Chapter 208: Let's Hold a Spar

Qing’s eyes narrowed.

“As far as I know, there’s only one person in the world brazen enough to barge into someone else’s guest room uninvited.”

“I knew it! That Sword Flower wench must have been here!” Tang Nanah exclaimed.

“No. You. I’m talking about you,” Qing replied.

Still, the comment about it being a ‘common trick’ nagged at her.

What? Are ploys like women tearing each other’s clothes really considered common?

“It was me,” Qing admitted. “Trying to dress myself using the dagger didn’t go so well.”

“Why would you even do that?” Tang Nanah asked.

“Yeah, why am I doing this….” Qing muttered to herself.

If the dagger hadn't been quite so sharp, it wouldn't have been such a tricky task.

But this Blue Sword, was it?

True to its reputation as a renowned blade, the moment any weight was put on the fabric caught by the edge, it sliced through smoothly, naturally.

Ultimately, she had to maintain an angle where no force was applied to the part of the clothing touching the blade, gently scraping with the tip of the sword to pull the garment on.

However, the blade tip was so incredibly sharp that nine times out of ten, it pierced the fabric, slid all the way to the hilt, and grazed the back of her hand.

And when pulling it out, the blade would catch again, widening the cut.

Resigned to sacrificing one set of clothes, she practiced relentlessly through the night and somehow managed to get dressed this time.

“Anyway,” Qing said, changing the subject, “what’s this about asking me to buy you something? How did you know when I’d be back?”

Suddenly, Tang Nanah shrieked.

“Qing-ah! You can’t go out like that! If you move even a little, everyone will see skin!”

“…? Of course I’m not going out like this,” Qing retorted. “What on earth do you take me for?”

“But, you walk around practically naked in the Divine Maiden Sect,” Tang Nanah insisted. “You know, that hobby of yours… showing things off. Even when you sleep. Ah! Don’t misunderstand, okay? The Blooming White Lily goes around with her chest bare all the time too, right? I can totally understand. Yep. As long as it looks good! It’s even better! I approve! Thank you!”

“What are you talking about?” Qing demanded. “And when did I ever walk around naked in the Divine Maiden Sect? I definitely wore clothes! Clothes my Master made for me personally!”

“Yep. Yep. Right. You’re right, Qing-ah. Totally right. If Qing-ah says so, then it must be true,” Tang Nanah said placatingly.

“You’re really starting to piss me off…” Qing grumbled.

“Ah! Still, I’ll be right back, so don’t go out looking like that, okay?”

“Hey!”

Provoking her anger one last time, Tang Nanah dashed off and disappeared.

Hemp cloth, or linen, was the cheapest fabric in the Central Plains. Because the threads were thick and coarse, the texture against the skin wasn't exactly pleasant, but it had the advantage of being exceptionally strong and durable.

For reference, hemp cloth is woven from hemp fibers.

Anyway, hemp clothes were notoriously difficult to care for.

Once they got dirty, the stains wouldn't come out. Once creased, the marks remained like folded metal, refusing to flatten out.

Thus, the people of the Central Plains devised a clever solution to overcome this.

Hard to manage?

Then don’t manage them!

Stains won’t come out?

Then just don’t remove them!

So, hemp clothes were typically workwear – worn casually and discarded when worn out.

They weren’t even properly laundered, just swished around in water and dried.

As a result, after a few years of wear, they’d become grimy and wrinkled all over. If you see people in old paintings wearing shabby clothes, they’re likely hemp.

Therefore, Qing felt much more comfortable taking a blade to these rough-wearing hemp martial uniforms.

Besides feeling more at ease, the fabric itself, being inherently sturdy and coarse, caught easily on the sword tip, making it considerably easier to dress with the dagger in hand.

Thus, Qing made rapid progress, succeeding in putting on clothes without tearing any holes in just half a shichen (one hour).

Considering her track record from the previous night – struggling endlessly without a wink of sleep, mangling one martial uniform, and only succeeding in dressing herself twice – this was a remarkable achievement.

Qing, feeling triumphant—Hah, that wasn't so hard after all!—puffed out her chest. The next order of business was breakfast.

Fortunately, breakfast consisted of dumplings, vegetables, and soup, which made things slightly easier.

She could just support a dumpling with the dagger and bring it to her mouth. The vegetables tended to clump together, so a rough stab could lift a whole bunch.

As for the soup bowl, well, compared to lifting flimsy, awkwardly balanced chunks of meat with the dagger, a solid bowl was nothing.

A normal person’s arm would tremble from the weight, but Qing possessed the monstrous strength to lift even a large cooking pot with her fingers.

Still, the fact remained that it required considerable effort. Watching her, Tang Nanah finally couldn't help but comment.

“Can’t you at least eat comfortably?”

“Aside from eating and dressing, all I do is train anyway,” Qing replied. “And if I avoid it because it’s hard, I’ll never be able to do it. I’ll get used to it if I keep trying.”

It’s difficult to argue against sound reasoning.

Instead, the listener just feels a bit wronged.

It’s like when a friend says something annoying.

Like, Why are you dozing off with your book open? You sleep at night anyway, isn’t it better to read even one line from the sages?

You have no comeback, but you’ll definitely be annoyed. Like you read so much yourself, you might think.

Similarly, Tang Nanah’s expression turned pouty.

Since when was she so dedicated to training, Nanah thought, making such a fuss during breakfast, of all times.

But what could Tang Nanah do, even if she was dissatisfied?

She’d sulked and left yesterday, only to realize upon reflection that only the Gong Clan wench would benefit. That’s why she’d staged this early morning raid.

After breakfast, they settled in the training grounds. Qing slowly went through the forms she knew, loosening up her body.

Chatting with a bored Tang Nanah, who sat with her chin propped in her hands, was an added bonus.

“Ah, right. Nanah, do you know Miss Seol Iri?” Qing asked.

“Huh? You mean the Ice Snow Flower? Everyone knows of her. But I doubt anyone’s actually close to her. Why?” Tang Nanah replied.

“Hm? Just wondering. I saw her once before, and she’s quite beautiful. Like, did you see the mole under her eye? She has such an elegant look, but that mole right there… wow.”

“What, looking for beauties when there’s one right in front of you?” Tang Nanah preened. “Look here. What’s this?”

“I trust you’re not about to call that a flower pose,” Qing deadpanned.

“Why not? I’m the Poison Flower, right? Supporting a flower makes it a flower pose.”

As Qing engaged in such idle banter with Tang Nanah, Namgung Shinjae arrived – invariably the first one there, having never missed a session.

“Sword Brother? Hmm. Are you perhaps in mourning? My condolences,” Namgung Shinjae remarked, eyeing Qing's attire.

“What? Why are you suddenly acting like this is a funeral?” Qing asked, bewildered.

“I saw you wearing rough hemp clothes and wondered,” Namgung Shinjae explained. “Hmm, are times truly that hard? There’s no need for reservations between those who share Sword-Camaraderie. Clothes are a small matter—”

“It’s not because I don’t have money for clothes!” Qing interrupted. “It’s an extension of yesterday’s training. Hmm, but I appreciate the thought.”

“It seems like a training method of questionable utility,” Namgung Shinjae mused. “Well then, let’s see if it has had any effect.”

“Sounds good! I’m coming at you first this time!” Qing declared.

Qing didn’t hesitate and charged straight in.

Since her goal was an attack style pursuing softness, simply defending wouldn’t be very helpful.

Qing drew a semi-circle, whipping her tightly bent arm outward.

Namgung Shinjae’s sword moved to block its path. In that instant, Qing’s wrist twisted slightly, causing the flats of their blades, not the edges, to scrape against each other.

Simultaneously, Qing supported the flat of her own wooden sword with her left hand and pushed forward.

“Good!” Namgung Shinjae shouted.

The moment he shouted, an opening!

Qing’s eyes flashed as she executed a technique.

Second form of the Yue Maiden Sword Technique: Amuyusa - Playful Child Dance.

Lightly, like a child dancing.

Huh? Shouldn’t it be light? It needs to be soft—

“Ugh!”

In that instant, all strength drained from her body, and her breath caught sharply. The next thing she knew, the fine dust of the training ground was grating against her cheek.

“Hah, heok, hoo, hup, hooo. Hey, heok.”

Qing desperately gasped for air.

Getting jabbed hard in the solar plexus with the tip of a wooden sword meant hitting the dirt, regardless of one's superhuman endurance.

“Hmm, Sword Brother,” Namgung Shinjae began, “Just now, I believe you became too fixated on softness. It would have been better if you had just executed the move as is. Instead, it became an attack that was neither here nor there.”

“Aghh. Somehow… hoooo… aren’t you getting crueler with your strikes…” Qing gasped out.

“Such exaggeration from my Sword Brother. You’re clearly fine, so stop lying there and get up, Sword Brother.”

Well, it wasn't like bones were broken or muscles torn, leaving lasting injuries.

Qing took Namgung Shinjae’s offered hand and pulled herself up. Her breath had returned, but her entire torso ached with every inhale and exhale.

“Still, your first move was excellent,” Namgung Shinjae commented. “The technique of transitioning from a strong attack to yielding softness and pushing through was truly exquisite, almost reaching the level of a life-saving desperate measure.”

“Hm. Is the training working?” Qing asked hopefully.

“Perhaps. We’ll know if we do more. Come now, Sword Brother, do we have time to stand around like this? A sword’s life is short, and even now, the sun is setting.”

Isn’t saying the sun is setting in the morning a bit strange? Qing thought.

But he wasn’t wrong, technically.

And so, twenty bouts, twenty losses.

This time, it was a complete defeat.

However, Namgung Shinjae’s assessment was different.

“Certainly, that peculiar training seems to be effective. I should acquire a sharp dagger myself… no, a swordsman walking the righteous path cannot wield a dagger. I must do it with a longsword.”

“But I lost every match?” Qing protested.

“That’s because it has become difficult for me to hold back against you any longer, Sword Brother,” Namgung Shinjae replied.

“My swordsmanship has improved that much? Enough to rival yours, Sword Brother?”

“Not quite. Let’s just say I can no longer afford to hold back. Your external arts are so outstanding that although your swordsmanship is still pitiful compared to your realm, I can no longer underestimate you.”

“Do you have to say ‘pitiful’…” Qing grumbled.

As Qing grumbled, Namgung Shinjae smiled gently and delivered his diagnosis.

“You were trying too hard to force softness into the techniques, which created large openings. Apart from that, the principle of yielding has already melted into your swings. Your stance is markedly different from yesterday, so one can only conclude that the training was effective.”

He added that the sound of their wooden swords clashing had significantly diminished, meaning the principle of deflecting force with softness had become much more familiar to her hands.

Later, Peng Daesan arrived with Peng Choryeo, and Qing proceeded to diligently roll around on the ground some more.

Still, her win rate against the two had increased slightly, making her wonder if the training was indeed having an effect.

Then, heading towards the bathhouse to wash off sweat and dirt before lunch.

“Tsk tsk, you look quite shabby.”

“Ah, Mister. You’re here again?” Qing said, looking up.

There, in the same spot as yesterday, was Cheon Yuhak, lounging comfortably in the shade, this time having even spread out a mat.

“How did the training go? Tough, right?” Cheon Yuhak asked.

“Oh, don’t even ask. It took me three shichen to eat!” Qing complained, utterly fed up.

Cheon Yuhak let out an undignified chuckle.

“That’s how delicate the work of fingers is. You have five fingers on each hand, don’t you? Do you think it’s easy to replace all that with a single sharp blade? Is it easy or hard?”

“It’s hard…” Qing admitted.

“Seeing your hemp clothes, it looks like you figured it would be easier than linen,” Cheon Yuhak observed. “But seeing your clothes intact, you must have given up, eh? Kehkeh, in that case, let me give you a few more pointers—”

“No, I didn’t give up,” Qing stated. “I put them on with the knife.”

“Hmph. Kid, lying to adults isn’t good,” Cheon Yuhak scoffed.

“I’m not lying.”

“Hm? Really? Can you swear on your master?”

“Yes. I ruined about five sets, but well, I managed to thread myself into them somehow.”

“…”

Cheon Yuhak was momentarily speechless.

He hadn't told her the method expecting her to succeed.

After all, hadn't he given her the Blue Sword, an artifact renowned for its terrifying sharpness?

Of course, Cheon Yuhak himself could perform all sorts of tasks with the Blue Sword through the same training.

But when Cheon Yuhak learned from his master, he started with carving tools that were barely sharp, with blades only the size of a finger – hardly even qualifying as daggers.

Only after getting accustomed to those did he gradually increase the sharpness and length of the blades.

Besides, the Blue Sword was extraordinarily sharp.

Since Cheon Yuhak hadn't yet stolen it during his own training period, the difficulty level Qing faced was even higher than the highest level he himself had trained at.