Chapter 62
There stood a young man and woman clad in dark green martial robes. Their sleeves were unusually wide compared to the rest of their garments—likely for concealing poisons or hidden weapons.
The young lord of Dangga pushed through the crowd and approached Tian Ailang. He scanned the surroundings with a chilling gaze. At that look, the outer hall warriors shrank back, cold sweat beading on their brows.
"What is this about?"
At the young lord's words, the gatekeeper trembled in abject terror. As his response dragged on, the young lord's cheek twitched. The gatekeeper immediately prostrated himself on the ground. The young lord's cheek quivered like that whenever his mood soured to the extreme—and trouble always followed. That was why the gatekeeper acted in haste.
Dangga was renowned for its poisons and hidden weapons, but mastery of poison wasn't something one could simply learn at will. It demanded a special constitution, and training with hundreds or thousands of toxins required vast resources. Thus, even Dangga had to be selective, focusing their poison training primarily on the clan's inner bloodline.
From infancy, they were gradually acclimated to toxins. Once they could walk and learn, the process forged poison bearers—progressing from Hundred Poison Body, to Thousand Poison Body, to Myriad Poison Body. Many were crippled in the process, and even those who survived often bore minor side effects.
Dang Sangho, the young lord of Dangga, had this unnatural twitching in one cheek as a remnant of becoming a poison bearer. It quivered involuntarily whenever his mood darkened.
"We were escorting a young man who arrived with a letter from the Shaolin Abbot, demanding an audience with the patriarch."
The gatekeeper shuddered violently but managed to fulfill his duty. Hearing this, the young lord turned his gaze to Tian Ailang. Arrogance befitting the young lord of Sichuan's preeminent clan filled his eyes.
"You wish to meet the patriarch?"
Dang Sangho always addressed his father, Dang Cheongum, by the title of patriarch. This stemmed from Dangga's atmosphere of absolute authority and Dang Cheongum's own cold teachings.
Tian Ailang met the young lord's stare without a word. As silence stretched, the young lord's cheek began to twitch again—until Tian Ailang finally spoke.
"Is this how Dangga treats its guests? Or do you disdain Shaolin? Or perhaps you find the Shaolin Abbot laughable? Or is even the patriarch of Dangga—a friend of the abbot—beneath contempt? From gatekeeper to so-called young lord, you're all a disgrace."
Tian Ailang's sharp words sent the young lord's cheek into violent spasms. His fingers wriggled as if grasping at something. Then, the woman who had been watching quietly stepped forward and took his hand. Their eyes met, and the young lord's agitation visibly calmed.
The woman positioned herself in front of him and offered Tian Ailang a martial salute—not the bow of ordinary women, but the gesture of a fellow warrior of the jianghu.
"I am Dang Jeong-a, daughter of Dangga and sister to the young lord. On behalf of our clan, I apologize for the discourtesy. But first, it would be best if you revealed your identity. We cannot immediately verify the letter, so let us prevent further misunderstanding."
Tian Ailang watched Dang Jeong-a with a glint of interest. Her words were an apology in tone, yet they subtly rebuked him for withholding his name. She seemed far more suited to clan politics than the young lord.
Matching her courtesy, Tian Ailang returned the salute and introduced himself.
"Tian Ailang, patriarch of the Qi Arts Clan. I have business with your patriarch and bear a letter of introduction from the Shaolin Abbot."
"The Qi Arts Clan!"
The outer hall warriors gasped in admiration. Sichuan's various interest groups relied heavily on the Silk Road trade linking Qinghai and Xinjiang. Whether conducting business directly or using imported goods via the route, few in Sichuan were untouched by it. Dangga was no exception, and with the Silk Road lying in the Demonic Cult's sphere of influence, they were particularly sensitive to its affairs—more so than other orthodox sects.
Thus, they vividly remembered how the Qi Arts Clan had toppled the Demonic Cult's great clans twenty years prior. Dang Sangho and Dang Jeong-a shared the warriors' stunned expressions.
"Impressive. It's an honor to meet the renowned patriarch of the Qi Arts Clan. I'll escort you to the patriarch myself. That fine with you, Sangho?"
With Dang Jeong-a taking charge, the tension eased and matters proceeded smoothly. At her words, Dang Sangho snorted disdainfully at Tian Ailang and turned away. Without another word, he stormed off to his quarters.
The outer hall warriors dispersed to their posts at Dang Jeong-a's command. In an instant, only Tian Ailang and she remained.
Under her guidance, Tian Ailang observed her closely. Her straight facial lines, modest nose, small eyes, and thin lips gave an impression of refined simplicity. Taller than most men, her figure boasted generous curves that strained against her slender robes. And due to the poisons, her hands were stained a dark green, matching her attire.
More striking than her looks were the warm gazes from the Dangga clansmen they passed. It was a far cry from the fear they showed the young lord, sparking Tian Ailang's curiosity.
"The people seem quite fond of you."
Dang Jeong-a glanced at the clansmen going about their tasks and smiled.
"They're family. That's all."
"The way they look at the young lord is entirely different."
"I have nothing to say on that."
She drew a firm, calm line. Tian Ailang pressed on.
"If I'm not mistaken, your martial prowess surpasses the young lord's, you're older, and the people follow you more. Why aren't you the young lord?"
Her expression hardened briefly, but she soon smiled again.
"I have nothing to say on that either."
With an eye smile, she turned the question back.
"What brings the patriarch of the Qi Arts Clan to Dangga?"
Tian Ailang answered honestly. Upon hearing of his need for the Haryongdan, Dangga aid, and the Shaolin Abbot's letter, Dang Jeong-a's eyes widened in surprise.
"Remarkable. And bold. You must have the skill to back that confidence... I apologize for prying into the patriarch's guest like this—my curiosity got the better of me."
Tian Ailang waved it off lightly.
"No need for such formalities. By the way, have you ever seen a Palgaksa?"
She shook her head.
"No, but I know of it."
"What is it?"
Organizing her thoughts, Dang Jeong-a explained.
"A legendary spirit beast said to dwell in the Yunnan Poison Mist region. Sightings are rare—every few years at best, decades at worst. It has a massive serpent's body with eight horns on its head, hence the name Palgaksa. It's famously known that its inner core forms the Haryongdan."
Tian Ailang nodded, cross-referencing with what he'd heard from the Haomen lord.
"I've heard its eight horns each emit a different poison—all lethal. Without poison resistance, just being nearby is devastating. Even then, the poisonous mist dooms seekers before they even find it."
Tian Ailang raised a doubt.
"It's a spirit beast harboring an ancient elixir as its core. Why hasn't your poison-resistant clan hunted it?"
Dang Jeong-a nodded in empathy—this was a question she'd pondered as a child.
"Even granting they could navigate the poison mist and withstand the horns' toxins, there's a greater issue."
"What?"
"The Palgaksa itself is unimaginably powerful."
"...?"
She chuckled softly at his puzzled look—she'd reacted the same way as a girl.
"In martial terms, it's akin to two pinnacle Harmony Realm masters. In the past, Dangga and others attempted hunts, but they suffered massive casualties against its insurmountable might. Officially, they shelved it—but really, the losses outweighed any gains, so they gave up."
This resolved much of Tian Ailang's curiosity. And it hardened his resolve. Impossible or not, acquiring the Haryongdan was unavoidable—and he had no intention of backing down.
Their conversation brought them to the patriarch's hall.
"Patriarch, it's Jeong-a. I've brought the guest. He claims a letter from the Shaolin Abbot."
At her call, attendants slid the hall's doors open with a rumble. Inside the dimly oppressive space loomed a high dais and a massive chair. A middle-aged man who appeared advanced in years lounged there, propping his chin arrogantly.
The room and the man exuded intense pressure.
"Enter."
Dang Jeong-a waited stock-still until his command, then moved only after it was given. Tian Ailang sensed Dangga's rigid hierarchy.
Following her, he eyed the shadows clinging to the hall's beams and pillars as he entered.
"Impressive. You look about the same age as that fool Sangho, yet you spotted the Dangga's Twelve."
At the patriarch's words, Dang Jeong-a turned to Tian Ailang with wide eyes. He shrugged.
"I have kin whose stealth rivals the world's best."
"Kuhhuhuhuhu."
Patriarch Dang Cheongum let out a low chuckle. To him, who believed Dangga supreme, Tian Ailang's claim sounded like a bold challenge.
"An amusing youth. So, you have the Shaolin Abbot's letter? Hand it over."
Tian Ailang studied Dang Cheongum's face, probing his intent. An invisible qi barrier subtly blocked approaches within three zhang—about nine meters. Pondering the reason, he drew the letter from his bosom and sent it floating slowly toward Dang Cheongum via Void Grasp.
Warriors could toss it that distance easily, but it wouldn't do for a formal exchange. Hence the deliberate slowness.
Observing the languid Void Grasp, Dang Cheongum concealed his surprise. Basic inner energy and insight allowed the technique, but such exquisite control was another level. He wondered if even he could match that finesse as he caught and unfurled the letter.
Skimming it swiftly, he arched a brow at the end, eyes flashing in astonishment.
"Shaolin's benefactor?"
He speed-read it again for confirmation, then incinerated it in a burst of meditative fire. Turning to Dang Jeong-a, he issued a command.
"Jeong-a, you will personally train the Qi Arts patriarch in countermeasures for the Palgaksa's eight poisons."