I Am This Murim's Crazy Bitch-Chapter 281: Transcendent Qing (18)

The Will of the Stars was the fundamental nature bestowed by the heavens.

In the Central Plains, they called it one's Heavenly Nature.

The higher a martial artist ascends in cultivation, the more they become capable of. And people—by their very nature—have this strange compulsion to do what they are capable of doing.

No one really knows why.

Back in Qing’s homeland, she’d seen it often—people doing weird, pointless things just because they could. Dozens of them. Hundreds. A species defined by its bizarre compulsions.

So it made sense. The higher a martial artist climbs, the less they can resist the pull of their true nature—until it inevitably erupts to the surface.

And that—ultimately—is the dividing line between the Orthodox and Unorthodox paths.

In Daoist and Buddhist sects, the core was spiritual cultivation. As one’s power increased, so too did the training of the heart, grounding them in self-discipline and restraint.

The great noble families, led by the Ten Great Clans, had their own safeguards: reputation.

They didn’t refrain from atrocity because they couldn’t—but because they didn’t want to disgrace their names. The family’s honor, their personal dignity—those became the leash.

But the Unorthodox Factions were different.

Their dream was, from ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) the beginning, to live without constraint. To seize the world and crush it beneath their boots. To act on every impulse, damn the consequences.

As their power grew, so did their capacity for cruelty.

Until, eventually, the line was crossed—and a new Demonic Head was born.

That’s why Qing’s Innate Energies had always been such a pain.

They were her will, her instincts—tied not just to her subconscious, but the deepest strata of her psyche.

They weren’t merely extensions of her spirit—they were nature’s energy borrowed for a time.

Her Innate Energies understood things even she didn’t. The inner workings of her own mind, the memories buried in the flow of heaven and earth.

True, sometimes the Supreme Purity Energy would suppress them when they got too rowdy.

But the one that suffered the most? The one working hardest?

Pure Yang Subtle Heart Technique.

Even the Maiden’s Delight Art had realized how dire things were. That her Heavenly Killer Star was activating. It knew her murderous intent was tipping over the edge—and decided to divert it into lust instead. To stop a rampage.

But, damn it—

This woman, despite having the form of the world's most divine vixen, didn’t generate Yin energy. No. Hers was Yang. Masculine. Like a damn man.

Which meant that poor little Maiden’s Delight Art, all pink and flowery, couldn’t do a damn thing.

So it turned to its sibling.

Pure Yang Subtle Heart, another Daoist art. Unlike Buddhist disciplines, Daoism didn’t consider joy to be a hindrance to enlightenment—called it nourishment of life instead.

It specialized in cleansing the mind, protecting the spirit.

Which made it perfect for redirecting murderous energy into raw sexual vigor.

So it had been fighting. Day and night. Constantly.

And thanks to it, even when Qing’s Heavenly Killer Star flared red-hot, she never went on a random slaughter. Didn’t tear innocent people apart.

Sure, the energy spilled out in... other ways. But that was the whole point, wasn't it?

The Innate Energies were always searching for answers. Deep in the darkness of her unconscious.

Now, with her transcendent breakthrough—when the Heavenly Killer Star fully ignited—her soul flared like a demon star, and her eyes rolled back in wild ecstasy.

She was past the point of control.

No prevention. No cure.

From the start, she hadn’t been built to resist it. Her foundation wasn’t that of a monk or sage. She didn’t avoid the Heavenly Killer Star—didn’t even try.

Just like hunger led to food, her craving for blood led her to hunt the wicked.

That she only killed villains—selectively—was thanks solely to Pure Yang Subtle Heart’s desperate efforts.

But this time, the Innate Energies had found their answer.

They let go.

Why interrupt a meal? Why ruin a climax?

Instead, they’d wait.

Wait for her to be satisfied—truly satisfied—and then pounce.

So the Daoist and Buddhist energies bided their time. Meanwhile, Pacheon Demonic Qi, ever clueless, got smacked around for laughing at the wrong moment.

They waited.

Waited for that one moment—the final breath of a lifelong villain, who’d never once felt shame for his crimes.

When every nerve in her body blazed like molten iron—

They struck.

Sometimes, you need fire to fight fire.

Overwhelm satisfaction with more satisfaction. Drive it so deep into the soul that it leaves an afterimage. That way, she wouldn't feel the urge again for a long time.

Do it enough times, and maybe Qing herself would develop the habit.

A kind of built-in suppression reflex. Instinctively purging the Heavenly Killer Star with a surge of Daoist and Buddhist clarity.

And so—led by the wickedly lewd Maiden’s Delight Art—all her other energies abandoned dignity, threw away solemnity and pride, and turned her body into a playground of shameless indulgence.

They tickled her spine. Whispered filth into her bones. Slathered her in lust, not for pleasure, but to smother the killing urge.

And then, the Awakening Energy, with one foot in the depths of her subconscious, confirmed the area was safe. No external threats.

With no distractions left, the Daoist and Buddhist techniques went full throttle.

Pouring in all their pent-up resentment:

You should’ve feared the Heavenly Killer Star!

You shouldn’t have messed around with demonic techniques!

And finally, their master—Qing—collapsed.

Her consciousness flicked off.

Eyes rolled white.

Foam bubbling from her lips.

Unconscious.

****

“...Gate, gate, pāragate, pārasaṃgate, bodhi svāhā...”

The chanting was clear. Clean. Beautiful.

It was the first thing Seol Iri heard as she gently returned to consciousness.

She didn’t open her eyes immediately.

Just basked in the sound. So pure. So peaceful.

Then—suddenly—she sat bolt upright.

“Aje aje bara-aje bara-sung-aje moja saha... Oh! Seol Sojeo. You’re awake?”

Greeting her was Qing.

Sitting nude in a full lotus position, reciting the Heart Sutra with a warm, peaceful smile.

Her eyes sparkled like she’d cast off a heavy burden. Like she’d reached nirvana.

Seol Iri blinked.

Was her gaze always this... pure?

It looked like something from an enlightened monk. Completely free from worldly desire.

Odd.

Still—Qing being naked didn’t really bother her.

She’d seen it before. Qing was the kind of person who shed clothes like they were heavy armor.

Probably took them off after fighting the coachman. Yeah. That made sense. The coachman—

“...What is it?”

“Nothing.”

Seol Iri compressed the entire absurd dream—getting drugged and attacked—into a single word. Nothing.

A revolutionary act of verbal thrift.

Qing just smiled again, gently.

But then, a little awkwardness crept into her face. Her brows twitched.

“Seol Sojeo... I mean, I already know the answer, but I’ll ask anyway.”

“...?”

“Do you, by any chance... know how to drive a carriage?” frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓

Honestly, Qing wasn’t expecting anything.

But then—

“Yes.”

“...What?”

“I do.”

Seol Iri nodded again.

Qing’s eyes flew wide open.

So clear. So astonished.

Seol Iri felt... weirdly proud. Wait, should she feel proud about this?

Qing was absolutely floored.

You? A pampered noble girl? Who didn’t know the most basic common knowledge?

Could drive a carriage?

How?! Was it just something she picked up when she was bored?

Hah. Guess even slugs can roll.

Who would’ve thought such a trashy, lowly skill could be hiding in her?

“...See, the coachman is probably halfway across the Styx by now. Turns out he was a serial predator. I couldn’t just let someone like that live. So it wasn’t an accident. I executed him. Righteous justice and all that. As a proud member of the orthodox path. Totally not my fault.”

Carriage-driving was a lowborn trade.

Qing only asked because she was desperate. That’s all. Hence the long explanation.

“So, Seol Sojeo, do you think you could drive us a bit? Better than walking in this rain, right?”

“Yes.”

Seol Iri answered without hesitation.

Getting drenched while walking versus getting drenched while sitting? No contest.

And driving meant a seat—usually with a canopy. Less rain.

Besides, Qing had saved her.

Fought off the attacker. Got soaked in the process. Naked or not, she had clearly protected her.

And if she hadn’t... if she hadn’t...

They both knew how close it had been.

So Seol Iri rose obediently to take the reins.

“...Oh. Right. Seol Sojeo.”

She turned.

Qing looked sheepish.

“Since you’ll get wet anyway, how about giving me back that dry robe and wearing that one instead? You know, the one you’re wearing—it was mine originally. Sorry to take it back, but no reason for both of us to suffer, right?”

A vein twitched visibly on Seol Iri’s forehead.

****

In the end, it wasn’t gratitude that powered Seol Iri through the storm and her clogged nose.

It was spite.

Was it really so much to expect?

She gave her food. A room. Clothes.

Would it kill her to show a little shame?

And wasn’t she the one who’d insisted on picking the coachman?

Shouldn’t she at least pretend to help?

Qing grumbled internally.

Totally not because she didn’t get her robe back. Definitely not that.

Still—Seol Iri was good.

Shockingly good.

Carriage-driving might not seem like it required much skill, but in truth? It was an art.

The roads in the Central Plains were awful. Barely roads at all.

And with no concept of shock absorption in this primitive world, every single rock, rut, or clump of dirt got transmitted directly to the passenger’s spine.

A good coachman kept the horses steady. Managed speed. Minimized jolts.

In the rain? That difficulty tripled.

You had to read the mud—was it shallow? Was there a hole? Would a wheel drop?

And rain blurred the eyes, soaked the world in slashing gray lines.

And yet—Seol Iri navigated it all like a master.

Better than most professionals Qing had seen.

Which was saying something, considering most of them had decades of experience driving (and part-timing as robbers, killers, and rapists).

Of course, it helped that Seol Iri was a martial artist. At least a mid-tier one. Still...

Was this her real calling?

What a tragedy. Born in the wrong era.

Could’ve been the queen of carriage-driving.

If only she’d been born into a better time.