A Child Grows Up Too Fast
Turn northwest. A poor child grows up quickly. A sick child does too. And Jin Jangmyeong was both sick and poor. She hadn’t even started out poor. After the fever broke and her delirious mind returned, the household decorations had vanished and the number of servants had dwindled. So the spacious mansion with its courtyard had gradually shrunk until it became a damp corner of a creaking, tilting room. The father who had gone to find medicine never returned. Only the medicine came back. It should have been the other way around. Her mother couldn’t even mourn properly. On nights when sleep wouldn’t come and she pretended to be asleep, Jangmyeong heard her mother’s stifled sobs, held back in fear that her daughter might wake.
It wasn’t long before her mother left the house as well. It was all her fault. That was why Jin Jangmyeong had to act like a spoiled child. She had to remain a clueless little kid. She knew that having grown up too fast at such a young age, behaving like a mature adult would only hurt her mother more. And then she saw that woman. The one serving expensive dishes with a face full of pure bliss, grinning like an idiot. Something pitch-black boiled up inside Jin Jangmyeong’s heart. Then she took a bite. Falling for the provocation, she ended up stuffing herself until her stomach nearly burst. The food was delicious, though. But when her mother offered those servile words of gratitude, she couldn’t stand it. Because that was wrong. It was nothing more than the casual charity of an idiot who thought the world was full of happiness. An endlessly cheap, worthless favor.
Inside the slowly rolling carriage. Carriages were originally meant to roll slowly. The moment they picked up even a little speed, they stopped being a means of transportation and became a torture device that brutalized the passenger’s rear end. Inside it, Seomun Cheong was experiencing great hardship.
“Mother, is this really okay?”
“Our girl is a bit too spoiled… Jangmyeong, the Great Hero is uncomfortable, you know.”
“…This is comfortable.”
Ride quality ultimately came down to how scientifically effective the cushioning was. A carriage’s shock absorption tended to rely entirely on its materials. In other words, it was all about the elasticity of wood. For that reason, Jin Jangmyeong’s words weren’t wrong. Compared to a mere cotton-padded cloth, Cheong’s thigh—firm with a proper balance of muscle and flesh—offered far superior ride quality. It was also excellent to lean against.
After last night’s ambush, Jin Jangmyeong’s attitude had completely changed. She stuck to Cheong’s side like gum and refused to leave. In exchange, Cheong had become the uncomfortable one. If the child had been around ten years old, Cheong could have held her in her arms, stroked her head, and doted on her without issue. But if that small, frail-looking child was actually a sixteen-year-old maiden in the prime of her youth? Simply having her sitting on one’s lap was enough to warrant preparing for social death. And her mother was sitting right across from them!
So Cheong could only sit there, frozen stiff. But sixteen was hardly the age to be climbing onto someone’s lap and acting spoiled, right? Wasn’t it? Was this the sense of personal space that girls had? In truth, Jin Jangmyeong was thoroughly enjoying Cheong’s reaction with the keen sensitivity of a child who had been sick. She had noticed, for some reason, that Cheong found physical contact quite burdensome.
Jangmyeong took it one step further. She grabbed both of Cheong’s hands and placed them neatly on top of her own thighs. Cheong went completely rigid. This is seriously killing me.
To outsiders, it might have looked like a young woman holding her nephew, but to Cheong it was anything but. The saying that a person’s inner self is what matters ultimately meant that each individual’s way of seeing the world was what mattered. Cheong hid her Cheong Law. Is this a green light? No. Uh. Cheong. Cheong Law. Even the countless modern memes she usually recited when she felt troubled or anxious refused to surface this time.
You, who were still in the throes of stormy adolescence just yesterday. Since when did “you and I” become “we”?
Somehow, Cheong was desperately swallowing down her rising panic.
“Great Hero.”
At the displeased voice, Cheong flinched in surprise. Yang Sowol’s face was hard as stone.
“I am innocent! As you saw earlier, this wasn’t my intention—”
“It seems we chose the wrong coachman.”
Fortunately, she wasn’t accusing her of child molestation. But why bring up the coachman? Ah. The coachman was driving the carriage like absolute garbage. No wonder it felt like the carriage had become one with the ground. Cheong had been feeling every single grain of sand on the road through her backside. In the past, she had gone for a drive with a friend who had just bought his first car. She had gotten motion sickness in less than thirty minutes despite never having it before. That was how much a driver could affect ride quality.
“The carriage is slowing down.”
Yang Sowol picked up her sword. Cheong was startled. No matter how badly the coachman was driving, pulling out a blade seemed a bit excessive, didn’t it? Or was this just common sense in Murim? Maybe there was a custom in Murim of beheading coachmen who couldn’t drive properly. What a brutally harsh industry. Then where were rookie coachmen supposed to gain experience?
While Cheong was still lost in thought, Yang Sowol suddenly shouted.
“Now!”
There was no time to stop her. Yang Sowol kicked the door open with force and leaped out. It probably wasn’t an invitation to watch, so it must have meant to follow. Cheong also jumped down, carrying Jin Jangmyeong.
“Damn it! They noticed!”
“Attack! As long as the kid stays intact, it’s fine!”
An unexpected welcoming crowd had gathered. Only then did Cheong grasp the situation. These bastards still haven’t given up.
Cheong’s hand slipped into her robe and flicked outward. One of the charging enemies clutched his eye and collapsed, screaming.
“Aaaaaagh!”
It was a throat-tearing shriek. But if someone had a chopstick pierce their eyelid and stab into their eyeball, anyone would scream like that.
After last night’s ambush, Cheong had done a lot of reflecting. After gaining confidence as a high-level expert, she had grown far too complacent. If her internal energy had been even slightly lacking, she wouldn’t be breathing easily like this now. So she had spent a bit of the free training points she had saved up.
There were about thirty white-bordered martial arts. Among them, she had raised two internal energy cultivation methods to ten stars. Since they were the lowest-grade techniques, they had no twelve-star completion stage and thus no special ability upon reaching perfection, but she still gained about a twenty percent increase in total energy capacity. She had also raised one throwing technique to ten stars.
Iljeosamjak. A throwing art that meant “one chopstick catches three sparrows.” Since it was an easily obtainable throwing technique, its power wasn’t something to get excited about. However, the Western expert John Doe had raised his fame by wiping out an entire Black Dao faction with nothing but a single pencil. Even a third-rate throwing art became something else entirely when used by an expert.
Iljeosamjak used easily obtainable sticks as its weapon, so its base power was low to begin with. That was why its true principle lay in misdirection. The hidden weapons flew relentlessly toward the eyes. One man had already become a one-eyed wreck and collapsed. The attackers had prepared for it. They raised their arms, ready to swat the projectiles away at any moment. Then a low, straight throw slipped between their legs. The second victim couldn’t even scream. Instead, he clutched his groin and foamed at the mouth. A vicious attack that would end a man’s lineage.
The attackers felt a bone-chilling terror.
“Such a vicious—!”
“A witch! It’s a witch! There’s a witch here!”
In truth, Cheong felt a little sorry. But in a merciless fight where it was kill or be killed, there was no room for choosing one’s methods. She had neutralized two opponents with mere chopsticks, so the training points had been well spent.
Cheong drew her sword. A chilling blue sword aura surged forth.
“A Peak expert!”
“Fuck, you didn’t say she was Peak!”
The enemies faltered. Cheong moved to charge forward but only took an awkward half-step. The startled foes scrambled backward in a panic. Cheong hesitated. Is it okay to fight with this kid tucked under my arm? She had learned the “luggage combat technique” in real combat last night. There didn’t seem to be any experts among them, so it should be fine. But what if it inflicted a massive wound on her delicate, stormy adolescent emotions?
At that moment, Yang Sowol flew in at the perfect time.
“Great Hero, take Myeong!”
“I was counting on you!”
Cheong shouted with delight. Her hands were free. You’re all dead now.
The two thugs who had followed Yang Sowol were sliced horizontally in a single strike. Their upper bodies separated and their innards spilled out with a wet splat. The enemies on Yang Sowol’s side hurriedly backed away. It was then—
“Stop!”
A rat-faced man stepped forward, trying to look imposing. Cheong recognized that face.
“You! Yesterday!”
It was the bastard who had thrown the throwing knife and run away yesterday. Thanks to him, Cheong had been forced to experience the life of Guan Yu. The shine vanished from Cheong’s eyes. I definitely said I was going to kill that son of a bitch.
The rat-faced man somehow maintained his momentum even in the face of killing intent. He raised his arm theatrically. In his hand was a large, round, black object.
“Stop! Can’t you see this? If you don’t want to die together, release that damn kid right—”
But Cheong’s eyes had already rolled back in fury. Of course she couldn’t see it.
Yeorae Shinjang
Deng—! The sound of a temple bell from the Buddha’s Palm. The area above the rat-faced man’s wrist vanished without a trace. The large, round, black object was pushed away by the force and flew far into the distance—then the sound became a shockwave that shook the forest. Trees swayed, dry leaves flew up, and the grass flattened all at once. Birds took flight in unison. A faint earthquake rippled up through the soles of their feet.
It was a thunderbolt bomb. A secret weapon of the government and the worst nightmare of Murim. The only countermeasure was protective strong qi. Even a Peak expert caught in that explosion would leave no corpse behind. However, Cheong knew nothing of the sort. She was already gripping the rat-faced man by the throat.
“You son of a bitch. I told you I was going to kill you.”
“Kuhk, I… never… said that.”
“Yes you did? In my heart. Very sincerely.”
“That’s not even…”
When the carotid artery was pressed firmly, there was no distinction between expert and trash. The rat-faced man lost consciousness and went limp. I can’t kill this guy too easily. Now, how should she kill him so that the story would spread that he had been killed well?
But before that. Cheong’s head snapped around. A bright smile and dead eyes turned toward the attackers.