The Sword Thief and the Beggar's Wisdom
Sleeping in a well-heated room, buried deep in a soft, expensive bed, brings the kind of deep slumber that borders on unconsciousness. On the other hand, when you close your eyes on cold, noisy, hard ground littered with stones, sleep becomes as shallow as a puddle after rain. That kind of light sleep hovers somewhere between awake and asleep. You can't tell if you've actually rested or if you've just been lying there with your eyes closed, killing time. Cheong curled up even tighter. It was cold. Damp. Only the spots touched by sunlight felt warm.
She thought she'd had a nice dream. A dream where she met a good master, made good friends, ate delicious food, wore nice clothes, and wandered around living the good life. Hmm. Was it a dream? Or not? Cheong cracked her eyes open to check.
The world lay tilted on its side. People passing by clicked their tongues at the sight, as if they'd seen something they shouldn't have. Cheong closed her eyes again.
Ah. It really was all a dream. Of course something that nice couldn't happen in this godforsaken medieval China. Her stomach felt like it was about to tear itself apart from hunger. Please, just one rat today. She wanted meat. Or maybe go to Pyeongchan Pavilion... ah, those bastards said they wouldn't give out pig anymore.
She didn't want to move. First-year Cheong originally didn't move at all. Moving around only made her stomach growl more, and nothing particularly nutritious ever came of it. At best, she'd just get beaten by other beggars if they noticed her. She only crept around and scavenged something to eat when her body felt so weak that she worried she might actually die if she didn't.
That was when she heard footsteps approaching while her eyes were still closed. Cheong slowly opened them. Beyond the blurry texture of a face veil, she saw two suspicious feet planted firmly on the ground. Rolling her eyes as far as they would go, she caught sight of the owner of those feet, bent over within her crooked field of vision. As the person carefully and delicately moved their arm, she strained her eyes until they hurt, and finally spotted the familiar shape of a sword hilt in their hand.
It was the hilt of Wolgwang-geom (No. 8).
Huh? Wolgwang-geom?
In that instant, Cheong's mind, which had been floating in that strange boundary between dream and reality, snapped back into place with a jolt.
Whoa, fuck. I thought I'd gone back to that time. And seriously, in all my life, I get to see a sword thief?
The term "sword thief" was unfamiliar to martial artists. "Sword robber" might sound more familiar and friendly. After all, a martial artist's weapon was like a beloved concubine (though in the Central Plains, wives were just family). If someone else touched it carelessly, it would lead to bloodshed. Therefore, a martial artist's weapon wasn't something to be stolen, but something you could only claim as a trophy after killing its owner.
Cheong quietly pretended to sleep and watched. The blade slowly slid out of the scabbard, revealing an interior that was difficult to call well-maintained. And when it was finally fully drawn—
"Not so fast!"
Cheong's hand drew a line parallel to the ground, about an inch above it. The thief's ankles caught on it and flew up into the air. With a loud thud, the sword thief landed on their shoulder, then slammed their head into the ground. Their back arched like a bow before snapping back, sending their pelvis crashing down in a third impact.
"Haha! Trying to steal a martial artist's sword? You must truly be out of your mind!"
Cheong sprang to her feet, pinning the thief's wrist under her foot as she shouted. Yet her face was blooming with a bright smile, as if her long-awaited beloved had finally returned.
"Aaaagh! My hand! Hand! Hand!"
"According to the law of the land, thieves have their hands cut off. How dare you defy this sacred legal system!"
Sacred legal system? Both concepts—sacred and legal system—were enough to make anyone want to curse. Throughout history, nothing sacred had ever truly been sacred, and the legal system had been built from the beginning as a high wall to protect the interests of the privileged.
The fact that she was spouting such nonsense proved that Cheong's mind was completely sound.
"Man, these people are really something. They won't warn me that someone's trying to steal my sword, but they'll sure as hell watch the show."
Cheong glared toward the street. Though the face veil softened her gaze into something less intense, her words were enough. The spectators who had been watching with great interest subtly averted their eyes, looking at the ground or the sky instead.
Even then, the sword thief kept screaming.
"Hand!! Hand!! Hand!!"
Only when the pain became unbearable would someone normally try to slap her ankle or pull some trick to escape. But right now, the agony of feeling like their wrist was about to snap had left them dazed. All they could do was desperately grab at the shoe of this fully grown woman and try to pry some space open.
Hmm? This is...?
Cheong adjusted the pressure she was applying with her foot.
"Hand! Hand!!!! Hand! Hand!! Hand! Hand!!! Hand!!!!!"
This is kind of fun. The louder I press, the louder the voice gets?
Cheong's lips curved into a sadistic smile. But only for a moment. After confirming the thief's evil deeds, she lifted her foot with a regretful expression.
What a shame. If only it had been three points higher. Just three more points.
Only then did the sword thief burst into stormy tears, clutching their wrist and making sounds caught somewhere between sobs and groans.
Cheong picked up Wolgwang-geom and stood crookedly, looking down at the pathetic sight.
"Hey. What the hell are you crying about after getting caught stealing? You touched a martial artist's sword? You know what that means, right?"
"Hup."
"Everyone, you all saw this bastard trying to steal a sword, right? According to the laws of the Jianghu, cutting off their head would be completely justified, wouldn't it?"
Right!
Someone shouted in agreement. They must have wanted to see blood this early in the day. In truth, one of the greatest spectacles of this era was the decapitation show: the head flying off, blood spraying like a fountain, the body rolling and then thudding to the ground. It wasn't that the Central Plains were particularly barbaric. In this age, decapitation shows were incredibly popular among every race across the world. You could call it a universal human sentiment.
Still, if one had to rank them, the people of the Central Plains only enjoyed the beheadings with their eyes in a refined manner. They were far more civilized than the Westerners, who would get so excited by the flowing blood that they'd dip bread in it, shoving and trampling each other in a chaotic frenzy until people were crushed to death.
"Alright. If you understand, then stretch out your neck and get into position. I'll send you off cleanly with one strike so it doesn't hurt."
"P-please spare me!"
"You're asking to be spared after touching a martial artist's weapon? Would you show mercy to someone who touched your wife?"
"M-my wife already ran off with another man..."
"Hmm. Well... hang in there."
For a moment, the atmosphere grew solemn. Since Cheong hadn't actually planned to kill him anyway, she would have forgiven him no matter what he said. Even if it was the usual primitive, ancient, melodramatic sob story that thieves always spouted about how it wasn't that his wife cheated but that his mother-in-law or some target or whatever, and that his children were like enemies.
(Note: "Target" was the Central Plains term for elephant.)
"Fine. Since it seems you have a story so sad it can't be heard without tears, I'll spare your life. Empty everything you have and get lost."
At that, the sword thief meekly untied his travel pouch and money bag and placed them before Cheong.
"Can I go now..."
"Are you kidding? I said empty everything. I have no interest in watching a man fumble around, so I'll generously allow you to keep just one pair of underwear. Do it."
When the not-at-all-pitiful sword thief stripped off his clothes, a silver ingot tied to his ankle with string was revealed.
"What the—? This bastard. Even after I spared his life, he hid a silver ingot?"
"Ah! Why is there a silver ingot here! Who would tie a silver ingot to someone else's ankle! How truly strange!"
The sword thief made an obviously awkward excuse as he untied the silver and neatly placed it on top of the travel pouch.
Cheong said, dumbfounded, "This crazy bastard is really putting on a show. Should I just slaughter him for real?"
Since she didn't have a black dragon on her left arm or a familiar spirit to hold back her murderous intent by saying "Just endure it," her right arm, holding the sword, rose menacingly along with a terrifying killing aura.
"Hiiik!"
The sword thief, wearing only his underwear, bolted away in a panic. As he ran, the ground turned dark behind him, leaving behind a single irregular line and countless scattered droplets.
"Hmm. He pissed himself."
The commoners who had been watching scattered in terror. Even the greatest expert under heaven would step aside in fear if a pitch-black man came running while pissing himself. Thanks to that, the sword thief quickly disappeared from sight.
Cheong looked at the spoils left behind.
"Hehe, sweet, so sweet."
The money bag contained a handful of coins. And there was one silver ingot. When she picked it up, it felt like roughly half of half a silver tael that had been hammered flat. All together it was just pocket change—not even one full silver tael—but having gained a travel pouch made her endlessly happy.
The travel pouch looked flat and limp at first glance, as if there was nothing inside. But the pouch itself was what mattered. She already knew from her first year just how big a difference having even one bag could make.
Still, she checked inside and found one dirty towel and something wrapped in a wide, oil-soaked leaf.
"Whoa, jerky."
For jerky to be good, it had to be a high-quality product made specifically as a delicacy. This was just ordinary, common travel rations—tough dried scraps of random meat that wouldn't even yield to teeth, with questionable hygiene. But it was better than nothing. It might be gamey and hard to eat on its own, but if you soaked it long enough in soup, you could at least get the feeling of chewing meat.
Her stomach growled. Thinking about meat had made her belly start complaining from the inside, telling her to stop doing stupid things and put some food in it already.
"Hmm. Should I go eat? It's been a while. I'll have some steamed buns and knock back a drink or two."
Anyway, rather than awkwardly trying to cook something, it was better to fill her stomach with cheap dumplings and wash it down with strong liquor. The timing was perfect too. Judging by the sun, it was roughly the beginning of the Shen hour—around three o'clock in Cheong's time units.
What? I slept for quite a while. I didn't feel like I'd slept at all. Either way, at this awkward time that was neither lunch nor dinner, inns would usually sell food even to beggars. Of course, she couldn't eat inside and would have to sit in an unobtrusive spot in front of the shop.
Human hearts really were fickle. Earlier, when she'd thought all those Jianghu adventures were just a dream, she'd felt heavily depressed and sick of living. Now, pretending to be a beggar again after so long felt somehow familiar and nostalgic. It made sense, since she could escape this beggar life whenever she wanted.
Come to think of it, she could just keep acting like a beggar to kill time and then head to Kaifeng when the date came. Who would imagine that the wanted criminal was pretending to be a beggar on the side of the road?
Cheong wandered around, scratching her head vigorously, looking for a suitable place to eat. If it was too high-class, they'd turn her away at the door. If business was too slow, they'd only serve spoiled leftovers. So she needed to find a decent place where the staff looked cheerful and the atmosphere was good. It also needed a decent spot to eat in front of the shop.
And so, Cheong found a suitable restaurant.
It was called Seoryang Restaurant. A "banjeom" was a grade below a proper restaurant or teahouse. Cheong loitered near the entrance, pretending to read the room. When the waiter approached with a tense expression at the sight of a beggar carrying swords, Cheong deliberately used a heavily subdued voice to place her order.
"Um, five dumplings please. And... is there any really cheap but really strong liquor...?"
A beggar was normally just a beggar brat, but a beggar who knew martial arts was a respected beggar sir. And here was a beggar sir carrying not one but two swords, politely placing an order. On top of that, even if her face was hidden by a veil, she was clearly a woman, and her voice was exceptionally beautiful.
The waiter's pride swelled until it practically soared into the sky. As his shoulders rose, his attitude became noticeably gentler.
"Where in the world would you find liquor that's both cheap and strong?"
Strong liquor was expensive. After all, strong liquor was made by compressing weak liquor through evaporation or other methods.
"Sour liquor would be fine too..."
"Hmm. Give me one more coin and I'll bring it myself."
The waiter's tone as he answered was incredibly refined. When would a waiter ever have the chance to use such an adult manner of speaking? This was all wisdom gained from life experience.
As a female hero of the Murim, Cheong might be a complete idiot, but as a single beggar, she already possessed wisdom far beyond that of an ordinary person—enough to be called a sage. She was a beggar bitch by nature.