Chapter 69
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 69
Chapter Title: Enjoying Others' Black Histories, That's What 'First-Rate' Means
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“Yawn.”
I stretched lazily and rose from the bed.
After grabbing my sword, I tiptoed carefully so as not to wake my sleeping junior sisters, slipping over to the paper-screened door and cracking it open just wide enough for one person to squeeze through.
A rush of cold air poured in through the gap, so I hurried outside and quickly shut the door behind me.
It was right around dawn, when the sky was just beginning to glow blue. Even the ever-diligent Bireung was still lost in dreamland at this hour.
It had been ages since I’d gotten up this early. During the punishment cleaning duty, my body had been so exhausted that I’d skipped dawn training and just collapsed into bed.
But as of yesterday, punishment cleaning was over! Biyeon is now a free house spirit!
I roughly splashed my face with cold water and started climbing the path toward Jade Maiden Grounds.
Sure, I could do breathing exercises at the training grounds where dawn practice was held, but I preferred the serene quiet of Jade Maiden Grounds.
When I arrived and headed toward the plum tree—my personal nap spot—there was already someone there.
Bihwan, who was leaning against the plum tree with a sword hugged to his chest, turned his head at the sound of my approach.
The sword in Bihwan’s arms wasn’t some child-sized blade of awkward length like mine—it was a proper adult sword. I wanted to grow up quick and switch mine out, too.
“Oh, Senior Brother. You’re up early.”
“What’re you doing in my designated seat at dawn?”
It was meant to say, “Get your butt off there and move,” but whether he didn’t get it or was deliberately ignoring me, Bihwan kept his gaze fixed on the blue dawn sky as the darkness slowly lifted.
“Just wondering if the lakeside at dawn has its own charm, like moon-viewing.”
So Biyeop’s story about him leaving the doors open at midnight to gaze at the moon was true. And what’s with that speech pattern?
Pale pink plum petals, unable to withstand the chilly dawn breeze, scattered wildly in the wind.
“Plum Blossom Swordsmanship, huh…”
Bihwan reached out, caught a single petal, and murmured softly. The mangled, crumpled petal slipped from his hand and fell to the ground with a plop.
“A martial art modeled after plum blossoms that fall after just one season… Pretty pathetic, don’t you think? Haha.”
Bihwan, did you pour grain wine straight into your skull?
I looked down at him—half-lidded eyes, leaning crookedly against the plum tree with that twisted smile—with complicated feelings, then asked cautiously.
“…Did someone stab you in the head with a sword or something?”
“No way. My head’s fine.”
“Then did you cultivate some demonic art? Or fall into qi deviation?”
How else could he trash the martial arts of his own sect? At my worried question, Bihwan shook his head, insisting he was perfectly fine.
“You’re not Bihwan! Face-swap sorcery? Or a human-skin mask?”
I immediately drew my sword and pointed it straight at his throat.
“What was our first conversation?”
“Back in Selection Hell, I told you to head to the training grounds.”
“They even stole your memories? Or tortured you? Where are our fellow disciples, you bastard! Are you from the Demonic Cult? One of those Demonic Cult guys who came back to kidnap me?”
“Why ask if you won’t believe me! And the ones who tried to kidnap you were from the Demonic Cult?”
Gasp, can I say that? At Bihwan’s sharp counterquestion, I scratched my head and made excuses in the most innocent tone I could muster.
“Just my guess.”
“Yeah, right. You’re still at that age where you think like that.”
Taking it as childish overimagination like I intended, Bihwan smirked and let it slide, propping his chin on his hand and shifting his gaze back to the drifting petals in the air.
“Just curious, that’s all. There are rocks and evergreen pines everywhere on Mount Hua, symbols of eternity—so why model it after these fleeting falling blossoms?”
Bet Rock Swordsmanship and Green Pine Swordsmanship are super popular, huh.
If you’re that curious, use necromancy to summon the sect founder and ask him.
“Haha, too deep a topic for you, huh, Junior Brother.”
Misreading my sour expression somehow, Bihwan dusted off his seat, stood up, and plopped a hand on my head.
“You’ll understand when you grow up.”
No, I think I get it already. Never create a black history like that.
I watched his retreating back—his walk brimming with bravado—then leaned against the plum tree and sat cross-legged.
As I recited the incantation in my mind and guided the lingering essence of the Morning Dew Pill still in my body toward my dantian, I paused.
‘Focus… I can’t focus…!’
Damn Bihwan’s image kept popping into my head, making it impossible to concentrate. In the end, I gave up, climbed the plum tree, and lay down on a branch.
Better not risk qi deviation.
* * *
After witnessing the shock and horror of Bihwan, I started noticing other disciples showing similar symptoms.
Collect them all, and you’d have a full nature documentary on eccentric behaviors.
So, let’s observe together from now on.
“Did you get hurt? Why’s your left arm wrapped in bandages?”
“My left hand has a Black Flame Dragon sealed inside, so if I grip a sword with it, the power bursts out—”
“You’re right-handed anyway.”
First type: Believes they have superpowers.
The disciple above went with the sealed Black Flame Dragon in his left hand.
Given he’s right-handed and rarely uses his left, that power’s probably never manifesting in his lifetime.
“Why the hell are you covering one eye with your bangs? You raising a Black Flame Dragon in your left eye or what?”
“Don’t treat me like some side character. This hairstyle just makes my looks shine even more.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Yeah, figured. You’re not at the age to care about beauty yet. You’ll get it when you grow up.”
Next: Sudden obsession with appearance.
The disciple above is convinced that ragamuffin bangs look cool to everyone.
But he apparently hasn’t heard the adults and other seniors muttering that they want to grab those stuffy bangs and chop them off every time they see him.
Variants include piling bangs sky-high or sticking flower pins in their ears.
“The weather’s so nice, isn’t it? Perfect for reading.”
“You call that a book? Why’re you holding the Six Harmonies Sword manual?”
“I want people to see me reading, but I don’t actually want to read…”
Next: The literary girl type.
Usually leaning against a tree with swirling leaves, book open on the knee, lost in faux contemplation.
The junior sister above wants to show off her sensitivity and intellect, but that page hasn’t turned in half an incense stick’s time.
And the book she’s “reading” isn’t even literature—it’s a basic sword manual everyone’s already mastered.
“Heh, this loss is because I didn’t use my full strength. If I unleash even the 30% I’ve been hiding, even Grand Senior Brother—”
“Unleash it. Come on, go all out. I’m bored, so fight me seriously.”
“Eek! Eek! I misspoke, I misspoke!”
The most common: Hidden Strength Edgelord. Shortened to HSE.
No matter how you look at it, they’re just hiding how lame they are.
They could go all-out once and win fair and square, but it never happens.
Still, true to wuxia tropes, the one above hiding 30% is relatively mild.
The ones claiming 80% hidden power make you wonder what the hell they’re thinking during spars.
“So I had a little spat with Junior Brother Biran. He was going on about mastering some profound ultimate technique, and I told him he looked ridiculous.”
“No one’s around—why’re you talking to thin air? Seen a ghost…?”
“Oh, Grand Senior Brother can’t see the plum blossom spirit right in front of us.”
“What spirit…?”
The rare one-in-a-hundred Evil Eye type.
Claims only they, the chosen one, can see and hear some supernatural entity—existence unverified.
The junior sister above insists on a plum blossom spirit. Wonder what spirit she’d see if she’d joined another sect.
“What is the Way of the Sword? Why apply the Dao to a blade that wounds and takes lives?”
“How’d you go from the ephemerality of plum blossoms to that?”
“What’s the meaning of my existence, choosing this path? What road should I walk?”
“You’ll end up in qi deviation. Cut it out.”
This one’s just straight-up Bihwan. Symptoms worsening.
If he falls into qi deviation like that, he’ll suffer alone—someone hurry up and answer his questions.
Probably need an elder-level chat; Senior Uncle Uigang won’t cut it.
That’s all for our observation special.
See you next year with new types. Bye.
“I wish they’d all snap out of it quick.”
At my words, Bireung, who’d been polishing her sword, nodded in agreement.
“Right? Must be painful to watch, huh?”
“Nah? Watching them confront their black histories is the best. I’ve got all their quotes recorded.”
Imagining them writhing in shame made me feel immensely satisfied.
And I was deeply curious if Bireung, who was turning fourteen soon, would go through the same phase.
“Why’re you looking at me like that?”
“Nothing.”
“I’ll never act like that, so give up on the dream.”
“Bet they thought the same last year.”
“…….”
As the symptoms dragged on for a full year, the stormy teens were eventually dragged off to secluded training as a last resort. Waving them goodbye, I vowed once more.
“I absolutely won’t end up like that.”
The last winner, who’d kept her sanity alone—no black history accumulated, no secluded training dragged into—Bihyeon smiled contentedly beside me and chimed in.
“Teaching lessons with their whole bodies—truly excellent反面教師.”