Chapter 923: A Strange Bitch, A Strange Guy, A Strange Guy (8)

The added fullness on top of exhaustion made the drowsiness that had been creeping in vanish in a single blow.

Because the sense of danger made her heart drop like a stone.

As long as the secret manual was in her hands—no, more precisely, as long as the secret manual did not exist inside that creep’s mountain cabin—he would have no choice but to come looking for her to find out where it had gone.

But... was this even the right manual?

She’d had to look at something disgusting, put on fake sweetness she hadn’t meant, and now it looked like she’d suffer serious fallout later... and the manual itself wasn’t even something she’d wanted.

She’d been forced to take it, and yet somehow she still couldn’t trust it, which made the situation feel even more unfair.

Qing had already been a vicious martial-arts thief even before she became a prospective Divine Thief. In the sense that the victim didn’t even realize they’d been robbed, her methods were even more vicious and malicious—filthy in both technique and criminal nature.

The moment she touched a proper secret manual, she would immediately be pre-registered inside some kind of mysterious phenomenon.

And once that happened, she could engrave the manual directly into her brain at any time.

So this was what true brain-engraving education (physical) looked like!

Because of that, she could also tell a real secret manual from a fake one.

A real secret manual, the instant you touched it, would make one corner of your vision sparkle like you’d gotten floaters, and it would practically beg, Look here, please, while the martial-arts window demanded attention.

Of course, there had been someone who claimed this “martial-arts window” wasn’t some convenient cosmic mystery, but rather a mysterious divine art: the Small Formless Art—shortened to the Formless Art.

They insisted it was an absurdly wondrous martial art that made you understand the essence of martial arts through intuition.

But Qing hadn’t exactly listened.

Because there were plenty of other weird things, too.

Then what about the fact she understood every language in the world and could even use it by pure instinct?

And what about that neat, square, everyone-loves-it printed script that—by Qing’s guess—had to be the influence of “localization”?

And what about this inexplicable growth where learning martial arts made you stronger and sharpened your senses, while heart arts made your internal power stack up in big chunks all at once?

Thinking about it didn’t lead anywhere, and no—worse, it led to conclusions that felt really unpleasant, the kind of curiosity that was outright toxic to mental health.

So Qing didn’t want to think about it.

Anyway, whether it was a martial-arts window or the Formless Art, she was holding the Black Warrior Dance secret manual, and there was no reaction at all.

Either it was a fake secret manual, or the martial art itself was incomplete.

Or maybe, like the Plunderer Demon’s excuse as he fled in disgrace—maybe Black Warrior Dance was Wicked Arts, not martial arts at all. Maybe it was a spellcraft lineage, and she couldn’t learn it.

At this point, she almost wished she could at least learn Black Warrior Dance, so it would feel less unfair.

If she had to be chased by that weirdo over a secret manual she couldn’t even learn...

This was totally like a jeweler taking a two-million-won loss. Just pure loss, no matter what.

With her mind in turmoil, Qing flipped through the manual.

[...And thus the practitioner shall attain Great Completion, and the Northern Pole True Martial Dark Heaven Supreme Martial Great Emperor shall soar mightily across all under heaven... One may live without the Azure Dragon, and live without the Vermilion Bird, and live without the White Tiger, but without the Black Warrior Great Deity—without water—none of the myriad things under heaven can exist. Black Warrior Dance is the finest martial vein among the Four Guardian Dances, and compared to any study anywhere in the world, it is an outstanding martial discipline...]

[...Training must first become intimate with water. Thus, by that method, one must first cast off the fear and pain brought by water. The first step is to drink water through the nose, and by this, as water enters the nose, it ceases to be painful, and in the end one feels no fear of any kind...]

But...?

The training method was kind of... how do you even put this...

[...Repeatedly, at first with lukewarm water, and once accustomed, with hot water and cold water. Later, advancing even further, one may boldly inhale even water steeped with peppercorns... And the same process is to be repeated through the eyes and ears...]

Water steeped with peppercorns—wasn’t that basically mala broth?

And it wanted her to inhale mala broth through her nose?

Until she could just slam it in one breath?

And then with her eyes? Ears?

[...One intimate with water does not fear entering it. Thus, to grow accustomed, at first one must not be flustered when splashed with water regardless of time or occasion. Afterward, one is to be tied to a rock and thrown into the water... In the final stage, one is to be bound to a waterwheel, and even while repeatedly entering and exiting the water, one must be so at ease as to calmly eat and sleep...]

...Huh.

[...In this process one has already become intimate with water-qi, and now it is time to separate and sense water-qi among the natural qi of all under heaven. This may be learned through currents: plunge into violent flows and feel their movement with the body... enter freezing water and experience the cooling function of water-qi... enter scalding water and experience the heating function of water-qi...]

All of a sudden, Qing felt a little sorry for Kim Heojung.

Of course a person would turn weird.

If you did this kind of thing, anyone would go insane...

Qing closed the book a little and checked the title again.

No—what was this?

Was this the training method for Black Warrior Dance, or was it the general theory of water torture?

Right then—

The word torture made a memory flash through her mind.

Her Divine Thief classes: hanging her limbs and forcibly stretching her out, tying her to a steel stand, cranking her joints and gifting her infinite pain.

The chain of hatred passed down from previous-generation Divine Thief to next-generation Divine Thief—

Well, no.

Maybe training could just be... a bit extreme?

Training was hard and painful.

Eagles? Hawks? Anyway, those birds of prey were said to smash their beaks and grow new beaks, then rip out all their talons to get new talons, then pluck all their feathers to get new feathers—(not true).

And lions threw their cubs off cliffs—(also not true).

Training was always hard and difficult, and it all became blood and flesh in the end.

Even just building muscle meant enduring the pain of fibers tearing as you pushed weight.

Even running or climbing stairs “for health” was painful as hell.

So if it was martial arts, how could it not be painful?

So what if it looked like torture?

Would a master really build it that way on purpose just to hurt disciples?

No—there had to be a reason. It worked, that’s why.

Pain makes a warrior!

Mm. Mm. That’s right. Exactly.

Anyway, the General Theory of Water Torture was pretty interesting.

There were even a few impressive parts that made Qing think, If I catch a villain, I should try this too.

And she’d learned something useful: Black Warrior Dance wasn’t an ice art at all—it was a technique for handling water itself.

Especially useful because it proved her earlier idea wrong.

She’d thought fighting in her own front yard might give her an advantage—

But if she faced a water user in Jagi County, where the Yangtze’s massive volume flowed...

Yeah. She’d have to fight them somewhere dry, somehow...

“Haaahh...”

Qing yawned so wide it felt like her jaw would unhinge.

Now that the shock from Gongryang Sayoon’s betrayal was finally starting to settle, the exhaustion came rolling back in.

So Qing threw herself onto the bed.

At times like this, it was crucial to keep her body in peak condition.

And she’d decided she would move at night and sleep in the daytime, and first escape back into the Central Plains.

It wasn’t because she was sleepy right now. Not at all.

It was a very wise, strategic judgment...

Before long, a soft, thin snore echoed through the inn room.

*****

In life, no matter how mild a person is, there are moments when anger surges up in a flash.

Being forcibly woken up not long after falling asleep was one of those moments.

BANG BANG BANG! BANG BANG BANG!

Rough pounding on the door.

A master tended to sleep lightly, but when someone pounded like they were trying to break the door down, master or not, you had no choice but to wake up.

Still lying down, Qing’s eyes remained shut, but her eyebrows twitched.

“Damn it... what is it...”

It felt like she’d closed her eyes and opened them again—and the red glow behind her eyelids made it seem the sun was already high in the sky.

Who the hell woke someone up with the sun overhead?

People slept during the day, too.

She was pretty sure she’d hung the “Do Not Disturb” tag on the door, so what kind of stunt was this?

BANG BANG BANG! BANG BANG BANG! BANG BANG BANG!

The rhythm was weirdly consistent, which made it even more infuriating...

Qing pulled the blanket up over her head.

She’d only been asleep for one shichen.

Waking up in that half-slept state was worse than not sleeping at all: her head throbbed, her mind was foggy, her mood was razor-edged, and yet everything in the world felt too annoying to deal with, like she didn’t want to do anything.

Fine. Go ahead. Keep pounding. I’m sleeping.

When you get tired, you’ll leave.

If your arm hurts, that’s your loss.

If you break the door, you can pay for it...

Qing lay there stubbornly out of spite.

But the pounding didn’t stop.

If anything, it started sounding more emotional, more violent by the second.

BANG BANG BANG!! BANG BANG BANG!! BANG BANG BANG!!! BANG BANG BANG!!!

“Ah, for—fuck!”

Qing shot upright, her eyes murderous—like the edge of an axe.

She sucked in a breath, and then her fury exploded in a roaring lion’s bellow.

“GO—!!!!! Hey, you sons of bitches!!! Stop making so much noise pounding the door!! Let me sleep! Just—sleep!”

It was such a savage shout that for an instant it felt like the whole room shook in a rolling afterimage.

And maybe because of that raw, overwhelming rage—

The pounding stopped.

Qing snorted and was just about to flop back down—

—when a voice came from outside.

“G-guest? You need to come out, I think. The Eight Banner warriors are telling the whole inn to clear out, and since you’re from the Central Plains you might not know, but... on this Manchu land, we can’t dare disobey an Eight Banner order.”

It was the inn attendant’s desperate voice.

Inn attendants were trained to use pitiful voices to soothe guests, but this time it was truly urgent.

Which meant—

With a snap of irritation, Qing threw off the blanket, roughly smoothed the wrinkles out of her clothes, and whipped her head around to find the cotton face veil she’d tossed into the corner of the bed.

Then she yanked the door open.

There stood a warrior in blue-dyed armor—an iron-plated brigandine under cloth.

Behind him, half-hidden, was the attendant—no, the innkeeper.

“Inn attendant” meant the “second” of the shop.

Likewise, the owner was called the innkeeper—the “elder” of the shop.

Still, the fact the innkeeper had come personally instead of sending an attendant meant, at least, they were showing the minimum courtesy.

“[So you’ve finally woken up? If I disturbed your sleep, that can happen, so I will overlook your rudeness. This village has been requisitioned by our Eight Banners, so gather your belongings and depart to the east as quickly as possible. If you leave now, you can reach Bom Village with time to spare before sunset.]”

...Huh.

What language was that?

Not Joseon, not Mongol.

While Qing tilted her head, the innkeeper—still hiding behind the soldier—spoke in a pitiful voice.

“G-guest, the whole village has been mobilized for the great chieftain’s event, so it seems you’ll need to go east to Bom Village. The good news is you can reach Bom Village before sunset, and we’ll refund your payment, and since it’ll be hard for you to even manage lunch, we’ll prepare rice balls for you as well.”

“Innkeeper, are you being threatened or something? If these bastards are just bandits or—”

“What are you saying, sir? The Eight Banner lords are the ones who protect us. It’s just... a tribal event, so... truly, I’m very sorry.”

In reality, the innkeeper was more afraid of Qing—whose sleep had been disturbed—than anything else, and the way he hid behind the armored man made it obvious: he thought that man would protect him.

And aside from the fear, he really did look genuinely apologetic.

It didn’t seem like some forced extortion.

Qing scratched the back of her head.

If it was tribal business, it felt awkward to argue...

“Seriously, what kind of amazing event is it that they’re chasing every outsider out? If it’s something good, let me enjoy it too.”

Her regretful tone still meant she was going to comply, and the innkeeper visibly relaxed.

“Ah, it isn’t that kind of event... Um, I can’t say. In any case, I’m truly sorry. If you visit again, we’ll treat you specially, I swear.”

“[Innkeeper, she says she’ll pack and leave.]”

“[Hm. Still, she is a guest who came to our Jurchen land—tell her not to feel too slighted. She’ll learn what it is later anyway.]”

Ah. So it was Jurchen, then.

Anyway, Qing packed up.

There wasn’t much to pack—she’d flipped through the General Theory of Water Torture—no, the secret manual—and then immediately crashed, so she didn’t have anything laid out.

With her pack on her back, she went down the stairs.

The first floor was chaos: people in all sorts of colors were bustling around, sweeping, wiping, polishing, laying things down, pasting things up—total bedlam.

Qing leaned on the stair landing like she was just watching, deliberately killing time.

Because... well.

They’d said rice balls.

Even if she arrived before evening, she still needed breakfast—no, lunch to take with her...

She was standing there, dragging it out, when—

“Hm? Miss, you look like someone from the Central Plains. Am I right?”

A man spoke to her.

The gold silk clothes looked familiar—

Wait. Wasn’t that a Golden Guard uniform?

“Uh... is it that obvious?”

“Well, if you’re a woman doing the Heavenly Flower look and carrying a sword, then ninety-nine out of a hundred are martial artists.”

The man waved a hand in front of his face.

The “Heavenly Flower look” meant the whole trend of imitating the Heavenly Flower Sword—an absolute must-have for women martial artists going out lately.

And it had even spread to ordinary women who admired them.

“Then what are your sect and name? When did you arrive here, and where were you headed?”

The Golden Guard asked for her personal details like it was the most natural thing in the world.

...Also, why was he talking down to her like that? He didn’t even look that old.

But officials from the Central Plains acted like this all the time.

If you pushed back, they’d get offended and turn it around on you—those types.

Besides...

It’s not like I’ve got anything to be ashamed of.

“I’m Seomun Cheong of the Priestess Order Temple, and you know I hold the post of Royal Censor, right? Want me to pull out my censor seal?”

The Golden Guard’s eyes widened.

But only for a moment—because he immediately snapped into a crisp, blade-straight posture and shouted:

“Gah—loyalty!! I... I apologize!”