The Legend of the Bratty Moyong

The legend of the bratty Moyong—that girl who was a full head taller than me—suddenly exploded. "What! Where do you think you're looking?!"

"Heh heh, my daughter is quite shy."

I felt a lump rising in my throat at the guest's absurd words. Screaming like that at her own servant or some passing beggar? Sure, that made sense in a class-based society. But doing it in front of us, from one of the Five Great Families? And in front of adults, no less? That was just plain stupid.

I glared at the sharp-eyed, venomous girl. 'Even playing the villainous lady, she does it third-rate.'

It was crystal clear how much her father had spoiled her rotten. Did he even realize that what he called "love" was actually ruining her?

Our great-aunt, the mistress of Bi Yeon Pavilion, had zero interest in how other families raised their kids. Ignoring the unseemly favoritism of a doting father, she cut straight to the chase. "So, what brings you all the way to Sichuan?"

"Ah, well, you see. I happened to stop by Anhui Province, and though my family has no great talents, we have a clever young relative who's about to take his first imperial exam. So I procured the finest exam paper from Anhui, the best in the land. And since I was already there, I thought I'd drop by the Nangong family to exchange sword techniques with their inspectors..."

Bi Yeon Pavilion cut off his rambling explanation, which sounded like he'd detour to LA mid-sentence. "Are you unwell? Let me check your pulse."

"It would be an honor if the Poison Insect herself examined me."

The situation was so ridiculous I could barely process it. 'What, is our clan a level-three hospital now? In an era without health insurance?'

"You kids, eavesdropping on adults is no good. Go play outside or something."

Saying that, Dang Chehwan strode over like a stern nurse and shooed us away. I'd grasped the gist of things anyway, so getting kicked out didn't bother me. Especially after that uncle stripped off his shirt for the pulse check—I suddenly wanted to be anywhere else.

'Whoa, his body's like a bodybuilder's. Even more ripped than our uncles.' It was almost a shame he didn't discipline his daughter with those muscles.

"So... where to?"

The five of us—booted out by Dang Chehwan—wandered aimlessly. No street in Tang Family Village was safer, but we were still guests. Lounging around openly like crumbling café concrete felt off.

Dang Jihwan suggested, "How about Bi Yeon Pavilion?"

He wasn't as frequent a visitor as me, but ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Dang Jihwan occasionally hit up Bi Yeon Pavilion for tea and pocket money—did all the perks.

"Wait. Where's Third Brother?"

We should've been five, but there were only four. Sohee whispered the answer in my ear. "The Pavilion Mistress said Third Young Master is introverted."

'No reason to follow that guy's words, sure...'

"So, what are you?"

Moyong Young snapped at Sohee for no reason. "My name is Dang Sohee..."

"Who asked your name? I mean, who the hell are you! The Tang Family Head only has one daughter!"

She was right—our older sister, older than Dang Chehwan, worked at the Murim Alliance. But unlike Dang Chehwan's thoughtful gesture—figuring another girl our age would make things comfy—Moyong Young threw a full tantrum.

Dang Jihwan stepped in. "Sohee is the Poison Insect's foster daughter."

'Spot on.' I nodded automatically at the precise explanation. In terms of status, that made Sohee VIP-pass level.

"Poison Insect? That wrinkly old grandma from earlier?"

Technically yes, but her rude mouth made my blood boil. "Hey, that's too much! She's the eldest in our family."

Of course, "eldest" here didn't mean oldest chronologically. The Pavilion Mistress wasn't even that ancient among the elders. She was a named powerhouse in the jianghu, like Moyong Young's grandpa, the Sword Venerable.

Moyong Young shot back without a shred of shame. "So what? My grandma's dead."

"What?"

What kind of miraculous logic lets you trash someone else's grandma just because yours kicked the bucket? She left us all stunned and launched into self-praise.

"Hmph, you know who my grandpa is, right? The Sword Venerable. Know what that means? No one in the righteous, demonic, or evil sects can match him with a sword."

'Dude, telling a poison nut like me that? Sword Venerable or not, poison kills him dead.'

And sure enough, the Tang Clan's poisons were renowned for dropping even Mysterious Realm masters.

"They build poison resistance by chomping bugs? Eww, gross."

I was getting used to her barbs by now. Her casual Tang Clan digs barely fazed me—we were neck-deep in Tang Family Fist hell anyway.

"Gotta do that crap to get strong? I'd rather bite my tongue and die!"

'Tempted to smack her with a Tang Family Fist.' But it was clan secret, so alas.

"Poison bugs taste pretty good, though."

"Sohee? How do you know?"

"I ate some."

Did the Pavilion Mistress build resistance even before teaching poison arts? 'If it's good for you, maybe I should ask for a taste test.'

Then—a bloodcurdling scream.

"Gyaargh!"

'Ooh, critical hit.'

Moyong Young's subtle weakness? Bugs. Great news for the Tang Clan—after all, we had more creepy-crawlies than the Southern Barbarian Poison Sect.

Even the usually mild-mannered Dang Jihwan couldn't stay quiet. "Like Sohee said, Bi Yeon Pavilion's full of the Poison Insect's cute little pets. Wanna go see?"

"Ugh, no way!"

I, Dang ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Yohwan, couldn't sit idle either. "Like silk maybe?"

"Silk? What's that got to do—"

Sichuan's specialty was so prized they called it "touch-gold." "Bi Yeon Pavilion's got silkworms too? Nah, listen—their color's so iridescent, they named 'em after silk."

Realizing my teasing intent, Moyong Young plugged her ears in agony.

"You guys! I'm telling Dad! You tried to poison me!"

Sohee fired back logically despite the nonsense. "Our spit isn't poisoned. Don't lie."

"Waaah!"

Seeing no win, Moyong Young flopped onto the street. Passersby started staring.

"Brother. Instead of that, how about the Golden ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Flower Merchant House?"

"To Mother?"

Quick recap: After Sohee's dad died, Jihwan's merchant mom—the Yang Wife—took over Golden Flower Merchant House. End recap.

Merchants probably hosted guests properly, right?

"Merchant house? No bugs there, right?"

Moyong Young shot up, tears drying, clearly tempted.

Just Dang Jihwan showing up had the staff opening doors briskly.

"Auntie's the Golden Flower boss?"

"Oh, Yohwan. And Miss Sohee, and..."

"Guests from the Moyong Family, Mother."

"Oh?"

"No way, the Sword Venerable's granddaughter?"

"Yep, that's me."

"Oh my, oh my. What an honor. Please, sit. I hope the refreshments suit you."

Moyong Young preened, cheekbones hiking like the Everest range. Long story short: she mellowed out. Nothing like sweets to melt stress.

Stuffing her face with the Yang Wife's treats turned her surprisingly docile. Docile, but her mouth stayed foul.

"More of this?"

From feral hedgehog to sassy banmal brat. Progress.

I skipped snacks but felt stuffed anyway. 'Free rides are the best. Outsourcing chores supreme.'

Whoever suggested this was a genius. 'Come to think, Dang Chehwan dumped it on the Pavilion Mistress after saying he'd host.'

One oddity: the Yang Wife's deference was suspicious. Groveling like she'd gut the brat for her liver, pride be damned.

"How old is the princess of Moyong Family?"

"Seven. Why?"

"Oh, our Jihwan's six."

"Yeah?"

The Moyong girl side-eyed me. "Sorry, ma'am, but I don't wanna marry a kid who lost his front tooth falling."

"Ho ho, my son's not..."

I caught the awkwardness in her picture-perfect smile and swallowed hard. 'Uh-oh, Auntie's about to get dragged.'

Yang Wife's weak spot: Dang Jihwan. I eyed his calm face—he hid his dread of marrying that well enough. Good thing Mom wasn't around?

Luckily, a frantic employee rushed in with a report. "Madam, urgent matter needs your check..."

"Mind if I step out? Be right back."

Awkward silence followed her exit.

"You got no fiancé?"

"Nope. Why?"

Even in a world where drunks at banquets eyed friends' kids as in-laws, seven was too young—prestigious family or not.

I nodded meaningfully. "Hmmm, figures. Knew it."

"What? Speak plain."

"No surprise you got no fiancé. Old spinster ghost's haunting you."

"Yohwan, what the heck?"

"Since I got sick, my aura's weak—started seeing ghosts."

Pure BS, obviously. The only ghost I knew lived in a mirror.

"You were seriously ill..."

Dang Jihwan played along, catching my scheme.

"What's the ghost look like?"

Nice one, Sohee.

"Sunken eyes, huge wart by her nose with a single hair. Skin pitch-black like she never bathes."

"Liar."

Total lie. But humans buy detailed BS—why cons add flourishes.

"No, for real. She's moaning right now, 'So unfair, can't die old alone—'"

Moyong Young's face hardened. I barely stifled a laugh, doubling down. "Don't believe me? Ask your dad if it's okay to live with him forever unmarried."

"What?"

"Common sense—dads want daughters wed, right?"

"Yeah?"

"Your dad's just consoling you 'cause he knows no one's marrying you like this."

She scowled, pondering. Then clenched her fists, bolted up.

"Fine, I'll ask!"

Boys chase engines instinctively; girls this age obsess over weddings. Not for wifely virtues—brides' dresses are pretty. Hence the Ice Queen dress that blocks sisters' marriages.

Only after Bratty Moyong stormed out did ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Dang Jihwan eye me. "Yohwan, your lies are piling up..."

"Was it a lie?"

"Don't worry. I never lie to you, Sohee."

"The attackers seemed like Demonic Cult."

"Why think so?"

"There were nine facing me, each at Peak realm or higher. Few groups boast that kind of power—"

Bang! The door flew open barbarically. Enter the star: Moyong Young.

"Daddy!"

"My little Yeong. Had fun with the Tang kids?"

Defying etiquette, she ignored his question for her agenda.

"Can I ask one thing? I got no fiancé yet. So, can I just live with you forever unmarried?"

"Ah, sure. No need for marriage. I'd love living with Yeong forever."

Moyong Jae meant it—total daughter-con, couldn't fathom sending her off. But...

To Moyong Young, those Tang brat words echoed. Her father's reply hit like thunderbolt.

"WAAAAAAAAAH!!!"

"Yeongie? What's wrong?"

"I hate you, Daddy!!!"

"Yeongie, what..."

He didn't ask why she cried—she bawled often. But "hate" plus shoving his knee? He froze in shock.

Thwack! Dang Chehwan slammed the table. "My apologies for the oversight! My brothers must've been rude to your daughter!"

"Is that true?"

As the two dashed out, the rattling teacup finally stilled. In the quiet, Bi Yeon Pavilion poured more tea.

Alone, she called up. "Come down already."

Neither noticed the rafters above. No ambushes in Tang turf; Dang Chehwan treated it like home.

Before Haomen and Gaegbang formed, the Tangs spied as imperial eyes—day birds, night rats. Unlike those ashamed of such roots, the Family Head honored the legacy.

Instead of praising the master's stealth, Bi Yeon Pavilion probed motives. "Does the Family Head think it's the Blood Cult too?"

No words—just documents spilling from Dang Myeongseok's bosom. Faded papers testified to years.

Letters swapped with Murim Alliance, Haomen, Gaegbang, the imperial court. The Tang-Blood Cult grudge.

He picked one, handed to Bi Yeon Pavilion. "Read it yourself, Aunt."