Chapter 738: The Great Instructor Ximen Qing (10)

When she woke up in the morning and quietly lifted the cotton cloth covering the wound, she saw that overnight a scab had already formed, swollen up from the Golden Wound Medicine.

Still, for a wound that had had a metal fragment the size of a fingertip stuck in it—was this really right?

Of course, part of it was simply how good the Golden Wound Medicine was.

The medicine Qing carried was either a special product of the Tang Family of Sichuan, or an import from Seol Trading Company that was actually a Demon Church secret formula under that name.

Its effectiveness was nothing less than the distilled essence of classical medicine.

On top of that, this was a world where the Central Plains actually had the mysterious qi of the universe, and that qi dwelled in plants and boosted their medicinal power.

When such a miracle drug met a beyond-human body with triple-speed recovery, this level of result was, well, natural.

Of course, the fragments buried deep inside would still take time to get pushed outward, and they’d have to repeat this process every night.

Mm. Whatever. Being sturdy is a good thing.

And it really was lucky she’d saved her chest.

She’d wrapped her hands together around the Heaven-Shaking Thunder at her solar plexus and dove on top of it; and Qing’s forearms were not your average forearms. Thanks to Minor Water Art they were practically Diamond-Indestructible forearms, and they didn’t have so much as a scratch.

Granted, Qing’s chest was not the sort of mass you could cover with just that much, but because she’d been lying flat on the ground, the overflow had been pressed down; the softness let it come through unscathed.

If not for that,

they’d have turned into rags.

Sure, this stupid heavy lump of flesh was nothing but inconvenient; even if she groped her own, it did nothing for her, the very definition of useless trash.

But having it shredded into rags and cut off altogether, mm. That would hurt. It must not hurt. Absolutely.

And Jayeo would be sad, too.

Qing turned her head and her eyes met a pair of rotten, blank pupils staring right at her.

Her daughter, Jayeo—dark circles sunk black under her eyes so she always looked exhausted.

“Jayeo, are you not sleeping? Why are you not sleeping?”

A smile spread across the girl’s face.

Only, because her features were so ruined, it turned into a very tired-looking smile. Then she said one word.

“Uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable? What is?”

“It’s hard.”

Judging from the deeply dissatisfied look on her face this early in the morning, the pillow she was lying on was too low and too hard.

“Wow, this thing’s already covering my tits? Jayeo, you should be satisfied with Mom Seol. Do you want to sleep on Mom Moyong instead?”

Gunyeong’s got at least a pair of cute handful-sized ones, and they’re cool, too. And they don’t break.

She was sorry to Miss Moyong, but for Jayeo to lie down on her was like putting a blanket over a stone bed.

KIKIK—Jayeo’s little giggle.

And then a sharp GASP of breath.

Oh, crap. Qing turned her head the other way.

For some reason, a pair of big eyes looked on the verge of tears as they stared at her, and a sulky complaint came out.

“Mm. Miss Moyong. Sleep well? Wow, good morning, such a fresh morning, my body feels so light. You feel that way too, right, Miss Moyong?”

“Lady Qing, what are you even saying...”

Right. This is what they meant by a careless mouth.

Half-awake, she hadn’t been paying attention to Miss Moyong’s breathing.

Seriously, who wakes up in their own room and immediately checks their surroundings first thing?

“When you said Jayeo should be satisfied with Lady Seol, you meant I’m too small. Th-that’s it, isn’t it?”

“Mm, that’s not—uh, fine. Iri’s cool, that’s all. You know? People up in the North Sea keep their air-cooling function running even while they sleep. They radiate cold all night long, and that’s why the room’s so cool right now. Isn’t that amazing?”

“You clearly said Jayeo’s pillow already covers your tits... You mean mine are too small, right?”

She’d failed to change the subject.

Maybe it’d hit a sore spot again after a while; those eyes that looked huge on her small head were all moist, full of hurt.

Mm. What do I do.

Qing scratched the back of her neck in embarrassment and, mm, since it had come to this, she had no choice but to push through head-on.

“See, it’s just that for Jayeo to lie on you, there’s not much... drop, you know? And Iri’s fairly tall whereas Miss Moyong, you’re on the petite side, so it’s hard for Jayeo to keep her balance?”

“No drop? Drop, you say...”

Moyong Juhee’s expression grew even more wounded.

Her face looked like a puppy’s saying, I’m hurt. Mm, the thing was, Qing liked that expression. It was cute, and pitiful. Mm, anyway.

“But! That’s just when Jayeo’s sleeping.”

“Yes?”

“I’m different. I totally love Miss Moyong’s tits—ah, damn it, what do I mean, tits, I mean I absolutely love Miss Moyong’s chest, okay? Every time I see them my heart races and my hands try to move on their own. Look, it’s pounding right now. You can hear it, right?”

Since it had come to this, head-on charge.

Her conscience pricked at lying, but she couldn’t just let Miss Moyong fall back into the personal inferiority complex she’d worked so hard to climb out of.

“Th-that’s a lie. Last time you brushed against them, you kept rubbing your shoulder, apologizing. The time before that it was my arm, and before that you patted my back.”

Moyong Juhee usually followed quietly just a step behind Qing, and for a woman, Qing’s stride was very bold—long steps, arms swinging freely.

All of Ximen Surin’s years of correction had only turned that movement graceful, not “ladylike.” People’s basic temperament overrode their background.

So her elbows and fists tended to bump into Moyong Juhee a lot, and, mm, so those had been her chest. Qing had genuinely thought it’d been shoulder and back and arm.

“That’s, um... Right, I can’t just go groping your chest in front of other people, that’s all. That doesn’t mean my inner thoughts are the same. I always feel it’s a shame, like, Ah, this is such a natural chance to feel them up, but I’m scared of other people seeing, so I guess I can’t. It made my heart hurt, okay?”

Qing said things she didn’t feel at all.

It was a lie told for kindness, so it should be fine... right?

“Really? For real?”

“Of course. When have I ever lied to Miss Moyong?”

“You’re lying right now... Whenever you say empty words, you can’t look me in the eye...”

Wait, do I?

If she committed to deceiving someone, she could unleash all sorts of vicious tricks without a twitch in her expression, but when it came to people she knew, Qing was endlessly soft, and the lie showed clear as day.

“No, I’m not. I’m literally holding my hand back right now. Ah—my hand—no, I have to resist, what indecent thing am I doing...”

Qing grabbed her own right wrist and shook, putting on a ridiculous act like she was restraining a hand that wanted to lunge.

Normally, people laughed and let it go at this point; this was the ultimate move of skilled social maneuvering: the killer art of clowning around.

But Moyong Juhee didn’t retreat.

No, she’d been waiting for this moment.

She stiffened, then resolutely flung her own front open.

“Then... go ahead.”

“Eh.”

“Don’t just say it. If you really mean it, th-then... prove it. With actions.”

She held her lapels wide with both hands and snapped her head away, as if she didn’t dare look.

Her exposed nape was burning red with shame.

For a moment, Qing swallowed.

Then she reached out a hand—

Mm, but somehow. Even if you felt under her forearm, there’d be more flesh than this. This was bone. Rib cage...

Sure, if you pushed everything together, you could make something, but honestly the only place that kept drawing her interest was that massive skyscraper in the middle.

Mm, but that would be crossing a line.

Even when she’d been fondling Hee-mae’s, she hadn’t touched that part.

Thanks to that, Moyong Juhee was on edge from early morning.

Qing only gently stroked around the scabbed wound area, like she was scratching all around the itchy spot except the itch itself—infuriatingly evasive. Moyong Juhee barely held back the desperate plea that kept trying to burst out.

Meanwhile, Seol Iri slept on, wheezing softly. And as always, once she lay down again, Jayeo had fallen back asleep too, snoring DOROROORO.

****

After finishing breakfast, Qing headed for Sword Hall.

Miss Moyong had skipped breakfast, saying her stomach suddenly felt off, and she wasn’t in the dining hall either. Mm, she’d looked fine—maybe sudden indigestion?

Anyway.

Morning at Sword Hall: once again the cadets burned with scholarly fervor, sending her eyes blazing with heat.

Qing could only feel sorry; if her body were fine, she could have answered that passion with passion of her own, but at this point she might not deserve to hold the recorder.

She renewed her resolve to hurry and get all the shrapnel out, and offered her morning greeting.

“Did you all sleep well?”

“Yes.” “We did.” “Slept well.”

The Righteous-Proper Martial Academy wasn’t an army, so they didn’t demand unified military responses.

She’d only nitpicked their voices in the first few days; this was a relationship between teacher and students, not instructor and soldiers, and she didn’t demand booming replies. It was just the same daily greeting.

“YES, INSTRUCTOR, DID YOU ALSO SLEEP WELL!!!”

A booming voice suddenly burst through them.

What the hell? Who’s running such tight discipline?

Not only Qing but the cadets too were startled; all heads turned toward the owner of the voice.

The Sichuan young master—that bonehead Mandarlo.

What the hell, did the bonehead eat something wrong?

Mandarlo’s shitty manners were already famous not only in Sword Hall but throughout the Academy, so everyone stared at him with the same expression.

But Mandarlo, with a serenely composed, annoyingly refined face, even wearing a faint smile, showed off that booming voice again.

“This disciple also seeks instruction today!!!”

His spectacle did not end there.

“Was it Brother Ju today? I’ll be in your care for sparring.”

He actually greeted someone. That bonehead.

Instead of clicking his tongue and saying he hated mingling with lowly sorts, he even used polite speech to offer a formal greeting.

Granted, he got the name wrong.

“Huh? I’m not from the Ju clan, I’m from the Yeo clan.”

“Ah, so it was Brother Yeo. I failed to memorize it properly. I’ll remember from now on.”

And Mandarlo’s level wasn’t low.

By Qing’s standards, he was still only a preliminary martial artist, not someone you could call a full martial artist yet—just first-rate, only first-rate—but even so, at eighteen years of age, he was a first-rate martial artist.

It was only because he was so frivolous, so utterly lacking in manners, and every word out of his mouth was untrustworthy that people took him lightly.

No one believed him as a person, but he was, surprisingly, the Mandarlo who’d actually repelled that assassin attack everyone had assumed was just a tall tale.

“Brother Yeo, what about trying BOOM-BANG-BANG-BOOM instead of BOOM-BOOM-BANG-BOOM?”

“Huh? BOOM-BANG-BANG-BOOM?”

“Yes. Just now on BOOM-BOOM-BANG your balance wobbled a bit, so perhaps you could try taking your axis on BANG rather than on BOOM.”

You might wonder what on earth that meant, but those were Sword Hall’s official terms for the slash pattern that corresponded to Strong–Middle–Weak.

In other words, he was advising him to tweak his tempo.

What’s this brat up to, pulling something that doesn’t suit him, what scheme is he cooking, is he planning to humiliate me big-time later—Yeo’s face, wary at first, soon relaxed into a smile.

Because when he followed that advice, the move he swung was far more satisfying. Oh, right. This bonehead brat was still first-rate, after all.

In an instant, in Yeo’s heart, the brat rose from “brat” to “guy.” That was the shift in distance.

As Qing slowly walked around, tossing in a word of advice here and there for the cadets, she saw the newly reborn Mandarlo and, huh.

What the hell? Our kid has changed.

But is it okay to change this much?

Well, he had gone through a near-death crisis.

If the imperial house is trying to kill you and your own family has thrown you out as a sacrifice to invade the martial world, you don’t get over that kind of shock easily.

Thinking of it that way made her feel sorry for him.

At the same time, the fact that despite all that he hadn’t gone, I’ll go bad, then—(though honestly it was hard to imagine how much worse you could get from “bonehead”)—and become some delinquent juvenile offender, but instead had pulled himself together... She couldn’t help but feel proud.