914 - I Am This Murim’s Crazy B*tch

On the raised platform, a heavy silence hung in the air. But it was only temporary. "[Who are the true monsters here? Are they those pitiful beings in comical monster masks, the fathers who toil to feed their families, or you, who wear the guise of men only to leech off the very lifeblood of others?]" Beyond the veil, a color faintly glows. Red like a flower, yellow like the eye of a beast, yet shining with the most precious hue of purple, and as blue as the clear daytime sky — and yet, resembling none of these shades, a color unwitnessed in the world. "[I have come down here to eliminate the monsters disrupting my domain, so what are you waiting for? Smite the monsters hiding behind human masks.]" Qing extended her finger calmly. Just as the local magistrate opened his mouth to protest. "[G-gah!]" "[Y-you wretched, insolent bastards!]" A crowd of beings, gathered thickly at the platform's landing, suddenly began to charge forward, clutching their clubs. The hall was soon filled with nothing but the noise of beatings, the relentless thrumming of sticks against flesh, and the anguished cries echoing like a cacophony. The anger of the oppressed is often too late once it erupts. Even when faced with outrage, those who cannot express their ire against the barriers of reality are usually labeled weaklings. Yet when their anger, suppressed and compressed into a tight seal, finally bursts forth, it does so with a repercussion proportionate to the density of the wrath it had accumulated. And so, the wrath of the masked players, akin to a volcanic eruption or a mighty wave rushing in, surged forth in a majestic flow. The performers, having thoroughly beaten the bureaucrats and local officials who had been idling on the platform, advanced to occupy the main office, bringing down the guards. As the storeroom of the main office was swung open: "[Look at this, it's all rice, rice!]" "[They concocted mixtures of bran and sand for our grain loans, yet here they are, hoarding bags of rice...!]" "[Is this rice flour? These scoundrels were planning to feast on cakes while we starved to death!]" The sight of the overflowing storeroom only further fueled the fury of the hungry commoners. The testimonies given to Qing, though with some exaggeration, had not fabricated anything. The claim that each household had someone who had starved to death was somewhat exaggerated, but stating that every three or four houses had lost someone to hunger was indeed true. Combining those who succumbed to hunger-induced illnesses, it could be said there was no exaggeration. So, how must the masked performers have felt, beholding the heaps of grain in the storeroom? "[This, this is all...]" bWpnL1VNWWVlR0h2N0IyVWd5ZUJTeTU4d1BCaW1Id0pOZFVrZk1vckQySE1jajU2QnZNQ2N5OGIzZ0h2a2o5Uw "[If only we had this, we could've eaten our fill until next autumn's harvest...]" "[Yet they kept hoarding it so cruelly...!]" Raging commoners, eyes wild and arms armed with clubs, with torches in their other hands, took to the dark night. Soon enough, the grand tiled houses of bureaucrats and officials echoed with screams and the cries of their dying breaths, like a tempest. After all, the people of Joseon were known for their fiery dispositions—they were the famed stone-throwing nation. While the brawls in Zhongyuan were battles fought by entire villages, where winners became masters and losers became slaves for survival and prosperity, the stone fights of Joseon were games. These games involved hurling stones at each other, not war, but a bloodied traditional game open only to the true men! Therefore, the Dongyi people never shied away from spilling blood. When faced with the hilarious rebellion of the enraged lower classes, even the nobles and the middle-caste, along with their servants, wrestled grudgingly, and that was it. The nobles, faces broken, were dragged out by their hair. The young master infamous for his debauchery and arrogance, the vicious mistress who cruelly drew tears from the servants every day, the landowner who displayed arrogance as a higher noble, and the middle-class who wasn’t noble but leeched off the system, all were dragged out, urinating blood. Thus, the long night ended. As the moon rose high in the night sky, an impromptu village festival began. Faces brightened, the air filled with the fragrance of cooking rice. In high spirits, people laughed heartily. But behind it all, a massive tree with humans hanging from it. In the village's center, a large tree bore not fruit of love but hanging bodies, truly making it a spectacle—as if a tree bore bloody rice cakes instead. Even amidst the unfathomable wrath, Qing's advice to not just kill but to hang and leave them in a long, regretful life made a profound impression. Beside this grotesque monument, a festival unfolded that could easily be mistaken for a heretical, evil ceremony were an outsider to witness it. Yet Qing harbored no worries. Qing never regarded those lesser than humans as humans, chalking it to the cycle of karma. The imposing Grand Master of the Blood Cult remained unconcerned. Why would such a lord of the Blood Cult care about such matters? The Arbiter of Life and Death displayed no concern either. Why would non-humans pay heed to human affairs? Even Lu Bu turned a blind eye. Why wouldn't a beast act like a beast? So, no one questioned this midnight feast. "[Come, Master too, have a meal!]" "Oh. Hmm..." Naturally, a well-laid feast was delivered to the vanguard of this historic people's liberation — the Liberation Warrior Monk from Zhongyuan, Master Xuanzang, and yet... Tofu, soy sauce. Kimchi. Meat soup with various ingredients. A pile of roughly sliced boiled pork — enough to topple over. And an abundance of rice. A massive bowl, enough to be a generous serving of rice, which, back home, would equate to about four, no, five bowls. In truth, Qing had always been the kind to eat little rice but devour many side dishes — a classic side dish killer. Yet, rice was good. But the kimchi, the kimchi — this color was just, this isn’t it! This wasn’t what my kimchi was like! Arghhh! Qing had long since been in search of authentic Joseon kimchi, only to find cabbage, colored murky and laden with mold instead. Terms: - 누마루: Raised platform (Converted to "raised platform" for narrative consistency and setting) - 석전: Joseon's stone-throwing games (Kept as "stone-throwing nation" to denote the martial traditional pastimes) - Master Xuanzang: 삼장 법사 (삼장法師), a reference to a renowned monk from Chinese classics (Kept due to its literary and cultural significance.) Context: The narrative depicts a village rebellion against oppressive officials, highlighting the disparity and ultimate uprising. The use of vibrant colors and Qing's disdainful advice adds to the vivid storytelling. The “Grand Master of the Blood Cult,” and “Arbiter of Life and Death” appear to be references to Qing’s internal arts’ personifications within her dantian, adding layer to her character's absurd traits and multifaceted nature. This scene intertwines the Revolutionary Championship and cultural elements, representing a mix of sarcastic tone and grim narrative. Changes: - Corrected the implication of stone games to reflect traditional martial customs. - Added clarity to the internal arts within Qing. - Confirmed cultural alignment of terms for a more immersive experience. Moreover, the boiled pork — the off-putting smell was quite overwhelming. Unbeknownst to Qing, this issue arose from the inherent nature of the Korean pig breed. This was why beef was consumed despite being prohibited by the government (though people still grilled it diligently) and why pork was always either thoroughly boiled or stewed. Yet, there it was — the very moment when Korean traditional cuisine, which Qing half-expected to be reminiscent of her own homeland, betrayed her hopes. Ah, so Joseon cuisine and my home's cuisine are completely different, as was expected... Qing was feeling a bit downcast. If Qing's friends were present, they would have been amazed to see her looking so melancholic before a meal. Are you sick? No, you must be seriously ill, seeing the expression you've got. If it hurts, don't keep it to yourself — pretty much those sorts of reactions. Anyhow, during this moment: "[Hey, Master Xuanzang, didn't you say you are Ximen Qing from Zhongyuan?]" Qing lifted her head. A scholar wearing a traditional Korean hat stood before her. Not every noble was a complete scoundrel; some managed to avoid earning the public's hatred. People like him lived comfortably, receiving more than enough to live on because they carried the family pedigree of nobility, and were known to share their grain abundances with the commoners in the neighborhood. Perhaps such a person chose not to enter officialdom and instead stayed home, dedicating himself to reading because he knew how the country was being run. "[Do you have any insight on what to do next?]" "[Next?]" "[The current actions are clearly a rebellion. No matter whose dynasty it is, no dynasty will tolerate such an uprising, will they? The military is sure to come in full force to suppress it. How do you plan on dealing with that?]" This was a matter that struck at the roots of Joseon's strict social hierarchy — nobles and the middle class being lynched by the lowly commoners, who then looted their wealth. Joseon's social system was especially rigid. If commoners killed a noble, the town's leader would be immediately dismissed, the status of the district would be downgraded, and even the town's name could have been changed. Is that all? Nah. They even declared the rebellious town as a den of traitors, barring the inhabitants from taking official exams. Naturally, burying a noble was fairly commonplace; as long as it wasn't discovered, it was alright. Disposing of them quietly was the true terror of the Dongyi people. If there was a plausible excuse, you just blamed the tiger, and that'd be the end of it. But it wasn't plausible to blame a tiger for the deaths of all the officials and local leaders. "[Hmm, in my opinion, couldn't you say that Ximen Qing from Zhongyuan, disguised as monsters, led a band of robbers to sweep through the place?]" "[Would that work?]" "[So everyone needs to get their stories straight.]" "[I don’t understand. In the end, isn’t that just wordplay? Moreover, such cheap wordplay hangs their lives in balance. Even if you helped them with goodwill, aren’t you ending up putting them in a worse predicament?]” "[Ha, if you see someone drowning, you should save them, right? But after saving them, do you have to take care of them forever?]" "[What do you mean?]" "[If I left them to their own devices, wouldn’t they have continued stealing just to avoid starving to death? How long would that thievery have lasted? If they had encountered a high-level martial artist, they’d have been annihilated. Even if the martial artist was not as skilled as I am, they’d have been easily wiped out by a less skilled practitioner.]" Qing replied nonchalantly, stirring the meat soup in her bowl. And then she considered if this was intestine stew — hmm, but no, it wasn’t soup, maybe offal soup? But why do all the bits have such an overpowering smell—is it a problem with the cook? "[And is there any guarantee the Zhongyuan or Jurchen won't eventually retaliate against the mask-wearing bandits? When the military comes, it’ll be a massacre for a whole town. How is their reckless ignorance of their own future any different from that of a drowning man?]” “[…….]” "[Besides, how decent do you think they are? Even if they did it to survive, aren’t they ultimately bandits? Even if their desperation for survival is understandable, the notoriety of their masquerade already speaks volumes about their misdeeds, tsk-tsk.]" The scholar hung his head low in shame. Even though it was an unavoidable choice under tyranny, robbery was robbery at the end of the day. "[Yet, it’s the other people filling their bellies, not the nobles they’re exploiting; they should direct their anger at those continuing to exploit them, not others equally in hardship.]" There is a saying from back home, isn’t there? Getting slapped in Jongno, uh — um, where was it again? Scowling at the Han River? Is it Han River? Samgakji? Itaewon? Ilsan? Was it somewhere far away? Then Pyongyang? But was it scowling? Was it even a slap in Jongno? Ah, I barely remember sayings from home anymore. And there’s no way to find out now, so, uh oh, I recalled it for nothing and can’t even know the rest, hmm? No, wait, my home sayings are Korean sayings? "[Hey, that proverb about getting slapped in Jongno, what was next?]" "[Getting slapped in Jongno and glaring at the Han River, they say.]" Curiosity resolved! Qing nodded in understanding. "[Right. Anyway, if you were slapped in Jongno, you should retaliate there, not harm the Han River unfairly, right? The failure of Joseon’s officials to look after their people should be answered for by those officials, even if it means bloodshed.]" Thus, regardless of the outcome, this was simply how things should be. If Joseon's officials drove them to such lengths, turning swords and spears onto those same officials was expected, instead of preying on Zhongyuaners, Manchus, or Russian frontier farmers who shared the same misfortune. The masked bandits may be pitiable, but pity does not equate to virtue, nor does weakness imply innocence.