Chapter 190: Dragon-Phoenix Assembly

Murong Juhui’s mouth opened and closed silently.

It felt as though humiliation and anger had become boiling water, rising right up to her throat. She couldn’t make a sound for fear that only hot liquid would spill out instead of words.

The heat filling her chest was so intense that all she could do was desperately try not to let strangled sobs escape.

“You… hic, how dare you… sob…”

Not only was the Murong brat small, but his older sister was also petite, slender, and delicate. Her small frame meant her face was no bigger than a palm, yet her unusually large eyes were now brimming with tears, clustered like grapes.

Seeing that made Qing feel a twinge of sympathy, wondering if she had gone too far.

However, Murong Juhui’s words and actions insulting the Divine Maiden Sect uniform had clearly crossed the line.

While the uniform was personally tailored by her Master using fine fabric to accommodate a disciple with long limbs and a broader torso than most women, more importantly, all disciples of the Divine Maiden Sect wore the same style.

“What kind of shabby clothes are those?” “What is that look?” Murong Juhui hadn’t finished her sentence, but having already mentioned beggars, the implication was obvious even without hearing the rest.

It was equivalent to insulting the entire Divine Maiden Sect, a grave discourtesy Qing could not tolerate.

“Miss Murong, you should watch your words," Qing stated firmly. "While the Divine Maiden Sect may not be one of the most renowned sects among the Nine Great Sects, One Union, none among them would dare say ‘how dare you’ to a disciple of the Divine Maiden Sect.”

In truth, this wasn't so much due to the Divine Maiden Sect's prestige but rather the presence of Ximen Surin, the Zenith Among Women.

It was Ximen Surin's disciple who held high seniority, not that the elders of the Divine Maiden Sect themselves commanded such respect.

Sects have ranks, and the Divine Maiden Sect was considered a minor Daoist establishment, far below even the Four Direction Sword Sects, which included Mount Heng Shan Sect, or orthodox Daoist sects like Mount Mao Shan Sect or Azure Mountain Sect.

It was widely known simply as a mysterious sect of women, but put differently, take away the "mysterious sect of women" aspect, and there wasn't much left.

“Aren’t you being too harsh!” one of Murong Juhui's friends cried out.

“Yeah, that’s too much!” another agreed.

Seeing their trembling leader looking pitiful, Murong Juhui’s clique jumped to her defense.

In reality, they felt Qing’s words hit close to home, sharing in the anger and sorrow. They huddled around Murong Juhui, hugging and comforting her, a scene displaying rather strong bonds of affection.

“Juhui, it’s okay. We’re here for you.”

“That’s just how those big women are. They don’t even see us as women if we’re not like them. You know, right? We only have each other.”

“Sob, sniffle…”

Amidst the warm comfort, Murong Juhui finally burst into tears.

Frankly, offering comfort at such a time is not much different from slapping someone on the cheek and telling them they should cry.

It’s like pouring dry leaves onto embers.

Qing scratched her head.

Ah, so she cries now.

From her observations before venturing into the martial arts world, Qing had concluded that women’s social battles were scored based on a combination of two factors.

One: Who could deliver the most cutting indirect insult.

The most crucial subtlety in a verbal duel between women was avoiding direct attacks. One had to employ the Dao of circumvention, phrasing attacks as if showing concern – ‘I’m only saying this because I care about you’ – making the opponent look strange if they got angry. According to some unspoken law, in this kind of indirect dissing contest, the first person to show anger loses.

And two: Who was the more pitiful one.

Or rather, who was the bigger victim.

Truthfully, the first type of contest was just a part of everyday life in female society, common as breathing. It blurred the lines between greeting and attack, typically sounding something like this:

‘Hey, Mwa-mwa? Wow, what’s this? New stuff? You look really pretty today. Are you going to that trendy cocktail bar again tonight? I find places like that a bit… uncomfortable. Guys hitting on you and all that.’

This was because it served as a fundamental process of war: gathering allies by signaling dislike for the target, thereby identifying the enemy. Carelessness at this stage could lead to being branded a turncoat and becoming the target of a joint attack from both sides before the real war even began – turning into an utter bitch. Thus, one had to carefully assess the power dynamics and join the side with the higher chance of winning.

The true war, the all-out war, was the second contest: Who was the more pitiful one?

This involved competing over who was the greater victim, making bursting into tears at the opportune moment the most critical strategic high ground.

Crying too abruptly would lead to whispers of ‘She’s forcing it,’ or ‘What right does she have to cry?’ resulting in immediate defeat. Therefore, the perfect moment was when onlookers thought, ‘Ah, that was a bit harsh,’ or ‘Hmm, that crossed the line.’ Then, BAM! Tears streaming!

However, according to the aforementioned unspoken law, the moment one side started crying, a strict judgment by the panel of onlookers followed, demanding careful consideration.

Just like now.

“She’s always picking fights, what right does she have to cry?” someone whispered nearby.

“Ha, I knew that wench would mess with the wrong person someday and get what’s coming to her,” another added quietly.

“Always criticizing others for being vulgar and dressing revealingly, or being boy-crazy and acting slutty, yet she’s the first one fawning all over the Jade Qilin whenever he appears.”

This was precisely why people acted exceptionally kind beforehand, emphasizing their own goodness in front of the "judges."

A suddenly offered energy drink could very well be the prelude to war.

Because if your tears failed to garner sympathy, you just ended up looking ridiculous.

Qing, a master of walking this tightrope, read the atmosphere and softened her tone.

“Oh dear, Miss, I’m truly sorry," she said gently. "This uniform is very precious to me, personally made by my Master. When you called it a dirty rag even beggars wouldn’t wear, a poorly patched scrap wasting valuable fabric, I got a little upset. Could you possibly forgive me?”

Hearing this, Jin Seol felt a chill run down her spine.

Wow, she didn’t actually say anything that harsh.

Murong Juhui, too, snapped back to reality.

It was the classic ‘My mom made this for me’ attack.

If she didn’t handle this carefully, she’d end up being the evil bitch who insulted someone’s family.

“That… that’s, well. I wasn’t trying to criticize it.”

And then her mind went blank.

If she argued that she hadn’t insulted it that badly, wouldn’t that be admitting she had insulted it to some degree?

“Looking closely, the, the fabric is quite high quality, hic, and it’s a wonderful uniform imbued with sincerity, sniff. I misspoke because I didn’t see it properly.”

“Ah. A mistake," Qing nodded understandingly. "Goodness, anyone can make a mistake. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize. How thoughtless of me. It was my fault. Since we both made mistakes, how about we just consider this whole thing null and void?”

“Yes…” Murong Juhui mumbled.

“Everyone, did you hear that?" Qing addressed the onlookers. "You didn’t hear anything either, alright?”

Jin Seol felt a little disappointed.

Wow, she’s letting her off here.

She could have easily driven her out, preventing her from even setting foot in the Dragon-Phoenix Assembly for the duration of the Murim Conference.

But Qing figured there was no need to make a bigger enemy, and considering her brother’s face, this was enough.

“Oh dear, it seems I’ve ruined the atmosphere," Qing said, looking around. "I should probably excuse myself. Miss Jin Seol, shall I see you later?”

“Ah! Yes! Take care,” Jin Seol replied quickly.

She even yielded the floor first.

Leaving without solidifying her victory, despite not knowing what backbiting might follow, was the magnanimity of a generous winner.

On the landing going down, Tang Nanah spoke.

“Still, I kinda felt sorry for her. Wasn’t that too harsh? Now you’re definitely enemies.”

“I thought she just had beef with Miss Jin Seol," Qing replied, "but seeing how she treated me, it looks like she just picks fights with anyone with big breasts. Considering she’ll probably keep getting on my nerves, it’s better to establish discipline early.”

That was why Qing had deliberately unleashed harsh words, pressing down hard and beating her down verbally.

If left unchecked, that type would only grow more arrogant, their behavior escalating and crossing more lines.

It was the classic case of someone whose resentment festered like a thorn in their heart simply because others possessed what they lacked.

It was a lesson Qing learned through experience.

Before entering the martial world, back in her hometown, Qing drove a popular domestically produced mid-to-large sized car. Her uncle, whose land value had shot up, bought an imported car. His cousins, spoiled and ungrateful brats, refused to ride in their uncle’s “old model,” so the car ended up with Qing.

Score.

However, quite a few people threw fits seeing a young production line worker driving such a large car. Among them, a certain Mr. Park was particularly bad—

Making good money, huh? Young people these days only live for today, no savings? Must be nice picking up girls in that fancy car?

Qing endured it, telling herself he was an elder.

But it only got worse. Eventually, whenever he started with his snide remarks, she’d just shower him with ten paragraphs praising her car.

Wow, absolutely. It’s fantastic. You wouldn’t know since you haven’t driven one, but you should really get one sometime. It’s a near-luxury size, so the ride comfort is completely different. Driving other cars feels shaky now, I can hardly stand it. Haha, reverse culture shock, right? If you’re thinking of a test drive, don’t. The reverse shock is real.

Eventually, he exploded, starting with ‘You little punk bastard!’, at which point Qing immediately reported him to the Personnel Manager and resolved the issue.

After that, no one bothered her anymore.

As they descended back to the fifth floor, the Daoist youths stood up awkwardly. “Elder, you’ve returned,” one greeted, showing respect.

Qing spoke with a slightly troubled expression.

“You don’t need to be so formal. I’m still just a young girl, so please, treat me comfortably.”

At that, the expressions of the young Daoist martial artists visibly relaxed. Truthfully, there was nothing more unsightly than a young brat lording their high seniority over others. Usually, they ended up treating such individuals as difficult younger siblings whom they still had to address respectfully.

However, the junior party couldn’t just say, ‘You’re young, let’s be friends,’ so if Qing hadn’t brought it up, they would have had no choice but to address her as Elder.

“Hmm, Sword Brother," Namgung Shinjae remarked. "Seeing you like this, I guess you really are a Daoist. With Changbin, I couldn’t tell if he finds you difficult because you’re a woman or because of your seniority.”

“For Changbin, it’s probably both. What do you say, Changbin?”

“Ahem," Changbin cleared his throat. "For me, it’s because the young lady is an Elder. Difficult around women? I don’t know what you mean.”

Guess he’s a bit more comfortable since we traveled together? Qing thought.

Actually, it was less about traveling together and more about Qing having shown such a manly disposition that made him comfortable, but how would Qing know Changbin’s inner thoughts?

Qing grinned wickedly and pushed Gongson Yoye forward.

“Ah, this is Miss Gongson, a Plum Blossom Sword practitioner from Mount Hua.”

“Great Expert Changbin of the Drunken Demon-Subduing Sword, I presume," Gongson Yoye said respectfully. "I have heard much of your esteemed reputation. As a fellow swordswoman, it is truly an honor to meet you like this. Would you perhaps grant me the precious opportunity to cross swords with you someday?”

“…”

Faced with Gongson Yoye’s polite praise, Changbin’s face turned beet red, and he could only nod silently.

“Ooh! The young lady’s words are truly excellent!" Namgung Shinjae exclaimed. "Yes, a sword practitioner should naturally follow greetings with a request to spar and improve their skills! Sword Brother, even your companions are extraordinary!”

“Because that’s Sword Brother for you,”

Qing gave a slight nod.

Ignoring Tang Nanah’s mutter of “Then what about me?”, Qing made another introduction.

“Yes, and this is the Little Sword King, Namgung Shinjae. His realm might be a bit lacking for a Little Sword King, but his passion for the sword is unmatched in the Central Plains. Yes, truly a Passionate Swordsman.”

“Passionate Swordsman!" Namgung Shinjae boomed. "What a beautiful phrase! I must change my moniker starting today. Isn’t that a far sweeter expression than Little Sword King! Sword Brother, how is it that every sound emerging from your lips strikes such a chord!”

“Hmm.” Qing acknowledged his enthusiasm.

Namgung Shinjae’s booming declaration completely drowned out the moment Gongson Yoye might have spoken.

“I’ve looked around, and this Dragon-Phoenix Assembly isn’t really my style," Qing said, turning to Namgung Shinjae. "I’d rather get my body moving. Sword Brother, how about a spar after such a long time?”

“I was just about to say the same thing!" Namgung Shinjae's eyes lit up. "Seeing Sword Brother acting like a lady made it difficult for me to bring it up, but indeed, Sword Brother, this is the bond we share through the sword! Let’s go! I have many newly carved wooden swords.”

“You brought wooden swords?” Qing asked, surprised.

“Of course, I did! Isn’t that common sense?" Namgung Shinjae declared. "I left them with my servant. He should be resting at the teahouse just ahead, I’ll go fetch them right away.”

And with an excited expression, he dashed off, disappearing down the landing in a flash.