Sichuan Journey - 2
Authentic Wuxia-style food, huh. An inn that only sells plain noodles and dumplings.
Of course this world has noodles and dumplings. I’d ordered them myself more than once, smiling bitterly whenever some inn served up something utterly ridiculous. But an entire establishment whose entire menu was nothing but noodles and dumplings?
GALL! This isn’t a martial-arts dating sim!
It was weird enough that I almost wanted to shout it at the sky. And the strangeness didn’t stop at the food.
They never even handed us a menu, and they brought the water out one cup at a time.
The proprietor had come over in person to explain the offerings. Even if customers were scarce, bringing water himself? Water was supposed to be self-serve—that was the golden rule. And now that I looked, it wasn’t plain water either; it was carefully steeped tea.
Suspicious didn’t even begin to cover it.
It felt like watching an android or a reptilian in a human skin trying to pass. Once I started looking at the inn with fresh eyes, the red flags piled up.
I raised my head. Square, clean patches stood out on the walls. Everything around them was faded by sunlight, yet those rectangular spots remained bright. Something—menus, almost certainly—had hung there for a long time.
If the sun-bleach was that sharp, the boards had been up for years. So why take them down?
Because they could no longer cook what was written on them.
Ingredients run out, the cook gets replaced, or—more likely—every original staff member is forcibly “retired” and swapped for people who can’t actually cook. Claiming you can’t prepare the listed dishes invites questions, so the safest move is simply to remove the menus altogether.
And Bamboo-Leaf Green is a wine from distant Shanxi—ordered all the way out to some backwater village? That alone is strange.
In a proper orthodox Wuxia story every inn fridge would stock Bamboo-Leaf Green, but in this world you had to hunt for it. When I’d asked the proprietor a moment ago whether they had any, his reaction had been blank and awkward. He’d prepared answers for the food, but the liquor question had caught him flat-footed.
The owner’s clumsy hospitality, the oddly neglected state of the place no matter how long I stared—details I might have waved off on any other day now kept snagging in my mind.
And if those details weren’t just paranoia?
The classic Wuxia cliché: the inn itself is the trap.
We’d come this way in the first place because both other roads were blocked. I’d thought it odd we hadn’t run into bandits; what if the bandits had been waiting here all along? An ambush set for careless travelers. Or, if the story took a darker turn, a den of men who turned their guests into the filling of their dumplings.
Pure speculation. Still, I ought to say something.
If I was overreacting, we’d laugh it off. If I wasn’t, our lives were on the line.
“So the inn’s suspicious?”
Hwarin repeated my warning without a shred of doubt.
“Yeah.”
Crisis mode and she didn’t even ask for reasons—just accepted it. Hwarin, I’m genuinely moved.
“Then let’s check.”
She reached for the teacup I had stopped her from touching.
“Hey—”
I tried to grab her wrist. There could be poison. She lifted a hand, telling me it was fine, and drained the cup in one go.
Her poison resistance should handle it… right?
Hwarin rolled the tea around her mouth like a food-show judge, tilted her head, and swallowed.
“Not poison.”
“It isn’t?”
Maybe I’d been jumping at shadows. Sure, an inn that specialized in noodles and dumplings could exist in this world. I was the one who’d gotten twisted.
I was halfway through a round of self-flagellation when Hwarin continued.
“Mm. But it’s not ordinary tea either.”
“What do you mean?”
“The astringency is strong. Not toxic, but the leaves seem to dull taste and smell.”
“A cheap preparatory trick before they lace the food.”
Uigakju, who had been listening in silence, muttered the conclusion aloud.
“Yes. Tampering with tea is hard, but this much is solid groundwork.”
Hwarin nodded to him and finished the rest of the cup.
“Tsk. I thought it was strange how quiet everything had been.”
Uigakju clicked his tongue and tapped the table with one finger.
— Tap. Tap-tap-tap-tap.
A precise rhythm. The relaxed eyes of every other Medical Pavilion member sharpened at once. A signal to stay alert.
“Here are the noodles and dumplings. I have other business, so I’ll leave the room keys with you—make yourselves at home.”
The innkeeper set the dishes down and vanished somewhere into the building.
The tea didn’t have to be a prelude to poison. Maybe these were the only leaves they had, or a way to mask cheap ingredients, or simply to cover for bland cooking.
Hwarin, under the wary stares of everyone else, picked up her chopsticks.
“Hwarin.”
I called her name, worry thick in my voice.
“It’s fine. It’s not some unidentifiable ultra-toxin like the ones that bastard Geoho used to feed me. I can spot poison in food.”
Hwarin, I wasn’t asking if you could. I was asking if it was safe. Being an incomplete Poison Human might protect her, but watching a friend casually eat potential poison still set my teeth on edge.
Whether she noticed or not, she sampled the noodles and broth with gourmet precision.
“They made the noodles pretty aggressive. Sleeping poison inside—high purity. The spicy kick is there to hide the drowsiness. Not bad, actually.”
Poison is a spice to you? She announced the secret ingredient the way a chef might praise a house special.
“As I thought.”
So the plan was to wait until we all dozed off, then strike.
“Now for the dumplings… what?”
“Do you really need to taste those too?”
I caught her hand before it reached the dumplings and glanced at Uigakju, who was already probing them with a silver needle. Hwarin, we don’t know what kind of meat is in there. Let’s not find out the hard way.
“Slow-acting paralytic type.”
The dumplings were poisoned as well.
“Shall we drag the innkeeper in?”
Deputy Head Dang Pae asked quietly. Uigakju shook his head and raised one hand. One of the escorts read the signal, nodded, and slipped away to search the interior with silent speed.
“For the scale of what they’re attempting, there are far too few of them.”
I kept my voice low. Using poison against the great Sichuan Dang Clan took more nerve than most people possessed.
“I sense no one hiding inside the inn, so the rest of the enemies must be somewhere in the village.”
They’d planned to hit us while we slept; no need to pack the building. The problem was that even a village this small could disgorge any number of attackers.
Heavy silence settled over the party.
“No people, but I found a spot off the beaten path thick with the scent of blood.”
The scout returned and reported softly. So there had already been victims.
“Haa. That anyone would commit such an abomination… Their methods are vicious, and this clearly isn’t their first time.”
Uigakju swallowed a flash of cold anger at the mention of blood.
“What do you intend to do?”
“One option: find the innkeeper this instant, snap his neck, and leave.”
“Night is almost here. A pursuit after dark would be troublesome.”
I didn’t doubt the Dang Clan’s martial strength, but we had no idea of the enemy’s numbers. A running fight on a black road might not endanger the clan members—but it could endanger me.
“We could also pretend nothing is wrong and simply leave. A little acting would be required, but if that worries you, you can handle it yourself.”
“Hmm.”
“Ordinarily we would hold such scum accountable. But we are on a mission, and we have two guests who must be protected.”
Uigakju’s glance said plain as day: this is your fault.
Passing the buck to me at a time like this.
Right—Dang Hwarin the experimental Poison Human and Kang Yunho the clan leader’s illegitimate son. Both of us had to reach the Sichuan Dang Clan alive. Prioritizing the guests’ safety was the rational call.
Every Medical Pavilion escort turned quiet eyes on me, waiting for my opinion.
What to do? The blood scent meant we weren’t the first. There could be more victims tomorrow. But did that mean we had to risk ourselves cleaning house?
I could simply turn my head and it would no longer be my problem. Having power didn’t mean I was obligated to swing it.
For a heartbeat the memory rose of a black-haired barbarian clutching an empty belly while wandering the Central Plains.
What am I thinking? In this situation there’s only one answer.
“To possess strength and yet look away is injustice. To see evil and remain silent is to become its accomplice.”
You’re Orthodox Sect brats, aren’t you? Ignore this and you might as well hand back your righteous nameplates. Why even ask?
I waited for the lecture about foolish idealism. Instead Uigakju gave me a look of genuine pride. The escorts watching me smiled and nodded as well.
“Exactly. As pillars of the Orthodox Path, this is something we cannot ignore.”
He spoke loud enough for every man to hear, the proud expression never leaving his face. All of them nodded again.
“We wait for night. Everyone to their rooms.”
We retired to the guest rooms to set the ambush for those who planned to ambush us.
“How did you notice?”
Why was I stuck in the same room as Uigakju? He ignored Hwarin and the others completely and fixed his gaze on me.
“A predator may ignore a trembling bush, but a grazing deer keeps its ears up at all times. I felt something off. Once I paid attention, the awkward details stood out. That is all.”
Because the specialty menu was noodles and dumplings—a reason I could never say out loud, so I deflected.
“Most drifters on the rivers and lakes fancy themselves the predator and grow careless. Compared to them, your attitude and your sharp intuition are praiseworthy.”
His voice was far warmer than usual.
Why the sudden compliments? The man who used to glare daggers is being nice and it’s giving me hives.
“I appreciate the praise.”
Maybe he wanted us to get friendly before we reached Sichuan.
“Of course, once the food arrived everyone would have noticed.”
He snorted as if to say the whole thing had been unnecessary. So much for pure praise.
“If I did well, just say I did well—”
“Still. That line you spoke a moment ago… it reminded me of him when he was young.”
Uigakju cut me off, voice suddenly distant with nostalgia. The Clan Leader, then?
“Living in the Central Plains as a black-haired barbarian makes a man the victim of countless injustices. You see any number of people who possess power yet choose to look away. I once swore that if the roles were ever reversed, I would not turn my head so easily.”
“Chivalry, justice, righteous deeds—fine words. But in the murim, saving one person often means earning the hatred of ten.”
“And it is because we can bear that hatred that we are called great Orthodox clans.”
Uigakju’s eyes widened slightly. For a long moment he studied my face as though searching for someone else’s features inside it.
Had he heard those words from someone long ago?
“…Yes. That is true. Yet one cannot simply pursue one’s own justice without looking at those around them. If such a person exists, someone else must stand beside them and say the hard things.”
He lowered his head with a bitter smile. His own story, I suspected.
“For all that, Pavilion Master, your reputation is rather good.”
“Ha-ha-ha. Insolent boy. I may say unwelcome things, but I have never acted in a way that would shame me as a member of the Orthodox Path.”
The word “insolent” held none of its usual hostility. Maybe the praise had softened him.
“Yunho. Get ready. The Sleep-Fog Fragrance is rising.”
Hwarin, standing watch by the door, warned us that the knockout smoke had begun to seep in.
I covered my mouth with cloth and quietly cycled the detoxifying mantra she had taught me, waiting for the right moment.
By feel it was an hour or two past midnight when the front door of the inn creaked open and noise erupted downstairs.
“Big Brother! The Sichuan Dang Clan? Nothing special!”
“The stuff we used this time can’t even be bought with money! They’re all dead asleep!”
“Let’s go see whether Dang Clan blood is purple or red!”
Their triumphant voices got that far and no farther.
“H-how—?”
Because every single Medical Pavilion escort had just stepped out of their rooms.
“To dare use poison before the great Sichuan Dang Clan… how laughable.”
“Big Brother, I-I think we’re fucked—argh!”
“There can be only one reason anyone is still awake at this hour. Clean them all up.”
Uigakju raised his hand and sealed the bandits’ futures.
“Spare me!”
“C-can’t breathe—!”
“Itchy itchy! Itchy delicious!”
“Guh!”
Utterly one-sided. More like spring cleaning than a fight.
By the time the faint edge of dawn began to light the windows, the screams outside had stopped.
Plenty of bodies. When we stepped out of the inn we found corpses whose causes of death could only be listed as “night-shift overwork of indeterminate nature.”
“Casualty report.”
Uigakju stood amid the dead receiving Dang Pae’s summary.
“Numerous minor wounds, no serious injuries! Heavy use of hidden weapons and poison means we’ll need a resupply stop in the next city, but nothing critical.”
Uigakju nodded and, ready to finish the matter, seized the innkeeper by the collar and hauled him up.
“Your evil ends here.”
Damn, cool line. Sounds like the finishing speech to a fighting-game loser. Please don’t show a fatality; I’m weak with gore.
Even dangling there, the innkeeper showed no fear and spat out something unexpected.
“Fuck. Said the medical division was the soft target! You can’t trust Orthodox bastards for shit. Piece-of-shit motherfuckers.”
“What did you say?”
What the hell? That meant they hadn’t stumbled onto us by chance—they had targeted us on purpose. Why?
“What else, you fucks? You think we’re crazy enough to attack you otherwise? This damn family feud—”
A hidden weapon flashed from the darkness and punched clean through the man’s throat.
“Who goes there!”
Uigakju and every escort snapped toward the source of the projectile.
In the pre-dawn gloom where light had not yet reached, figures in black, faces covered, were walking forward.
Bad feeling. Masked men in black…
They stopped at a careful distance. From their center a single man with uncovered face and purple hair strode out with confident steps.
“It has been a while, Pavilion Master.”
“Y-you—why are you here?”
Even under Uigakju’s stunned voice the man did not slow. His eyes were locked on one woman alone. Dawn’s first light finally touched his face.
I had never seen that face before, yet I knew it all too well.
The man Hwarin had spoken of with pure hatred.
The man who wore a tiger’s body and a viper’s cunning smile.
“Why else? I have come to reclaim the precious thing I was carefully crafting.”
It was Dang Geoho.