Chapter 846: If You’re Going to Kill One Person, Dig Two Graves (4)

First off, those brothers didn’t even look human.

To anyone’s eyes, they were beggar brats.

Beggar brats weren’t people.

Wasn’t that exactly what you saw just from the Inn Waiter’s reaction?

“My lady, this is still an inn that prides itself on being high-class, so letting beggars in is a bit... And your heart is truly kind, but these are Bai people—ones who spread disease—so how could you bring them into an inn? If it’s an inn like that, who would want to stay the night, ma’am?”

The Inn Waiter pulled a long face and put on a dramatic show of it.

At that, the older brother beggar wore a resentful expression, and the younger brother beggar shrank back with a teary face.

Qing was about to snap at him—then stopped.

Qing knew Bai people smallpox was Blood Cult bullshit, but these common folk genuinely believed it, so even if she said, “Bai people smallpox my ass, that’s nonsense,” they wouldn’t try to understand.

And with the Great Five Poison Sect’s main base right in front of her and the Blood Cult crawling all over it, it wasn’t exactly a great time to say that kind of thing, either.

And even if the premise was wrong, the Inn Waiter’s conclusion had a point.

Who would want to come to an inn where sick people were staying?

So what, then.

If you were thirsty, you dug a well—so somewhere in this town, wouldn’t there be an inn willing to take in Bai people beggars?

“Really? Then I’ll have to find another inn. Did I pay ten days upfront? I’ll check out, so subtract yesterday and today—two days—”

“Now that I think about it, since there aren’t any other sick people in the city, it does seem like not all Bai people are carrying an epidemic, ma’am. If it were going to spread, it would have spread already, wouldn’t it?”

Sure, he only changed his tune the instant she said she was checking out.

But business was dead, too.

How could he let go of a guest who’d booked the highest-class room and threw money around without holding back?

Of course, that money was what the Great Five Poison Sect disciples had left behind on their way to the afterlife, payment for granting their wish of “I want to die getting revenge.”

Yeah. Evil people really do leave money behind when they die.

“Get bathwater ready, and first—food. We need to eat first. Inn Waiter, what’s good today?”

“Hehe, today, ma’am...”

And just like that, successful entry into the inn.

Qing didn’t particularly like private rooms.

When you ate with all four sides blocked, it felt stifling—and she liked eating while watching the street and listening in on what people around her were saying.

And if she got lucky, an evil bastard might start a scene, and then wouldn’t she get a chance to enjoy the feel of it?

Eating with a face veil on wasn’t even inconvenient anymore—she was so used to it.

Of course, when she had company—especially when Gunyeong was with her, because that little bastard’s table manners were a complete disaster—she tended to book a private room out of embarrassment, so others wouldn’t hear.

But this time, the inn had asked for it, so she didn’t have a choice.

Because how could they let a plague wretch sit in a prime seat—one with a perfect view from outside?

In the Central Plains, the best seats were the ones everyone could see—especially the ones where everyone could see the expensive dishes.

So Qing went into the private room and took off her face veil.

“Woooow......”

The younger brother beggar blurted out in awe.

Because Qing’s face, on its own, was the kind of thing that made you want to gasp a million times over—an unrivaled beauty that practically glowed without any light at all.

The older brother beggar wore a vacant, entranced look, too.

Qing giggled and snapped her fingers.

“Hey, go easy. You’ll wear my face out. So—what are your names? I can’t call you Big Beggar and Little Beggar. I could do Little Beggar and Even Littler Beggar. But that’s too long, right?”

The boy stood and performed a clasped-fist salute—he’d clearly seen it somewhere before.

“My greetings are late. My name is Jong Munun.”

“I’m Jong Munyeok......”

“Um... what about you, benefactor?”

“Mm. I’ve got circumstances right now, so it’s a bit hard to tell you my name. Just call me Benefactor. So—how’d you end up beggars? Just looking at you, you weren’t beggars to begin with.”

Sure, nobody was born a beggar.

But they didn’t have that particular beggar cringing—no matter what you do, that resignation that settles into you.

So at a glance, they clearly weren’t beggars to start.

“That is......”

That was the moment.

“My lady, we’ll start by bringing in the dishes that are already prepared.”

In the Central Plains, cooking was fundamentally about strong fire and oil—fast, hot, and quick.

So the higher-end the dish, the longer it tended to take, and because of that, they usually did a rough pre-cook matched to the expected volume—so it didn’t actually take that long.

Qing pulled her face veil back on.

If word got out there was some beauty here, those face-gawking bastards would start milling around—pretending they were “just out for a walk,” drifting back and forth, and suddenly the place would be mobbed.

Then plates started getting slammed down on the table in rapid succession.

And the older brother beggar looked at Qing.

A weird look—like a trace of dissatisfaction mixed in?

“What. Why?”

“N-no, it’s nothing.”

Jong Munun looked at the plates of food set in front of Qing, then lowered his gaze to the single bowl set in front of him.

It was rice porridge—so pale you couldn’t see a single thing in it besides rice, a pure porridge made only from water and rice.

Honestly, to anyone’s eyes, it was a brutal sight.

She’d spread out a table full of expensive dishes for herself, and even if she was giving alms to beggars, to give them nothing but one bowl of rice porridge?

Is this what they meant by “even if you buy it for them, they’ll curse you”?

Qing burst into a loud giggle.

“If you eat stuff you haven’t been eating, it’ll wreck you. You barely managed to eat leftover trash that’s been rotting forever, and then you suddenly shove greasy food in, and it’s a disaster. If it’s just a stomachache and you’re done, sure. But you could die with a hole in your gut.”

“Ah......”

Unfortunately, Jong Munyeok’s condition was really bad, so even if Jong Munun was naturally tough enough to run around, the two of them probably weren’t that different.

“Today and tomorrow, you only eat porridge, build your strength first, then you can eat good stuff. Today it has to be rice porridge. Tomorrow, at least, you can have porridge that tastes a little better. The day after tomorrow, you can eat something less greasy.”

Relief seeped into Jong Munun’s expression.

Was he upset because he thought she wasn’t going to give them food?

Sure, food was serious business, but come on—what did he think she was?

Of course, the part he was relieved about wasn’t the food so much as tomorrow and the day after.

From the moment she said she couldn’t tell them her name, anxiety had started creeping in—so hearing this, it meant she wasn’t going to feed them once and then kick them out.

Of course he’d be relieved.

And so the meal began.

*****

“Big brother... it’s hot...”

“Endure it a little.”

“Ugh... it’s hot......”

The hot bath was clearly uncomfortable for the little brother.

Which made sense. Kids were like that.

But only for a moment.

Sinking into hot water, the searing feel as it soaked into you—the heat of a bath, like countless ants riding through every blood vessel, biting away at old exhaustion until it felt clean and refreshing.

As time passed, that fatigue melted and flowed upward into your head, and your body went loose and heavy.

And then came that hazy, drowsy, pleasant relief.

“Hehe... big brother... the porridge... was good......”

“Yeah.”

“I wanna eat it again......”

The boy remembered the rice porridge.

Rice porridge that didn’t stink, that wasn’t mixed with that revolting sourness—normal rice porridge. And it was even hot.

The more you chewed, the more nutty it got, a gentle sweetness lingering.

Was rice porridge always this delicious?

A bowl of the most delicious porridge in the world.

And that hand.

“Mm, is rice porridge too bland? Here, this much should be okay, right? Don’t blame me later if your stomach hurts, alright?”

That white hand, grabbing chicken breast out of soup, squeezing the meat broth out until it ran dry, then tearing it thin, thin, along the grain—

That pale, long, pretty finger placing the chicken on top.

Jong Munun swallowed without thinking.

Sure, it was chicken breast with all the fat stripped out, and even the juices squeezed out clean—chicken breast of chicken breasts, pure dryness.

But to the boy, it was exquisite—like the whole world lit up the instant he bit down.

And that chicken—how insanely delicious it had been......

The boy thought of the Benefactor again.

So heroes really existed.

And she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life.

A hero straight out of a story—no, not even a story had a hero like that.

In most stories, a beautiful woman was the one rescued by a hero—not the one who was the hero.

From her manner of speaking and carrying herself, he’d thought she was old enough to be his mother, but then he realized she might not even be past twenty, and that shocked him even more.

That was the moment.

RATTLE—the door opening.

Then CLACK! CLACK! The sound of stones striking together.

He turned his head—and there she was, the Benefactor, face veil hanging down, and it was hard to imagine how she could see anything through all this steam.

Beneath sleeves rolled up, her arms were long and slim, her skin dazzlingly clear—and in both hands, she held stones, striking them together—CLACK! CLACK!—as she said—

“Alright, did you soak properly? Now we’ve gotta scrub. Dead skin’s done for. Know this—today you’re losing a whole layer of skin.”

“GASP—w-what are you doing!?”

The boy shrieked, startled out of his mind.

But the Benefactor’s voice stayed utterly calm.

“What. We’re scrubbing. And when are you going to scrub again? When you scrub, you scrub properly. Half-ass it and it’s useless.”

“Th-that, when a male is washing, th-that, even if you are our benefactor, we’ll do it ourselves—”

“Male, my ass. I don’t have a hobby of watching some guy’s junk flopping around. But you aren’t men. You’re kids. Runts. Minors. And minors who are weak in body and mind, on top of that.”

“Minors? Benefactor, I—”

“Hey, what are you suddenly embarrassed about. Isn’t it natural for an adult to take care of kids? You should know you’re lucky. I’m helping because you’re kids. A grown adult has to handle their own business.”

“Huh? Th-that. Still, it’s fine! I’ll do it myself!”

“What now, are you trying to act precocious? Do you think scrubbing is an easy job? You should be saying thank you and lying down quietly.”

“I’m really fine, please, th—”

“Seriously, anyone listening would think I’m trying to peel your skin off by force. I don’t want to waste effort after eating my fill, either. Here—your clothes. I bought them. Scrub clean, polish yourselves up, then put these on and come out.”

And then—RATTLE!

She swept in like a storm and vanished like one.

“Big brother... last year you were fifteen......”

Fifteen—the age Confucius talked about setting his heart on learning.

And “you were fifteen last year” meant this year he was sixteen.

By Central Plains law, a man became an adult at sixteen—the age a man could be recognized as an adult and build a household.

“Shh.”

“But......”

“Later. We’ll talk later.”

Hadn’t the Benefactor said it?

She was helping because they were kids—adults had to handle their own business.

If it were just him, maybe, but at least until his little brother regained his strength, they had no choice but to lean on the Benefactor.

He’d never imagined his constant worry—his short height and scrawny frame—would help like this.

Of course, it was Jong Munun’s misunderstanding.

Qing’s standard for adulthood was nineteen.

At sixteen, you were a baby—no, a baby among babies, basically an infant.

Back home, even when a fresh new hire showed up after finishing mandatory service, everyone still called them a baby.

But that was her hometown standard—one Qing alone held in the Central Plains—so how would the boy possibly know?

*****

“Oh. You’ve actually got some noble air, huh? I knew it. You really don’t seem like you were beggars from the start.”

It wasn’t wrong.

Even though the Jong brothers were gaunt, they couldn’t hide the air of privilege.

And honestly, what was “noble air,” really?

It just meant they were good-looking.

Capable men kept beautiful women close—and wouldn’t their children resemble those beautiful women?

Then wealthy families married wealthy families, and if that repeated again and again, you were bound to be born with standout looks.

“So. How’d you end up beggars?”

She wasn’t asking with any deep intent.

It was just how you opened a conversation.

“That is... originally, our fath—ah! Ahem. Th-that, I, I, I... my dad is a great merchant......”

What?

Jong Munun looked maybe a little over ten, so at that age “dad” was normal, sure.

But why was he forcing it out like it was hard?

His face even turned bright red—like he was dragging it out of himself.

But that question only lasted for a moment.

Because as she listened to the story of how I became a beggar overnight—

“No—how could there be such dogshit bastards in this world!”

Qing spat out her rage.