Chapter 86: The Heavenly Demon Cult Serial Murder Case #5 – No Chinese Allowed, Absolutely Not.

Seol Ganom had an expression of utter disbelief.

Why not? It’s not even that hard.

Yeah, that was exactly the kind of internal monologue written all over his face.

“You don’t seem all that desperate. But still, wouldn’t crawling through filth be preferable to death? At least then you’d live to fight another day.”

There was an old saying in the Central Plains—"Crawling Between the Legs."

It referred to the humiliation of having to crawl between someone’s legs just to survive.

The phrase originated from the infamous black mark on the legendary Han Xin’s record—a great general of the Chu-Han Contention and one of the most celebrated strategists in Chinese history.

Sure, he went on to achieve great things afterward. But in the end? His later years were a miserable wreck.

“Isn’t living better than dying? I know a couple of perverted cult bastards who’d love to keep you as a pet.”

Sigh.

Qing let out a deep breath and said,

“Yeah, no. Ever heard of something called human dignity?”

Seol Ganom’s face noticeably stiffened.

His vacant stare, the wrinkles creased with regret—he looked like he was sifting through distant memories.

Then, shaking his head, he apologized.

“…My bad. You’re right. Guess I’ve been living so long like this that I forgot.”

Qing shrugged. “Eh, I do have one friendly old geezer. Purple Lightning Demonic Warlord—he’s a foul-mouthed old man, but still.”

“That poor bastard?”

Seol Ganom gave her a once-over.

“…Yeah. Makes sense.”

“Uh, excuse me? That sounded way more insulting than it should have.”

“I heard his daughter was about your age when she died. Apparently, she was so insufferable that she was compared to the Three Great Villainesses. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t see you as a stranger.”

“…Why do I feel like shit hearing this? Why do my fingers itch?”

Qing raised a pale hand, her fingers gleaming white under the dim light.

Seol Ganom wisely shut his mouth.

“I mean, come on. I have ears, you know? I heard all the gossip about how senile he’s getting. But you never know unless you ask, right? No point deciding in advance that someone’s a lost cause.”

“But the Purple Lightning Demonic Warlord is a lifelong, die-hard cultist. He’s spent his entire life as a devoted follower of the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult. No matter what tricks you pull, I doubt he’ll help you.”

Qing waved her hand dismissively.

“Forget it. Let’s just focus on the kill-burn-steal plan. You seemed pretty damn competent at that when you were talking earlier.”

Seol Ganom chuckled.

“But of course. Wishing for the downfall of this shithole world is what I do best. That’s what makes a true professional.”

“Oh, hell yeah. That’s the spirit! What a genius.”

“You act all carefree, but you’ve been leaving only traces of White Hand Demonic Arts in your murders while pretending to be some crippled weakling. You’re just as meticulous as I am.”

“That’s just ‘cause I’m amazing. And you’re pretty great too, Seol Ganom.”

A pair of high-level villains, casually stroking each other’s egos.

“If your junior sister is a Daoist priestess, she probably wields a sword. But do you know how to use a spear or a staff? Even if you’re not proficient, just being able to mimic the marks they leave would be enough.”

“Obviously. Who do you think I am? Just name it.”

Seol Ganom nodded.

“Alright, then. First things first, we should start by setting the Inner Hall’s Peace Pavilion on fire…”

By the time Qing returned before sunrise and closed her eyes with ease, it was already midday.

She had slept like a baby, and her body felt ridiculously refreshed.

Damn, Grand Purity Sutra is something else. This shit works.

But… hmm. Maybe it’s not all good.

Normally, waking up should be a sluggish mess. Your limbs weak, your throat dry, your brain barely functioning.

That was the best part. Fighting through thirst, rolling around in bed, stretching out those last precious minutes of drowsiness before finally giving in.

But now? Her mind was way too clear.

She wasn’t losing half her life over this, sure—but it still felt like at least one percent of it had been stolen from her.

And so, Qing lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, doing absolutely nothing.

Drowsy or not, she was still going to laze around.

Then, just as expected—

BANG.

Someone practically kicked the door down.

Her useless little junior barged in.

“Senior sister! You’re coming to eat, right?!”

Most people didn’t wake up to someone immediately asking if they were eating.

Most people didn’t open their eyes and instantly start thinking about food.

But if you lived with Qing for even three days, you’d start greeting her like this too.

Because Qing?

She always woke up hungry.

Gyeon Pohee shut the door behind her and practically skipped over to the wardrobe, swinging it open.

She grabbed a full set of clothes—undergarments, inner robes, and outer robes—then made her way to the bed.

Qing, already familiar with the routine, stretched out her arms and lifted her legs in response.

Gyeon Pohee, completely in sync, dressed her with practiced ease.

It was a completely natural, fluid motion—like she had done this a thousand times before.

“What’s for breakfast?”

“Dried fish in soy glaze with eggplant soup.”

“…Oh, hell no.”

Most Chinese cuisine was just an endless parade of sauces and ingredients.

Qing was a picky eater, and in these situations, she suddenly became a damn food connoisseur.

Dried fish in soy glaze.

A thick, caramelized sauce drenching a dish of simmered, dried fish.

Qing knew exactly what this was. Back home, they called it braised pollock.

Her eyes trembled in despair.

“…How could such a cruel fate exist…?”

“Senior sister!? Are you okay?!”

“No, I’m not. Mark today’s date down. From now on, every year, the Bliss Palace chefs should hold a memorial service. I refuse to go through this again.”

“…Should we just eat out instead?”

That was music to Qing’s ears, but she shook her head.

“Not today. I’m eating with the old man. I need to talk to him.”

Gyeon Pohee’s shoulders slumped as she snuck a glance at Qing.

“…Am I being a bother?”

Well. Yeah, kind of.

Back when she was still the youngest disciple, Gyeon Pohee had been the Bliss Palace’s collective plaything.

Now, she was completely ignored—like she didn’t even exist.

The gossip was brutal. Everyone whispered about how an incompetent little brat like her had somehow wormed her way into the position of Second Disciple thanks to her background.

Of course, just because she was being shunned didn’t mean she was safe.

The ones below her took the brunt of it.

If she had at least learned how to keep her head down, things might’ve been different.

But she didn’t.

She was the worst type—someone who bullied indiscriminately, earning her contempt from above and hatred from below.

So, Qing understood why she clung so desperately to her.

After all—

Back when Qing was off the rails, she had used Gyeon Pohee as a damn maid.

One mistake? Qing would glare daggers at her, acting like she didn’t even want to see her face.

Other times?

She’d mumble to herself loud enough for Gyeon Pohee to hear—stuff like, "I should’ve just picked someone else for this position instead…"

And it worked like a charm.

All of this was just karma coming back to bite her.

Qing’s barely-functioning conscience started spinning.

Sure, it was so worn down it was practically a circle at this point, but it still had a few sharp edges left. Just enough to scratch at her nerves.

“…That’s not it. Let’s just eat dinner together later.”

“Okay! And then we’ll train after!”

Ah, shit. She pulled that card now?

But this wasn’t the best time to turn her down.

Qing forced a stiff nod, and Gyeon Pohee beamed like sunshine before skipping out of the room.

Now alone, Qing settled in, waiting for Choi Leeong to arrive.

Grrrrr.

Her stomach growled.

…Wait.

What if the old man doesn’t show up today?

Luckily, Qing didn’t have to suffer through one of the worst tragedies a person could endure—skipping lunch.

The bastard had already eaten and only came over afterward to invite her for tea.

“You’re seriously telling me I’ve been starving here waiting for you, and you already ate? I can’t believe this. I trusted you, old man.”

“What, did we make an appointment? You say the most ridiculous shit like it’s the most natural thing in the world.”

“That’s not the point. The point is, I’m hungry.”

“Tch. Damn brat. Where the hell did you learn that attitude?”

Her Original Crutch™ grumbled as he scooped her up.

And as expected, his embrace was the perfect ride—solid, stable, and built for combat.

Meals are better with company.

Because that meant more dishes on the table.

And Qing? She could wipe out food faster than any of her so-called competition.

All that mattered was variety.

In that sense, Choi Leeong was an ideal meal companion.

Despite looking like a half-starved beggar with his scrawny frame and faded old robes, the old man was suspiciously loaded.

Like, seriously, what was even the point of being rich if you were going to dress like that?

So really, if she borrowed a bit of his wealth through a noble cause—like her stomach—it shouldn’t be a big deal, right?

Qing ate like she was fighting a war.

It was downright personal.

Choi Leeong grumbled throughout the meal, but Qing had long since built immunity to his grumpy old man rants.

“Even pigs eat with more dignity than you.”

By the time Qing was finishing up, Choi Leeong had already summoned a server and ordered an obscene amount of dessert.

“Eh. So what, you think I should be proud just because I eat a little neater than a pig? No matter how I eat, I’m still getting compared to livestock. That’s not exactly a flex.”

“Hah! That damn mouth of yours.”

“Enough of that. Old man, I can’t live like this anymore. I’m gonna wreck shit and make a run for it. So pick a side. Me, or the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult?”

Qing hit him with a sucker punch of a question.

Choi Leeong visibly flinched.

“Kid…”

“This world is crawling with scumbags. Might makes right? What bullshit. Even if that’s how nature works, so what? Humans should live by human laws, not animal ones.”

“…It won’t be much longer now. When the Heavenly Demon descends upon this land, the Central Plains will be freed. A new world will be born, where all are equal under His rule.”

“That bastard is the biggest problem of all. Your Supreme Leader Wannabe? He’s the biggest piece of shit I’ve ever seen.”

“…”

Choi Leeong’s mouth opened—then shut again.

For once, he had nothing to say.

Qing had no choice but to say something so disgusting it made her stomach churn.

“You do realize that bastard is planning to fuck me, right? He keeps shoving Maiden’s Blissful Art at me, telling me to master it. I’d rather fucking die than let that happen. I’m dead serious—I’ll bite my own tongue off before I let him lay a hand on me.”

Of course, biting your tongue off doesn’t actually kill you.

Humans weren’t designed to be that fragile.

Sure, if you were really unlucky, the severed tongue might roll back, block your airway, and choke you to death.

But Qing didn’t need to know the technical details.

Choi Leeong let out a deep sigh.

“Haa… Kid. You don’t need to worry about that.”

“The hell do you mean?”

“The current Supreme Leader and the future Heavenly Demon Supreme, who will have fully mastered the Heavenly Divine Soul, are entirely different beings. Once the art is perfected, he will have no interest in you.”

“How the hell would you know that, old man? At least make some sense. No interest? What, does mastering that art suddenly make you start liking men or something?”

“That’s...”

Choi Leeong suddenly hesitated, as if his words had caught in his throat. He avoided Qing's gaze before finally mumbling,

“...I can’t say.”

“Wait, seriously? You're telling me he actually turns gay? No, I mean, into men?”

Qing blurted out in shock.

She was so caught off guard that she even slipped into a Western dialect she rarely used.