Chapter 745: The Great Instructor Ximen Qing (17)

Sima Chunbong slipped into the room with an oddly hesitant, stiff, creaking sort of movement.

“Oh, Sima Lang, you’re back. Trip go well? Nothing happened on the way?”

“Well, Henan is the front yard of our great Martial Alliance, the territory this Sima Lang effectively governs as the youngest Deputy-Adjutant Runner, so how could any untoward incident possibly occur there? So, while this Sima Lang was away, there weren’t any particular problems at the Academy, I trust?”

“Mm. Nothing special. Just that we’ve got Blood Cult spies in the Academy.”

“Ha ha, well, every organization has spies sneaking in, after a—Blood Cult, eh?”

Laughing along like she’d just mentioned seeing a particularly unusual beggar on the street, Sima Chunbong suddenly felt a huge sense of wrongness.

“Wait, Blood Cult? You’re saying Blood Cult scum managed to sneak into our Righteous-Proper Martial Academy?”

“Yeah. That’s the problem. I can’t quietly clean this up, but I can’t openly expose it either. Thinking it over by myself isn’t getting me anywhere, and this is the kind of thing you have to ask a smart person about.”

Just because they’d hit the Blood Cult jackpot didn’t mean she could carve out a nice fun time for herself.

Thrilling as the thought was, what would happen to the Academy’s dignity if three cadets suddenly “went missing”?

But she couldn’t expose them either; after all that pomp with the entrance exam, saying, “Turns out there were Blood Cult plants mixed in,” would make them look pathetic as hell.

And if they did say it?

Sure, some people would believe it, but others wouldn’t, and then you’d have every kind of trouble—gossip that they were pinning the Blood Cult label on problematic cadets just to get rid of them, and so on.

As for who she could consult, well, setting aside San and Jegal, who were buried in their own curriculum work—

If she told Miss Moyong, her eyes would roll back white at the word “Blood Cult.”

Gunyeong was at a stage where she deserved praise just for being alive and breathing, so counseling was out of the question.

So the only option was Sima Chunbong, who was both smart and belonged to the Martial Alliance Strategists’ Hall, and could relay this straight to the operations side.

It wasn’t like they were going to run if she left them alone; they were parasite-salamander addicts she could knock flat anytime with Bottlesnout’s ultrasound attack, so there was no need to rush.

“How, though, I mean—do you have proof?”

“I pretended to be Minor Water Witch and they spilled everything.”

“Ah.”

Sima Chunbong accepted that immediately.

Minor Water Witch was a demonic-level figure of the Blood Cult; even if the Blood Cult was split into various factions, there was no way they wouldn’t serve her as their superior.

“Mm. In that case—”

“We can talk that through slowly later. Hold on. The kids are coming.”

Qing’s hearing picked up a set of footsteps approaching the room.

Not that she needed her hearing for that; it was about time for them anyway. Skrch—without even knocking anymore, the door slid open, and familiar faces appeared.

Jayeo ran in at a DO-DO-DO trot, came around behind Qing, hooked her arms around Qing’s neck, and hung there limply.

Since Qing couldn’t pick her up due to her injuries, Jayeo had decided she would be the one doing the holding; it was closer to strangling than hugging, but still.

Of course, Qing’s muscles were Permafrost Iron Muscles; the ones in her neck were the same, so no matter how hard Jayeo squeezed, it only felt a little constricting.

“Who’s that?”

“Sima Lang. She’s going to sleep over with us today.”

“Oh.”

Jayeo’s eyes lit up.

She couldn’t take her gaze off that towering, perilous pouch of wisdom, and lately her pillow had been far too low, so she hadn’t been satisfied with her sleep quality.

“Sima Lang, are you a mom too? Are you sleeping with us today?”

“Mm. Being Mom might be a bit tough... Sima Lang, what do you think, want to be Jayeo’s mom too?”

“P-pardon? All of a sudden? And, Sima Lang too, you say, what exactly do you mean by that?”

“The more moms the better, right? There’s Miss Moyong, and Iri, and Jangmyeong too. Not just anyone gets the honor of becoming my daughter’s mom, you know? Right, Jayeo?”

“Mm. Mm.”

Jayeo nodded into Qing’s shoulder, her chin resting there.

“N-no, what kind of family reg—no, never mind.”

Sima Chunbong had been about to ask what kind of family registry nightmare this was, but suddenly a thought flashed through her mind and she hurriedly swallowed the words.

“Wasn’t she the child you rescued from the Blood Cult’s wicked formations? And Heavenly Flower Sword is still so young, and unmarried at that, so if she can’t be raised under a normal household roof, then it would indeed be better to make her see parental absence as something light, wouldn’t it. For example, by giving her multiple mothers.”

“Yes, if it’s like this, then it won’t leave any particular stain even on the women who claim motherhood; their kindness will only be praised more.”

“As expected of Heavenly Flower Sword, behavior befitting the close friend of this Sima Lang—a wise decision indeed.”

Her personality might be bizarre, but Sima Chunbong’s head was still frighteningly sharp.

She saw straight through Qing’s supposed intentions.

And Sima Chunbong, though her personality and thought process were basically pure elitism, was fundamentally a person with an absurdly high balance of good karma.

“Heh. My, my. So you wish to become this Sima Lang’s daughter, is that it? Of course, it would be the wish of all children in the Central Plains, but very well, you may consider yourself honored.”

“Oh.”

With that extremely simple response, Jayeo toddled over and hugged her brand-new mother.

It was more like she got buried or pinned under her, so it wasn’t exactly a touching sight, but—

Still, being so willing to accept it was something to be grateful for. The kid was sweet. In her own way.

Anyway, that was enough small talk.

“All right, let’s get started.”

Qing clapped once to draw their attention, then promptly shrugged her clothes down. Her garments slid off smoothly, like ice rolling across a frozen lake.

“W-ww-wwhat, what are, what are you...! Heavenly Flower Sword, what in the world—why are you taking your clothes off?”

“Mm? Treatment. Need to pull out the shrapnel.”

The group, all now veterans of Shrapnel Extraction, calmly clicked their forceps together without much reaction.

Then they expressionlessly ran practiced hands over her bare body and then jammed the forceps down, clamped hard on whatever fragment was bulging against her skin—“Ow—ah—OW.”

It was the kind of scene that made you think, So this is what sky burial in the Western Marches must look like, birds picking apart a corpse. Something you couldn’t see anywhere else, and wouldn’t want to see again.

This is treatment? Really?

But the solid CLANG CLANG of fragments dropping into the iron mess tin, and Qing’s skin—which, now that you looked closely, was still covered in half-healed scabs and countless long and short hairline cracks—proved it.

Sima Chunbong swallowed.

She suddenly recalled what it meant to °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° have blocked a Heaven-Shaking Thunder with your body, and how horrific the consequences had been.

Because Qing walked fine, laughed fine, and chatted fine, it had been easy to assume she was all right, but how could that possibly be true just because it looked that way. Even when she’d heard about the countless fragments embedded in Qing, the words had never really felt concrete.

“How could you be so foolish. Heavenly Flower Sword, do you not understand that your body does not belong to you alone? As the one who must lead orthodox martial society in the future, as the one standing at the forefront of our era, how can you act so recklessly, no—what kind of foolish behavior is this...”

“Ah, I’m suddenly getting scolded, ow.”

CLANG. Jin Jangmyeong popped out a fairly large shard and nodded firmly.

“She should be scolded. No, she should be thoroughly scolded.”

“Agreed.”

Moyong Juhee backed her up, and even Seol Iri, whose faintly furrowed brows were the most expression she ever showed, turned her head away sharply.

“Do you not understand? Once, a certain general-in-training went to his master to request instruction and said: even if I polish my personal martial arts to the utmost, I will only ever be one man who can face a hundred. But if I learn the art of war and lead an army, I can stand as one against ten thousand. This means that a general who leads from the front will only ever stack a hundred severed heads, but if he sits high and commands, he can topple enemy nations instead. How, then, can Heavenly Flower Sword, destined to be great timber, think shallowly and treat her own body so lightly? This is unfilial, unrighteous, and unfeeling besides. Truly...”

A barrage of upset nagging rained down.

Mm. This atmosphere was... a little uncomfortable...

But what could she do.

This was a disaster she’d invited herself, the result she’d brought on with her own hands. She’d tied this rope around her own neck, and she was the one who had to untie it.

So the day’s treatment—which felt especially long today—finally ended, and Sima Chunbong laid out the Martial Alliance’s response to this latest bone-shard ambush.

Everyone gathered here had been involved in the incident, so they had to be briefed if they were going to keep their stories straight.

“First, on our side, we’ve decided to announce that it was a battle between Minor Water Witch and a contract-killer group that bore a grudge against her. In other words, the assassins weren’t targeting Cadet Mandarlo at all; they were after Minor Water Witch. You all understand what I mean, yes?”

Sima Lang swept her gaze around the room and then—“Ah!”—clapped a hand over her mouth.

“Oh dear, this Sima Lang has made such a mistake. Heavenly Flower Sword aside—she might have the qualifications to be compared with the world’s unparalleled women—but how would commoners like Sword Blossom and Ice Lily understand? Ah, truly, we vanguard sages must forge ahead and wait for the dull ones to catch up; the sorrow of genius... anyway, what this Sima Lang means is this—”

The veins stood out on the foreheads of Moyong Juhee and Seol Iri, who had just been demoted to “commoners,” while Sima Chunbong proceeded to explain.

Honestly, it was a filthy situation if there ever was one.

So the imperial court had pulled dirty tricks. What exactly could the Martial Alliance do about that?

Could the Martial Alliance express its regret to the imperial court? Lodge a protest?

Maybe in Qing’s homeland, but in the Central Plains, anything like that was straight-up treason.

Because the Son of Heaven was the father of all under heaven, and the owner of their lives as well.

In a world where, if the Son of Heaven said die, you died, how could the owned property possibly talk back to the owner?

Of course, that was the framework of national law, the founding ideology of the state.

The Central Plains had always been ruled by force, and in order to restrain that force, they developed the concept of “justification.”

No matter how lofty the Son of Heaven, if he lost justification, the end never went well. Heroes and strongmen raised armies, and new dynasties were born because someone had produced the justification to replace the existing emperor.

The fetters that kept those with power from wielding it however they pleased—that was “the greater righteousness,” what they called the Great Righteous Justification.

Even the Son of Heaven, if he committed tyranny without justification, would soon find himself faced with hordes of bandits tying on dyed headbands and rising with spears and blades.

The whole reason the imperial palace did its dirty work in secret—like that mess in Sichuan—was this matter of justification.

So the Martial Alliance’s official announcement was likewise a way to avoid giving them that justification.

“The instructor corps of the Righteous-Proper Martial Academy faced Minor Water Witch and eventually drove her off. However, before that, countless righteous warriors sacrificed themselves in an attempt to cut down the Blood Cult fiends, and the Martial Alliance will never forget their chivalry. In order to prevent such events from recurring, the entire martial world will join forces and put a stop to these incidents.”

To someone who didn’t know anything, it would just sound like fine words.

But if you took it as given that the Martial Alliance knew the assassins’ objective and identities, the statement translated to this:

Regrettably, the assassins sent by His Majesty have all died.

We weren’t the ones who killed them; Minor Water Witch did that. So this isn’t really our fault.

In any case, we will never forget this incident.

And if this kind of thing happens again, the entire martial world will rise together, so unless you’re ready to settle this once and for all, maybe you should stop now.

A brilliant move that completely blocked imperial involvement while also conveying the Alliance’s stance—if we all stand up, can you even handle us?—half threat, half declaration of will.

For the record, the Strategists’ Hall had said they never imagined the day would come when they were grateful to a Blood Cult witch.

They had no idea why Minor Water Witch had suddenly popped up there out of nowhere, but thanks to her, the Martial Alliance’s burden had dropped sharply; using the Blood Cult as the common enemy was the perfect justification, clean and backlash-free.

As for Sima Chunbong, who did know Minor Water Witch’s true identity, she just smiled meaningfully and endured the suspicious looks from the other strategists—there’s something fishy about this. But she was used to that; getting glared at was just part of daily life, and she saw the jealousy of commoners as only natural.

“Mm. I wonder if this is really okay...”

Qing let the words trail off.

That was one thing, but it felt like they were hammering them a bit too hard.

Qing had actually experienced artillery fire, so now that she was in Transcendence, she could just kick her footwork on and get out of the blast radius—what was so scary about a barrage when you could handle your own body?

But what about the ones who couldn’t even crawl yet, the newborns. The martial artists who weren’t even at “minor expert” level, the ones still at the level of desperate little humans.

What were they supposed to do?

If that bombardment dropped on Divine Lady’s Gate, for example—ugh.

“Still, we can’t just sit here and take it forever, can we? If we don’t clearly state our will at least once, then even one of these tricks could turn into a massive catastrophe.”

That was true too.

But in Sichuan, the emperor had tried to build justification by killing her younger brother, and this time, he’d tried to build justification by killing the eldest son of his most trusted servant.

You couldn’t call that anything resembling sane behavior; if that kind of man really lost his temper...

Of course, they couldn’t just close their eyes and pretend not to see while he kept pulling tricks either.

Qing turned it over in her mind for a moment, then shook her head to clear it.

Mm. If this was the decision of the Martial Alliance Strategists’ Hall, and if the smartest people in the Martial Alliance had all put their heads together on it, then they probably knew what they were doing.