Guwon Gong (3)
How high up in the hierarchy was the lord of the Heavenly Poison Secret Pavilion, exactly?
Dang Hoiyeong pondered this seriously.
First off, he was the master of the Cheondok Bigak, one of the clan's most vital assets.
Since he'd introduced himself as the Bigakju, he had to be among the clan's top figures—and she'd heard the position came with an elder's seat to boot.
Fuck. No escaping this.
All she'd wanted was enough attention to avoid being ignored. But if Dang Munhyeon went blabbing everywhere, every eye in the family would be on her.
No more laid-back, happy life in the main compound.
Oblivious to her inner turmoil, Dang Munhyeon kept gushing, his eyes sparkling like stars.
"The insight you displayed, young miss, is truly awe-inspiring. I've devoted my life to martial studies, debating with the finest warriors, but never has anyone pierced the essence so clearly!"
Dang Hoiyeong scratched her head awkwardly.
"Eh, it wasn't that big a deal."
"Not that big a deal?! To dismiss this as such requires profound insight!"
The corner of Dang Hoiyeong's mouth twitched.
"In our clan's four-hundred-year history, talents like yours can be counted on one hand—no, fewer! Surely the founder himself was much like this!"
Dang Hoiyeong's shoulders inched up a bit.
"And that's not all! Daring to say it, even Grandmaster Dharma of Shaolin at that age..."
"Uh...!"
Before she knew it, Dang Hoiyeong was nodding along to Dang Munhyeon's praise.
But reality snapped back fast.
His praise was heating up, sure—but his eyes had glazed over with madness.
Dang Hoiyeong had seen that look before, in her past life.
First, the fanatics of the Heavenly Demon Cult.
Second, fiends lost to qi deviation, madness eating their brains.
Third...
Old monsters who'd hit their limits, despairing for miracles.
Those third types often fixated obsessively on a genius who could peer beyond the wall for them. How'd she know? Try becoming Heuksa Ryeon's leader at twenty. Those old freaks would grovel shamelessly.
Dang Munhyeon's eyes were exactly like that.
Shit, we're fucked.
Now it wasn't just her talent spreading and ruining her peaceful life.
She had to worry about handling this old man's manic obsession.
Tang Clan old monsters live up to the name. What a schemer—fooled me for a second there.
"Ahem. Pavilion Lord. Calm down, please. Just... calm."
"Ah! Forgive me. This old fool got carried away."
"Look, I might know theory inside out, but I haven't actually trained in any arts yet, right?"
"...That's true."
"Once I start, my talent might not live up to your expectations."
Dang Munhyeon recoiled like he'd been slapped.
"Worry not! It might fall short, true, but that doesn't mean the brilliance you just showed will fade!"
"No, that's not what I—"
Severe case. Dang Hoiyeong's head throbbed as she sighed deeply.
"I just mean don't get your hopes up. I might disappoint."
"But..."
"Doesn't mean I'll slack on training, so don't worry."
Dang Hoiyeong winked rapidly, signaling. Get it? Remember what happened recently?
But Dang Yeonseol just blinked blankly, tilting her head.
How the hell did someone this oblivious become lord of the Cheondok Bigak? And snag an elder seat?
Grinding her teeth, Dang Hoiyeong forced a smile and mouthed it: 'Keep. It. Secret.'
After three tries, realization dawned—his eyes widened.
But for all her hints, he still muttered lingering regrets.
"Still... we can't waste your talent on petty power struggles. We must inform the Patriarch and elders, secure the best environment and full support..."
Instantly, visions flashed: dragged to elders at dawn for debates, training till midnight, becoming the clan's ultimate weapon.
Dang Hoiyeong waved her hands frantically.
"Not yet! I'm only ten! We've got time. Just give me a little—time to grow strong enough to weather the family's infighting."
Dang Munhyeon opened and closed his mouth, then finally nodded.
Crazy old monster.
Dang Hoiyeong decided to be satisfied with averting the worst post-training nightmare.
Worried he'd pester her in a few years?
Future her could deal.
"Very well. If that's your wish. Then, let us begin the qi transmission. Please assume the lotus position."
Dang Hoiyeong sat cross-legged. From afar, her nanny who'd watched the farce approached.
But her expression was... off.
Dang Hoiyeong expected fury at the librarian or worry over learning a supreme art touching the clan's Doban Samyang Guwon Gong.
Instead, Dang Yeonseol looked misty-eyed, touched.
"You've grown so much, young miss. Wary of the elders' greed, considering the clan's future—truly admirable."
Tears welling, she gripped Dang Hoiyeong's hand tight.
No, this kid who couldn't do shit without her nanny till recently was now scheming politics.
And hailed a martial genius. It made sense, but...
Still, wasn't this overkill?
Is this really a righteous clan? No normal people here.
Folks might mistake it for a demonic sect.
Anyway, head aching worse, she dropped the thoughts and took the elixir from her nanny, popping it in.
Bitter and foul beyond expectation.
She wanted to spit it out, but this precious pill—in front of teary-eyed Dang Yeonseol? No way.
Dang Hoiyeong grimaced heroically and swallowed.
—Gulp.
Energy equivalent to a decade surged through her body, rampaging wildly.
"We begin."
Dang Munhyeon's solemn voice rang out as his heavy palm pressed her back.
Pure qi flowed in, gently soothing the Cheongang Dokseonghwan's fury.
Then guided it through the eight extraordinary meridians.
Dang Hoiyeong's consciousness blurred.
Qi transmission was a first.
Originally, Heukcheon had forged his dantian through trial and error when starting martial arts.
He knew nothing. All he had were street-level third-rate manuals.
Even those were dubious. Looking back, they weren't proper at all.
Proper heart methods weren't hawked in markets.
He'd vomited blood countless times forging his dantian.
Enduring meridians bursting from errant qi, raw agony.
Literally risking his life.
Even after, learning or innovating new arts was no different.
Ignorance meant enduring pain till death to find the right path.
For Heukcheon, martial arts were survival. No arts? Death. Die training? Same difference.
It's... warm...
Heukcheon reached transcendent heights, but his meridians were shredded long ago.
Circulating qi hurt every time; elixirs brought knife-like agony from the surge.
A full decade's worth, no less.
Top-grade even in his past life, rarely tasted.
Normally, it'd shred her body into blackout territory.
This life, her body untortured yet, so less pain—but enduring decade-level qi as a child? Torture.
Yet Dang Munhyeon's qi wrapped the sharp elixir energy, tracing the Doban Samyang Guwon Gong path flawlessly.
No pain; she knew the route without reading the manual.
So the kids from good families learn like this.
The 'natural' suffering wasn't natural.
For some reason, that pissed Dang Hoiyeong off.
It was a cold winter night. Snow fell.
Snow is hell. It piles softly, blanketing the world white. Hiding filth and ugliness.
Including me.
Survived last year by luck. This year? Who knows.
I gritted my teeth. Couldn't die yet.
I clutched the nameless manual to my chest.
Yes. Hope. Survive this winter, master it, become a master.
No more scorn, no more helpless robbery.
Half the text smudged, pages torn—but hope.
I hugged it tighter, trudging on. Where to? No clue.
But stopping meant death. Certain.
So I walked. Halt, and I'd pass out.
Thus, stopping was pure accident.
Before a shabby hut, no great shakes. Drawn to the window's firelight.
Mesmerized, I peered in.
A dinner table. Steaming simple soup bowls. Family gathered warmly. Laughter.
Kid my age spoke; adult laughed. Adult laughed; kid followed.
I stared, lost. How long? Till toes numbed, snow to my knees.
Then realized: clutching the manual harder.
The annex was far from the main compound.
I blankly watched maids haul luggage. Not much.
Why? Room felt fuller before.
Thinking back: started after Mother's death. Room emptied gradually.
Mother's things: vanity trinkets, windowsill flowerpot, my doodle scraps.
One by one, gone after she passed.
Father cleared them? Or drifted away? One day, just gone.
Never asked nanny. Wanted to seem mature, over her.
Nanny was no pro at childcare; missed my heart.
Good.
A maid passed with a bundle.
I stared blankly at the corridor to the patriarch's quarters.
Father never came.
No farewell, not even the order to move personally. Just sent people.
Should've trained? But big brother, a master, said he hadn't seen Father in ages.
So I skipped arts. Stubborn hope for reunion.
He never came.
What was right? No clue.
Soon, trudging fresh snow. Last glance back: shut main doors, snow erasing my prints.
Yes. Snow fell softly. Blanketing the world white. Even my traces.
Dang Munhyeon lifted his hand from her back.
Dang Yeonseol, watching beside, flipped out.
"Pavilion Lord! What are you doing?!"
Pulling away mid-transmission? Insanity.
Why transmit qi? Guide the clueless along meridians.
But Dang Hoiyeong was a total beginner.
Stop now? Even faint qi could rampage on wrong paths, bursting channels. With a decade's elixir? Worse.
Qi deviation at best. Death at worst.
"Calm yourself. No such issues."
"What nonsense—!"
"She pushed me out."
Pushed out?
"What do you mean?"
"Perhaps transmission was pointless from the start. She followed the path perfectly without my help."
Dang Yeonseol asked stiffly.
"From the beginning?"
"Yes."
Dang Munhyeon stared at his palm. Fingers still trembled faintly.
"At first, she accepted this old man's qi meekly. But realizing my guided path matched her own grasp, she pushed—as if I were interference."
His voice cracked.
Awe from lifelong study, helplessness before overwhelming talent.
"Is that possible?"
"Happening before your eyes."
Brief silence.
Dang Munhyeon leaned against the wall.
Then Dang Yeonseol noticed: his face ashen.
Soaked in sweat, breath ragged.
Obvious, really.
Transmission was no joke.
Read another's channels live, unblock, correct flow, guide right—all in real time.
One slip? Both qi deviate, dead.
"Pavilion Lord, your color..."
"Shamelessly."
Dang Munhyeon spoke first.
"This old body needs rest. Unlike your fears, she'll be fine."
Dang Yeonseol gazed, then nodded.
Dang Munhyeon closed his eyes slowly.
Yet his focus on Dang Hoiyeong never wavered.
Ready for any twitch.
The Bigakju oversaw Tang arts; couldn't miss the birth of a new prodigy.