Chapter 184: Coming Soon to Kaifeng

The moment she stepped onto the top floor, the room fell silent, and dozens of eyes instantly snapped towards her.

Just as quickly, the original atmosphere returned as if nothing had happened, but in that brief moment of silence, Qing had already provided the attending Phoenix members with a wealth of information.

The women exchanged glances, assessing her ‘class’ based on the information gleaned.

What’s this? Her face is covered.
Hmph, for someone hiding her face, she’s wearing quite the expensive Veil. Is that Bulagasa silk? That’s practically a luxury brand.
But only the Veil is luxury? Looks like she’s not very confident in her face.
Look at her figure. Did everything she eat go straight to her top and bottom?
Ha. With a chest like that, clothes won’t even look good. And what’s with that butt? Her skirt probably doesn’t even fit.
I’m definitely not saying this because I’m jealous. No, I’m not crying, okay?
And… martial uniforms? The fabric is decent quality, but not exactly high-end.
She doesn’t seem very interested in adornment.
Her top is long, reaching her knees, and the collar crosses high, covering her collarbones. Ugh, doesn’t it look stuffy just looking at it?
More likely from a martial sect than a great clan, and probably a Daoist sect at that.
And why is she carrying two swords? And look, she thinks she can play the flute, carrying one so obviously.
But couldn't she use a better flute? What is that, a recorder or a flute?
Besides, if she’s here, shouldn’t she at least greet someone? Why is she just awkwardly looking around?

The resulting conclusion was that she was an ugly country bumpkin from some provincial Daoist temple.

The women’s level of vigilance instantly plummeted.

If one were to view the scene in the tower frame by frame, a rather interesting phenomenon could be observed.

The gazes that had momentarily focused on Qing shifted back, settling on several women already seated within the hall.

And the women receiving those gazes flickered their eyes at each other, gauging the situation.

The women receiving the gazes were the masters of their respective factions, the Clique Leaders.

What was happening was essentially a silent auction among the Clique Leaders.

Who wants to take that bumpkin?
Doesn’t look like much. I’ll pass.
Looks like she’s the female martial artist type.
Taking them in is pointless. They have no tact, and there’s nothing to gain. Eh, what a letdown.

Since no woman stepped forward to ask who she was, it meant she had failed to make an impression upon arrival, and no faction was extending a hand.

In this situation, a socialite had two choices, while a martial artist had one.

If Qing were a woman skilled in social graces, she would have approached the Clique Leader of a desired faction, introduced herself first, offered a charming eye-smile, and essentially wagged her tail, signaling ‘I want to be friends.’

Alternatively, realizing her debut at the Phoenix Association was a complete flop, she could slump her shoulders in disappointment and head towards the designated seating area for the rejects on one side.

(There was always a gloomy ‘rejects' corner’ sunk in a corner at Phoenix Association gatherings.)

And if she were a martial artist, either completely ignorant of the women’s power struggles or aware but uninterested, she would head straight for the separately prepared ‘Female Martial Artist Zone’.

This area was for female martial artists who weren’t interested in the complex clique battles—those closer to being warriors than socialites.

How could Qing possibly know about these complex inner workings?

They said Miss Gongson would be here, she thought, scanning the crowd. Her impression was simple.

Wow, they’re all dressed so fancily.

Just then, Tang Nanah ascended the stairs.

“Hey, Qing-ah, I told you to wait a second, but you already came up!” Tang Nanah exclaimed. “Here, put on this Scarf. It’s one I cherish, made of Sichuan brocade, you know.”

Tang Nanah personally draped the Scarf over Qing’s forearms, arranging it showily while making sure Qing knew its value.

A Pibaek, or Scarf, was a wide, long piece of cloth, usually draped over both forearms and hanging down the back and sides. It was the same kind of inexplicably long cloth often seen in paintings of celestial fairies.

“I really don’t get why people wear these Scarves,” Qing commented. “Aren’t they just inconvenient? You can’t even put your arms down properly with this on.”

Wearing a Scarf basically forced one’s arms into an awkward, half-ready jump rope posture. Otherwise, it would drag on the ground.

“Well, people wear it because it’s pretty,” Tang Nanah said. “Ah, so pretty.”

At that, tension filled the hall again.

Isn’t that the Poison Flower? It is.
Damn it, the royal bitch is here. Why did that pain in the ass, who was supposed to be holed up in Sichuan, come all the way to Kaifeng?
The Poison Flower is lending her own things? Did she sample her own poisons and lose her mind?

Tang Nanah, as if putting on a show, shot sharp glances here and there. Her gaze landed on the Clique Leaders, who then burst into faint smirks and exchanged looks.

She’s acting like a servant, right? The great Tang Nanah sucking up to such a plain, ugly woman?
Besides, that girl looks completely clueless about how things work here. What’s the point of bringing along someone who knows nothing?

It was then.

A tiny figure came rushing forward, letting out high-pitched squeals like sharp chirps.

“Unni! Gaga big-sis[^가가 언니 literally translates to Gaga Eonni or Gaga Sister(carries connotations of familiarity and affection)]!”

“Oh! Xiang-ie?” Qing turned. “You were here too?”

Qing swept Zhuge Xiang up, spun around twice, and then hugged her tightly. The seven-year-old little lady squealed with delight, her bright laughter clear yet pleasant to the ear.

“Ah, Gaga big-sis,” Zhuge Xiang pouted, “have you seen my Orabeoni[^a Korean term that refers to the older brother of a female]? I saw him after so long, but he won’t even play with Xiang-ie. It’s so mean.”

“Your Orabeoni is over there where the men gather,” Qing told her gently. “He’ll probably go home today, so make him play with you extra to make up for it.”

“Heehee, okay.”

As Qing tried to put the child down, Zhuge Xiang wrapped her arms around Qing’s neck, clinging like a cicada to a tree, refusing to let go.

Letting out a soft laugh, Qing hugged Zhuge Xiang again.

Seeing this spectacle, the women sharply raised their guards once more.

This was a woman who had the Poison Flower beneath her and was adored by the Zhuge Clan’s darling.

She was no mere country bumpkin.

Just then, a beautiful woman seated near the middle spoke with a bright smile.

“My, my, Poison Flower. A new Phoenix has arrived, aren’t you going to introduce her?”

Qing turned to look at the woman.

Woah, what the… Gulp. What kind of clothes is she wearing?

Seeing it with her own eyes was incredibly impactful.

It was the so-called Baktuno fashion trend.

Bak (薄) meant thin, Tu (透) meant transparent, and No (露) meant exposed—an outfit encompassing all three.

A sash was tied around the ribs, lifting the bosom upwards, and then a very long skirt was worn. Layering a sheer, mesh-like vest over it completed the Baktuno look.

Many poets, moved by this commendable attire, composed verses. Famous lines included:

White snow is piled upon her front bosom. Or,
Her revealed chest, white as snow. Or,
Her bared bosom, snow reflecting the sky.

They all invariably compared the bosom to snow, not out of plagiarism, but simply because snow-white skin was considered beautiful.

Meanwhile, the extent of the upper chest revealed varied according to an individual’s confidence, wealth, and power level.

The higher all three were, the lower the neckline, and the larger the area exposed.

And the confidence of the woman who had spoken was dangerously close to the maximum level.

Qing forced her instinctively wandering gaze back into place and spoke.

“Ah. My apologies. Hello, everyone. I am Ximen Qing, an Outer Disciple of the Divine Maiden Sect. I am lacking, but I studied under the esteemed Ximen Surin.”

“The Matriarch!” “Zenith Among Women!” “The Matriarch!” the crowd responded instantly.

Guess that one crosses gender lines.
And what’s with this perfectly timed chorus?
It seems like there’s a rhythm, like ‘one, two, fire!’, but as long as they shout simultaneously, the exact words don’t matter much.
I should join in next time if I get the chance, instead of just standing here dumbly.

Qing made a mental note.

And that chance came immediately.

“So you are Miss Ximen,” the woman said. “I am Jin Seol. Surely you have heard my name?”

Jin Seol wore an expression as if waiting for something, and Qing had an intuition.

Ah. This is the moment I’m supposed to shout!
Um, right, Jin Seol… um.
Who the hell are you?

Qing realized a critical error. She needed to actually know something to shout it.

Just then, Zhuge Xiang blew a puff of distinctly childish, warm breath near Qing’s ear, through the Veil.

“That’s Miss Jin Seol of the Guangdong Jin Clan,” Xiang-ie whispered. “She holds the title of Blooming White Lily among the Five Flowers of Murim.”

“Blooming White Lily!” Qing blurted out the answer she had cheated to get.

Although the timing was quite late, Jin Seol nodded with a proud expression.

There’s a line in classical Chinese poetry: A peony when sitting, an herbaceous peony when standing, a lily when walking.

This described a beauty, and among them, the lily, with its strong fragrance and pure grace, was considered the flower of flowers.

Blooming White Lily Jin Seol was just that.

(For reference, the Golden Sun Sword Flower, Murong Juhui, claimed that Jin Seol was just called ‘Lily’ because she had no other special talents. She didn’t stop there, adding that since Jin Seol had nothing else to show off, she always went around baring her chest, clearly aiming for a reputation as a perverted flower or a lewd flower, displaying clear hostility.)

(This wasn’t entirely baseless slander. There was the Poison Flower who used poison, the surprisingly dedicated Sword Flower, the intelligent Virtuous Flower, and the Snow Flower who used Ice Arts. While all five beauties were beautiful enough to be called the Five Flowers of the Central Plains, Jin Seol lacked any other notable characteristic or specialty. Of course, she herself claimed it was because she was the most beautiful.)

“Wow, our Xiang-ie is practically Zhuge Liang, isn’t she?” Qing praised, rubbing her cheek against the child’s, separated by the thin Veil. “Truly the bloodline of the Zhuge Clan. So reliable.”

“Heehee,” Zhuge Xiang giggled happily.

Tang Nanah glared daggers at the sight. It was the ugly spectacle of a wicked woman jealous of a seven-year-old.

Jin Seol gently tested the waters. Even if there was a difference in seniority, only Daoist and Buddhist sects were strict about it; the great clans weren’t so rigid.

“Let’s see,” Jin Seol mused aloud. “We should find a seat for Miss Ximen. Where is there an empty spot…”

Just as there’s a hierarchy even in cold water, the Phoenix Association banquet had upper and lower seats. This wasn’t officially acknowledged, so no one would explain it, but violating this unspoken rule would immediately trigger five hundred times the backbiting and subtle ostracism.

Therefore, one had to figure it out on their own, using tact and discernment to find their place.

And Jin Seol’s ploy against Qing was precisely this: to shove her into the lowest of the low seats.

If Qing didn't know, she'd be stuck in the lowest seat out of ignorance, earning ridicule. If she did know, she couldn't refuse on her first visit to the banquet, forced to accept it while fuming inwardly—a wicked scheme with no escape.

I don’t particularly dislike her, but since that bitch Tang Nanah is sticking to her, it can’t be helped, Jin Seol thought. The humiliation and disgrace suffered because that dog-like woman spread poison were still vivid.

Ultimately, it was Tang Nanah’s fault.

Thus, just as Jin Seol was about to make her move!

“Ah. It’s quite alright,” Qing interrupted smoothly. “I only stopped by because I heard Miss Gongson was here. I just plan to have a brief private chat and then leave.”

“Ah. Is that so?” Jin Seol’s smile faltered slightly. “But now that fate has brought us together…”

“I regret it too, but I have companions waiting and cannot spend much time,” Qing replied politely but firmly. “Please understand.”

Jin Seol’s smiling face became slightly awkward. Of course, it was because she was thinking otherwise.

Right, trying to slip away like this, are you? Fine, whatever. Companions, she says. What kind of companions could someone like her possibly have?
Probably trying to use her seniority to look around at the men from the Nine Great Sects.
Seriously, would any man understand the intricacies of women’s clique battles?

“Then you will surely join us for the gathering tomorrow?” Jin Seol pressed, changing tack. “I would love to chat with you, Miss, and since everyone from the Dragon-Phoenix Assembly will be together tomorrow, it would be wonderful if your companions could join as well, wouldn’t it?”

“Ah. Really?” Qing asked, interest piqued. “Will there be lots of food too?”

“Of course!” Jin Seol confirmed brightly. “It’s an occasion where rare delicacies from all over the Central Plains are gathered in one place.”

Qing’s eyes flashed.

Well then, I can’t possibly miss out.

“Excuse me, is Miss Gongson here?” Qing looked around again. “Ah. There she is. Alright, Xiang-ie. I have something personal to discuss, so piggyback time is over.”

Piggyback time? Is that dialect? Still, somehow we understand what she means… came the collective internal murmur.

Qing patted Tang Nanah’s shoulder, telling her to go chat with some familiar faces for a bit too.

At that, Tang Nanah strode forward confidently, pushed aside the woman next to Jin Seol, and plopped herself down in the spot.

Assuming they were all acquainted as fellow members of the Five Flowers of Murim, Qing nonchalantly walked towards Gongson Yoye.

As luck would have it, the seat Gongson Yoye occupied was precisely what was considered the lowest-ranking spot, but Qing, naturally, had no idea.

Of course, even if she had known, she likely wouldn’t have cared, but that wouldn’t excuse her ignorance.