Chapter 713: When Going Out, Maintain Your Dignity (8)

“P-please, young master, I already have a promised sweetheart for the future, so please take back such words, I am not a woman who sells her body...”

“You bitch! You sell your coquetry and your smiles, and now you say you won’t sell only your body? Does that even count as words? If that isn’t cheating, what is cheating! You low wench, do you mean to deceive me!?”

“Please, I’m begging you like this, please...”

There was no need to listen any further.

Draw the blade right now and—blade, hm, my blade.

Qing was standing there with nothing but her bare body and empty hands, because she had propped her sword against the wall to go drink.

You didn’t exactly need to bring a sword to the bathroom, and if you happened to drop it somewhere, what kind of catastrophe would that be.

It was the sort of accident that actually happened: back in Qing’s homeland, people kept losing that noble artifact, more precious than the light, dreams, life, soul, and fate of the modern human being—namely, the cellphone.

So in a way, it was a wise choice. And besides, a Flower Realm expert was still Flower Realm even without a sword, right? She was the owner of Minor Water Art, wasn’t she?

That was what the very same bitch was thinking who had, just earlier, threatened the cadets that the sword was their lifelong companion on the path, a tool of training and the key to completion, and that they had to carry it even when sleeping and eating, and that if they didn’t, there would be punishment from the Love Stick (recorder, ten-thousand-year cold iron, hurts like hell).

Still, if that was unfair, they could become instructors or reach Flower Realm themselves.

What, a Flower Realm expert couldn’t leave her sword behind for a moment and still cut down one punk making a scene in some countryside backwater?

Except... that voice sounded a little familiar. That noble tone that even in pleading dripped with refinement, that solemn mid-low voice, that clear diction—it really sounded like she’d heard it somewhere—

Not that that was the important part.

DRRRK! Qing flung the door open straight away.

There was a short, low scream, just a bit startled—“Kya!”—and the hurried scramble of bodies moving in a rush.

The sound of twos or threes that had been stuck together in pairs suddenly separating in surprise.

And then, with the visual background sound of a blade being drawn—CHING—someone shouted.

“Who goes there!”

And before Qing could answer, the voice went on by itself.

“Oh, Instructor Ximen?”

“What the—Cadet Oh Ruwon?”

SCRAAAPE, BANG—the scrape and crash of chairs being dragged and knocked over.

The faces that scrambled up in a panic were familiar sword-curriculum cadets, and the unfamiliar faces, judging by the “we’re in deep shit” expressions, were clearly cadets from other curricula.

And in the seat of honor—

“Wh-what is the meaning of this! H-hey! No matter that you are an instructor, how can you barge in and disrupt a private gathering like this!?”

Ah. Right. That voice. It was Mandarlo.

That precious, solemn, clear honeyed voice that fit absolutely nothing about his character or conduct.

“Of course, personal maintenance time is guaranteed. As long as you keep the basics. I very clearly said we would only insist on the basics.”

“What are these so-called basics again? Are you going to claim that enjoying a bit of elegance with courtesans on an outing goes against the basics?”

This little shit was talking back with real confidence.

Qing’s eyes narrowed.

“Elegance or whatever, is it right to force yourself on a woman who is refusing you? Up to now, whenever I have seen the male element, I have destroyed the root of that sin. Cut the grass and pull up the root—remove the source of thinking that is in the crotch instead of the head. Today, Cadet Mandarlo’s line ends.”

A fierce presence flared all at once—hot, sharp killing intent from a true expert that made knees tremble on their own.

Mandarlo flinched and waved his hands in a panic.

“W-wait, it’s a misunderstanding, a misunderstanding!”

“Misunderstanding? I heard very clearly.”

“It isn’t—that’s not what it was! Hey, you, say something. Huh? Hurry.”

This little bastard, trying to intimidate the victim into giving false testimony so he could wriggle out of it? That kind of despicable shit!?

BANG!

The innocent tavern floor caved in with a deep dent, splinters flying.

Qing’s body stretched out in a long step and then—KRAAACK!

“Aaagh!!”

Mandarlo grabbed his head and collapsed.

A nuclear forehead-flick straight to that bastard’s skull.

Qing then adopted an utterly gentle expression, turned to the woman crouched awkwardly on her knees beside the rolling Mandarlo, and gave her a kind smile.

“You have nothing to worry about, miss. That son of a bitch will not be walking out of here on his own feet today, so please come over here without fear.”

The woman’s face went blank for a moment—and then her mouth burst open.

“Ah! Heavenly Flower Sword! You’re Heavenly Flower Sword, aren’t you!? Oh my god, kyaaa! Wow, sister, you’re so beautiful!”

“Eh?”

“Hey, it’s Heavenly Flower Sword, she says! The Foremost Among Women’s disciple, the Divine Dragon of the martial world! The next number-one under heaven! Wow, I’ve always really admired you!”

“Kyaaa!”

Suddenly the atmosphere turned into “celebrity appearance.”

The women who had frozen from the commotion came squealing over, shrieking, So pretty, wow look at her hair, now I finally get what “ebony” means, what kind of soap do you use, it smells amazing, oh my god she’s really pretty, I heard she was pretty but wowwww.

“Eh.”

Qing just froze with that expression.

The courtesans went wild saying even that was cute.

And a little later—

“So this was a scripted scene?”

A scripted scene—a kind of play where you set up a certain situation in advance and then act out roles that fit it.

Back in Qing’s homeland they called it a situation play.

“I said it was a misunderstanding...”

Mandarlo, whose crown had swelled up nicely, spoke in a half-choked voice heavy with tears.

Qing scratched the back of her head.

It was just... this bastard’s tastes were a bit filthy and gross.

Forced? A lover already promised? Ugh. Seriously.

“Ah, sorry. I was hasty. Your acting was just so convincing. Wow, Cadet Mandarlo, you could just go be a full-time drama actor.”

Transmission drama was a literary trend thriving in the south; while Central Plains theater was a mixture of song and dance, transmission drama rarely used such song-and-dance devices and took a form closer to modern straight plays.

A transmission drama performer was what people usually called a drama actor.

Mandarlo’s expression crumpled even further.

“Are you telling me to become some low drama actor, hey? Do you even know who I am, to throw such an insult at me—”

“Huh, still not coming to your senses? Have you never heard that there is no high or low in professions?”

Everyone’s faces went vague at that.

Was there ever such a saying? Isn’t it obvious that some jobs are noble and some are base? Isn’t it the natural order of the world that noble people do noble work and lowlifes do low work?

In the Central Plains, there was still high and low.

Of course, in Qing’s homeland they also claimed there wasn’t, in words—but they clearly divided precious human resources and disposable consumables, so in all of human history there had never been a single moment when there was truly no high and low among professions, and there never would be.

“Ahem. I think so, anyway.”

One of the cadets raised a hand.

“Instructor, if there’s no high or low among professions, are you saying those Hao scum and government officials doing the country’s work are the same?”

“Hao scum” meant the five lowest professions in the Central Plains. Qing had heard of them before.

What those five had in common was that, in addition to their main business, it was common for them to also dabble in robbery, murder, theft, human trafficking, cannibalism, and the like.

“Tch. I’ll gloss over it. Frankly, there’s not much difference between them anyway.”

“Ah! So that’s what you meant!”

The cadet slapped his own palm—SMACK.

Because what government officials actually did wasn’t all that different from those Hao human garbage. Maybe.

All of a sudden, Mandarlo exploded.

“What kind of blasphemous words are those! Governing the country is a noble office that rules all the world’s order under Heaven’s mandate—how can someone who is nothing but a wild rustic dare to insult officials!”

What the hell?

Qing tilted her head.

What’s with this dog-bone suddenly going zero to a hundred?

“Why is Cadet Mandarlo making a fuss? Are you an official? And a student is being extremely insolent to a teacher. Cadet, keep that up and you’re getting hit. Do you understand?”

When Qing lifted her fist, Mandarlo finally flinched.

Mm. Come to think of it, they had said this bastard was probably a plant sent by some government office.

He was probably the son of some high official.

Just look at the scene now.

Qing looked around at the extravagantly laden table that looked ready to break under the weight, and the cadets seated around it.

In the Central Plains, if there was no empty space left on the table when you finished setting it, that was second-rate at best.

A truly first-rate table was one where you stacked another plate on top of each plate and made a two-story three-dimensional sculpture.

On top of that, apart from Mandarlo there were seven cadets, each with either one woman at their side or one on each arm.

If the one in the seat of honor said he would “collect” for everyone, there would be no loss of face or awkwardness over who paid—(this culture of “face” was something Qing’s homeland probably needed to learn a bit)—so it meant he was saying he would single-handedly cover all this luxury.

The courtesans’ eyes were sparkling.

The cadets’ faces were stiff and awkward.

“Why are you all like this? Continue what you were doing. As long as you keep the basics, I won’t interfere. As for private debauchery, you’re not even married, so what’s the problem?”

“Instructor? Then are you saying a married man shouldn’t go to the pleasure quarters? Why not?”

Another one piping up.

It was the same one who had asked about the Hao scum earlier.

Wow, our cadet is really full of curiosity. What a curiosity gremlin.

In this damned Central Plains, even if you fooled around with women in the brothel, it was just considered a perfectly ordinary pastime for men.

Anyway, she’d stepped out for a quick bathroom break and ended up wasting her time for nothing.

She had enjoyed the feel of that nuclear forehead-flick, but honestly, she wanted to crack his skull. Compared to that, the nuclear forehead-flick had been basically a pat.

Ah, she wanted to smash a watermelon. Damn it, she’d been looking forward to a rare bit of hand-feel, and now the craving was really hitting. She’d just barely forgotten and been holding back.

She was going to have to soothe this empty, burning thirst with liquor.

If only Hee-mae were here, that would help. Or Chunbong—mm, she could poke her in the side and slip something in under the guise of a joke—

No, she couldn’t do that...

She could just grab the room next door where Gu Nyeong was sleeping, and say she was putting her to bed, and once she was asleep she wouldn’t wake up.

Mm, she kept having bad thoughts.

Still, when it came to Gu Nyeong, didn’t Qing have some rights too? She fed her, housed her, bathed her when she was sick, dressed her, even passed on her divine art.

Qing clenched and unclenched her fist.

This wouldn’t do.

She was a bit sorry to the cadets, but she was going to join them and get in a little groping herself and then leave.

What should she say? There’s no need for you cadets to be self-conscious—look, I like this too.

Mm, yes, that way. That way she could still look like an instructor who considered her cadets’ feelings, without any damage to her dignity.

Of course, this very dilemma wasn’t anywhere near dignity and was pretty close to filthy.

But Qing was, outwardly, an unmatched beauty, a miraculous creature who became “a picture anywhere you put her” as long as she kept her mouth shut.

Just then—

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. A knock on the door.

“Who is it?”

“Heh-heh, honored guests. It’s a great honor that you have visited our tavern. As it happens, a bottle of very rare Purple-Heaven Dukang Wine has just arrived.”

They were here to sell liquor.

Still, Qing felt a little offended in a way—why are they trying to sell liquor at dog-bone’s room instead of ours?

How much liquor had they already sold to her room, which had taken the best seats and been buying half a day’s worth of alcohol since lunch.

And what the hell was Purple-Heaven Dukang Wine supposed to be?

For Qing, who never forgot the name of a famous liquor once she picked it up somewhere, this was strangely, completely unfamiliar.

But Dukang liquor itself was an extremely rare drink, and if you stuck “Heaven” on top of that, it meant it was the best of the best. She knew just from the name it was some insanely amazing liquor.

“Hmph. Even a low merchant can recognize a noble person, I see. Fine, bring it in. This works out nicely. Since such a noble liquor has arrived, we shall take this chance to offer our instructor a cup.”

Dog-bone suddenly said something almost commendable—

“Heh-heh, when else would Instructor ever get to taste such a precious liquor? Not on an austere Daoist’s humble budget.”

Mm. As expected, dog-bone.

The nickname “Dog-Bone” that Flame-Leopard Girl Chang had stuck him with really was perfect.

And what was this about an “austere Daoist’s budget”?

Did he seriously think Daoists were poor?

Could someone really be this clueless about how the world worked?

Daoists were absolutely not poor.

Even a modestly famous Daoist temple in a region had its storerooms bursting from the offerings pouring in all year round.

And if it was a hot national destination for women from all over the Central Plains the way Divine Lady’s Gate was—in professional terms, a nationwide hot spot—well, then. On top of that, these days the Empress had gifted them so much real estate that they couldn’t even manage it all and had hired stewards.

But Qing didn’t bother pointing any of that out.

Nor did she say “that’s enough” and get up to leave.

You could say she was caught in a kind of unavoidable move.

If she declared “that’s enough” and walked out now, people would say she was just being prickly about her pride. It would be a more magnanimous stance to knock back half a bottle and go.

Of course, it was absolutely not because she wanted to drink.

And absolutely not because of her dirty little groping plans.

It was just that, by Central Plains standards of face, there was nothing she could do.

Purple-Heaven Dukang Liquor, huh? Purple-Sky Dukang Liquor? Whatever, just the thought made her mouth water...

GLUG-GLUG-GLUG-GLUG.

The sound of liquor pouring out of one of those high-class Central Plains bottles with a neck so narrow you couldn’t even fit a finger in.

Qing swallowed a mouthful of saliva and first took a sniff.

A rich aroma wafted in and made her head swim.

It was the kind of strong liquor where someone weak to alcohol might get drunk off the smell alone. The kind that would evaporate away bit by bit if you just left it sitting.

But for all that, wasn’t there a little too much miscellaneous scent?

She could tell it was one of those genuine strong liquors rare in the Central Plains, close to pure alcohol, but instead of being pure and clean it seemed... a bit dirty.

Was this liquor or perfume?

At that moment, Mandarlo’s lips curled in a nasty smile.

“It would be a shame just to drink it plain. How about a little diversion? If you drink first and compose a poem ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) on its taste, we cadets will enjoy it along with you.”

Mm. So that was the game.

This was exactly what the Academy scholars did.

Qing had rolled into their midst as an unmatched beauty and, without a trace of the usual hazing, had been bombarded with endless handshakes from people saying they wanted to discuss the classics with her.

But when those bastards wanted to tease someone, they always did this thing where they told you to write a poem about everything and then used combat-style critique to publicly humiliate you.

The damp little habits of ink-soaked nerds, you could say.

But who was Qing?

A woman who’d come out of the Academy.

And not just any, but the star pupil of the Poetry-Lecturing Scholar.

A master of brute-force memorization who had crammed countless classics straight into her skull.

So she confidently knocked back a cup in one shot—

Khaaa, this taste!

That blazing liquor-qi that felt like it set all five viscera on fire! The scorching spiciness of the Korean people’s ultra-extreme chili!

Qing slammed the cup down—THUNK!—in high spirits.

Every gaze focused on her as, between those vividly red lips, between those bewitching two bits of flesh, she drew out a verse.

Purple-Heaven Dukang Wine

— Flower Realm super-transcendent, First-Words Heavenly Flower Sword Ximen Qing.

Do not drink it.

It’s poisoned.

Drag in the bastard who sold this liquor.

Right now.