The Supreme Art of the Namgoong Clan
The Blue Sky Sword.
True to its name, an art said to cleave the azure skies and slice through the clouds—the pride of the Namgoong Clan and one of the supreme martial arts representing the entire Orthodox Faction.
Beyond the window, in the courtyard training grounds, the sword qi radiating from Namgoong Seol was as clear and breathtakingly blue as its legendary reputation. The sharp whistle of wind cutting through the air drifted across the courtyard, piercing the quiet stillness of dawn.
And yet...
“...Hmm?”
As I leisurely took in her sword dance, my brow slowly furrowed.
When it came to creating and dissecting martial arts, I could boast without shame of being peerless under heaven. Nothing could fool my eyes.
Every time Namgoong Seol swung and withdrew her blade, a murky, turbid current stubbornly clung to the trailing edge of her sword qi.
That is unmistakably the trace of a demonic art.
It was still exceedingly faint. Even if the elders of the Orthodox Faction watched her with wide, hawkish eyes—even to Namgoong Seol herself as she wielded the blade—it was subtle enough to go entirely unnoticed. Yet like a gentle drizzle that slowly drenches one's clothes, that damp, sinister energy would inevitably corrode her dantian and eat away at her meridians.
If something happens to Namgoong Seol, the clan’s line of succession is ruined. And if the Namgoong Clan begins to crumble...
The moment that realization struck me, the color drained from my face.
My comfortable life of pure, unadulterated idleness! My golden retirement, where all I had to do was breathe and exist, would be doomed from day one!
I can’t let anyone ruin such a sweet honeypot.
I had to uncover the cause immediately. Had she grown desperate for rapid achievement at a young age, blinding herself into dabbling in demonic arts? Or was this the insidious work of an outside hand?
I need to see for myself.
I gathered the tea set resting in the corner of my room and arranged it onto a wooden tray.
“Phew...”
Reining in her sword qi, Namgoong Seol let out a ragged breath. The collar of her pristine white robes was damp with sweat. Even draped in the dawn mist, her beauty was striking. Yet the instant she heard my approaching footsteps, her features hardened into stone.
“I believe less than half a day has passed since you promised to erase your presence and live quietly.”
It was a chilling eviction notice. My wife was a woman colder than a midwinter gale. Even so, without a hint of intimidation, I beamed a genial smile and casually ambled closer.
“The morning air is quite chilly, you see. I happened to catch sight of your sword dance, and the spectacle was so breathtaking that I found myself entranced, carrying out a cup of tea before I even realized what I was doing.”
Wearing the harmless, clueless expression of an unwelcome guest, I thrust forward the steaming teacup.
Namgoong Seol’s brow twitched faintly. But she was not so uncouth as to outright knock away an offered kindness; she was, after all, a daughter of an esteemed Orthodox clan. Swallowing a soft sigh, she reluctantly reached out and accepted the cup.
Swish.
In that fleeting fraction of a second, as I handed over the teacup, my fingertips brushed against her chilled skin in a carefully disguised accident.
Got you.
Pulse diagnosis. Brief as skin-to-skin contact was, it was more than enough to read the flow of her inner energy.
A repulsive, insidious yin poison lay coiled deep within her dantian. And internal energy, diverted onto a corrupted path, was steadily awakening that very poison.
Feigning contemplation, I casually tossed out a remark just as she was about to bring the cup to her lips.
“Still, it is rather strange.”
“What is?” Namgoong Seol pulled the cup from her lips, her gaze shifting toward me.
Scratching my chin, I played the part of an ignorant, useless scholar.
“Did you call it the Blue Sky Sword? That marvelous sword dance just now, I mean. When transitioning from the third form to the fourth, the tip of your blade wavered ever so slightly.”
“...!”
Namgoong Seol’s eyes widened noticeably.
Unperturbed, I pressed on.
“The energy drawn up from the dantian should flow smoothly through the Qihai acupoint and on toward the Danzhong. Yet anyone could see it snagging and faltering halfway through.”
“How on earth did you...”
“Forcing the technique to connect like that must leave a tearing, icy ache just beneath your right ribs, choking the breath right out of your chest.” Shrugging my shoulders, I let out an easy, hearty chuckle. “Ah, please don't misunderstand me. It's only that your posture while swinging the blade looked so precarious, like an invalid whose qi and blood were reversing course.”
Namgoong Seol’s face contorted with fury.
“How dare you insult the sword of the Blue Sky...!”
Her shout dripped with genuine killing intent. It was only natural she would flare up after hearing the pride of the Namgoong Clan mocked—and by an expendable scholar whom her family treated like a scarecrow, no less.
So I hastily threw up both hands, tucking my tail between my legs in shameless surrender.
“Aigoo! Forgive my loose tongue! It was merely some shallow trivia I picked up flipping through medical texts in the old archives of the Hebei Baekri Clan, so please do not take it to heart. Drink your tea before it goes cold. This humble husband shall take his leave now.”
Turning on my heel, I scurried out of the training grounds in a fluster. The glare boring into the back of my head pricked like needles, but I never once looked back.
Hooked.
As I cleared the grounds, the corners of my mouth curled into a broad grin.
A chest pain she could tell to no one, kept secret even from her father, the Clan Patriarch. This supposedly incompetent husband of hers had pinpointed the telltale warning sign of Qi Deviation in a single breath.
The foundation is laid.
For the sake of my safety and happiness—and for your sake too, Namgoong Seol. I will purge that vile demonic art festering inside your body, no matter what it takes.
Only after reaching a secluded corridor did I finally slow my brisk stride. The easygoing smirk upon my face settled into an icy, impassive stillness.
This isn't just someone slipping poison into her food.
Leaning against a wooden pillar, I mentally reconstructed the pathways of Namgoong Seol’s meridians, still vivid against my fingertips. A cunning, sinister energy was coiled within her dantian. But the truly horrifying part was not the poison itself.
The mnemonics of the Blue Sky Sword have been twisted.
I had seen countless martial arts in my time. Demonic Cult, Orthodox Faction, Unorthodox Faction—they were all etched into my memory. Nothing escaped my notice.
It was a microscopic deviation—no more than half an inch off from the true, upright sword formula. But the circulation of qi and blood had been subtly manipulated to mesh with the accumulated yin poison inside her body, interlocking like the cogs of a watermill.
Who would commit such madness?
Someone capable of meddling with the Namgoong Clan’s foundational art, the Blue Sky Sword, and teaching it to the clan's heir as if it were gospel.
It had to be someone at the very heart of the clan. An elder at the very least, or a top-ranking figure rivaling the Master of the Martial Pavilion.
All this time, Namgoong Seol had been receiving lessons in self-destruction from a blood relative or mentor she trusted with her life. Or perhaps that very relative or teacher had passed it down without even knowing.
What a venomous internal struggle. Every great clan inevitably bred those who went mad for power and kicked away their own livelihood.
Normally, I would have turned a blind eye, wanting nothing to do with another family's domestic squabbles. But this time was different.
I slowly rubbed the tips of my fingers with my thumb.
The nature of that yin poison.
It was a sensation I had suffered down to my very marrow—a memory burned into my soul, impossible to forget.
The secluded bedchamber in the Hundred Thousand Mountains. The black-masked assassins who had descended upon the Young Mistress and me. The aura of the Seven Steps Death Poison wafting from their blades.
...Its root is identical.
For a moment, my heart seemed to freeze before thumping violently, boiling with heat. A hollow laugh escaped my lips in sheer disbelief.
Right in the heart of the Namgoong Clan, revered as the paramount pillar of the Orthodox Faction... the mastermind rotting it from within was connected to the very rats of the Demonic Cult who had killed me?
It wasn't enough to murder me once? Now you want to dig into my gold mine in this life too?
Like hell I would let them!
I had crawled through a hellish bloodbath just to secure this life of idle comfort. A blissful retirement where top-grade silks and lavish hospitality were served to me just for breathing.
You dare touch my gold mine twice?
I clenched my teeth.
I had only wanted to stay shut in my room and breathe quietly. But to protect my way of life, nothing less than wringing the necks of whoever lurked in the shadows would satisfy me.
Suppressing my boiling murderous intent, I resumed a leisurely stroll back toward my quarters.
There’s no need to rush.
The seed had been planted masterfully. Now that she was painfully aware of the fatal flaw in her sword dance and the damage being wrought upon her body, Namgoong Seol would never be able to sit still.
That night.
Chilly moonlight settled over the grand pavilions of the Namgoong Clan.
Breathing in the subtle scent of agarwood rising from the incense burner, I reclined against a soft silk mattress. In my hand rested a porcelain plate heaped with rare confections sent up from the kitchens.
Mmm. The Namgoong Clan’s pantry certainly operates on another level.
Savoring the sweet pastries that melted on my tongue, I was relishing the very essence of idle luxury when—
Rustle.
A presence stirred outside the door.
Footsteps silenced to the absolute limit. Yet they could not fool senses that had mastered the profound principles of martial arts. A slender shadow flickered against the paper screen.
The presence lingered before the handle for a long time as if hesitating, before hardening in resolve.
“...Are you asleep?”
A subdued, chilling voice. It was my iron-walled wife, Namgoong Seol.
Swallowing the confection in my mouth, I assumed an exaggerated, drowsy drawl.
“Hmm? What brings my lady here in the dead of night? I never expected you to be the one to break your own promise that I keep out of sight and leave not even a trace of my presence.”
“I am in no mood for jokes.”
Her voice drew a sharp, unyielding line. Yet it was distinctly different from her aloof, disdainful air of the morning. Beneath her subtly trembling breath lay a heavy desperation she was fighting tooth and nail to suppress.
“Enter.”
At my permission, Namgoong Seol pushed the door open.
Creak.
With the cool moonlight behind her, Namgoong Seol stepped into the room. Firmly gripped in her hand was a steel sword with a gleaming blue edge—a weapon she had not carried that morning.
“What you said earlier.”
Her gaze locked onto me, laced with sharp killing intent yet quivering violently beneath the surface.
“The flaw in my sword. And the chest pain... What on earth did you read in the old medical texts of the Baekri Clan to spout such nonsense? Speak. Recite it for me one more time.”
Ha. So that was how she wanted to play it?
A faint smirk played upon my lips.
“Very well. For my wife's sake, I shall gladly indulge in a little late-night chat.”