The Poet of Dirty Fighting
Kung! Kung!
With footwork that carried enough force to shatter the ground itself, Mae Gukhyeong planted his stance.
He looked ordinary enough on the surface, but the body hidden beneath those loose, baggy clothes was a lattice of hard, ridged muscle like a turtle's shell.
That's the military art of the army — Wiguk-gong, the Merit of Serving the Nation!
The internal cultivation methods of the military were fierce, one might say. Straightforward and overwhelmingly strong, they would sooner snap than bend.
It was the complete opposite of the soft, flowing techniques of the Wudang Sect.
The reason for their style of martial arts was simple. Soldiers fought clad in heavy armor, on horseback, wielding long weapons like spears and glaives — they had to pour everything into a single strike and kill their opponent in one blow.
"Hap!"
Kung!
A ferocious qi roar burst forth. The spectators gasped.
"There it is — the Loyal Vanguard Fist Art! To witness the military's martial arts in a place like this!"
Everything belonging to the imperial army carried words like "Loyal" or "For the Nation" — as if to remind everyone whose martial arts it was.
"What incredible presence!"
But despite its patriotic name, its destructive power was rumored to surpass even that of most major sects. What was more, Mae Gukhyeong hadn't trained the common techniques taught to rank-and-file soldiers, but the advanced arts reserved for men like provincial commanders. Same name — entirely different power.
"Poison Hero, there are a few things I'd like to settle before our bout."
"And what would those be?"
"First, I propose a bout fought like real combat."
"Real combat, you say... as in, people might actually get hurt?"
At that, Mae Gukhyeong gave a slow nod. "Yes."
"Very well."
"And should anything happen during the bout, let us consider all grudges between us settled here and now."
Because the Tang Clan was more reliable about holding grudges than anyone else alive, Mae Gukhyeong was laying his groundwork in advance. Words spoken before so many witnesses could not be brushed aside, not even by the Tang Clan. And as he spoke, a faint killing intent seeped out of him — a man thoroughly steeped in poison, in every sense.
Well, that suits me just fine?
Wasn't that the same as saying he could smash something to pieces without having to quarrel with a provincial commander afterward? It was an offer Samryong was all too happy to accept.
"Agreed."
"Will you use poison?"
"No."
At Samryong's answer, a sticky smile crept across Mae Gukhyeong's lips. The Tang Clan — no poison, no loose ends. It seemed he could fight with a clear conscience.
In exchange for Han Lip, I'll be taking one of your arms or legs.
Mae Gukhyeong drew his internal energy up to its peak. "You gave your word — no poison, no grudges! I trust you will honor it."
He settled into his stance, ready to strike at any moment.
I'll strip that hollow title of "Poison Hero" right off you!
At the whisper of that voice- transmission in his ear, a wicked smile curled across Samryong's lips. He'd planned to take it easy, and here the man was, picking a fight this directly. What a generous gift of justification — truly, thank you.
A guy like that didn't deserve to be simply beaten. He deserved to be humiliated, dug out from the inside, and then beaten. In plain terms, Samryong intended to fight so damn dirty that the crowd would be saying, that was just ugly!
"Watch closely, everyone. This is what a fight in the Jianghu looks like."
"Isn't it a bout?"
"It stopped being one the moment you picked a fight."
The instant Mae Gukhyeong's whisper cut through the air, it was no longer a bout to Samryong. It was a brawl.
"I'll show you just how ugly a Jianghu fight really is."
Samryong broke into a radiant smile — and Mae Gukhyeong shot toward him like a bolt.
The Loyal Vanguard Fist Art, true to its name — straightforward, yet its speed and destructive force were overwhelming.
Could Samryong actually dodge it? Just as the question formed, Samryong darted behind a group of onlookers.
"Ah! Hey! Watch it!"
"Aaagh!"
He was hiding himself among the very people Mae Gukhyeong had quietly whispered to moments before.
"What kind of cowardly—"
Thwack!
With a man raised as a shield, Mae Gukhyeong's charge stalled for just a breath. Samryong seized the opening, and a kick came flying in from a side angle.
"Kgh!"
The impact wasn't heavy — but the feeling of it was, without question, filthy.
"Poison Hero! What manner of treachery is this!"
"You're the one who wanted a bout like real combat. Here — take it!"
"Aaagh!"
"These cheap tricks... damn it all! Get out of the way!"
Samryong grabbed Mo Jayeong by the nape of his neck and hurled him bodily at Mae Gukhyeong.
Soon enough, Samryong found a gap in the man's defenses. "It's a bit cramped in here, don't you think? Let's take this outside!"
"What—"
Thwack!
With the Poison Dragon Step closing the distance in an instant, Samryong's driving kick slammed into Mae Gukhyeong's abdomen.
"Kgh!"
His hardened external cultivation kept it from being a devastating blow, but Mae Gukhyeong was driven back several full paces.
Shhhhk—
Samryong snapped open his Iron Thread and hurled a storm of concealed weapons. They carried no poison this time, but they were faster and stealthier than anything he had thrown yet.
"Hap! Hap!"
Mae Gukhyeong battered them away with fierce external force and blades of qi — but the internal energy packed into them was no joke, and several punched straight through his guard and buried themselves in his flesh.
"Kgh!"
Under Samryong's relentless assault, Mae Gukhyeong kept being driven backward, step by step, until his spine met the window. And at that moment, Samryong's body spun, a powerful back kick erupting toward him.
"Kurgh!"
Bang!
It felt as if a log had been swung into his gut.
"Aaargh!"
"Good heavens!"
"Look out!"
Crash!
The window exploded outward, and Mae Gukhyeong's body tumbled out of the building. "Khh!"
Right after him, Samryong leapt from the third floor as well.
"You lunatic!"
Tang Saryeong's shriek went unheeded; even in midair, Samryong's hand dipped into his sleeve.
"Whifungsan — Wind- Slicing Bolts!"
Dozens of hidden weapons spiraled through the air. Mae Gukhyeong had to soften his fall and deflect the incoming volley, and even suspended in empty space, his hands were full.
"Kragh!"
Papapat!
Several bolts buried themselves in his body. But this was no time to worry about that. Kung! Bam! He grabbed whatever his hands could find, desperately breaking his fall — and in exchange, failed to stop Samryong's weapons entirely, his pristine white robes blooming red.
"Aagh! Damn it!"
Crash!
By sheer luck, Mae Gukhyeong landed on a pile of wicker baskets. "Oof! Are you all right, sir?" The basket vendor who ran his stall beneath the Red Flower Pavilion jolted back in shock at the man who had dropped out of the sky onto his goods.
"Get out of my way!"
Mae Gukhyeong shoved the would- be helper aside roughly. As he slowly rose, a jolt of searing pain shot up his spine from below. "Kgh!"
The fall from such a height had dealt his ankle a brutal shock.
Samryong, by contrast, touched down lightly on the second floor, then again on the first, landing in perfect safety.
"Now I can finally fight with some peace of mind, can't I?"
"You... you!"
"Is your ankle giving you trouble, perhaps?"
Like a great beast that had scented its prey, Samryong's flickering gaze locked onto Mae Gukhyeong's ankle. "Well then — shall we continue?"
Samryong kicked a loose stone off the ground hard, sending it flying at him. "Damn you!"
Thwack!
Mae Gukhyeong casually smashed the incoming pebble with his fist. But the next thing that came flying wasn't a stone — it was sand.
"Cough! You son of a—"
Murmurs rippled through the crowd at just how dirty Samryong's methods were. But one man among them was watching with absolute, riveted focus.
So THAT'S how the Jianghu fights! Samryong — he was trying to teach me, before I leave on the expedition! How filthy a real Jianghu fight really is!
Han Lip understood why Samryong was fighting this way, and he watched more intently than anyone. The truth was that Samryong's desire to humiliate Mae Gukhyeong on the way to victory was considerably stronger — but unless someone told him, Han Lip would never have known.
"Coward!"
"Your language is getting shorter, I notice."
Thwack!
By the time the cloud of sand had cleared, another spike of pain lanced through Mae Gukhyeong's ankle. "Aagh!"
Samryong had used the sand as cover to stomp his ankle yet again. Mae Gukhyeong's body lurched wildly.
Whoosh!
A vicious fist! But Samryong slipped it lightly and went for the ankle once more. Again Mae Gukhyeong staggered hard.
"Aaaargh!"
Biting his lip until it bled, Mae Gukhyeong endured. He refused to crumble so easily, driving strength into his lower body and resetting his stance once more.
Hummm!
The Loyal Vanguard Fist Art unfolded in earnest, its internal power so immense that his qi seemed to take visible form. Pang! Pang! Pang! Every time his fist moved, the air itself tore apart with a shriek.
One clean hit looked powerful enough to kill a lesser master instantly. But Samryong's obsessive assault on his ankle meant that at every critical moment, his balance broke. Those fists were never going to touch Samryong.
"Take this!"
"Stop this insanity!"
Samryong snatched a basket off the ground and hurled it. Not a stone this time — a mere basket! Mae Gukhyeong swatted it aside and closed in.
"And this!"
A massive winnowing basket blotted out his view. He moved to knock it away again — but sensing something murderous through the weave of the basket, Mae Gukhyeong jerked his head aside.
"Ugh!"
FWOOM!
Samryong's Iron Thread ripped clean through the basket and shot out. He had dodged the thrust by a hair's breadth — but Samryong's attack was not a single strike. It was a linked technique.
Pang!
The Iron Thread, its trajectory already bent, whipped toward Mae Gukhyeong's face.
Block it!
Thwack!
Unable to evade, he chose to block — but the pain that erupted came not from his arm, but from somewhere else entirely. "Agh! Aaagh!"
Crack!
With the sound of something snapping, a scream of pure agony tore from Mae Gukhyeong's throat. "Aagh! Damn it! AAAAAGH!"
Feinting at his face, Samryong had stomped his ankle once more. This time the blow landed fully, and the fallen Mae Gukhyeong could not rise. How do we know? Because his ankle was bent at such a grotesque angle that anyone could see it was broken.
"Oof..."
"Good heavens."
It was a sight that made every spectator hurt just watching it.
"A... aagh... AAAAAGH!"
He tried to rise, but the shattered ankle refused to bear him, and Mae Gukhyeong rolled across the dirt. "Hhk... hhk..."
As tears streamed down his face from the pain, his acquaintances rushed to him in a panic.
"Society Leader Mae!"
"Mae Gukhyeong!"
"My leg! My leg! Hhk... hhk!"
"A physician! Get a physician!"
Mae Gukhyeong was, for all practical purposes, out of the fight. The match was decided.
"Well, well. It seems we have a winner."
Samryong flourished his Iron Thread with elegant grace and smiled the smile of victory.
Murmur, murmur.
But what rose from the crowd was not cheering — it was a chorus of voices laced with reproach.
"Truly cowardly."
"That IS the Tang Clan, right? A righteous sect? They don't use people as shields, do they?"
"He seems more unorthodox than the unorthodox sects themselves."
"Shouldn't it be the 'Coward Hero' instead of 'Poison Hero'?"
"I didn't know 'coward' and 'hero' could share a single title. Now I do."
Everyone had their quip to add, but compared to the days when he'd been called a degenerate madman, it was nothing. Leaving their voices behind him, Samryong turned on his heel and strutted back with his chest out.
"Did you see that?"
He flashed a triumphant grin at Tang Saryeong. Her expression, however, was nowhere near impressed.
"What was that, huh? You could have just won. Did you have to win this dirtily? Everyone's cursing you even though you won!"
Seeing Tang Saryeong looking genuinely upset, Samryong decided jokes were off the table.
"Young Lord Tang..."
Tang Soso, it seemed, shared much the same thought.
"What, did somebody die?"
"Hey!"
"Young Lord Tang..."
As the two women's scolding flowed on, Han Lip approached with a face full of emotion. "Samryong."
"Oh! So now you call me by name, Han Lip!"
Han Lip looked at Samryong, his voice trembling with gratitude. "Thank you. For giving me such a precious lesson, even at the cost of your own good name, just for me before I leave on the expedition. Truly — thank you, again."
At that, Samryong let out a soft chuckle. "This was barely a taste. Those unorthodox and Demonic Sect bastards fight even filthier than this. So before you fight, look everything over and think twice — and if it looks bad, don't hesitate to run. A dream can only come true if the dreamer survives to see it."
"Got it! I'll keep that in my heart."
Did Samryong know? That some years later, despite outstanding skill in the righteous sects, a warrior would be born whose reputation for dirty fighting earned him the strange epithet of the Jade Coward Hero — "the handsome, underhanded chivalrous one"? Knowing or not, Samryong left Han Lip's reverent gaze behind him and slowly closed his eyes.
Sighhh~
At this most crucial of moments, even the wind obliged with a gentle gust. Feeling his broom- like strands of hair flutter in the breeze against his skin, Samryong savored the night air with all the refinement he could muster.
"To be reviled by all... yet thanked by one. That is what it means to be chivalrous."
He fanned himself with an air of gravity, hoping to leave the crowd with a immortal aphorism — but Tang Saryeong was never one to stay quiet.
"What kind of horse crap is that!"
"Young Lord Tang!"
Somehow, it didn't look like the scolding would end any time soon.
"What in the world was that chaos..."
Having finally escaped the Red Flower Pavilion, Mo Jayeong glanced around furtively and, quiet as a stray cat, slipped away somewhere unseen.
Tap, tap.
How long had he walked? When he reached a secluded alley, he raised a hand to cover his mouth.
Hoooo~
The call of an owl, common enough at this hour, echoed through the dark.
After some time had passed, a young man's voice drifted out of the shadows. "You're rather late."
"Huh?"
The moment Mo Jayeong recognized the young man walking out of the darkness, he dropped to his knees at once. "I greet the Forest Master!"
"Keep your voice down."
Dan Haseong, Forest Master of Paedolim, gave Mo Jayeong's shoulder a light pat.
"To think the Forest Master himself would come to such a shabby place..."
"The Tang Clan's surveillance is so airtight that I've been cooped up with nothing to do. I was getting restless, so I thought I'd come hear your report myself."
At Dan Haseong's words, Mo Jayeong looked utterly ashamed. "I beg your forgiveness. I'm afraid the infiltration of the Hidden Dragon Society has failed."
A fine crease formed between Dan Haseong's elegant brows. "Why? Did you make a mistake?"
"Well, the thing is..."
"Did you make a mistake?"
His tone was soft, but his presence was anything but. The chill radiating from his body seemed poised to freeze the entire alley on the spot.
Tremble, tremble.
As his body temperature dropped, Mo Jayeong's shivering came quite naturally. Watching him, Dan Haseong continued.
"The Huimok Merchant Guild is the foothold our Paedolim spent long years quietly building from the outside to break into Chengdu — and you were fed a considerable sum to buy your way into the Sichuan Hidden Dragon Society through Mae Gukhyeong. And now you tell me it's difficult?"
Dan Haseong drew out his long pipe and took a slow drag of smoke. "You had better explain yourself properly."
At that, Mo Jayeong spoke as if he'd been waiting for the chance. "Tang Samryong appeared out of nowhere and singled me out, demanding whether I was not a spy of Paedolim."
At the unexpected name, the crease between Dan Haseong's brows smoothed.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Until that moment, the Huimok Merchant Guild had had no contact whatsoever with the Tang Clan. But Tang Samryong — who attended the Society gathering on his sister's recommendation, not as a member — appeared suddenly and identified me with perfect precision, pressing the question of whether I was Paedolim's agent."
"Tang Samryong? But Tang Samryong isn't even a member of the Hidden Dragon Society, is he?"
"He says he attended at his sister's urging... and then..."
As Mo Jayeong recounted the events of the Society meeting that day, Dan Haseong found his curiosity drifting away from the cause of the mission's failure toward something else entirely.
"Just how much does the Poison Hero know?"
"That... I honestly can't say..."
"Given that you came back unscathed, I take it the matter ended as mere suspicion."
"Yes. But because of Tang Samryong's actions, Qingcheng and Emei alike — along with every minor sect, merchant guild, and escort agency in Chengdu — have all raised their guard. Word is going around that proper vetting of newcomers is needed."
Dan Haseong gripped his pipe as if he might snap it in two.
"Haah... How interesting. Very interesting..."
Gazing up at the unusually cloud- shrouded night sky, Dan Haseong exhaled the pipe's smoke in a slow, curling plume.
"Poison Hero... was it coincidence? Or has every step of it been planned?"
It seemed the original plan — infiltrate the Hidden Dragon Society and bleed out its juiciest secrets — would need a complete overhaul.
"Withdraw. Report to no one for the time being; focus solely on the guild's business. You must look, to any observer's eye, like a perfectly ordinary fledgling merchant house."
"Understood, Forest Master."
Long after Mo Jayeong had vanished into the dark, Dan Haseong stood alone, staring up at the night sky with a heart full of tangled thoughts.