I Am This Murim's Crazy Bitch-Chapter 258: The Appearance of the Divine Dragon (14)

“That kind of—!”

“HEY! Here!”

Qing shouted loud enough to cut through Yoye’s rising sobs, shoving a small box into her hands.

“Stop crying. Look. This is for you. I heard that tonic pills help with damage from using Innate Energy. I brought this just for you.”

“I don’t need—!”

“Excuse me? That’s a Great Restoration Pill, you know. From Shaolin. You do know what that is, right? This isn’t just some random pill.”

That stopped Yoye cold.

She was still crying hard, hiccupping with each breath, but she froze nonetheless.

“A... A Great Restoration Pill? Are you kidding? Or are you seriously saying... hic... that this is really that pill?”

“It’s the real deal. Elder Muak gave it to me himself.”

“Elder Muak? Why would he...”

“I told him I had a friend whose Innate Energy might be overstrained, and he gave it to me without hesitation. It wasn’t hard to get or anything. So don’t worry about it too much.”

Yoye blinked. Her mind cleared like a splash of cold water.

“You’re... giving this to me? This kind of treasure—no, treasure isn’t even the word...”

“I got it for you, you know.”

And in that moment, Gongsun Yoye understood something fundamental.

This woman... this woman didn’t just treat martial arts tournaments lightly. She treated status, riches, and worldly honor as if they were nothing.

A Great Restoration Pill was a priceless treasure, something equivalent to having a second life in your pocket. People were murdered over rumors that someone even owned one. And Qing... just casually handed it over.

All because she didn’t want her friend burning her lifespan.

Of course Qing had seen the tournament as “just a match.” She probably didn’t even care about winning.

Compared to a friend’s Innate Energy, compared to Yoye’s life... the tournament was nothing.

And so, Gongsun Yoye’s emotional explosion—loud and fiery like a lit powder keg—had ended up destroying nothing but her own pride.

What followed was an overwhelming wave of shame.

“U-um... Miss Ximen? I’m sorry. I really am. I said some horrible things. I—I don’t think I deserve to even call you a friend. You treat me with such kindness, and all I did was doubt you. I guess I really am the kind of pathetic woman who doesn’t deserve any friends—”

“Oh, come on now. Friends do fight sometimes. That’s normal. Honestly? Yeah, I did feel sorry for you. But that’s not why I became your friend. What, am I supposed to befriend every sad soul I meet?”

“N-no, I just... I mean... that’s why I don’t have friends, right? I’m always like this, I mess it up, I ruin everything, I’m so sorry—”

“I said it’s fine.”

Qing kept trying to calm her down, even as Yoye tried to bury herself six feet underground from guilt.

Truth be told, this was the third time Gongsun Yoye had blown up like this. Usually quiet and composed, but when something got under her skin? She’d erupt like a volcano.

The first time was before Qing had even arrived—at the Dragon-Phoenix Gathering. She’d given the members of the Phoenix Society a piece of her mind, scolding them for acting like a bunch of flower-selling courtesans at a martial gathering. “You look ridiculous,” she’d snapped. “Is this a place for martial exchange or a brothel’s dressing room?”

The second time was when Qing had gifted her the hairpin.

And now was the third.

Clearly, Gongsun Yoye was broken—a mess of shame, regret, and panic. It took quite a while before she calmed down enough to stop groveling like she’d committed treason.

“I can’t accept this. I’m really grateful, but this kind of treasure... I can’t carry something I’m not worthy of. You know what they say. If you hold something you can’t handle, it’ll draw blood.”

“Then why not just take it now?”

Yoye smiled faintly at that.

Her eyes were still swollen and red, but the smile peeked through.

“I’ll shed this face when I reach transcendence, so it’s fine. And... my clan prepared their own tonic. I wouldn’t draw on Innate Energy without a backup plan.”

“Oh. I see. That makes sense. Still, if you kept this and used it in an emergency—”

“No. I can’t.”

She took Qing’s hand and held it tightly, her voice serious.

“I want you to give it your all in the finals.”

“If you're going to burn away your lifespan, how the hell am I supposed to strike at you?”

“Miss Ximen. I’ve been looking forward to the finals. I mean it. I’ve been dreaming of exchanging swords with you at full strength. I was so excited, and when you said you’d go easy on me, that’s what made me mad.”

“But now I know it’ll cost your life. How can I just ignore that?”

Gongsun Yoye met Qing’s gaze directly.

And that alone proved how deeply she meant it—because normally, Yoye avoided eye contact like it might kill her.

This content is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.

Granted, her puffy, blotchy face made the whole thing slightly less dignified.

“Would you please... do this for me? Even if my life is short, I want to believe I lived for this. I want that moment to be the highlight of everything. So please—be there with me, at your best. Okay?”

Faced with that kind of sincerity, Qing couldn’t help it.

She nodded.

****

Qing wasn’t from Zhongyuan.

She came from a place where the idea of roots—the value of a clan or community—was ranked far beneath that of the individual. And then, suddenly, she’d been dropped into this unfamiliar land.

So, to Qing, Gongsun Yoye’s outburst had seemed like just another case of someone going from zero to a hundred.

But objectively?

Qing had been in the wrong.

If Ximen Surin had overheard that conversation, she would’ve launched a retaliatory strike so brutal it could be classified as nuclear—while crying the whole time.

Because, in essence, what Qing had said was this:

Why risk your life over a damn tournament? Don’t waste your lifespan using tricks like that. If it means that much to you, fine, I’ll just let you win.

But Gongsun Yoye really had staked her life on it.

She’d spent her entire existence—every breath, every day—in reclusive training. All of it had been for this. For this one shot.

So Qing, without even realizing it, had invalidated everything Yoye had ever lived for.

And the betrayal cut even deeper because Yoye had believed in Qing. Had depended on her. Qing was the only person she truly called a friend.

If Qing hadn’t handed her a treasure as rare as a Great Restoration Pill, Yoye wouldn’t have even stopped to consider that maybe Qing had meant well. That’s how deep the wound was.

But Qing... still didn’t get it.

What was this tournament, anyway? No, more than that—what was a clan?

Why were people so willing to throw away their precious lives for their families?

A clan should exist for the people in it, right? Not the other way around. Why did people have to bleed for the sake of some bloodline?

It wasn’t like the Gongsun Clan had collapsed into ruin. Sure, they weren’t part of the Ten Great Clans, but they were still widely respected and clearly a major force in the martial world. And even though their family name was technically Gong, everyone still called them Gongsun out of respect—no one bothered to correct it.

The truth was, even if it had been a sect instead of a clan, Qing’s worldview simply didn’t match the values of Zhongyuan.

And she felt that divide in her bones.

“The fact that Miss Gongsun didn’t draw her sword is a testament to her restraint. If you’re not looking to make an enemy for life, don’t throw around comments like that.”

“Qing, this one’s on you. Saying something like that to someone who’s putting everything on the line—you're basically calling her an idiot. Especially when she’s doing it all for her family’s legacy.”

“Hmph. I expected more from you, Swordsister. Maybe it’s time we reconsider your standing. A demotion from 'Sword Friend' to 'Sword Acquaintance' might be appropriate.”

Those were the reactions from Peng Daesan, Tang Nana, and Namgung Sinjae.

Qing had asked them outright if it was really something worth getting that mad about—and in return, they’d all looked at her like she’d just coughed up sewage.

And what the hell was a Sword Acquaintance, anyway?

Honestly, Qing had no idea.

Was it really such a big deal?

If Gongsun Yoye really wanted to win that badly, then wouldn't it be better for Qing to throw the match in a flashy, honorable way? That way, Yoye wouldn’t have to burn through her Innate Energy.

As a martial artist?

What did that even mean?

Wasn’t being a martial artist just... carrying a sword and doing business by force? Roaming around, living outside the government, but still toe-to-toe with it? Kind of like... a cartel?

Whatever.

Could I really go all-out in the finals?

Knowing full well that every strike she makes is shaving years off her life?

What did it even mean to go all-out with a sword?

Martial arts were created to kill. If you weren’t using a killing sword, if it wasn’t a fight to the death, how could anything be sincere?

A sword exists to cut.

To protect me.

To shield the ones I love.

To slice down bastards and bring me joy.

So what the hell did it mean to say “a duel fought with sincerity”?

Did you have to use a killing technique for it to count?

And if you didn’t—if you were holding back—was it no longer sincere?

Qing had never thought about this before.

And it wasn’t the kind of problem that had an answer just waiting to be found in her own head.

But Qing did have one redeeming trait:

She never tried to force herself to figure out what she didn’t know. She had no shame in asking.

...Of course, it also meant that if no one was around to answer, she’d just shrug and move on—and never learn a thing.

Still, Qing decided to ask.

“Master, what... is martial arts?”

“...You’re asking that now?”

Ximen Surin stared at her like she’d just asked how to tie her shoes.

Every martial artist carries their blade in their heart. Ximen Surin, being a swordswoman, spoke of swords—but for others, the weapon may vary. The point is: every true martial artist must define what their technique means to them, and forge their path accordingly.

Through their art, they etch their beliefs onto the world.

That is why it is called kungfu—a discipline of effort and intent.

And here was a student, already nearing the peak of her cultivation, asking this?

No one could cross into the realm of true mastery without first forming their internal sword. And yet here she was. So late, so very late.

But then again... better late than never. That she wanted to understand it at all was precious in itself.

Besides, to Ximen Surin, Qing was still just a child—barely toddling around the world.

Her fondness for Qing only deepened.

“No two martial artists are the same. I can’t force my answer on you. But tell me—why did you start cultivating martial arts?”

Qing thought about it.

“...To survive?”

That was the truth.

Qing’s martial arts were a tool for survival.

Still were.

Back when she’d first reached the late Absolute Peak stage, she’d been brimming with confidence. She’d thought she was finally a top-tier expert.

Then the world reminded her what it really meant to be strong.

Out of nowhere, Transcendents started popping up. Stage Masters who’d make you sweat blood just by looking at you.

“Right. You were a ronin, weren’t you?”

Ximen Surin nodded thoughtfully.

“That explains why your cultivation didn’t deepen. It’s only natural. But the fact that you’re pondering it now... that makes me proud.”

“Is it really that important?”

“It’s everything. If you don’t know what martial arts mean to you, if you can’t define why you wield your sword, then you’re walking a treacherous path with your eyes closed—even if you’re headed the right way.”