Chapter 120: Water Knows the Answer

From Tang Nanah's perspective, Qing's method for befriending Peng Choryeo was utterly cowardly.

If one wished to capture the heart of a potential sister-in-law, the proper method involved bold flattery, building friendship through charming aegyo [^(Korean term for a cute, charming, or coquettish act)], and eventually winning her over completely with lavish gifts of rare treasures.

Resorting to something as crude and unsophisticated as martial arts? Simply barbaric.

This sentiment was amplified because Tang Nanah had already witnessed Qing’s monstrous, inhuman strength firsthand—effortlessly swinging grown men around like weapons.

Hmph, Nanah plotted internally, a vicious glint in her eyes. You may have brute strength, but I have poison. Let’s see how long Sister Peng remains interested once I ensure she finds you utterly repulsive.

Whether Tang Nanah was concocting such terrible schemes or not, Qing couldn't care less. She was simply having a blast, thoroughly enjoying dedicated training again after such a long time.

Peng Choryeo was, strictly speaking, an incredibly experienced martial artist belonging to the previous generation.

The concept of 'generations' among Rising Stars in the martial world was somewhat ambiguous,

largely a phenomenon resulting from the complex seniority hierarchies within the established sects.

When members of one generation of Rising Stars eventually settled into permanent positions within their respective sects, they would pass the 'Rising Star' mantle to the next generation of promising youngsters. This transition typically occurred around the same time for peers across different sects and clans, as they also began taking on more significant responsibilities within their own families.

Thus, the oldest official member of the current generation of Rising Stars was arguably Daoist Changbin (Expert on the female heart, 30, single, zero dating experience), while Peng Choryeo, rapidly approaching thirty-seven, was technically one generation senior, having associated and competed with the experts of the previous era.

This generational seniority meant Peng possessed vast experience. Added to that, her cultivation realm was higher—Early Stage Transcendent Realm—and her pure martial skill was superior. Consequently, almost every single moment sparring with her felt like an extension of Qing's journey along a new Dao—the Way of the Blade.

Qing’s massive dadao swept upwards, tracing the arc of a full moon.

Peng Choryeo met the attack with her own identical-looking blade, angling it diagonally, using one hand to support the flat of her blade against the incoming force. A hair-raising screech of metal grinding against metal echoed loudly as the two enormous swords clashed, sending a shower of bright sparks skittering across the training ground floor.

The tip of Qing’s dadao grazed the ground at the end of her arc.

Peng Choryeo’s blade instantly changed direction, blurring into a lightning-fast straight thrust aimed at Qing’s center. Qing reacted instinctively, dropping low, almost kneeling, sticking close to the ground as the deadly blade passed harmlessly over her head.

And… now!

With all her strength, Qing twisted the handle of her grounded dadao, attempting a terrifying upward slash, aiming to catch Peng off guard from below.

However, the attempt proved utterly futile. Peng Choryeo simply kicked the flat of Qing’s rising blade with contemptuous ease. The force of the kick sent Qing’s weapon askew, violently twisting her entire waist off balance.

“An opening!” Peng Choryeo called out cheerfully.

Her fist shot out, aimed directly at Qing’s now completely exposed side.

It was a fist carrying the palpable weight of someone experienced enough to shatter boulders with a single blow.

Just milliseconds before impact, however, the fist opened, and Peng Choryeo simply poked Qing firmly in the side with her index finger.

Qing instantly jumped about three feet (0.91 m) in the air, letting out an involuntary, half-formed shriek of laughter—“Kyahehehe!”—before collapsing onto the ground in helpless giggles.

“This child,” Peng Choryeo remarked, sounding surprised. “It’s quite unlike your usual image to be ticklish.”

“Kuhup,” Qing gasped between giggles, “can’t help it! I’m super ticklish!”

“I must admit, I’m surprised,” Peng continued thoughtfully. “I truly didn’t see you that way before. You possess unexpectedly feminine aspects, it seems.”

“…?”

Qing tilted her head, momentarily confused by the comment.

Of course, Qing would normally be horrified at being called ‘feminine’ in any context. But strangely, hearing Peng Choryeo state it so matter-of-factly, almost as if surprised Qing wasn't just a rough brute… it felt… weirdly… not entirely unpleasant?

Wait, more importantly, why does everyone’s evaluation of me always seem so weirdly harsh and negative initially? Why does this keep happening?

Does everyone automatically assume I’m some kind of monster just because I get a little close to them?

Is there… actually something fundamentally wrong with my attitude or how I come across?

Qing engaged in a moment of serious, profound self-reflection.

The conclusion came remarkably quickly.

Nah. I’m always truthful and sincere! Must be some weird Central Plains friendship culture thing.

Come to think of it, whether back home or here, isn’t it normal for friends to tease each other and laugh about it once they get close? Yeah, probably just that.

“That upward slash you attempted just now?” Peng Choryeo interrupted Qing’s introspection, shifting back into instructor mode. “Not a good technique. Understand, all weapons possess inherent strengths and weaknesses. The entire development of martial arts focuses on maximizing those strengths. The dadao, fundamentally, follows the principle of yielding to gravity; it naturally wants to flow downwards, from high to low. Only by moving in accordance with that principle can it exert its true, devastating power.”

“Right,” Qing countered, “but wouldn’t that make an unexpected upward move precisely the kind of unpredictable technique that could catch an opponent off guard…?”

“Well, perhaps, but I doubt it,” Peng replied thoughtfully. “Since you, Qing-ah, are also surprisingly skilled in close-quarters grappling, it likely would have been more effective in that situation to either drop the dao entirely and rely on grappling, or perhaps even kick some dirt into my eyes. By forcing the blade upward against its nature, your arm was already twisted unnaturally; the trajectory was predictable, and the power significantly reduced. My simple kick exposed your entire body. You effectively ‘died’ once right there. Wouldn't you agree?”

Unlike a certain someone from the Namgung family, Peng Choryeo didn’t adhere strictly to only the dadao.

In fact, according to her own philosophy, the dadao was largely an outdated weapon, unsuited for the modern era of martial arts.

First, setting aside the sheer inconvenience of carrying such a massive weapon everywhere, its weight fundamentally required using two hands for effective combat. This put the wielder at a distinct disadvantage compared to practitioners of shorter weapons, who could utilize their free hand for supplementary hand seals, palm techniques, or grappling maneuvers.

The dadao’s primary advantages lay in its long reach and overwhelming destructive power. However, Peng argued, as the overall level of martial arts cultivation advanced, practitioners learned to supplement their reach and power using projected Internal Energy (like Sword Energy or Blade Energy). Consequently, the unique advantages inherent to the dadao itself were gradually becoming less significant, rendering the weapon somewhat obsolete.

Yet, when Qing had asked why she still insisted on wielding the dadao despite these acknowledged drawbacks, Peng Choryeo’s answer had been simple and firm.

‘Because it is the foundation of our Peng Clan. If something can be easily replaced simply for convenience, then it cannot truly be called a foundation.’

(Despite Peng Choryeo’s conviction, Qing privately noted that Peng Daesan himself didn’t seem to use a dadao…)

“It is often said,” Peng continued her explanation, “that the Dao (Saber/Blade) represents Obedience to natural principles, while the Sword represents Defiance against Heaven. This is because the core subtleties of the two weapons lie in fundamentally different philosophies. The dadao inherently flows from top to bottom. It’s about moving like water, flowing naturally without striking the ground unnecessarily, then rising again like clouds gathering for the next strike. It’s not merely about swinging it with brute force.”

“Oing.”

As Qing listened, something felt vaguely familiar. Suddenly, a specific Sutra she’d skimmed once surfaced in her mind.

Qing raised her dadao again, determination flashing in her eyes.

“Okay. Let’s try that again.”

“Alright,” Peng grinned, settling into a ready stance. “Come.”

Qing launched herself forward using the Zero-Gravity Flight aspect of the Yue Maiden Footwork, soaring into the air, then brought the dadao down in a heavy, decisive chop.

The massive blade, initially falling in a thick, powerful stroke, suddenly seemed to waver mid-arc. It clashed against Peng Choryeo’s parrying blade, then bounced unexpectedly upwards at an angle.

At that precise moment, a shimmering sunset-colored Blade Energy flared from Qing’s dadao. It drew complex patterns in the air, resembling swirling autumn leaves caught in a gust of wind. From that single initial clash, the sound of metal striking metal rang out loudly four distinct times in rapid succession.

Peng Choryeo leaped back hastily, her eyes wide with surprise.

“Oooh! What was that? That Dao technique just now?”

“Uh,” Qing blinked, slightly surprised herself. “That’s actually from the Yue Maiden Sword Technique.”

It was an application she’d devised for the dadao, based on one of the latter three sword forms that had always felt awkward and ineffective when performed with an actual sword.

“Hmm. The Yue Maiden Sword Technique, you say?” Peng mused thoughtfully. “Such an ancient sword art… Originally, back in those distant times, the distinction between straight swords and curved blades or sabers wasn’t nearly as clear-cut as it is now. They were often just collectively referred to as ‘blades’.”

Suddenly, an image flashed through Qing’s mind.

A young girl appeared before her inner eye. She wore simple blue clothes dyed with indigo, her hair wild and disheveled, yet her form possessed an undeniable feminine grace.

And the girl began to perform a blade dance, but what she held wasn't a sword—it was merely a long, slender tree branch.

The girl seemed to look directly at Qing, offering a gentle, knowing smile. Then, her image seemed to split and overlap, multiple versions of her dancing as one.

She flowed effortlessly through eight distinct sword styles, her movements filled with pure joy and boundless excitement, accompanied by the sound of clear, ringing laughter echoing in Qing’s mind.

The object the girl held shifted constantly. At one moment, it was a slender, flexible branch, bending and swaying with each movement. The next, it was a straight, elegant wooden practice sword. Then, suddenly, it was the thick, heavy trunk of a great tree, complete with numerous smaller branches still attached.

All could be considered ‘tree branches,’ yet their shapes, sizes, and weights varied drastically.

Straight and short; curved and long; solid and heavy; elastic and swaying; large and cumbersome; covered in twigs; dried out and precarious; possessing only a single sharp point……

Then, just as suddenly, the surrounding scenery in the vision turned pitch black. The dancing girl became transparent, her form resolving into an outline made of constellations, bright stars connected by invisible lines, mapping her movements against the void.

Abruptly, a semi-transparent rectangular screen flickered into existence directly before Qing’s inner eye. Ominous text glowed upon it. Just as Qing was about to instinctively reach out and touch the screen…

Someone poked her sharply in the side.

Qing blinked, turning her head. Standing beside her in the training ground was the spectral image of the blue-clad girl from the vision, looking directly at her and gently shaking her head.

“Hm?”

“What’s wrong?” Peng Choryeo asked, noticing Qing’s sudden lapse in focus.

“Huh?”

Qing looked around, getting her bearings.

They were still in the Tang Clan’s training yard. Nothing had changed. What the hell was that? Just a hallucination?

Qing looked down at the massive dadao still held firmly in her hand.

And she examined it closely, hefting it, swinging it experimentally through the air. She tapped various parts of the blade with her finger, listening intently to the resonant tones produced.

And suddenly, Qing understood the dadao.

Not just intellectually, but intuitively. Its length, its weight, its precise center of balance, its inherent biases in movement—she grasped it all through unquantified instinct. Her heart began to race with the sudden, overwhelming desire to personally draw out the countless lines, points, and geometric shapes she could now perceive extending from it, waiting to be unleashed.

“Let’s try again!” Qing declared, her eyes bright with newfound understanding. “I think I saw something important just now!”

And the ensuing duel was more intense, more ferocious, than anything that had come before.

Unlike the previous sparring sessions, which had largely been one-sided instructional lessons, Qing now faced Peng Choryeo as an equal, matching her move for move with newfound skill and insight.

After several more breathless exchanges, Peng Choryeo finally called a halt, lowering her blade and looking at Qing with a mixture of surprise and approval.

“Congratulations,” she said, a genuine smile spreading across her face. “You have just entered the initial stage of Dao Body Unification.”

“Dao Body Unification?” Qing repeated, unfamiliar with the term.

“I still don’t understand why you can’t achieve proper Energy Compression despite being on the verge of this level of enlightenment,” Peng mused thoughtfully. “But fundamentally, Dao Body Unification is the realm reached only after a martial artist first truly understands their own body, then truly understands their chosen weapon, and finally surpasses the stage of merely handling that weapon as an extension of their body. It is the point where they learn to place the very center of their mind, their consciousness, within the weapon itself, becoming one with it.”

“Ah! I know that one!” Qing exclaimed, recognition dawning, though her expression remained utterly clueless. “My Master talked about that too! That’s Sword Body Unification!”

Her confident declaration coupled with her completely blank face made Peng Choryeo burst into laughter again.

Qing had indeed witnessed Ximen Surin demonstrate Sword Body Unification before.

It was a bizarre state where, although Surin was clearly standing there holding her sword, your attention was drawn so completely, so overwhelmingly, to the sword itself that the person wielding it seemed to… disappear.

Not literally invisible, of course.

It was more like Surin was somehow hiding behind the thin blade, or perhaps the sword’s own presence became so potent, so absolute, that one simply couldn’t spare the attention needed to perceive the wielder holding it.

Just looking at it induced a strange sense of shrinking dread, distorting your senses in inexplicable ways.

“Well, I’m still not sure I totally get it,” Qing admitted honestly, “but maybe I’ll understand better if we keep sparring more?”

“My, my! Look at this child!” Peng Choryeo chuckled, shaking her head in amusement. “I truly didn’t see you this way before. You’re unexpectedly a natural-born martial artist through and through, aren’t you?”

“What on earth are you even seeing in me…?” Qing muttered, completely baffled by the compliment.

Just as Peng Choryeo burst into another round of hearty laughter…

"Sister! Ximen Whatever-your-name-is! Oh my, you're both sweating so much! Aren't you terribly hot?"

A sweet voice called out, and Tang Nanah came tripping lightly into the training ground.

She carried a large, ornate tray.

“Training is important, of course,” Nanah continued, smiling brightly, “but you should take a break and have something cool to drink. I prepared some refreshing beverages and snacks for you both!”

“Oooh! Something cold! And snacks!”

Qing immediately brightened and plopped down unceremoniously onto the ground.

If Ximen Surin had witnessed such a disgraceful lack of decorum, she would have instantly launched a furious nuclear attack. But the person beside Qing now was Peng Choryeo.

And Peng simply sat down amicably right next to her on the ground. Consequently, there was no one present to point out the truly terrible sight of two supposedly high-ranking martial artists lounging on the dirt like common peasants.

“Here, this portion is for Sister,” Nanah said, placing small plates from the tray before them. “And this is for… Ximen Whatever-person.”

Unlike Peng Choryeo’s plate, which featured a few delicate snacks neatly and artfully arranged, the plate placed before Qing contained a massive, roughly piled heap of assorted goodies.

“Hey now,” Qing protested immediately, eyeing the disparity. “Showing favoritism with food is kinda low, don’t you think?”

“Yours has significantly more on it, you know,” Nanah pointed out dryly.

“Ah! In that case, I fully acknowledge and accept this as righteous and justifiable discrimination!”

Qing instantly reversed her position.

After all, presentation wasn’t important.

What truly mattered was taste… and quantity.

Qing immediately picked up a large porcelain bowl filled with a pale, icy liquid.

Finely crushed ice sloshed inside, making a pleasant clinking sound as she lifted it.

Just as she was about to bring the bowl to her lips, she paused, hearing a distinct gulping sound nearby. Lowering the bowl slightly,

she saw Tang Nanah staring intently at her, practically drooling.

“What’s up?” Qing asked. “You thirsty?”

“No, no, no! Absolutely not! What are you saying?” Nanah denied quickly, waving her hands. “Please, go on, drink up! It’s a special citron tea sweetened with rock honey. It’s perfectly sweet, slightly sour, wonderfully cool, and absolutely delicious! And I promise, I didn’t add anything else to it at all!”

“Ah! Citron honey tea!”

Qing’s face lit up. She eagerly downed half the bowl in one go.

Having just worked up a serious sweat sparring, it felt like her body instantly absorbed every single drop, a wonderfully refreshing sensation.

“Kyaaah. That’s really good!”

Qing put down the half-finished bowl of cold tea and immediately reached for the pile of snacks.

It was then that Tang Nanah leaned forward slightly, asking with an oddly expectant look in her eyes,

“So? How is it?”

“Hm?” Qing replied around a mouthful of snack. “It’s delicious? Very cool and refreshing.”

“And?” Nanah pressed. “Don’t you… feel anything else? Anything… unusual?”

Qing tilted her head, confused.

What’s this about? Is there some kind of secret ingredient I’m supposed to notice?

Qing put down the snack for a moment and took another large sip of the cold tea, swishing it around her mouth with the crushed ice.

Sweet… sour… and… something else? A faint, cooling, almost… floral or minty sensation?

Gulp. “Okay, I got it!” Qing declared confidently. “It’s mint, right? My tongue might not be quite as accurate as Mister Changzi’s, the Greatest Chef, but it’s still pretty damn good, you know!”

“Eh?” Nanah blinked, looking genuinely confused.

“Ah, wait, no,” Qing reconsidered, tasting it again. “Is it maybe… cinnamon? There’s a slightly spicy aftertaste now that I think about it?”

“Eh?”

Tang Nanah just stared at Qing now, completely bewildered.

Then, her eyes widened in sudden realization, and she looked with shock towards Peng Choryeo.

“Ah. Nanah-ah, thank you,” Peng Choryeo said calmly, raising her own cup in acknowledgement. “This tastes quite good.”

She responded to Nanah with a warm smile creasing the corners of her eyes.

Tang Nanah managed a weak grin back.

“Hehe… it’s nothing, really… Eh?”

Her gaze snapped back to Qing again, her expression now filled with utter suspicion and disbelief.

She looks somewhat… stupid? Qing thought, perplexed. No, wait… she looks exactly like that Senior Sister Wannabe back at the Bliss Palace!

She seemed so sharp and convincing when she was acting like a doctor earlier… So why does she keep giving off these Crutch vibes now?!

Her fundamental intelligence itself should be in a completely different league, shouldn't it?!

“What’s with you?” Qing asked defensively, noticing Nanah’s strange stare.

“Hm? What do you mean, what’s with me?”

“This is just… strange,” Nanah muttered, mostly to herself. “Here, let me see that.”

Before Qing could react, Nanah snatched Qing’s half-finished bowl of cold tea and gulped down the remaining contents herself.

And a moment later…

Suddenly, with a pained groan—Aheuk!—Nanah clutched her stomach, her face contorting. Then she started sneezing violently.

“You—! You deceived m—! Achoo! Hee… ow… Achoo! Ugh! Argh, my stomach… Achoo!”

“What the hell?” Qing asked, startled by the sudden reaction. “Are you okay?”

“My stomach hur— Ah! Achoo! Achoo! Achoo!”

This time it was three explosive sneezes in rapid succession.

As anyone who’s experienced it knows, consecutive sneezing fits can be surprisingly painful.

Sure enough, Nanah’s eyes immediately turned red, tears streaming down her face, while thick snot began dripping uncontrollably from her nose.

Most Beautiful Woman in Sichuan or not, there was simply no avoiding looking utterly hideous when one’s face was contorted in a sneezing fit, streaming tears and snot simultaneously.

It was an unavoidable, humbling human limitation.

“I… my stomach… ack… ugh… ow… ACHOO!”

Clutching her stomach tightly, Tang Nanah scrambled to her feet and stumbled away in an awkward, clumsy gait that was nevertheless filled with urgent haste, disappearing quickly from the training ground.

“Did she eat something wrong?”

Qing muttered aloud, watching her retreating back with mild confusion. She shrugged, then picked up her own bowl and finished the rest of the delicious cold tea.

Man, this stuff really is well-made.

Definitely gotta ask her for the recipe later.

And so, as dusk began to settle over the Tang Clan compound, only the faint, echoing sound of increasingly distant, violent sneezing remained.