Chapter 206: Let's Hold a Spar

The Yue Maiden Sword Sutra unfolded smoothly.

The sword, tracing a gentle arc, suddenly hooked down like a calligrapher's stroke before snapping upwards. Qing extended her right hand, pulled taut to her left, thrusting diagonally up from left to right.

Peng Choryeo spun away, her body rotating just as the wooden sword stabbed through the air, narrowly missing the curve of her back.

As Peng Choryeo’s hair fanned out, Qing’s eyes lit up.

An opening!

Qing retracted her sword and raised her hand high.

The wooden sword descended fiercely, aimed straight at the crown of Peng Choryeo’s head.

It plunged into the wide spread of Peng Choryeo’s hair. But there was no sensation, just an empty feeling as if cutting through air—

Crack! Qing’s world spun.

As Peng Choryeo had turned, she had swept the iron staff in her hand low along the ground. The heavy iron, gaining momentum from the wide circular motion, had slammed into Qing’s calf, just above the ankle.

Qing’s feet flew into the air, her body tilting sideways as she crashed down onto her shoulder.

“Ugh, hiss…”

It was a rather weak groan for such a harsh tumble, despite being hit hard enough on the calf to be knocked completely sideways in mid-air.

She sprang up immediately, rubbed her calf a few times, rolled her shoulder, and gripped her sword again almost instantly.

Another twenty-odd exchanges followed.

This time, Qing took a direct hit below the pelvis, squarely on the thigh. She let out a hissing breath through clenched teeth, slowly rubbing the spot.

Zhuge Ihyeon, watching with a weary expression, cautiously spoke up.

“Sister Peng? Perhaps you could go a little easier…”

“How can I go any easier than this? I can’t deliberately slow down the momentum.”

Peng Choryeo was wielding a blunt iron staff instead of her Dadao. Including the handle, it was a solid piece of iron measuring six and a half chi. (1.95 - 2.15 meters (approx. 6'5" - 7'0"))

It weighed just under twenty jin. (12 kg (approx. 26.4 lbs))

Such a heavy weapon couldn’t be swung purely with strength.

One had to follow its flow, using the weapon's own weight to press down. It was an art where one either rotated if untouched or used the rebound from a clash to continuously draw large circles.

Peng Choryeo was merely holding onto the heavy staff; going easier wasn't really possible from this point.

“Choryeo is right. How will I improve otherwise? Training has to hurt for the body to remember it.”

Qing backed Choryeo up.

Like master, like disciple, as they say. Qing had been deeply impressed by Ximen Surin’s body-imprinting education method.

Choryeo beamed, unable to hide her proud satisfaction.

“Our Qing-ah is truly showing rapid progress.”

“My basics were severely lacking to begin with.”

Initially, Qing couldn’t even withstand a single exchange with Peng Choryeo without breaking her wooden sword.

How could it be easy to parry an extremely heavy weapon, carrying entirely different weight dynamics, with a fragile wooden sword and without utilizing internal energy properly?

If the angle of deflection was even slightly off, the wooden sword would simply snap.

Peng Choryeo, considering this, had started with straightforward strikes, gradually incorporating more techniques and feints.

Now, even when Peng Choryeo employed all the tricks of a seasoned warrior, Qing could last over twenty exchanges.

Having finally had a good workout after a long time, Peng Choryeo stepped back, wiping sweat with a refreshed expression.

Qing brushed the dirt off her cheap, mud-caked martial uniform and urged the next person on.

“Phew. Who’s next? Sword Brother?”

“Yes! I’ve been waiting!”

“Just do a few rounds and step aside.”

Once Qing caught fire for training, everyone else, being natural-born martial artists, got excited too.

While Namgung Shinjae was always fired up, even the Peng siblings gradually stopped being surprised by Qing’s ridiculously harsh training regimen.

Thanks to this, the sounds of Qing getting hit were different now compared to when the infinite sparring began ten days ago.

What used to be sounds like thwack, tap, thud had escalated to thump, crack, splat—enough to make any listener queasy. It was only natural that Zhuge Ihyeon, who visited occasionally, would express serious concern.

“Sister Tang, is this sparring… really alright? Can a person’s body normally endure such abuse?”

Tang Nanah, who was unusually focused on practicing her hidden weapons, tilted her head at his question.

But she, too, had known Qing for a while.

“Huh? Qing-ah? She’s fine.”

“You say she’s fine?”

“Qing-ah is tough, and she constantly maintains a protective aura. Just getting hit like that won’t even damage her muscles, let alone break bones. Unless it’s sword energy or a sharp blade, nothing will penetrate. Can’t even place acupuncture needles. Ow, this one’s stuck. Don’t just stand there gawking, help me out?”

“Ah, yes.”

Zhuge Ihyeon started plucking out the hidden weapons densely embedded in the wooden dummy.

As quickly as he pulled them out, Tang Nanah snatched them up and continuously stuffed them into her sleeves, her bodice, and the folds of her long, flowing top.

The loose-fitting, long, and fluttering clothes Tang Nanah favored were, in fact, chosen more for their functional beauty as a hidden weapon arsenal than for their appearance.

Watching her, Zhuge Ihyeon made a mental note.

Never get on the wrong side of a Tang Clan martial artist.

“Besides, isn’t it good that she’s working so hard? It makes me feel like I should be practicing my hidden weapons too. Seeing her like this makes me think, ah, so that’s how she reached the Late Stage Peak Realm. Pretty amazing, our Qing-ah.”

Zhuge Ihyeon nodded.

Ultimately, Zhuge Ihyeon was also a martial artist, and martial artists were a breed whose distinction between abuse and diligence was inherently blurry.

Thus, by the time the sun set and evening approached, Qing was truly a sight to behold.

Her martial uniform, soaked with sweat, would pick up dust from the training ground floor, which then caked onto her like mud from rolling around.

“Hoo…”

Today’s win rate was about ten percent.

The win rate itself remained stagnant.

But that was likely because everyone was getting more serious in the spars, raising the intensity of their attacks.

Still, you could say she’d improved a lot, right?

Feeling a sense of pride, Qing dragged her heavy, weary body toward the bathhouse.

“Tsk tsk. Look at you, making quite a mess of yourself.”

Startled by the sudden voice, Qing turned her head. Leaning against a tree, as if he’d been there all along, was a short, middle-aged man.

“Ah! You startled me. Um, who are you? I feel like I might have seen you somewhere before…”

“How about like this-yong? Don’t you remember me-yong?”

“Ah! The weird-talking uncle who sold fake books!”

Qing recalled the peculiar book merchant from the black market.

Having heard Zhuge Ihyeon’s explanation about the Shadowless Divine Hand, she had a rough idea of his identity.

Could this uncle be the one who took my Bokshinjeok?

But asking that directly would be admitting she knew his identity, so Qing kept her thoughts hidden for now.

“I am Cheon Yuhak. Anyway, I’ve watched you for a few days, and you’re one relentlessly harsh girl. Truly relentless.”

“Well, I’m fine, but you shouldn’t say things like that so carelessly. What if my Master hears about it? You’d get utterly destroyed.”

Since the book merchant was an extremely suspicious character, Qing deliberately mentioned Ximen Surin.

“Why? Was there anything in what I just said that warrants getting utterly destroyed?”

“If I were a man instead of having this body, would you still have called me relentless?”

When a man sweats all day, rolls around, gets beaten up, and dedicates himself to training, people admire him, thinking, He’s truly determined! What admirable grit! He’ll surely become a great figure in the future!

But when a woman does the same, they click their tongues, thinking, How harsh she is. She must harbor such venom. Who on earth would ever take her?

This was the general attitude in the martial arts world, which was why Ximen Surin had caused such an uproar in her youth.

“Hmm. I probably still would have called you foolish…”

Hit close to home, Cheon Yuhak changed the subject.

“Anyway, what kind of training is this? To me, it just looks like you’re determined to exhaust yourself. Why, does sweating, aching muscles, and getting hit all over make you feel proud that you’ve worked hard?”

His words actually hit the nail on the head.

As someone who wasn't solely a martial artist, he could take a step back and see past the label of 'diligence' to the abnormality hidden beneath.

Qing’s expression soured.

Who is this uncle, picking a fight out of nowhere?

“I might look like this, but I’ve improved tremendously, you know? I couldn’t even clash a few times before, but now everyone spars with me seriously.”

“Hmph. Improved, my foot. Even a neighborhood mutt would learn to dodge after getting hit that much. Do you think that’s because your skill improved? It’s just because you got used to getting hit, so you developed a knack for avoiding it.”

“That’s still a type of skill, isn’t it?”

“You’ll just get beaten again when you face a different opponent. Are you planning to seek out every martial artist in the world just to get beaten up?”

Seriously, listen to the way this uncle talks. What’s with his attitude?

Qing’s eyebrow twitched.

But she held back, just once.

“Anyone can give unsolicited advice, you know? So, do you happen to know some incredibly efficient training method?”

“Like you said, anyone can give advice. Seeing you struggle foolishly without gaining much, should I just clap and say ‘Oh, good job, good job’?”

“Well, if you don’t know any other way either, I’ll just stick to what I was doing. I don’t know what you were up to, but please continue with your business. Well then.”

Qing gave a slight bow and turned away.

If he wasn't going to help, his advice only served to sour her mood.

“No, no, wait. You’re just leaving like that?”

“Well? Is there something else you wanted to say?”

Cheon Yuhak thought, Oops.

He’d inadvertently let his temper get the better of him, and his frustration had made his words a bit sharp.

He quickly grabbed Qing as she turned again.

“Aren’t you trying to learn softness? It looks like you’re trying to imbue your sword with fluidity.”

“Yes. That’s right.”

“Hmm, a sword isn’t inherently such a soft object. How could you possibly achieve that by swinging it tens of thousands of times? True softness isn’t instilled that way.”

“Then how?”

“Get yourself a sharp dagger… no. Here. Take this.”

Cheon Yuhak pulled a dagger, sheath and all, from his robes and tossed it in an arc.

Qing caught it and drew the blade. The chilling blue glint of the steel told her it was no ordinary item.

“Ooh? Are you giving this to me?”

“I’m lending it to you for a while. From now on, think of it as your hand, and use it instead.”

“What do you mean? Instead of my hand?”

“Literally. Do everything you used to do with your hand, with that dagger instead. Eat with it, dress with it—do exactly what your hand did. Don’t let it leave your hand except when you sleep. You understand that you shouldn’t just use your left hand instead, right?”

Qing looked at the dagger with a dubious expression.

Still, it was advice from an expert, and it seemed unlikely he’d go to the trouble of lending her an expensive dagger just to mess with her.

“You’re not messing with me, are you?”

“Messing with you? I’m telling you this because that’s how I learned too.”

“Hmm. Thank you.”

Qing bowed her head slightly.

Cheon Yuhak nodded and continued.

“By the way, do you not need the Bokshinjeok? I wrote a message for you. Wasn’t there a handkerchief inside the flute?”

“Ah. That thing. What’s the big deal? Why did you take someone else’s belongings?”

“‘That thing’? If you read the message, shouldn’t you have come?”

Cheon Yuhak was flabbergasted.

Regardless, Qing remained nonchalant.

“I noticed it was swapped later when I was getting ready for bed. The time mentioned had long passed, and you wrote you had no ill intentions, so I figured you’d contact me again later.”

“No, if a precious treasure is stolen, you should come running immediately! Why treat it like you forgot some simple errand?”

“Who would covet such a drab flute? It probably doesn’t even make a sound anyway.”

“You little brat. Do you have any idea how much just the Ten Thousand Year Cold Iron in this is worth? If you made a sword with this, it would be a divine sword, a treasure under heaven!”

“Is there really a need to melt down a perfectly fine flute to make a sword? Isn’t a flute better than a sword that just cuts people anyway?”

“Talking nonsense like some lofty Daoist, just because you have the title…”

It wasn’t really because Qing was a Daoist practitioner; she simply lacked material desire.

This wasn’t Qing’s inherent nature, but rather a result of her circumstances.

People who couldn’t guarantee their tomorrow didn’t bother with savings. Experiencing a sudden, world-altering event tended to flip one’s perspective on the future entirely.

Because something that happened once could easily happen again.

Cheon Yuhak subtly shifted to his main point.

“Hmm. But tell me. Have you ever thought about learning martial arts? I happen to possess several Absolute Studies of Divine Arts renowned throughout the world.”

“Thank you.”

Qing bowed her head politely.

Cheon Yuhak’s face lit up.

“In that case, first, the Nine Bows of Etiquette—”

“Ah. So that’s what you meant. I’m sorry. I can’t possibly serve two Masters.”

Qing immediately changed her stance.