I Am This Murim's Crazy Bitch-Chapter 277: Transcendent Qing (14)

In just two days, it would be the seventh month. That meant it was about time for rain—but of course, she hadn’t considered that. Qing clicked her tongue. I really wasn’t thinking, huh.

Then again, she rarely did think—unless it was about killing people or eating. Even if she reflected on it now, it was bound to happen again.

Not that Qing was completely without grievance.

The life of a wanderer across the martial realm wasn’t exactly one filled with convenience. Sure, these days she technically had a hut and her roots in the Divine Maiden Sect, but it wasn’t like she’d stopped drifting.

The Central Plains were vast—not just horizontally, but in elevation too. Some places were flanked by rivers, some by desert, others by ocean. Naturally, the climate varied wildly, and Qing had long since lost all sense of what the weather should feel like. Hot? Rainy? She had no idea.

When she stepped out of her room in a hurry, there was a boy nodding off at the entrance who sprang to attention the moment he saw her.

He was one of those kids who only showed up when it rained—setting up beside the tavern’s front door to sell rain hats.

Truthfully, he was probably the child of a servant or worker inside, roped in to help the innkeeper scrape together a little extra money on stormy nights.

It was a fancy enough establishment to offer umbrellas and hats, so clearly everyone but Qing had been aware of the forecast.

“Hey, give me two rain hats.”

“Oh! Miss Fairy! Here you go!”

The boy, eyes still glazed from sleep and clearly overwhelmed by her looks, shoved a large basket-like hat into her hands without asking for payment.

“How much?”

“Oh! Right! One nyang.”

“For this? Is it woven out of gold?”

The boy visibly shrank.

“One nyang... for both...”

A miracle—half price. Still, it was more than fair.

“You know my room, right? Leave a heap of dried fruit there.”

“Um... what about payment for delivery—?”

“You’re charging ten coins a hat and I just paid you five times that for two. Don’t push your luck.”

“...Okay.”

He backed off without further haggling, which was rare—children in the Central Plains were usually ruthlessly shrewd little merchants. But he'd fallen under the spell of Qing’s face, and whatever sharp instincts he had were promptly blunted.

Qing stacked the two wide-brimmed hats atop each other and stepped outside. The heavy rain hammered on the overlapping straw like drumming fists.

Rain hats, in the simplest terms, were gigantic. They shaded the front, wrapped around the back all the way down to your hips, and curved outward to funnel the water away from your body.

The downside? They were heavy. They got heavier in the rain. And the runoff poured down your back like a personal waterfall, drenching your ankles.

But Qing’s neck was practically forged from steel. She could handle it.

She stepped out into the storm. As expected, pitch black.

A proper downpour like this came with thick clouds—and this barbaric realm had no electricity. No steam-powered inventions. No incandescent bulbs.

Humanity had not yet birthed its greatest innovation: boiling water to spin wheels.

Still, Qing ventured into the street.

Her eyes, sharp enough to pierce darkness, gradually began to adjust and piece the world back together.

Where would Lady Seol be?

Didn’t she say she was experienced with sleeping outdoors?

Drawing on her expertise as a professional vagrant, Qing sprinted between eateries and shelters, scanning each one with quick, precise steps.

No sign of her.

Panic set in.

What if Seol Iri had claimed to know how to sleep rough, but actually didn’t? What if she’d crawled under a bridge thinking it’d keep her dry?

Floodwater rises faster than most expect. And a sudden current can sweep away even a seasoned martial artist in an instant.

Worry tightening in her chest, Qing darted along the branches of the river, checking beneath every bridge.

Still nothing.

No sheltered corners, no underpasses—where the hell would she be sleeping?

Did she just... go home because it was raining?

Come to think of it, Seol Iri would be the type.

But if she was leaving, she should’ve said something. What kind of person disappears without a word and leaves others to worry?

Qing had been the only one running around in the storm like a lunatic.

Still, it would be a relief if she’d just gone home.

But the uncertainty kept her from retreating.

For half a shichen, Qing scoured the streets looking for her.

And then she saw her.

Right in front of the inn. Beneath the eaves, under a scrap of cloth someone had hung up—probably a street vendor’s setup. Seol Iri was curled up there, tucked into the shadows against the outer wall.

Of course. The darkest spot is under the lamp.

Qing had joked—half-joked—about running off in the middle of the night, so Seol had chosen a spot where she could watch the entrance.

And there Qing was, despite her superhuman brain and otherworldly reflexes, completely oblivious—running through the night in the pouring rain like a fool.

But with a body forged from steel and an immunity to cold, Qing wasn’t exactly suffering.

Sometimes, if your body’s good enough, your brain can afford to slack off.

“Wait. Lady Seol. You’ve just been sitting here getting rained on this whole time? What kind of idiot—why are you soaking wet? Aren’t you freezing?”

“Beihai is way colder.”

Right. Beihai tribes spent all year on frozen lakes. Their seasons went from cold to colder.

“This is practically hot weather by Beihai standards.”

“Your voice is literally shaking.”

“N-not at all.”

Strictly speaking, she wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t cold.

It was that perfect kind of weather where, in movies, people toss their umbrellas and laugh under the downpour. It was refreshing—liberating.

But prolonged exposure to hammering rain, thick enough to feel like fists striking your body?

That was another matter entirely.

The human body regulates heat through the air. When soaked, each new drop of water just leeches more warmth out of you.

“You said you’ve slept outdoors a lot, didn’t you? What, in Beihai you just lie out in the rain too? You’re gonna drop dead at this rate.”

“I’m fine...”

Still, even as she insisted, she didn’t resist when Qing pulled her to her feet. She must have realized—this was too much.

Back in the room, Qing confirmed what she’d suspected. Seol Iri was pale by default, but now her lips had turned a bluish-black somewhere between violet and navy, drained of all warmth.

Luckily, the umbrella boy had delivered a mountain of dried fruit. Qing grabbed a towel and started scrubbing Seol’s face vigorously, wringing water from her drenched hair, peeling the soaked clothes from her body with a struggle, and using the dried fruit to rub her dry the rest of the way.

Then she laid her down, covered her with a blanket, and stood back.

Taking care of someone like this—it gave her a new appreciation for her parents, who’d somehow raised her with proper manners.

“Seriously. Who sleeps outside in the rain?”

“Yes.”

Now that she was dry and cocooned in blankets, Seol Iri had found her voice again.

“You could’ve died. Rain and cold are not the same thing. You said you were used to this!”

“It doesn’t rain in Beihai.”

“But it snows, right? Do you just lie around in the snow?”

“No.”

“So you know someone who just sat there getting soaked to the bone and did nothing?”

“It was rain, not snow.”

She really didn’t back down an inch.

Qing clicked her tongue and finally started drying herself off.

She’d worn the rain hat, sure—but the downpour had been so intense, and she’d run around like an idiot the whole time, so only her head, shoulders, and upper back were dry.

Seol Iri’s eyes locked onto her—first at her form, then at the towel she was using, then at her arm, which had doubled in size from the cold and darkened like wet stone.

She didn’t look away. She just... stared.

Qing, for her part, didn’t care.

Her body felt fine—her mind was tired. After the chaos of the night and the surge of relief, sleep was already tugging at her.

She wrung out the worst of the water, then slipped under the blanket beside Seol.

Then Seol Iri spoke up.

“Um...”

“What?”

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

“Then just stay awake. You weren’t going to sleep out there anyway. Isn’t it better to not sleep on a warm, dry bed than to not sleep under pouring rain?”

“....”

Seol Iri bit her lip, like she’d just been insulted.

“So go to sleep or don’t. I’m going to.”

“...”

Huh. So she’s got some pride after all?

There was no answer. Qing figured that meant yes, more or less.

Except—why did she sound like she was wheezing?

“Lady Seol?”

“...snorrrk...”

Qing’s brow furrowed sharply.

Didn’t she just say she couldn’t sleep if someone else was there?

And now she was snoring seconds after saying that?

—

There’s a saying: If you think it might happen, it will.

And sure enough, Seol Iri caught a cold.

“What kind of martial artist catches a damn cold?”

“I dod’n...”

“Your nose is completely blocked. You’re leaking snot as we speak.”

Seol Iri wiped her nose with the edge of the blanket. freeweɓnovel.cѳm

“Id’s nod snod...”

“Unbelievable...”

Technically, even martial artists could get sick.

It wasn’t easy, but it was possible.

Say, for example, you stood out in a torrential downpour and didn’t bother using your internal energy to shield yourself. Then your body was no better than any sturdy commoner getting soaked to the bone.

Which is exactly what Seol Iri had done.

She had a full-blown head cold.

“Wait—you didn’t circulate your energy at all while standing in the rain?”

“It was hohd...”

Apparently, even in Beihai, there were about ten days of summer where the sun actually shined. On those rare days, everyone would come outside and say, Ah, what nice cool weather, and bask in it.

And the coldest day of the year in the Central Plains? Still way warmer than Beihai’s hottest day.

So by late June, what most people called “muggy heat” felt like a sauna forged in hellfire to Seol Iri.

She’d been burning her internal ice techniques constantly to keep herself cool, then recharging at night. Rinse and repeat.

“Let me get this straight—you blew through all your Qi to stay cool during the day, and your core was empty by nightfall?”

“Yesh... and don’d you make sneaky comments...”

“Ha! Trying to draw the line with that nasal voice? You sound ridiculous. Try enunciating properly, maybe?”

Seol Iri glared at her, sharp and resentful.

Qing replied with a smirk.

“Wipe your damn nose before giving me that look. I’m seriously holding back laughter right now.”

“Tch.”

“Anyway, I’ll get you a proper breakfast, then you should head back. Actually—no, scratch that. I’ll book you a room and cover your meals. Just stay and rest for a day.”

Martial artists could catch colds—but they recovered quickly.

A mild head cold like this? One day of quiet cultivation and it’d vanish like it never happened.

“Thank... you...”

She tried to speak clearly, breaking it up into syllables like a toddler.

Didn’t work. Her nose was still hopelessly stuffed.

A valiant but ultimately tragic effort.

“What’s with the stubborn act? You’re seriously still planning to follow me? It’s the rainy season now—it’s going to keep pouring! You don’t have money, or even a dry change of clothes!”

“Yes.”

Relentless. The sheer persistence was almost unnerving.

And it’s not like she had any kind of plan.

Qing wasn’t some kind of saint. She didn’t intend to be a traveling mother hen, especially not for someone who’d explicitly tried to draw boundaries.

If Seol Iri had at least been warm or friendly—maybe. But all she had going for her was a pretty face and, okay, occasionally she was kind of cute when she did something weird...

Wait.

Wasn’t that exactly why people adopted strays?

Like, the classic “oh no, it followed me home” scenario?

Qing forcefully shook the thought away.

She’d already been through hell last night. Surely that would’ve taught Seol Iri a healthy fear of rain.

“Fine. Do whatever you want. I’m leaving. You can go live here if you like.”

“...You’re mean.”

Seol Iri didn’t have a single dry item of clothing to her name.

The rain was still coming down in heavy, cooling sheets—steady and relentless. No way anything had dried overnight.

When she realized Qing was serious, she leapt off the bed in a flurry, scrambling for her soaked underclothes. But while she stood there hesitating, Qing—wanderer extraordinaire—had already changed into clean clothes and was tying her sash.

“I’ve got an extra rain hat. Take it or don’t. Doesn’t matter. Maybe I’ll see you later, /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ maybe not.”

She waved a hand lazily over her shoulder and stepped out into the gray morning.

Now then, what should I eat for breakfast?

Rain always made her crave savory pancakes. God, I could kill for some green onion pancakes right now...

This wasn’t the Western world, but one small blessing of this ancient, uncivilized land was that something similar to the food she craved often existed.

And the local equivalent of pancakes? Flatcakes.

Back in Qing’s hometown, flatcakes were buckwheat wrappers stuffed like kimchi dumplings. But in broader terms, the word referred to any kind of flour-based batter griddled into thin rounds.

The Central Plains loved them as a cheap, grab-and-go breakfast.

“Maybe I’ll throw in a bottle of rice wine too. Nothing pairs with flatcakes like sweet makgeolli...”

As Qing stood deliberating, she heard the sound of a door sliding open. Then the rush of hurried footsteps. And finally—

“Ahh...”

A nasal sigh of deep relief.

Oh for fuck’s sake. She’s actually following me.

Like a leech.

No—a clingy leech.

Qing sighed and turned around.

Everyone said the Central Plains were hot—but Seol Iri’s outfit was still just a single piece. A thin, sky-colored robe that doubled as both top and skirt.

And it was still wet.

The damp fabric clung tightly to her frame, outlining every contour of her chest. Two distinct shapes jutted against the fabric—left and right.

Qing reeled back, eyes wide.

“Holy shit—what are you doing!? You’re coming out like that!? Get back inside this instant!!”