Chapter 222

Cheon Yu-hak, saying he had errands today, dashed off, leaving Qing pondering desperately over what to do. With his usual impulsiveness, he inquired where to find a large fabric store.

“What’s the point of keeping things pack up when you can’t even hold on?” he had fallen for Cheon Yu-hak’s words, and as he stepped outside, he felt the need for appropriate clothing.

“What type of clothing are you looking for?”

“I want to buy some coarse cloth. Do you have fine ones in the highest quality?”

“Ah! Welcome! We just received an exquisite piece made from one hundred eighty threads and spun with six strands. How about having a look?”

One hundred eighty refers to the thickness of the thread; the higher the number, the thinner the fabric. Six strands indicate how many threads were twisted together.

In other words, the clerk meant a coarse cloth made from very thin yarn with six twisted strands.

“Oh, do you have that? Can I take a look?”

“Of course!”

Just by talking about the one hundred eighty count and six strands, one could tell that the softness was extraordinary.

Upon touching the fabric the clerk handed over, it glimmered softly and felt as smooth as silk.

It was indeed a perplexing item. If it’s like that, it would be better to just use silk instead.

“This is nice. How much is it? How much do you have?”

The clerk’s expression brightened instantly.

A big customer!

Qing, who didn’t know how to save money, blew all his cash on the expensive cloth and started wandering among the garments hanging in the store.

“Do you have any specific outfit you’re looking for?”

“Not really. Just browsing.”

Saying “just browsing” translates to “I’ll look by myself, so please don’t talk to me.”

The clerk, wearing a disappointed expression, stepped back, and Qing surveyed the clothing displays.

However, having never paid attention to clothing, how would he know? When he saw the thin attire, they were all too revealing and embarrassing, yet his master’s words kept lingering in his mind.

While he was flustered, he suddenly noticed a garment standing out.

“Oh. What’s that?”

Instantly, he was drawn to a coarse ceremonial robe.

“That robe over there…”

The clerk, who had been glancing at the big customer, rushed over.

“Hehe, it’s a unique piece, isn’t it?”

The clerk explained that it was a garment ordered by a nobleman’s wife. Originally, it was made as mourning attire, but before it could be completed, she had gone into mourning instead.

Since it was the highest quality robe, they couldn’t simply discard it. So, they dyed it and hung it up for display.

“What do you think? Isn’t the black color delicately beautiful? The weave is so fine, there’s no imperfection even with the dyeing. It’s a testament to my dyeing skills. If you have any other garments to dye…”

After hearing the explanation, Qing realized it wasn’t a dress for sale but rather a showcase for dyeing talent.

In the Central Plains, black doesn’t mean completely black like in Qing’s hometown. It refers to a deep gray, which modern mothers would describe as dark mouse gray.

It’s not entirely black but gives off a bright feel while not being too bright due to the black base.

So, properly dyed black indeed presents a very elegant and understated impression.

The color was indeed exquisite, but that wasn’t all Qing was thinking.

His eyes lit up, and he asked brightly, “How much for that?”

Mourning attire has historically been uncomfortable to wear. It is a garment used to display the sad state of losing a parent, teacher, or an indifferent ruler, exposing that sorrow to the world without having any way to prove it.

Hence, although they might feel it in their hearts, these garments were made precisely to flaunt how uncomfortable one should feel.

However, the dye was done so elegantly that it didn’t feel like mourning attire at all.

Yet, the discomfort was real.

“Ugh….”

Qing’s thought process was straightforward. If being in a good mood was a problem, wouldn’t it be better to get used to feeling terrible all the way?

The overly soft silk caressing his skin was too excessive; wouldn’t wearing a scrappy robe that scratches his skin be a solution?

So with a fluttering heart, he tried it on immediately, and wow, this was something.

Originally, coarse fabric is rough and stiff, but when treated with grass and rubbed repeatedly, the stiffness disappears while the yarns become jagged, making it even coarser.

Furthermore, since this was dyed fabric, dyeing it after weaving it made it rougher because the chemicals used to fix the color would make the material even coarser.

Thus the result was closer to a scrub pad than textile, almost similar to sandpaper used for woodwork back in Qing’s hometown.

As if wearing clothes made out of sandpaper on his sensitive skin felt like his skin was being eroded with every movement.

“Wow, this is overwhelmingly intense from start to finish.”

Yet, it was much better to feel pain.

Every movement causing his skin to rub against the coarse material made him scream, but it also kept his mind sharp and aware.

Plus, it was fitting for training.

The robe was originally designed for good airflow.

Moreover, the stiff jacket is a hindrance to movement, so it would allow cool air to circulate beneath it.

As it started to get warm, at least he would appreciate having some coolness.

“Wow.”

It was uncomfortable to the point of being sore and painful, but adopting it would be necessary.

According to Cheon Yu-hak, there’s no particular training for sensing space through skin.

It’s a result built from a collection of unconscious experiences.

Living in a breezy environment for one or two years would naturally open one’s perceptions to what might be behind at any given moment.

If he wanted to shorten that learning phase, he would have no choice but to run around naked; hence, it was essential to wear clothes that let the air flow freely and visit as many places as possible.

Experiencing various environments—be it airy, congested, or crowded—would help hone his senses.

Of course, for Qing, that was still a far-off challenge.

At a time when he hadn’t even adjusted to his current sensitivity, how could he think about breezes?

While walking through the night streets during the opening festivities, Qing mused, “My skin feels like it’s being shredded. Am I bleeding? I wish I could just give up and sleep.”

Yet even with that grimace, he managed to keep going until late in the night, after all, there was a sense of pride.

“Wow, today was rewarding, wasn’t it? Almost every moment of life feels like training.”

This kind of empty pride was hardly something to celebrate, more like a self-soothing comfort.

But it was still much better than living indulgently while avoiding challenges, so one could say he was improved from before.

—-

The Grand Council was a gathering of high-ranking members of the Martial Alliance to discuss major future projects.

The Martial Tournament allows anyone to participate, but crucial matters like this are decided among themselves.

During this shadowy meeting, Seomun Sulin voiced her strong objections.

“How long will we let the Blackspots run rampant? With their misbehavior increasing, can the orthodox Martial Alliance just stand idly by?”

Seomun Sulin, a skilled elder, spoke without hesitation, causing the expressions of others to grow dark.

“But Senior, not all of the Blackspots are wicked. There are plenty of common folks who rely on them for survival; we can’t just stir trouble blindly.”

The Blackspots may be hubs for all sorts of nefarious dealings, but they’re also a lifeline for wandering merchants without shops.

Encouraged, members added their thoughts.

Among the Blackspots’ customers were many loyal warriors; getting rid of them would complicate the processes of avoiding official attention and quickly procuring rare items.

The Blackspots could be villainous, but they also had a tendency to cooperate durably with the Martial Alliance to ensure order.

The main point was addressed by Great Master Muhak.

“Seomun, what should we do about the Blackspots, then? These people aren’t likely to quit just because we tell them to, and we can’t toss them all out.”

“Hmph. What do you mean you can’t kill scoundrels? If you’re going to blather about doctrines…”

“So how far do you intend to go with executions? The bandits and their middlemen? What about the suppliers who directly provide goods? What about the simple goods sellers? What about the thieving bandits? Should we kill those who harm people but let the petty thieves go free?”

Seomun Sulin grimaced.

Damned monk drooling on endlessly.

The courtesy he showed when speaking to anyone was infuriatingly snake-like.

Why should there be a standard for choosing who lives and dies when catching criminals?

If someone stands out, they die; if someone’s lucky, they may live. Somebody might stick to their old ways and end up getting cut down, or, if they happen to think better of it, turn towards the light.

After all, the Martial Alliance wasn’t a congregation of kind-hearted beings cruising the celestial realms, so it was nonsensical to lay down rules for executions.

Therefore, if someone was to raise standards, how could they possibly respond?

It was truly cowardly rhetoric.

All that he could do was let out a deep sigh and throw threats around.

“If we keep avoiding uncomfortable matters, it’ll definitely lead to bigger disasters. They’re escalating in their liberties, and one day they’ll cause a big scene. Will you let the shame pass when it blows up then? How do you intend to mend the hearts of the people?”

“If they go too far, just punish them. Since it’s not us committing these vile acts, why would the people blame us?”

The resolution was rejected.

“Tsk.”

Seomun Sulin clicked his tongue.

This was why he hated participating in the Martial Council.

Irrespective, the Grand Council continued.

“Next, we’ll discuss a matter brought up by Master Cheonbi regarding the opening of Yijeong Muhak Institute…”

—-

On the second day of the Martial Tournament, there was a competition between teams two and four.

Qing had claimed a seat in the audience due to Seomun Sulin’s recommendation to watch the match of the Shaolin disciple, Wolbong.

This was to let Qing see the so-called first-rate martial arts of Shaolin and prepare for the semifinals.

To his right was the commentator, Je-gal Lee-hyun, and to his left was the friend liaison, Tang Nan-ah.

On his lap, the adorable Jiegal Hyang settled in perfectly.

For Qing, it was a setup that couldn’t be envied—having a friendly audience and assistance while keeping a pet.

However,

“Ugh.”

Jiegal Hyang was still just a child by Korean standards, so the martial arts match might not seem particularly entertaining to her.

Sitting on his lap, she swung her legs around, unable to sit still, making that scrub-like fabric irritate his skin.

As Qing emitted pained groans, Jiegal Hyang arched her back and looked up at him.

“Sister Gaga, am I heavy? Oh, so cozy!”

Jiegal Hyang rocked back and forth, bumping her crown against his chest.

Qing felt his heart thump, wondering, what on earth is this cute creature? How can she be this adorable?

“No, Hyang isn’t heavy. But are you not having fun?”

“Hmm… a little. Yawn.”

Then she yawned.

Qing beamed at her and wrapped his arms around Jiegal Hyang, letting her lean against him.

“Then, just go ahead and take a nap. Lean comfortably.”

“I’m not sleepy…”

Yet, soon after, Jiegal Hyang dozed off right in his arms.

Children have a knack for sleeping quickly.

Qing felt relieved and settled in to enjoy the martial arts match when he suddenly tilted his head.

“Wasn’t that Wang So-hyeop? Did he always act like that?”

“The chair broke in the last preliminaries, so he had to grab a new one. While swords are strong against blades, martial arts weaponry would leave their edge dulled,” the commentator replied.

“No, that’s not what I meant…”

Qing was observing the martial artist Wang So-hyeop using his unique weapon. He recalled that he had caught his attention during the previous rounds; suddenly, Wang So-hyeop had turned into a complete villain. What on earth happened?

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