I Am This Murim's Crazy Bitch-Chapter 221: Dormant Dragon Martial Contest (3)

When Qing first rose onto the martial stage, most of the audience was too busy ogling the curve of her body or trying to peek beneath her veil to pay much attention.

But among martial experts, more than a few gasps slipped out.

It’s easy for a high-speed movement technique to appear fierce or imposing—but for it to seem graceful, gentle, and elegant? That’s a whole different story.

So when Qing’s relaxed, anti-gravity glide using Moon Maiden Step revealed itself, even those who prided themselves as martial masters couldn’t help but fail their inner restraint test a hundredfold and let out stunned, breathless sounds like, “Whoaaa!”

Then, when she landed softly on the tips of her toes, perfectly balanced without even the slightest wobble, admiration reached a thousandfold, and the crowd burst out: “Beautiful!” “Marvelous!”

Everyone, that is—except for the Wudang Sect’s headmaster, Grandmaster Chaegun, also known as Yu Geukgeom.

Talk about bad luck. Running into such a formidable opponent in the very first round? At this rate, Wudang’s tournament run might end before it even began.

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And just as the two seemed to be exchanging words, Qing lightly pushed off the ground first—and that’s when he truly lost it.

A true martial artist might not know someone else’s level, but they always know their own. That disciple of the Divine Maiden Sect must’ve deliberately yielded the first move. As for that fool Hwan Yuk, it was obvious he didn’t even recognize her level and just took the lead without thinking.

No need to eavesdrop—it was obvious.

And Yuha, the Divine Thief himself, running his mouth right beside him only made things worse.

“I knew it the moment I saw her. That child’s going to lead the future of the Murim world! So how could I possibly hold back from giving her a nickname? Right?”

Yuha kept yapping beside him without a shred of decorum. You’d think she was from the Wudang Sect and not the Divine Maiden Sect.

Honestly, it was all just him bragging about his own foresight, and everyone listening looked like they wished he’d just shut up already.

From the perspective of martial experts, Qing’s restraint and quick thinking deserved praise.

It’s only natural for someone young and talented to be desperate to show off their skills. But Qing had stayed calm, studied her opponent, even mimicked his techniques. Her performance wasn’t about putting on a show—it was about learning. That hunger to grow stood out more than anything else.

And then there was that one move at the end of the tenth exchange that decided the match.

While they’d been exchanging soft, flowing movements, Qing suddenly snapped the rhythm with sharp speed and force. Even if Hwan Yuk had been slightly more advanced in his training, the outcome wouldn’t have changed.

And since that final strike hadn’t come from a martial technique but from pure, instinctive improvisation, it had the razor’s edge of someone hardened in real combat.

Qing, too, felt proud for the same reasons.

The sudden downward stomp had channeled her full body strength to create a vertical acceleration. And the palm-strike to the forehead? Just a little improvisation inspired by Ximen Surin-style Core-Cracking Flicks.

It wasn’t quite the soft, flowing finesse she’d aimed for in her Kaifeng training, but she hadn’t followed a memorized form—she’d judged and acted entirely on her own. She couldn’t help but feel satisfied.

Hwan Yuk also accepted the outcome.

He’d done his best, and even replaying that eleventh exchange in his head, he couldn’t think of any technique in his arsenal that could’ve blocked it.

Unless he’d flopped onto the ground and rolled away like a steel bridge plank, he had no options. But the Wudang Taiji principle of deflecting force with force didn’t cover that scenario.

Still, nobody else seemed to get it.

Because the fight wasn’t a clash of power versus power—but of softness versus softness—the exchanges weren’t flashy or fast-paced.

To the average viewer, all they saw was Hwan Yuk darting around and unleashing dazzling Taiji sword techniques, while Qing looked like she was barely keeping up, stuck on defense.

Qing had observed and responded, awkwardly imitating the soft style and not fully deploying her sword techniques. To the untrained eye, it looked like she wasn’t even trying—just fluttering around, showing off her figure.

Then suddenly, a palm strike—bonk—right on the forehead.

That’s right. A bonk.

And when the referee immediately blew the whistle and declared the veiled girl the winner, the audience was completely dumbfounded.

Predictably, a wave of furious jeers erupted from the crowd.

Not just shouting—people even threw half-eaten dumplings and stir-fried noodles onto the stage.

Of course, since the spectators weren’t exactly master throwers, it was mostly the poor VIPs in the front rows who ended up having a miserable experience.

“BOOO! What the hell was that?! That’s not a duel!”

“Was this rigged?!”

“Just because she’s a woman, you go easy on her?! Fight properly! This isn’t a tea party! Bastards!”

“I bet twenty nyang on that match, dammit!”

A major reason for the outrage? Qing’s betting odds had been absurdly low.

People thought it was easy money—put it on Hwan Yuk and get a 1.07x return. Tons of money was thrown his way.

A few ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) folks who bet against the odds did enjoy the thrill of a 11.7x payout, but they’d only bet for fun, so it just turned into some extra pocket change.

For reference, the betting merchants pocketed about ten percent of everyone’s losses—and of the remaining spoils, Cheon Yuhak took a fat seventy percent cut all by himself.

In any case, since the uproar showed no signs of calming down, the crowd—united in shared outrage—only grew louder and more aggressive.

“Quiet!! Quiet down!!”

Even the announcer, shouting at full volume with internal energy, couldn’t make himself heard. It was getting to the point where a full-on riot didn’t seem impossible.

As Qing made her way out of the arena, through the hallway beneath the wooden stage leading toward the ships, those howls and jeers still rang crystal-clear in her superhuman hearing.

“I apologize for the scene, miss. It’s simply because ordinary folks don’t have the eyes to understand martial skill. Please don’t take it to heart.”

Back in the waiting room, an older martial artist from the Murim Alliance tried to console Qing as he continued speaking.

“We’ll ask the elders to give a formal explanation of the duel soon. That should calm things down.”

But Qing shook her head.

There were still matches to be held, and wasn’t there some grand assembly her master had to attend later? It’d be ridiculous to hold up the event just because the audience was being childish.

And seriously—needing an explanation for the very first match? How embarrassing.

“It’s fine. It was only the first match. Once the tournament continues, they’ll realize they failed to recognize real skill. It’ll sort itself out. No need to trouble the elders on my account.”

“Remarkable. Thank you for your grace, miss.”

The head of tournament operations, the famed Short Sword Swordmaster Yu Seonyeop, respectfully clasped his hands.

Her martial performance was impressive, but what stood out even more was her mature, composed demeanor despite her age.

They said the Alliance Leader had given her the entire Wucheon Pavilion, and now, meeting her in person, Yu Seonyeop could understand why. She truly had the makings of a future leader in the righteous sects.

Qing, of course, had no idea who he was. She just assumed he was some event staff.

But Yu Seonyeop wasn’t just anybody—he was the Murim Alliance’s chief steward, in charge of all internal affairs.

After unwittingly enchanting him with a Ximen Surin-style Elegant Beauty Gait, Qing returned to the Divine Maiden Sect’s seats—where Ximen Surin was sitting with a frosty expression.

“Haaah. This is exactly why I avoided public life for so long. Just look, disciple—this is how the world views female martial artists. If you were a man, those fools would never have dared spout such nonsense.”

“Aw, don’t worry, Master. You really think they’ll keep talking like that after I win the whole tournament?”

“You’re not even angry?”

“Not really. They're not even worth a single strike. By the time I reach the finals, they’ll all be singing a different tune.”

Ximen Surin clicked her tongue.

“You foolish girl.”

“Hehe.”

“That’s not a compliment. What use is a kind heart on a woman in this world?”

Then Qing hesitantly brought something up.

“By the way, do I still need to stick around here? You said you had to attend that... what was it, the Grand Assembly?”

“It’d be wise to keep watching. You might spot your next opponent. Why, do you have something to do?”

“There’s something I urgently need to ask my second master. It’s about a martial technique.”

“Then so be it. You weren’t scheduled to attend any events anyway. I thought I’d take you around during the banquet and introduce you to some folks—but I’ll push that back.”

She wouldn’t be doing the rounds to show off her disciple. No, someone like Ximen Surin was the kind of person others came to visit and pay respects to.

“Hehe, sorry, Master.”

Surin offered a soft smile in return.

“No need to apologize. With your current progress, there’s no reason to force a formal greeting. And if it’s a martial question, then nothing’s more important.”

****

She’d managed to make it out of the Kaifeng division’s front gates, but now... where the hell was she supposed to go?

In this massive city, finding her master felt hopeless.

Still, she'd overheard someone muttering about selling herbal remedies, so she figured she might as well start at the market and ask around for any suspicious snake oil salesmen.

But luckily, she didn’t have to go far.

“Hey. Where do you think you’re going?”

“Oh wow, Master! I was just looking for you. What are the odds we run into each other like this?”

“What do you mean, ‘what are the odds’? I soaked your Green Porcelain Sword in Trace-Seeking Incense. I found you. You didn’t ‘run into’ anything.”

“Trace-Seeking Incense?”

“Slow down. You need to at least get the basics down before I start teaching you anything. Don’t rush. So, you said you were looking for me? Why?”

“It’s about the Awakened Core Technique.”

“What about it? Isn’t it incredible?”

“That’s not it—it’s just... this thing is way too intense.”

Cheon Yuhak snorted.

“That’s it? You’re freaking out over nothing. You awakened the sensory network of your entire body all at once. Of course it’s intense.”

“Still, I mean, I need to function like a normal human being! Look at this—I can’t just walk around wrapped up like a mummy every day.”

Qing rolled up her sleeve and showed off the tightly wound arm guards she’d wrapped around herself. Cheon Yuhak snorted again.

“That’s like saying your knife is too sharp, so you’re gonna smash the blade flat. Idiot. What cook dulls their knife just because they’re scared of cutting themselves?”

“What are you even talking about?”

“When a cook starts using a sharp knife, they cut themselves a few times. That’s how they improve. So why the hell are you swaddling your awakened body like that?”

“Well, the stimulation is just too—”

“You blockhead. Are you gonna live your whole life wrapped up like that? Then what was the point of awakening your senses in the first place? It’s supposed to feel overwhelming at first. You get used to it, that’s how it works.”

In other words—deal with it.

Of course, Cheon Yuhak hadn’t actually achieved the technique’s effects all at once like Qing had. He’d built it up gradually, his sensitivity increasing bit by bit as he refined his Miracle Baths, so he’d had no trouble adjusting.

Which meant he had absolutely no way of understanding what it was like for Qing, who’d rocketed straight to Eight-Star Core Formation in one go.

Not to mention, he had no idea she was also cultivating the Maiden’s Joy Technique.

In Cheon Yuhak’s mind, it was simple—her skin must’ve just gotten too sensitive and raw from leveling up too fast.

But sensory adaptation always worked the same way: repeated exposure builds tolerance.

So she had to endure it and let her body adjust.

“You’re already at Eight-Star mastery of the Awakened Core Technique—there’s no going back now. And do you realize what hypersensitive perception actually means? It’s like having eyes in every direction.”

Once she learned to read airflow through her skin, she could map out a full radius around her without even needing to look.

“Whoa, seriously?”

Qing, easily swayed by flattery, lit up like a puppy hearing a treat bag crinkle.

Now that she was officially his disciple, Cheon Yuhak had no reason to exaggerate or sugarcoat anything.

“Well, there is one drawback—you’ll need to be pickier about your clothes.”

The tighter her clothes blocked airflow, the less effective her sensory field became.

Sleeves or pants that sealed off the flow were practically useless.

On the other hand, the more skin she left exposed, the larger the area she could perceive.

She could either wear breathable clothing or, at the very least, choose fabric like ultra-thin silk that reacted sharply to even minor currents of air.

“That’s why stealth masters get serious about their work when the cold winds blow in. I mean, why bother sneaking around in freezing weather if it doesn’t help?”

“Mmm... but based on your explanation, this all sounds kind of... indecent.”

Cheon Yuhak nodded.

“Well, I guess it’s not the most convenient thing for women. But you’re not about to start stripping, right? Just go with sheer silk, that’ll do the trick.”

He was referring to danhyung—a type of loosely woven silk that was nearly see-through unless you stared at it from up close.

Any looser than that and you had sahhyung; beyond that, you got into full-on veils.

“Ugh. Sheer silk sounds kind of... no thanks.”

Regardless, Cheon Yuhak’s message as a master was clear:

You chose the Awakened Core Technique. Now endure it.

Qing thought about it—and honestly, it didn’t really feel like she had chosen it.

But here she was.