Chapter 881: To Changbai Mountain (3)

From the Priestess Order Temple to Changbai Mountain, it was roughly six thousand li along the road.

If you converted that into the most widely used scientific, precise, universal world-standard unit system from Qing’s homeland—Seoul-to-Busan?

A full six Seoul-to-Busan!

Or three Seoul-to-Busan round-trip!

And she was supposed to walk that distance?

In Qing’s homeland world, for those weak civilized people whose physical abilities had withered away, it would be an impossible feat.

But what about a Central Plains native?

Six thousand li? Tch—yeah, it’s far, but if you just keep going, you’ll get there before you know it. If you set out, you’ll arrive someday, won’t you. Let’s go.

It was nothing less than the bearing of a great hero.

In truth, the humans of this era were closer to primitive people from before civilization existed—practically proto-humanoid apes.

Isn’t it basic common sense, agreed upon by everyone in Qing’s homeland, that human civilization began with the discovery of electronic communications technology—the world-spanning communications network?

Amazingly, those proto-humans of the pre-electronic-communication era solved communication by running on their own two feet, and with their developed physical abilities, six thousand li wasn’t even that difficult!

In fact, even the weak people of Qing’s homeland had the potential ability—once they entered the military—to shoulder a load and march a hundred li in a single night.

If that was humanity’s great potential, then what would it be like in this ancient age?

Ordinary Central Plains people—farmers, inn clerks, hunters, peddlers, pack-merchants, escort guards, porters, and so on—most of them were people who spent the whole day walking around.

Exaggerate just a little and they were easily walking a hundred li a day.

So six thousand li?

If you walked a hundred li a day, you’d reach it in just two months—six thousand li was right there—so it wasn’t even that grueling.

(Of course, economically it was grueling, and you’d have to survive the challenges presented by various kinds of bandits.)

In that sense, a trip to Changbai Mountain wasn’t difficult for Qing at all, nor was it an unreasonable itinerary—just a little annoying.

Qing’s life in the Central Plains was, rounding off, more than ten years.

And if you didn’t round off, but rounded up?

Twenty years, fifty years, a hundred years—if you rounded up Qing’s Central Plains life at the ten-thousand unit, it wouldn’t even be a lie to say it reached ten thousand years!

So Qing had shed the air of a foreigner and blended quite well into Central Plains culture by now.

And Qing’s mindset as she set out for Changbai Mountain was exactly about this level.

Changbai Mountain, the far end of the frontier?

Damn it, what a hassle. I should just go and come back fast.

*****

First, by boat to Jingzhou.

If she detoured a bit, she could stop by Wuhan and see Hyang-i’s face on the way.

But if she went to the Jegal Family, she’d have to stay for two days, and in the Central Plains it was discourteous for a guest to leave too quickly.

The road ahead was long, so—pass.

*****

From Jingzhou, take the main road north to Henan Province.

Song Mountain was on the way, but Great Master Muhak was said to be in Tibet, and even if he were there, it was Shaolin Temple—a women-forbidden sanctuary—so it wasn’t like she could visit anyway.

If she detoured a little, she could also stop by the Martial Alliance, but—pass again.

If she went around offering greetings here and there, forget two days—if she greeted them properly, they’d definitely tell her to show her face at the Dragon-Phoenix Gathering, too.

So she passed Song Mountain, where Shaolin Temple was located.

*****

After crossing the Yellow River, her heart twitched again.

Mm. If she headed north from here, it was Taiyuan in Shanxi, and in Taiyuan existed the greatest educational facility in the Central Plains: the Hanlin Academy.

And at the Hanlin Academy was Grand Scholar Cheon Yuhak—respected scholar, but unbelievably, his true identity was the Divine Thief!

And he was Qing’s teacher, too.

Hasn’t it been a long time since I last saw Teacher...

But she had no way of knowing whether Teacher was even in Taiyuan right now.

And given Cheon Yuhak’s temperament—and his active “work” as the Divine Thief—the odds that he’d be away from his post were extremely high.

Sorry, but—pass for now.

North, to Hebei Province!

There were broadly two routes from Hebei to Liaoning.

A well-paved good road, and a harsh road.

The well-paved road was the route that passed through Shanhai Pass in the south—an ultra-wide highway, straight and neatly laid, easily a full zhang across.

The harsh road was farther north—a mountain path that crossed a range.

A mountain path, so of course it could only be harsh.

A matchup between a well-paved road and a brutal mountain trail.

Honestly, it was questionable whether it even counted as a matchup. If you had to choose one, where you should go was extremely clear.

But the problem was the city that appeared after you crossed that northern mountain path.

The first properly sized city you reached after passing through the northern mountain path of Hebei—after small hamlets and villages—

That city was called Geonpyeong!

And what kind of city was Geonpyeong!

The city where the martial travels of the greatest rising star of the current martial world, the Heavenly Flower Sword, began!

A homeland of the heart—rising when she closed her eyes, appearing vivid when she fell asleep, impossible to forget, and a place she would someday have to return to!

Geonpyeong: the city of the most vicious people.

The city of the most heartless people.

The city with the least humanity, an inhuman city, a city with the worst manners imaginable.

Was that all?

A city of blind fools who failed to recognize a phoenix chick that rolled right into them!

Not only did they fail to recognize it—they even treated it poorly and earned resentment, a city of idiots unlike any other under heaven!

A demonic realm where only creatures so vicious and shameless they didn’t follow a single part of the human way gathered to live—humans disqualified, beasts certified.

A city that could be called hell in the human world.

That was Geonpyeong!

But before that.

If you wanted to head from the southern edge of Hebei to Liaoning?

You had to pass through either Beijing or Tianjin—one of the two.

And in this era, Tianjin was practically a sacred destination of Central Plains travel for wandering female martial artists—because Tianjin had the Hebei Peng Family!

If you were born a woman, you had to see the Jade Qilin’s benevolent face at least once before you died—thanks to the swarms of wandering female travelers who poured in like that, Tianjin’s commerce was said to scream happy screams every single day.

Qing hesitated for a moment.

Chor-yeo had told her again and again, please come visit, come visit, and somehow she still hadn’t gone...

But, mm—sorry, Chor-yeo.

She couldn’t go to Tianjin right now.

Because she had to stop by Beijing first.

Even Chor-yeo would have no choice but to understand this.

Because Beijing had Peking Duck.

Peng Chor-yeo might feel wronged—no, might be very furious.

That the Hebei Peng Family, the “hegemon” of Hebei—well, not exactly, but anyway, the apex of the Five Great Martial Families—had its priority shoved aside for a mere dish, for Peking Duck?

But it wasn’t just any Peking Duck.

It was the ultimate Peking Duck!

Besides, even if Qing went to visit the Hebei Peng Family now, she’d been in such a hurry that she couldn’t even know whether San had returned, and wouldn’t San obviously be wandering off in some absurd place again?

She’d stop by the Hebei Peng Family on the way back.

“Heh heh heh... I have arrived...!”

It was the latter part of this month.

Day forty-two since setting out for Changbai Mountain.

At last, Qing had arrived at Beijing’s most famous restaurant, this holy ground famed as the best cuisine in Beijing.

Beijing Tower!

To dare to use the city’s name as your own, you had to possess the ability to match.

So you could say it was only natural that the most delicious restaurant in Beijing dared to use Beijing’s name.

But Beijing Tower felt... weirdly familiar.

Then does that mean there’s a Forbidden City too?

Of course, no restaurant owner would have the guts to bring up the Forbidden City.

If you wanted to die, you could at least die nicely alone—unless you wanted your entire clan dragged to the slaughterhouse.

As Qing approached Beijing Tower, the doorman quickly blocked her.

“Beijing Tower is reservation-only. If you wish to make a reservation, the earliest availability is from late August—”

The doorman swept his eyes up and down over Qing.

The veil was a high-end item, but the clothing wasn’t.

These days, a veiled woman wasn’t even unusual anymore, so the doorman seemed to think: she’s just trying to act like some Heavenly Flower whatever, using a fancy veil—

And he continued.

“A reservation requires an advance payment starting from one tael of gold.”

It was obviously meant as: can you even pay that.

Of course, Qing wasn’t so shallow in cultivation that something like that would offend her.

People like this were a dime a dozen.

The type that mistook the prestige of the group they belonged to for their own prestige—or rather, it wasn’t even the group’s prestige.

It was the hottest restaurant in Beijing, so what would the customers be like?

When you dealt with lofty figures all day, even a mere doorman started to feel like he was somebody.

But to Qing, it was simply: if it works, great; if it doesn’t, whatever.

In truth, a restaurant that called itself number one in the very center of the Central Plains was never going to be a place you could enter just by showing up with money.

Wasn’t that exactly how Sichuan’s top hostess-cook Baek Changja’s Ultimate Mala Soup had been?

But Qing had something she was counting on.

They said Beijing Tower’s head cook entered the imperial palace a couple times each season to cook Peking Duck, and Gabi had ranted and raved about how unbelievably delicious it was.

The so-called ultimate Peking Duck.

It was a time Qing had waited for whenever she was in the palace.

But unfortunately, while Qing had been staying in the palace, that incredible ultimate Peking Duck had never come to her.

So Her Majesty the Empress had said she would put Qing’s name down, and if Qing felt like it later, she should go.

Still, Qing wasn’t entirely sure.

Was she coming here cluelessly for real, or had the Empress only said it like, sure, let’s have a meal sometime later?

Because of that, Qing’s voice crept smaller.

“Uh... if you say Qing of the Eastern Pass Won Clan...”

“H—hold on. Please—please wait just a moment.”

It was a moment.

A truly short moment.

There came a CLATTER-BANG sound of something tumbling, and then a man in silk clothes came rushing out, limping as he ran.

“Thank you for honoring us with your presence! This way, please!”

Maybe she’d known it would turn out like this.

Am I... perhaps addicted to the sweetness of power now?

Qing guarded herself and reflected, just a little.

*****

“Ohh. Delicious. Kh-heh-heh.”

Qing bit into the skin of the Peking Duck, letting out repeated cries of delight.

Crisp yet chewy—an excellent texture.

The fat was rich, oily, yet clean.

Expressions that shouldn’t be able to coexist harmonized perfectly—so this really was the pinnacle of Central Plains duck cuisine, the ultimate Peking Duck!

But. Mm. The meat was a bit dry.

It’s just roasted duck...

Well, Peking Duck was a dish for eating the skin.

You carefully peeled off only the skin and ate it, and you yielded the remaining lean meat to the servants.

That was Peking Duck.

Chewing the duck meat, Qing stared blankly down past the railing outside the private room.

With a neat, squared-off view of Beijing spread below, Qing sank into thought.

Thoughts of Geonpyeong.

Had Geonpyeong truly wronged her?

Giving a beggar food was, in general, a good deed.

Of course, if you dug into it, there could be social arguments like, how can helping a beggar who has no intention of labor—of joining society—be considered good, and so on.

But if you didn’t give a beggar food?

Was ignoring a beggar an evil act?

Anyone could say this with certainty.

Of course not.

So if the people of Geonpyeong didn’t bestow charity on a beggar who had all kinds of things all over their face, who looked extremely filthy even by hygiene standards—could that be called a sin?

From Qing’s perspective, they’d been stingy and cold.

But the past itself—that they hadn’t offered warmth—wasn’t something worth revenge, was it.

Yes. Maybe their lives had been hard, too.

After all, people were people—rather than one coin to spare for a beggar, wasn’t it human nature that the piece of candy you yourself would eat mattered more.

You couldn’t call that selfish.

And the Plague Wretch of the past was gone now...

All that remained was the Heavenly Flower Sword, the great rising star of the martial world, a supreme master who could show up on the day of the ultimate Peking Duck and demand one person, one chicken—no, one person, one duck.

“Yes. Lingering regret.”

She simply hadn’t been able to forget.

Because the grievance of that past had been too bitter.

Thinking back now, hadn’t she needed someone to hate?

In a faraway foreign land—no, it would’ve been lucky if only the distance was far; she’d been thrown into some primitive age far away in time as well.

A calamity that struck without anyone’s fault, with no one to blame—so unbearable that she had to blame someone, anyone, just so her insides wouldn’t rot away while she endured.

Qing quietly closed her eyes.

Yes. Forget it.

Lingering regret was something not yet forgotten.

And “not yet” meant that someday you had to forget—so wasn’t it a thorn lodged in the heart that tormented her as long as she held it.

In Qing’s mind, the past flickered—the horrific moments of her first year after stepping into the martial world.

Yes. It was all long past.

Forget it. Just forget it...

I have to forget it... right?

Qing’s eyebrows twitched.

In Qing’s memory, the Plague Wretch with their face hidden behind a fistful of hair was beaten to a pulp.

Kicked, stomped, beaten with clubs, struck with chairs—flying sticks, shoes, rocks, all kinds of filth and trash...

But strangely, in the recollection, there were almost no bare-fisted punches that actually landed on the Plague Wretch.

As Qing went, Huh?, a certain line of dialogue suddenly played back automatically.

—Hey, hold back, hold back.

—What are you doing, let go. I’m going to smash that bitch to pieces. Don’t stop me.

—No, I’m not stopping you. If you touch them with bare skin it might spread, so beat them with a club.

A vein rose on Qing’s forehead with a SNAP.

Come to think of it, those Geonpyeong inhuman animal bastards hadn’t simply failed to show warmth.

They’d meant to beat her out—no, they wouldn’t have cared even if she died.

Not giving charity to a beggar wasn’t a sin.

But beating a beggar to a pulp—that was a sin, wasn’t it?

From the beggar’s perspective, that meant revenge was allowed, right?

A cold smile spread across Qing’s lips.

You filthy bastards. Just you wait.

The Plague Wretch will return.

The return of the Plague Wretch! Plague rebirth!