Chapter 167: Are You Acquainted With This Beggar?

As Qing waited unobtrusively beside the entrance, the tavern attendant quickly returned with a tray.

It held six steamed buns, a bowl of soup, and a large cup brimming with alcohol.

Even considering it was outside normal meal times, it was remarkably generous.

“Wow, thank you. May you be blessed.”

“Hmph. Right. Eat up and be on your way.”

Qing plopped her sizable rear end down on the ground in an out-of-the-way corner and began her meal.

First, she took the jerky from her travel pouch and dropped it into the soup. Then, she hastily gulped down a mouthful of the alcohol poured generously into the cup.

The sour, slightly off rice wine seeped into her empty stomach, sending a jolt of heat through her.

“Hoo, that’s good. The generosity here is really something. I shouldn’t come here too often.”

One should only visit generous establishments occasionally.

If a beggar visits too frequently, the generosity tends to sour.

It truly was astonishingly generous; there was even a large chunk of radish in the soup.

The buns, well, they tasted the same bland, flavorless, and dry wherever you went in the Central Plains.

As long as there was no mold, they tasted the same whether from a fly-infested dive or the city’s finest restaurant.

So, Qing slowly chewed on a bun—a one-wen bun had no flavor, so you had to chew it slowly and continuously for any sweetness to emerge—her jaw moving mechanically as she thought.

Truthfully, even now, if I knocked on the door of an Orthodox Murim sect in the city and dropped Master’s name, I’d be treated with the utmost care.

Even without that, if I used my brute strength to help out with some carpentry, getting three square meals wouldn't be an issue.

But if I did that, and someone recognized me screaming, 'There goes the walking bounty!' innocent people would likely get hurt.

It was simply a situation where she felt sorry getting close to anyone.

Qing was a supreme authority in the art of despicable scheming, worthy of being scouted for a position as a grand scholar; she knew all too well that if someone took another innocent person hostage, she would have no choice but to intervene.

So, whatever. I’ll just live as a beggar for a while.

The Murim conference was less than two months away, anyway.

Living as a beggar was only miserable when she was incompetent and ignorant of the world. Now, she was more worried about being bored stiff.

Finishing her meal, Qing sprang up and began preparing for her beggar life in earnest.

First, she changed into the clothes the sword thief had provided.

The fit was roomy, but the sleeves and trouser legs were a bit short.

She went to the laundry area, scrubbed her martial uniform vigorously, and hung it on the communal clothesline. Then, she visited a fabric store, bought the cheapest cotton cloth, and wrapped it around her feet and calves over her trouser legs.

These were the famous beggar's foot wraps.

With this, her preparations for beggar life were complete.

It might seem too simple, but what grand preparations does one need to live as a beggar?

They were beggars because they had nothing.

Ten days passed in a flash.

At the appearance of an unfamiliar female beggar, one carrying two swords no less, the townspeople were initially wary and suspicious.

However, she did nothing harmful, merely lying around listlessly, so their wariness quickly faded.

If asked whether a beggar carrying two swords was strange or not, the ambiguous answer would likely be, ‘Well, maybe it’s not exactly not strange.’

This was because traditional beggars often carried two staffs.

The most traditional method of begging involved standing in front of someone's gate, tapping two staffs together rhythmically, and singing a song.

The lyrics varied by region but generally amounted to ‘Give me food, I won’t leave until you do.’

It was a method impossible to use these days.

In an era where one was more likely to receive a beating than food, you wouldn't just not leave—you might leave for the next world permanently.

So now, this traditional begging style was a sight reserved only for celebratory feasts marking joyous occasions.

Incidentally, this beggar's essential tool—serving as a staff, self-defense weapon, and percussion instrument—was called the tagu-bong, the dog-beating stick.

One might wonder about such a barbaric, animal-abusing name.

But the person who coined the name tagu-bong was none other than the father of Central Plains philosophy, Confucius himself.

To summarize very briefly:

A disciple asked Confucius.

"...What if I go begging, but the homeowner has a large dog, causing trouble?"

Confucius, incensed, replied, "How dare they!"

"Then, beat the dog!" he declared.

And the beggars famous for using this tagu-bong in their martial arts were precisely the Beggar’s Union.

The headquarters of the Beggar’s Union was in Kaifeng, and Zhangwan, being close to Kaifeng, was completely under the control of the Kaifeng beggars.

Finally, the beggars' infamous territoriality extended its claws towards Qing... but.

“Ah, the knots. You’re from the Beggar’s Union,” Qing remarked casually. “Is Grandpa Nugok well? I’m laying low as a beggar for a bit, hope that’s alright.”

The beggar leader narrowed his eyes. “You know the Discipline Elder? How?”

“Circumstances prevent me from saying,” Qing replied smoothly. “Will he be at the Murim conference? I’ll say hello then.”

The leader paused. “Ah, yes. Very well. Enjoy your... beggar life.”

The Three-Knotted Beggar, the branch leader of Zhangwan for the Beggar’s Union, said as much and withdrew.

This was the ‘we take care of our own’ attitude of the Orthodox Murim.

If her claim turned out to be false later, there would be time enough for a beating then.

But if she genuinely knew him and they needlessly provoked her, it could lead to serious trouble.

So, believing her was unconditionally advantageous.

For now, he had no choice but to send word to headquarters about a female beggar claiming to know the Discipline Elder and gather the Beggar's Union members to warn them not to pay her any undue attention or strike up conversations.

Besides, with the Murim conference approaching, distinguished guests would be passing through; unnecessary disturbances would benefit no one.

Ha! Connections in the Central Plains really are something else.

Qing had been mentally preparing for a confrontation with the beggars, but she hadn't expected things to be resolved so cleanly just by dropping a name.

It almost made her past hardships feel unfair.

With no one bothering her, Qing spent the sunny days plastered to the ground, pretending to beg while half-dozing.

As a result, she was wide awake and full of energy at night, with nothing particular to do.

Moreover, lying around all day had made her body stiff and sore all over.

Eventually, unable to bear the boredom, Qing began training in the middle of the night.

How utterly bored must she be to resort to swinging swords around at night?

Thus, days passed with her sleeping during the day and training at night.

One could say she was living a more diligent martial artist's life now than when she was indulging in the luxuries of a respected female expert of the martial world.

As the twenty-fifth day of the third month passed, the thick padded clothes began to feel a little too warm.

Still, the nights remained cool, perfect weather for training.

Today, too, she had her coin pouch spread out and was imitating a corpse on the two straw mats she’d gotten from the Beggar’s Union members.

Pat, pat. Light footsteps approached, then stopped right in front of her.

Qing cracked open her eyes blearily to check the visitor.

A little kid, looking about ten years old, was staring down at her as if observing a curious animal.

He was dressed in fine clothes, and his face had an air of nobility; anyone could tell he was a young master from a wealthy family.

He wore a sword at his waist, suggesting he was a kid from a martial family.

Well, the Murim conference isn't far off. Probably a child being taken along by a family heading to Kaifeng.

Turns out, Kaifeng was quite close by.

Well, that doesn't have anything to do with me.

Qing was about to close her eyes again.

“Excuse me.”

“What,” Qing replied curtly, eyes still closed.

“You know, that thing.”

“I don’t have it, so why don’t you run along.”

“I just have something to ask…” the child’s voice trailed off, sounding crestfallen.

Honestly, Qing felt a pang of pity.

Aish. My weakness is my soft heart.

One way or another, Qing had a weak spot for children.

She sat up, scratching her head vigorously.

“What is it?”

“Ah. You know. Unni, you’re a female beggar, right?”

“Can’t you tell by looking?”

“Then you must be a dirty prostitute, right? Right?”

“…?”

Qing’s eyes narrowed.

What is this?

I was going to humor him because he looked cute.

What’s with this insult right to my face?

Of course, Qing did not tolerate insults.

“Kid, do people ever tell you you sound motherless? Because you sure seem like you don’t have one.”

“Ah.” The child’s eyes widened to about twice their size, turning round with surprise. “How did you know? My mom died giving birth to me.”

“Ah. Is that so,” Qing replied nonchalantly.

Even so, she didn’t feel sorry for a brat who’d just called her a prostitute to her face.

“If you’re done staring, can you leave now?”

“Th-that… this…” The kid held out a large gold piece in his tiny hand.

What’s this? A sudden peace offering?

Well, with this level of sincerity, I suppose I should show some adult magnanimity.

It was too much money to refuse.

As Qing took it, the child beamed with that uniquely innocent smile of children and asked.

“So, can I suck your breasts now?”

A vein bulged on Qing’s forehead.

“Kid. I don’t know how the hell you were raised to be so rotten already. Hey. Where did you learn such manners? Picking up only nasty things somewhere, are you trying to pick a fight with me right now? Don’t you see the blades I’m carrying?”

“Huh? That’s not it…”

“Not it, what?”

The child looked like he was about to cry. “They said… prostitutes will let you do whatever you want if you give them a gold piece…”

“No, who said that? There are things you should and shouldn’t say to a child. Go tell your mom right now—oh, right, you said you don’t have one. Go tell your dad. Tell him who taught you how to suck a prostitute’s breasts.”

“It wasn’t taught, exactly,” the boy corrected. “I overheard the porters talking. They said they were going to suck a prostitute’s breasts. Ah, is it because it’s gold? If I give you silver…”

“I can’t tell if you’re stupid or naive,” Qing muttered. “No, wait, judging by the fact you actually came here determined to suck breasts, you’re not naive. Did those porters also say that? That all female beggars are dirty prostitutes?”

“That was Warrior Baek,” the boy clarified. “He said all female beggars are dirty prostitutes, so I shouldn’t go near them…”

“Warrior Baek, what the— Okay. Let’s sort this out,” Qing sighed. “So, this guy called Warrior Baek said female beggars are prostitutes, and the porters said you can suck a prostitute’s breasts if you pay them?”

“More accurately,” the boy chimed in, “they said you could fondle and grope them however they liked.”

“And you want to suck breasts.”

“Well,” the child’s face turned red.

“I overheard the kitchen maids talking,” he continued, “saying their sons keep groping their mothers' breasts even after they turn ten.”

“Then you should ask your mom—ah. Right, she’s not here. So?”

“So another maid said that boys, even little ones, never forget the taste of breasts and spend their whole lives searching for it, and I was so curious what that taste was like, but I don’t have a mom…”

Qing frowned, utterly dumbfounded.

“Seriously, what kind of household is this where no one can distinguish between what should and shouldn’t be said? In a house with a child.”

This was exactly why people needed to watch their mouths around children.

What on earth was this kid learning by watching?

But listening to him, it was actually kind of funny.

Qing asked again, her tone considerably milder, “Anything else you picked up?”

“Umm… When touching breasts? They said don’t touch the nipple, just gently tease around it, and when the flood comes, then wham! go at it! That's how you reach paradise. What’s a flood, and what’s the wham? Why do you go to paradise? Isn’t that where good people go when they die?”

“Hmm. I can’t teach you that,” Qing said evasively. “Right, and what else? Didn’t you hear any other stories?”

“Ah! Also, also…”

All sorts of lewd talk spilled from the child’s mouth.

Qing, who loved dirty jokes, kept prompting him with “And then? And then?” until the child couldn't recall anything else.

“I think that’s everything.”

“Hmm. Right. Good listening,” Qing nodded. “Anyway, they really said things like that right in front of you?”

“Well… no…” the boy admitted sheepishly. “I found a secret passage and was wandering around, and… well… I learned that eavesdropping is bad… but they were talking so interestingly….”

Her original plan was to tell him to go tell his father exactly what he’d just recounted.

But now it seemed the servants hadn't necessarily been careless.

What could you do if he overheard from a secret passage?

It was understandable for men to share dirty jokes while on duty.

How could they have possibly imagined their young master was eavesdropping from a secret passage?

It seemed a bit harsh to get them fired over that.

But does this kid just spend all day skulking around the house listening to other people’s conversations?

Just as Qing was thinking this, the child suddenly clapped his hands as if remembering something and introduced himself.

“Ah. Right. I’m Moyong Jun.”

“Moyong? Murong Clan? That Murong Clan?” Qing sputtered. “From, where was it again…”

“If you mean the Murong Clan of Liaoning, then yes, that’s my family,” the boy confirmed politely.

“Ah! Right. Right. Liaoning Province.” Qing now knew the surnames of the Five Great Families. She even knew where they were located when she heard it.

What, he wasn’t just any young master.

He was a very rich young master.

“I’m, um. Just a beggar, kid,” Qing deflected, having no intention of getting friendly due to her circumstances.

Who knew what genius tracker or master assassin detective might be listening? It would be disastrous if a precious young master from a noble family got caught up in her mess.

At that, Moyong Jun smiled brightly and said.

“Sooo, can I suck your breasts now?”