I Am This Murim's Crazy Bitch-Chapter 219: Dormant Dragon Martial Contest (1)

According to Cheon Yuhak, once morning came, she’d come to understand the wonder of feeling the flow of Heaven and Earth.

At the time, it just sounded like vague nonsense she couldn’t even begin to grasp—but now that she’d actually experienced it, oh.

That precise sensation that had been limited to her fingertips had expanded throughout her entire body—this was the true effect of the Awakened Core Technique.

When Qing waved her hand, she could vividly feel the air parting along her skin.

After circling the room a few times like that, she finally understood what it meant to feel the flow of Heaven and Earth with one’s body.

She thought maybe this was what it felt like to become one with nature.

As Qing wandered around, lightly making noise, it seemed she woke up Gongson Yoye.

“Miss Ximen...? Are you awake?”

“Did you sleep well too? You’re going to the opening ceremony, right?”

“Well, uh, for the opening ceremony I have to attend with my family, so I’m a bit—no, I’m truly, terribly sorry, I feel so guilty, but I really can’t go with you even though my heart desperately wishes to—”

“Hey, family comes first. Go on ahead then. I’m just gonna eat a little something and head over slowly.”

Qing gave a comforting smile to the about-to-break-down Gongson Yoye, then started putting on her clothes.

She’d gotten much more used to her Blade-Life Training.

She slipped into the undergarments the Wucheon Pavilion attendants had laid out, and with her confidence growing, carefully dressed in the Divine Maiden Sect’s formal uniform, sword and all.

Today was an official event, so she had to wear the Divine Maiden Sect attire.

Her body felt perfect from the start of the morning.

Maybe it was because she’d absorbed a ton of Miracle Tonic yesterday? She felt so refreshed and light—she hadn’t felt this good in ages.

And as she walked out for breakfast, the silken lining of her robe brushing against her skin—god, that felt amazing.

The soft, rustling silk that grazed her skin was living proof of why people went on about “silken texture.”

It was like wrapping her body in the softest, most luxurious bedding in the world. She wandered around, enjoying that feeling—the exact sensation of rolling around in bed—and every step that brushed her skin was sheer bliss...

Hmm.

Qing’s bouncy stride quietly narrowed.

Her arms, which had been swinging boldly, now folded modestly at her sides. Suddenly, she was walking with the graceful shyness of a Ximen Surin–style elegant beauty.

She was in a great mood—seriously great—but this... this was just a bit too... how should she put it... sensual. She was just walking, but if this kept up...

Under the veil, Qing made a tortured face.

Wasn’t this... kind of a huge problem...?

****

Screw the Awakened Core Technique or the Murim Tournament—Qing had to take emergency measures, fast.

Sure, having the silk brush against her body for a moment was fine, but once the stimulation piled up, she couldn’t just ignore it.

To tone it down, she wrapped her arms and legs in silk armguards and legguards, then tightly bound her stomach with a wide sash so the clothes would cling snugly to her body.

But that ended up delaying her, so by the time she arrived at the Murim Tournament grounds, the Leader of the Murim Alliance, Jo Hyeonryang, was already...

...going on and on about something like righteous sects, unity, and blah blah blah.

Qing, quietly gauging the situation, politely asked a Murim Alliance warrior for directions.

She’d heard beforehand where the Divine Maiden Sect seating would be, but the venue was so massive she couldn’t possibly find it on her own.

The Murim Tournament was being held at the very center of Kaifeng, just in front of the Grand Canal.

Since this canal extended throughout all of Zhongyuan, touching each of the Three Great Rivers, it made sense for the starting point to have such a grand scale.

The tournament arena had been constructed by linking together rafts on top of the water and attaching flooring on top of them.

Carefully maneuvering through the crowd and sneaking through the rows of seats without drawing too much attention, Qing finally spotted the Divine Maiden Sect’s section.

“Oh! Master! You’re here? Are you participating in the tournament?”

“You just got here now? You can’t ever be on time, can you. Honestly, how am I supposed to stop worrying at this rate?”

“Hehe...”

Qing sighed with relief at the sight of her Master.

Compared to the other sects, who had brought ten or even dozens of people, their group looked seriously sparse—so not knowing what to do on her own, Qing was glad she could just stick by her master’s side.

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“You ran off to train right away and didn’t even greet the Nine Great Sects’ elders, huh? Well. I suppose that’s not an easy task when you’re alone.”

The “kids” that Ximen Surin referred to were actually the elders and heads of those sects, or their proxies.

To Surin, they were junior disciples, so she called them “kids”—but to Qing, hearing it still felt kind of weird.

What followed was... honestly, pretty boring.

The Murim Tournament, at its core, was about strengthening ties within the righteous sects and showing off their strength.

So it was basically a combo of social networking, ideological reinforcement, and a good ol’ fashioned flexing of martial might.

There were a bunch of events to serve those purposes.

The Unity Assembly, where any member of a righteous sect could freely speak and receive support; the Challenge of the Way, where you could request a sparring match against top masters; the Grand Operational Conference, where people voted on proposals selected by the Murim Alliance to influence its operations.

But what ordinary spectators looked forward to the most was, without a doubt, the Dormant Dragon Martial Contest—a fierce battle among the youngest elites of the righteous factions.

The Opening Ceremony, however, was brutal to sit through.

It started with a speech from the Alliance Leader, followed by congratulatory messages from a bunch of Murim celebrities—one representative from each of the Nine Great Sects, five major family heads, and then some guy named this, another guy called that...

Surprisingly, though, the spectators were really into it.

“Whoa! One of the Ten Martial Masters of the World! Wow! The Sect Leader of Mount Zhongnan!”

Just seeing the appearance of legendary martial masters had them hyped, so even during the same old speeches, they were going, “Ooh, as expected.” “Mmm, what deep insight.”

Qing didn’t get it, but that was only because ancient Zhongyuan had a painfully primitive entertainment culture.

Unlike Qing’s hometown, where you could watch a celebrity anytime through a screen, here people literally traveled thousands of li just to see a Ten Master’s face in person.

And then came the highlight of the ceremony: the Dormant Dragon Contest match draw.

The Alliance Leader stepped up on stage and drew lots while the announcer shouted out the names and wrote them on a giant scroll.

Qing, wondering how they were gonna pull this off with over sixty participants, was bored to death—but ironically, this was the moment the spectators were all waiting for.

“Disciple of Kunlun: Jin Sam! From Tadong: Bae Jaehap!”

When the announcer with the booming voice shouted out each pairing, the audience exploded into murmurs and speculation.

Think the Kunlun disciple’s got this one?

I saw Bae Jaehap’s prelim match—he handled the Whip Form like it was part of his own body. I think it’s gonna be close.

Some of it was curiosity or a genuine interest in the outcome. For others, it was discussion to help place their bets in the victory pools.

Qing, barely holding on through the boredom, finally heard her name at the tail end of Round 3.

“Disciple of the Divine Maiden Sect: Ximen Qing! Versus Wudang’s disciple: Hwan Yuk!”

Whoever that was, she didn’t know. Maybe the name had come up during the Dormant Dragon Preliminaries, but...

More than that, she was curious about what the spectators thought of the matchup, so she tuned in to the nearby whispers.

—This is obviously going to Hwan Yuk. If it’s Wudang, that means Taiji Sword, and Taiji Sword is the best in the world. It’ll be over quick.

—The Divine Maiden Sect isn’t known for any standout martial arts. Do they even have any techniques?

—Don’t write it off yet. There’s a rumor that Master Yuha of Mount Hua gave her huge praise. This could be an underdog upset.

—Didn’t you just call it an underdog a second ago...?

From what she could gather, most of the crowd was betting on the Wudang disciple to win.

Hmm. So he’s kinda strong, huh?

If Jegal were here, he’d probably add some notes.

And then—

“Disciple of Shaolin: Wolbong! Representing the Black Dragon Faction: Jo Hakche!”

Then, Ximen Surin gave her assessment.

“That damned monk. I bet Jo Hyeonryang’s stomach is churning right about now.”

“The Alliance Leader? Hm. Is the Shaolin disciple really that strong?”

“His Dharma name is Wolbong, isn’t it? That puts him in the same generation rank as your match. So who do you think his master is?”

The current Shaolin abbot was Great Master Wolhyeon, bearer of the “Wol” generation name.

If someone went by Wolbong, it meant he was of the same generation—meaning he was a direct disciple of someone with an even higher generation name.

And in Shaolin, there was only one person who fit that description: none other than the Number One Under Heaven, Great Master Muhak.

“To have kept a disciple like that hidden away until now... just what kind of monster are we dealing with?”

“Think he’s going to be... really strong?”

“If we’re talking about Shaolin, they wouldn’t even send someone unless they were sure they could win.”

Shaolin never acted lightly. They didn’t move over just anything.

But once they did move, it was like pushing a mountain aside—that was the weight carried by the head of the righteous factions and the birthplace of orthodox martial arts.

“He’ll probably be your semifinal opponent.”

Ximen Surin said it as casually as if pointing out something obvious.

The Dormant Dragon Contest was divided into four brackets. If Qing won Bracket 3 and Wolbong won Bracket 4, they’d meet in the semifinals.

“C’mon, don’t worry, Master. Your disciple here is the strongest of all the rookies.”

At that, Ximen Surin gave her a soft smile.

“There’s no need to feel pressured. Even if you lose to a Shaolin disciple, no one in the world would find it strange. But still...”

Her eyes gleamed with sudden sharpness.

“If possible, I’d like the whole world to witness my disciple defeating Shaolin.”

Hearing that, Qing started to pound her chest dramatically—but then froze halfway and instead clenched her fist tightly.

“Of course. Just leave it to me.”

****

When it came to the Murim Tournament, saying that every single top master from the righteous sects was in attendance wouldn’t be an exaggeration.

So anyone in their right mind would never even think of causing trouble at such a gathering.

That is—if they were in their right mind.

But the Murim world had °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° no shortage of lunatics, and among them was a group with a name as terrifying as their reputation: the Blood Cult.

In fact, the very fact that they called themselves the Blood Cult was proof enough they weren’t sane.

Even demonic sect members never referred to themselves as "demonic"—they called themselves "orthodox outcasts." Even the Demonic Cult went by names like the Cult of the Heavenly Demon or just the Divine Cult, depending on who was speaking.

That was what made the Blood Cult so infamous in Zhongyuan.

The Demonic Cult might be notorious, but at the end of the day, they were like barbarian invaders who occasionally came charging in yelling about conquering the central plains.

But the Blood Cult?

Their only goal was to unleash a bloodstorm across Zhongyuan. No matter what crazy shit they did, no one was ever surprised. These guys were real-deal psychos.

So no one batted an eye when a maniac from the Blood Cult snuck into Kaifeng, right in the middle of the tournament.

He was known in the martial world as the Mad Demon of Condemnation—a notorious demon in his own right.