Chapter 734: The Great Instructor Ximen Qing (6)

A pack of martial artists climbs the mountain.

If anyone saw them, it would look pretty bizarre.

First off, there’s a martial artist trudging along with a limp corpse cradled in their arms. The body is slack as wet rope—torso bent the wrong way, legs and arms and head hanging loose and swaying. To any passerby, it’s obviously someone carrying a precious dead person.

And yet the group’s faces are bright. They keep moving their lips at the corpse, like they’re chatting to it the whole way.

Someone might get all solemn, thinking this is a grim, determined send-off for a fallen comrade.

But no.

This is just Qing going back to the Righteous-Proper Martial Academy, and Qing is just limp.

If your insides are wrecked, it hurts to keep your torso straight.

After Moyong Juhee scooped her up, she tried shifting posture this way and that, then finally gave up, let her body go slack, and found the least painful position.

Mm. Hee-mae. I miss Hee-mae. Hee-mae is more comfortable.

And my hands wouldn’t be bored, either. Miss Moyong’s lower body is insane, but, mm, it’s hard. Wow. This is all muscle, isn’t it?

Moyong Juhee would be morally justified even if she dumped Qing on the ground.

She’s already hauling her around, and not on flat ground either—they’re climbing a mountain. Even if it isn’t hard for her at a super-transcendent level, it’s still an enormous inconvenience.

And on top of that, she’s getting bad hands all over her back, her butt, her thighs. Even Moyong Juhee can’t help turning her earlobes beet red and protesting in a low voice.

“Mi, Miss? If you do this, if you do this it’s... but, um, when it’s just the two of us...”

“Huh? Oh. I just did it without thinking. When something’s there, your hand goes there on its own, you know? You get what I mean. Right?”

That wasn’t a protest—was that a sly invitation? Qing’s eyes were about to narrow when—

“And at forty-two exchanges, you target the Minor Water Witch’s center palm with the Ice-White Divine Palm, then the Heavenly Flower Sword? Are you listening?”

“Uh. Do we really need to script it that detailed?”

“Oh dear. Heavenly Flower Sword.”

Because Qing had been running around shouting “I’m the Minor Water Witch!” out of her own mouth, even the Divine Lady’s Hand excuse had stopped working.

But they couldn’t hide Qing’s injuries, so the solution was to split the two identities cleanly.

The official story: the Heavenly Flower Sword chased the assassins and suddenly got dragged into a three-way fight when the Minor Water Witch barged in. The assassins were wiped out, the Heavenly Flower Sword was injured, and the Minor Water Witch also took wounds and fled.

Up to there, fine.

Qing had even nodded along like, Yeah, smart kids really can whip up a story fast.

But why was she so obsessed with the details?

From exchange one to exchange forty-two she hadn’t stopped yapping once. It was fun to listen to—pretty gripping, even—but... you want me to memorize all of that?

“You’re being far too lax. For pioneers like us in an age like this, the brighter our glory, the darker the shadow that follows. Envy and jealousy are inevitable. If people who don’t trust us start digging, wouldn’t they seize on even the smallest mismatch and blow it into proof of a lie?”

Blow it into proof. Inflate a needle into a club.

So this imaginary life-and-death duel between the Heavenly Flower Sword and the Minor Water Witch had to be airtight and carved into memory. Otherwise some tiny slip would happen, and anyone who wanted to call it fake would latch on instantly.

There was logic in that.

Qing had met flat-earthers back home, too—people who reject thousands of scientific proofs and call the whole thing a lie because of one nick in the paint.

But those people aren’t “unable to believe,” they’re “unwilling to believe,” so you just ignore them. And honestly, if you really fought someone, wouldn’t it be weird to remember every single exchange that precisely?

Still, it’s entertaining. Might as well let her keep going.

And so, out of Sima Chunbong’s mouth spills the grand, solemn saga of the Heavenly Flower Sword versus the Minor Water Witch.

A battle that shakes the heavens and splits the earth, chest-thumping and colossal!

Friendship blooming amid a storm of blades!

And above all, the outstanding command of the Shining Wise Flower, Sima Lang, who stays cool in the frantic whirl, reads the Minor Water Witch’s habits and weak points, and fires off crisp, forceful orders—

...And finally, at the end of this duel destined for the histories, the Minor Water Witch is pierced by Sima Chunbong’s grit-soaked finishing strike, despite Sima Chunbong having been half a corpse herself.

Wait. Didn’t the lead just quietly switch?

Also, wasn’t the setup that the Minor Water Witch was badly injured and ran away? If her heart got skewered, where exactly did she “run”—to the afterlife?

But sure. It was definitely fun.

Come to think of it, Chunbong could’ve made a fortune as a tale-peddler.

If she were spinning stories for a living, Qing could honestly just stare somewhere between her face and her stomach all day and still be entertained. Endless enjoyment. Though... quitting the Strategists’ Hall to become a street storyteller would be a little much.

Unless it was for self-actualization?

The tale had already moved on to the Minor Water Witch going berserk after being pierced through the heart, transforming into a pitch-black monster.

Ah. So this is how she was planning to tie it together. Chunbong really had the whole thing thought out.

Qing watched quietly while Sima Chunbong flopped backward, jaw pointed at the sky, spitting drool as she ranted.

“And then this Sima Lang uses the finishing move of the Ten-Severed Black-Gate Sword, the Creation Sword Stance, to— mm. Heavenly Flower Sword? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No, it’s just... I thought you’d say we report it to the Martial Alliance first. But you even built the story. Mm. It’s late, but... thanks for thinking about me.”

Honestly, her friends had already seen too much. Qing could detonate not just the Minor Water Art, but the Celestial Demon Divine Art plus a full sampler platter of the Ten Great Demonic Arts, and they’d still pretend they hadn’t noticed.

But Chunbong wasn’t there yet, was she?

Sure, the kid looks like she has no friends besides Qing, but still.

Gratitude is gratitude.

And gratitude has to be said out loud to land.

“...No, Heavenly Flower Sword, that’s... suddenly...”

Sima Chunbong’s face flushed red.

“Of course we must report to the Martial Alliance and establish countermeasures, but still... ahem. People like us invite jealousy, and, um, so, throwing your body onto an exploding bomb is... in my judgment... a Heavenly Flower Sword with such noble chivalry can’t be allowed to be blamed lightly, so, well, that kind of...”

Qing’s smooth eyebrows twitched upward the wrong way.

Her mouth curved too—softly, crookedly.

A self-mocking smile that looked awkward, or embarrassed, or maybe a little sad.

Yeah. Of course.

A hero who throws herself into a bomb to protect civilians—how righteous does that look?

Anyone would call it a good deed. A saintly one.

That’s because she wanted it to look that way.

A monster who doesn’t even hear poison, and doesn’t fester even with iron shards buried in her.

A thief who learned every divine art she could get her hands on.

A demonic boss who’s hoovered up more than half the Ten Great Demonic Arts and still hoards virtue-exchange just in case, ready to learn the rest the second it’s useful—

Even if all of that got exposed, maybe, after it piled high enough, people would say, “Well... looking at what she’s done, maybe she’s not a bad person?”

Maybe they’d forgive her.

She wanted that.

So Qing forced herself to lift the drooping mood.

“Come to think of it, I’ve never slept with Sima Lang, have I? True friendship means you have to. Once I’m healed, we should lie down together right away.”

“...Huh? You mean the ‘one-bed friendship’? I thought that wasn’t literally the same bed—”

“Come on. That’s what you say when your friendship isn’t deep enough. Like when people say they’d never sell something for a million gold—do they really mean they wouldn’t sell even for a million? If someone actually handed you a million, you’d sell it. You wouldn’t not sell it. So only if you really don’t sell when offered a million can you say, truthfully, ‘I didn’t sell even for a million.’ That’s what makes it priceless.”

“Why is it suddenly a million gold...?”

“Same thing with beds. You say you’re close enough to share one, but you haven’t actually shared one, so it stays hypothetical. Meaning: friendship deep enough that if push came to shove, you could share a bed. But once you do share one, it turns into reality. You’re friends who have shared a bed. That’s a deeper friendship than ‘close enough to share a bed,’ right? Because the deepest friendship is the one that already has.”

“...Huh? That actually... makes sense?”

Right then—

Swish.

A figure slides between them.

Seol Iri, expressionless, walking forward like she doesn’t see anything.

I’m mad, so I’m not playing along. I won’t talk. If you talk to me, I’ll ignore you. If you tell me to do something, I won’t do it. I’m mad. I’m sulking.

But I’ll stay right beside you anyway.

Mm. Gunyeong is such a pain. She’s not even a cat and she still sulks like one.

****

They returned a day late—more precisely, half a day late—compared to the original two-nights-three-days outing schedule.

One day drunk and playing exorcist, one day having fun with captured assassins, and today climbing back up after breakfast.

From Qing’s perspective, a day is missing.

Because she’d been out cold in the clinic for a full day. She’d lost it all unconscious.

Worse, she hadn’t even been late alone.

She’d dragged all the assistant instructors along, and even pulled Peng Daesan—someone else’s assistant instructor—out with her and delayed the academy schedule. (Peng Choryeo, of course, had been delighted. That bastard... don’t tell me? Finally?).

As an instructor, she had no excuse.

So first, they all kneeled together in front of Director Yu.

They’d already sent word from the Admissions Office that Nosan had exploded into chaos, so no real scolding came down.

“But I heard. There was a mess, yes? So what kind of mess was it?”

And out of Qing’s mouth unfolded the tense field of the past days, the chest-swelling battle:

Assassins targeting the academy cadets!

The Minor Water Witch barging in!

And the Heavenly Flower Sword’s duel—until, halfway through, the starring role abruptly switched to Sima Chunbong and her group’s desperate, tragic life-and-death struggle!

Director Yu Seonyeop rubbed his forehead.

“...That— whew. No. Chunbong, you stay. I want to see you.”

As if that story would ever fly.

But that was exactly why Qing had repeated Chunbong’s ridiculous heroic epic. If you’re going to be clumsy, it’s better to be blatantly absurd.

“Still... the Golden Guard? They targeted the Administrative Commissioner’s son? Huh. After what happened in Sichuan, the palace is coming out this viciously again. This is bad.”

“Director, on that matter, this Sima Lang—”

“Enough. The Strategists’ Hall will discuss it. Don’t go flapping your gums.”

Sima Chunbong’s lips puffed out into a sulk.

Director Yu Seonyeop is the Martial Alliance’s Inner Chief, the man who runs the Martial Alliance’s entire administration. He can’t help being close with the Strategists’ Hall, who handles the details.

So of course his friend’s daughter being comfortable with his own daughter is only natural, and of course he’s especially strict with Chunbong for exactly that reason.

Cleanup got dumped on Chunbong.

Now it was time to return to the academy schedule.

Before that, lunch first. Lunch.

Mm, lunch... more rice gruel. I hate rice gruel.

Dump rice in water and boil it, and you get bland water-rice. Of course it tastes like nothing.

Qing’s shoulders sagged.

She wanted to insist she could eat real food—greasy dishes, thick sauces, spicy stuff, all of it—she wanted to say her body could handle it.

But when all her friends unanimously shut her down, what could she do?

Fine. Tonight I’ll sneak into the dining hall and loot it. I’ll empty the whole place.

Only after lunch did Qing finally appear on the Sword Hall platform.

“I’m sorry. Because of my injuries, I’ll be unable to move freely for a while. I’ll teach by observation and direction, but as an instructor, I can’t fully carry out my duties. I offer you my apologies.”

The outing group had already returned earlier, and rumors about the Nosan chaos were spreading with no clear answer.

A sudden crowd of assassins went wild, and the Minor Water Witch had shown up out of nowhere—that much, at least.

And now the instructor who’d been missing all morning showed up injured, so clearly she’d been caught in it. Nothing weird there.

Just... a lot of curiosity.

And in the middle of that shared curiosity, the Righteous-Proper Martial Academy’s training schedule resumed.