Chapter 900: Night Parade of a Hundred Demons (2)

On one hand, it felt like she’d come all the way to the very doorstep of the Changbai range because of some pointless rumor.

Since she was here anyway... should she at least go see the Heavenly Lake once?

How many times in a lifetime would she ever get this far?

And then, all of a sudden, a thought struck her.

“Uncle, maybe—”

“Uncle what? Call me Uncle. You’re my daughter’s one and only friend, so don’t be stiff about it. And I’m not that old either.”

“Uncle” was still one of the more proper ways to address a friend’s father.

A more familiar expression would be “Mister” with the family name, but once you got up to something like the Five Great Families, it was hard to use that for appearances, so to speak.

“Ah. Yes, Uncle.”

“So? What is it, then?”

“Ah—do Jurchen folktales or legends happen to have any monsters shaped like humanoids, with blackened bloodlines that stand out?”

“No. To begin with, the Jurchens don’t have ‘monsters,’ not the kind you’d call beasts—there are plenty of evil spirits and ghosts, but not bodily creatures like that.”

“Mm....”

As far as Qing knew, the Central Plains didn’t have anything like that either.

And her hometown didn’t, so naturally this Joseon land wouldn’t either.

But the rumor the Seol Family Merchant House had obtained definitely included a sighting of a suspicious figure in the shape of a Blood-Reversal Demon.

So separate from the “night parade,” the “plunder parade,” currently happening in the Changbai range, wasn’t it entirely possible that a Blood-Reversal Demon existed?

If so—

Mm. If she wanted answers, asking the people actually in the Changbai range would be fastest, and most accurate.

Looks like she had to go in the end.

Moyong Seongik, seeing Qing sink into thought, let out a hearty laugh.

“They call it a night parade of a hundred demons, but honestly, it’s not that big a deal. It’s just... a dogfight. Their lives are harsh, those barbarians. And even then, they mostly beat each other up—cases of them bothering Central Plains people are relatively rare.”

For the record, “Central Plains people” here meant citizens of the Celestial Dynasty who paid taxes—slash-and-burn settlers living in the Changbai range didn’t count.

To begin with, those settlers didn’t have household registration, so they weren’t truly citizens of the Celestial Dynasty.

The barbarians targeted that too—they looted the settlers, but almost never touched Central Plains merchant caravans or proper villages.

“Anyway, after dinner, let’s spar a bit. I said I’d help with your studies, so it’s embarrassing to say this, but it looks like I’ll have to be away for a while.”

“Are you going far?”

“No. I’ll be nearby, but... mm.”

Moyong Seongik hesitated for a moment, then lowered his voice and slipped her the explanation.

“I think I’ll have to go examine Princess Yeonsul’s peace procession. For that heavy-ass Provincial Governor to come in person and ask, of all things...”

“Ah. The peace procession.”

She remembered hearing about Princess Yeonsul’s peace procession when she first set out.

Qing had waited a good while for Moyong Seongik, and he’d said he’d been delayed talking with the Provincial Governor.

“Lately, Beijing’s been giving off a suspicious vibe, so the Alliance has been a little sharp about it. This request should be read as the imperial palace’s response to that. If it’s basically a ‘let’s all get along’ gesture, then even with civil–martial noninterference, it’s hard to refuse.”

They’d been foaming at the mouth to clamp down on Murim—so she didn’t know what kind of change of heart made them act gentle, but—

Moyong Seongik added.

“Ah, heh...”

Qing scratched the back of her head.

With people inside her fence, that expression showed everything.

Moyong Seongik looked at her, puzzled.

“Why are you making that shy face?”

“It’s nothing. Really. Heh.”

“...?”

*****

Shenyang’s representative food was chicken ribs.

The name of it: Shenyang Chicken Ribs!

In Central Plains speech, Shenyang Chicken Ribs.

Of course, not the chicken ribs from Qing’s hometown—this was the Central Plains dish, chicken ribs.

“Chicken ribs” meant rib meat from a chicken with wings, and Shenyang Chicken Ribs were made by deep-frying those pieces bone-in, then stir-frying them in sauce.

Of course, Qing had already eaten a lot of it.

A city’s specialty is usually something the whole region eats all the time, so after she entered Liaoning and traveled toward Shenyang, she’d already had plenty.

Was it delicious?

Fried chicken. Do you need more explanation than that?

Qing’s eating was bold, and when it came to fried chicken wings and fried chicken side-ribs, her boldness had already crossed the line.

You grab one, separate the wing and the side-rib, then scrape the side-rib with your front teeth and enjoy that awkward texture between chewy and juicy.

The drumette goes in and comes out, and all that’s left is a clean bone.

The remaining wing goes in whole, and you chew-chew—spit-spit—and two bones come out. Done.

A piece disappears in an instant, leaving behind only a half-handful pile of gleaming bones.

Moyong Jun watched the whole time as the chivalrous hero holding a chicken drumstick devoured Shenyang Chicken Ribs.

And since that chivalrous hero was the boy’s idol, he naturally tried to imitate her, and by now Moyong Jun could eat pretty boldly too.

In Qing’s words: now you’re starting to know how to eat.

And then dinner.

Moyong Jun fully showed off the hearty chivalrous-eating method he learned from Qing.

Moyong Seongik saw his son’s behavior and was horrified.

“Ahem. Ajun. No matter how close you are privately, she is a guest. What kind of posture is that at the table.”

“Me? Why?”

“Swallow what’s in your mouth first before you speak.”

Moyong Seongik’s voice was stern.

Scolded, Moyong Jun looked at Qing with an aggrieved expression.

“Gulp. But—no—Sis also—”

There she was: Qing, elegantly tearing a wing.

Moyong Jun stared blankly for a moment.

He didn’t understand how someone could be elegant while holding food in their hands and ripping it apart, but with the face veil—yes, it was a bit rude at an adult’s table, but Moyong Seongik had gladly allowed it when Qing said she wanted to tease Moyong Jun—her figure looked even more delicate, like she was radiating, This is elegance!

The beautiful-woman ways of Ximen Surin: deboning chicken!

When you eat bone-in food, if you fuss with chopsticks trying to “properly” pick it clean, you only end up looking pathetic.

You have to eat with your hands boldly—and be beautiful while doing it.

No matter how Qing was, with her friend’s father present, she wasn’t going to go full beggar and smack-smack gulp it down, activating the Gratitude Vacuum Cleaner Technique.

“...Sis?”

“Uncle. A child has a child’s way of eating—doesn’t it look nice that he looks like a child? But Jun, when you open your mouth, you need to swallow everything first, all right?”

In Moyong Jun’s head, a voice flashed by.

“Hehe, so good, so goooood,” a voice coming out with a mouth crammed full of food.

“......”

Moyong Jun suddenly felt a sharp pain stabbing at his chest.

What in the world was this?

Moyong Jun, twelve years {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} old.

For the first time, the boy experienced the pain of betrayal.

*****

Moyong Seongik’s byname was Elder Sun-and-Moon—meaning sun and moon exist together—expressing the very form of the two different Force Auras produced by the Moyong Family’s unique internal method, the Heaven-Void No-Yang Art.

For reference, bynames rose as realms rose, so before his “evolution,” it was Lone Barbarian Sword—two blades, one person—meaning a two-blade drifter.

Among friends, it wasn’t “two swords,” but “barbarian sword,” so they called him Lone Barbarian Sword, meaning the number-one barbarian.

If Qing had known, she would’ve been unable to hide her shock at how someone’s byname could be “Lone Barbarian Sword,” but she didn’t know that compared to her own master’s byname, it actually wasn’t that extreme.

Anyway, Qing rolled.

She rolled, and rolled again.

It couldn’t be helped.

Even if Moyong Seongik was the lowest rung of the Transcendent Realm, he was still a Transcendent Realm master.

And for Qing, it was an extremely unfavorable spar.

Sparring a righteous elder, she couldn’t exactly swing demonic arts around freely, could she?

Seomun Cheong without demonic arts?

It was like playing chess without rooks, playing baduk while giving away nine stones, doing shell-game gambling blindfolded, or playing ancient mahjong while removing five tiles.

And on top of that, Moyong Seongik was a master of Grafting Flowers to Trees, and the Moyong Family art, Dipper-Shift Divine Art, was a divine art that used that principle to the extreme.

Originally, Grafting Flowers to Trees showed its true value when a master fought a weaker opponent.

So Dipper-Shift Divine Art, in Qing’s hometown phrasing, was optimized for “massacring civilians”—for bullying the weak.

Of course, the subtlety of Grafting Flowers to Trees was one of the most effective techniques among receiving and defensive arts, so even against a master it had the advantage of letting you hold out for a long time.

What do you even call this?

Like you’re throwing empty swings by your own will—your attack naturally bends and cleaves empty air left and right—and then your own feet trip you, and you go tumbling three full rotations.

One sword, and one saber.

Two Force Auras forged from sun and moonlight pushed and pulled at the enemy’s weapon, and between them rose a single starlight: the Dipper Star.

The Dipper Star was the center of the heavens, the axis of the universe’s rotation.

How could a person dare defy that majestic turning?

So Qing rolled again.

She rolled and rolled and rolled until she hit the wall—THUD.

The back of her neck on the training ground floor, her back against the training ground wall, her legs indecently dropped to either side of her tiny head as if she were proudly displaying that absurdly generous ass.

But only for a moment.

Qing sprang up bravely and spun back around.

Moyong Seongik stroked his beard.

“Mm. Your control and release of chi already surpass the level of your realm, and your technique is also excellent, so honestly, within the same Harmonization Realm, there would be no one who could match you. And your understanding of martial arts is excellent as well—you draw out mental imagery with skill, but...”

“I will listen with full respect.”

“At around Harmonization Realm, you should be walking the path you opened yourself. That part is truly a shame.”

Ximen Surin’s Priestess Sword Formula discarded the original delicate, dance-like feminine lines and transformed into a destructive martial art that walked a tyrant’s path, like a young conqueror.

It was the result of Ximen Surin taking her own interpretation and her own temperament—her savage spirit—and making it hers.

But Qing’s Moon Maiden Sword was still simply the Moon Maiden Sword, exactly as it always was—

“Most likely, it’s because that martial art—the Moon Maiden Sword—fits you too well. If what you’ve learned matches the owner’s temperament too perfectly, that can happen. Your skill grows quickly, but you’re already used to it, so you don’t feel a reason to change, and you can’t even find the direction you should change toward.”

The joy of a small child wildly swinging a tree branch—that was the foundation Qing saw in the Moon Maiden Sword Formula.

Qing’s joy was more like the joy of slaughter, but either way, it was still joy!

If you had to put it into words, a child playing at swordplay is cutting down an imaginary enemy, so even if Qing felt it as the joy of slaughter, the essence wasn’t different.

Because martial arts were, in the end, techniques for killing.

It fit too perfectly, so she didn’t feel the need to change.

Qing agreed, and asked.

“Then... what should I do? Should I try to modify it somehow?”

“Divine arts aren’t easy to change. They’re called divine arts because they’re close to perfect in themselves. So rather than trying to change the Moon Maiden Sword, it would be better to learn a study that doesn’t fit your temperament, and then change that in your own way.”

“Mm.”

The first thing that came to mind was Nine Swords of the Lone Sword.

It definitely didn’t suit her.

But even swinging it properly was a struggle—modifying it was out of the question.

Tathagata Divine Palm? That was basically just one gigantic Buddha palm, so...

Just like Uncle said, divine arts—meaning the purple-bordered ones—were hard for her to tamper with, because the mental imagery and the martial art were already harmonized well.

Then... mm, things a step lower would be demonic arts.

Would it be okay to change a demonic art once?

Oh. That’s good.

Thinking about it, it was strange she hadn’t thought of this earlier.

If she could change a demonic art and use it like it wasn’t demonic, she could rename it and use it openly too.

Let’s see, something manageable—mm, maybe One Hundred Eight Asura Swords?

It was a martial art modeled after an animal’s wildness, so if she modified it into a cute animal instead of a fierce beast, mm, but would it still have power then...

Qing sank into the new question.

Watching Qing lost in thought, Moyong Seongik smiled, satisfied.