And when the Tang Clan members in green-toned robes filled every prepared seat, the subject of today’s contest finally appeared from afar.
Baek Ho-cheol was dragged into the courtyard, his appearance so wretched and filth-ridden that he made the recently destitute Guyang Seon look like a prince by comparison.
What the hell? Why him? Cho Yoon felt a cold sweat slick his spine for the first time in an age. Are they seriously asking me to come up with some “creative” way to poison him to death?
As the King of the Green Forests was shoved onto a straw mat, forced into a kneeling position, a murmur rippled through the gathered crowd. Ho-cheol appeared hollowed out, a mere shadow of his former self. This transformation was likely the consequence of the intense torture and pressure-point sealing he had endured since arriving at the Tang estate.
A Tang Clan elder, who bore a striking resemblance to Tang Yeom-cho and appeared to be his brother, stepped forward. He snapped his fan shut with a sharp clack and tucked his hands behind his back.
“Silence! Silence, everyone! I shall now delineate the parameters of today’s contest!”
The Elder’s booming voice easily quelled the whispers of the disciples. He scanned the assembled clan members with a look of profound satisfaction, nodding as if pleased to see his family finally united for such an occasion.
“First and foremost, I wish to express our deepest gratitude to the Great Hero Cho Yoon, the Immortal Healer, for deigning to accept this sudden invitation. Through the Great Hero’s benevolence, I am certain the Tang Clan shall ascend to even loftier heights of mastery this day.”
With those words, the Elder offered Cho Yoon a formal clasped-fist salute. In response, every Tang Clan member present—excluding those of high enough status to remain in the seats of honor—bolted to their feet and returned the salute with practiced, rhythmic precision.
Judging by that archaic, formal tone he’s using, I must be in their bad books… Cho Yoon sat paralyzed, unsure of how to respond.
It was his first time being treated as a venerable elder by such a massive crowd, even if the gesture was purely for show. Before he could decide on a course of action, the crowd settled back into their seats.
The Elder cleared his throat loudly, the sound echoing off the marble. “Centuries ago, when this land was first plunged into the fires of war and countless kingdoms rose and fell like morning mist, our Tang Clan…”
He was, to put it mildly, prone to digression.
Driven by an overflowing love for his own lineage, the Elder launched into a sprawling recitation of the Sichuan Tang Clan’s history. He detailed the heroic feats of the Tang ancestors, the unyielding tenets that served as the family’s foundation, and the long list of peerless masters who had once called these halls home.
In contrast, Cho Yoon found himself wondering if this was a moderator’s briefing or a glorified recruitment seminar.
Unfortunately, Cho Yoon lacked the social audacity to tell the man that no one wanted to hear his family’s highlight reel.
After a full quarter-hour had elapsed, and Tang Yeom-cho, noticing Cho Yoon’s increasing unease, had made a pointed and exaggerated cough, the Elder finally reached the point.
“Ahem! Regardless, the theme of today’s competition is ‘Confession.’ Look upon this man!”
The Elder pointed the tip of his fan at the kneeling Baek Ho-cheol. The bandit leader, despite his miserable state, glared back with eyes still burning with a trace of feral spite.
The Elder simply clicked his tongue in disdain.
“For those among you who remain unaware, let it be known: this creature is none other than Baek Ho-cheol, the King of the Green Forests—the leader of that shameless pack of unorthodox curs who plague the Central Plains!”
“Gasp!”
“Baek Ho-cheol? The King himself was held here?”
A wave of genuine shock broke over the crowd. Aside from the Elders and a handful of senior disciples, most were stunned to learn that such a high-profile villain had been rotting in their dungeons while the gates remained sealed.
The Elder, unaware that it was actually Cho Yoon who had captured the man, allowed a smug smile to grace his features as he credited Nan Wi-jeong for the haul.
“We apprehended him recently while he was attempting to harm a member of our clan. It is inconceivable that this cowardly wretch acted alone. While we possess circumstantial evidence suggesting he was commissioned by a power within Shaanxi, we have hit a wall due to a lack of formal testimony. Despite days of interrogation, this assassin’s blackened heart remains locked tight behind his teeth.”
Though the Elder used the vague term “Shaanxi powers” to avoid a premature diplomatic incident, every martial artist in the courtyard immediately visualized the same target: Mount Hua.
The Elder watched the crowd’s indignation boil with evident glee before raising his voice once more. “Therefore! The challenge I present to our two masters of poison this day is this: You are to use your toxins to extract a full confession from this man within a set time limit!”
“Oooooh!”
“Excellent!!”
Excellent? My ass, Cho Yoon thought, swallowing a cynical retort as the crowd broke into applause. He realized that whether he won or Tang Yeom-cho won, the Tang Clan was the only real beneficiary. They were getting a free professional interrogation out of the deal.
I guess Nan Wi-jeong really is a Tang through and through. These people are terrifyingly pragmatic.
He felt a twinge of irritation at being used as a tool, but the wheels were already in motion. Besides, any pity he felt for Baek Ho-cheol was tempered by reality.
Since Cho Yoon’s arrival, the man had been poisoned, paralyzed, and dragged around like a war slave, which made him seem pathetic—but he was still a bandit king. He was a criminal who viewed theft and extortion as a legitimate career and wouldn’t hesitate to murder for profit. In the moral economy of a Wuxia novel, such men were fair game for any level of violence or torture.
The competition was also a masterfully chosen test of skill. It wasn’t just about brewing a toxin or an antidote; it required profound knowledge, manufacturing precision, and the delicate control needed to manipulate a human mind toward a specific goal.
Cho Yoon noted the Elder’s subtle, predatory smirk.
The man clearly believed this challenge favored the Tang Clan, the undisputed experts in ‘aggressive’ poisons, over a ‘Immortal Healer’ whose reputation was built on healing.
Tang Yeom-cho, sitting in the seat of honor, seemed to share Cho Yoon’s embarrassment, as he eventually covered his face with a hand.
Unfazed, the Elder gestured toward the nearby building.
“This is the Pavilion of Snow Leaves, the repository where all raw materials entering our clan are stored in their unrefined state. The two competitors shall enter, select their ingredients, and manufacture a toxin by their own hand. You must then administer it to this man and extract a verifiable confession. However, the entire process—from selection to confession—must be completed within a single double-hour!”
Two hours.
Considering the time required to grind, steam, boil, and cool a complex poison, it was an incredibly tight window.
Baek Ho-cheol’s face turned an ashen shade of grey. He had already spent days being force-fed every poison in the Tang arsenal; the prospect of having to survive the custom-made concoctions of both the Clan Head and the Immortal Healer was enough to break any man’s spirit.
“Now, are there any questions?”
Cho Yoon studied Ho-cheol’s reaction before speaking. “…To extract a confession, we must inevitably release the sealing on his jaw and throat. What precautions have been taken to prevent him from blocking his own meridians to commit suicide, or simply biting off his own tongue?”
With his jaw paralyzed, Ho-cheol was harmless. But once he could speak, he could also kill himself—and Cho Yoon had no desire to see a man’s teeth pulled out one by one just to keep him alive.
Besides, Ho-cheol currently had zero incentive to cooperate.
The best-case scenario for the bandit king was simply more torture in the Tang dungeons.
The Elder nodded. “A valid point. We have considered this and decided to offer the prisoner a condition of his own. If he manages to endure the contest without confessing until the time expires, we shall honor his fortitude and permit him to leave the Tang Clan’s jurisdiction unharmed!”
“Wait… really?”
“Can we truly let such a villain go?”
A wave of unease rippled through the spectators. The Elder gestured for calm.
“We are the Sichuan Tang Clan, a righteous sect that walks the path of justice. No matter how wicked the individual, to act with wanton cruelty and no regard for honor would make us no better than the monsters of Xinjiang. We must respect what is due and uphold our principles.”
“Still…”
“And above all!” the Elder roared, playing to the crowd with practiced showmanship. “Look at the two masters competing today! We have the ‘Single Drop Execution’ himself and the Great Hero Immortal Healer! Do you truly believe he can withstand their combined genius?”
He gestured grandly to the two men on the stage. It was clear why he had been chosen as the MC; he knew exactly how to manipulate the crowd’s expectations. His words worked; the disciples began to nod, deciding that a few days of dungeon torture followed by a legendary poisoning didn’t count as “wanton cruelty.”
“Now, as we do not know how long this may take, let us begin. As the younger of the two, I propose that the Clan Head, Tang Yeom-cho, go first. Does the Great Hero Cho Yoon have any objections?”
Cho Yoon offered a slow, silent shake of his head. Internally, he felt a sting of resentment—the “inner” Cho Yoon was only in his mid-twenties, making him the junior by far—but he couldn’t exactly argue that without blowing his cover. Besides, his particular strategy only worked if he went second.
“Then, let the contest commence!”
With a triumphant grin, the Elder flipped a large hourglass on the dais. Tang Yeom-cho rose with a grim, dignified air and began his steady march toward the Pavilion of Snow Leaves.
The Great Suffering of Baek Ho-cheol had officially begun.