Chapter 128
Chapter 128
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 128
Chapter Title: Demonic Cult
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At the same time, in Chengdu, Sichuan Province.
Dan Seoryeong, Namgung Myeong, and Hong Geolgae were deep in thought.
There had been no issues mingling with the Jeomchang Sect warriors returning to Yunnan and making their way back to Sichuan.
But when they requested help in rescuing Dang Mujin, the responses they received were universally unsatisfactory.
First, the Emei Sect.
"Hmm. Master Dang? Understood. I'll pass along the message."
In truth, the Emei Sect owed nothing to Dang Mujin.
Many of the sect's nuns didn't even know him, and those who did saw him merely as "the young man friendly with Divine Nun Huayeon."
His only notable deed at the Emei Sect had been causing a commotion tied to Divine Nun Huayeon, so it was a relief they didn't voice any resentment toward him, let alone show goodwill.
Next, the trio visited the Yellow Spirit Master at the Qingcheng Chengdu Branch.
"We'll send word to the Qingcheng headquarters immediately. But I can't predict their response."
The Yellow Spirit Master was far more proactive. Yet to the Qingcheng headquarters, Dang Mujin was just a young physician.
An exceptionally skilled blacksmith too, but that was all.
Risking conflict with the Three-Eyed Arhat—and by extension, the Demonic Cult—to save him was a heavy burden.
As they trudged back from their talk with the Yellow Spirit Master, Hong Geolgae spoke up.
"Should we have asked the Shaolin Temple instead?"
"Who knows. It wouldn't be easy there either."
The Shaolin Temple held genuine goodwill toward Dang Mujin.
But would they eagerly jump into this mess? That was another matter.
Not as much as the Emei Sect, but Shaolin was extremely cautious about external affairs. After all, they were monks gathered under the banner of building strength while awaiting the day of great calamity.
Hong Geolgae and Dan Seoryeong's gazes naturally turned to Namgung Myeong. He immediately shook his head.
"My father won't get involved."
His curt, heartless reply drew a petulant whine from Dan Seoryeong.
"Aren't you giving up too easily just because your relationship with him is strained?"
"No. The strain isn't the issue—it's that my father's decisions are based on the family's gains and losses. Gratitude and grudges be damned; he knows clashing with the Demonic Cult over this offers no benefit to the house. He might send my uncle or a few warriors, though."
For now, no clear solution presented itself. The frustration of the situation was unbearable to Dan Seoryeong.
She had seen Dang Mujin get captured, knew who took him, could even guess where he was—and yet had no way to bring him back. How could this be?
Namgung Myeong spoke.
"Don't worry too much. If the Three-Eyed Arhat meant to kill Mujin, he'd have done it right there and slipped away."
"But he did try to kill Mujin before."
"The circumstances must have changed. He's taking him for a reason."
Hong Geolgae chimed in with his two cents.
"Speaking of which, I heard the Demon Physician died. Maybe they grabbed Mujin to replace him?"
Namgung Myeong and Dan Seoryeong found that the most plausible theory. Otherwise, there'd be no reason to take just Dang Mujin alone.
"Well, if not that, they'll probably have him serve as a blacksmith under the Demonic Cult directly. Whatever it is, he won't be killed. The guy's got talents coming out his ears."
But Dan Seoryeong's anxiety didn't subside easily.
"Even setting aside his life, I have a bad feeling. If it's the Demonic Cult, there'll be guys practicing yin-yang dual cultivation or lust arts, right? What if one of them targets Mujin?"
Even ordinary folk knew about yin absorption techniques or yang preservation methods, despite not practicing martial arts. Dan Seoryeong was no exception.
"If that was the goal, they wouldn't have taken Dang Mujin. They'd have snatched some burly, masculine brute brimming with yang energy."
"Are you dissing Mujin right now?"
"No, that's not what I mean. Just don't get so worked up."
Dan Seoryeong let out a deep sigh. Seeing her face full of worry, Namgung Myeong and Hong Geolgae couldn't end the conversation there.
"For the time being, let's dig up what info we can on the Demonic Cult. If things go south, we might have to infiltrate it ourselves."
With that, Namgung Myeong left to find someone knowledgeable about the Demonic Cult.
But Dan Seoryeong couldn't shake the nagging unease.
*
The Demon Physician's disciple stared blankly at Dang Mujin before abruptly turning away and focusing on his own work. Dang Mujin was taken aback by the indifferent attitude.
'I figured he'd at least say thanks.'
His cocky tone must have been the problem.
Dang Mujin sat back down and watched the disciple intently. From the fiddling motions, it seemed he was trying to neutralize the poison from the venomous bird by combining it with other medicines and toxins.
Observing more closely than before, Dang Mujin spotted several glaring issues. He couldn't resist snarky nitpicking.
"You're using a bowl that held another poison without even cleaning it properly before adding more toxin? Fine idea if you're brewing a mishmash poison... Hmm. Yeah. Mishmash it is. Get lucky, and you might whip up something amazing."
"Washing a porcelain bowl with just water? If it held an oil-soluble poison, you need to soak a cloth in oil and scrub it hard. Or is there some cleaning method I don't know about?"
"That finely chopped herb there—is it Cnidium? Safe to store with Notopterygium? Once mixed, it'll be a nightmare to sort out... Nah, whatever. If you've got time, you could fix it. Good busywork when you're bored."
Dang Mujin kept butting in with barbs every so often. The disciple would whip around to glare, then turn back and silently continue.
He never said it outright, but his actions screamed that such advice was unwelcome.
Yet every time Dang Mujin's gaze lifted, the disciple subtly corrected the points he'd raised—secretly oiling a cloth to scrub the porcelain bowl, separating the similar-looking herbs into different containers.
Of course, none of it escaped Dang Mujin's notice.
The disciple's work was oddly clumsy. It seemed properly taught in parts, amateurish in others.
After tinkering for a good while, he pulled a rectangular wooden box from a cabinet. Inside were heaps of dark brown pills—wall barley pellets.
'Not in secluded training, not some Daoist avoiding grains, and he's subsisting on these for meals?'
The disciple took three pellets for himself, then casually offered the box to Dang Mujin. Basic manners, at least—not starving a guest.
Dang Mujin took only two. The sight killed his appetite.
He chewed the pellets. Dry and chewy, utterly tasteless—like gnawing day-old mud.
As the uncomfortable meal wound down, Dang Mujin broke the ice first. They'd be stuck together awhile; he had no intention of keeping this dynamic.
"What's your name?"
"Mok Wan-ah. You?"
The reply came quick, paired with a question, as if he'd been waiting. Dang Mujin must have been on his mind.
"Dang Mujin."
A brief silence followed, then Mok Wan-ah asked.
"Did you make those poison pellets?"
Dang Mujin nodded, prompting another question.
"I heard you need high-grade spiritual herbs to form poison pellets."
"Spiritual herbs? Just eat 'em."
Count the number eaten, and plenty outdid him. But quality? Few in the world matched his—Black Peony aside, the Great Reversion Pill was coveted even by Shaolin's abbot.
Mok Wan-ah grumbled.
"I'm a disciple of one of the Three Great Physicians, but I've never touched stuff like that."
Dang Mujin bit back "Looks like Old Weirdo Geezer was more generous than the Demon Physician." With evidence pointing to the Weirdo killing his master, badmouthing him here would be idiotic.
"Well, spiritual herbs aren't one-of-a-kind. It's all luck."
Dang Mujin brushed it off vaguely. Mok Wan-ah scowled.
"It's not just about eating them. I heard you need a guide to form poison pellets. You seem shady no matter how I look at it."
"Shady how?"
"You're young but have poison pellets, and you know your herbs and toxins decently. My master said even across the world, few handle both medicine and poison well. Only him and the Weirdo aren't hacks. You connected to the Weirdo or something?"
Sharp observation. But if Dang Mujin planned to concede truth here, he wouldn't have bothered deflecting.
"The Weirdo? You and your master holed up in Heavenly Mountain must have narrow horizons. Ever stepped outside the Demonic Cult?"
Mok Wan-ah flinched. His offhand probe had hit home.
"Narrow horizons? Once this job's done, I'll head out myself."
Admitting he'd never been out before, yet claiming broad knowledge. Contradictory.
Dang Mujin felt confirmed. Unlike the quick-witted Dan Seoryeong, Mok Wan-ah had a naive, gullible side.
Mok Wan-ah pressed again.
"Anyway, if not the Weirdo, who taught you poison arts?"
Dang Mujin decided to improvise. No truth-telling? Then spit whatever came to mind without hesitation.
"Learned from my clan."
"Clan?"
"Yeah. In Sichuan, there's a clan expert in medicine and poison—the Sichuan Dang Clan. Folks dedicated to herbs and toxins gathered around the Dang family, forming a sect."
Wings of imagination unfurling, Dang Mujin stitched together fabrications. No chance of meeting post-escape; no worries later.
Naturally, Mok Wan-ah wasn't convinced.
"Sichuan Dang Clan? Never heard of it."
"Proof... Ah, got this."
Dang Mujin drew a needle from his bosom. As a poison and medicine practitioner, Mok Wan-ah would know how rare such fine, sharp needles were.
As expected, Mok Wan-ah's jaw dropped.
"The Sichuan Dang Clan excels in poison techniques and hidden weapons. They even have dedicated forges for producing them."
"Impressive needle, but that's not a hidden weapon."
"Needles make fine hidden weapons too. Still skeptical? I've got more."
Dang Mujin produced the Heavenly King Needle Case and popped the lid. Tiny iron shards and needles gleamed inside.
Mok Wan-ah reached instinctively; Dang Mujin smacked his hand away.
"Don't touch recklessly. Botch it, and you'll be a pincushion."
"That dangerous?"
"Obviously. Plenty have gone to the afterlife underestimating a Heavenly King Needle Case."
Dang Mujin pocketed it. Mok Wan-ah asked again.
"Where do you source the poison? Master said it's no easy task outside the Demonic Cult."
"Head northeast from the Sichuan Dang Clan to Mount Nokgun. Ring any bells?"
"I know it. Where Emperor Yan the Divine Farmer once presided?"
The smooth reply—natural flow or needle case effect?—carried fading doubt and pure curiosity.
"Right. Our clan folk are there on Mount Nokgun. Solely for the Sichuan Dang Clan, scouring its vastness for venomous creatures."
Lies are hardest to start but snowball uncontrollably once begun.
Dang Mujin discovered his talent for deception. Layer mild falsehoods on truth, and convincing tales emerge.
"Does everyone in the Sichuan Dang Clan have poison pellets?"
"Nah. Takes my level to form them."
"You got pull in the clan?"
"Naturally. My father, Dang Jesun, is the clan lord."
Dang Mujin pictured his dad—the man who'd never touched poison in his life.
Mok Wan-ah looked stunned.
"So you're the clan heir?"
"Naturally. No one threatens my future lordship."
Dang Mujin nodded confidently. Pure truth, that.
Who in the world would vie to inherit the Dang family clinic over him?
Clear admiration flashed in Mok Wan-ah's eyes.