The Unfortunate Case of Mistaking a Funeral for a Banquet
I told you to go have some fun, didn’t I?
Before Cheong left, she had seen an interesting picture. It was a scene from some nameless remote island nation where a traveler asked the locals about a lively festival. “What kind of festival is this?” To which an islander replied, “It’s not a festival. It’s a funeral.”
At least that traveler could excuse himself by claiming it was an exotic custom from a completely foreign culture. But Cheong now knew the Central Plains well enough. So, in an instant, no matter how shameless she usually was, blood rushed to her head. Her face flushed bright red as embarrassment washed over her.
And of all things—suyuk, pyeonyuk, dongpoyuk! From the very first impression, she had opened her mouth and sounded like a complete dimwit. Of course, suyuk, pyeonyuk, and dongpoyuk were delicious. Jangyuk too! Ah, jangyuk! She wanted to eat that as well, but that wasn’t the point.
There was actually a somewhat reasonable basis for Cheong boldly appearing and shouting the three great meat dishes of the Central Plains. At a proper banquet, everyone would be chatting merrily. Even if she raised her voice about five-spice pork or braised chicken, it would only result in loud “Wahaha!” laughter.
She felt bad for arriving late, so rather than awkwardly forcing her way into the feast, her plan had been to kick things off with a big laugh and boldly enjoy herself.
But, um. It was a funeral….
Cheong let out a deep, throaty cough and naturally spat out the lie. She had grown quite accustomed to impersonating Eon Yeonyeong. One could even say she had reached the realm of perfect fusion—where Eon Yeonyeong was Cheong and Cheong was Eon Yeonyeong. The realm of Eon-Cheong.
Cheong shuffled backward, then suddenly—bang!—launched herself forward with ferocious momentum. Her outer robe fluttered wildly as she soared into the sky and vanished.
A heavy silence fell over the courtyard.
What the hell was that? Was she crazy? Well, she was definitely crazy, but… was that the Eon girl from the Jinju Eon Clan? What did she say her name was? Eon-something? Eon Yeonyeong? How does someone end up with a name like Eon Yeonyeong? And suyuk, pyeonyuk, dongpoyuk? They do sound tasty, though. And what the hell is “everyone, baekunjesu” supposed to mean as a farewell?
For reference, baekunjesu was a local specialty from the neighboring Guangdong Province’s capital of Gwangju—steamed white pig trotters, Gwangju style.
What should one call a woman who suddenly appeared claiming to seek meat and declaring herself a beauty? It might have been the exact moment the notoriety of the Carnivorous Maniac Eon Yeonyeong began spreading among the people of Guangxi. Or maybe not. Either way.
Regardless, the twenty-year-old maiden Seomun Cheong—who had burst through the wide-open gates, then fled by leaping over a window, or rather, a wall—hurriedly crossed the main road.
She headed toward a carriage tucked away in a shadowy corner of an alley.
Jayu and Yeon Pa watched as Cheong urgently dove inside.
She had gone ahead to ask permission from the Gyerim Sword Sect, wondering if it was acceptable for a prince of the imperial family to visit. (Though the sect had ended up in the absurd position of needing to grant permission to a Chinwang, Cheong had insisted that even a prince shouldn’t just barge in without notice.)
“You’re back already. Can we go in now?”
“No, that’s not it. I realized this outfit isn’t right. Since I’m a disciple of the Goddess Sect, I should wear their uniform. Let me change real quick—could you close your eyes for a bit?”
Jayu’s expression turned strange.
“Close my eyes?”
No matter what, the separation between men and women was—(the rest omitted). It was a question any man traveling with Cheong would inevitably ponder at least once.
“Why? Want to wait outside then? It’s cold out there.”
“The young lady is correct. The weather is chilly; you must preserve your precious health.”
Yeon Pa chimed in to support Cheong, all while repeatedly winking at Jayu. His eyebrows shot up. He had no idea what signal she was trying to send. What exactly was she implying? That he should peek?
“Ahem. It’s only for a moment. What could happen?”
Jayu put on his face veil and stepped out of the carriage. Cheong then peeled off her current clothes as easily as stripping greasy fried batter from a plump fritter. She was an expert at changing clothes. Even while carrying the Qingja Sword—said to be the sharpest blade in the world—she could change effortlessly. With both hands free, her speed was nothing short of lightning. The switch to the Goddess Sect uniform was over in the blink of an eye.
Cheong, now dressed in the sect’s uniform, stepped out of the carriage again.
“Ah, Jayu. Change my veil for me too.”
After swapping even her veil, Cheong emerged as a completely different person and headed out of the alley where the carriage was parked.
Meanwhile, a long silence hung over the Gyerim Sword Sect grounds, which had been thick with tension just moments before. No one had yet recovered from the shock of the Carnivorous Maniac Eon Yeonyeong’s sudden meat rant.
“Ahem. Returning to our previous discussion—”
Yo Min, the third son of the Yo family’s salt business—the child they had thrown away—struggled to regain control of the atmosphere.
“You clearly said you would endure until this year. So if you don’t want to see blood on this auspicious Lunar New Year—”
From behind came whispered murmurs.
Should we make some dongpoyuk for this year’s Lunar New Year? No way, dongpoyuk takes so much effort. Just… pyeonyuk. Pyeonyuk is easier. Wouldn’t hoegwauyuk be fine too? After hearing about baekunjesu, I’m craving it. Want to grab a drink later?
“Shut the hell up!”
Yo Min exploded.
He had come with a crowd of spectators under orders to thoroughly humiliate the sect, but some crazy woman had barged in and ruined the entire mood.
“If you have nothing else to say, leave. It doesn’t seem like you have any real business here.”
It hadn’t been Cheong’s intention, but thanks to her, the Gyerim Sword Sect disciples had regained their composure. Some had even swallowed hard, their appetites fully returning. Still, it was far better than the previous sight of them trembling in rage with faces flushed crimson.
“Damn it, what rotten luck. Khaak—ptoo!”
The provocation had already failed. In the end, Yo Min swaggered forward, spat on the ground, and tried to turn away.
But then another veiled woman pushed through the spectators and stepped forward.
She was tall. Was it the same woman from before? It definitely looked like her—but the veiled woman’s words were far from kind.
“Who taught you that it’s acceptable to spit on another sect’s grounds? Spitting in a sacred Taoist temple—do you also spit on your family’s ancestral offering table at home?”
The Gyerim Sword Sect was, after all, a Taoist sect. Most righteous sects or similar organizations with “-pa” in their names could be considered Taoist.
“Ha, what is this now? The Heavenly Flower Wind? Heavenly Flower Sword or whatever—because of that one woman, every dog and cow is covering their face with a veil. It’s a complete mess.”
Upon closer look, it wasn’t the crazy woman from before. This was a female Taoist wearing proper sect robes.
“Hmm.”
This time, to prevent the same disaster as earlier, she asked a spectator in the back who was craning his neck what was going on and roughly heard the story. Apparently, that bastard had been visiting the Gyerim Sword Sect almost every day, acting arrogant and provoking them.
“So what you’re saying is that this girl is no better than a dog or a cow? Can you take responsibility for those words?”
“Kuk. If you can, then try it. But if you touch me, do you think you’ll be safe? Right now, the esteemed elders of the Sadoryeon are lending their strength to our great Nanning Yo family—ack!”
Cheong’s scabbard slammed down onto the crown of Yo Min’s head. The Wolgwang Sword (Ten Tiger) was a heavy greatsword on its own; with the scabbard on, it was even heavier.
“There. I touched you. Now what? What’s going to happen to this girl? Will lightning suddenly strike?”
“You—how dare you! You’re dead!”
“Wow. I’m dead? Is this the afterlife? It doesn’t look any different from the living world. Everyone, he says I’m dead, yet how did all of you end up in the afterlife? The road to the underworld is supposed to be cold and bleak, but the weather feels rather warm for winter. What a nice day.”
Giggles erupted here and there.
“I’ll kill you!”
With his eyes rolled back in fury, Yo Min drew his blade and charged.
If he were in the Harmonious Realm it might be different, but for a mere first-class expert to charge with such confidence in himself was truly excessive.
Slap!
With a crisp sound, Yo Min, who had been rushing forward, bent at a perfect right angle and tumbled to the ground. It was Cheong’s fiery slap—or rather, a vicious slap infused with the bitter cold poison of her Sosu Magong.
“Kuaaak! You bitch!”
Yo Min sprang up and charged again.
Slap!
This time he was struck on the opposite cheek and went flying, scattering white teeth as he fell.
Only then did Yo Min’s mind snap back to clarity. She was a master. An untouchable master. The fact that he only realized it now only proved he was the idiot his father, Yo Hwan-cheol, had thrown away to die.
“If you touch me—!”
“This girl is the one known as the Heavenly Flower Sword, Seomun Cheong.”
At that, the crowd erupted in murmurs, names spilling out.
Cheonhwa-geom! The most beautiful woman under heaven! The one who can topple nations with a single glance!
Cheong’s eyebrows twitched.
Wait, why did the list keep growing? Who the hell came up with “topple nations with a single glance”? I’ve memorized that voice. Just wait until I catch you.
Her mood suddenly soured. Fortunately, there was someone right in front of her to take it out on.
“You dared to spit in a sacred Taoist temple? What comes from a person should return to a person. So, would you kindly lick clean what came from your tongue with that same tongue?”
“Such…”
Cheong raised the most beautiful hand in the world—a delicate, jade-like hand that no one who saw it could possibly dispute.
“Look here. It’s sparkling, isn’t it?”
Golden inner energy shimmered brightly.
“I wonder what happens when you get slapped with concentrated qi? Aren’t you curious? This girl is very curious.”
“Hiiik.”
Yo Min’s face turned deathly pale. In the end, he collapsed to the ground and began licking the dirt. After scooping up a layer of soil, he grimaced and swallowed the sand filling his mouth.
As he tried to stand, the tip of the Wolgwang Sword suddenly pointed at the ground beside him.
“I-I did as you said.”
Cheong’s sword slowly slid over, indicating a different spot on the ground.
“Oh? Was it over there? No, it’s here. Right here.”
“Isn’t this the exact spot where you spat? Why are you licking random dirt?”
“Ah. Right. Is it here? This clump isn’t a rock, it looks like sand…?”
“Ah. Here it is. I’m sorry.”
“Actually, it doesn’t matter where. Would you keep licking the ground until I say you may raise your head? They say even rolling in dog shit is better than dying. Licking dirt is still better than being dead, right?”
And so Yo Min continued licking the ground without pause.
From now on, he would never escape the reputation of the man who crawled on the ground licking dirt until he died. His nickname would likely never rise above “Earth-Eating Dragon” or “Dirt-Licking Earthworm.”
Of course, this humiliation wasn’t his alone. It was a tremendous disgrace to both his sect and family. A normal martial artist would rather die than suffer such shame and would have charged in fury.
But this idiot—who hadn’t even realized his father had sent him to die—apparently wanted to live no matter what.
Yet even after all this, why were they still just watching?
Cheong glanced at the disciples of the Gyerim Sword Sect. They wore dazed, astonished expressions, but their mouths were strangely relaxed as they simply stared at Yo Min crawling on the ground.
“Ahem.”
Cheong cleared her throat pointedly and looked with exaggerated gestures at the largest male disciple of the Gyerim Sword Sect. It was an obvious hint.
Only then did the large man snap back to his senses. He stepped forward and spoke.
“That’s enough. You’ve done enough, so stop.”
First Disciple Do Dal-jeon intervened with a tone heavily laced with amusement.
He continued, “If it were me, I would rather bite my tongue and die than crawl on the ground licking dirt, disgracing my sect and bringing dishonor to my family. So let’s end it here. I ask this of you.”
Though he spoke as if trying to stop her, it was clearly a message for everyone present to hear.
“Since the master of this Taoist sect asks so earnestly, I have no choice. I shall specially forgive him.”
Cheong played along.
This way, the Gyerim Sword Sect would appear to have stopped her and saved Yo Min. On the other hand, Yo Min—who had come to pick a fight—had shown the world an utterly pathetic sight and even ended up owing a favor. A truly masterful outcome.