I Am This Murim's Crazy Bitch-Chapter 279: Transcendent Qing (16)

It came out of nowhere—a burst of vile sexual filth.

But Seol Iri neither flinched nor furrowed her brow. She simply blinked and tilted her head slightly, puzzled.

“Is he... not a master?”

The man had drawn a blade and strutted about like he was the top of Murim, but to someone like her, at best he might be a first-rate fighter. No wonder it seemed strange.

Seol Iri was a peak-stage martial artist.

To Qing’s eyes, she was just a fledgling who barely clawed her way into peak-level—but by Central Plains standards, she was already a respectable young expert.

Remove the “young” qualifier, and her status might be debatable, but even then, she stood on the edge of being called a real master.

“You stupid bitch. Even low-levels have their own way of fighting. That one over there got knocked out cold, didn’t she? You starting to feel sleepy yet?”

Qing, snoring peacefully, was slumped in sleep. Seol Iri, who had been nodding off beside her from time to time, had assumed this was all perfectly normal.

The rain drummed steadily outside. Their traveling companion was asleep. The coachman drove smoothly.

Under these circumstances, of course she’d start dozing off. What human wouldn’t?

“Bigeopage... yagle...”

But then her arms lost strength, going limp. It wasn’t sleepiness. That’s when Seol Iri’s face turned grim.

“Heh, heh—hah! You... You have no idea! How long I’ve waited for this moment! Everyone—everyone said I was a cripple! But I... I’ve been waiting! For exactly this kind of situation!”

“......”

“Curious, aren’t you? What kind of miraculous poison I used? How you couldn’t even tell you were being slowly drugged?”

“......”

“Five years. It’s been five goddamn years! I poured every coin I had into buying this one poison. Everyone mocked me, said I was trash. But I knew... I knew one day... I’d get to use it like this! Hey, are you even listening?”

Whether he ranted or not, Seol Iri was now forcefully circulating her inner energy to expel the toxin.

Only after hearing the words “you’ve been poisoned” did she realize something was wrong. It was a slow-acting, extremely covert poison that only showed symptoms once it had already taken root.

“You think I’m talking to myself? When a man speaks, a bitch like you—pinned down and whining—ought to shut up and listen!”

With a shout, the coachman hurled something to the floor. It hit hard, sending up a thick cloud of dust from the bottom of the carriage.

“Heh... soon you won’t even be able to move a single finger. Then what’ll be left? No master skills, no strength—just a fuckhole waiting to be used. Wonder how tight yours’ll be, heh heh, hahahah!”

And then—slam—the carriage door was shut.

Seol Iri staggered upright and kicked at it, but whatever the door was made of, it didn’t budge an inch.

So she drew upon her internal power.

A pale mist began gathering around her hand. At the same time, a fierce cold wind erupted from her body, blasting outward in all directions.

Any experienced martial artist would’ve leapt to their feet and shouted the name on instinct:

Bingbaek Divine Palm!

And then—boom!

Seol Iri’s palm smashed into the carriage door, shaking the whole structure with a deafening boom.

Frost bloomed outward from the center of her palm in perfect concentric circles. The inner wall of the carriage cracked with a sharp crackle, and crumbled in fragments.

Behind it, metal bars appeared—tightly aligned in a straight row.

“Well damn. What kind of psycho reinforces a carriage with iron plating? He really went all-in on this setup.”

“!”

Seol Iri’s head snapped around.

“You’re all so rude. I mean, when someone’s sleeping, shouldn’t you walk quietly? Whisper? Maybe not pound on the walls like a barbarian? A little courtesy for the one trying to nap, please.”

“Miss Seomun? Are you okay?”

“Don’t waste your strength. Just rest. You’re not well. Don’t overdo it.”

“Now is not the—”

“Sigh. Peak-level fighters really are dramatic over nothing.”

An actual emotion flickered across Seol Iri’s usually blank face—for once, it was unmistakable: sheer disbelief.

“Come on, over here. If you act all aggressive, they’ll panic and run. Scumbags are like that—cowards at heart. They only step forward when they think they’ve got a shot, and the moment things don’t go their way, they bolt. That’d be annoying, wouldn’t it? I really don’t want to go chasing people through the rain.”

Qing reached out a hand as she spoke.

Seol Iri tried to dodge, but her body was slow, her strength slipping away. She wobbled, stumbled—and in a flash, Qing’s elegant hand caught her wrist and yanked her forward.

Her body, already sluggish from a mix of sleep toxin, paralytic agent, and what seemed like inner energy-disrupting powder, fell helplessly into Qing’s arms.

If her body had been in good condition... Seol Iri regretted. But no—who was she kidding? Even then, the result wouldn’t have changed.

Qing’s Silent Ghost Hands wasn’t a technique—it was practically a divine art. A pickpocket style elevated to the level of mystical theft.

Seol Iri collapsed into Qing’s chest, limp and powerless.

“Were you channeling inner energy again? What’s the point? How hot can it even be...? Mmm. This is nice and cool.”

“Now’s not the—”

“Just stay still. I told you to vet the coachman, didn’t I? Always check your driver. It was valuable advice.” freeweɓnovel.cøm

“You’re the one who picked—”

“Ah ah! Blaming others is bad.”

“I’m not blaming—”

“Tsk tsk. A martial artist blaming others? What are you, a child? If you live by the sword, then whatever happens is just part of the life. Even getting stabbed—it’s on you.”

She wasn’t wrong.

If you get stabbed, it’s your own fault. You should’ve handled the enemy before it came to that. Or dodged. Or run. Or, better yet, avoided provoking the situation entirely.

Seol Iri clamped her mouth shut, frustration boiling behind her eyes.

But that was one thing. This was another.

Qing had found the carriage, picked the coachman, handled everything on her own—now turning around and saying, you just sat there, too, felt unfair.

Still... watching someone do ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ everything for you while you did nothing wasn’t exactly noble companion behavior either.

Qing sprawled lazily across the carriage seat.

She pulled the pleasantly cool bamboo wife onto her body and clutched it tight.

The bolster wriggled weakly, trying to escape—but her attempts were feeble. The drug was clearly starting to take full effect.

“Do you think the monk’s still out there?”

“Mmm. I’d wager he’s got more men waiting. Also... what should we have for lunch?”

“Stop rambling.”

“Nope. I’m gonna talk like this. So what are you gonna do about it, Lady Seol?”

“I’m gonna ramble too.”

“Nope. You can’t. Only I can. You’re already annoying—if you start talking like this, you’ll be even worse. I’ll ditch you on the spot.”

“I don’t want that.”

Qing chuckled, eyes gleaming with a mischievous, unholy light.

Because she knew what was coming.

She was excited about it. Really, deeply excited.

People in the Central Plains judged others by their face. Their “physiognomy.”

Qing didn’t.

She saw something else—numbers above their heads. In a notation system no one else used in the Central Plains.

She’d gone into the stables looking for a coachman... and found a grade-A son of a bitch.

Finally! It’s been too long since she got to spill some blood. A real feast. A blood banquet.

And now... she could use her Sword Qi.

Getting a new blade—everyone wants to try it out immediately, right? Stab, slash, carve—test the edge, feel the weight.

For a martial artist, nothing compares.

And this wasn’t even just a new blade. It was Sword Qi.

She hadn’t debuted it yet. Her patience was already worn thin.

So—how would they come?

That bastard looked like a coward. Maybe he’d wait for the drug to fully kick in?

How many of them were there? Hopefully a lot.

Qing’s heart was pounding.

But... nothing happened.

How long was this going to drag out?

She was bored. Restless. Was this some new kind of assassination—death by frustration?

Meanwhile, the bamboo wife had passed out completely, snoring with loud, gurgling honks—probably due to her stuffed nose.

The strange color deep in Qing’s pupils darkened even more, a soft glow rising like light through fog.

She was bored.

Maybe she’d grope some tits.

She fed her, dressed her, warmed her, even saved her life from freezing to death last night. If it weren’t for Qing, the girl would’ve already been whispering to the King of the Underworld.

So of course she had rights.

Qing’s pale hand slipped under Seol Iri’s robes.

Hmmm. Kind of small.

It fit snugly into her palm. Soft. Springy. Just the way she liked it.

It might’ve looked good, but in the hand, it was boring as hell.

Well, can’t be picky. You work with what you’ve got. May as well knead something.

Oh—getting hard now? What a filthy little thing. Should be thanking me, honestly. Nobody else would bother fondling such a dull pair.

Of course, Seol Iri might find all this terribly unfair.

But it was just involuntary reaction to stimulus. Basic physiology.

And besides, she was unconscious from the drug, so it wasn’t like she’d know. No injustice in what you never feel.

That thought made Qing’s fingers twitch with a wicked itch.

You know... squeezing someone’s chest actually hurts. She wondered—how would this bamboo wife respond?

She was always so quiet. Would she keep it all in, grit her teeth and bear it? Or maybe—just maybe—would she let out some ridiculous, high-pitched shriek, crying for it to stop?

Would she beg pitifully, please let me go, it hurts, or spit curses laced with raw hatred?

What about her face? Would she look betrayed? Or would she just glare, cold and unsurprised, like this was inevitable?

Either way, it sounded... fun.

Qing’s lips pulled into a grin. It stretched almost to her ears, a grotesque, hungry smile.

And just then—

Bang. The carriage door burst open.

“At last!”

Qing shot up, shouting with glee.

“Kehehe—urk!”

The coachman let out half a laugh—before Qing’s hand clamped around his jaw and yanked him clean into the carriage.

Her fingers locked around his lower face. At the same time, her foot came down—hard—on his instep.

Qing’s martial boots had sound-plates fitted beneath the big toe. The notched heel pressed down slowly, biting into the bones beneath.

She could feel it. That satisfying pressure traveling upward through her toes.

Crack—the foot bones gave first. Then down, deeper—shhhk—until finally the steel sole hit the carriage floor. Pierced clean through.

“Mmgggh!”

Mouth pinned shut, the coachman tried to scream through his nose. Hot breath flared against Qing’s cold fingers.

“Hi there, friend. When you make someone wait too long, they start to get... twitchy. So—how many of you are there? How much fun can I have?”

“Mmfff...”

“No answer? Guess that means—time to hurt.”

Qing’s toes shifted slightly. Just a half-inch over. And pressed down again.

Crunch.

The man’s eyes rolled back.

Qing scowled.

The bastard had passed out already? What the hell. She hadn’t even gotten to use her Sword Qi yet.

With a sigh, she pulled her foot back and scraped the blood from the sole on the floor. Then, she switched feet. Changed her target.

Click.

This time the blow landed clean.

“NGGH! HRRMGHH!”

The coachman snapped awake with a jolt.

Yep. That one really hit home.

“Now. I’m gonna let go. But if you make too much noise—I kill you. Got it? Nod for yes. Shake for no.”

“Mm! Mm!”

“Oh—right, I’ve got your mouth shut. Fine. Use your eyes. Nod up and down, or shake side to side.”

The man’s pupils started bobbing like mad, practically bouncing out of their sockets.

Qing hadn't even told him to use his eyebrows, but the guy was clearly motivated.

Pleased, Qing smiled and released his jaw.

He collapsed like a puppet with cut strings. He just sat there, hands flailing uselessly in midair, not even daring to touch the gaping holes in his feet.

Qing crouched down in front of him, eye to eye.

“So, Mister Coachman. What kind of poison knocks out a peak-level martial artist like that? And where’d you even get something that rare?”

“I-It was from the Black Market. And...”

Turned out, he’d bought a whole arsenal of exotic toxins. Paid with three full gold bars. Spent five years' worth of income just for this moment.

Everyone had laughed at him—but he swore he’d someday use them to take down a high-class woman so rare, no one else could even dream of touching her.

And hey, even if he sold her after he was done, she’d fetch more than enough to make it worth it.

“Ugh. Those Black Market bastards again...”

You could get anything from them—including poison, apparently.

She really should’ve wiped out the whole damn crew back then. But no—they’d warned her not to mess with them, so she’d let them go.

Regret didn’t change the past.

Better to look ahead. Focus on what she had now. Qing had always been good at that.

And so she did.

“You didn’t pull this stunt all on your own, did you? Gang? No, don’t care. Just tell me—how many?”