Chapter 839: A Moment to Savor (14)

A lone woman stood among the corpses that had poured out in a gruesome heap.

Red blood was still running over the mud-smeared face, and beneath it, crusting scabs and clotted scraps of flesh were stuck on as well—at a glance, she looked exactly like some kind of yokai.

The woman swept her chilly gaze around the area, then suddenly opened her mouth and muttered.

“I’m hungry.”

Well. It was about time for her to be hungry.

The sun was already starting to sink, turning the sky red, and she’d already been running, flying, crawling, and hacking people apart for an hour and a half—how could the stamina drain be anything but awful?

And Qing normally ate four meals a day.

Breakfast, lunch, dinner, late-night snack—plus she diligently stuffed in snacks in between whenever she had an opening.

Part of it was that she’d been scarred by past experience when it came to food, so she was greedy.

But the biggest reason her four-meals-a-day intake had become this monstrous was the side effect of the True Pearl Language school’s Life-Heart Method—training meant to increase one’s innate pre-birth true energy itself.

Either way, she was hungry...

“Mm. Let’s find something to eat.”

Qing started moving quickly.

Between the corpses of Great Yue Kingdom soldiers—none of them intact—she flipped up tents that still looked usable and peered inside, checking if this was the cooking area, or if maybe there was even a stash of rice hidden somewhere...

But the stuff that came out when she roughly swept through?

Gold ornaments, porcelain, bloodstained silk clothes, ink sticks and inkstones, silver ingots and coins...

Were Great Yue Kingdom soldiers buying souvenirs now that they’d stepped into the Central Plains?

Yeah. As if.

When an army invades someone else’s land, there’s only one thing they do. It was all plunder.

The Central Plains had been like this for ages—no, this entire era was like this. From the past to the present, looting was the perfectly natural, perfectly legal right of an invader.

You invade another country, you loot.

It was so obvious—so utterly “normal”—that no one even tried to stop it.

Even the side getting looted expected it as a matter of course, so they’d fortify villages and buildings like strongholds. Wasn’t that exactly why?

Qing had no intention of pocketing blood-soaked valuables, so she tossed things aside as she rummaged through the barracks tents—then paused.

In her hand was a small accessory, a hair ornament that looked like something a little girl around Jayeo’s age would wear.

There were bloodstains on the tip. Dried, crusted blood.

...Yeah. These fucking bastards.

She shouldn’t have let them run. She should’ve killed every last one of them without leaving a single survivor...

Was she being careless, assuming they’d die on their own anyway, with the tropical rainforest packed wall-to-wall with vicious traps?

But she was a little tired, too.

And there was no reason to go back into the rainforest.

If they were hunting her, then it was better to wait in a clearing where the trees had been cut down—where the sky was wide open and there were no obstacles.

Mm. If this was a military camp, they’d have to have stockpiled water and food somewhere—ah. There it is.

Qing scooped a huge ladle from a water barrel, and for a moment it looked like the fierce cold of the Ice-Jade Divine Art whipped through the air—then she pressed it to her lips.

Her throat, already raw from breathing in that spicy smoke, got flooded with crisp cold water—GULP, GULP, GULP.

Wow.

Oh my god.

This was heaven.

Central Plains people didn’t know how incredible cold water really was.

After she quenched her throat, Qing scooped another ladle, brought it to her nose, and—SLURP—sucked it up.

GAAAHK—

With a strangled sound, the water that went in through her nose came right back out through her mouth, an amount impressive enough that a waterfall would feel competitive.

Hah... better.

How was she supposed to live with the inside of her nose stinging like that?

After she roughly rinsed out her nasal passages, Qing finally started a full-scale search for the food storage.

Dried bread. So this was Great Yue-style field rations.

Nom. It tastes awful...

Chew chew... Mm. Even chewing it more doesn’t help.

It’s still awful.

Even so, Qing kept gnawing on a piece of bread as she opened crates.

Salted meat. What kind of meat is this? Still, they’re Great Yue soldiers—they wouldn’t be eating anything too weird.

Is this rice? Ah—long-grain rice.

Oh. Salt. And this...? Some kind of Great Yue spice?

And this—sniff sniff—herbs.

Cilantro.

After circling around once, she had the layout.

There would obviously be a cooking area next to the ingredients storage.

She hauled over a pile of stacked firewood, lit a fire, set a big iron pot on top, poured in water, then started dumping in ingredients like she was beating them to death with her fists.

People who truly understood flavor could throw things in by feel and still make it come out pretty good.

And honestly, if you boil meat and rice in water and toss in some spices, it’s almost harder to make it not taste good.

Little by little, a delicious smell started rising.

Without realizing it, Qing hummed to herself.

Ah... if she could just wash properly before it turned into porridge, then warm her body in a pot of boiling hot water, there wouldn’t be any paradise like it.

And after she came out all fluffy and clean, she’d be drowsy and loose and relaxed, and she’d shovel down porridge that had simmered for ages until it thickened and reduced—

Wow.

That was just paradise.

Qing stared blankly at the fire under the iron pot, sinking into her thoughts.

Back in her hometown, they called it—watching the fire.

Ah. I want to wash. I’m gritty with dirt, I’m damp and gross, and when did I even last wash my hair? But washing my hair is such a pain—this stupid hair, it didn’t need to be this long. It’s not washing your hair, it’s basically laundering your hair. And drying it takes forever...

While she was thinking, the water started boiling, bubbling hard.

She could probably eat soon... should she?

No. It’s better once the rice starts releasing starch, and it thickens up, and the bottom gets a little scorched—that’s when it’s good.

Right now it’s basically just rice soup...

Rice soup.

God, I want rice soup.

Qing’s gaze drifted up from the fire.

Staring at the porridge, she just swallowed and swallowed.

Now it wasn’t watching the fire.

It was watching the porridge.

How long had it been like that?

The bubbling water turned into porridge that simmered and crackled, the bubbles rising heavier and thicker—PLOP, PLOP.

Good. Now she could eat.

Qing broke into the brightest, most innocent smile she’d worn all day.

Though with how she looked—like a beggar, like absolute trash—maybe that was exactly why the picture somehow worked.

And finally, the moment she lifted a spoon (extra-large) she’d hastily shaved out of a bed leg—

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP!

—The Heavenly Flower Sword is in there!

—Throw every last bit of poison you’ve got!

Then from far away came the sound of things dropping—THUDUDUK, THUK, THUDUK—followed by a flood of objects pouring into the barracks entrance.

Qing’s face crumpled.

“You’ve gotta be fucking— I haven’t even had one bite—”

RATATAT! FFFSSSS—BOOM! CRASH! CLINK-CLANG! BOOM BOOM!

The sound of poison pouches bursting, smoke leaking out. The sound of poison bottles shattering, their toxins vaporizing into the air. And the sound of poison bombs detonating.

In an instant, the inside of the tent filled—thick, dense—with a choking haze of poison smoke.

*****

Five Poison Sect Leader Hu Cheonchi quietly opened his eyes.

Hu Cheonchi looked... terrible.

Blackened veins bulged and rose all across his body, and even the whites of his eyes had turned pitch-black, so grotesque it was hard to look at.

A Poison Person that wasn’t complete—a half-finished Poison Person—had dragged his poison energy up and finished preparing to face the enemy.

He’d reached a realm he couldn’t ascend to on his own by using dirty tricks.

So if he wanted to handle that power properly, he obviously had to pay an appropriate price.

Especially if the method was poison.

And Hu Cheonchi had already steeled himself to pay it.

So with a solemn resolve that was ready to grind even his own life into fuel, Hu Cheonchi asked in a grave voice.

“What about that bitch? Did you drive her in? What is she doing?”

This moment was the final despair he intended to hand the Heavenly Flower Sword.

You bought time.

So struggle with everything you have to purge the poison inside you.

Even a master became vulnerable when handling poison, because they had to operate their internal energy on themselves.

And yet, to purge poison in the middle of enemy territory—what would that state of mind be like?

It would feel like the enemy could charge in at any second. Her heart would pound. Her insides would burn. She’d be tense and jittery, chilled with anxiety, frantic.

And she’d be clinging to the faintest thread of hope—that she could drive out the poison and escape.

She’d be desperately trying to stabilize her poisoned body... completely unaware that Five Poison Sect disciples and elders were gathering around the Great Yue Kingdom barbarians’ camp.

And then—

She’d see enemies blocking her from every direction, and she’d fall into despair.

Maybe she’d even beg to be spared.

Hu Cheonchi let a vicious smile rise.

But then, a disciple hesitated.

“Uh, Sect Leader. About that...”

“What are you doing? This is wartime. Do you think there’s time to hesitate?”

The Chief Steward scolded the disciple.

Under that pressure, the disciple forced the words out.

“Well... the Heavenly Flower Sword is, right now...”

“Right now?”

“She’s cooking.”

“What!?” “What!?”

Hu Cheonchi and the Chief Steward shouted at the same time.

“What are you talking about? Cooking? When she doesn’t even have time to spare after quietly stabilizing herself and spending forever controlling the poison energy—what did you say? She’s cooking?”

“Yes, um... smoke is rising, and the report says it smells... really good...”

Hu Cheonchi and the Chief Steward’s expressions twisted at the same time.

Was that bitch out of her mind?

When she didn’t have a second to waste purging the poison inside her body, she was cooking?

If she was that hungry, this was a military camp—she could’ve just hurriedly chewed down some nasty field rations and been done with it.

But no, she was cooking?

And it smelled good?

This bitch was mocking the sect to the very end.

Ominous, sinister poison energy poured out °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° of Hu Cheonchi’s eyes in streams.

It wasn’t a metaphor for anger.

It was literally poison energy flowing out as mist.

Because Hu Cheonchi was a Poison Person.

“Cough—KUHK.”

“Sect Leader.”

When the lower-realm disciple started coughing from the Poison Person’s poison energy, the Chief Steward cautiously tried to hold Hu Cheonchi back.

Hu Cheonchi took a long breath—FUUUUUUUU—

“I was going to give her a little time to put her affairs in order. Not anymore. Prepare immediately.”

And so, the Five Poison Sect disciples surrounding the clearing began launching every remaining poison they had, all at once.

The low-realm disciples just threw as far as they could.

But the elders—

They sent their throws in breathtaking arcs, dropping them straight into the entrance of the tent where smoke was rising in the distance.

And so, a thick, dense poison haze rose up, covering the entire barracks grounds.

Hu Cheonchi stared at the poison miasma blooming outward.

Like smoking out a beast in its den, she’d come bursting out soon—somewhere, anywhere—

But the elders had already sealed her in.

And now, he would personally bring an end to this long, bitter grudge.

Hu Cheonchi’s eyes flashed.

Right.

What should he do with her corpse?

If he stripped her naked, stuffed her, and displayed her, she’d be remembered in history as eternal humiliation even in death.

Or he could ferment her into fish sauce and send it to the Priestess Order...

Hu Cheonchi continued his pleasant deliberation over how to dispose of the Heavenly Flower Sword’s body.

Or he could skin her and make a bed, hang her head above it—

No, a bed was too good.

A foot mat would be better.

No, even better—there had to be an even dirtier use, something more humiliating, something that would let him use her in disgrace...

The thoughts kept going.

And going.

And going.

And going—

The moment Hu Cheonchi, still wearing a leering smile, suddenly felt something off.

How long had he been lost in thought?

“...The Heavenly Flower Sword?”

“There’s been no news at all.”

“Are you sure the Heavenly Flower Sword is in there?”

“Yes. We’re certain—after she went into the tent, we never saw her come out.”

“Then—damn it!”

Hu Cheonchi’s heart dropped.

No way... she hadn’t already died, right?

Cooking a meal—did that mean she’d realized it was over and was enjoying a last supper?

No—no, that couldn’t happen. It couldn’t!

“Didn’t I tell you not to use poison that’s too strong!?”

“Sect Leader? The poisons we used to create the smoke are all either Internal-Energy-Scattering Poison or delayed-acting poisons.”

“Damn it! Did I overestimate that bitch!?”

Hu Cheonchi shouted and hurriedly walked into the Great Yue Kingdom barracks grounds, where the poison energy still hadn’t fully cleared.

She couldn’t die.

Even if she died, she had to die by the Great Five Poison Sect’s hand.

She couldn’t just die alone to some stupid poison!

“Sect Leader! Brother! Elders—!”

The Chief Steward hurried after Hu Cheonchi, and after that, with a shrill whistle—BEEP BEEP BEEP—the elders tightened in from all directions, forming a ring as they closed in.

And the Great Yue Kingdom cooking barracks.

The Five Poison Sect elders surrounded the tent, still stuffed with dense, thick poison smoke—then, all at once, they smashed the support poles and snapped them.

CRACK—

Every pole broke in an instant, and the tent slumped down, swelling outward in all directions before collapsing with a FLAP.

Poison smoke blasted violently from the entrance.

In that moment—

Sunset-colored sword-energy flashed, drawing multiple crossing lines like a net.

Starlight that sliced through the tent.

Through the torn gap in the falling canvas, a figure appeared.

Finally, the moment Hu Cheonchi faced the Heavenly Flower Sword.

With a porridge pot as an accessory.

“WAAAH—munch munch—HUHP—h-hot—hah—huh—haah—GULP. WAAAH—munch munch. Huh—huh—hot.”

Clutching a huge pot against her side like someone might steal it, she worked her spoon frantically.

The Heavenly Flower Sword was shoveling rice porridge into her mouth like a starving beast.