The Special Hidden Weapon

The Sichuan Dang Clan had long been an object of dread even among the martial artists of the righteous path, famed for their merciless methods and a clan tradition that never forgot a grudge.

Yet thanks to the will of their founding lord—who had been a physician—the mere fact that they employed poison never became a true point of contention.

Later generations honored the founding lord’s intent. They trained in the palm techniques and hidden-weapon arts he had left behind, and poison was used solely in the practice of medicine.

Perhaps because of that record, the righteous martial artists who had once regarded them with cold suspicion gradually began to accept them as allies of a sort.

Even so, they had only ceased to make an issue of the poison itself.

The lingering unease at drawing too close to the Dang Clan was simply human nature—something no martial artist could entirely escape.

That unease only deepened after several men who had picked fights with Dang warriors spent days and nights writhing in agonizing stomach pain.

Just when the distance between the righteous factions and the Dang Clan threatened to grow awkward once more, something unexpected occurred.

No one knew how the man had survived long enough to reach Sichuan soil, but a martial artist of some renown from the unorthodox path appeared before the Dang gates with a single blade slung over his shoulder and shouted:

This was no quiet era of peace between the orthodox and unorthodox paths; both sides were still watching one another with drawn nerves. To walk straight into the heart of enemy territory and demand a free meal was pure madness.

The gates of the Dang Clan opened without resistance, yet every onlooker could already guess the fate of the man who ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠stepped inside.

And then—what was this?

The next day, that lunatic of an unorthodox warrior walked out of the Dang Clan on his own two feet, perfectly unharmed.

Curiosity finally overcame one martial artist, who approached and asked what had happened.

The man threw back his head and laughed heartily.

"I was treated to a most extravagant meal."

That single remark spread across the Central Plains in an instant, stirring interest even among those who had quietly avoided the Dang Clan.

"If they feasted an enemy so lavishly, they can hardly treat us any worse."

"I was planning to stop by for rare medicinal ingredients anyway. Perfect timing—I’ll go myself."

"Those fools only got what they deserved for picking the fight first."

Thereafter the Dang Clan received every visitor with meticulous hospitality, and the lingering unease in the hearts of the righteous martial artists melted away like spring snow.

From that day forward the clan continued to set generous tables for every guest who came calling, and the guests, in turn, emptied their plates with gusto—an unspoken exchange of goodwill.

It had become something of a custom, true enough.

"…There’s still more, so take your time. Have some water as well."

Dang Gangjin looked back and forth between Cheongwol and the empty ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠dishes with a faintly bewildered expression.

Had all that food truly vanished into this young woman’s mouth?

"Yes, thank you. And please speak comfortably. Seo-a already calls you Oppa, after all."

Perhaps the pleasure of eating her fill had loosened her usual reserve. Words Cheongwol would never normally have spoken slipped out with surprising ease.

"I won’t stand on ceremony, then. In return, you must call me Oppa as well—not Young Master."

He accepted her suggestion readily and even granted the familiar address, yet her reaction was oddly hesitant.

"Uh…"

And there was one other thing that displeased him: why had that Seomun fellow been glaring at him with such insolent eyes this entire time?

"It’s a little awkward right now… but once I get used to it, I’ll call you that."

Cheongwol offered an embarrassed smile, and Dang Gangjin slowly nodded.

"As you like. Still, it looks as though you’ve cleaned everything. Would you care for more?"

Counting this latest round of plates, the table had already been refilled twice. Yet Cheongwol’s eyes sparkled as she boldly requested a third.

"…Would that really be all right?"

Sipping fragrant yet slightly bitter tea after the meal, Dang Gangjin returned to the conversation left unfinished that afternoon.

"I’ve already sent a letter to the Clan Lord regarding the jewel you brought. I cannot promise anything, but I doubt anyone within the Dang Clan other than him would know its nature."

He had said he would ask no further questions—why bring this up now?

Cheongwol’s face stiffened, and Dang Gangjin gave a short, dry laugh.

"Don’t worry. No matter what happens, I will not make an issue of it. My name may still be insignificant, but I swear it on my honor."

The honor of the Young Master of the Sichuan Dang Clan carried real weight, yet whether that same attitude would hold if the name of the Im Clan left the Clan Lord’s lips remained uncertain.

…I really should look for a chance to slip away tomorrow. First I need to tell Seo-a and Hwi…

"It seems I still haven’t earned your trust. Take this."

Even after he had shown every courtesy, Cheongwol could not hide her lingering anxiety. Dang Gangjin drew from his robes a hidden weapon of unusual design and held it out.

"Every Dang martial artist receives only one of these in a lifetime—a special token engraved with a unique mark. If my word proves false, you may return it to me then."

The moment the weapon appeared, Dang Sohye shot to her feet. Seomun Hwi and Ak Seo-a both stared in open shock.

"Oppa!"

Hearing the significance of the token, Cheongwol herself flinched and waved her hands in refusal.

"That’s right. The words you’ve already spoken as Young Master—no, as Oppa—are more than enough."

As a man herself, calling him Oppa still felt awkward; she hesitated a moment before forcing the word out, answering goodwill with goodwill.

Dang Gangjin realized he might have gone a little far, yet he was satisfied that he had drawn the address from her sooner than expected.

Strange how much she occupies my thoughts.

Perhaps because she shared certain traits with his younger sister Dang Sohye, he found himself treating Cheongwol with a tenderness he himself could not fully explain.

"I’m glad to hear you say so."

When he slipped the hidden weapon back into his robes, Dang Sohye fixed Cheongwol with a sharp glare before finally resuming her seat.

An awkward silence settled for a moment, until Ak Seo-a carefully spoke.

"I thought it looked familiar—it resembles the hidden weapon we received at that inn. Wouldn’t you agree, Young Lady Cheongwol?"

Cheongwol smiled and nodded.

"Yes. The one we received then must be the same kind Oppa just mentioned."

As she spoke she carefully drew the weapon from her own robes and set it on the table.

The instant he saw it, the easy composure left Dang Gangjin’s eyes; they narrowed to slits.

An inn… and a special Dang Clan hidden weapon.

The details overlapped uncannily with the incident the Beggar’s Guild’s law-keeper had reported to him.

A clue to a case that had been utterly opaque finally seemed within reach. Dang Gangjin bit his lip.

"That inn you mentioned—was it by any chance the one at Wuhuahai?"

Had she somehow made a mistake?

The more they recounted what had happened at the inn, the darker Dang Gangjin’s expression grew.

Especially at the mention of the black-clad man who had used a sword art that raised the wind, a sharp aura leaked from him unbidden.

For a martial artist of Dang Gangjin’s level to release energy without realizing it could only mean his emotions were in extreme turmoil.

It might simply have been righteous indignation at the innkeeper’s mistreatment, yet something deeper seemed to lie beneath.

While Cheongwol walked along, turning over the unanswered riddle, Seomun Hwi’s discontented voice rose from her left.

"Telling a woman he met for the first time today to call him Oppa… It seems the Young Master of the Dang Clan knows no shame."

At once Ak Seo-a spoke up from the right, almost as if defending him.

"Oppa would not have meant anything special by those words."

She claimed to hold Seomun Hwi in her heart, yet she clearly could not bear to hear her own brother-in-all-but-blood spoken of so harshly.

Ordinarily Seomun Hwi would have let the matter drop, but this time he refused to rein in his sharp edge.

"I dislike even hearing such words spoken so lightly."

Her head already ached with complicated thoughts—why were these two adding to it?

When Seomun Hwi looked ready to press Ak Seo-a further, Cheongwol stretched out a hand to stop him.

"Enough. Why are you fighting over something so trivial?"

Both of them turned to her at once and answered in the same breath.

"It is not trivial."

"It is not trivial at all."

What exactly about Dang Gangjin so offended Seomun Hwi? And why, if Ak Seo-a truly admired him, did she keep taking another man’s side?

Cheongwol’s temples throbbed. She pressed her fingers hard against them and let out a long sigh.

"Both of you, move aside. Let me walk alone for a while."

In the deep darkness, Dang Gangjin sat by a single small flame and turned Cheongwol and Ak Seo-a’s words over again and again.

The black-clad man’s sword art that raised the wind. The sharp sword scars left at the scene.

And a disguise so crude that even the innkeeper had seen through it at a glance.

Every circumstance pointed toward the Qingcheng Sect.

Yet precisely because of that, Dang Gangjin’s deliberation only deepened.

Even if the truth were proven, the righteous martial world was already split in two.

The Qingcheng Sect would claim the evidence had been fabricated, and that claim would become the spark that amplified the voices of the more militant warriors within the Dang Clan.

That, above all, must be prevented.

Even if the day came when the divided righteous factions spilled each other’s blood, Sichuan soil must not be the place where it began.

His father and Clan Lord, Dang Hyeongeuk, had set out for the Namgung Clan for that very reason.

Moreover, one could not dismiss the possibility that someone was deliberately trying to drive a wedge between the Qingcheng Sect and the Dang Clan.

"Haa…"

He had believed himself ready at last, yet his own existence felt endlessly small. Dang Gangjin let out a hollow laugh.

…How has Father borne so heavy a burden alone all this time?

The steady flame wavered lightly in a sudden draft. Dang Gangjin’s gaze moved naturally toward the door.

The night was deep—who would seek him out now?

He watched the figure standing in the darkness; then a familiar voice reached him, and his eyes flew wide.

"Oppa, may I come in for a moment?"