the pain, Chae Seong-ha staggered up.

He tried to rise, wobbled, spilled onto the ground once, then used his sword as a cane to barely stand.

His windpipe still tight, a whisper faint as a slipping robe reached Qing’s human-transcending hearing.

“Huh-uk, th-the avoi—”

Avoid?

“Avoiding is... dirty—”

Qing nodded.

Mm. He still hasn’t come to his senses?

Then—

“Hey, friend! {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} That’s enough. Forgive him, Instructor—my friend’s competitive spirit ran a bit hot. May I apologize in his stead?”

Without permission, a man stepped onto the ring, propped Chae Seong-ha, and dipped his head.

Truth be told, “propped” was more like restrained.

His fingers wrapped under the jaw clamped Chae Seong-ha’s mouth shut. Still unsteady, Chae Seong-ha could only glare with eyes wide—Who the hell are you.

Qing looked to the intruding youth.

“And you, young sir?”

“Ha-ha! I’m Jang Sam of Poseong County. Please, keep your words plain—you’re the instructor.”

“Jang Sam?”

“Yes, that Jang Sam—of the saying ‘jangsamisa.’ Thanks to it, everyone asks if it’s a fake name, but I can hardly blame my parents, can I? Must be the fate of the Jang family’s third son.”

Narrow, slitted eyes; a beaming face; manners as slick and smirking as oil.

Add a name that sounds fake to anyone’s ear, and you couldn’t find a shadier-looking man.

Types like this always open their eyes with a solemn face and look even more villainous—serving as the hidden hand.

But Qing did not find him suspicious.

Well now—what’s this? Seventeen points of good karma.

That’s pretty high.

What Qing learned wandering the world: even the young have no ceiling on bad karma, but good karma has a clear ceiling.

A child can wreck another’s life if he tries.

But in a relatively short life, it’s hard to rack up many, broadly positive outcomes that mark the ledger.

“Isn’t this just young blood? Once he’s admitted, he can ask the instructor for lessons anytime. There’s a schedule for the exam, and it won’t do to keep troubling a busy instructor this long. I’ll, ah, persuade my friend—”

“Mmff—w-who—mmff.”

“—properly.”

Truth is, Qing had been in a bind anyway.

She was curious how far he could debase himself, but crossing blades any further felt... off.

Mm. This one seems decent.

I’ll make a note to write a special recommendation on his exam.

So Jang Sam dragged Chae Seong-ha away.

Naturally, he “propped” him while gagging his mouth, binding his arms, and pressing the belly—restraint disguised as support, all very practiced. Well.

Maybe he trained in the Silent Hand.

As Qing walked back toward the second-floor special seats of the temporary building, a sudden glare hit her eyes.

Ivory Sword Oh Jang-rak’s famed ivory—those ultra-powerful ultra-white teeth—had thrown sunlight.

Their eyes met; he nodded.

Something about the gaze felt burdensome, so Qing gave a small nod back and hurried to her seat.

And Sima Chunbong’s mouth began again.

“Indeed—a talent to watch. Jang Sam—very suspicious, yes, but it’s clear he showed goodwill, no?”

“Is it?”

“You first suppressed him with an unexpected blow—yes, a sneak, by anyone’s eye—so you saved both Young Lord Chae’s and Great Hero Oh’s faces. Chae has mighty skill but clear shortcomings, and Great Hero Oh, being examiner, yielded—so as you said, calling it a ‘defeat’ is not fair.”

“I wasn’t thinking that far.”

“No? Then in the second lesson, why did you evade Chae’s blade and also subdue him with a fist? If you’d drawn the recorder and opposed him there, it would have been tantamount to saying you blocked what Great Hero Oh could not—kyaa—”

Sima Chunbong rose an inch from his seat.

So the ribs are a weak point.

Granted, they’re everyone’s weak point.

“H-Heavenly Flower Sword? Wh-what are—”

“Zhuangzi said: the wise do not speak; perhaps the surest way to be most wise is to keep silent forever—for the dead do not speak.”

“What nonsense—ah—hoo-hoo, Heavenly Flower Sword? Are you shy about praise? But, Heavenly Flower Sword, if we who will lead the age do not speak, the base commoners cannot grasp our thinking; such fine deeds must be spread wide—heh, for the same trick to work twice—”

He dodged her fingers from the ribs and lifted his chin.

But Qing, with a pre-set movement, used the Silent Hand of the boneless, most discreet art—the No-Shadow Divine Hand.

The missed fingers slithered like a creature without bones, slipped into the tight space between arm and ribs, and—POKE-POKE, SQUISH-SQUISH.

“KYAAAH! K-khahahah—d-don’t—kyahahah!”

As Sima Chunbong strangled a shrill scream into breathless laughter, Qing thought:

These brainy types cannot stand not blabbing that they know what they know.

In this sense, how amazing is that Seol fellow, apex of the brainy yet always humble, never flaunting his knowledge.

Perhaps I should expand intelligence to include character—call him a three-star? The greatest mind in Samsung?

Meanwhile, Sima Chunbong—having spent ten years’ worth of laughter all at once—collapsed onto the table and panted.

No—so I thought—

“Huff—hoo—huuuu—and—haa—since Jang Sam understood Heavenly Flower Sword’s intent and stepped in at the right time—huuu—mmmmm—if you faced him a third time, your intention for Great Hero Oh would blur—”

Sima Chunbong possessed the obsession to prattle even through oxygen debt and labored breathing.

“Huu—mmmmm—and if it came to a head-on clash, then Young Lord Chae’s face would not only fall but roll in the dirt—huh—ah—no—you mustn’t—”

In the end, his eyes trembled as Qing seized his ribs again.

Qing answered:

“I must.”

KYAHIHIAHAHA—a laugh no lady should ever make burst out.

Granted, she gave up on guarding her ribs and clamped both hands over her mouth, so it likely didn’t carry down below.

Some of the other examiners—especially those from the Alliance’s military bureau—were smirking wickedly with a look that said, Ah, she’s finally met her match.

Not conspirators in bullying, but a warm mischief: At last, this girl has a friend.

“Huff... huff... Heavenly Flower Sword... huff... if you think this means you’ve won, you’re gravely mistaken—huff—huuuk.”

Qing realized something.

Chunbong—this kid has, frankly, phenomenal tactile feedback.

Nana: tease her a little and she wears a betrayed-by-the-world face and squeezes out (fake) tears.

Gunyeong: “no,” and that faint not-quite wrinkle between the brows, and done.

San pretends otherwise but gets secretly sulky—annoying.

Lady Gongsun or Lady Moyong—teasing them feels... wrong. Guilty.

At least Jegal keeps climbing and has some snap—good for the occasional cuff.

The first-round exam resumed.

Truth is, the judging job isn’t all that fun.

In front of the public, she has to hold that uncomfortable Ximen-Surin-Style Beauty Bearing posture; and since she’s here, it’s better to fill out evaluations diligently than idle.

“Heh-heh, this examinee is from Jeongnam, Jiangxi. Between Jiangxi and Guangdong, from the lay of the land—lush growth, soft ground, much water—his ankles would be sturdy and loaded from youth; temperament passes down the line. So perhaps we watch those parts? Eh-heh—Heavenly Flower Sword, your thoughts? Anything to add?”

“Jiangxi? The puffer sashimi’s good. Name’s a bit indecent, but does it even taste like that?”

“You mean the seoshiyu? But seoshiyu is a dangerous dish—every year a thousand die from bad preparation. For pioneers like us, tasked to lead the age, the most important thing is personal health. The second most important is preserving that precious existence—do you not know this?”

“Shh. It’s starting. Food later. I admire your gourmet zeal, Sima—but choose your time and place.”

“...? Th-this... such a petty ploy.”

At least it helped to have Sima Chunbong next to her—his mouth never rests.

Seen this way, Chae Seong-ha is an out-of-spec talent.

He’s childish, not malicious; if he doesn’t self-sabotage, he’ll likely clear to final acceptance without trouble.

Honestly, someone with a dance line that good hardly needs to enter an academy.

Most were examinees capped between third-rate and second-rate.

Qing strained to pry out a single line of strength to write for them.

“Mm?”

An examinee stepped onto the floor.

“What’s that? That one.”

“Heavenly Flower Sword—do you see something? Let’s see... a Danjo from Gaery County. No name.”

Qing sees people a little differently.

There’s a number posted right above their heads—no way to look without tinted lenses, even if she tries to see them plain.

And out stepped one with bad karma blazing blood-red. That kind wants into an orthodox academy?