I Am This Murim’s Crazy Bitch

Chapter 260: The Appearance of the Divine Dragon (16)

The title Shinryong (New Dragon) referred to a dragon that had ended its long life as an imugi and ascended to the heavens. It was also a term of reverence, bestowed upon the brilliant victor of the Dormant Dragon Martial Contest.

The problem was—never in its long history had a woman taken the title.

And so, naturally, the debates began.

Traditionally, “dragon” symbolized a man, while “phoenix” referred to a woman. That’s why the Murim’s most promising successors were often referred to as Dragon-Phoenix pairs.

Therefore, shouldn’t the title given to the disciple of the Divine Maiden Sect be New Phoenix, not New Dragon?

Then someone at the same table would object.

Or, sometimes, a group of like-minded folks would nod and say, “Yeah, New Phoenix makes sense,” reaching a dramatic consensus—only for the table next to them to loudly interject.

“Come on, New Phoenix? That just sounds off. There’s never been a title like that in Murim history—it sounds lame.”

That would split the room again.

One side argued: “The female counterpart to New Dragon should be Young Phoenix. Bongchu, you know.”

The other side fired back: “What does gender matter in martial arts? Stick to tradition. New Dragon applies to all.”

And so it went. Not a single teahouse or tavern in Kaifeng was safe from the argument.

Still, if there was one thing everyone did agree on—it was that the Divine Maiden Sect’s disciple was going to win.

After all, hadn’t she taken down Shaolin?

Granted, the martial power shown by the Gongsun Clan woman against Ok Kirin was impressive—high-level, even.

But Qing had defeated Shaolin’s champion in hand-to-hand combat.

Using bare hands instead of a weapon is generally seen as a disadvantage. Even a newborn instinctively understands that picking something up makes you stronger.

But to defeat the world’s foremost fist sect using fists—wasn’t that proof she was even stronger as a swordswoman?

And so, everyone was obsessed with coming up with a fitting nickname.

Sure, one could say, “Why even bother giving her a title?”—but if you managed to coin a name that resonated with the masses, it would spread like wildfire as an unofficial epithet.

Many martial artists ended up with multiple nicknames this way.

And if the title you came up with caught on? Well, that was a legacy. The kind of thing Central Plains people would pass down with pride through generations. So of course, they weren’t going to miss this chance.

“She’s supposed to be beautiful, right? How about Xishi Sword?”

“Xishi Sword? That’s awful.”

“Then Divine Sword of Xishi?”

“Why attach Xishi at all?”

“I like Three-Headed Divine Dragon.”

“Three-headed what? Why would a dragon have three—oh. I see. Three heads. Then it should be Three-Headed Phoenix. Why use ‘dragon’ at all?”

“I get where you're coming from, but three-headed dragons or phoenixes sound more like monsters.”

“She’s a new beauty, so she should be one of the Six Beauties of Murim.”

“Then New Dragon Sword Beauty!”

“Then we’d have two ‘Sword Beauties.’”

“How about New Dragon Myth?”

“Listen, maybe just stop. You’re clearly not cut out for this.”

Frankly, if Ximen Surin heard any of these names, she would’ve blown her top.

None of /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ them praised Qing’s martial presence or aura—they only fixated on her looks or, worse, her chest. Underneath it all was the nasty little belief that a strong woman wasn’t worth much in the grand scheme of Murim.

And so, on the day of the finals, when Qing soared gracefully into the ring and landed with effortless poise, a deafening roar erupted from the crowd.

Even louder than when the Shaolin disciple had entered. The noise was so overwhelming, it felt like the heavens themselves were shaking.

Using her supernatural hearing, Qing picked out a few voices from the chaos.

“Three-Headed Pretty Phoenix”—The hell? Who said that? I’m finding you.

“Busty Demoness?” Jesus Christ.

“Blooming Beauty of Huaxi?” Did they just call me a pig?

The word busty (??, literally “supreme waves”) was slang for women with large chests. Qing had heard it often during her time as a beggar.

In the Central Plains, big breasts were often mocked. So terms like that weren’t compliments—they were more like saying “fat cow” or “slut.”

Honestly, even in Qing’s hometown, calling busty women “milkcows” had only become a thing recently.

East or West, the derogatory word of choice for a woman with a big chest? Pig. It’s a tradition, apparently.

But Flower Pig—now that was something else.

In the Central Plains, it was the most affectionate and disgustingly cutesy nickname a person could call their lover.

So when they said “Blooming Beauty of Huaxi,” what they really meant was: “She’s got big boobs, but I’d still love her anyway.”

That... was the Central Plains’ idea of humor.

Utterly fucking vile.

Not every nickname was about tits, though.

“East Mountain Comrade! The one who tears up mountains and overturns earth!”

“Fairy of Xiang Yu”—Wait, can fairy even go after Xiang Yu? That feels... wrong.

Maybe it was a reference to when she’d grabbed that Shaolin monk by the wrist and slammed him around like a ragdoll. People had found that impressively brutish.

“Most Beautiful Woman Under Heaven”—Eh, that one’s a stretch. There are way too many pretty girls for that title to be accurate.

“Sword Queen Beauty”—Already calling me a Sword Queen, huh?

The crowd’s cheers, all directed at her, made her insides squirm.

Still... it didn’t feel bad.

“Alright, alright, settle down.”

Qing raised her hand to quiet the crowd.

When Gongsun Yoye appeared next, the cheering died down noticeably.

Which made things a bit awkward.

Still, she had earned her own cool nickname: Xuanyuan Immortal Maiden.

...Okay, that was actually pretty good. Why did that sound legit?

“Lady Ximen. You haven’t forgotten my request, have you?”

“Mm. I’m not sure. But I’ll try my best to mean it.”

She’d been mulling it over all day, yesterday and today, but... still wasn’t sure.

Was sincerity supposed to come with the intent to kill?

“Then...”

Gongsun Yoye gave a graceful nod and raised her longsword with both hands.

A vast shadow fell across Qing’s face—cast by the blade. A sweeping sword aura burst skyward, splitting the heavens.

The pressure in that aura made Qing grit her teeth.

So this was it. The real Xuanyuan Sword, the kind that burns through your core just to unleash.

In response, Qing’s own blade surged with energy, manifesting a custom-built sword aura so overcharged it warped the air around it—expanding so massively it looked more like a greatsword than a saber.

Yoye’s sword extended upward a full jang in length, while Qing’s bloated sword aura spread wide to the sides.

And then—CLANG—they clashed.

The impact was nothing like the basic “Mount Tai Crushing Step.” This pressure was alive. Palpitating. It felt like life itself was being thrown into the strike.

Damn. I really fucked up.

I’d been underestimating her. I thought I’d win for sure, and now I’ve been shoved to the edge in a single blow.

But seriously, isn’t that cheating?

Why the hell does her sword stretch like that?! If she swings a sword that long, the range must be—

A longer sword means longer reach.

And when you swing from the center, the edge moves so fast it tears through air like a laser—more like a plane of destruction than a line.

This must be what it feels like to face a swordswoman when you're a brawler. You’ve got to close the gap—but how?

That first strike was just a teaser.

The next swing came in horizontally, occupying the entire space.

Aura with no mass can’t be blocked or deflected—it just presses on, wearing you down.

Yoye’s sword aura glowed with imperial colors—somewhere between crimson and royal violet, like a rare dye reserved for emperors.

Qing lifted her sword upward, deflecting the straight-line strike.

Their auras screeched against each other with a warped, electric sound, and as the sparks flared along the blade, they streaked in a line straight toward Yoye.

Then suddenly, the pressure bearing down through the sword vanished with a snap.

It was because Gongsun Yoye’s blade had shortened—her sword aura pulled back, the contact broken.

Qing’s sword, which had been straining against it, now slashed through thin air. Her body, once braced against the resistance, stumbled forward.

Gongsun Yoye’s sword shifted from line to point.

A direct thrust—straight at Qing.

Though, really, could you even call it a thrust if the sword aura just extended endlessly?

Qing flinched.

Iron Bridge Defense? No. She can angle it downward.

There was still enough distance for Yoye’s blade to move freely. A single precise thrust followed by a downward sweep could slice vertically through even Iron Bridge—it could be fatal.

Qing launched herself into the air like diving into water.

She rolled twice across the ground and popped back to her feet—only for the re-extended sword aura to chase her down again.

Fierce energy burst from the Yongcheon point in her feet—that key meridian located between the two bones at the ball of the foot.

Tak. Tak. Tak.

Her strides widened, cutting a sweeping arc as she moved, eyes locked firmly on Gongsun Yoye.

Swirling with motion, Qing tightened her circle, gradually closing in on the center—on Yoye.

And then, just as Yoye’s sword aura had been tracing behind Qing in endless loops—it vanished.

As if to say, stop circling and come at me, Yoye tapped her sword tip lightly against the ground like a cane and stood waiting.

Qing answered that call.

She unleashed Gyeokgong Sunshin, one of the most supreme movement techniques, a near-complete expression of Divine Leap.

In her vision, Gongsun Yoye’s entire body suddenly expanded—disproportionately, the upper half stretched wide.

Just as Qing began to unfurl her opening form from the Divine Maiden Sword—

She sensed it.

The strange ripple in the air brushing her face, her hands.

With a thunderous slam, she stomped down hard on the duel platform, shattering the wooden floor and sending splinters flying.

Her body shot backward like a missile.

And from her high vantage point, Qing saw it—a loose, shimmering net beginning to wrap around Gongsun Yoye.

The paths of her sword aura had spread out, covering the entire arena in the shape of a vast, blooming web.

Wow. Awakened Martial Art. This is actually working?

But seriously—what the hell is that technique?

Martial arts, once they surpass a certain threshold, touch on ideology.

Beyond just swinging fast or slow, strong or soft, the true masters bring out a sword forged from the heart—a miraculous projection of their personal truth.

Qing didn’t know the name of Yoye’s form, but if she had to give it one, it would be something like: Ultimate Whirlwind Slashing Frenzy.

But every stroke in that storm was polished to perfection. Blades filled with massive force and velocity, circling and surrounding from every angle with absolute precision.

Like a blooming rose, the web of sword aura spread wide—

—then vanished, as if it had never been there.

Gongsun Yoye smiled sweetly and spoke.

“Lady Ximen. You’re not going to intimidate me into defeat like you did with Monk Wolbong. That wasn’t martial skill. You were just overwhelming him with brute strength and instinct. Please—this time, could you show me your sincerity?”

“I don’t know what that even means. All the martial arts I’ve learned... they’re all for killing. Do I have to use a death blade for it to be sincere?”

“Well... I wouldn’t know, would I? You have your own martial path, Lady Ximen.”

“My martial path... huh.”

A sword is a killing tool.

Isn’t that what it’s always been, historically? Or maybe a ritual object? Or a symbol of authority?

Is there even any depth here worthy of being called an “art”?

“Then allow me to strike this time.”

Tang! The sound of her foot planting echoed sharp and clear.

Gongsun Yoye’s speed was no joke.

It was nothing like what she’d shown during their sparring.

She had to be burning Innate Energy—the kind that shortens your lifespan—to boost herself this much.

The longer this dragged out, the more it’d drain her core.

So I should end this quickly—even if I have to use a kill-blade.

Qing’s aura shifted instantly.

Her left hand flowed forward smoothly.

Deng.

The solemn sound of a temple bell echoed.

But the result was brutal.

A massive palm-shaped crater stamped itself into the wooden arena floor.

The monks from Shaolin watching immediately stood and began chanting Tathagata’s Palm in unison.

But as if she’d expected this, Gongsun Yoye had already slid under the strike.

Shit—she was even faster than I thought!

Qing’s sword tip snapped toward the back of Yoye’s neck.

But Yoye’s left hand surged up, pressing her palm against the flat of Qing’s blade—she wasn’t idle either.

Qing twisted her wrist, intent on slicing through the impudent hand that dared to touch her weapon.

But a sacred-colored aura bloomed.

Pop.

With a soft burst, Qing’s sword was knocked far off course.

Yoye twisted her blade outward and swung it upward, grip reversed, aiming the pommel like a hammer at Qing’s temple.

In that split-second—Qing’s eyes flashed.

KWA-RUNG!

A thunderclap rang out.

Reddish twilight qi burst forth, shimmering in waves.

CRACK!

A brutal impact landed squarely on Yoye’s shoulder, sending her staggering backward.

One of the Ten Great Demonic Arts—Self-Generating Lightning of the Spinning Horse Art.

Yeah. I thought it might work—and it actually did.

It was thanks to the heightened sensitivity brought by her Awakened Martial Art—every shift in the air felt razor-sharp against her skin, so she figured she could control the Self-Generating Lightning for once.

And even if she couldn’t control it? Well, it would’ve hit something else.

But the fact that it hit the intended target—the shoulder—was... satisfying.

Still...

Can I just throw that around like it’s nothing?

...Eh, whatever. She did ask for sincerity.

Master said if I push hard enough, it’ll count.

It’s not purple, so I’ll just insist it’s Sunset Qi and say it’s not a demonic art. Maybe something like “Solar Divine Transmission Technique.” Yeah, that’ll do.

Qing grinned viciously.