“Y-you’re really good at lying, sis. Back in Guangdong, there wasn’t a single adult who didn’t fall for it.”
“I’m telling you nicely, so shut your mouth. Who do you think you have to thank for keeping you fed and alive all this time?”
The moment Sa-hyeon retaliated against being teased for his inability to lie, the two siblings immediately began bickering. Even so, their “fight” was nothing more than an adorable, harmless exchange of words, and they both seemed to be thoroughly enjoying themselves.
Trailing behind the children with a significantly calmer heart, Cho Yoon felt Cheon-oh—who had been walking silently beside him, holding his hand—suddenly speak up.
“…I wish to learn.”
“Hm?”
Hearing the faint melancholy in the boy’s voice, which was simultaneously packed tight with fierce determination and stubborn pride, Cho Yoon looked down at Cheon-oh. The boy pressed his lips together firmly before lifting his head, staring straight up at Cho Yoon, and articulating his desire once more with absolute clarity.
“I wish to learn the entirety of your pharmacology, Master. Whatever knowledge you possess, I wish to inherit it all. Including every single medicinal herb from Haedong.”
“…”
A child overflowing with such a ravenous thirst for knowledge was truly a commendable sight, no matter when it happened.
An ordinary master in a martial arts novel might have perceived such a bold declaration from a disciple as boundless arrogance, but Cho Yoon felt nothing but profound pride.
You’ve helped me out several times today. Cho Yoon gently squeezed the small hand held within his own.
“Very well. If you possess the capability, I shall teach you as much as you desire.”
“I will put forth even greater effort than I do now.”
“…No, maintaining your current level of effort is sufficient. Have I not always told you that excess is never a good thing?”
If this kid tries any harder, I’m going to be completely surpassed in no time…
Wishing for a child’s growth to slow down was undoubtedly selfish, but he simply couldn’t help it. Cho Yoon wanted to remain a useful, dependable teacher to these children for as long as humanly possible. Because his ultimate goal wasn’t to raise outstanding late-stage prodigies solely to inherit his martial arts, but rather to nurture them as if they were his own flesh and blood, he desperately wanted to delay the day when he would be forced to say, “I have nothing left to teach you.”
So let’s strive to ensure this time isn’t solely for my own selfish desires. Let’s create an abundance of meaningful experiences and memories that will positively shape their character. Let’s do our absolute best so that even after they inevitably leave the nest, I will remain a fond memory.
Having exclusively raised three children who remarkably exhibited zero behavioral issues, Cho Yoon’s initial passion as a novice parent had yet to fade, prompting this renewed vow.
The mouth-watering aroma wafting from the rapidly approaching pavilion further buoyed his spirits.
Once we finish eating and collect the poison, there’s nothing left to do here. Let’s just buy some rice and head straight home tomorrow!
Entering through the doors held open by the guide with a light, bouncy step, they were greeted by a feast so extravagant it threatened to snap the table legs.
Evidently intended as a private, intimate meal for the four of them, not a single outsider was present. The guide simply requested they call for him once they were finished before promptly exiting the room.
Naturally, the children claimed their respective seats, practically vibrating with excitement. By the end of the meal, they had gorged themselves so thoroughly that their heavily distended bellies made it difficult for them to move.
True to the essence of Sichuan cuisine, the majority of the dishes boasted a fiery, numbing spice. Yet, even as they repeatedly guzzled water with their lips swollen cherry-red, they happily chattered away, clearly relishing the experience.
Cho Yoon, too, spent an entirely joyous time.
He remained completely oblivious to the fact that later that very night, a faction of martial artists would launch a violent surprise attack on the Sichuan Tang Clan—an incident that would tear two of the children from his grasp, forcing him to return home with a hollow, devastated heart.
***
Having washed down the awkward friction of the daytime competition with a lavish dinner, Cho Yoon felt thoroughly satisfied. Watching the children eat so happily and heartily filled him with a reassuring warmth, and the renowned Sichuan cuisine had perfectly satisfied his palate.
Regaling the children—whose eyes sparkled with insatiable curiosity—with tales of the medicinal herbs used in the competition and the vast lands beyond the Central Plains, they eventually managed to demolish the mountainous feast. By the time they stepped outside, the sky had already darkened into dusk.
Unwilling to delay any further, Cho Yoon decided to leave the children in the Tang Clan’s care for a single night while he went to retrieve the promised poison.
“Do you understand, Sa-yeong? I shall return before the sun rises. Playing with your brothers is fine, but ensure you do not stay up too late.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Furthermore, wandering recklessly around the estate to pry open doors or sneak into restricted areas is a severe breach of etiquette for a guest. If you wish to play, do so exclusively within your bedchambers.”
“Yes, Master.”
[And I say this merely as a precaution, but I never borrow the mouths of others to summon you. If anyone approaches you claiming they were instructed to bring you to me, you must ignore them completely.]
[Yes, Master!]
We’re only going to be apart for a few hours. Why am I so incredibly anxious? Even though the Sichuan Tang Clan—hardly an ordinary household—offered to watch over them, I just can’t shake this unease. Is it because this is the first time I’ve been separated from the kids for this long?
Forcefully suppressing his worries, Cho Yoon approached Sa-hyeon.
“Sa-hyeon, you must listen well to your sister. Though she may be mischievous, she is your only blood relative and cares for you more deeply than anyone else. Once you are fully grown and step out into the world, you will eventually realize just how profoundly difficult it is to protect someone without expecting anything in return.”
“…Yes, yes. I understand, Master.”
“Good. Furthermore, I entrust the youngest disciple to your care as well.”
Glancing nervously at Sa-yeong, Sa-hyeon offered his reply. Cho Yoon gently patted the back of Sa-hyeon’s hand before finally turning his attention to Cheon-oh.
Perhaps because his earlier request to accompany Cho Yoon had been firmly denied, Cheon-oh looked noticeably despondent.
“Your master is not vanishing forever. Why do you look so crestfallen? I already told you, you are not ready yet.”
“…”
“Do not be anxious, and place your trust in your senior sister and brother. Close your eyes for a brief sleep, and you will find I have already returned by the time you wake.”
“…Truly? Will you truly return that quickly?”
“Of course. Tomorrow, as soon as we awaken, we shall have a light meal and depart for home immediately.”
Cheon-oh lowered his head submissively and nodded. He wore his usual expressionless mask, but his slightly pouting lips inadvertently betrayed his lingering dissatisfaction, making him look incredibly endearing.
Only after tenderly stroking Cheon-oh’s head did Cho Yoon finally turn around. Tang Yeom-cho had been waiting respectfully from a distance this entire time for Cho Yoon to conclude his farewells.
“I shall take my leave now. Keep my instructions firmly etched in your minds.”
“Yes, Master!”
Leaving behind the three children, who bowed respectfully at the waist to see him off, Cho Yoon set off. It was a night where ominous black clouds were beginning to swallow the sky, threatening to blot out the crescent moon.
***
The lands of Sichuan consisted of seven parts mountainous terrain and three parts basin.
Formidable mountains comprising massive ranges tightly encircled the flatlands, rendering the entire province a heaven-sent fortress that was exceptionally arduous to both enter and exit.
Although the basin only accounted for three-tenths of the total landmass, that was only a relative percentage; compared to the South Korea that Jeong Hayoon had once inhabited, it was unfathomably vast.
This inherently meant that the mountains making up the remaining seven-tenths were terrifyingly, mind-bogglingly expansive.
“Just fifty years ago, every single poison belonging to the Tang Clan was managed within the Pavilion of Ten Thousand Poisons located inside the main estate. However, during the reign of my predecessor, a catastrophic incident occurred. A first-generation disciple, displaying exceptional talent in stealth arts, grew overly arrogant in his abilities and infiltrated the lowest depths of the Pavilion.”
As they crossed what felt like the umpteenth mountain together, Tang Yeom-cho, perhaps feeling slightly self-conscious of the silence, began pouring out the lengthy history unprompted.
Cho Yoon, whose mind had been entirely preoccupied with thoughts of the children he left behind, registered Tang Yeom-cho’s words a beat late and lifted his gaze.
“The following morning, that disciple was discovered as nothing more than a localized puddle of bloody water. The real issue was that such tragedies occurred once or twice every few decades. Because the Sichuan Tang Clan is a faction dedicated to the research of poison, our annual records are exceptionally thorough. The exact same incidents occurred during my predecessor’s era, and the era before his as well. It seems there is always at least one fool so bloated with youthful arrogance they refuse to heed warnings… Truly…”
“There always are. It is an immutable law of nature that such fools exist, which is precisely why the burden falls upon the instructors to enforce impenetrable security.”
“You are entirely correct. However, the elders at the time merely held the mindset of, ‘Isn’t an incident like this necessary every once in a while to jolt everyone awake? When pursuing martial cultivation, it’s only natural for a peer or two to die along the way.'”
How incredibly typical of a martial arts novel…
Perhaps sensing Cho Yoon’s deep, internal grimace, Tang Yeom-cho laughed awkwardly and continued.
“Ultimately, I was the one who constructed a storage facility where only the Clan Head knows the location and possesses the authority to manage it. I deliberately selected a location incredibly far from the main estate so it could not be easily discovered, and I am the sole individual alive who knows how to dismantle its protective formations.”
“A wise and prudent measure.”
How did such a reasonable man end up producing elders and disciples like the ones I saw today?
Cho Yoon pondered the question briefly.
Although Tang Yeom-cho had made a terrible first impression, conversing with him revealed he was actually a fairly decent person. However, recalling that a school didn’t magically become an excellent institution simply because the principal was a good person, he felt he somewhat understood the dynamic.
Just as students only ever saw their principal during agonizingly boring speeches at school assemblies, Tang Yeom-cho likely hadn’t been able to exert a close, personal influence over the sprawling masses of Tang Clan disciples.
The tips of Cho Yoon’s toes lightly brushed against the blades of wild grass as he glided forward. The morning dew clinging to the vibrantly growing leaves simply rolled off and fell to the earth undisturbed. It was a flawless execution of the Grass-skimming Flight footwork, leaving absolutely no trace of his passage save for a gentle, localized breeze.
Even this was a deliberately restrained pace; he could easily accelerate if he wished, but since he couldn’t exactly overtake Tang Yeom-cho—who was currently guiding him—he simply maintained a moderate speed to follow along.