Chapter 228: Wanderers Have Their Own Code of Honor

Surprisingly, the Central Plains had a long tradition of seated living. People slept in beds and sat on chairs.

The full-lotus posture adopted by martial artists was different from the common cross-legged sitting position known in Qing's homeland; it was closer to a feat where both feet rested atop the opposite thighs.

In short, it was a damn uncomfortable position. The reason for adopting it was, in fact, a form of ascetic practice to avoid dozing off during meditation.

The full-lotus posture originated from Buddhism, and the roots of ancient Buddhism lay in self-mortification.

Therefore, for the martial artists in the Unaffiliated Guest Hall, the full-lotus wasn't impossible, just somewhat uncomfortable.

Although they were unaffiliated, Wanderers by origin, they weren't rootless vagabonds completely devoid of Internal Energy cultivation. They had passed the Murim Alliance's strict character screening and earned reputations for their righteous deeds in their respective regions.

Thanks to this, Doraeman, lying on the floor, was the only one feeling uncomfortable.

Doraeman asked, "Young Lady Ximen? Can't I just sit up too?"

Qing replied, "Hey now. Just lie down comfortably. Relax. Young Expert Do deserves special treatment."

How could this possibly be comfortable!

Almost all the unaffiliated martial artists in the Unaffiliated Guest Hall were sitting in the full-lotus posture, leaving Doraeman as the only one lying on the floor.

This felt less like special treatment and more like special torment. It seemed like she was holding a grudge because he dared to offer her that wicked medicine made with Blood Essence.

"So, every single one of you took the Jamlamdan. Hmm. What's done is done," Qing stated.

The unaffiliated martial artists avoided her gaze.

Qing continued, "The human pills will be disposed of after a proper ritual. Now, now. Take them out. And maybe we can start with the description of the bastard who gave you the pills—"

"This isn't right. Who are you, Young Lady, to demand we hand them over?"

"Huh?"

Qing looked at the martial artist who had stood up abruptly in protest.

It was Young Expert Wang Nopil, the one who used a chair as a weapon.

Qing asked, "What's this? Are you saying you'll keep taking pills made from ground-up people?"

Wang Nopil hesitated for a moment before replying, "Isn't the deed already done? It's unfortunate for the victims, but wouldn't they prefer their sacrifice wasn't in vain, that someone made use of it, rather than being discarded meaninglessly?"

What kind of logic is this? Qing thought.

Qing snapped irritably, "What grand, righteous act are you claiming makes it meaningful? Is taking them before the tournament something to brag about so proudly? Did you really think those crimson Jamlamdan pills handed over by some shady character were legitimate in the first place?"

"That's..."

"All of you, speak up," Qing demanded. "Don't give me that crap about trusting him because he was The Divine Thief. Did the guy claiming to be The Divine Thief flash some officially issued Divine Thief certificate? Aren't you all sitting here meekly in this uncomfortable position because you know you did something shady and have something to hide? Ah. Young Expert Do, please stay lying down. Hey, I told you to be comfortable."

The martial artists averted their eyes, and the pitiful Doraeman, who had awkwardly started to get up, uncomfortably lay back down.

Qing roughly calculated that each pill added about thirty points of Bad Karma.

But, was ignorance a valid excuse?

It wasn't like someone secretly fed it to them while they slept or held a knife to their throats, forcing them to choose between eating it or dying.

According to Nanah, the crimson color itself was considered ominous and something to avoid. Yet, these idiots had gleefully gulped down the pills handed to them by some unknown person.

The Divine Thief? That was just an excuse. They wanted to believe it was a beneficial medicine from The Divine Thief because they were greedy for good results in the Hidden Dragon Tournament.

Was the source suspicious? Yes.
Was the medicine suspicious? Yes.
Was the purpose honorable? No.

Given all this, could they complain about accumulating Bad Karma?

Wang Nopil shouted back angrily, "You don't understand, Young Lady! Raised comfortably, fed elixirs from a young age, learning Divine Arts... how could you possibly understand how we feel! You'll never grasp what this Hidden Dragon Tournament means to us Wanderers! Everyone, isn't that right!?"

At Wang Nopil's grief-stricken words, anger flared in the eyes of the other martial artists as well.

There were typically two ways to anger someone. The first was to stop talking mid-sentence, and the second was... well.

However, those methods applied to daily life, not the art of debate and argument.

There was a superior offensive technique, both defensive and offensive, that truly provoked anger, simultaneously inducing feelings of injustice, frustration, and rebelliousness, silencing the opponent while causing their blood pressure to skyrocket.

It was seizing the moral high ground and crushing the opponent by pointing out their flaws.

Qing mentally slapped herself. Oops.

Rattling off accusations in annoyance wouldn't make the opponent feel ashamed; it would only provoke resistance. It was just venting, sharp words flung from her mouth for her own satisfaction.

Persuading an opponent required guidance through empathy.

Or money.

And Qing's preferred method: force.

Changing tactics, Qing softened her demeanor and spoke soothingly, "I understand completely, that's why I'm here trying to resolve this quietly. Seriously, I could have tattled to the higher-ups in the Righteous Faction about the Jamlamdan and the tournament, but I came here instead, right? Because I get how desperate you all are."

"Hah. Understanding. Don't make me laugh," Wang Nopil scoffed. "What do you know, Young Lady? How could a disciple of the Divine Maiden Sect possibly understand the sorrow of wandering without even a proper sect, let alone a decent background?"

"Well, I'm originally a Wanderer too, you know," Qing said. "It was only a few years ago that I was living like trash, eating garbage, and fighting with beggars over spots."

"...? Then aren't you from a beggar background, not a Wanderer—" Wang Nopil started.

"Hey. Wanderer, beggar," Qing interrupted. "If you steal with a sword, you're a Wanderer; if you beg without one, you're a beggar, right? Isn't that so? Haven't you all slept on the streets, gotten beaten up by beggars, and felt overjoyed when you found a decent chunk of meat in discarded food scraps? And also..."

Once she started talking, the resentment pent up inside burst forth.

If not now, who else could she vent to?

Thinking she had finally met people who could empathize, Qing poured out the sadness she had kept bottled up.

The expressions of the Wanderers turned awkward.

"Uh. Um."

"Catching a rat meant a rare feast, and eating it raw because you didn't want those beggar bastards to steal it..." Qing continued, "Shieeet, just thinking about it makes me mad. I should've set fire to that spot under the bridge before leaving Jianping. Maybe I'll go back after the Murim Conference."

The martial artists exchanged glances.

No matter how down on their luck a Wanderer was, they usually didn't stoop that low. Even working day labor selling their swordsmanship at some Third-Rate martial hall would at least guarantee cold rice and a place to sleep.

"You, uh, must have gone through a lot..." one muttered.

"What's with the pitying looks?" Qing asked. "Isn't this normal for Wanderers?"

"Young Lady, actually, that sounds more like a beggar than a Wanderer, ahem. No, I mean, you truly suffered greatly, Young Lady," Wang Nopil started to correct her but quickly changed his tune after getting elbowed in the ribs by a colleague.

And just like that, Wang Nopil's attempt at rallying them fizzled out.

Hearing Qing's tale filled with sorrow and hardship actually provided some comfort; it made them realize that their own lives weren't the absolute rock bottom of the martial world's gutters.

After all, if they possessed martial arts skills decent enough to be known for righteous deeds in their hometowns, their lives hadn't hit absolute despair.

Eventually, wooden boxes began to pile up neatly in front of Qing.

Qing opened them to check. Each contained two pills, with two empty slots.

It seemed they had diligently taken one pill for each of the two tournament matches so far.

"Hmm? What's this? Who only took half?" Qing asked, spotting one box with only half a pill. "You went out after taking one and a half pills?"

"That one was originally half," one martial artist explained. "They said first-timers should start with half a dose, so one pill was half from the beginning. I'd taken it once before, so..."

The martial artists nodded in agreement.

It turned out the box originally contained three and a half pills, not four.

What the hell. They even adjusted the dosage for first-timers? Isn't that awfully considerate for someone pulling such a strange stunt? Qing wondered.

Although it was a wicked elixir, it was reportedly genuine Jamlamdan, highly effective with almost no side effects.

Thinking the world was full of truly bizarre individuals, Qing got to the main point, "From now on, we need to catch the bastard who distributed this evil drug and deal with him."

"The Divine Thief, you mean?" one asked hesitantly. "How could we possibly..."

"Someone deliberately distributed a horrific item made from Blood Essence," Qing stated firmly. "Whether it was The Divine Thief or not, do you think they did it out of goodwill? If they weren't trying to ruin your bodies, they were trying to ruin your reputations."

"Our reputations...?" a martial artist echoed.

"Unaffiliated martial artists finally achieve good results in the tournament, and then someone suddenly appears shouting, 'Those bastards cheated by eating pills made from ground-up humans!'" Qing explained. "Your reputations hit rock bottom, and the Murim Alliance's reputation gets dragged down with it. That's what I think. What about you?"

This was the assessment of Qing, an expert in reputation assassination.

As the foremost authority on shattering face, Qing could roughly see through others' schemes.

The warriors' expressions turned grave.

There's no such thing as baseless goodwill in the world.

They had initially thought it plausible because The Divine Thief was known to be eccentric, strange enough to suggest they 'steal victory together'.

But in truth, the unaffiliated martial artists, desperate for a life-changing victory in the tournament, had simply wanted to believe it, clinging to their desperation.

Only after hearing Qing's words did they realize their belief was a fantasy utterly devoid of evidence.

"Like I said before, I understand your desperation," Qing continued. "Honestly, is there really a huge difference between reaching a realm because you were born sucking on elixirs versus shaving off some of your lifespan to gain skill? I don't even want to call it right or wrong. If only that damn Jamlamdan wasn't made from ground-up people."

The martial artists nodded seriously.

"So, I don't want this to come out and have you all pointed at," Qing said. "You worked incredibly hard without any backing to get this far. Weren't you all known as respected experts for your righteous deeds back home?"

At thirty Bad Karma points per pill, half of these men would still lean towards Good Karma even after subtracting sixty points.

Even adding sixty points, none exceeded one hundred Bad Karma, proving the Murim Alliance's personnel screening was effective.

For members of the Righteous Faction, living righteously was relatively easy.

But maintaining one's integrity while living a difficult life (though perhaps not as difficult as Qing imagined) was truly hard.

Therefore, people like these shouldn't be condemned or pointed at just because they succumbed to a moment's temptation.

In Qing's opinion, that simply wasn't right.

"So, don't you think you'll only be able to sleep soundly once we catch the bastard or bastards who distributed the pills and deal with them?"

The martial artists nodded again.

Qing spoke in a gentle voice, "So let's put our heads together. Figure out how we're going to catch and screw them over."