With Ten Thousand Flowers, Crafting a Thousand Poisons
He'd given Yong Jo-un ten Blood Purifying Pills, but the man was such a master that they didn't seem to faze his liver at all.
Since he hails from Musanggok, his swordsmanship must be flawless. But age is something you can't cheat. Men like Cheon Il-hae or Hwa Cheon-gang have decades of cultivated inner energy under their belts.
From what Won Seung had observed so far, Yong Jo-un seemed to possess around forty years of inner energy, much like himself. For someone in his late twenties, that was already impressive.
But it still fell short compared to Cheon Il-hae or Hwa Cheon-gang.
Won Seung had met both men in person. He couldn't gauge their exact level, but he knew their inner energy surpassed his own.
So Yong Jo-un needed an elixir that could rapidly boost his inner energy. The one Won Seung was most familiar with was the Blue Blood Rejuvenation Pill.
The Blue Blood Rejuvenation Pill dramatically increased one's inner energy, a dream drug for any martial artist.
Since it would be Yong Jo-un's first time taking one, he could expect the full effect. He might even gain twenty years of cultivation in a single go.
The problem was the ingredients. Crafting a spirit pill like the Blue Blood Rejuvenation Pill required a mountain of rare herbs.
Won Seung had been stockpiling them whenever he could, filling his poison workshop at Baekhwa Pavilion to the brim. Even so, some key items were still missing—mostly things too rare to find on the open market.
A few were classified as poisons, so legitimate herb shops wouldn't touch them.
To think the Blue Blood Rejuvenation Pill calls for so many ingredients...
The cost alone ran into thousands of nyang, and some couldn't be bought no matter how much money you threw at them.
His master had given him three whole pills of this priceless stuff.
The thought made his chest ache with fresh gratitude.
Guess I'll have to track down that Physician Gong fellow.
He hadn't forgotten the doctor who'd pierced Jong Wonbo's throat. He'd quietly gathered intel on the man's reputation: bold with the scalpel, polarizing opinions among patients.
A Cheondaemun man would surely have poison herbs on hand.
Afternoon.
Won Seung donned a human skin mask molded to Ogu's face and slipped into Ogu's clothes.
Then he left Baekhwa Pavilion, walking with Ogu's distinctive gait.
Cheon Seok-san could pounce at any moment, so he gripped a poisoned dagger tightly in his sleeve and stuck to the main streets.
Just try coming at me!
Strapped inside his leather vest were rows of poison vials. If Cheon Seok-san showed, he'd get a taste of the 18th Cheondaemun leader's special brew.
He spread his energy as he walked, scanning the surroundings, but no sign of Cheon Seok-san.
The clinic was right on the main road, easy to spot.
It was a classic siheyuan layout.
The front door stood open, leading straight into the consultation room. A young man hunched over a wide desk, scribbling furiously on a sheet of paper.
"Where does it hurt?"
He looked up at Won Seung's footsteps, straightening with a question.
He appeared to be in his mid-twenties, handsome and refined.
Won Seung flicked the prescription in his hand and said,
"Not here for treatment. Looking for some herbs."
The young man smiled.
"This is a clinic, not a full apothecary. We don't stock much. You'd be better off at a proper herb shop."
"They don't sell what I need."
"What kind of herb doesn't a shop carry?"
Caution flickered in the young man's eyes.
He studied Won Seung closely, then stiffened at the unnatural sheen on the masked face.
"I don't know what you want, but we don't sell herbs here. This is a place for healing. Please leave."
The tone was firm.
Won Seung sighed inwardly.
A hastily made human skin mask looked off if scrutinized in good light.
He reached for the back of his neck and yanked the mask free with a rip.
The young man recoiled in shock at the bizarre display.
"Assassins on my tail, so I had to wear this. Bear with me."
The young man didn't drop his guard.
Won Seung gestured inside.
"Let's talk in private."
With the front door wide open, passersby might recognize him.
But the young man blocked the inner door, refusing to budge.
Then a crisp voice rang out from within.
"U-yun, let him in for now."
Grudgingly, the young man stepped aside, and Won Seung entered.
Beyond the reception hall lay a courtyard ringed by buildings—a standard siheyuan.
Rooms lined the structures, thick with the scent of medicinal brews.
A middle-aged physician stood in the yard, eyeing the newcomer. His hood framed a gentle face, but his gaze was sharp. He held a medicine bowl in hand.
Won Seung looked younger than expected, prompting a curious once-over.
"Overheard you on my way in. Why seek rare herbs here, of all places?"
"Have a look at the list."
Won Seung showed him the herb list he'd prepared.
The physician scanned it, face hardening slightly.
"These have toxins. Not used in medicine. Naturally, we don't stock them."
Before he could dismiss him, Won Seung cut in.
"A medicine can be poison, and poison medicine, depending on use, right?"
"?"
Not a tough concept for a doctor. But hearing it from someone so young caught him off guard.
And then...
"As they say, with ten thousand flowers, craft a thousand poisons; with a thousand poisons, craft a hundred medicines."
The physician's face drained of color. His eyes widened, staring at Won Seung like a statue frozen in place.
It had started as Manhwagok, endured calamity to become Cheondaemun. But just as later generations sought to revert to Baekyakbang, the Dang Clan wiped them out...
The phrase encapsulated Cheondaemun's tragic history—a code for identifying kin.
"Master?"
The young man called U-yun exclaimed in surprise.
Won Seung had pegged the physician as Cheondaemun from his reaction.
"Care to talk inside?"
"Ah!"
Prodded by his disciple and Won Seung, the physician snapped out of it, handing the medicine bowl to U-yun.
"Give this to the patient in the end room."
Then he led Won Seung to an empty chamber.
Once seated in the modest room, the physician spoke first.
"I'm Gong I-gwan."
"I go by the alias Pung Un-saeng."
Won Seung held back his real name. Leaking it could reach Joo Gunju's ears, inviting who-knew-what trouble.
Besides, Jeokhyeolsan believed he had amnesia and lived as No. 50. For revenge, he needed to seal off any loose ends.
He also reserved full trust for Gong I-gwan. No sense baring his soul to a stranger, kin or not.
Thus, no mention of being Cheondaemun's 18th leader.
Gong I-gwan frowned faintly at the alias.
"You seem Manhwagok stock. Why give me a false name?"
"Is Gong I-gwan your real one?"
"..."
"Our sect's position isn't enviable."
Gong I-gwan snorted softly.
"The Dang Clan? Ancient history."
Curiosity gnawed at him inwardly.
Cheeky kid. Whose disciple is he?
Gong I-gwan was the great disciple of Jang Go On, second survivor of Cheondaemun.
His master had hidden his identity until late in life, then revealed to Gong I-gwan and his two juniors that he was the second disciple to escape the Dang Clan's purge.
He'd left to find his missing senior brother.
Gong I-gwan kept loose contact with his two juniors. He knew their disciples roughly.
No word of new pupils... Probably under Third Granduncle.
His Fourth Uncle Dokgoe had no disciples, so it had to be the unseen Third Granduncle, U Mun-bi.
Whoever it is, he's too paranoid. That Dang Clan mess was ages ago.
The clash predated his own discipleship.
Gong I-gwan had been wary at first upon hearing from his master, but soon dismissed it.
Dang Clan folk were rare in Henan anyway. It felt like water under the bridge.
But Won Seung, as 18th Cheondaemun leader facing the Dang Clan, saw it differently.
His master had drilled it in: the Dang Clan were vicious bastards.
"Hm. You don't grasp the recent developments."
He could've mentioned Dokgoe and Dok Wang's clash but held back.
Gong I-gwan bristled at the seeming dismissal.
"This is my real name. No shame under heaven. Reveal yours."
"As I said, circumstances prevent it. Why else the mask?"
"Wandering with a false face is no good. I won't deal with name-hiders."
As Gong I-gwan moved to end the talk, Won Seung struck first.
"Haven't heard the code's response yet."
He'd thrown the code; Gong I-gwan hadn't replied.
Gong I-gwan, still sour-faced, said,
"No response for nameless strangers. As you say, our lot demands caution."
Won Seung nodded.
"Fair enough. First meeting—no great expectations."
Dodging his name while bantering cheekily, Gong I-gwan scowled deeply.
"Whose disciple, at least?"
"Three to start; two took three each, making seven. Beyond that, who knows."
Won Seung answered vaguely, then pulled out the herb list.
Gong I-gwan huffed to ignore it, but Won Seung waved it before his eyes.
These weren't common herbs. Mostly poisons.
"This..."
Gong I-gwan startled, eyeing Won Seung. Professional curiosity won out. If someone needed these...
"Know what these go into?"
"A few pills from those ingredients."
Oh ho? He knows the Blue Blood Rejuvenation Pill. Wait—maybe he even has some.
The thought flashed: anyone knowing the recipe hoarded a pill or two for emergencies.
Sell in a pinch, make a fortune.
"Want one such pill that martial artists crave."
Gong I-gwan looked incredulous, then wary.
"Came for herbs, my ass. You had an angle!"
"Perish the thought. Doubts? Here's proof."
Won Seung went to the desk, grabbed a brush, and dashed off the Blue Blood Rejuvenation Pill recipe. Gong I-gwan watched, astonishment flooding his face.
Spot-on prescription.
Even his disciple Hwang U-yun couldn't rattle it off so fluidly without a reference.
"Satisfied?"