The Secret Garden — 7

The Forbidden Garden of the Sichuan Tang Clan. At the center of the training ground, the Poison Martial Empress beckoned her disciple with a lazy wave of her palm.

"Come at me."

Tang Hwa-rin did not hesitate. Poison-laced palms shot from her hands, venomous aura spilling like smoke.

These were palms whose merest brush would melt skin off bone — and yet the Poison Martial Empress swatted them aside one-handed, as though they weren't even worth dodging.

If she couldn't strike from a distance, she would close it. Tang Hwa-rin refused to give up, clinging to her master's heels.

There had been openings — but her master never yielded ground. She toyed with her disciple's hands the way one might amuse an infant, and even Hwa-rin's own poison aura slipped into her master's control.

"Hyaah!"

Her master gave ground by no more than a sheet of paper, teasing her like a child being goaded. An irritable cry burst from Tang Hwa-rin's lips.

Had she truly felt the gap between them was overwhelming, she would never have reacted this way. It felt possible — yet again and again she was blocked. There had been an opening, surely — and then, somehow, it was gone.

In that instant, a strange energy bled out of her body.

"Your poison aura is leaking everywhere! Can you not get a grip on your emotions, child!"

The shout rang through the Forbidden Garden.

"Ah!"

Tang Hwa-rin staggered back a step and strained to suppress the aura seeping from her skin.

"If you leave everything to instinct, then what separates you from a beast!"

Under her master's fury, Tang Hwa-rin had nothing to say.

"I-I'll focus."

"Again. Come at me."

It was the release day of Tang Family Storm Volume 3 — and in the Forbidden Garden, the two master and disciple carried on their training as always.

"Uuugh…"

"Why are you sitting there all mopey?"

Tang Hwa-rin, clutching her head in both hands at her own torment, lifted her face at her master's voice.

"I'm ashamed of myself. You teach me so well, and I keep carelessly letting my poison aura spill."

It was her own power, and yet she couldn't control it. Was this how a child felt after wetting the bed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in the night? A peculiar shame washed over her.

"You have only just begun. At your age, I couldn't even dream of a Poison Killing Domain."

When a disciple despairs during training, a master must also lift her up. The Poison Martial Empress raised her discouraged disciple's achievement high.

"If it weren't for Yunho, I wouldn't have dreamed of it either."

At her master's praise, Tang Hwa-rin didn't grow puffed up — instead, thinking of Kang Yunho, she wore a proud expression.

"Dang Jeong endured his own trial of endurance thinking of the woman he loved. If the two of you are to live a hundred years together as soon as possible, then surely there's no time to waste sulking and despairing."

"…Pardon?"

Tang Hwa-rin looked at her master with faintly widened eyes.

"What's so strange about that?"

"Hehe. Nothing. You're right, of course."

Over the past few days, the Poison Martial Empress had mentioned Tang Family Storm with growing frequency. That Dang Jeong had done this, that any true martial artist must read it — she'd even brought up Dang Jeong's women at one point.

Hwa-rin couldn't tell whether her master raised the novel just to have something to talk about with her disciple, or whether she was genuinely hooked — but either way, she liked that her teacher spoke of her fiancé's book.

"That brat…"

"Oh, right — today's the Volume 3 release. You decided not to go after all?"

"Hmph. I have no intention of making a fool of myself like the First Elder. When the time comes, I'll read it."

The Poison Martial Empress shook her head with a composed air.

She had no desire to stand in line in a packed crowd. Whatever joys Tang Family Storm held, she refused to disgrace herself like the old men of the Council of Elders.

"But it's really good…"

At her disciple's wistful murmur, the Empress couldn't help but flinch.

"H-have you read it all, then?"

"Yes. It's far better than the early draft. Shall I lend you my copy?"

"No need."

Again she waved away the offer. However much she wanted to read it — however desperately she wondered what Volume 3 held — one must never skim through a book that author Hopil had entrusted to his own fiancée.

Though her face, of course, wore her longing so plainly that Tang Hwa-rin could not have missed it.

"Might we end today's training early, so I can go out?"

"What nonsense is this? Didn't I just tell you to keep going — and now you'd slack off?"

Was it because she hadn't scolded the mistake harshly, because she'd offered praise instead? To think her disciple's discipline would loosen this much.

Unless the reason was a good one, a stern reprimand was due. The Poison Martial Empress fixed her gaze on Tang Hwa-rin, ready to lecture her —

"I asked Tang Pae to secure your copy of Volume 3."

"…We'll end here for today."

It was a very reasonable reason.

"Where has Master gone?"

Volume 3 in hand, Tang Hwa-rin asked the maidservant of the Forbidden Garden.

"The Poison Martial Empress said she had research to conduct and retired to her chambers. She instructed that she not be disturbed until she comes out herself."

"I see. Understood."

Tang Hwa-rin nodded and made her way to her own room.

"Yunho really should have seen the Tang Clan today."

It was hardly recognizable as the usual compound — noise boiling up from every direction.

"Hehe. I'll have to write him a letter about this later."

She'd only glanced out for a moment, but there was comedy in every direction. Yunho would surely enjoy it too. Thinking of Kang Yunho, Tang Hwa-rin opened Volume 3 in her hands.

The page she turned to was one of the novel's bedroom scenes.

"He really, really does love them to death."

Memories surfaced of conversations from when she'd lived with Yunho back at the Daseogak.

"Yunho."

"Yeah?"

"The way you write bedroom scenes in Tang Family Storm — is that your, your taste?"

Face too flushed to bear, Tang Hwa-rin had posed the difficult question.

"Hwa-rin, I merely write it to stimulate the dreams of men. Nothing more."

"I don't buy that. You clearly love big chests. It's your taste, isn't it?"

When Kang Yunho answered with an utterly innocent face, devoid of any ulterior motive, Hwa-rin had only stared at him with deep suspicion.

"Hwa-rin, you're misunderstanding. A man can love a woman with a small chest, but no man loves a woman because her chest is small. Some people call chest-lovers perverts, but listen: a man who loves big chests is an ordinary pervert. A man who loves small ones is an extraordinary pervert."

"Whatever. Look at you, talking so much. It's your taste."

"…Then stop asking me things you already know."

In the end, Kang Yunho had been sunk.

"Hehe. He sulked so hard."

Such a delightful conversation.

"I'm happy either way, but. Hehe."

Say 'chest' and you say Tang Hwa-rin; say Tang Hwa-rin and you say 'chest.' The part of her she'd always considered a nuisance was, it turned out, a direct hit on one man's particular tastes — and knowing that made her positively proud.

To some, the bedroom scenes of Tang Family Storm were titillating. To Tang Hwa-rin, they were also a book for learning her fiancé's tastes.

"Yunho. Do you, do you want to try it with three?"

She murmured it in a bashful voice. If even Volume 3 carried a bit of his personal wish mixed in, did Yunho harbor tastes like this?

"Another woman… Yes. I did give my permission."

Another woman at Yunho's side. Tang Hwa-rin pressed her lips shut, and nodded slowly, as if to force down the sting that shot through her chest.

"One is fine. Yes. It's fine."

Yunho had promised to wait for her — and she had no intention of becoming a selfish woman. A man like Yunho still unmarried past thirty? Even a Daoist priest would point fingers and mutter that something must be wrong with him.

And besides — however much Yunho thought of her, there was bound to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠be at least one vixen ready to worm into his moments of hardship and pain.

She'd have to grab that one by the hair and shake her once, but one was fine. Tang Hwa-rin nodded again and accepted it.

"So then — in bed, should I take the top first? Or the bottom?"

Which would Yunho prefer? Thinking of Kang Yunho, her face burned.

"Lady Hwa-rin."

"Wh-what is it?"

Startled by the maidservant's voice, Tang Hwa-rin slammed the book shut and shot up from her seat as though springing off it.

It wasn't mealtime yet — what could this be? Was her master ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠calling for her? She fanned her burning face and opened the door, and the maidservant delivered wholly unexpected news.

"You are summoned to the Patriarch Hall."

"From the Moyong Clan?"

In the Patriarch Hall, Tang Hwa-rin listened to news brought by a guest who had traveled from afar.

"It appears the poison on Tang Geohu traces back to the Demonic Cult."

"The poison that bastard used — the same one that poisoned the Young Clan Leader?"

"And it seems Lord Moyong Cheon of the Moyong Clan was poisoned by the very same toxin."

It was the Head of the Medical Pavilion who relayed the Moyong Clan's affairs to Hwa-rin, on behalf of the Patriarch, who held his silence.

"That wretch Tang Geohu — arrogant, and he leaves filth everywhere he goes."

Hwa-rin was dutifully respectful toward her elders, but her temper was far from dead. At this long-awaited news of her enemy, she bared her teeth.

"Ahem. Well then, about that…"

The Head of the Medical Pavilion beckoned her forward with an exceedingly apologetic expression.

"What is the matter?"

At her question, he could not answer at once and turned his eyes toward the Patriarch. Was there something the Patriarch wished to say?

When Tang Hwa-rin looked to the Patriarch, he opened his mouth toward her with a face carved from stone.

"Tang ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Hwa-rin. I would have you travel to the Moyong Clan."

It was an utterly unexpected request.

"…Is this a command from the Patriarch?"

Her face made her reluctance plain.

She was no longer the bastard daughter of the Erotic Fiend — she was an acknowledged member of the Tang Clan. Treated as near-direct lineage, she had risen to the level where the clan's warriors owed her their courtesies as a matter of course.

She had enjoyed the honor of clan membership, and of becoming the disciple of the Poison Martial Empress. But to become a member of a family was to accept, rightfully, the obligations that came with it.

The command of the Tang Clan Head.

It was something a member of the clan must obey, however unwilling.

Faced with Hwa-rin's reluctance, the Patriarch paused, choosing his words.

"Naturally, we would hear your own thoughts in full—"

"What in the world is the meaning of this?!"

With a BANG, someone kicked open the doors of the Patriarch Hall and stormed inside.

Who would dare kick open the doors of the hall where the Tang Clan Head himself resided?

Everyone from the guards to the man himself deserved a ferocious reprimand — but this time was different. The warrior before them held every right to do it.

"Lady Poison Martial Empress?!"

"What is the meaning of this conduct?! Ordering my disciple where to go and where not to go?!"

The Patriarch's own aunt, a supreme master of the previous Tang generation, the master of Tang Hwa-rin — roared with her face twisted in fury.