The Art of Using Poison (1)
The rivers of the Central Plains flow from west to east. The turbid waters follow the Yellow River, while the clear streams run along the Yangtze. In the southern regions bordering the Yangtze, water was as plentiful as one could wish, but the farther north one went, the harder it became to obtain. Along the Yellow River, people made do with the smaller tributaries feeding into the Yellow or Huai Rivers and the occasional rainfall. Yet in places like Gansu or Liaodong, where rivers were scarce and rain fell only briefly in a single season, even drinking water was precious, and bathing was an unthinkable luxury.
Thus, from Sichuan or the capital all the way to distant Goryeo and Dongying, whenever southerners mocked the northerners of the Central Plains—or the nomads beyond them—they inevitably paired the accusation of ignorance from riding horses with the charge of smelling foul from rarely washing. Conversely, southerners, blessed with abundant water, bathed frequently and took pleasure in it. Those of modest means simply poured stored water over themselves, but the wealthy filled tubs with warmed water and soaked at leisure.
Though Luoyang lay on the northern side of the Yellow River, centuries had passed since the southern capital became the heart of the realm, and its bathing culture had spread even here. To properly host nobles and officials from the capital, Hwaweolru maintained a sizable bathhouse. Late at night, with most guests being locals from Henan, the place was quiet and empty. It was no surprise, then, that the three young ladies raised in the south encountered one another there.
As for Gyeon Yo, she had wandered as an orphan in her earliest years, but after being taken in by the head of Jipmudang, she became his adopted daughter within a week. Since the head held the title of Duke of Cheongmyeong, passed down through two generations, his sole adopted daughter, Gyeon Yo, was every bit a noble. Naturally, her household possessed an excellent bath, and her work—handling others' bodies, medicines, and corpses—had fostered a fastidious nature. She washed her hands and body often. Frequent soaking had led her to enjoy the quiet time spent organizing her thoughts while immersed, so she had even installed a bath in her research chamber at Jipmudang, where she stayed longer than at home.
Thus, when she left saying she was going to bed, she had never intended to wash perfunctorily and retire. She planned to soak for about two hours and then sleep. Pleased to find the bath empty, she was washing and warming herself in the tub when the sound of bare feet on stone approached.
"Ah, I thought it was empty. Good evening."
"So it seems. Pardon me."
Turning, she saw Dang Ju-yeon and Yeom Ho-yun.
* * *
Even with the Prince of Chu's household enfeoffed in Xichu, if one asked any Chengdu resident, nine out of ten would name the Sichuan Dang Clan as the true masters of the city. The Sichuan Dang Clan's influence was immense. Even the stiff-necked officials from the capital bowed their heads before the Dang family upon arriving in Sichuan. First, because the Dangs were the province's greatest landowners and powerful clan; whether they aided or obstructed the yamen determined the difficulty of an official's work. Second, because the Dangs were famously generous with gifts, so much so that serving a year in Sichuan was said to yield a new estate.
Occasionally, some officials ignored this reality and remained obstinate to the end. In such cases, a Dang clansman would visit and remark, "Sichuan is humid and hot, and many outsiders fall ill with endemic diseases. Please take care of your health, my lord." Upon hearing this, the official's spine would chill, and their head would promptly lower.
Naturally, with such power and wealth, the Sichuan Dang Clan's bathhouse was grand and spacious. Moreover, to avoid the very "Sichuan endemic diseases" they warned others about, the Dangs had made frequent bathing a habit from childhood.
"Miss Gyeon, have you trained in martial arts?"
"Pardon?"
Gyeon Yo asked in surprise. Dang Ju-yeon gazed at her pale back as she answered.
"If the question was rude, I apologize. Your frame looks as though you've practiced martial arts."
"No. I have no particular reason to hide it. While verifying theories with my own body, I acquired a few techniques. Nothing worthy of being called martial arts—just enough to protect myself. And please, call me Ji Gyun."
Dang Ju-yeon tilted her head. She had known that the genius scholar of Jipmudang, known as Ji Gyun, was in truth named Gyeon Yo, and had used the name deliberately. Yet Gyeon Yo showed no reluctance to grow closer, only to being addressed by her real name—an oddity. It seemed she avoided her true name for some reason. Rather than pry, Dang Ju-yeon filed the information away for future use and readily changed how she addressed her.
"Hearing you say that makes me rather embarrassed. I am the child of a martial family, yet my training seems inferior to yours, Miss Ji Gyun."
"You are too modest. I have heard the essence of the Dang Clan's martial arts lies in concealment. Looking at you now, Miss Dang, it seems true not only of your poisons but of your fist techniques as well. You have built lithe muscle beneath soft skin, making it difficult to read the movements of your meridians and thus ideal for concealing weaknesses."
Dang Ju-yeon's eyes widened.
"You can tell that at a glance?"
Only then did Gyeon Yo realize she had been dissecting another's martial arts. She hurried to find an excuse. Within Jipmudang this was routine, but martial artists outside remained fiercely secretive. Before Jipmudang grew to its current size, even its head had once fallen into trouble over a few careless words.
"Ah… well, knowing something is hidden does not mean one can dismantle it. There is a difference between recognizing concealment and actually seeing through the skin. Of course, I understand this alone may still be unpleasant…"
"I was not trying to argue. I simply asked out of genuine curiosity. Still, I must be more careful from now on. If I accidentally reveal a hidden technique, Grandfather will scold me."
Dang Ju-yeon smiled faintly as she spoke. Gyeon Yo, unable to continue, was fumbling for words when Yeom Ho-yun asked,
"By the way, perhaps because it is Jipmudang's martial art, there is clear principle in the method of muscle training. Watching it feels exactly like the precisely proportioned patterns of the Huidangcho pattern."
"You flatter me."
As Gyeon Yo replied, the corner of her mouth twitched upward before settling. Praise for Jipmudang's achievements—especially her own work—was among the things that pleased her most, yet openly showing joy felt somehow embarrassing. There was no need to suppress further laughter, however, for the next words wiped the expression from her face.
"May I touch it for a moment?"
It was a natural question from a martial artist who trained her muscles, yet for Gyeon Yo it was deeply disconcerting. She already disliked prolonged conversation with others. Physical contact was something she had scarcely experienced, let alone welcomed. Still, refusing a request born of interest in her martial arts felt wasteful and somehow regrettable, so she gave a reluctant assent.
Immediately, Yeom Ho-yun's fingertips swept down over Gyeon Yo's shoulder blade. Gyeon Yo stood just under five cheok and two chi, while Yeom Ho-yun exceeded seven cheok and three chi; her hands were more than twice as large. Moreover, Yeom Ho-yun, who had begun daily iron training from the age when most martial families taught only breathing methods and had joined fights alongside her father and uncles once her head was sufficiently thick, naturally had rough skin marked with small scars.
Gyeon Yo barely suppressed a yelp. The large, heavy sensation was utterly unlike touching herself; it felt as though a wolf or bear were prodding her, stirring an odd tension. Yeom Ho-yun's hand slid down Gyeon Yo's back, grasped her forearm and kneaded it, then slipped a hand along her side to explore.
Just as Gyeon Yo's vision began to blur, Dang Ju-yeon's voice cut in.
"…How long do you intend to keep touching? You already touched that spot earlier."
"Ah, my apologies. Your skin is so smooth and soft that it feels pleasant to the touch."
Yeom Ho-yun withdrew her hand, though her eyes continued to trace Gyeon Yo's back. A splash echoed as Gyeon Yo spun halfway around, putting distance between them. Yeom Ho-yun asked, puzzled,
"What is it? Was something uncomfortable?"
"…Come to think of it, you did say you would never marry…"
Dang Ju-yeon stared at Yeom Ho-yun with a stunned expression. Gyeon Yo's gaze was that of a rabbit facing a lynx. Only then did Yeom Ho-yun grasp her mistake; her face changed.
"Wait, this is a misunderstanding. It just happened to turn out that way…"
"Would you please not come any closer?"
"No, I said it is a misunderstanding! We have shared lodgings for several nights on the way to Luoyang. What is this nonsense now?"
At those words, Dang Ju-yeon's already pale face turned even whiter.
"…Surely you did not do something while I was asleep?"
"I am telling you, no! A scream like a wail filled the bathhouse. It took another quarter-hour before the two accepted Yeom Ho-yun's explanation and left the bath together.
* * *
"It was merely a joke," Dang Ju-yeon said with a laugh.
"The jest went too far. I may endure it, but Miss Ji Gyun misunderstood."
Yeom Ho-yun replied in an irritated tone. Dang Ju-yeon deliberately lowered her voice.
"Was it truly a misunderstanding?"
"Must you keep this up?"
Her voice sounded more weary than angry. Yeom Ho-yun's excuse was that everyone she met in the Yeom household was the same, she had never cared for infants, and this was the first time she had touched such smooth skin in her life. Naturally, the explanation failed to serve as a proper clarification. While dressing and leaving the bath, she endured more than ten remarks from Dang Ju-yeon about deep camaraderie between colleagues. Even outside, Gyeon Yo now walked on the opposite side of Dang Ju-yeon from Yeom Ho-yun.
"Miss Ji Gyun, I am truly sorry for my thoughtless actions. There was absolutely no improper intent."
"Of course. It was partly my fault for not speaking clearly, so I will not pursue it further."
"I am glad you understand."
"Yes, it is fortunate."
Dang Ju-yeon echoed with a meaningful tone that grated. While Gyeon Yo pondered a reply, thunder cracked and a flash lit one corner of her vision. Turning, she saw flames rising from one wing of Hwaweolru.
"Fire bombs?"
"…It seems they knew we were staying here."
Gyeon Yo had been about to ask who when she corrected herself.
"…You mean the Ghost Immortal?"
The next instant, an even more intense flash erupted. By the time the barrage of explosions ended and they could open their eyes, the building they had been about to enter had already become rubble of stone and wood. Had their idle chatter not delayed them in the bath, they would all now be corpses beneath that pile of debris.
Yeom Ho-yun, staring blankly at the wreckage, muttered without thinking,
"…We are lucky."
"That was my line."
All three turned at once. From the center of the smoke, a short old man in black emerged.
"I was wondering how I would take revenge if you had died in the fire bombs, but seeing you unharmed and unscratched, it seems fate does exist after all."
He wore a goatee, and multiple layers of bandages wrapped his chest beneath his light armor. Fresh scars marked his face and arms, giving him the appearance of a pitiful old man at first glance. Yet Dang Ju-yeon and Yeom Ho-yun recognized him immediately, and Gyeon Yo sensed something amiss; all three fixed their gazes on him.
Dang Ju-yeon asked,
"The Manhwa Sword's room is not here."
"Indeed. This is your room, is it not? I have come to the right place."
"Do you lack confidence in defeating him?"
The old man chuckled dryly. The three remained silent.
"You are the daughter of the Dang Clan, yet you labor under a grave misconception. Revenge is not about meting out punishment. That is the law's role. Revenge is the act of shifting suffering onto another. And witnessing the helpless deaths of one's loved ones brings far greater pain than the fleeting wound of a blade severing one's neck."
Dang Ju-yeon silently drew her hidden weapons, while Yeom Ho-yun clenched her fists. The Black Poison King's eyes gleamed.
"You intend to fight? Against one of the Top 100 Masters?"
"Avoiding the fight offers no better odds, does it?"
Yeom Ho-yun answered. The Black Poison King laughed again.
"True enough. However, since you are a junior of the unorthodox path, I will spare you out of respect for the Great Strength Cannon King's face. Leave quickly."
"Thank you."
Yeom Ho-yun brought her fists together in salute and bowed. At that very moment, the sound of feet striking the ground rang out in chaos.
The Black Poison King, his hand blocked, asked in surprise,
"What is the meaning of this?"
"If you ask why I blocked you, it is because you never said from the beginning that you would spare us."
The Black Poison King burst into hearty laughter.
"As expected of Yeom Tae's child—you are just like him. You look like a bear, yet there is a fox-like cunning about you."
"You flatter me."
"Then how did you block me?"
"I recently obtained a fortunate encounter."
"A blessing of the Eight Unorthodox Gates. But it is a pity it ends here."
Gyeon Yo coughed, blood thick in the sputum. After several more coughs, she clutched her chest and collapsed. The Black Poison King flicked away the iron needles from the bamboo case in his left hand.
"To forget my signature technique—I must have rested too long if I thought it would be only a moment."
Dang Ju-yeon and Yeom Ho-yun felt a burning pain rising from within their chests as well. It had likely begun the instant the fire bombs exploded; the smoke had been laced with black poison. The Black Poison King calmly shook off Yeom Ho-yun and was about to step forward when he hurled himself backward with all his strength, spreading both hands in a grappling technique.
"…I seem to be surprised quite often today."
The Black Poison King now held the iron needle he had barely caught a hand's breadth from his face, reversed in his grip. At the spot where the needle had fallen, a drop of blood welled and rolled down toward his chin.
"You are getting old."
Dang Ju-yeon smiled with narrowed eyes as she answered. Yeom Ho-yun could not reply. Though the Yeokcheon Cho-ui Ji Sin allowed her to hold her breath for a considerable time, there was no reason to waste it on words.