Chapter 43

Tang Yeom-cho, who had at least had a tolerable conversation with him, gasped and scrutinized Cho Yoon’s expression. However, once Cho Yoon’s mouth opened, it remained open, as if a portion of his original feelings for the Sichuan Tang Clan had resurfaced.

Cho Yoon reached for the pristine white teapot resting on the adjacent table, lifting its lid to reveal the pale green hue of plum blossom tea filling half the delicate porcelain.

He gazed into the gently rippling surface for a fleeting moment before abruptly twisting his wrist, emptying the fragrant liquid onto the floor.

“But keep this in mind,” he declared softly. “There will be no next time.”

“…”

A restless, heavy silence descended upon the competition grounds.

The truly cunning among the crowd recognized the shifting tides, finally understanding the absolute necessity of guarding their tongues and actions.

Cho Yoon’s fleeting tolerance had officially evaporated.

From this moment forward, even the slightest misstep would earn them the permanent enmity of the towering titan known as the Immortal Healer.

With a single, impassive remark that sent shockwaves rippling through the Sichuan Tang Clan, Cho Yoon retrieved two pristine, empty teacups. He descended from the seat of honor with a gait so impossibly light he appeared to be treading upon clouds, finally stepping onto the solid ground where Baek Ho-cheol remained kneeling.

“Bring a table and two chairs here.”

Issuing the terse command, Cho Yoon filled a kettle with fresh water, placed it over a glowing brazier, and turned his steps toward the Pavilion of Snow Leaves. 

Is he genuinely intending to share a table and sip tea with the man he is supposed to torture? 

A sea of baffled, questioning gazes clung to his uncompromisingly straight back.

Cho Yoon vanished into the grand pavilion without so much as a backward glance. As the hourglass was swiftly inverted, every disciple and elder of the Tang Clan—individuals possessing profound expertise in venom—fixed their expectant, burning eyes upon the pavilion doors.

Here was an eccentric whose mastery over pharmacology permitted no equal.

A being dubbed an Immortal because his exquisite, unfathomable techniques seemed entirely severed from the mortal realm.

A peerless master of poison arts capable of neutralizing hundreds with his mere presence.

What unimaginable toxin would such a legend concoct before their very eyes, and what esoteric ingredients would he select?

While their minds raced with wild, horrific imaginations, an utterly bizarre anomaly occurred.

Far from taking half a gak, Cho Yoon emerged from the pavilion almost immediately, bearing only a single, solitary medicinal ingredient in his grasp.

“What in the world is… that?”

“It looks like some kind of root.”

The spectators murmured in hushed tones, squinting to discern the object in Cho Yoon’s hand. It was a bumpy, light-brown root roughly the size of an index finger, impeccably trimmed and entirely devoid of dirt or fine tendrils.

“Ah, I know! It’s Wolf’s Tongue Root!”

“Wolf’s Tongue Root? What on earth is that?”

A first-generation disciple, notably confident in his botanical expertise, blurted out the revelation, instantly drawing a swarm of curious gazes. Lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, he shared his fragmented knowledge with his peers.

“Wolf’s Tongue Root is… well, you won’t find it growing in the Central Plains. It’s an obscure herb native exclusively to Haedong or Eastern Isles.”

“And they just had that lying around in the Pavilion of Snow Leaves?”

“The clan swept up all sorts of foreign poisons for research, so it makes sense they would have it stocked. But… isn’t that incredibly lethal if consumed improperly? I heard anyone who ingests it either drops dead or spirals into absolute madness.”

“Well, let’s just watch. You really think the Immortal Healer would invite a disqualification?”

“True. He isn’t called the Immortal Healer for nothing.”

Cheon-oh meticulously tracked the movements of their lips, straining his ears as a subtle frown creased his young features.

It was infuriating enough that these insolent fools dared to gossip about his master, but the fact that they recognized an ingredient he did not know gnawed at his pride.

Wolf’s Tongue Root? 

No matter how hard he racked his brain, he drew a blank.

He had proudly believed he memorized every single medicinal herb housed within the Estate of Deep Mists, yet this root was an utter mystery.

Was it absent from the estate simply because it only grew in Haedong and Eastern Isles? Had his master planned to teach him about it later? Or was it deemed unnecessary knowledge? Perhaps the whispering disciples were entirely mistaken.

Regardless of the reason, the gap in his knowledge left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Suddenly, Cheon-oh flinched as a familiar voice echoed vividly in his mind, sounding as though his master were standing right beside him. Whipping his head around, he saw his master placing the controversial root upon the preparation platform’s cutting board, slicing it into paper-thin pieces.

[The rhizome of the ‘crazy weed,’ which flourishes exclusively in Haedong and Eastern Isles, is known as Wolf’s Tongue Root. If administered incorrectly, it lives up to its namesake, driving a person into sheer madness or even death. However, if the appropriate dosage is applied with precision, such tragedies do not occur.]

His master’s telepathic voice remained as gentle and tranquil as ever, calmly imparting the herb’s properties.

Cheon-oh suddenly felt a flush of embarrassment for his isolated fretting and wounded pride. 

Of course. 

His master would never deliberately withhold knowledge from him. He had only studied so fervently to ensure he never disappointed the man who took him in.

Gathering the finely sliced pieces of Wolf’s Tongue Root, his master performed swift, deliberate motions before dropping them into the teapot. 

Is he genuinely planning to share an intimate cup of tea with that Green Forests brute? 

A flicker of doubt arose, but Cheon-oh promptly shook his head, discarding the thought.

[When utilized correctly, this serves as an extraordinary analgesic. It possesses antipyretic and sedative properties, proving highly effective against severe colds and asthma. If synthesized into an ointment, it can even treat the five types of hemorrhoids and anal prolapse.]

Having stoically recited the herb’s medicinal virtues, his master lifted the violently boiling water kettle from the brazier and poured it into the teapot.

The Wolf’s Tongue Root infused instantaneously, swirling within the porcelain vessel like a miniature tempest.

The entire process blatantly violated the rigid, traditional tea ceremonies Cheon-oh had learned in his earliest years. Yet, the graceful arch of his master’s arm, the precise tilt of the kettle, and the deeply serene gaze fixed upon the churning water were all so fiercely tranquil and dignified that they wiped Cheon-oh’s mind entirely blank.

Having brewed the unorthodox tea, his master arranged the steaming teapot and the two empty cups upon a wooden tray, carrying them toward the newly placed table.

He set the cups on opposite sides and poured the fragrant liquid.

[However, what I am about to demonstrate to you today is the absolute incorrect usage of this herb. Observe closely, but do not dare to replicate it.]

Snap. 

The thick ropes binding the kneeling Baek Ho-cheol abruptly severed. Cho Yoon had not so much as spared the man a single glance, yet every soul present inherently knew it was the Immortal Healer’s doing.

Freed from their prolonged, agonizing confinement, Baek Ho-cheol’s arms dropped limply to his sides. His rugged, fearsome face tilted upward, staring at Cho Yoon in a daze of sheer disbelief and lingering suspicion.

Keeping his posture immaculately straight, Cho Yoon took his seat and elegantly lifted his cup. He blew softly upon the curling steam and took a deliberate sip.

In essence, he was casually drinking the very ‘poison’ he had just concocted to torture his captive.

His low, velvet voice resonated with crystalline clarity across the silent arena.

“Sit up and drink. This is the only thing I intend to feed you.”

“…What is your scheme?”

After screeching in unimaginable agony for over a gak, Baek Ho-cheol’s voice was reduced to a pathetic, ragged rasp. He staggered unsteadily to his feet and collapsed into the chair opposite Cho Yoon, though he made no move to touch the porcelain cup.

Lowering his gaze, seemingly possessing zero intention of rushing the broken man, Cho Yoon spoke.

“It will soothe the residual agony. Your stomach lining must feel as though it has been violently flayed.”

“…”

Just as Cho Yoon observed, Baek Ho-cheol’s entire body was currently saturated in a cold, clammy sweat. The searing, flesh-rending torment had mercifully vanished, yet his abused stomach continued to protest with violent, excruciating cramps.

It wasn’t that he foolishly believed the Immortal Healer would spare him from torture. However, weighing the terrifying rumors against the profound aura of the man sitting before him… at the very least, he did not seem like the type to lie.

Above all else, Baek Ho-cheol’s psychological endurance had been pushed to its absolute breaking point over the past few days.

His towering pride had been pulverized in an instant, and his fiercely loyal subordinates had perished in vain. He had been stripped of his martial arts, dragged across the lands like livestock, and mercilessly tortured while a massive crowd watched him writhe and crawl like a pathetic insect. The very foundations that constructed the man named Baek Ho-cheol had been shattered into irreparable fragments.

A calloused, grime-covered hand trembled violently as it reached for the teacup.

A splash of hot tea sloshed over the rim, wetting his fingers, though his heavily calloused skin barely registered the heat.

Taking a ragged breath, Baek Ho-cheol tipped the cup and took a tentative sip.

The warm, immaculate liquid moistened his parched, cracked mouth before sliding smoothly down his throat.

“Keuh…”

“It is scalding. Drink it slowly.”

Unable to suppress a sudden, overwhelming surge of emotion, Baek Ho-cheol recklessly gulped down the scalding tea in a single breath. Slamming the empty cup onto the table, he sat there heaving, his chest rising and falling erratically. With unbothered grace, the Immortal Healer lifted the teapot, refilling the bandit king’s cup as he offered his calm reprimand.

For the next gak, not another word was spoken.

Baek Ho-cheol drank two more cups of the tea until the biting chill in his body was replaced by a soothing warmth.

Proving that his legendary title was no empty boast, the excruciating pain wracking Baek Ho-cheol’s body had long since faded into nothingness.

The atmosphere surrounding the intimate tea party in the dead center of the arena was profoundly tranquil and quiet.

The only ones throwing a silent, frantic uproar were the Tang Clan elders huddled together in the seats of honor.