Chapter 145: Ximen Qing

Qing wasn't one to hesitate once she made up her mind.

To put it nicely, one might say she had excellent initiative.

"Excellent initiative" was a nice way of describing someone impulsive, careless, and utterly lacking in patience.

That very night, she exchanged 3,000 points to quickly max out the Emperor Sword Form and, prioritizing performance relative to training points, raised the six-star Wave-Treading Subtle Steps to twelve stars.

Just how effective those twelve stars were, however...

Originally, twelve stars signified true mastery—a stage beyond merely mastering a martial art, where one completely assimilated it in their own way, adding their unique interpretation to the existing framework.

But Qing's Martial Arts Window could only fulfill its basic function.

Throwing in all the basic forms got you ten stars; unlocking hidden forms got you eleven; and granting the unique effect inherent to the martial art (usually a massive stat boost) brought it to twelve stars.

Since she was the only one in the world with twelve stars by her standards, it wasn't true mastery, not by a long shot, but more like a high-speed cramming trick.

Still, her stats had indeed transcended human limits.

At this point, she was durable enough to fall off a decent cliff naked and probably just get a few scratches.

She could dust herself off, maybe curse her luck once, then jam her elbows back into the cliff face, climb right back up, and feel refreshed, declaring it a good workout, possessing that level of monstrous strength and stamina.

And even after transcending human limits, she kept getting stronger.

Honestly, at this stage, one had to wonder if she, a being whose very existence represented strength, even needed martial arts anymore.

Perhaps that was precisely why she remained stuck in the latter stage of the Peak Realm.

Of course, Qing might feel it was unfair.

If someone asked how she could still be like this after learning so many great Divine Arts, well, just because you had the best, most proven textbooks didn't mean you'd automatically excel in your studies.

It was hard to reach a high realm using a third-rate martial art—a shoddy textbook—but even the best textbooks didn't guarantee soaring scores. Wasn't it all down to aptitude and attitude?

However, Qing was a peerless beauty, a military veteran from modern times who couldn't fathom why martial arts were even considered 'arts.'

Learning something entirely new, she was now in her fourth year—well, about to complete four years next month—and the fact that her pure enlightenment had caught up to the Peak Realm was worthy of nothing less than overflowing praise and commendation for her effort.

Especially since she wasn't ex-special forces or anything; she was just an ordinary social science major who'd stubbornly avoided learning even a single Taekwondo form during her military service.

The swordsmanship of the Divine Maiden Sect is elegant.

Its originator was the Yan Emperor, a father figure from so long ago he bordered on ancient myth, a bastion of tradition.

It stood to reason that the sword art such an emperor bestowed upon his daughter wouldn't let her run wild like some tomboyish wild boar.

The Yanji Protective Sword, modeled after that image, painted beautiful, flowing lines, its elegance manifesting even in the subtle shifts within the graceful swing of the blade.

Technically, the Yanji Protective Sword had a gold border according to the Martial Arts Window.

But even gold-bordered techniques were typically great martial arts worthy of being called Absolute Studies of Divine Arts.

When a master at the Profound Realm wielded such a high-level sword art, having fully mastered it, it was simply hell for the opponent.

Ximen Surin's reinterpretation of the Yanji Protective Sword, however, wasn't flashy.

Instead, she had filled the void with the principles of the heavy sword. While still elegant and refined, it possessed a solid core, imbued with a chilling power that made one's hair stand on end.

A vicious sword energy, unimaginable from a bladeless wooden practice sword, curved smoothly, rushing towards Qing's waist.

The sword tip undulated vertically, capable of striking high or low from that shifting motion, making it seem as though a single sword targeted her head, body, and legs simultaneously.

Just then, Qing's form executed a bizarre movement.

Stretching her arms out wide, her feet moved nimbly left and right. Like an incorporeal soul, she slipped through the sword's trajectory, reappearing five steps behind Ximen Surin.

Surin pivoted smoothly, unhurriedly, her composed stance transitioning into a precise thrust aimed like a single point.

This time, it was Qing who was startled. She moved her feet again in response to the point hurtling toward her back, leaving behind cheerful afterimages as she moved far to the west, standing with her back to her master.

Ximen Surin withdrew her sword and looked at Qing.

Qing scratched her head sheepishly.

"Looks like this is only good for running away."

"Indeed, it appears so," Ximen Surin nodded in agreement.

They said if you learned this technique, considered the best footwork under heaven, you would never be defeated. And truly, it was unparalleled solely in not being defeated.

While executing the footwork, one couldn't even breathe freely but had to follow the prescribed sequence exactly. The result was always appearing abruptly in one of the sixty-four directions derived from the eight trigrams, facing away from the enemy.

If one's foot placement strayed even slightly while performing Wave-Treading Subtle Steps, their feet would tangle, causing them to stumble and fall.

Countless attempts had been made to adapt Wave-Treading Subtle Steps for offense, but all ended in failure.

This characteristic stemmed from it being more of a formation executed with the feet than simple footwork.

Thus, it was footwork useful only for escaping combat and fleeing.

But wasn't that precisely why it could be called a peerless divine art?

If you could escape with your body intact, then, just as described, you would never be defeated.

However, it wasn't without weaknesses.

An enemy who truly understood formations could anticipate and block the sixty-four variations of the eight trigrams and palaces.

Even without that, it had drawbacks, such as vulnerability to attacks covering the entire space or to blind swings wielded without visual targeting.

"Still, it's undoubtedly excellent for self-preservation."

Ximen Surin's teaching style generally followed this pattern.

She guided Qing to draw out the martial arts she knew intellectually and find ways to develop them further through application on her own.

So, Qing's daily routine involved diligently sparring and tumbling around while the sun was up, then taking a short break after dinner to play the flute a bit.

The constant chorus of "You're so good," "So pretty," "The best" from those around her turned the flute, which she never played outside, into a rather enjoyable hobby indoors.

After that, she'd return, light a lamp, open a book, and diligently copy, finally going to bed only late at night.

Still, the special, double-layered, quilted cotton blanket made by her junior sister certainly did its job.

She'd spread it on the floor, lie down at one end, grab the edge, and roll herself up tightly like a burrito.

This combined the function of a mattress pad and a blanket, cushioning her from below and sealing off drafts from all sides.

Even in a chilly room lacking proper windows and doors, this one blanket created a soft, cozy bed.

Qing normally preferred her face and limbs outside the covers, but with not just drafts but practically gales blowing through the room, this was better, even if it felt a bit stuffy.

Furthermore, there was a positive side effect Qing was unaware of.

After sleeping ramrod straight like that for a day or two, her restless thrashing gradually subsided, replaced by a sleeping posture as still as a corpse.

The books she finished copying piled up, one, two, now already more than half done.

It felt like only yesterday they'd eaten their fill of mooncakes celebrating the New Year, yet more than twenty days had passed since then.

The cold had reached its peak. Though her physical health remained the same, the drastically lower perceived temperature made Qing's expression turn forlorn.

Seeing this, Tang Nanah tentatively broached the subject.

"Hey, Qing-ah, um. That..."

"What?"

"I was wondering... what if I stayed at your place for a night? I've always wanted to try sleeping over at a friend's house..."

Ever since Qing caught her groping her chest back at the Tang Clan, she had refused to share a bed with Nanah for a long time now.

Surprisingly, however, Qing readily agreed.

"Really? Sure, come over tonight."

"Huh? Really?"

"Yeah. It's natural to want to sleep over at a friend's house sometime."

A rare smile touched Qing's lips as she replied.

Tang Nanah was momentarily captivated.

What the, why does she look so pretty...

Perhaps it was seeing the girl, who usually shivered with a sad expression, looking bright for the first time in a while.

Having secured the promise, Tang Nanah—her motives unclear—even took a nap right after dinner and headed to Qing's hut, feeling refreshed and energetic.

But... was this a house or a ruin?

Not a single window or proper door. The only furnishings were a desk, scriptures piled in a corner, and a bundle of clothes roughly tied together.

Qing, who had been diligently filling pages—no, transcribing scriptures—greeted Tang Nanah with a somewhat wicked smile.

"Don't really have anything to offer. Want some cold water?"

"On a cold day like this...?"

"Too lazy to gather wood, so there's no firewood."

Qing's deprivation was merely a result of Ximen Surin finding her annoying; she could have actually made a fire without any real issue.

In the Divine Maiden Sect, gathering one's own firewood was the principle.

You couldn't just cut down any tree; the rule was to go all the way down the mountain to the gate below and chop wood there.

Most sightings of "Wu Gorge fairies" were actually disciples who had briefly gone down to gather firewood.

Qing didn't want to go all the way down the mountain and back just for firewood, and given her status, where she was addressed with a certain respect, she couldn't just take firewood from the disciples.

Besides, if she was cold, she could just roll up in her blanket, right?

"Let's sleep, I'm sleepy. Let's sleep."

Qing said, spreading out the blanket.

Her one and only blanket.

"Huh? That's it? What about pillows...?"

"Got nothing like that. Sorry for the humble accommodations."

Then they lay down side-by-side, pulling the remaining half of the blanket over themselves.

"...Co-cold."

"Cold? You're wearing warm clothes."

"No, th-this is jus-, co-o-old."

Tang Nanah started shivering uncontrollably.

Cold!

It was a midwinter night in a space with no warmth, just big, gaping holes letting the wind blow through, essentially just a roof over their heads.

Leaving her head out made it so cold it felt frozen, her eyes aching. Putting her head inside meant she couldn't see anything, felt suffocated, and couldn't breathe.

It wasn't like it was particularly warm inside the blanket either.

If one could simply giggle and endure the knife-like winds of a mountaintop on a midwinter night wrapped in a single blanket, she wouldn't be Tang Nanah, but perhaps Seol Nanah—not the Poisonous Flower but maybe an Ice Flower, a woman from the distant Northern Sea. (Seol means Snow.)

"Th-this isn'-, n-not gonna work."

"Well, can't be helped then. In this state, I can't see you off."

Tang Nanah shuddered violently and fled.

No wonder she agreed so readily.

But is she really okay living like this?

Does she have blood from the Northern Sea mixed in her lineage or something?

Fine, I was unprepared this time.

Tang Nanah gracefully admitted defeat.

But the Poisonous Speaking Flower, the infamous Sichuan’s Most Wicked Woman, was also persistent.

Next time, she vowed, I'll wear four thick layers, a fur-lined hat that covers my ears, and even a face mask. I need to start preparing them right away.

Of course, doing so might help her conquer the cold.

But wouldn't she look less like a friend visiting and more like a robber coming to raid the place?

Ximen Surin received a letter.

It bore the official seal of the Murim Alliance.

The letter began, "To the esteemed Elder Ximen," and went on to report various troubling, though disparate, pieces of news from the martial arts world: the Demonic Cult's sudden, unilateral request for peace, the destruction of the Jinju Eon Clan, and the rampant activities of elusive demonic bandits.

Finally, it stated its conclusion at the end.

And so on.