750 - I Am This Murim’s Crazy B*tch

There's a saying in the art of war: to deceive the enemy, you must first deceive your own allies. In Qing's hometown, many people mistakenly believe this comes from Sun Tzu's "The Art of War," but in truth, it originates from an ancient strategy manual of unknown authorship called the "Thirty-Six Stratagems." And who is your greatest ally, if not yourself? To deceive the enemy, deceive your own heart! Thus, Qing repeatedly murmurs to herself. I am a patient. I am a very sick patient. I am practically a corpse-in-waiting, a breathing cadaver. My whole body hurts, and it feels like I'm on the brink of death... Her shoulders gradually slump, and her once energetic expression turns somber, filled with a pitiful sorrow. With naturally pale skin, her expression now looks hauntingly pallid as if illness casts a shadow over her face. In reality, for Qing's people, feigning illness to the point of becoming immersed in it is not an exceptional skill. In Qing's homeland, there is a culture of honing the art of feigned illness from school days to achieve personal freedom. So, it might be because Qing perfected this skill from a young age that she can pretend to be sick with such authenticity. Moreover, Qing feels justified. Technically speaking, is it really a lie? Fragments still remain in her muscles. The larger pieces have been removed, but numerous small fragments, like millet grains, are left behind. The fragments are very fine, so the pain is minor. It’s something she can endure, similar to sore muscles from overuse, concentrated in the abdomen and thighs, bearable enough to withstand. From experience, if left alone, the fragments will be pushed out by muscle movement and settle just under the skin. Then, she can squeeze them out with a slight prick, so the treatment is almost complete. In any case, is she a patient? Yes. Is it a serious injury? If not for the Blood Poisoning Constitution, the wound could have caused high fever and necrosis due to an immune response, so yes. So, is she in pain? Hmm. It's not uncomfortable to the extent, but yes. Therefore, Qing confidently pretends to be in pain. She has every right to feign illness. Because she really is in pain. Finally ready to depart, Qing deliberately drags her feet, moving sluggishly as if fragile. Before she even enters the hall, she hesitates and sways, feigning dizziness, even though no one is watching – an impeccable act. She reaches the hall and knocks on the door of the VIP room. For someone from Qing's hometown, they might wonder what exactly are eunuchs? A group of castrated power holders? Isn’t it strange? If borrowing a familiar concept from Qing's homeland, eunuchs are the stewards of the royal family. Eunuchs are organized into twenty-four departments, each with its own responsibilities. Departments for maintaining the palace, making furniture, producing daily necessities, crafting royal garments, making royal underwear (exists separately), dyeing these productions, making royal tissue(!), managing pets, preparing meals, cleaning the inner palace, cleaning the outer palace, managing heating and cooling, playing background music, etc. With this setup, how can eunuchs be seen by the royals? To the royals, eunuchs are servants they see daily, caretakers since childhood, and thus become their most comfortable friends. Therefore, the power of eunuchs comes directly from the favor of the royal family. And here. The Imperial Chamberlain holds a position close to the highest echelon of eunuchs, having a team of around six to assist and carry out duties under the Grand Eunuch. Because eunuchs derive their power from the favor of the royals, those in higher positions must have served the royals closely. A knock on the door. Wei Basan looks up with a smile. Smiling is a basic expectation from a eunuch, after all. However, his thoughts were more calculating. Surely, she won't follow along easily, mayhaps pretending to be sick? Let’s see her feign illness to what extent. Truthfully, feigning illness is a common ruse. No matter how much Sima ChungBong is praised as a brilliant woman of the world, possessing unmatched wisdom, she pales in comparison to an aged eunuch who's spent a lifetime in political stratagems and schemes. In another aspect, there's mild anticipation. Instead of the common ruse of pretending to be sick, or claiming a parent's illness, mourning, or family duties as an excuse, wouldn’t it be nice if she invents something new and innovative? The door slides open. The lights illuminate a charming face. Slightly furrowed brows, unfocused eyes, a pale complexion. She is quite tall for a woman, carries herself with a hint of indecisiveness, which makes her appear somewhat worn. More than worn out? Her approach mimics a turtle on land, twisting your patience as you observe her sluggish pace. She seems to be proclaiming her illness with her entire body, every action, until finally she speaks with pale lips contrasting her striking red lipstick. ‘Wei Shangxian, I am so sick.’ Wei Basan feigns indignation. ‘Ah, my dear, you seem gravely ill. Whatever could the palace attendants be doing to let such noble health be disrupted by illness? I shall have all those scoundrels executed and mounted at the city gate.’ ‘Oh? No? There's no need to go that far. Maybe it’s just a simple cold... Cough, hmm.’ ‘Did those filthy servants fail to keep the fires burning last night? Did the cleaners neglect their duties so much that illness took hold?’ ‘No, sometimes one just gets tired…’ ‘I’ll have them just, Princess, remain here. I’ll slay their necks before the heat fades and enjoy tea with their heads!’ ‘Hey, if that’s the case, I should start with Shangxian's neck, hmm? I’m seriously ill, feverish, my whole body aches, and I’m coughing, ahem. See, I’m unwell.’ ‘Please keep that fever running. Only then can I take my time to present them, sip tea, and indulge in a nap.’ ‘Excuse me? Shangxian? I'm talking here, hello, are you listening? Do you see me?’ The woman waves her palm in front of Wei Basan’s eyes. Wei Basan pretended not to notice. Whenever a meeting with the Emperor was imminent, she would always feign illness, so he humorously encouraged her to perk up her spirits— "Elder? Excuse me?" "Yes, yes. It's Wei Shangxian. But you still can't call me that." Suddenly, Wei Basan's voice cut off. When the white palm stopped waving in front of his eyes, a foreign look in her gaze met him, as if encountering a stranger. Wei Basan's eyes trembled slightly. Once, there was a beloved princess among the eunuchs. Yeonsul. A lively and mischievous spirit of the royal family. Except for her overly grown physique from a young age, she had no trace of femininity. A genial troublemaker who laughed heartily and ran around like a boy. But she never harbored hatred and would easily open her heart, showering affection and often displaying child-like dependence with a radiant smile. So much so that not a single eunuch or palace maid didn't cherish her like a daughter. Of course, that princess Yeonsul is alive and well. But even if someone hasn't died, they can still experience loss—after her serious illness, she changed. Considering how beautiful that princess was, it's not surprising, seeing as her once-clear face bore scars and her memories were no longer intact. But then, this woman, why was he dwelling on the past like a foolish old man, ensnared in nostalgia? Could this be how the princess who only grew physically from an early age would have been if she hadn’t suffered from fever? It wasn't just because she resembled someone she knew. The way her eyebrows knitted in feigned pain, the aimlessly unfocused gaze, the subtly upward-bending lips forming a smile even amidst discomfort—all mirrored the expressions and habits he once knew. "Was it Wei Shangxian, elder?" "Shangxian is not my name, um... Heavenly Sword Flower?" "Yes, though undeserving, you graciously address me with such an honor. Cough, cough." Even that deliberately faked cough rang familiar, unexpectedly stirring up nostalgia. "Is it a cold you've caught? You don't seem well at all now that I see you. The weather has indeed been troubling lately, hasn't it?" "Not a cold... I was afflicted by the Lesser Demon Sorceress—you may not know, but that Lesser Demonic Poison is intensely—" Wei Basan interrupted with a stern voice. It felt like a sudden splash of cold water. She is the Heavenly Sword Flower and a Transcendent Realm martial artist. Do Transcendent martial artists simply spring into being overnight, after a year or two of training? They must have consumed countless precious elixirs from a young age, transforming their bodies, and worked tirelessly with the sword to reach such a peak at a young age. By sheer coincidence, the resemblance is striking, but a lively, cheerful woman with such a disposition could be found almost anywhere. Now, having regained his composure, so she claimed to suffer from Lesser Demonic Poison? "Is Lesser Demonic Poison truly such a severe ordeal?" "Yes. Though I am suppressing it as best I can, since there's no real improvement, I humbly wish to present myself to the palace in better health, if permitted, that is..." Qing gently steered the conversation to her main point. Could she not delay her visit to recover from her ailments? "I see. Having heard of the heroic deed of the young hero who repelled the Lesser Demon Sorceress, I brought some tonic to fortify your internal injuries, but if you don't mind, may I also take your pulse for a more accurate prescription?" Wei Basan had anticipated this excuse long ago. What better pretense than Lesser Demonic Poison for feigning illness? The poison, once it penetrates, devastates the meridians from the Dantian with its extreme chill, providing a perfect excuse to delay recovery. "Ah. Are you skilled in medicine...?" "It's not quite a medical skill. A true healer is within the palace, after all. If you find my abilities wanting, why not enter the palace and receive treatment from the palace physician?" Basically, his words meant this: I know it's all a ruse. If you don't intend to get caught by laying bare your feigned illness, then just follow me willingly. Claiming you're ready to go won't make me question whether you're faking it or not. Qing thought, Ah, this bastard is a martial artist after all. Most male martial artists had a prominent Taiyang Acupoint, exuding a domineering presence with their vigorous Yang energy. Yet, being a castrated eunuch, his Taiyang Acupoint was flat, and instead of vigor, there was that peculiar eunuch-like subservience. Truly fooled her. But, why did he behave in a strangely familiar manner? Was it her imagination? The way he'd expose his knowing smirk as if saying, "I know it's all a farce," but still played along. Tentatively, Qing offered her wrist. "If you’re concerned for my serious internal injury, I shamelessly ask for the tonic, please..." And Wei Basan's eyes narrowed. Had she genuinely been afflicted with the serious Lesser Demonic Poison? Or did she simply decide to demand the tonic, knowing he was intent on taking her along regardless? Wei Basan took Qing's wrist to feel her pulse. A faint, cold flow of internal energy sensed along the meridians, probing within until he gasped. "What in the world... How can you sit here so composed?" "When one of the kingdom's officials comes, I cannot receive him lying down..." Wei Basan was taken aback. The chill, beyond merely cold, was of such extreme frigidity that even describing it as frozen felt insufficient. Lesser Demonic Poison was known for its infamy, but could it really be this severe? The coldest energy in existence, the fabled North Sea Ice Crystal—could it truly rival such frigidness? Because, indeed, it was the Ice Crystal. Qing had mastered the Ice-White Divine Arts and had formed the Ice Crystal in her Dantian, freely releasing the true energy to thoroughly block around her Dantian. Anyone unfamilar feeling her pulse could only assume the unprecedented cold was freezing her from the Dantian to the extremities. "Foolishly, I can't stand the thought of appearing before the Emperor while in such a state..." Qing said, extending her hand further. Her intent was clear. "Have you not learned that if you're uncertain, don't risk it? What are you doing, not giving me the tonic?" Wei Basan swallowed his curses internally. Damn it, what was the point of summoning the Heavenly Sword Flower if it was going to be like this? If left alone, she seemed destined to die anyway, so why call her in just to get the tonic extracted from us, then potentially get treated by the palace physicians afterward? he thought.