The Return of the Maiden of Yue

"Don't use sword qi. Next time, you might actually die."

The Divine Physician had spoken with a grave expression after finishing his examination, pushing away Yoo Jeong's senior sister-disciple, who was trying to creep closer with a sly look in her eyes.

"No. Rather than the sword qi... it would be more accurate to say that sword technique."

In his duel with the Sword Demon at West Lake, Yoo Jeong had been unable to finish him off. The reason was qi deviation. One might wonder how a master of the Transformation Realm could suffer from qi deviation, but absurdly enough, it was the truth.

The Three Swords of Cleaving Heaven. It was an incredibly arrogant name, sounding like some third-class martial art bought off a street stall, but it was a supreme technique refined over generations, starting from the Yin-Yang Immortal, who was hailed as the progenitor of martial arts. Its power was truly enough to cleave the heavens. And the Three Swords of Cleaving Heaven could only unleash their true might when backed by sword qi.

"As you well know, no matter how much you squeeze and control your physical strength, a stance alone cannot unleash its true power."

It was exactly as the Divine Physician said. Even if an ordinary person copied the movements of the Three Swords of Cleaving Heaven, they could never replicate its power. The same went for a giant who could lift a three-hundred-catty cauldron. No matter how hard they tried to mimic the Three Swords of Cleaving Heaven or the Eight Flows of Radiant Splendor, they could never match a single sword form executed by Yoo Jeong, despite his slender arms and delicate, jade-like hands.

Mnemonics and visualization. Only when the flow of internal energy based on those two elements supported the movement would martial arts display their true power. Essence, Qi, and Spirit. There was a reason why martial artists placed such immense importance on the harmony of these three.

"But your body currently harbors both Yang and Yin internal energy."

The Yang true qi accumulated through the Heavenly Light Unobstructed Divine Art, which was second to none; the Yin true qi obtained as a result of the Sunflower Manual, which, judging by its results alone, was a supreme esoteric art; and finally, the immortal qi that harmonized the two. Currently, three entirely different types of internal energy resided within Yoo Jeong's dantian. It was a truly shocking state of affairs.

Not since the ancient Yin-Yang Immortal, who freely manipulated the dual energies of Yin and Yang, had any martial artist mixed and used different types of true qi. The reason was simple: it was too dangerous. Even the Heavenly Sword and the Earth Blade, who claimed to be disciples of the Yin-Yang Immortal, used Yang and Yin internal energy separately. That was how perilous wielding different types of true qi was.

"Once you use your Yang internal energy beyond a certain threshold, your Yin internal energy will also stir to maintain the balance."

The Heavenly Light Unobstructed Divine Art and the sword techniques of the Heavenly Sword were superior to the martial arts of any major sect. The fact that a single-successor lineage had survived for generations and made a name for itself in the Jianghu was largely due to the sheer excellence of its martial arts.

"Naturally, the more powerful the ultimate technique you use, the more Yin internal energy will stir, and the backlash will be equally severe. When that happens, no matter how sturdy your meridians are or how exceptional your martial arts may be, your body won't be able to withstand it."

But there was a limit. No matter how extraordinary the martial arts, forcing the circulation of diametrically opposed internal energies would inevitably cause internal injuries. For this reason, the Divine Physician had repeatedly warned him never to use the Three Swords of Cleaving Heaven. In essence, his greatest weapon had been sealed. Yet, Yoo Jeong did not care.

I don't need sword qi against trash like this.

And indeed, he did not. Just as a tiger has no trouble slaughtering a flock of sheep even without using its fangs, Yoo Jeong went on a rampage.

"Heup!"

After cutting down the first runner, five more heads flew off in short order. Yoo Jeong relentlessly targeted those who tried to flee, as if determined to slaughter every single person present. As a result, they finally gave up on running.

"Fuck! Just hold out until the Sect Leader arrives!"

"We still have the numbers!"

They desperately tried to comfort themselves, though they knew better than anyone that numbers meant nothing before a true master. Just hold out. If we wait, the Sect Leader will come. They repeated it like a mantra. The crowd from the Punglim Sect surrounded Yoo Jeong, pointing their swords at him.

It was a desperate struggle. They were making a silent protest to the master, pleading with him not to move—warning him that they would attack from all sides the moment he did. Yet, the Punglim martial artist leading them felt, for some reason, that they were the ones who ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠were surrounded. Even though the enemy was only one, and they were many!

And the moment he met Yoo Jeong's chilling gaze, the man realized his intuition was correct.

As soon as they stopped running, the girl charged straight at them. A sword of bewitching beauty. Whenever that equally mesmerizing girl swung her blade, another Punglim Sect member's neck was severed.

Her sword path and footwork resembled an elegant dance. Without allowing so much as a speck of dust to touch her clothes, she took lives as easily as pulling an object from her pocket. Yet, the man feared her eyes far more than her sword.

How can anyone be like that?

Usually, when taking a life, even a seasoned martial artist shows some emotion. Whether it was sadness, regret, or perhaps ecstasy, joy, and a sense of superiority. Such feelings were bound to show through the eyes, the windows to the soul.

But right now, the girl's eyes were completely flat, devoid of any emotion. Like a cold-blooded assassin or a butcher in a slaughterhouse, she harbored no feelings whatsoever before fading lives. To her, they were not human. And likewise, she was not human to them.

The man muttered as if possessed.

"A monster... She is a walking disaster, not a human."

"To those women, you must have seemed the same," whispered the girl, who had suddenly appeared right in front of him.

While he stared blankly, not a single member of the Punglim Sect remained standing. The man looked down at the girl and thought: She seemed so massive when she was rampaging...

But up close, she doesn't even reach my shoulder.

Yet, the depth of her martial arts was unfathomably vast. What an absurd contradiction. A hollow laugh escaped the man's lips, and the girl, glaring coldly, swung her sword.

"...Not a single one of you offers a word of apology or remorse."

"Stop!"

A voice bellowed as a newly arrived young man charged, swinging his sword at Yoo Jeong. But he failed to achieve his goal.

Cheonru sliced through the neck of the man Yoo Jeong had just targeted with effortless ease, while the sword of the rushing young man was blocked just as effortlessly.

"W-What..."

Slender, pale fingers. They looked like they belonged to a sheltered noble lady arranging flowers, yet what they performed was a supreme technique of the Murim. Bare-Handed Blade Catch. It was a feat that could only be accomplished when there was an overwhelming difference in strength between the opponents.

The eyes of the young man, Chwiwha-rang, the Young Master of the Punglim Sect, shook violently. In the dark of the night, and with blood splattered everywhere, he hadn't been able to recognize his opponent. Only when he got close did the face reveal itself, and upon realizing her identity, he spoke in a trembling voice.

"The master from the inn..."

The master who had freely used telekinesis and manipulated internal energy at will. This opponent was no ordinary Peak Expert. In a panic, he struggled with all his might to pull his sword back, but the blade caught between those soft fingers wouldn't budge an inch. Looking at him, Yoo Jeong spoke slowly.

"I wanted to ask you something."

With what face had he dared to go there? But before he could even finish his sentence, Yoo Jeong, watching the bastard closely, moved his hand. Before Chwiwha-rang could let go of his sword and flee, Yoo Jeong snapped the blade.

Chwiwha-rang stared blankly at his sword, which had snapped as easily as a dry stalk of sorghum. Soon, his handsome face contorted in agony.

"Argh!"

Chwiwha-rang's eyes rolled back in pain as his body shuddered. Where the broken blade had swept past, blood began to spread, soaking the lower half of his martial robes.

The next pain came from his abdomen. The broken half of the blade had been plunged into his lower belly before he even realized it. Looking down at it, Chwiwha-rang coughed up a mouthful of dark blood. Yoo Jeong dusted off his hands as if discarding trash and said:

"I will ask you again later, so ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wait right there."

"My, my."

Glancing down at the Young Master, who was now collapsed on the ground and shivering, Yoo Jeong turned his gaze toward a heavily built man. He looked incredibly awkward, like a local thug forced into a merchant's silk robes. However, the well-trained physique visible beneath the silk made it clear that he was a master.

"Are you the Sect Leader?"

"I am. And I am also the father of the boy lying there."

"And?"

"You dare commit such atrocities here? You had better not dream of walking out of here alive."

Yoo Jeong let out a smirk at the growling man, who was swallowing a pill he had pulled from his robes.

Crack!

"Aaaargh!"

Crushing the ankle of the collapsed young man under his heel, Yoo Jeong said, "Then you should have come out sooner."

The moment the words left his mouth, both the Punglim Sect Leader and Yoo Jeong moved.

The distance between them closed in an instant. Getting close enough to feel her breath, the Punglim Sect Leader observed his opponent. Young. That was his very first thought. Pretty, was the next. And his final assessment was:

A terrifying monster.

How could such a tiny body contain such immense martial achievement? After sensing something amiss and waking up, it had taken the Punglim Sect Leader less than fifteen minutes to quickly prepare and arrive at the scene.

Yet, most of the Punglim Sect's martial artists were already dead or mortally wounded. Even excluding those sent away to burn down the inn, the martial artists lying here made up seventy percent of the Punglim Sect's total strength. In other words, his entire sect had been brought down by a single young girl.

She is a monster. He had to fight with that assumption.

The Punglim Sect Leader grit his teeth and threw a punch. A dark red energy erupted from his fist. It was fist qi, a materialized form of energy wrapping around his hand, much like sword qi. At the same time, his eyes rapidly scanned her posture.

The distance is close.

Every martial artist has their own domain. That domain varies depending on their weapon, their physique, and ultimately, the level of their martial arts. A sword's domain extends from the arm holding the hilt to the very tip of the blade. But can that entire space truly be called the domain of the sword? No.

Ducking his body, the Punglim Sect Leader lunged straight into the girl's chest. To deliver the strongest possible blow, he concentrated his entire body's rotational force into his fist. It was an application of silk-reeling energy.

This is not the domain of the sword. This is my domain.

No matter how skilled a swordmaster might be, they were still human and possessed joints. The space required to retrieve an already extended sword and thrust it again was the eye of the storm.

But he was wrong.

He hurriedly twisted his body and retreated with heavy, thudding steps. Only then did a sharp pain register. And in two different places, no less.

When did she...?

The Punglim Sect Leader's face contorted. Fine red lines of blood had appeared on his neck and leg. Similarly, droplets of blood clung to the girl's sword and fingers. As he had approached, she had extended her left hand in a sword-finger gesture to strike his neck, while simultaneously using the space created as he retreated to slash his leg.

Meeting the girl's cold, detached eyes made his blood run cold. The Punglim Sect Leader hastily revised his assessment of her. She was not just a young genius, but an experienced master.

In truth, the Punglim Sect Leader did not want to fight her. Under normal circumstances, he would have fled long ago. He didn't consider it cowardly. Assess the enemy's strength, and if there is no hope, retreat. Even the Thirty-Six Stratagems advised as much.

Damn it. The timing is terrible.

But he couldn't run. First, he had to protect and maintain the Punglim Sect because of them. Second, the moment he woke up, the opponent's aura had triggered his senses, sending a clear message: Do not run. You cannot escape.

He had initially wondered if some old monster of the previous generation had appeared. If so, he had been fully prepared to bow his head and beg for his life. But instead of an old monster, there was only this young girl. And seeing her eyes, the Punglim Sect Leader knew that compromise was impossible, which was why he had immediately swallowed the pill.

It was a medicine provided by them. And as expected, the effect was incredible.

Crack! His bones screamed as his muscles expanded.

Squelch. Swollen veins bulged prominently beneath his skin. Perhaps due to the bleeding from his wounds, the medicine took effect rapidly. Feeling a rush of omnipotence course through his entire body, the Punglim Sect Leader burst into a manic laugh.

"I won't fall for the same trick twice!"

With those words, blood sprayed.

Thud. Two chunks of flesh fell to the ground. His fists, which had just felt powerful enough to crush solid rock, were now rolling on the dirt.

Staring at this surreal sight, the utterly bewildered Punglim Sect Leader raised his arms. The cut was perfectly clean. Perhaps because she had sealed his pressure points as she slashed, the blood merely trickled down instead of spurting like a fountain.

Slowly, he tore his eyes away from his severed limbs and looked at his opponent.

"What?" a chilly voice drifted over. "Is that all?"

With her bluish eyes gleaming, the girl flicked her sword as if it had been nothing but a minor chore. How could that being be a human like him? Looking at her, the Punglim Sect Leader felt like a mere monkey. A monkey that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had just laid eyes on a human.

"If you're done showing off..."

She sheathed her precious sword, her gaze sweeping over the father and son of the Punglim Sect. "Now, you will answer my questions."

Yoo Jeong gently laid down the woman from his arms. The very woman whose life he had taken with his own hands. Her face, which had been filled with agony and despair, finally seemed a little at peace now that her life had ended. Beside her lay the owner of the inn, whose body Yoo Jeong had retrieved. Unfortunately, he had been unable to find the daughter's remains. The bastards had already discarded them somewhere.

Still, since the woman and the innkeeper's daughter had formed a bond during their brief time together, perhaps they would be glad to meet in the afterlife. He had brought them ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠together in the hope that, with the two of them united, they might find the daughter sooner. Since the woman had utterly loathed the Punglim Sect, she would surely be satisfied just to have escaped that place. Yoo Jeong thought to himself as he wiped the blood from Cheonru.

After sheathing his sword, Yoo Jeong was about to leave the inn when he remembered something and turned around. He made his way to the courtyard. It was the place where the innkeeper had mentioned in the postscript of his letter that his fortune was buried as a reward.

Of course, it wasn't because he coveted the money. Rather than leaving it buried here where no one would ever know, he wanted to retrieve it as a token of having fulfilled the request. However, perhaps because it had been buried for quite some time, there were no visible traces.

Thus, using his internal energy to quickly excavate the surrounding soil, Yoo Jeong soon unearthed a small chest. Upon opening the box, he caught his breath. What lay inside was not a fortune of gold and silver, nor was it valuable porcelain or land deeds.

It was a single bottle. On the tightly sealed white bottle, a single line of writing was inscribed.

Yoo Jeong's trembling gaze fixed on the writing. As he read the words, he guessed the nature of the object. He, too, had tasted it once before. Breaking the seal, Yoo Jeong naturally took a sip of the contents.

Nu'er Hong—Daughter's Red. It was said that in Zhejiang, when a daughter was born, people would bury high-grade Shaoxing wine to age, only to unearth it on her wedding day. He did not know why Yi Sam-cheol of Anhui had followed the customs of Zhejiang.

And he could not begin to fathom what had gone through Yi Sam-cheol's mind when he offered the very wine meant for Yi Jin-ryeong's wedding as a bounty for her vengeance.

Staring at the bottle in his hand with a heavy heart, he resealed it and tied it to his waist. There was only one thing Yoo Jeong knew for certain: his work was not yet finished.

Yoo Jeong stepped out of the inn. Pressing his hands together in a silent prayer toward the building, he used a fire striker taken from one of the subdued thugs to set the inn ablaze. Fortunately, since the thugs had already prepared the area to prevent the fire from spreading elsewhere, he did not hesitate.

May you find peace on the other side.

Yoo Jeong quietly watched the flames consume the inn.