Chapter 289

For several days, it had been pouring rain—like, torrential downpours—and honestly, it’s no surprise that a part of the softened mountainside collapsed.

Luckily, I only heard it from afar, but it was still unsettling.

Is this place okay?

It won’t just collapse, right?

But I have no other options.

The primitive ancient night is just an utter blackness, with no moonlight or any other light source.

The only lighting you could possibly carry is a torch or a lantern, and under this heavy rain, that’s practically useless.

So, descending the mountain at night is out of the question, and even if I did, there’s no guarantee I’d be safe.

It might even be safer at the mountain peak.

At least those stupid bandits wouldn’t build their lair where it could just collapse, right?

Having made that decision, Qing headed towards the bandit’s den.

Under a huge roof, I suppose you’d call it.

With no walls, one side has the entrance to a building where a large bonfire is brightly lit.

I mean, come on, it’s obvious those bandits wouldn’t sleep on the ground in a roofed shelter.

So, are they really bandits? More like savages.

Hmm? They do seem like savages, actually.

Anyway, finding the best room wasn’t rocket science; I just had to walk down the hallway and look for the flashiest door.

Usually, the less authoritative people are, the more they cling to authority. So at the end of the corridor, a large door decorated in gold and crimson stands out, lit by a lantern that screams, “I’m here! This is the boss’s room!”

Since it’s neither my house nor am I a guest, Qing, with hands bound thanks to Seoliri, deftly kicked the door open.

With precision, the door swung open like a drawbridge, exposing the insides.

And inside there was—

“Lady. The smell of a widower…”

Qing’s flawless face twisted in disgust.

As soon as the door crashed down, a strong odor of widower hit me hard; it felt like my nose might just fall right off.

At least the bed looked decent.

It was wide, tall, and high, so it seemed like a fancy bed, but the silk covering it—

Ugh, it just had that expensive feel but was yellowed at the edges. And getting closer, I realized the source of the horrendous scent was the crumpled blanket lying on the bed.

When Qing lifted the blanket, an even more awful, clammy smell like decaying night flowers rushed at me.

Aaah, that’s disgusting, just filthy.

Carefully, Qing laid Seoliri down and wrapped her in the blanket.

She was soaked and needed to retain body heat, after all.

Seoliri turned her head painfully, her big eyes following Qing.

“The smell…”

“What’s a little smell? Even if it’s filthy, it’s still a blanket; what, you think there’s pee on it? Probably just the boss’s sweat and drool. It’s fine, just a bit stinky.”

Qing’s expression soured.

Turns out, saying it out loud made it creepier and even filthier than he thought.

Meanwhile, with her eyes widening like saucers, Seoliri squirmed and grimaced as if in pain.

“See? You’re not feeling great. Wait here for a moment; I’ll go get some fresh clothes.”

Feeling a desperate urge to escape this dreadful stench, Qing’s words blurted out uncontrollably.

As he stepped back towards the carriage, he suddenly glanced outside.

“This rain is really coming down hard.”

Never had he faced such relentless rain during his five years in the Martial World.

Well, at five years, it was time to experience heavy rains, I suppose.

But, was the Young Master still alive?

Anyway, Qing darted out into the downpour, heading toward a puddle he had roughly thrown his soaking clothes onto.

With a splat, the refreshing sound of water echoed, but all he felt was the intense raindrops hitting his face.

Amidst a pile of corpses lay the Young Master, bleeding bubbles from his mouth.

Over three hundred kinds of evil deeds flashed before his eyes, and wow, he was still alive!

Maybe because he was a bad guy, his life was quite resilient.

However, even if the best doctors were in front of him now, he was done for.

Had he thought he might survive, he wouldn’t have thrown himself out; it was more out of laziness than any intention to leave him to fate.

Whatever. Just silly.

Bored, Qing turned away.

Back at the carriage, he loaded up all the precious gold into the compartments and piled up rusted weapons to disguise them.

After that, still being night, Qing crawled into the carriage, threw a blanket over himself, and killed some time.

He might have nodded off a bit or maybe not at all.

Then, morning came.

With dawn, the rain eased to a drizzle, and the thick dark clouds that completely obscured the sky were somewhat dissipated, allowing for a somewhat less gloomy day.

Aah, wasn’t there a landslide last night?

Wearing his large hat, Qing effortlessly leaped up to a tower he didn’t even know existed and scanned the mountainside.

Ah, it wasn’t a landslide; it was a flood!

When he looked down, the tributary of the Yellow River flowing south of the mountain had overflowed, turning everything below into a brutal wreck.

It truly looked like a scene from a disaster movie, a thick band of yellow mud and fallen trees stretched as far as he could see from the east and west ridges.

If I’d been down there…

Then he realized, if the coachman hadn’t pulled him into the den, he might have been swept away too.

There was a road that hugged the mountain and the river, but right now, even with his eyes peeled, he couldn’t spot a single pebble from that road.

Hey, Mr. Coachman. You had a grand plan, didn’t you?

I hadn’t even considered that…

Before I die, I’ve done something good, so maybe the King of Hell will ease up my sentence a bit.

Qing wasn’t a fantastic cook, but he wasn’t awful either.

In fact, Qing’s eating habits were far from picky.

He wasn’t picky per se; more like he had a school of thought that everything tasted good, and he’d gobble it down.

And this type isn’t particularly good at cooking.

But Qing remembered the tastes of various ingredients he had eaten vividly, so even his rough oil-fried dishes ended up somewhat decent.

He tossed dry meat into a pot, threw in some herbs to take out the smell, poured in rice and barley, and boiled it all together into a big pot of congee.

“Seoliri? Wake up and eat breakfast. We need to head out soon; I’ve made porridge.”

“Porridge.”

At the mention of porridge, Seoliri suddenly bolted upright from sleeping but then went limp and flopped back on the bed.

“Seoliri? Are you alright?”

“Yes.”

She kept saying she was alright, but when he checked yesterday, her whole body was covered in bruises.

Her entire back, shoulders, arms, and legs were dotted with blue marks, yet the inside of her torso and limbs remained fine and pale.

This meant she hadn’t fought back at all but just curled up and took all those hits.

One wonders how she wasn’t seriously injured.

No, a warrior should at least fight back.

Otherwise, you might as well just let yourself get beaten until death.

So there she was being dragged around by the hair, no wonder her skills were subpar and her attitude stank.

“Can’t stand? Carry me?”

“No.”

Despite saying no, Seoliri slowly pulled herself up, moving like an old man, using the wall for support, taking hesitant steps.

Qing wasn’t about to push a reluctant person, so he just walked slowly ahead.

They enjoyed a hearty breakfast.

Now it was time to leave.

“Can you drive the carriage?”

“I’ll do it.”

“No, if you mess up, we’ll end up crashing together! It’s not about whether you want to or can; it’s whether you can or can’t!”

Upon hearing that, Seoliri bit her lip.

Her spirit was commendable, but a girl who trembles while trying to shovel food wouldn’t be able to drive a carriage, would she?

As Qing narrowed his eyes, Seoliri offered a different answer.

“I’ll teach you.”

“Teach me what? How to drive the carriage?”

“Yes.”

“You think teaching will make me a pro in one go?”

“It’s easy.”

Qing liked living villains, not dead meat; sticking around a den filled with corpses was too much for him.

So it became Qing’s first experience as a coachman!

Surprisingly, it was easy.

After all, horses have eyes.

Plus, horses are incredibly timid beings.

Animals with eyes are easily scared; they instinctively avoid obstacles and refuse to move into dangerous situations.

The reason warhorses are expensive is that training such a timorous creature to charge at an enemy is a horrendous task.

“Wow, being a coachman is super easy!”

Obviously, it’s one of the lowest jobs out there, as anyone can do it.

Sure, accelerating or monitoring road conditions to ensure a good ride requires significant skill, but if the only goal is to pull a carriage, anyone with reins can let a horse lead the way.

Horses prefer well-maintained, solid roads than thickets or trees to trot on.

While the road is slippery and downhill, since the bandit den was set up as a base, they’d paved a winding yet moderate downhill route that’s somehow manageable.

The wheels eventually sank into the mud now and then.

But with Qing the exceptional martial artist, it was all in a day’s work.

If he got stuck, he could just shove the carriage free and hop back into the coachman’s seat while enjoying the gentle sway of the horse’s backside, only to get stuck again.

They say horses are clever, and boy were they right!

Whenever the carriage got stuck, the horse would come to a halt and turn its head toward Qing.

As if to say, “Hey! Why are you just sitting there? Get moving!”

And that’s when the frustration reared its head.

What kind of agony is this?

Seolhwa’s only redeeming quality was knowing how to drive a carriage, and now I’m doing it all myself!

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