I Am This Murim's Crazy Bitch-Chapter 274: Transcendent Qing (11)

The self-proclaimed mother’s embrace was, at the very least, impossibly warm.

To Qing, she was a complete stranger—but to the Empress Dowager, she was holding the body of her daughter, the child who had returned from the dead.

Qing couldn’t help wondering where exactly this convoluted backstory had all started to take shape.

Of course, it began when she, guided by a walkthrough, decided to indulge in a little hobby time and enjoy herself while cruising through it all without too much trouble.

But was that really such a sin?

What was so wrong about wanting to breeze through the story, slice down a few enemies, make a few allies, and just admire the finely rendered backside of a beautiful woman from the other side of a screen?

Maybe it was because this body was the only one capable of containing that convoluted setting.

Or maybe this entire world was just a self-contained spinoff that had branched off from the game itself.

Or maybe, somewhere beyond the screen, her real self was still there, clicking away with that perpetually tired expression...

Shit. No. Don’t go there.

Still, it was lucky that she was nestled in someone’s arms—so completely pulled in, like they were trying to melt into one—because even when those dark thoughts flickered through her mind, she didn’t seize up.

And the moment she thought that—

“Yes. I’ve held you too long. Now then—”

This woman seriously couldn’t get her timing right.

Qing was still in that unstable phase where breaking physical contact might trigger a full-blown episode, so she wriggled in her arms instead.

“Just... a little longer.”

“What unbecoming behavior from a fully grown princess. You must remember that you’re no longer a monarch.”

There are two ways to become a princess.

First, by being born the Emperor’s daughter—and then being officially granted the title of princess. (So not all daughters of the Emperor are automatically princesses.)

Because the term "princess" refers not to bloodline but to a title, a formal rank bestowed by the Emperor.

The second method is being born as the Crown Prince’s daughter, then being conferred the title of a monarch by the previous Emperor, and later naturally elevated in status.

Sohal had already been given the title of Monarch of Yeonsul during the late Emperor’s reign, and thus had naturally become Princess Yeonsul under the current regime.

So what the Empress Dowager meant was: “You’re a grown woman—what’s with this immature display?”

Not that it meant anything, given how she was still hugging her daughter with a grin splitting her face in half.

Qing, too, allowed herself to fully enjoy the warmth of that embrace this once. And sure enough, the dark thoughts dissolved like mist, and her energy returned in full.

“Now then—”

“No, it’s me who isn’t ready to let go. Let’s stay like this a bit longer.”

Goddamn. This woman really can’t get the timing right.

In the end, only after quite a long while did Qing finally get released—at long last receiving permission to put on some clothes.

And even that came only after her stomach let out a monstrous growl loud enough to announce the end of days—or maybe more accurately, the wail of a ghost in Hell.

****

“The Heavenly Blossom Sword of Murim personally entreated Her Majesty, saying that since Shaolin stands at the heart of righteous Murim, its cultivators are worthy of proper respect. Upon hearing this, Her Majesty gave her blessing and assured us she would not bring any trouble upon you. We owe her gratitude.”

The eunuch’s voice didn’t have that excessively fluttery lilt some of his kind used, but his high, melodic tone still made one doubt their own ears.

Regardless, it was good news for Shaolin.

A clear declaration that the Empress Dowager would not insist on entering, nor cause any further issues.

Whether it was out of consideration or meddlesome goodwill, she had made it seem like Qing’s idea, letting her take the credit.

“Once again, Shaolin owes you. You spoke to Her Majesty on our behalf.”

That came from none other than Muak Dae-sa, the greatest martial artist under heaven.

If he’d wanted, he could have easily enhanced his hearing and eavesdropped on the conversation from inside the carriage.

But monks didn’t eavesdrop.

And for someone of his standing—the best of the best—to secretly listen in on a conversation between women? That would be shameful.

If you were truly the best, then you ought to stride up and demand the truth outright, suppressing them with your sheer martial prowess.

Sneaking around like a common thief? That’s the behavior of the unorthodox schools. (Dark days are ahead for the Moyong Clan.)

And if you got caught eavesdropping? That was straight-up treason.

Still... it might’ve been better if he had listened in.

If he’d secured the princess early, it could’ve prevented a lot of future headaches.

Not to mention—he wouldn’t have dared work her to the bone without even feeding her.

“Come. At this rate, the sun will set. Let’s go see the Sword Wall.”

“Uh, Dae-sa? Maybe we could... eat first?”

“Hm. Temple meals have no meat. And according to that rascal Yuhak, after seeing the Sword Wall, he threw up everything inside him. So if we eat before, you’ll just end up vomiting it all out. Isn’t it disrespectful to vomit up your offering?”

“W-well, it was just a bit of blood...”

Or was it? Did she only cough up blood?

It had been a while, and even Qing couldn’t quite remember.

Still, Muak Dae-sa wasn’t wrong.

If you’re just going to throw it up, you shouldn’t eat it.

But she hated being hungry.

She should’ve insisted on eating with the Empress Dowager before coming to Shaolin.

Somehow, she felt like she’d taken a massive loss.

Though... the “no meat” thing really hit hard.

What even was the point of a meal without meat?

Maybe this was all just a ploy to make her hungrier for something tastier later.

“Let’s make this quick and get something to ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) eat. My stomach and spine are about to hold a dramatic reunion.”

“You look like you could go two months without eating and still be fine. But fine, let’s go.”

Just as she moved to follow the hurrying Muak Dae-sa, Qing spotted someone slipping off in the corner of her vision—Seol Iri.

“Miss Seol? Where are you going? Weren’t you following me?”

“Dinner.”

Seriously? She’s eating now?

Qing stared at Seol Iri’s unreadable face.

Was that sarcasm? A tease? Or just a dry statement of fact?

She’d started to feel like their distance had shrunk—especially with how Seol Iri had nudged her or offered answers without being asked.

But now?

As Qing watched her closely, suspicious there might be even a sliver of a smirk, Seol Iri added—

“Meat.”

“...Goddamn.”

Yeah, that was definitely a tease.

With that, Seol Iri vanished in a flash, heading off to claim her meat, while Qing clutched her growling stomach and trudged after Muak Dae-sa.

Shaolin Temple occupied the northern slope of Mount Song like a fully rented domain, and the Sword Wall had been carved into the southern cliff face by the grand master of the Heavenly Martial Assembly himself.

Which meant Shaolin monks had to run shift rotations down to the south cliffs just to guard the thing.

Thinking about it, maybe the whole point of placing it so far away from the main temple was to make it easier for female martial artists to view it as well.

Arriving at the mouth of the secluded canyon leading to the Sword Wall, Qing spotted two Shaolin monks.

One was doing handstand push-ups, the other was slamming his fists into the rock wall.

“Tsk. You were told to stand guard, and this is how you waste your shift?”

“Ah! Abbot! I-I was simply viewing the wall from an inverted perspective, b-but I am keeping watch, ahem...”

“Cultivation and the Way of Buddha must be one and the same, hmm? Hmm...”

The monks, who had clearly been trying to defend themselves, turned bright red the moment they saw Qing.

They both began awkwardly coughing like they’d spotted something suspicious on the ground.

Hmm. So that’s what they were doing.

She supposed it counted as slacking—one doing upside-down exercises, the other punching rocks like it owed him money.

“Tsk. Such bashfulness. If your skin so much as brushes against a woman’s, you’ll probably break your vows on the spot.”

“Brushes against... what?”

“Namo Amitabha... Lustful thoughts! Begone!”

One monk fumbled out of his position, while the other redoubled his wall-punching.

Qing’s divine beauty was already at the level of heavenly legend.

And for all the Shaolin monks’ powerful techniques, their mental cultivation as men was strictly third-rate—they simply couldn’t withstand her.

“Tsk. Let’s go.”

“Uh... y-you’ve worked hard.”

Qing gave a nod of farewell and followed Muak Dae-sa into the canyon.

With steady tak tak footsteps echoing behind him, she walked along the narrow, sloping path. Then suddenly, the trail opened up—revealing a wide basin tucked between the cliffs.

“Now then. What do you see?”

“Uh... That part over there is split.”

One side of the basin had a towering cliff wall that had been vertically split right down the middle.

Its cross-section was smooth, clean—far too precise to be anything formed by natural erosion.

Wait... Don’t tell me... Did that old man actually split a cliff with a sword?

The Sword Wall on Mount Hua had been carved by tens of thousands of sword petals slashing the rock. It was beautiful, yes—but sword qi leaving scars on stone wasn’t particularly surprising.

But this? The setting sun shone clean through the cleft—

The entire rock face had been bisected from top to bottom, and from here, Qing could see clear through to the western sky.

It wasn’t just a crack—it was a sundering.

“Here. Do you see this footprint?”

Muak stood in the center of the clearing and pointed at the ground.

A massive footprint was deeply pressed into the stone, and from it radiated countless hairline fractures, drawn out in a perfect circle three cheok wide.

“He stood right here, sword raised just so, and from this stance, stepped into the advance that cleaved the cliff. Try it yourself. Match your foot to his.”

Qing stepped forward and obediently placed her foot inside the imprint.

And then—

[Fateful Encounter Triggered – Legacy of the Heavenly Martial Emperor]

[You have witnessed the epiphany left behind by the Heavenly Martial Emperor.]

Ah. That’s right. It worked like this.

The world’s colors drained away, fading into a uniform gray.

Qing tried to find the shining form of the old man in this washed-out world—but wait.

Her body wouldn’t move.

No, not wouldn’t—couldn’t.

Her limbs began moving on their own.

Her vision spun—and in the corner of her eye, a monk appeared.

Not the Heavenly Martial Emperor, apparently—this monk was just a dull, gray silhouette.

“Hey. Baldy.”

Qing flinched in shock.

She hadn’t meant to say that out loud—she’d only thought it.

But the voice that came out was rough, aged—a voice belonging to a gruff old man.

“To sever the chains of reincarnation and enter nirvana... Is the pursuit of enlightenment truly about obedience to fate? Or rebellion against Heaven? They say that if one waits patiently within the endless wheel of samsara, the Maitreya will one day descend and deliver universal salvation.”

Maitreya—the future Buddha.

In Buddhist thought, he is the Enlightened One fated to descend in an era yet to come, full of compassion and infinite virtue.

He will guide the world into collective enlightenment and bring it into nirvana.

The phrase often muttered by one-eyed bald monks from old Korea—“I am Maitreya”—traces its roots to this very idea.

In other words, salvation is already predetermined.

All one needs to do is wait quietly, and it will come.

That was the question the Heavenly Martial Emperor was posing now.

The monk opened his mouth in response, but no sound emerged.

Then came the Heavenly Martial Emperor’s reply:

“You claim to be unmoving—but there’s no difference between motion and stillness.”

At the same time, his right arm lifted.

From the feel of the grip, the sword was held upright—but its weight began to change.

It was getting heavier. With each breath, heavier still.

A sword once light as air now bore the weight of boulders—then of a mountain—then of the entire Taesan range.

It pressed down on his arm, his shoulders, his spine, his stance.

And at some unknown moment—

Qing understood.

She was holding the weight of the entire world in her hand.

Yet the Heavenly Martial Emperor did not move.

But the world did.

The great cliff face came to him, flinging itself toward his sword.

It wasn’t the sword that moved—it was the world that moved around it.

“You seek egolessness. But I will proclaim the existence of self. That in this world, I exist. That a person’s will is not ruled by fate. That I will rise, radiant as the sun, by the power of my own life and my own path. That to resist a predetermined destiny and walk one’s own road—this is enlightenment, awakening, and the way to rebel against Heaven.”

And as the Heavenly Martial Emperor spoke his final words—

“If stillness and motion are the same... then to erase myself from the world and vanish—that is egolessness. But to erase the world and remain alone—that is no different from having a self. Thus, egolessness and selfhood are one and the same.”

And so, the world that could not break him—

The world that could not press him down—

Was split in two.

And only the Heavenly Martial Emperor remained, standing alone.

Alone, and thus sovereign.

With self, and thus existent.

The Heavenly Solitary Sword – First Form.

I Alone Am Supreme. (YU A DOK JON).