Chapter 20
Chapter 20
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 20
Chapter Title: First Steps in the Jianghu (2)
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Seoran wasn't in any rush.
If she flew on her stone lotus at top speed, she'd reach the capital in no time.
But where was the fun in that?
She planned to take it slow, enjoy the scenery, and check out the villages along the way.
So, shortly after leaving the Black Bamboo Sect's great barrier, she hopped off the stone lotus.
She intended to walk until she got tired of it.
Entering a mountain path, Seoran scanned her surroundings carefully.
She picked out a wooden stick after strict inspection.
Then, swinging it like a scythe, she hacked through every blade of grass taller than her waist as she advanced.
The stick, wielded by strength enough to fell a bear, was no different from a sickle.
It sliced clean through anything in its path.
Just moments ago, it had bisected a snake.
Pushing through the underbrush instead of sticking to the clear path, Seoran spotted a small spring.
Only then did the merciless reaper pause.
Seoran stripped off her clothes with a flourish and plunged into the water.
She hadn't bathed that morning since she'd set out early.
Naked in the heart of nature.
It felt strangely liberating.
Like her heroic spirit was being nurtured.
In high spirits, Seoran did exactly what she'd done in her past life's bathroom.
She belted out a song in a piercing voice.
A young girl's voice echoed through the quiet mountains.
As she nailed the high notes with flawless pitch, Seoran's eyes caught the bushes rustling in the distance.
Could it be—a woodcutter spying on a nymph?
But her guess missed the mark.
What burst from the bushes was a massive tiger.
The great beast, having locked onto its prey, immediately dropped into a crouch.
In an instant, it pounced.
The tiger didn't hesitate.
It trusted its fangs and claws.
Neither boars nor bears could best it.
A tiny human like that? No chance of real resistance.
The tiger opened its jaws wide and clamped down on its target's nape.
Then it felt bewilderment.
No matter how it bit and clawed, it couldn't draw blood.
Seoran laughed.
"This one's kinda cute."
She enjoyed the feel of its thick fur.
Truth be told, she could have dodged easily if she'd wanted.
But when else would she get to hug a big cat like this?
Seoran squeezed the tiger tight.
Sensing something off, the beast thrashed.
Unable to withstand her monstrous strength, its spine snapped with a crackle.
The tiger went limp in instant death.
Seoran tossed the corpse out of the water and got dressed.
Then she left the spring behind without a second glance.
It wasn't personal malice.
Seoran liked cats, after all.
But she couldn't just let a man-eater go because it was cute.
And so the tyrant that ruled the entire mountain met its end.
*****
Heading east, Seoran spotted smoke rising in the distance and changed course.
Not a forest fire—looked like a village.
Rain seemed imminent anyway, so she figured she'd crash there for the night.
She cloaked herself with a concealment spell.
Sure enough, it was a small hamlet.
A dozen households or so huddled together.
The residents were mostly young.
They'd built homes in the valley and tilled fields along the slopes.
Women wove baskets, children played among themselves.
It was the idyllic pastoral life straight out of a folktale.
Hidden by her spell, Seoran scouted the village for a place to bed down.
Cultivators shouldn't reveal themselves to mortals if at all possible.
It was a Black Bamboo Sect rule to avoid worldly disturbances.
In the end, she settled in a shrine at the village edge.
It was maintained but rarely visited.
Behind the altar, Seoran chewed on her hard rations.
Soon the sky darkened, and a fierce rain poured down.
Lulled by the patter, Seoran drifted off.
The rain stopped only at dawn.
That's when two voices woke her.
Seoran snapped her eyes open.
Fortunately, her concealment spell was still active.
She eavesdropped in relief.
"Father, it's still chilly out. You'll catch your death like this."
"I'm not so old that a little cold will kill me."
They appeared to be father and son—a middle-aged man and an elder.
The old man dipped a clean cloth in water and carefully wiped something down.
A small bear statue enshrined on the altar.
His hands numb from the cold water, but he didn't stop.
Finally, his exasperated son intervened.
"Let me do it, at least."
"You can't do it half-heartedly like that! You have to wipe it with sincere gratitude for the spirit's grace."
"What spirit? It was just a bear hibernating through winter, like I said."
"No, this one—do you have any idea whose grace has kept us alive all these years? If the spirit hadn't saved me back then, you'd be dead too!"
The elder scolded his son relentlessly.
After the harsh reprimand, the man sighed and left the shrine.
The old man, catching his breath, bowed to the bear statue and prayed.
"Spirit, please don't be angry."
Then he resumed polishing it with utmost devotion.
In his youth, the old man had encountered a massive black bear.
It was winter, on his way to a nearby city over the mountains.
Pushing through blinding snow, he'd run into a wolf pack.
Over a dozen wolves gave chase.
Heart pounding fit to burst.
Beast howls closing in.
He tripped on a rock and tumbled into the snow.
The wolves encircled the fallen man, awaiting their leader's command.
No hope of survival.
He'd already given up on life.
Then the bear appeared.
Black as the night sky.
Like ink splashed on white paper.
Heavy brushstrokes cleaved the world.
Charging fiercely down the snowy slope, the bear slew the wolf leader in one blow.
The savage beasts tangled in chaos.
Red bloodstains soaked the snow repeatedly.
Every wolf lay dead.
But the bear was a mangled wreck.
Hot blood gushed from its wounds.
Nature was pitilessly fair to all.
Even a bear wouldn't last long.
Bleeding heavily, the bear departed.
The man fetched a physician from the city.
And saved his fever-racked son.
The bear died; the child lived.
The man built the shrine alone.
Carved the altar and statue himself.
No matter what anyone said, he tended it diligently.
Never missing a day for decades.
Finishing the cleaning, the elder offered a small fruit as tribute and left.
Seoran had watched it all.
She didn't know the old man's story.
But it was clear to anyone.
He truly revered the spirit.
Seoran eyed the wooden fruit on the altar.
It looked delicious at a glance.
No blemishes, perfect color.
Surely the best one he'd picked.
It had to taste amazing, but scarfing down an offering to the spirit felt wrong, so she left it and slipped out.
She left the village and descended the mountain.
The spring rain overnight had turned the paths to mud.
So Seoran veered off the trail, walking straight.
She took her time, admiring mountain birds along the way.
Then she hit another winding path.
Muddy prints everywhere.
All heading to the village she'd stayed in last night.
*****
The bandit gang that passed Seoran arrived at the village—a force of over forty strong.
Dozens of able-bodied men blocked the entrance, bellowing.
"Surrender while we're asking nice—come out!"
"Yeah, be good and we'll let you live!"
"We'll just take a bit of food—don't worry!"
No one bought their lies.
It was just a ploy to lure them out.
Fall for it, and the men would die, the women suffer horrors.
The outlaws were all burly fighters.
The villagers outnumbered them but had few actual combatants.
The rest were children, women, and elders.
No escape—an utter dead end.
"Mangy dogs..."
The men gritted their teeth, shielding their families.
Their weapons? Farm tools and axes at best.
Useless against armed spears and swords.
The elder gazed sadly at his kin.
Terrified children wailed; mothers clutched them pale-faced.
Death loomed.
The impatient bandits advanced.
They hadn't expected surrender anyway.
Blades glinted in the sun.
'It's over...'
The elder shed silent tears.
Then a mighty bear roar shook the mountains.
The predator's bellow was terror too vast for frail humans.
Villagers and bandits alike froze.
The stifling silence shattered with thunderous crashes.
Far off, a massive gray bear emerged.
Charging straight through dense woods.
A towering tree blocking its path snapped like straw.
Closing the gap in seconds, the bear slammed into the bandits' rear.
Like boulders crashing down.
Bandits flew with twisted limbs.
The leader finally snapped to.
"What the hell are you waiting for? It's just one damn beast! Keep distance and spear it!"
His well-drilled men sprang into action.
Spearmen surrounded and thrust as one.
"Got it! We pierced it!"
The shouter took a paw to the face, skin flayed off.
The one hacking its hind leg with an axe had his gut ripped open, spilling innards as he writhed.
Every forepaw swing claimed a life.
"Hide's too thick!"
"Blade won't go in!"
Murderers and pillagers died like flies.
Their leader lay bisected, foaming blood.
Men lost their minds, collapsed, or fled.
Amid the bear's mythic fury, the elder murmured.
"You're alive. You survived. You didn't die back then."
Tears streamed down his face.
Unfocused eyes saw the past.
That blizzardy day, chasing the bleeding bear.
All bandits dead.
The cowering crushed, necks snapped.
The fleeing soon had backs split.
Blood-soaked, the bear stared at the villagers.
Then turned and vanished into the mountains.
The people watched it go in silence.
That night, a simple rite at the shrine.
To give thanks for repelling the bandits.
All bowed reverently to the bear statue.
A young man whispered to his neighbor.
"But didn't the elder say the bear that saved him had black fur? This one was gray, right?"
"Don't talk blasphemy. That was decades ago. Even the spirit's black coat has gone white with age."
Seoran giggled at the exchange.
She'd been the bear that massacred the bandits.
After pretending to leave, she'd looped back under concealment.
Then a fun prank popped into her head.
Seoran grabbed a handful of the altar fruit and popped them in her mouth.
Now she felt qualified too.
The tribute fruit was truly sweet.
As the people rose from their bows, they gasped.
Half the offering had vanished clean.
Panic spread: the bear spirit had come and gone.
Satisfied, Seoran left the village.
Seeing all those happy, smiling faces lifted her mood.
The lingering annoyance from beating dozens to death had faded.
Gazing at the stars, Seoran headed for the capital.