Chapter 181: Coming Soon to Kaifeng

As soon as the scream rang out, only the guests standing closest hastily scattered, only to be stopped by the wall of people blocking their path. They turned back, eyes gleaming.

In the Central Plains, where sword fights were commonplace, the instinct was to first flee to avoid getting caught up in it, then, once at a safe distance, turn back and become spectators.

After all, could you even call yourself a person of the Central Plains if you avoided watching a good fight?

In the clearing thus rapidly formed, Qing stood firmly grasping the man's wrist.

"Aaargh!"

"Look at those grabby hands. Those who steal another's property get their wrists cut off. Where do you think you are, defying the strict national law? Hmm, is that right?"

She'd said it smoothly, as if it were second nature, but she wasn't actually sure if that was the law in the Central Plains.

Qing looked to Peng Daesan for confirmation.

Peng Daesan shook his head.

"There is no such law, but."

"Ah. Damn. Should've told me sooner. It's already half severed."

When Qing let go, the man just kept screaming, his wrist dangling hideously. He tried to clutch it, but the searing pain made him recoil, leaving him to stomp his feet pathetically. He looked rather pitiable.

I should have just detached it cleanly.

Because she’d merely pulverized the bone, the hand now hung attached only by skin and ligaments.

Qing conveyed her regrets.

"Won't you shut up? If it really hurts, I could just take it off completely for you?"

"Wh-What is this! Why, why!"

"Because you were groping someone else's pouch, that's why," Qing retorted. "Hey, young miss over there? I saw this guy rummaging through your pouch. You should be more careful."

"Don't make me laugh, I never did such a th—" the man started.

"Quiet," Qing snapped.

Thwack! The Bokshinjeok, drawn in an instant, struck the pickpocket squarely on the crown of his head.

Under the majesty of the proactive and revolutionary radioactive Ten Thousand Year Cold Iron bombardment, the pickpocket's eyes rolled back into his head, disappearing somewhere into their sockets.

"Now, let's see."

Qing expertly searched the body (not dead) and found a pouch tied at his waist. Inside was an ornate hair ornament decorated with modest pearls and rubies.

It was the item Qing had seen him steal.

"This is yours, isn't it, young miss?" Qing asked, holding it out. "I saw this scoundrel taking it."

However, the woman's reaction was strange.

Her eyes trembled violently, and her face was deathly pale, drained of color. Yet, she couldn't tear her gaze away from the hair ornament, simply staring at it.

"Young miss?" Qing prompted.

"Th-That's not mine," the woman stammered.

"Huh? But I definitely saw this guy taking it," Qing insisted. "Ah, perhaps you're afraid he'll retaliate?"

"Hah. Are you trying to insult me?" the woman snapped back, her hand suddenly gripping the hilt of her sword. "Suggesting that I, Gongson Yoye of the Gong Clan, would lie out of fear of repercussions? Is that what you're saying?" Her voice was chilling, truly looking ready to draw and swing.

"That's not what I meant," Qing explained calmly. "It's just, I clearly saw him steal it, but you say it's not yours. So I just wondered."

"I told you, it's not mine!" the woman insisted. "Before being a woman, I am a martial artist! Aren't such trinkets worn only by frail little wenches?"

Indeed, her simple martial uniforms, face devoid of makeup, and hair tied up with a plain, colorless cloth cord—no ornaments at all—supported her claim.

Still, she's pretty, Qing thought. They say true beauties are those beautiful with bare faces, right?

However, she didn't seem like the owner of such a flashy hair accessory.

"I guess I saw wrong," Qing conceded. "Strange."

"Just throw away such a masterless object immediately," Gongson Yoye ordered sharply.

"No, I should find the owner," Qing replied. "No need to throw it away."

"Then do as you please," the woman said curtly. "In any case, it's not mine, so I'll be leaving."

And then, she walked away briskly.

As Qing stood there dumbfounded, Peng Daesan asked, "Perhaps you did see incorrectly?"

"No way!" Qing retorted. "I definitely saw it. He took something this flashy, so I figured it must be expensive and precious."

Just then, the pickpocket shrieked, "You, you wench! How dare you mangle an innocent man's arm like this! National law? Fine, national law is great! Let's settle this by the law! By the law!"

"Ha. This bastard suddenly got cocky," Qing muttered. "What right does a thieving rat who rifles through others' belongings have to talk? I should have just smashed his skull in."

"Aigo! This woman is attacking an innocent man! Aaack! My hand! Officer! Sir Officer!" the pickpocket wailed.

Qing let out a snort of laughter. "What's this, a thief calling for the cops? Besides, living in the Central Plains, this is the first time I've ever seen someone call for a foot soldier. San, have you ever seen a foot soldier actually do their job?"

It wasn't a question born of curiosity or ignorance. It was simply an extension of her mockery. This was an era where it was openly said that there were five of the lowest professions in the world, and below them were the government officials. The implication was that at least the five lowly professions tried to earn money, while officials were lowlifes who did nothing and enjoyed unearned income.

"Of course, I have seen them," Peng Daesan replied calmly.

"San?"

"The foot soldiers here do their job," he clarified, his lips curling into an annoying smirk beneath his straw hat.

"What? What do they do?" Qing asked.

"In Kaifeng, even the foot soldiers are respected. Didn't I mention before that they enshrined Bao Zheng here?"

No sooner had Peng Daesan finished speaking than soldiers in black official robes, with the character '捕' (Arrest) emblazoned large upon them, pushed through the crowd of onlookers. They surrounded the area, raising their spears.

Qing scanned their faces, realizing that none of their bad karma exceeded thirty points.

"Ah damn, it's true."

Then, from among the foot soldiers, a man in similar attire but with a gold-embroidered belt strode forward.

"What is the meaning of this disturbance?" he demanded.

"Sir! I've been wronged!" the pickpocket cried out. "This woman suddenly broke my wrist and threatened me, trying to frame me as a thief! How could such an injustice happen in this world?"

"Why, this thieving rat—" Qing started.

"Enough," the official interrupted. "Hmm. You there, why did you inflict injury upon an innocent person? If you claim this man is a thief, do you have evidence to prove it?"

"I clearly saw him steal this right here with my own eyes," Qing stated, holding up the ornament.

"Lies!" the pickpocket shouted. "Everyone here heard and saw! This is a treasure I saved up for a long time to gift my wife!"

"Why, this bastard lies every time he opens his mouth—" Qing protested.

"Enough," the official cut her off again. "If you say you saw it with your own eyes, then where is the owner of the stolen item?"

"Huh? Well…" Qing trailed off. The actual owner had stormed off, angrily denying it was hers. What kind of woman was that anyway? Does having a pretty face excuse everything?

As Qing hesitated, the man with the gold belt shook his head. "I will arrest you for robbery and assault. If you have grievances, you may detail them later at the government office. Will you submit to being bound?"

The binding rope, 'ora', was a thick straw rope dyed red, used to tie a criminal's arms for transport. If the criminal was compliant, only the arms were bound; if they resisted violently, they could be dragged by the rope around their neck. In essence, asking if she would submit peacefully was telling her to come quietly without resistance if she didn't want to end up in such a state.

Peng Daesan spoke, forcing back a laugh. "The Gong Clan shouldn't be too hard to find. I'll go fetch her, so just wait quietly there. Well, even if things go wrong, you'll probably just get a few lashes and be done with it."

This was the heartwarming comfort Peng Daesan offered Qing as she was being bound.

Qing ground her teeth. Damn you, San. No wonder you don't have any friends.

His surname was Bao, given name Zheng, and courtesy name Xiren.

Thus called Bao Zheng, or Bao Xiren, this man was a renowned chancellor of the past, famous for his incorruptible character and fair-minded attitude. Revered as the greatest upright official in Chinese history, he received lasting respect, and the shrine honoring him was a sacred place every official had to visit at least once to emulate his spirit.

Though this sacred site was destined to be burned down later under the will of the red populace, even after being destroyed, it remained an incomprehensible mystery deep within the hearts of the Chinese people. How could a government official be incorruptible? Was he mentally ill or just an idiot? they wondered.

And so, people called him Bao Qingtian – Clear Sky Bao. Qingtian meant a clear sky without a single cloud, a nickname signifying that Bao Zheng's governance was as transparent and clean as the heavens.

So, was Qing in trouble? Actually, not really.

Unless it was treason, all punishments under national law could be substituted with money. This was called ransom punishment (sokhyong), meaning washing away sins with gold. Even the death penalty could be replaced with gold ingots.

This was also why Peng Daesan had casually tossed jokes at Qing while she was being dragged away with her hands bound. She could just pay her way out, and for someone with the wealth of a Murim clan, the cost wasn't burdensome anyway.

"Your companion has paid the ransom punishment fee. You may come out now."

The young man who had brought Qing in, the Inspector of Kaifeng Prefecture, said as he opened the cell door.

"What was the verdict? How much did he pay?" Qing asked immediately.

"Five strokes of flogging, sixty wen copper coins."

"Wow, that's really cheap," Qing remarked.

It was an incredibly low fine for having crippled a man's wrist. The verdict came after the investigation concluded that the man was indeed a pickpocket and, furthermore, a criminal guilty of other major offenses deserving severe punishment. Qing's sentence was mitigated considering this.

Flogging was a light punishment involving whacking the buttocks soundly with a sturdy bamboo cane. For men, their undergarments would be pulled down for the beating on their bare buttocks, but they didn't go that far with women. Five strokes would merely leave five lines on each buttock for a total of ten, and that would be the end of it. It was a punishment closer to public humiliation, being beaten in front of a crowd of onlookers, than actual pain.

"Please exercise more restraint in the future," the Inspector advised. "No matter how wicked the opponent may be, if individuals take punishment into their own hands, how can law and order be maintained in the nation?"

"Hmph, as if there's any law and order anywhere else in the Central Plains besides here," Qing retorted sharply, still irritable after two nights locked in a chilly, damp cell. "It's gotten so bad that Murim thugs are supposedly keeping the peace." She was more angered by the pitifully inadequate food than the cold cell. According to national law, prisoners got two meals a day – small portions, tasteless, and no refills allowed.

"Ahem. Not all officials are like that," the Inspector said with an uncomfortable cough. Even he knew it was a feeble excuse as he said it.

Outside, Peng Daesan smirked. "Should I have just let them beat you?"

"I had sixty wen on me, you know?" Qing shot back. "Damn it, who the hell was that woman anyway? Helping her was pointless."

If only that Gong woman, or whatever her name was, had just told the truth from the start, she wouldn't have needed to be locked up for two days. The ransom punishment could only be applied after the verdict was delivered, and it took time to prove the pickpocket's guilt.

"Still, you got a hair ornament out of it," Peng Daesan said, casually tossing the accessory up to her. "It's a valuable piece, no fakes among the pearls and rubies. Quite a windfall for two days' work."

Qing caught the ornament as it traced an arc through the air. Looking it over, well, it certainly was pretty. Too flashy for Master, though. Maybe I'll give it to Jangmyeong.

"Ah. I'm starving to death," Qing grumbled. "Even if I was a prisoner, making someone miserable over food is just wrong. What kind of slop was that? Even a dog wouldn't eat it."

"I bet you licked the bowl clean," Peng Daesan observed dryly.

"Heh, were you watching? You know me perfectly," Qing shot back. "You should have secretly tossed me a dumpling then."

Peng Daesan's internal energy was far too meager to truly get under Qing's skin. This body was the master of the terrifying trap acknowledged even by the Beastly Sage Zhuge Ihyeon himself, the one who couldn't help but exclaim admiration, "You argue like a damn dog."

Being told you argue like a damn dog is a compliment. It's the highest praise a loser in an argument can offer the victor, filled with maximum respect.

As they bantered like this on their way back to the inn, what should they find?

Speak of the devil, as they say. Wasn't that muscle-bound Zhuge-ie and Tang Nanah jumping to their feet and rushing over?