I Am This Murim's Crazy Bitch-Chapter 261: The Appearance of the Divine Dragon (17)

Generally, the higher a martial artist’s level, the sharper their perception becomes. This is because true masters view the world from a much broader perspective.

For instance, Seomun Surin only realized the deadly aura within Qing’s body after checking her pulse. But the great master Muak only needed to look her in the eyes to sense it.

On the other hand, Tang Nana still insists on checking Qing’s pulse every time they meet. And each time, she says the same thing:

“Hmm. Hmm. You’re healthy again today!”

Therefore, the gaze of a supreme master like Muak holds a level of insight unimaginable to ordinary people.

And that same Muak now saw the martial art that Qing was using—the one that belonged to the cursed Ten Great Demonic Arts—the wicked lightning of the Cursed Heavenly Demon Art.

His eyes widened as he spoke.

“Ohhh. Such a pure and untainted Daoist energy! A fleeting path from the heavens to the earth. This is truly divine martial arts. But what technique is it? Did the Divine Maiden Sect have such a technique?”

Of course, just because someone gains more information than others doesn’t mean they automatically arrive at the correct answer.

Before Muak could ponder further, Cheon Yuhak, the sect leader of Wudang, responded.

“Doesn’t it look like the Purple Sun Divine Art?”

At that, Yuha, the leader of Mount Hua and the current master of the Purple Sun Divine Art, snorted and retorted:

“Hmph. What nonsense. Why not just call it the Cursed Heavenly Demon Art while you’re at it?”

Cheon Yuhak fired back.

“Well, you keep going on about the Moonlight Divine Sword and how she’s the future number one martial artist. I thought you might’ve taught her the Purple Sun Divine Art or something.”

“Pfft. Number one martial artist? You need to open your eyes, old man. Can’t you see? That girl is barely twenty years old. You think that level of martial arts is something a kid can master? You should work on your perception first.”

“What was that?”

“Hmph.”

Mount Hua and Wudang had been rivals for a long time, and the bickering between their leaders was just another part of that tradition.

Either way, Yuha’s incessant bragging about his “hidden daughter” was annoying. But it wasn’t really about the Divine Maiden Sect’s disciple. It was all just Yuha flaunting his own perceptiveness.

Meanwhile, Cheon Yuhak, with a sour expression, kept his eyes on Qing’s match.

Amid all this, Muak let out a contemplative, “Hmm?”

Something about that swordplay felt oddly familiar.

There was something unsettling about it. That aura—it felt almost... sinister.

Just then, Cheon Yuhak clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“A disciple of a Daoist sect wielding such a bloodthirsty sword technique. The qi may be pure, but the way she uses it—it’s as savage as a demon. How can she ever achieve enlightenment like that?”

In Buddhist tradition, a “Naraksha” is a demon that devours people before they attain enlightenment.

Yuha immediately countered.

“So what? If she’s swinging a sword, is it a bloodthirsty blade or a righteous one? You see such pure Daoist energy and call her a Naraksha? Why don’t you just say it’s the One Hundred and Eight Asura Sword while you’re at it? Or maybe that her delicate hands are using the Cursed Heavenly Demon Art? Why not go all the way and say she’s got the face of a demon who’s mastered all Ten Great Demonic Arts?”

If Qing had heard this, she would’ve quit the Divine Maiden Sect right then and there to open up a fortune-teller’s tent, considering how eerily accurate Yuha’s guesses were.

Yuha was so smug about his own insight that he didn’t even care to hide it.

And it left Cheon Yuhak visibly uncomfortable.

It wasn’t Qing he had a problem with. It was Yuha.

Cheon Yuhak grumbled, “Tch. Who said anything about demonic arts? I was just saying her swordsmanship is filled with murderous intent. Is that what a Daoist disciple should be wielding?”

“Well, at least she’s using her sword as intended. Better that than some quack who wields a sword while claiming to heal people.”

Mount Hua’s sword was beautiful, but it was also a deadly weapon.

Meanwhile, Wudang’s sword was all about redirecting attacks without directly harming the opponent, allowing them to boast about how “righteous” their swordsmanship was.

“Now, now,” the leader of the Joint Sect chimed in, pretending to mediate while subtly taking Yuha’s side.

“A sword is meant to pierce, is it not? Why else would you draw one?”

The Joint Sect specialized in lethal assassination techniques, targeting vital organs to end fights quickly.

Nodding in agreement, the elder of Zhongnan Sect said, “Look at all these martial artists who practice killing techniques. Ha, Senior Muak, the path of saving lives seems so difficult.”

Cheon Yuhak looked to Muak for support.

Shaolin’s martial arts were supposedly about saving lives, though their methods often involved breaking every bone in the opponent’s body and severing their tendons, leaving them alive just enough to “repent.”

Muak coughed awkwardly. “Well, it was a bit much to call it one of the Ten Great Demonic Arts.”

Muak was already quite fond of the “Elder Slayer” Qing, so he only gently rebuked Cheon Yuhak.

Then, he blinked.

Amidst all that, he’d almost forgotten what he was thinking about.

What was it about Seomun Qing’s sword technique that seemed so familiar?

Cheon Yuhak frowned. “Senior! Why are you... Wait, the one who brought up the Ten Great Demonic Arts was that guy over there! Why are you scolding me?”

“Haha! You fool. This is the essence of Yin-Yang Taiji. You still have much to learn. You must train yourself to see the good in people, not just the flaws,” Yuha mocked.

“Kghh!”

Cheon Yuhak clenched his fist in frustration.

To be lectured about the principles of Taiji by that uncultured Mount Hua brute—there was no greater humiliation in his life.

Meanwhile, Qing’s sword strike aimed straight for Gongsun Yoye’s solar plexus.

Yoye, noticing too late, tilted her body forward, causing the blow to smack her right breast instead of her solar plexus.

It was a bold, strategic decision—sacrificing her chest to protect her vital point.

“Ugh!”

Gongsun Yoye gasped, the pain stealing the breath from her lungs.

It must have hurt like hell.

Qing hesitated, pulling back her next strike.

If this had been a deathmatch, the fight would’ve ended by now.

The Cursed Heavenly Demon Art was meant to rip through the opponent’s qi and meridians, causing permanent internal damage.

Its hidden venomous qi could tear apart one’s life force and energy core.

But Qing couldn’t bring herself to do that to Gongsun Yoye, so she held back, using only surface-level strikes.

If this had been a deathmatch, Yoye would already be swaying, unable to circulate her qi properly.

But she couldn’t exactly shout to the judge, “Hey! I’ve been hit with the Cursed Heavenly Demon Art multiple times! Call the match!”

Was that... sincerity?

“Haa... Haa...”

Gongsun Yoye looked like she’d just crawled out of a battlefield.

The fight was brutal, but the sheer exhaustion from using Innate Energy had taken its toll.

Yet her expression was oddly bright.

Qing couldn’t understand.

Why? Why did she look so ecstatic?

Even as she was shaving years off her own life force.

“You... You look tired.”

“Huff, no... I can still go on! Haaaah!”

Crash!

A fierce blow echoed through the air, and Gongsun Yoye’s figure blurred, disappearing from sight.

But Qing had already seen this move over forty times. By now, her body knew how to react. She took two steps sideways, twisting her body slightly.

Thanks to the Awakened Core Technique, she could sense things within a foot of her exposed skin—even without seeing them directly.

The extended blade energy of Gongsun Yoye’s sword shot past Qing’s neck like a piercing beam, missing her by a hair.

Qing raised her sword to meet Gongsun Yoye’s attack, and the extended blade energy dissipated as though it had never existed.

And then, from a distance, the Xuanyuan Sword’s aura reappeared, forming a massive, sweeping fan-shaped strike that surged toward Qing.

The Xuanyuan Sword’s ability to adjust its length freely was incredibly troublesome. It was a prime example of how dangerous it could be for a martial artist to control their range at will.

But then, Gongsun Yoye did something baffling—she closed the distance herself, charging straight toward Qing.

It was a reckless decision, abandoning her greatest advantage.

That’s why she kept getting hit. Gongsun Yoye’s physical strength was far inferior to Qing’s. In close combat, the odds were completely in Qing’s favor.

Clang!

The blunt edge of the sword clashed against Qing’s, sending sparks flying.

Gongsun Yoye was throwing everything she had into this strike, but Qing stood her ground, barely moving as she blocked the blow.

Momentum forced Gongsun Yoye’s sword to halt, and sweat clung to her skin, droplets flying off like a gentle rainstorm.

Come on. Is that it? Faster. Harder.

Even without words, Gongsun Yoye’s intent was clear.

Her plea was communicated through the blade itself.

Don’t think too much. Just play with me.

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Run, jump, swing, hit, get hit. Let’s go all out and have fun together.

Despite being drenched in sweat, despite her labored breathing, Gongsun Yoye’s face beamed with a radiant smile.

Qing couldn’t understand it.

What’s so fun about this?

Didn’t I just beat her senseless? Doesn’t it hurt?

But Gongsun Yoye was relentless. Her movements were almost like a dance of courtship—a wild, desperate plea.

Here I am. Can’t you see me? Won’t you fight me seriously?

Now, Qing was starting to understand.

A lonely child who spent her life training alone in a desolate courtyard.

But for Gongsun Yoye, that past wasn’t a source of pain.

It was what allowed her to stand here now, fighting with everything she had.

Her expression was that of someone who had endured what ordinary people couldn’t and came out smiling.

Aren’t we sharing swords like this because of that?

I’m giving it my all. Just like I always have.

Even as she burned away her own life force, Gongsun Yoye’s face was so brilliantly alive in this moment.

If burning through tomorrow to feel alive today is what it takes, then so be it.

For Gongsun Yoye, martial arts were her everything. The only thing she had. And because of that, they brought her joy.

But for me?

For Qing, martial arts were tied to painful memories.

Thrown into a world she didn’t know, in a body she couldn’t call her own, surrounded by scorn, ridicule, and abuse—martial arts were her only means of survival.

The only way to stay alive in a place where people would kill for a handful of coins.

It was a means to take what she needed to survive.

The back alleys of Zhongyuan were no place for compassion.

There, if you showed mercy, you’d starve. If you hesitated, you’d die.

Qing’s memories were still haunted by that moment—the feeling of her hands wrapped around a neck, squeezing until the life drained out.

The moment she crossed the line she could never return from.

That day, she knew this feeling would stay with her for life, a brand burned into her soul.

But looking back now, it seems almost ridiculous.

All that fuss over one dead bastard.

A scumbag who beat a kid to death for a few lousy coins.

If anything, Qing should’ve felt proud of herself. Instead, she’d clutched the meager loot to her chest, sobbing uncontrollably as she fled.

Ah. Right. The Moonlight Sword, my first.

That was the first weapon Qing ever took from someone.

Or rather, the weapon she killed someone to take.

The alleys were filled with scum anyway, men who deserved to die.

And the only reason she killed that man was because she wanted his sword.

What good was martial arts if she didn’t have a sword to wield?

It was a rusty, broken thing. Half the blade was gone, and the rest {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} was corroded with rust. A worthless piece of junk no one would bother picking up.

And yet, Qing killed someone for it.

My Moonlight Sword, First Edition.

No, it wasn’t even the first edition back then. It was just the only sword she had. My Moonlight Sword. My treasure.

She used it until it completely crumbled.

When it finally shattered, all that was left was the hilt.

Qing buried it in the foothills of Ganpyeong Mountain, marking the grave as if she were laying an old friend to rest.

And even then, she still wasn’t satisfied.

She’d stood before that grave, promising that every sword she wielded from then on would be a Moonlight Sword.

Her master’s words echoed in her mind.

A single sword, carried in the heart.

Ah. Right. I’ve been neglecting the glorious ancestor of the Moonlight Sword for too long.

A faint smile played at Qing’s lips.

The first sword she ever owned was so precious that she’d sleep clutching it tightly to her chest, terrified it might get damaged.

She’d been so careful with it, too afraid to actually use it in a fight.

Back then, just having a sword felt like having the world in her hands.

Suddenly, her hands remembered.

The feel of that unbalanced weight, the sticky hilt soaked in sweat and grime, and the jagged, broken edge that was still sharp enough to cut.

There was no demonic art back then.

Just the Moonlight Sword Form—the only sword technique she knew.

My sword. My swordsmanship.

In this primitive, brutal world, it was the only thing that allowed me to keep dreaming of tomorrow.

The only thing that let me believe things could get better.

Qing moved her sword, flowing effortlessly into the Moonlight Sword Form.

First Form.

Stray Wolf Grabs a Stick.

Her sword drew a clumsy, awkward arc through the air.

It wasn’t so much “awkward” as it was “childlike”—like a kid waving around a long stick, swinging it with reckless abandon.

There was no technique, no purpose. Just the sheer joy of swinging something long and solid, the primal fun of discovery.

A stick, just a stick.

But to that kid, it was a legendary sword, shining like the brightest star in the sky.

Just like the Moonlight Sword had once been to Qing.

Gongsun Yoye’s eyes widened as she twisted to avoid the strike.

Without any deliberate technique or intent, the wild, unpredictable swings were harder to counter.

They came from all directions—left, right, up, down.

And then, suddenly, Qing’s blade was right under her chin, cold as death.

Gongsun Yoye stared at Qing, eyes filled with awe.

How many more secrets are you hiding? How incredible are you, Seomun Qing?

But then, Gongsun Yoye’s expression changed.

Qing wasn’t looking at her.

Eyes closed, lips curved in a soft smile, Qing was lost in her own world, dancing with her sword.

Gongsun Yoye held her breath, as if even the sound of her own breathing might break the spell.

You can’t interrupt a swordsman in a trance.