I Am This Murim's Crazy Bitch

Then Seol Iri turned to walk away again.

“Wait—where are you going now?”

“Fruit...”

Even she didn’t sound convinced. Her voice trailed off, vague and uncertain.

“Do you even know the difference between what’s edible and what’s not? Wasn’t Binggung just a block of ice with nothing else in it?”

“I can tell the difference between an apple and something that’s not.”

“Oh, for—come on. You think apples just grow on the hills behind temples or something? And it’s almost July! What apples are you hoping to find?”

Qing may not be a survival expert, but she was an expert at foraging random crap from the mountains.

Let’s be clear—not a survivalist. Just a scrounger. Someone who picked up whatever her body could digest, not because she knew what was safe, but because her constitution made her basically immune to poison.

She did know the difference between tasty and not-tasty though. And usually, for regular people, “not-tasty” was synonymous with “will kill you.”

“So then, what does grow this time of year?”

“This season? Hm. Peaches, maybe? They might still be a little underripe.”

“Peaches.”

Seol Iri swallowed visibly, and the barest smile touched her otherwise expressionless face.

Clearly, she liked peaches.

And just like that, she tried to turn away again.

Qing blinked, dumbfounded, and grabbed her by the arm.

“Okay, seriously—what do you think this is? You think peaches just grow wild behind temples? Tasty fruit isn’t just sitting out there waiting to be picked.”

“I saw them on the way here.”

“That was wild peach. Mountain peach. They’re sour, astringent, and they’ll wreck your stomach.”

At that, Seol Iri gave Qing a suspicious look. Like she wasn’t sure if Qing was trying to trick her or telling the truth.

“Oh no. I can’t let you go alone like this. Come eat dinner with me. Seriously, what were you going to do? You’ve got no money. You were just gonna walk off into the woods? What happened to being cautious, huh? What kind of person just runs off like that with no plan? You’re a woman for god’s sake. What were you going to do for food? Sleep on the ground?”

Qing—certified pretty beggar—clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

At that, Seol Iri’s gaze sharpened like a blade.

“What. Got something to say?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, really? Then go ahead.”

“I don’t want to.”

...What the hell are you even trying to do?

At the very least, it became painfully clear that this girl had no friends.

Even someone like that spiky mess of inferiority complexes, Moyong Juhee—who basically sprayed emotional shrapnel in every direction—still had some pathetic cult or fanclub hanging around her.

And this girl?

“Wait. Are you saying you won’t even eat with me?”

“No.”

“So you will eat with me.”

“Yes.”

A mischievous smile curled on Qing’s lips.

She almost teased her—“Then go ahead and say it. Say ‘I’m hungry, please buy me food.’” But... no. Using food as leverage like that felt too petty.

Even Qing had some principles. Food wasn’t something you played dirty with. That’d be too low.

“Come on. Let’s eat until we’re ready to explode.”

Now—which place had the best Buddha Jumps Over the Wall?

A difficult question.

This wasn’t the kind of dish you casually ordered on a whim. It wasn’t some comforting tonic soup you grabbed when you felt under the weather. It was one of the absolute finest, most expensive meals in the Central Plains. The kind of dish you might have once a year, on the most special occasion.

So even if you asked around, people only knew the one place they’d personally tried. And if you asked the restaurant staff, obviously they’d say their place was the best. Zero credibility.

But when it came to gluttony, Qing’s brain operated at full throttle. Solutions always came.

“You there! How much is your Buddha Jumps Over the Wall?”

“Oh! Young Lady! We start at fifteen nyang. But if we seat you at the front-facing window—only five!”

“Mm. I’ll look around first.”

That front-facing window seat? That was what they called the "Openseat." The name made it sound casual, but in reality, it was a display pedestal where they’d show off two beautiful women to boost business.

Qing skipped that one.

“We start at twenty nyang...”

“If it’s an Openseat, we’ll treat you like royalty...”

“Our base price is twenty-five nyang...”

And finally, Qing found her answer.

“Well, our flagship location is a bit pricier.”

“Perfect. Got a nice cool corner table?”

“Absolutely, miss! We’ll prepare it right away!”

And just like that, Qing and Seol Iri were seated at the open-air terrace, in the corner with the best breeze in the house.

“So, which kind of Buddha Jumps Over the Wall would you like? We have: Regular, Premium, Deluxe, One-and-Only Ultra Deluxe, and our Supreme Ultra Deluxe Signature Special.”

...It felt like she was drawing a lottery ticket.

Qing suppressed the rare flutter of anticipation, ordered the Supreme Ultra Deluxe Signature Special, and added a few veggie sides—fried eggplant and assorted greens—for balance.

The server, thrilled to catch a giant albatross of a customer, echoed her order at full volume: “SUPREME!!! ULTRA DELUXE!!! SIGNATURE!!! SPECIAL!!!” His voice practically rivaled a Shaolin Lion’s Roar as he skipped off, leaving a trail of excitement behind.

And so they waited. Excited. Hungry. Hearts thumping.

“......”

“Miss Seol? Warm weather lately, huh?”

“Yes.”

“......”

“......”

She didn’t initiate conversation. And whenever Qing tried to start one, she shut it down with the briefest possible answers. She was the very definition of difficult company.

And yet, after that long, awkward silence, salvation finally arrived.

A massive pot, gleaming and ornate, was placed in front of them. The server lifted the lid—shhhhhh—and immediately, the sweet aroma of Shaoxing wine burst into the air, bringing with it an explosion of rich, savory scents.

“Hooah. That smells incredible. Mm. Miss Seol? You’re drooling.”

“No, I’m not.”

Seol Iri quickly wiped the corner of her mouth with her sleeve.

Sure you’re not. Her eyes were glued to the pot like magnets.

What was this dish, really? You could think of it as a kind of luxurious liquor stew, a gathering of the finest flavors imaginable.

There were staples, of course—shark fin, sea cucumber, abalone. For meat, huatui, the most prized cured ham in the Central Plains.

Of course, being inland, the shark fin had been substituted with something else, and the sea cucumber was dried and a bit shriveled. Still, the sheer variety of premium ingredients was enough to make anyone smile.

Qing served Seol Iri a full, overflowing bowl, then dished out one for herself. And finally, their long-delayed dinner began.

Qing, of course, ate with enthusiasm.

Because “eating” wasn’t even the right word. “Scarfing” was closer. She was a woman for whom “wolfing down food” was practically a lifestyle. Even using a polite term like “dining” felt like a lie.

But what surprised her... was Seol Iri.

She poked suspiciously through her bowl at first, poking and prodding as if unsure what any of it was. But then—just one bite. A slice of century egg hit her tongue and—

Wow. That smile.

Qing just stared, dumbfounded, at the bloom of joy on Seol Iri’s face.

Already a face she was partial to... now blooming with a rosy blush and that seductive, euphoric smile...

Qing forgot how to use her chopsticks.

Thankfully, her body remembered for her—her left hand (her right arm was still wrecked) moved on instinct, delivering food to her mouth as her stunned brain lagged behind. Her tongue and jaw got to work like nothing had happened.

“Haa, haah, hnnn—”

Northern women from the North Sea region always boiled their food until it was molten hot. And they were used to eating it like that.

So Seol Iri didn’t even pretend to care about appearances. She dove in.

But her eating was... different from Qing’s. Qing devoured food like a wild animal. Seol Iri?

Seol Iri made it look lewd.

Across the terrace, diners turned to stare as soft moans floated in the air—not quite sexual, but not not, either.

What followed was either a public scandal or a once-in-a-lifetime blessing, depending on your perspective.

Two peerless beauties sat sharing a table.

One was cramming food into her mouth so aggressively, it looked like she was chewing her parents’ murderers. Anyone else might’ve looked like a pig at the trough, but somehow—even this carnage felt... charming. Beautiful, even.

The other ate politely, but every breath from her nose and lips came laced with breathy moans.

Unrelated, but interestingly—most of the nearby diners suddenly crossed their legs or adjusted how they were sitting.

Meanwhile, Seol Iri had mentally checked out.

Binggung didn’t have the money for this kind of meal.

People from barren lands rarely have the luxury of storage.

After all, storage comes only after you’ve filled your belly.

So although Seol Iri had been dispatched to the South with orders to capture a fugitive, she’d received barely any operational funds.

Partly because of Binggung’s financial situation, yes—but also because everyone assumed it would be a quick job.

They figured: “A Binggung girl stands out. Just go sniff around the Central Plains a bit and she’ll be easy to find.”

Because the people of Binggung—isolated, frozen, and provincial—couldn’t even fathom how vast the Central Plains really were. To them, their glacier was the end of the world, the biggest stretch of land imaginable.

So Seol Iri, living at the Murim Alliance HQ, had just subsisted on their free food.

Whenever she craved something better, she’d sneak into the Yongbong Council’s banquets and nibble at the leftovers.

Those banquets, according to critic Paeng Daesan, were designed assuming the food would already be cold—pretty to look at, but lacking any real flavor.

Seol Iri thought it was delicious.

She even thought, So Central Plains people eat this stuff in secret, all to themselves? Cowards.

But she still wished for something warmer—something hot, steaming, something that could heat her from the inside.

That was why, even with no friends, she kept showing up to those banquets.

She never let anyone approach her. Never took handouts. Never begged.

Which meant: this was the very first proper high-grade meal she’d had since stepping into the martial world.

And not just any meal—one boiling like lava, tailored to her exact North Sea tastes.

Thus continued the two women’s almost combative feast.

Up in the highest tier of the restaurant, the premium dining level, all the other guests were holding their breath, too mesmerized to eat. The table turnover had ground to a halt.

“Whew. I’m stuffed.”

Qing leaned back, rubbing her stomach with both hands—now so round and swollen, it looked like {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} she was six months pregnant.

Which wasn’t far off. She was growing something inside her, technically. One small, lonely creature, oddly adorable despite it all.

Seol Iri stared at Qing’s food-baby belly with wide, curious eyes... then bowed her head.

“Thank you for the meal.”

Surprisingly polite.

Was this the fabled rice bond? Did sharing a meal bump up the affection meter just a bit?

Qing grinned and tried to strike up some post-meal conversation.

“So? Did you like it?”

“Yes.”

...Maybe not.

“Well, now that dinner’s done, don’t you think it’s time for you to stop following me around and return to the Alliance?”

“No.”

So she didn’t even deny that she was following Qing. Not like she’d tried to hide it in the first place.

“You said you don’t have any money. Where are you planning to sleep tonight? Just gonna collapse on the side of the road?”

Seol Iri stared at her for a long, quiet moment with that same deadpan face... and then said:

“I’ll go home to sleep. Wait here.”

“Oh, so you’re going back tonight to sleep, then coming back tomorrow? Let’s see... if you head out now, you’d get there around midnight, and if you leave after breakfast, you’d make it back before lunch.”

“Yes.”

“And what about tomorrow? We’re going to Zhongnansan. You planning to commute every day like that?”

Seol Iri bit her lip.

“I’ll sleep outside.”

“You’ve done that before?”

“Yes. Often.”

She just didn’t know how things worked in the Central Plains.

The North Sea folks were tough by necessity—people who’d forced roots into a land where no one should live.

“Okay, well, instead of wandering around in the dark, why don’t we just get a room for the night? Rest up and you can head out in the morning.”

“No.”

“You know I’m looping all the way through Sichuan, right? You’re planning to sleep outdoors the entire journey?”

“Yes.”

So stubborn she might as well be carved from stone.

Qing gave up trying to reason with her.

Fine. Let her follow. She’ll either get exhausted and drop off on her own—or not. Whatever.

“Alright then. If that’s what Miss Seol insists.”

Qing sighed and started rising. She needed to book herself a room for the night anyway—

“When will Miss Ximen be departing tomorrow?”

“Haven’t decided yet.”

“Then where will Miss Ximen be staying?”

“About to figure that out.”

“So when will we leave in the morning?”

Ah. So that’s why she was asking. Just to make sure she could keep tailing her.

Wasn’t even subtle about it.

Qing suddenly felt a mischievous urge.

“Whenever I feel like it. I can’t sleep alone, you see. If I can’t fall asleep, I might just up and leave in the middle of the night. So you’d better stay focused. Wouldn’t want to miss me.”

It wasn’t just mischief.

She was telling her, Be careful. Stay alert. If you’re going to sleep outside, don’t let your guard down. Stay sharp.

Seol Iri may have been strong—in a “Peak Stage, I guess?” kind of way—but calling someone like her a true master was an insult to real masters.

More like a decent mid-tier.

So long as she didn’t space out, she probably wouldn’t get herself killed.

****

As for Qing—she was loaded.

She booked the most expensive suite in the most luxurious inn and sank into the kind of bedding that could only be described as heavenly.

The bed practically swallowed her. Money well spent.

If she just lay like this, she’d be asleep in minutes. Probably. Maybe...

But she didn’t sleep.

More precisely—her body was exhausted, her mind fogged with fatigue, drowsiness creeping in... but every time she closed her eyes, something just felt off.

Too uncomfortable. Too empty.

She thought she’d dozed off now and then, but she always jolted awake with a dreadful feeling—like the same forgotten nightmare had been looping over and over in her half-sleep.

She still couldn’t sleep alone.

At last, Qing groaned and clawed at her hair, dragging herself upright.

The room was silent.

Thankfully, the window panes—covered with oiled paper—let in the sound of rain outside. A soft, steady downpour. Not silence. That was something.

Back before she ever entered Murim, even back in her homeland, Qing had always liked rain. Especially the kind you heard while safe, warm, and resting. It soothed her.

She walked to the window and opened it wide.

SSSSHHHHH!

The crisp hiss of rainfall exploded into the room like oil hitting a fryer.

Oh wow. This sound. She loved it. She suddenly craved jeon and makgeolli.

Maybe that was why—

Listening to that rainfall, it felt like her insides were cooling down. Like her heart was settling.

She had the distinct sense—no, the certainty—that she could finally sleep now.

So Qing climbed back into bed, determined to ride the wave of sleep before it passed.

The rain poured down. A soft, cleansing roar. Like it was washing all her worries away.

Peaceful. Sleepy...

Qing was just about to drift off—finally—

When suddenly, a single thought zipped through her mind, and her eyes snapped open.

She shot upright in bed.

“...Oh, shit. Miss Seol!”