I Am This Murim's Crazy Bitch-Chapter 282: Transcendent Qing (19)

But Seol Iri wasn’t a coachman.

Just because she could handle a carriage didn’t make her one—being a coachman meant knowing the roads, and she didn’t.

In the end, all she could do was follow the main path straight ahead.

And given the downpour hammering from the sky, it was the kind of situation where one wrong turn could lead to disaster.

Thankfully, getting lost in the middle of Hanan Province wasn’t easy.

So they simply followed the road, and whenever they hit a fork, stuck to the wider path. That’s how they ended up at a small village called Bubukchon.

It was a shabby little place with just one lonely inn, but that was better than nothing.

At least it wasn’t some remote, fortified farming commune off the main route. That alone was a blessing.

So they booked a room, wiped down their bodies with warm towels (since actual hot baths were a luxury you only found in cities), and—because the town didn’t even have a proper cloth shop—Qing bribed a waitress to fetch some dry clothes to change into.

After a meal that barely qualified as food, she collapsed onto a bed that was stiff, musty, and just soft enough not to trigger a breakdown.

The fatigue hit her like a brick wall.

If not for the discomfort and the damp smell, she would’ve blacked out the moment she laid down.

...Why am I this tired?

All I did was a little stabbing.

Qing lay there limp and exhausted, her body weirdly heavy. And then Seol Iri appeared, standing still beside the bed, staring down at Qing with just her head poking out from the covers.

“What are you doing? Not sleeping?”

“I can’t sleep if someone else is here.”

Her pronunciation had gotten drastically better—if she could just get one solid night of warm sleep, she’d be fine by tomorrow.

After all, for someone at mid-level cultivation, a simple cold usually went away in a day.

Still, wasn't she about to shirk the last reason Qing even kept her around? The solemn duty of the Bamboo Wife?

“Hm. Alright. Then how about this.”

“Wha’s tha?”

“From what I’ve seen, Lady Seol could sleep through a thunderstorm with a marching band in the room. Dead to the world—like you wouldn’t notice if someone kidnapped you in your sleep.”

“That’s not true.”

“Fine. If you can lie there without falling asleep for one keug—thirty minutes—I’ll get us another room. But if you doze off? Then you admit you lied, and from now on, you’re stuck sharing my bed. No arguments. Deal?”

“Don’ wanna.”

“Then sleep on the floor.”

“That’s mean.”

“Oho? Getting nervous? You’re too scared to make a bet because you know you’ll lose. Can’t even last one keug without snoring, and you were just whining, ‘I can’t sleep if someone else is here~’ with that stuffy nose of yours.”

A vein popped on Seol Iri’s forehead.

“Fine.”

And she flopped onto the bed.

The room was tiny—barely functional—so the bed was no bigger than a handkerchief.

Qing shifted under the blanket and leaned against Seol Iri’s torso, casually throwing her arms and legs over her.

“Move. That’s not fair.”

“How is that not fair? If there’s someone and they’re making you uncomfortable, doesn’t that just make it harder to sleep?”

“I don’ need all this—”

“Too bad. This is to keep it fair. I have to monitor you, make sure you don’t cheat by tensing up or holding your breath or pinching yourself. So. One keug. Starts now.”

Nestled in the warm blanket, Qing hugged her chilly Bamboo Wife—maybe it was the aftereffects of the cold-type Qi or just Seol Iri’s natural constitution—and felt an overwhelming sense of peace. If this wasn’t paradise, what was?

And then, just a little while later—

“...Doreong.”

Qing, on the verge of sleep herself, heard a soft snore near her ear.

It was that adorably nasal, rhythmic little snore—doreong... heup... dororong...

She’d taken medicine, passed out, and gotten up again, then spent hours driving a carriage in the rain.

No matter how sensitive she was or how she claimed she couldn’t sleep with anyone nearby—how was she supposed to last a full keug in that state?

And for some reason... even though Qing hadn’t really done anything strenuous, maybe rampaging through the rain had taken more out of her than she realized.

Either way, she was just as exhausted. Listening to that dainty little snore, she couldn’t help but succumb to sleep herself...

****

She’d crashed right after sundown, so when she woke up, Qing had no idea what time it was.

Normally she could tell by the sunlight filtering into the room—morning, noon, or afternoon—but the room was pitch-black, and all she could hear when she focused was that endless rush of rain.

Seol Iri’s breathing was steady now—no more congested wheezing. Guess the cold was gone.

Qing felt a little disappointed.

Hmm. That nasal voice was kind of cute.

But really, if you took the cuteness away from Seol Iri, what was left?

Just a pretty coachwoman?

Maybe she should just keep using her as a driver from now on—skip hiring anyone else.

She didn’t talk anyway, even when they rode together, so it might even save money.

...Would it save money?

Or cost more, actually?

Qing was rich. And now, she was even richer.

Turns out that coachman bastard had planned to have his fun and then sell her off to his friends for a good time too.

Supposedly, he was charging ten silver taels a head.

So just between the fifteen of them, that was at least a hundred and fifty silver taels.

And they all had coin pouches with extra cash.

Plus, once she sold off the cheap weapons in the carriage’s storage compartment, she’d make even more.

So really, Qing had cleared a pile of filth off the face of the earth—and made a tidy profit doing it.

If she’d had Seol Iri playing coachwoman, she would’ve missed out on all that income.

Anyway.

Ugh. It’s muggy.

This ancient, primitive Central Plains didn’t have anything like air conditioning.

Oh, Great Hero Kae, how I miss you...

It wasn’t exactly hot just because of the rain, but this sticky humidity—ugh. It was mid-July, after all. “Cool” only went so far.

Stepping outside the room, Qing finally realized it was early morning.

“Oh! Good morning, young master.”

It wasn’t quite a proper server girl—just the innkeeper’s daughter, wiping down tables early in the day.

Young master, huh? Now that was a title you only heard in backwater towns.

“Wow, what’s with all this rain?”

“Right? The elders say it’s like the heavens are making up for the drought this spring.”

“Yeah, I guess it was unusually dry.”

Ever since she left the Divine Maiden Sect, and all the way through the Murim martial tournament, it had barely rained.

She vaguely remembered someone saying the Grand Canal in Kaifeng was down to half its usual water level.

“So, how long is this rain going to last?”

“Hehe. How would I know? That’s up to the heavens, young master.”

“Right...”

In this ancient, primitive, primitive, primitive Central Plains, they didn’t even have weather forecasts.

Not that forecasting was easy—it was a cutting-edge science.

Technically, the Central Plains did have weather forecasters—geomancers, astronomers, heavenly augurs and whatnot.

But their accuracy was laughable. The kind of people who’d go, “Oh yes, I had a feeling it would rain,” after the rain had already started.

Well, when it rains, you just get wet. What else can you do?

Qing got to the point.

“Can you ask around and find someone who can drive a carriage to Luoyang? I’ll pay one silver tael.”

****

From Mount Song’s Deungbonghyeon to Luoyang was normally a one-day trip by carriage.

Granted, a little “fun” had delayed them by a day, but it had brought both entertainment and income.

And since this wasn’t a trip bound by deadlines, they left the village early and reached Luoyang by late lunch.

And thus—Luoyang!

One of the Three Great Ancient Capitals of the Central Plains... yada yada. Qing had been here before.

It was raining again, so there was no sightseeing, no awe, no emotional impact.

They stopped at the stables to return the carriage.

“Hey. Do you not vet your drivers? I mean, everyone jokes that coachmen are barely different from bandits—but are you seriously going to prove them right?”

“S-sorry! So sorry...!”

“‘Sorry’ doesn’t cut it. This whole stable’s rotten. Just a den of rapists. I’m going to make sure the whole damn world knows.”

“N-no, please, it’s not like that!”

Qing smoothly wrung the proper amount of compensation out of them.

Of course the stable knew what their coachmen were up to.

But they didn’t particularly interfere in “personal matters.”

If a coachman pulled off a side hustle successfully, no one talked.

If he failed, they’d just pin the blame squarely on him and toss the victim a small consolation fee.

So no, Qing wasn’t being cruel or extorting the stable—this was rightful compensation, plain and simple.

“Huhu.”

A clear, ringing laugh bubbled out of Qing’s mouth, so cheerful it practically overflowed.

She was in an excellent mood.

At a time like this, a travel companion with even a hint of common sense or emotional intelligence should’ve asked,

“Why are you so happy? Did something good happen?”

But Seol Iri, aside from serving as a cooling Bamboo Wife, was utterly lacking in every other qualification as a companion.

Flat broke.

Couldn’t hold a proper conversation.

Wasn’t even remotely warm or sociable.

Really, when Qing thought about it, she felt she might be a living Bodhisattva sent to this world to endure this burden.

Even her adopted sister hadn’t been this useless.

At least her sister would always ask for hugs, offer her food before feeding herself, carry her bags, and lift her onto her back if her legs hurt.

Even if they were both dumb, at least her sister had a warm, overflowing heart.

Comparing Seol Iri to her was an insult to her memory.

Seriously, how was it even possible for something to rank below Gyeon Pohui?

How did such a worthless, ineffectual creature even breathe?

Qing let out a heavy sigh as she stared at Seol Iri sitting silently at the table.

In return, the mysterious beauty with silver hair—an aftereffect of her internal arts—gave her a dull, deadpan look.

She said nothing, but that look made it clear: What now?

Ugh. That face.

If not for her face, I’d have ditched her long ago.

She was a living, breathing pillow with a divine face that melted all annoyance just by being looked at.

No, not a pillow—a clingable plush?

Whatever. Bamboo Wife.

In the end, because Seol Iri never once asked “You look happy. Why?” like a proper travel companion should,

Qing’s reasons for feeling so pleased were doomed to remain a mystery forever...

—Until she decided to ask the inn girl instead.

“Hey, you. You know the Heukyeong Society? That sleazy Unorthodox crew that hangs around Luoyang?”

Yes.

They say a gentleman’s revenge is never too late, even after ten years.

Such was the spirit of the Central Plains—nurturing grudges for centuries while conveniently forgetting favors.

That, truly, was the glorious Zhongyuan mentality.

It had only been three years since Qing’s disgraceful retreat from Luoyang.

Now was the perfect time to settle unfinished business.

But—

“Oh, those guys? They’re gone.”

“...What? Gone? What do you mean gone?”

“Word is, they messed with someone way too high up in one of the great martial clans.”

For twenty copper coins’ worth of gossip, the inn girl explained:

Martial artists from the Pang Clan of Hebei and the Hwangbo Clan had raided their hideout,

exposing all their disgusting crimes.

The other Unorthodox groups in Luoyang had immediately cut ties, saying, We don’t know them. Never heard of them.

After getting struck by two of the Ten Great Clans, the Heukyeong Society was obliterated—nothing left but dust.

A mission prompt flickered in front of Qing’s eyes.

The pop-up announced a “sudden mission complete.”

For some reason, it felt like the system was mocking her.

Too late, loser.

Seriously, why?!

The Pang Clan and the Hwangbo Clan?

Those two little nobodies beat me to the fun?!

I can wipe out entire bloodlines too, you know!

Do you know how much I love killing bad guys?!

Qing’s mood crashed like a wagon down a cliff.

I trusted you...

The heartbreak of being betrayed by the ones you counted on.

How could they go «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» and have that much fun without her?

If Pang Daesan or Hwangbo Uncheok had heard her grumbling, they’d have been struck dumb by the sheer absurdity of it.

Pang Daesan had mobilized his entire family’s warriors, carefully avoiding future backlash.

He’d done it all to protect Qing.

As for Hwangbo Uncheok, he’d just been swept up by her words, and, driven by his righteous spirit (or his absurd nosiness), joined the purge on impulse.

Thankfully, Qing wasn’t one to mope long.

What could she do now? They were already gone.

Farewell, Luoyang.

Farewell, my vengeance.

...Oh. That looks tasty.

Because, just then, the food started to arrive.