Chapter 822: Let’s Commit Slaughter (2)

Qing passed through the round corridor in the wall of the Sect Leader Hall.

And her eyes met Jeong Ryujang’s dead-on.

Of course they would.

DINGGG, DINGGG—the heavy, distinctive bell tone kept drawing closer.

If you had earholes, you’d have no choice but to come outside and see what the hell was going on.

If he’d known about the Tathagata Divine Palm, that peerless divine art, he might’ve noticed the danger walking straight at him.

But the moment their eyes met, the look on his face screamed, Why are you coming out of there?—so he clearly hadn’t known.

This was exactly why you were supposed to learn things.

Why the sages had left behind endless nagging about how knowledge is power, and you have to learn to survive.

“You—how—why aren’t you—weren’t you supposed to go to the Five Poison Sect—”

“No, but this house is really terrible at receiving guests, huh? Whether you’re happy to see them or not, if a guest shows up, aren’t you supposed to have a servant escort them to the Guest Hall first, and serve tea and snacks? Isn’t that right, Lord of Jeong Family Manor? You don’t even know basic courtesy?”

Shockingly, Qing was correct.

When it came to receiving guests, you weren’t supposed to pick and choose—no matter how much you hated the person, you hosted them first, and argued afterward. That was the proper way.

And words like that—righteous, proper words—were always the most infuriating kind.

And now the complaint about hospitality was coming from an uninvited intruder’s mouth?

A vein bulged on Jeong Ryujang’s forehead.

Qing, on the other hand, deliberately turned on the charm, acting breezy.

“Also, what is all this? Smoke’s pouring up black since morning, it looks like there’s a fire, and Jeong Family Manor isn’t even watching the front gate. Uh, could it be? The coal mine was over that way, right?”

“It’s probably just a wildfire. In the first place, the coal mine—ahem—no, we’ve always prepared thoroughly. There are workers, and we mobilized all the manor’s hands, so things got a bit chaotic. I ask for your understanding.”

“Oh, so that’s why your guest reception is a total shitshow. Well, if that’s the reason, then I—so broad-minded—will understand. Be grateful.”

“No, but—what in the—”

“Ah. I stayed up all night and didn’t eat breakfast, so I’m starving to death. Set out a big breakfast spread.”

“No.”

“Everyone worked hard all night. Carrying things, running around—tired, right? Since no one’s even guiding us to the Guest Hall, let’s just go in wherever and rest. That spot looks perfect.”

“No. Sir. What is this—no, even if—no.”

Jeong Ryujang was so choked up the only sound that came out of him was no.

Whether he did or didn’t, Qing strode right into the Sect Leader’s office.

Then she plopped herself down in the seat of honor and casually propped her feet up on the desk.

Qing pulling stunts wasn’t exactly new.

And the group understood that Qing’s attitude had a very good reason behind it.

So they followed her in and settled themselves wherever they could—

—and Tang Nanna grabbed a chair, lifted it high, and set it down with a THUMP right beside Qing, close enough to touch.

Then she sat, leaned into Qing, and naturally linked arms with her—

—and Seol Iri walked up just as naturally and wedged herself in at Qing’s other side.

A chair placed for the seat of honor in the Central Plains was usually just a bit narrow if you seated a woman beside you.

So normally, it was a spot for a beloved concubine—or a small child, or a grandchild.

“Hey! You—what the hell—what are you doing? Why are you forcing your way in there when there are tons of seats? You’re really something, aren’t you?”

“Sit. No seat. Yes.”

It was Seol Iri as always.

What are you doing? I sat.

Why are you forcing your way in there? No seat.

You’re really something. Yes. I am.

“No seat? Why would there be no seat? What, do you have a problem with your eyes? Is that not a chair over there, it’s decoration?”

“Yes. Yes. Yes.”

Why no seat? None.

Problem with my eyes? Yes.

That chair is decoration? Yes.

A vein popped on Tang Nanna’s forehead.

She was used to Seol Iri’s style by now, but it kept evolving in a way that scratched deeper and deeper into a person’s nerves.

Even using polite speech while bickering and snarling at each other was part of the package.

Tang Nanna sprang up and yanked at Seol Iri’s arm.

“Ugh—aren’t you coming out!? Why—why is this so heavy!? Ugh—!”

Unlike Tang Nanna, who hung her weight on her like she was trying to drag a sack of rice, Seol Iri was ridiculously calm as she got tugged.

Then, for some reason, she tossed out a smug little line.

“This body. Expert.”

“AAAAAGH!! I seriously hate you!”

“Me too.”

Tang Nanna trembled, then—

—she whipped out the Tang Clan’s signature move: those buoyant sleeves like the symbol of the clan itself, a bottomless pocket—SHASHASHASH—paired with exquisite handwork as she unfolded the Gold-Grasping Hand.

“Oh,” Qing murmured in impressed admiration.

Nanna was trash among trash when it came to martial arts, but that handwork... that was usable.

Of course, in front of Qing—who had learned the Divine-Thief’s divine art, the pickpocket-specialized Gold-Grasping Hand technique, the Shadowless Divine Hand—what she was showing was, frankly, clumsy.

“Ahem. No, you can’t. Don’t you know the three things you should never use between friends? Blades, poison, and guarantees. Underline the last one hard. I’ve told you that like a thousand times.”

“But she—”

“Tsk.”

“Why—why only to me—she did it again, she wagged her tail again, how can she do that to me, I was friends first, that’s not how it works, how can she—”

A wet, sulky whine spilled out of Tang Nanna’s mouth.

Qing let out a deep sigh.

“You’re not a kid. Come here.”

Qing opened her arms, and Tang Nanna—who’d instantly brightened like none of that had happened—threw herself in without hesitation.

Jeong Ryujang’s expression as he watched it was pure disbelief, his mouth hanging open.

There was no “bad behavior” like this.

An uninvited guest barged in without permission, stormed into the sect leader’s office, seized the seat of honor, put her feet up on the desk, and then tucked women on both sides of her.

Sure, women hugging and clinging to each other wasn’t some bizarre scene in itself, but still—

Jeong Ryujang’s mouth worked soundlessly.

The group acted like they didn’t see him.

“Ohhh, big sis. Do you see this brush?”

“Huh? Why? Is it good? If it’s good, take it quietly.”

“No, big sis. It looks flashy, but isn’t it a counterfeit made from dog hair? No matter how bad your eye is, buying and using something like this—this brush’s owner is definitely some ignorant nouveau riche with no trace of refinement. Calling this trash a brush.”

After saying that, Jegal Ihyeon suddenly clenched his fist.

Veins bulged all over his huge hand—

—and with a CRUNCH, he displayed the skill of turning a brush into what a brush used to be.

Then he tossed it aside like garbage.

The shattered brush pieces rolled and scattered at Jeong Ryujang’s feet.

Qing admired him inwardly.

Oh. Jegal’s got it in him, too.

Yeah—mind games are something the smart ones do best.

“Y-you...! You—what the hell...!”

The lord of Jeong Family Manor trembled.

His clenched fists trembled too.

He looked like he might swing.

As if telling him to calm down, Qing sent her clear, pretty voice toward the shaking Jeong Ryujang.

“Hey, Lord of Jeong Family Manor. So how much longer until breakfast? Ah, I’m craving Kung Pao Chicken first thing in the morning—go big, one whole chicken per person. And a whole jug of alcohol, too. Guys, what do you want? I’m having Glutinous Rice.”

“I’ll have Porridge.”

“Ah, I want Scallion Pancakes. With japchae inside.”

“Big sis, I liked the Yunnan-style rice noodles.”

Then the four pairs of eyes turned to one side.

“......”

“......” “......” “......” “......”

“......”

“......” “......” “......” “......”

A brief silence. Then—

“......Wonton Soup.”

Like people in Qing’s hometown liked to say: in a world of one-eyed people, a two-eyed person is just disabled.

Peng Daesan ground his teeth like dumplings were his mortal enemy—like he wanted to chew every dumpling on earth into pulp—as he forced the answer out.

“Now you heard him. Lord, hurry up and prepare it. I’m hungry.”

Jeong Ryujang’s insides erupted with blazing fury.

From the start, their attitude toward the host didn’t exist—and now they were outright talking to him like he was an inn waiter.

And glutinous rice, porridge, scallion pancakes, rice noodles, and wonton soup?

If you’re going to freeload, at least unify the order.

If five bastards all demanded five different meals, how the hell was he supposed to prepare that?

But he endured.

The grand plan—he had to think of the grand plan.

It would be bad to pick a pointless fight, and especially if a fight flared up involving that Tang Clan woman, wouldn’t it risk throwing the grand plan off?

The reason the Poison Demon was going through the trouble of handling it quietly through the Ten-Sided Ambush stratagem was because he feared leaving a trail for those Central Plains bastards to sniff.

So he had to let it pass.

Smoothly.

Smoothly......

“I-it seems the guests are very tired and very hungry, but our household servants are away, so there will be some difficulty. Still, we will host you as best we can.”

You’re tired and hungry so you might be rude—fine, I’ll feed you, but you’ll eat what I give you.

Truthfully, Jeong Ryujang’s conduct would look to anyone like the admirable composure of a great man.

If Sakyamuni saw it, he’d smile subtly and say that was the heart of a Buddha.

If Confucius saw it, he’d have admired it, saying it was the way of a gentleman itself—to answer rudeness with virtue and make them feel shame.

But unfortunately, the person sitting here wasn’t a Buddha or Confucius.

It was Seomun Cheong.

“Wow, Lord. Are you a eunuch?”

“What do you mean?”

“No, I’m just thinking—you can’t crawl this hard unless you’re a man with no balls. Do you have no pride at all? We’re acting like this and you can’t even spit out a single nasty word?”

Jeong Ryujang blinked—once, then again—completely stunned.

The direct insult to his face scrambled his ability to process what he’d just heard.

But only for a moment.

“Just because the other side is rude does not mean you must treat them the same way. No—if you answer rudeness with rudeness, doesn’t that only leave mutual hatred behind?”

“No, think about it. Even then, doesn’t this make no sense? If you come out this low, isn’t it more suspicious?”

Qing narrowed her eyes and continued.

“Like you’re hiding something.”

Jeong Ryujang swallowed hard.

“......If you show virtue and guide them with rites, shame will naturally make them correct themselves. Those are Confucius’s words.”

“Oh. Confucius. Confucius is great. But.”

Qing lowered her feet, then bent forward, intending to plant her elbows on the desk and prop her chin on her hands—

—except Tang Nanna was still draped on top of her, so she awkwardly just lowered her legs and then put them back up again.

“The guy who hid the medicine for the strange plague to line his own pockets, and hired a con artist to gather people through human trafficking—that guy wants to talk about virtue? That makes you even more suspicious.”

“That was, as I said, to gather workers for the mine, and we paid them proper compensation—”

Qing flicked her eyes to the left and right, like she was listening.

CRACK—wood shattering.

Two men lunged from Jeong Ryujang’s sides, seized his arms and wrenched them back, then swept his ankles and slammed his head down—

BANG!

“Ugh—GHHK...!”

Qing set Tang Nanna down and rose, stepping forward—CLICK, CLICK—deliberately making her footsteps audible.

Then she squatted by Jeong Ryujang’s head in a posture so insolent it was almost impressive.

“Hey. The one who set the mine on fire was me. Me. DUN-DUN. Shocking fact.”

“W-what?”

“No, seriously—down there—haaaah. Now I’m getting upset again. I feel like I’m going to throw up, so stop pretending you’re a good person. Blood Cult. Right?”

“What are you talking about? I think there’s been some misunderstanding—”

“The Blood Cultists who set up house in front of the mine—what do you think happened to them? I shoved every last one of them into that underground alive. I didn’t kill them, though, so thanks to those night-glowing pearls they can see, and air passes through, and there’s drinking water, and there’s plenty of food, too, right?”

“What are you—”

“Your Blood Cult’s staple food is people. So first you’ll rip into the corpses of those poor Central Plains people, and after that maybe you’ll draw lots or something. Or you might start by eating the weak ones first. One person, then another—eating each other—ah, eating each other? That’s not even that different from what you Blood Cult bastards do every day, is it?”

A voice steeped in cold malice, without the slightest attempt to hide it.

Jeong Ryujang’s head—which had been held up in stubborn anger—soon drooped powerless, then—

THUNK.

He slammed his head into the floor.