Chapter 124: Tang Clan's Paper Flower

“I see. So it was Changnan Geumho—the Rotting Flying Fox,” Jayu murmured, nodding slowly after hearing the report from his shadows.

His voice carried a tone of calm, almost detached disappointment.

“I didn’t quite see him that way.”

“Your Highness, just give the word!” the youngest shadow hissed, voice vibrating with fury. “I will immediately drag that thick-faced, traitorous con artist back here and make him kneel before you! Ah, of course,” he added quickly, glancing at the other two shadows, “I don’t mean me personally. These esteemed Gyeon No and Yeon Pa elders here will handle the actual combat. Fighting is hardly my specialty, after all.”

“That’s enough for now,” Jayu replied calmly. “He might have had his own circumstances, his own reasons. It’s not too late to pursue judgment after we understand the full context of the situation. Doesn’t everyone,” he mused softly, almost to himself, “harbor at least one circumstance they feel unable to speak of?”

“Oh my! Your Highness is far too lenient!” the female shadow, Yeon Pa [^(Hag Yan)], exclaimed. “Traditionally, traitors should be torn limb from limb as a warning to others!”

As she spoke, her eyes flashed with a strange, unsettling light.

Three tailed wisps of soul-fire seemed to flicker within her pupils, rotating slowly.

If Qing had seen it, she would have thought, "Whoa, Spiral power eyes! Totally awesome!" But any other martial artist would likely have been horrified for entirely different reasons.

Those were the infamous Chakra Eyes, the signature trait of the legendary Chakra Witch who had utterly annihilated the Yeonseong Sect thirty years prior before vanishing without a trace—

A hallmark of the Chakra Demonic Tribulation, one of the Ten Great Demonic Arts Under Heaven.

“Enough,” Jayu repeated firmly, cutting off Yeon Pa’s bloodthirsty suggestion. “When I first took that fellow in, didn’t I predict then that his fundamental nature as a con artist meant he wouldn’t be able to remain loyal indefinitely? I told him at the time, ‘If that is the case, then stay until you feel you must leave.’ It seems,” Jayu concluded with a philosophical sigh, “he simply decided it was finally time for him to depart.”

“Your Highness…” Yeon Pa sniffled, wiping dramatically at the corner of her eye under her mask. “How can your heart be so incredibly noble and forgiving?”

The intricate web of favors and grudges in the Central Plains was often likened to a vast, deep ocean. As one navigated its currents, sword in hand, it was easy to become submerged, pulled down into its murky depths.

And once you sank beneath the surface, looking back up at the world, the grand, sunlit beauty visible from outside the water would long since have vanished.

Only the desolate, cold, pressurized scenery of the dark and damp deep sea would remain reflected in your eyes.

The relationships of the martial world were, almost without exception, merely an endless accumulation of resentment.

Favors given inevitably became the source of someone else’s grudge later on.

Humans were inherently creatures who readily forgot kindness received but clung fiercely, stubbornly, to every perceived slight, engraving each grudge deeply upon their hearts.

Ultimately, only resentment truly endured. Thus, the final destination for nearly all who walked the path of the martial artist was invariably a suffocating swamp of bitterness, clinging stickily to the soul.

Faced with this bleak reality, some who lost their purpose sought refuge, burying themselves away in remote mountain valleys, attempting to escape the cycle. Others cast aside their swords entirely, attempting to blend in and act out the mundane lives of ordinary commoners. But for most, the end was inevitably bitter, leaving a foul taste that lingered long after.

However, a very lucky, vanishingly small few, upon reaching the depths of despair with the world, sometimes encountered truly good people and found unexpected salvation.

Grand Prince Dexian, Jayu, was one such rare individual offering sanctuary.

He was a great man known for willingly accepting those utterly weary of the world—those crushed by grudges they could no longer bear, those who had lost everything while fleeing false accusations, even those who had once been genuine Demonic Adepts—bringing them into his fold, offering them protection and a place to belong, treating them as family.

Jayu himself just smiled bitterly at Yeon Pa’s praise.

“Would a person with such a supposedly kind heart simply stand by and watch this current crisis unfold, worrying only about the safety of his own immediate family?”

A heavy silence lingered in the room for a moment.

Then, the youngest shadow spoke up hesitantly.

“In that case, Your Highness… shouldn’t you perhaps begin preserving your own precious jade body soon?”

It was a subtle way of urging him: Now that the rat within the Royal Prefecture has been dealt with, isn’t it about time we left the Tang Clan’s hospitality?

Jayu pondered this with a complicated expression, then finally seemed to reach a decision, opening his mouth to speak.

Later that night, Old Dog (Gyeon No) stopped by Qing’s quarters to inform her that Jayu and his retinue would be departing soon.

And the very next day, Peng Choryeo also came to say her farewells.

“Young Lady Peng, you’re leaving too?” Qing asked, surprised.

“I have no choice, do I?” Peng Choryeo replied with a wry sigh. “If the eldest daughter of the Hebei Peng Clan gets herself entangled in accusations of imperial treason, how could I possibly face the Clan Elders back home?”

The Hebei Peng Clan was, naturally, located in Hebei province.

And Hebei province also contained Beijing, the Imperial Capital.

Just as the Kunlun Sect, being geographically closest, often bore the brunt of the Demon Cult’s rampages, the Peng Clan, due to its proximity to the capital, would inevitably bleed heavily if the Imperial Family ever decided to draw its sword against the martial world.

Consequently, the Peng Clan strictly adhered to a core principle: never, ever antagonize the central government or get involved in imperial politics.

“I’ll leave the dadao I lent you as a gift,” Peng offered. “Keep training diligently with it.”

“Hmm.” Qing eyed the massive blade leaning against the wall. “I wonder if Gramps will actually be able to carry this thing for me.”

Although Choi Leeong was technically a master who had reached the Unrestrained Realm, he was currently in the process of completely emptying his energy center, painstakingly replacing his old demonic arts with the entirely different Buddhist Divine Art Qing had taught him. He was essentially building his internal energy back up from absolute scratch.

Qing herself had agonized greatly over whether it was appropriate to pass on the Great Tranquil Zen Art to a former Great Demonic Warlord. But, having already granted Gramps the special privilege of personally attending to her needs, she’d felt it was an unavoidable choice—primarily for his own mental health.

Qing had directly experienced the potent mental protection afforded by the Great Tranquil Zen Art; she worried constantly about what might happen if Choi Leeong, who already showed worrying signs of dementia, completely lost his mind without some form of spiritual anchor.

Whether it was truly due to the Zen Art or simply time and distance from the cult, the decision seemed to be effective. Gramps’s overall expression was gradually changing, softening, resembling more and more the benevolent visage of a serene Buddha.

He had even started to gain a little weight, fleshing out; his previous appearance as a hollow-eyed, gaunt skeleton was now almost entirely gone.

Peng Choryeo burst into laughter at Qing’s muttered concern about carrying the blade.

“You should carry that much yourself, Qing-ah! Especially since you’re strong enough to swing it like you do!”

“Wait, what?” Qing protested. “Saying it like that makes it sound like I’m the one passing off the burden! Gramps is the one insisting on taking it away from me, okay?”

“Right,” Peng chuckled knowingly. “But it's difficult to claim that's the case, isn't it? You seemed rather casual about going along with it earlier.”

“Look,” Qing huffed, “if he’s doing it specifically to make me comfortable, what’s the point if I’m then uncomfortable because he’s carrying my ridiculously heavy weapon? Therefore, obviously, I need to be comfortable with the arrangement for Gramps to feel any sense of reward for his service. It makes perfect sense!”

Choi Leeong, standing nearby, nodded solemnly in agreement with Qing’s convoluted logic.

And so, Qing officially acquired the Hell Blade (No. 3)!

Peng Choryeo laughed heartily again at this sight, then her expression turned slightly more serious.

“That child, Nanah,” she said quietly. “She seemed quite genuinely shocked by the events earlier. Since you’ve decided to stay here for a while longer, try to look out for her a bit, alright? It seems she hasn’t yet truly grasped the inherent heartlessness of the martial world. Because, until now, the martial world has mostly only ever been kind and accommodating to Tang Nanah. Do you understand what I mean?”

“…?”

Qing answered with a perfectly blank expression.

Peng Choryeo sighed, then fluttered her hand vaguely in front of her own face a few times, mimicking Qing’s earlier veiled appearance, as if that explained everything.

With a final nod, exhibiting not a trace of lingering attachment, she turned decisively and strode away with powerful steps.

After seeing Peng Choryeo off, Qing wandered back towards her guest quarters. She found Tang Nanah sitting slumped on the porch floor outside the main guest hall, listlessly swinging her legs with clearly nothing better to do.

“Aren’t you seeing patients today?” Qing asked.

“There are no patients…”

Tang Nanah answered, her voice flat and gloomy.

It seemed even the ever-busy Tang Clan Clinic had suddenly lost its clientele.

Only a desperate few, those truly seriously ill or literally on death’s door, still dared to visit. Everyone else, it seemed, figured they’d rather just suffer their ailments at home than risk being potentially implicated in the Tang Clan’s treason investigation.

With slumped shoulders, Nanah swung her feet back and forth aimlessly for a moment, then asked casually, without looking up,

“What about… Sister Peng? Did she leave?”

“Well, yeah,” Qing shrugged. “Said it was a matter involving her entire clan, so Young Lady Peng felt she had no choice but to depart immediately.”

“Mm.”

It sounded vaguely like she added, “Our clan is involved too, but…” but her voice was too low to be certain.

Then she asked again, looking up at Qing this time.

“Then what about you? Aren’t you leaving too? You’re a disciple of the Divine Maiden Sect, aren’t you?”

“Nah, I’m just an Outer Disciple anyway,” Qing replied dismissively. “Don’t even have my name officially registered on the sect rolls, hehe.”

This was true. Qing wasn’t formally listed in the Divine Maiden Sect’s official register.

It had been Ximen Surin’s own quiet, warm consideration for her wayward disciple.

Her Master had told her: If the Divine Maiden Sect ever became a hindrance to the path Qing chose to walk freely, Surin was prepared to formally expel her at any time. Therefore, Qing should simply follow wherever her heart led, without worrying about implicating the sect.

After all, formally expelling one unregistered Outer Disciple would ultimately change nothing but a title.

And even then, it would only revoke her official status as a Divine Maiden Sect disciple, not her role as Surin's named disciple. So, Surin had essentially told her: just go do whatever crazy shit you want.

“Besides,” Qing added dramatically, puffing out her chest again, “this Ximen Qing can be called a true man among men! Take away my loyalty, and I’m basically just a corpse!”

(Actually, even with her questionable loyalty, she was arguably still pretty close to being a corpse, technically speaking.

But Qing didn’t know that yet. Only two people in the entire universe knew the full truth about her condition: one in this world, and one in the afterworld.)[^After transmigrating, she ended up in Ximen Qing’s body and absorbed the Heavenly Demon Soul, making her state of being fundamentally unnatural. Unbeknownst to Qing, there are only two people who truly understand her condition: one in this world (likely her Master, Ximen Surin) and one in the afterworld (possibly her original self).]

“What’s that even supposed to mean? How dumb,”

Tang Nanah muttered, but despite the insult, a small smile slowly spread across her face.

She then hopped up gracefully from the porch and stood on the ground.

“Well. There are certainly plenty of pathetic specimens out there who can’t even be called proper men. Hmph.” Nanah looked Qing up and down assessingly. “They did always say, ‘Only in strong winds can we know the strength of the grass’ [^Idiom meaning true character/loyalty is revealed in times of adversity)]. I suppose… I may have changed my opinion of you slightly.”

The phrase was roughly analogous to the Western proverb, “A friend in need is a friend indeed.”

It was famously used by Emperor Guangwu [^(Founder of the Later Han Dynasty)], arguably the greatest Sage King among human emperors (incomparable to any other), as praise for his loyal general Wang Ba, who alone remained steadfast and defended his position during the most difficult times of the warlord era before Guangwu consolidated power.

Afterwards, Emperor Guangwu faithfully kept his loyalty to Wang Ba in return, eventually making him the highest-ranking Marquis under heaven.

Using this specific phrase—which typically speaks of the integrity and steadfast loyalty of a subordinate—instead of a more common saying about friendship like “A long road tests a horse’s strength”, was perhaps indicative of the inherently arrogant nature of a wicked villainess like Tang Nanah.

Of course, Qing had absolutely no knowledge of any of this historical or literary context, so she had no particular thoughts about the phrase Nanah used.

“What’s there to change your opinion about?” she asked blankly.

“That…” Nanah hesitated for a moment, then seemed to make a decision. “Do you… perhaps want to go look at some hidden weapons?”

“So suddenly?” Qing blinked, surprised by the non-sequitur.

“Uh, you know, um…” Nanah fumbled for a justification. “So. Ah. Right! You blocked that needle tube with your bare hand last time, remember? You clearly do reckless things like that because you don’t understand what’s truly dangerous! If we look at some different types now, maybe you’ll learn something, and perhaps you’ll realize what’s actually dangerous later on!”

Indeed, it was logical persuasion worthy of a (soon-to-be?) doctor of traditional medicine.

Qing was adept at spouting bullshit but notoriously weak against actual logic. Consequently, her thin ears were easily swayed, and her interest was piqued.

Moreover, it was arguably a matter related to her future survival…

“Yeah, okay, that actually makes sense,” Qing conceded readily. “Let’s go right now.”

And so, the doors to the Tang Clan’s secret, ancestral storage vault of hidden weapons were thrown wide open.

In truth, the effectiveness of hidden weapons drops significantly simply by knowing about them and being prepared in advance.

That was why access to this vault—the very essence of the Tang Clan’s power and legacy—was strictly controlled. Let alone outsiders, even members of Tang branch families couldn’t enter unless they reached a certain level of achievement and trust, specifically to prevent leaks.

Yet, Tang Nanah, solely out of a sudden desire to perhaps get closer to Qing, had just casually revealed this core family secret.

It was a treacherous, potentially clan-ruining method of building friendship—something perhaps only a terrifyingly wicked villainess, unconcerned with rules or consequences, could possibly conceive of doing.

If the Elders of the Tang Clan ever found out about this?

Ah, they would probably just sigh and say, “Well, it can’t be helped if it’s for a friend.”

Because everyone in the Tang Clan already knew, and secretly worried about, the fact that Tang Nanah had absolutely no friends.

This entire sequence arguably proved Tang Nanah’s own meticulous scheming abilities, yet simultaneously suggested she might indeed be somewhat lacking in the qualifications needed to truly make a name for herself as one of the world’s greatest villains.

Thanks to Nanah’s impulsive decision, however, Qing properly expanded her knowledge regarding the vast world of hidden weapons.

Qing genuinely hadn’t known that so many different, devious types existed.

She had vaguely assumed they mostly consisted of simple throwing knives or maybe those bamboo needle tubes like the one used earlier. That assumption turned out to be profoundly wrong.

Just from what she saw displayed in the vault, there were already: Sa (sand), Sa (thread-weights), Sa (arrows), Needles and Needle Tubes, Nets and Caltrops, Penny Whistles; Shi (bow arrows) and Zhen (crossbow bolts/darts?), Di (blowgun darts?), Xiao (mouth pouches?), and countless other throwing weapons in every imaginable shape and size…

Tang Nanah, now fully in her element, excitedly began to explain.

Sa (砂; sand) was typically soaked in potent contact poisons. Thrown using special techniques or while wearing protected gloves, aimed primarily at the face.

“Getting it into the eyes, nose, or mouth is best, obviously,” Nanah explained enthusiastically, “but real masters can usually block that, right? So, actually, sprinkling it into the opponent’s hair is often the most effective tactic. Poisonous sand that burrows deep amongst the hair follicles is incredibly difficult to wash out completely. Plus,” she added with a mischievous giggle, “the lingering poison can sometimes cause permanent hair loss! Hehehe.”

Qing shuddered involuntarily at the terrifying description.

Okay, maybe she really is a villainess after all.

Sa (梭; shuttle/weight) typically referred to a weighted projectile attached to a thin, strong thread. Poison-soaked thread could be used to set nearly invisible traps, or the weight itself could be thrown like a meteor hammer, aiming simply to make contact with the opponent's body, delivering poison through the thread or the weight itself.

Qing shuddered again at this point.

Threads… I really, really hate threads…

Sa (射; shoot/arrow) referred specifically to arrows or projectiles launched from special bows, often disguised as folding mechanisms or even musical instruments like flutes.

Needles were, well, the needles everyone knew about, typically poisoned. Needle Tubes (chimtong) usually referred to the various mechanical devices used to fire volleys of these needles.

Nets were… well, nets.

Qing shuddered violently again at this point.

Nets… I really, /really/ hate nets too…

Caltrops was a general term for hidden weapons designed to be scattered on the ground to target the soles of the feet.

They came in various shapes, from simple three-pronged spikes to more complex forms. Some were even designed to lie flat until stepped upon, reminding Qing vaguely of certain plastic toy bricks from her homeland—those foot-mines disguised as toys that children loved to assemble and adults loved to collect (and curse loudly after stepping on them in the dark).

Shi referred specifically to arrows shot from conventional bows. Special types included fire arrows coated with white, yellow, or red phosphorus, or whistling arrows designed to make loud, disorienting sounds in flight.

Zhen referred to darts or bolts not shot with a bowstring, usually propelled by compressed air blown through a pipe-shaped device called a Di [^often meaning flute, but here referring to a blowgun)].

Xiao used the character for 'laugh,' but as a hidden weapon, it referred to small pouches or bladders held secretly within the mouth.

These could be used to spray a wide mist of powdered poison or liquid venom, or spat out forcefully like a kingfisher diving for prey.

Nanah helpfully explained that aiming for the eyebrows was particularly effective with this type; even if the target instinctively closed their eyes, poison soaking the eyebrows would inevitably seep down and penetrate the inside of the eyelids.

Then came the displays of countless throwing weapons in every conceivable shape.

“This one here is my absolute favorite throwing star!” Nanah chirped, picking up a wickedly serrated metal star. “See these two small, separately rotating weights attached here near the tips? They cause its trajectory to undulate unpredictably in flight, like a wave! And once it embeds itself in the flesh, those rotating weights make it burrow deeper and tear tissue if the victim tries to pull it out, usually digging in *like this, then this, and then maybe this way…”

Nanah vividly described the hypothetical internal shredding with enthusiastic hand gestures.

Usually, when someone talks passionately about something they love, their face shines with a special kind of bright energy.

Tang Nanah, the Most Beautiful Woman in Sichuan, usually as radiant as the sun itself, was now positively overflowing with an innocent, pure, almost childlike enthusiasm, completely unlike her usual guarded or scheming demeanor.

Qing looked at that devastatingly beautiful face, alight with passion as Nanah detailed gruesome injuries, and thought:

Okay… it’s actually kinda creepy and off-putting when she’s talking about poisons and hidden weapons burrowing into living flesh with such a bright, innocent expression…