Chapter 736: The Great Instructor Ximen Qing (8)

Fifty points of bad karma isn’t a small number.

Hell, if it’s fifty points off a single outing, then two outings would put them at one hundred.

And if their bad karma crosses one hundred?

From then on it’s the territory of heavenly punishment—once you’re living as a sinner past that line, there’s nothing you can suffer that counts as unfair.

You become a potential hostile element Qing can tear up and shred and slice and boil and blanch to her heart’s content, a parasite with zero value to the world.

But still—how the hell did they rack up that much?

Did they use the chaos while the assassins were rampaging to commit some kind of evil spree?

That doesn’t add up. If three of them gained a total of one hundred fifty points, that means a full-on massacre.

No matter how chaotic Nosan was, something like that couldn’t possibly happen in secret.

Unless they harmed someone with high virtue?

Qing’s gaze flicked back and forth between the three who’d suddenly hit “dangerous.”

They were all the quiet, unremarkable types—the kind who’d blended into the background without any standout traits.

You know the type from school: the ones who dissolve into the crowd like water in water, alcohol in alcohol. Not especially good grades, not especially bad grades. Just... there.

Mm.

Grades.

Qing’s eyes narrowed further.

The heavy, weighty whooom-whooom cutting sounds coming off their swings—these weren’t cadets this skilled.

Sure, maybe the breathing room of an outing gave them some breakthrough.

Buddhists call it emptiness, Daoists call it nature—if you want to fill, you first have to empty; if you want to grow, you stop forcing it and let it flow.

But once suspicion had sparked, even their sudden sword growth started to look shady as hell.

Still.

What if they really had been second-rate and just evolved into first-rate?

Sword Hall classes are no–inner-power classes. Inner power use is banned so they can sharpen pure sword technique.

First-rate is the realm where sword-qi manifests outward, a visible sword-qi form. With inner power banned she couldn’t confirm it directly.

But unlike second-rate fighters who have to grit their teeth and wrestle their inner power into calm obedience, a first-rate martial artist’s inner power flows naturally.

When inner power flows, it strengthens bone and muscle. So reaching first-rate brings a clear leap in stamina and raw strength too.

And Qing had seen something like this before.

Her gaze slid elsewhere.

A hulking slab of muscle was sweating bullets as he swung his sword—Wang Nopil, the master of Boulder-Flinging Fist and Chair Combat who’d entered the academy after being injured in the Hidden Dragon Martial Tournament main bracket.

He was also the guy who’d once been lured by the Blood Cult and swallowed a parasite pellet whole.

What was it called again? The Blue-Wave Pellet? The human-grinding pill. Some filthy pellet made by rendering people down, with a parasite added on top.

A thought clicked into place.

Parasites are supposed to explode into agony if they get a “self-destruct” order, right? Like they spew poison and the host suffers like hell.

Qing didn’t know personally—she’d never felt it—but even Miss Moyong had rolled her eyes back, arched like a bow, and trembled all over like she was dying.

Couldn’t Bottlesnout do something like that?

It had eaten a ton of poison by now. Maybe it had “evolved.” Spirit creatures get stronger by eating poison, don’t they?

Bottlesnout, do that. Do that thing.

Of course, no dramatic communion between human and parasite occurred.

If a parasite could understand human speech, what kind of parasite would that be? And she hadn’t even said it out loud—she’d only thought it.

Yeah. You can’t reason with little critters by words.

Qing pushed inner power and poked Bottlesnout in the side.

The parasitic salamander went, Ugh, this bitch again, and vented stored poison. A spicy, prickly, hot, sharp toxin spread out.

Does poison hurt you? To me it’s just sweet liquor. If you eat everything without discrimination, you end up like this.

Mm. Bottlesnout. This is why I keep you.

But that still wasn’t the reaction Qing was aiming for.

So she cranked her inner power again and squeezed Bottlesnout hard from above and below.

The parasitic salamander shrieked a miserable I’M DYING squeal. Qing felt a flicker of pity—

Not even a little.

If you feel sorry for parasites, you should feel sorry for blood-sucking mosquitoes and fleas too.

I’m keeping you alive, feeding you good poison, raising you—be grateful. Why can’t my parasite do that? That parasite next door supposedly serves its owner with total devotion, a filial parasite so famous people call it “the world’s most dutiful little parasite.”

Right then—

Bottlesnout opened its mouth wide in terror and flared its gills. A sound spread out in a register humans can’t hear.

“Aaagh.” “Ugh.” “Kuhhk.”

Like they’d rehearsed it, three bodies collapsed at once.

Oh, Bottlesnout! So you can do it when you try!

Qing immediately pulled her inner power back and stopped tormenting it. The pain lasted only a heartbeat—

But just her luck.

They were in the middle of class, and the afternoon session was sparring.

One of them—Cadet Jo Hyeonil—caught a brutal smack on the thigh and rolled on the ground clutching his leg.

Mm. Did I do something kind of shitty...?

Qing’s eyebrow twitched the wrong way.

Back home there was a principle called “presumption of innocence.” Until decisive evidence shows up, you can’t just label someone a criminal.

They might have swallowed some nasty, human-rendered pellet knowing exactly what it was.

Or they might have swallowed it cluelessly, like Qing’s own wandering band had.

She didn’t know yet.

“So. You okay?”

“Huh? Uh?”

The other two—let’s see, Cadets Jang Seolkwon and Chu Johun, right?—stood up with puzzled looks and dusted themselves off.

Their faces said it all: Something horrific just happened. I’m pretty sure I tasted hell for a second. So why am I fine now? Was that a hallucination? No. That was real. That hurt like death.

They just blinked. Blinked again.

Mm. What do I do with this?

First I need to know whether they ate it knowingly or not before I decide anything.

If they didn’t know, then it’s just those Blood Cult bastards pulling a stunt again, and she can beat them down like last time.

But if they ate it knowing what it was...

Then things get tangled.

Even if she asked what they ate and whether they knew it was a human-rendered pellet, what would she get back besides:

“I don’t know.” “Blood Cult?” “I’m just an individual.”

Of course they’d deny it.

Mm. I’ll just watch them for a while and think it through.

As long as they’re inside the academy, they’re rats in poison. Qing already has a rough feel for how to handle Bottlesnout, so if anything happens she can crush it immediately.

If they suddenly collapse again and writhe in agony, that means the Blood Cult has a mole somewhere inside the academy—then she can flip the whole place inside-out and hunt.

The Blood Cult can’t reveal its fangs without contacting cadets, so she can also tail them on the next outing and follow their trail.

*****

What people later called the “Nosan County Assassin and Minor Water Witch Rampage Incident” produced countless victims.

There were, for one, Nosan residents who suffered property loss and injuries. The Martial Alliance had already begun assessing damages and restoring things.

And then there was Qing, injured.

And what about the Sword Hall cadets who suffered because of that?

Their education quality had inevitably dropped a little, since their instructor’s perfectly customized posture correction couldn’t be carried out the same way.

But those were small losses.

The truly massive loss was something else entirely!

Namely: Shining Wise Flower Sima Chunbong—center of academy operations, its guide, its present and future in the flesh—had to go to the Martial Alliance for a situation report.

If Sima Lang was gone, administrative chaos and the instructors’ incompetence would make the entire academy grind and wobble!

Of course, that was Sima Chunbong’s one-sided claim.

Qing nodded along.

“Sure, sure. If Sima Lang says so, then so. Wow, that’s so tragic.”

“Heeheehee. Of course. This Sima Lang’s words are absolute truth. I knew the Heavenly Flower Sword would agree.”

“Mm.”

Where does this bottomless, self-fueled narcissism even come from?

“Then you can sleep after you get back. Go, come back safe. Watch yourself, just in case.”

The Martial Alliance was basically right next door anyway—no big trip.

Qing herself had apparently become a proper Central Plains person now, judging by that utterly warped sense of distance.

From the academy to the Martial Alliance was about five hundred ri.

In Qing’s hometown terms, that was like going from Incheon—capital, cradle of humanity, and obviously the greatest city on earth, Incheon forever—to the far side of the East Sea.

But to Central Plains people, five hundred ri was practically “turn around and you’re there.”

You weren’t even leaving Henan, and Henan’s plains were flat as a board—barely a hill anywhere. And it was the heartland of the orthodox martial world, so you rarely ran into bandits or demonic bosses.

(“Rarely” didn’t mean “never,” but still.)

“Heavenly Flower Sword...? About sharing a bed... you weren’t joking?”

“Huh? Not joking. We’re that close now, aren’t we? Friends who share a bed. Right?”

“Ahem. That close... friends...”

Sima Chunbong’s lips curled weirdly, hovering somewhere between delight and embarrassment. She couldn’t meet Qing’s eyes, so she stared at the floor and wall patterns instead.

Which meant she missed what Qing’s face was doing.

Qing’s eyes were thin and predatory. She was staring straight at Shining Wise Flower’s heavy “wisdom pouch,” and her red tongue slid across her lips in one slow lick.

Long ago, a certain daughter of some Mr. Tang—Mister Tang’s girl, Dang Nana—had probably worn that exact expression.

Anyway.

There was another victim.

“No.”

“Ghk.” “Ah.”

Two little kids froze, eyes blown wide, staring up with trembling pupils.

It was Jayeo and Jegal Hyang—back after three days, having finished their Junior Division day that was half-class, half-play, rushing to see their dad/partner.

They’d come running in smiling like always, expecting Qing’s soft, comfy arms and the gentle cheeks they could rub their faces into.

Instead they got Seol Iri’s unyielding expression blocking the way.

So the two kids, with child hearts, got fidgety, wondering if they’d done something wrong.

Watching that—

Qing’s feelings were, of course, that it was insanely cute.

Tiny kids drooping and checking the room for cues. Qing had always been the “bad uncle who dotes on kids” type, so it hit her right in the heart.

“Ximen Surin is badly hurt. For a while, no hugging. No jumping at her, either.”

“Ghk.” “Ghk.”

Four big eyes instantly turned glassy-wet and fixed on Qing.

“You’re hurt? Does it hurt a lot?”

“Gaga, are you okay? If you can’t even hold us...”

“Hey, no. I’m hurt, yeah, but not so badly I can’t hug my little ones.”

She cleared her throat and dropped her voice low.

“Just once. Just once, let me hug you.”

Qing opened both arms wide.

Jayeo and Jegal Hyang lit up wide again.

And like they’d been waiting for permission, the two kids thundered forward.

They leapt up together, and Qing caught them—

“KKWAAK!”

An entirely predictable result.

How was a woman with iron shrapnel embedded all through her torso supposed to take two kids’ full-body tackle?

She toppled backward and slammed onto her butt—still managing, somehow, to keep the kids on top of her so they wouldn’t get hurt.

That part, at least, deserved some credit.