Qinglian Water
“It's made by blending essential oils I bought from the pharmacy. I named it Qinglian Water.”
As she tilted the tiny vial—no bigger than two fingertips—a clear liquid trickled out. True to its name, it looked just like water, but a sharp, invigorating scent burst forth, carrying an almost mystical aura.
While Danmok Cheon-gi rubbed some onto his temples, Danmok Hyeon-u suddenly sprang to his feet and hurried behind his father.
“I've thought it over every which way, and it works much better if you apply it to the right acupoints. Pressing the Tianzhu acupoint at the top of the neck...”
“You brat...!”
“Aigoo, Father! Just hold still and try it.”
Danmok Cheon-gi had been about to bellow at his fully grown son for acting without decorum, but the words wouldn't come. Danmok Hyeon-u had been born the talented youngest son of a renowned martial clan. Until he turned seventeen, he'd been a vibrant boy who didn't even know what it meant to be hated. People might lament his lack of manners and wild ways, but when he flashed that big grin and sweetly called out “Father, big brother, big sister” while kneading their shoulders, they could only shake their heads indulgently.
They'd buy him anything he wheedled for, pretending to cave. When he stomped his feet with a pout, they'd chide him—“Still throwing tantrums like a kid?”—while signaling those around to find out what was wrong.
Then, overnight, that lovable frivolity, those childish whims, and playful antics vanished. The booming laughter that used to echo beyond the walls, requiring scoldings to quiet it down, faded clean away.
It started when he blamed himself for his niece's ruin. Unable to bear the guilt, he entered secluded training, and even Danmok Cheon-gi couldn't stop him. Then, after his eldest son Danmok Hyeon-seong died too, the youngest withered like wet ashes.
“How's that? Refreshing, right?”
“...”
“Father, that child's brilliance is beyond compare. Hasn't she already memorized the entire Thousand Character Classic?”
“...”
A cool, crisp energy slowly spread from the nape of his neck. The hands Danmok Cheon-gi remembered belonged to a seventeen-year-old boy, but the ones now touching his neck were those of a grown man—a realization that twisted his heart.
“I watched her practice writing, and she mimicked my strokes exactly. Her grip strength is still weak, so the handwriting differs, but I've never seen such a quick-witted child.”
“Even a genius couldn't whip something like this up overnight...”
Danmok Cheon-gi trailed off, noticing his son's face cloud over again.
“I... must've worried you.”
“What're you on about all of a sudden?”
“Uncle's expression soured, so the sharp kid must've figured out why. A child that bright would've pieced it all together.”
Danmok Hyeon-u spoke in a heavy tone, eyes downcast, recalling his niece's anxious face as she tried to comfort him.
—Actually, the immortals have been having so much fun with me that I forgot I needed to come back soon.
The little one had blinked innocently, hastily adding an apology. Danmok Hyeon-u thought he could've laughed if that lie had been true. I'm late, but even now, being back is wonderful—he could've said it with a smile.
But he knew it was a lie. Talk of immortals in the heavenly realm? Watching his niece spin that tale, her face earnest, tore at his chest. Even three-year-olds wouldn't buy such stories these days.
Yet for his niece, those three years hadn't passed. No—seven years were gone. Because he hadn't protected her...
“Anyway, Ryeon's got talent and sharp instincts, so she brewed this right up! She'll pick up anything you teach her fast. We've agreed to keep studying herbs together.”
“Hmph. The pharmacy master's been neglecting his duties for years, holing up in training—high time you studied. Seeing her make this, you've got nothing left to teach her. Unless you learn alongside her.”
“That's why I plan to study with Ryeon. And this Qinglian Water she made—how about gifting some to people around you, Father? Send one to the Huashan Sect, the Tang Clan, and the Mansong Merchant Group's leader too!”
Danmok Hyeon-u chattered on excitedly. Danmok Cheon-gi, who'd been listening silently, waved his hand dismissively.
“Don't send anything to the Sichuan Tang Clan for the time being.”
“Huh? Why not!”
“The girl's awake and fine—if we start sending gifts now, what'll the Tang Clan think? That we're pushing to revive the betrothal.”
Danmok Hyeon-u puffed up, ready to fire back in disbelief, then deflated with slumped shoulders. Dang Yu-byeok the Poison Sage and Danmok Cheon-gi had been close friends in youth, and in later years, they'd upheld their oath through life-and-death trials. Their minds aligned perfectly, both at the helm of their clans, so they'd betrothed their grandchildren: Danmok Cheon-gi's newborn granddaughter Danmok Ryeon and Dang Yu-byeok's four-year-old second grandson Dang Ye-seol.
In martial clans where even daughters might bring in a son-in-law—especially the Tang Clan, who cherished blood ties so fiercely they rarely let kin leave Dangga-ta—it was an extraordinary match. Danmok Ryeon, as the eldest grandchild, couldn't leave the clan, so they'd give Dang Ye-seol as her husband.
The betrothal soured subtly around Ryeon's birth and hundred-day celebration. By then, everyone sensed something odd about her condition. At the same time, Dang Ye-seol began showing talent beyond ordinary—stunning even for the Sichuan Tang Clan. People started rethinking the match.
What do we do now? The girl was neither dead nor alive; the boy was too precious to send away. Even if she recovered, a promise was a promise—but she hadn't...
In the end, the betrothal broke. Dang Yu-byeok supplied all the secret formula and herbs for Ryeon's Balsa Sesu, and Danmok Cheon-gi felt they'd fulfilled their bond. No one could point fingers at the Tang Clan for regretting it later.
“You're right—Ryeon's too brilliant to give to the Tangs, and Poison Sage won't yield the grandson he once held. Let's not make trouble for each other.”
“Yessir... Then to the Huashan Sect!”
“Sending anything to Huashan can wait till Cheongyun Jin-in finishes his seclusion. Right now, it'd just rub salt in the wound.”
“How can you say that?”
“If a subordinate sends flowers saying thanks, would your boss be pleased?”
“He's not exactly a subordinate...”
“The sect leader's direct disciple lost decades of inner power saving a child from another region—isn't that exactly losing a subordinate?”
The Balsa Sesu required a secret formula blending elixirs and deadly poisons, plus at least one peak expert to infuse deep inner power. That power was largely consumed, so often you saved the formula or the person—but rarely both.
Most sects ignored it outright; only wealthy bloodline clans dared dream of it. Yet Ryeon's ritual had miraculously aligned.
Of the two experts who'd performed it, one was Cheongyun Jin-in, direct disciple of the Huashan Sect leader. He'd once been saved by Ryeon's mother Wijicheong as a child, sworn as her foster brother, and never forgotten the grace.
Even following righteousness to save a life, he couldn't steel his heart against clan sentiments—and now decades of cultivation were gone. If the sect leader wasn't fuming, he'd be an immortal already.
“Cheongyun Jin-in's in seclusion to recover his lost power, so wait till he emerges. Then we can send something proper.”
“Yessir...”
“If Ryeon says it's fine, we'll gift some to the Mansong Merchant Group.”
Danmok Hyeon-u perked up.
“Yes! I'll prepare it. So now you'll teach Ryeon martial arts, right? You promised once she finished the Thousand Character Classic with me!”
His son's eyes sparkled. She's so clever—won't she be sparring with me in a few years? Joy and hope shone on his face.
Danmok Cheon-gi stared at him for a long moment, then waved him off. Danmok Hyeon-u bolted outside.
But their hopes wouldn't come true just yet. Word arrived first that Ryeon had collapsed again.