Chapter 942: Is the Party Over? (1)

The time spent recovering the bodies of the fallen Eight Banners warriors moved fast.

They gathered the corpses, lashed improvised stretchers to horses, laid the bodies on top, and bound them down tight.

They shallow-buried the dead horses and set the harnesses aside to keep. They redistributed the living horses again.

And they reorganized the advance unit that had been wiped out after running into the Heart-Eating Demon King ahead of the main force...

The atmosphere was suffocating.

The Eight Banners men assigned to the marriage-alliance procession weren’t just any soldiers. They were elites from each banner—respected warriors—and to the survivors, they were comrades and friends.

It was so heavy that even Qing—who had no reason to be part of it—felt awkward, embarrassed, and guilty to the point she could hardly stay in place.

Honestly, Qing had no reason to feel that way at all.

The Heart-Eating Demon King had targeted the princess from the start.

If anything, if Qing hadn’t provoked that demonic master and dragged him out through her own bad blood with him, the elite Eight Banners might’ve been erased from the world entirely.

And yet Qing still felt mortified, because she had watched the whole thing while lying there like a lump.

When the eunuch saw Qing limping, he burst into tears—real tears, streaming—and caused a full-blown scene.

While everyone was recovering the dead and tending the grievously wounded, he made them lay Qing down and demanded silk, demanded cotton, raised hell—until he forced them to cobble together something halfway between a bed and a stretcher.

They were short on materials, so it had no walls and no cover.

Lying on that fully exposed stretcher-bed was pure misery.

Because while everyone was handling corpses and the critically injured, Qing—who looked outwardly fine—ended up looking like she was the one making a fuss...

...Yeah. I want to go home.

I really want to go home.

As Qing rolled her eyes around in embarrassment, she spotted the giant “hunchback” off in the distance, diligently helping with the cleanup.

...Mm. Ugly-hunchback guy’s a decent kid, though...

But fortunately, the mood flipped the instant the recovery work ended.

As soon as the procession moved out, everyone laughed and chatted like nothing had happened—like the earlier solemn grief had been filed away under “There was a brief disturbance.”

Qing blinked at that shift, and then a flashy rider matched pace beside the stretcher-bed being dragged along by a horse.

It was escort captain Pori.

“Are you all {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} right? We truly owe you a great debt, Madam Seomun. We already knew the Demon Emperor’s strength well—if you hadn’t stepped in, we would not have escaped annihilation.”

“Uh... are you okay?”

At that, Pori lifted his gaze to the far sky.

“The dead rise to the sky and become ancestral spirits—guardian spirits that protect the clan. In Central Plains terms, you call them ancestors, yes? But that only happens after they are buried and seven days pass.”

By Jurchen custom, until seven days have passed after burial and rites, the wandering souls simply drift nearby.

And these wandering souls were extremely bored.

So if something interesting happened, they would come running at once to watch—and then the death-energy they carried would spread to the living.

The “interesting things” were simple.

Hunting. Duels. Singing.

They were also the pastimes warriors enjoyed.

And since every Jurchen was a warrior, during the seven days of burial rites, hunting, duels, and singing were forbidden.

There was one more thing that caught a wandering soul’s attention.

Their own name.

If they heard their name, they would come rushing to listen. The soul didn’t mean harm, but the death-energy would still seep out.

So when someone died, you mourn them—but you don’t show sadness so the dead won’t feel sorrow, and you don’t speak their name aloud.

That said, even then, hunting and dueling and singing was... a bit much. Someone died. You shouldn’t look like you’re partying.

In truth, funeral customs everywhere worked like this.

Even when the dead leave, the living have to keep walking forward. Funerals are meant to help the survivors not get swallowed by grief.

Some cultures tell you to be solemn and cry everything out right then until you feel empty and clean. Others tell you to laugh and drink like it’s a festival.

But either way, funerals are ultimately rituals for the living.

That let Qing relax, too.

The marriage-alliance procession continued, and the village they reached late at night was called Palgabo.

Even the name gave it away: a place where eight clans’ villages lived together. For a mountain backwater, it was fairly bustling.

Even though it was late, after soaking in scalding water until she felt cooked through, Qing’s pelvis—aching nonstop—almost felt like the bones were... knitting back together.

Of course, it was just a feeling.

It wasn’t like cracked bone would suddenly fuse overnight.

Of course, the unnamed villagers who had to draw water in the middle of the night, boil it, and fill a bath for her felt like their bones were melting.

Of course, that was just a feeling too.

Otherwise they’d have had the nerve to complain, Why do we have to do this for Eight Banners warriors?

But Qing didn’t know any of that.

And really—wouldn’t the bathwater have been paid for properly?

So it wasn’t Qing’s fault, probably.

*****

If your hair was long, drying it was pure suffering.

Even with hot air, it took forever—so how much worse would it be in this primitive, pre-civilization world?

But she was exhausted.

...Mm. Should I just sleep?

My pelvis hurts too much to shake my hair out...

When you had a cracked bone, even small movements triggered pain and wrecked your day.

So... yeah. Whatever. Just sleep.

And then—

KNOCK KNOCK.

A sound at the door.

—Uh... are you in there?

“Yeah, I’m here.”

—Uh...

Quiet. But the presence didn’t leave.

And only after a long while—

—Can I come in...?

“What are you doing? Come in already.”

Then he entered.

That freshly scrubbed face was still ugly as sin—no, it was worse, somehow. Maybe he looked better when he was filthy and covered in grime.

Ugly-hunchback guy, Kim Heojung, stepped into the room.

“Ugh, my pelvis...”

“Y-yes. Please lie down. Um. But...”

He came in—then stood in the middle of the room, fidgeting, unable to do anything, unable to decide what to do.

“What are you doing? Why are you frozen like that?”

“It’s my first time entering a woman’s room. Um. So this is what it looks like.”

Qing stared at him like he’d lost his mind.

The village only had two inns, and they’d lodged the honored guest in the slightly larger one.

“No, Young Hero, your room and my room are exactly the same. What—do you want to switch? You want this room?”

“Still... it’s somehow different. Um. Yes. Somehow... it’s... somehow fragrant!”

Of course it was.

The eunuch had secretly stolen the princess’s scented oil and poured it into Qing’s bath.

“Whatever. Anyway. Um. Are you leaving?”

Qing scanned him as she asked.

He was fully dressed, with a travel pack strapped on. If you had eyes, it was obvious what he looked like.

“Ah. Yes. Th-that’s right.”

Qing hesitated.

Would it be okay for Ugly-hunchback guy to learn Fairy Arts?

Not the “base material” problem—he was already twisted from the influence of other martial arts. If the base changed but the twist remained...

An image flashed through Qing’s mind: an old eunuch, face caked in heavy makeup.

What if he messed up and underwent some kind of “dark evolution,” turning into a grotesque creature that wasn’t man or woman?

...Mm. But what do I care?

Thinking about it, it wasn’t her problem to agonize over.

She just needed to tell Kim Heojung the risk. If he still wanted it, she could teach him. If he didn’t, then that was that.

Qing set her mind and started to speak—then paused.

...Huh?

Kim Heojung was acting weird.

He wouldn’t meet her eyes, only sneaking glances.

He kept clenching and unclenching his hands, rubbing them on his pants to wipe sweat, then not knowing where to put them—folding them in front, then clasping them behind his back, unable to decide.

“Mm. What is it? Don’t make it so hard. Just say it.”

“Ah—th-that. Um. Ahem. I saved your life, didn’t I? So... I have a favor to ask...”

“Mm. ‘Savior’ is a little questionable. If you hadn’t brought the Sword Demon, I would’ve finished things with the Heart-Eating Demon King anyway.”

“That—miss, that treacherous Tang bastard Sword Demon would have joined the Blood Cult whether he was tricked into coming with me or not. If I hadn’t followed just in case—”

“No, I’m kidding. I’m grateful. You really did save me. Seriously.”

“So... what I’m saying is... uh... just one last time, let me at least touch your chest—”

Qing’s face rotted instantly.

“You—hey! You were doing so well and you still pull this shit to the end. They say if you end well, it’s all good—this ending is a complete dumpster fire. Absolute dumpster fire.”

Kim Heojung made a distorted expression that Qing assumed was “wronged.”

“No, isn’t that much fine? It’s not like it wears down if you touch it. Just a little—just so a pitiful bastard like me can remember it for the rest of my life. Just a moment. Just this long—no, half a shichen—no, one shichen. Let me knead it.”

For reference, in Qing’s hometown time units, “one gak” was fifteen minutes, and one shichen was two hours.

He’d started small, then inflated the time like it suddenly sounded too short—two hours, what the hell.

Qing pressed her eyes hard with her fingers.

Wow. This bastard really is consistent to the bitter end...

Then she let out a long breath.

But for some reason, she felt like she understood.

“Fine. Knead. So—over the clothes?”

“I-if possible, while looking—”

“Then one gak.”

“No, miss—”

“Pick. Now. What are you going to do?”

“...One gak, please....”

Qing snorted through her nose.

“I thought I’d made a weird friend, but I guess you didn’t see it that way. Fine—clean 거래 is fine too, right? You bought my life with a chance to touch my chest. A clean deal. Right? Customer.”

Kim Heojung jerked.

“M-miss? Were we friends?”

“Weren’t we? You see each other, you greet each other like you’re glad, you naturally end up eating together and hanging around—if that isn’t a friend, what is? Do friends have to announce We are friends now and offer rites to Heaven-and-Earth Spirits, then register at a government office and notify the whole world?”

Kim Heojung wore a blank, stupid expression.

Qing sighed—her pelvis THROBBED.

Damn. I can’t even sigh.

Why did “I saved you, so let me touch your chest” come out of his mouth?

Because after tonight, they’d never see each other again.

If it happened, great. If it didn’t, whatever. If it didn’t, he’d just be a weird, filthy bastard—so why would it matter, for someone you’ll never see again?

And besides—

He’d fidgeted and watched her face first. That meant he knew it wasn’t a proud request. He didn’t even believe it was something he could justify.

And yet he still forced it out.

Because he knew he’d never get another chance in his life.

Because even he knew it was disgusting and filthy—and still, he thought this might be the only chance he ever got.

...Well. If you weigh profit and loss, it isn’t terrible.

People can’t stand not touching, right? Me neither—Heema... yeah, I miss Heema. If she’d come with me, I wouldn’t have had to see this... anyway—

But was that all there was?

If you parted on good terms, maybe later you’d meet again and genuinely be happy to see each other.

Friends didn’t have to be some grand thing.

You know someone, then you know them more, then they become a friend. Friends evolve into close friends, then best friends, then the kind of relationship where you run your mouth like idiots and take weird photos saying we’re friends for life.

But Ugly-hunchback guy had probably already given up without realizing it.

He’d trained on the mountain with no friends. And after he became twisted, he’d been met with contempt instead of friendship—because of his face.

He’d never had friends, so he didn’t know what friends were. And he’d already decided he never would.

As a former Plague Wretch... yeah. I know that feeling.

At first, you try to get even pity. You pick up trash. You act hurt. You act pathetic. You beg for attention.

But once you realize, these bastards are rotten to the core?

Then you steal from fields. You raid slop buckets while avoiding beggars. You get beaten, then grab pant legs demanding compensation, smearing your filth everywhere.

If you don’t plan to form relationships, you don’t bother trying to look good. You start calculating for your own benefit first.

But—

That’s normal. When life is hard, people get harsh.

Someone once said, If you want to see someone’s true self, watch them when they’re suffering.

In Qing’s opinion, that was the biggest load of bullshit on earth.

A person’s true self comes out when they have room in their heart. When they’re in pain, of course their own pain comes first.

Anyone who still puts others first when they’re suffering is a superhuman who deserves respect.

And if you’re the kind of bastard who “analyzes” whether someone is worthy of being your friend?

That bastard is the one who’ll never have friends.

No matter how hideous Kim Heojung looked, how even uglier his martial arts were, how even filthier his inner thoughts were—how he was a budding sex-crazed creep with a grudge against women—

From the moment he came back to help Qing, he was already her friend.

It had already happened. What was she supposed to do?

So you and me—us.

Even if I don’t want it, the world expands as our fates tangle and widen into “us.” In the end, it can become endlessly vast.

We can’t be together in every moment, and someday we’ll fade and disappear—empty and fleeting.

But bonds are what make people live inside an infinite, limitlessly expanding world.

At that, somewhere deep in Qing’s mindscape, some underlying edge stretched longer.

The world she had understood—her heart-mind, engraved into her by threefold refinement—swelled richer, fuller.

...Well. Of course, if I’m the only one who thinks we’re friends, and Ugly-hunchback guy hates it, then it can’t be helped.

“So. Decide. Friend—or chest?”

“...Friend. I’ll choose friend....”

Qing nodded, nodded.