Fabre in Sacheon’s Tang Novel - Chapter 44

Chapter 44

As my father-in-law charged into the Four Harmony Pavilion, his first impulse was to move toward my living quarters, but he suddenly pivoted and made for the medical hall instead. His hurried footsteps indicated he wasn’t certain of my location—or even what state I was in.

“Father-in-law?”

“Hah?! So-ryong?!”

I called out to him to show I was safe. He spun around, spotting me seated within the pavilion. His expression shifted to one of shock before he quickly closed the distance between us.

“So-ryong, are you unharmed? The report said you were unconscious—I came immediately upon hearing! They mentioned you woke up at the Nine-Tiered Gates, but should you be out of bed already?”

He seized my arms, looking me over from head to toe, his face a storm of concern and agitation.

My sister-in-law had told me that swift runners were sent to update my father-in-law amid the Tang Clan’s turmoil. But at that time, I still hadn’t awakened. He must have been told only that my condition was critical.

“I’m alright, Father-in-law. Fortunately, I came to after ten days.”

“Ten days!” he shouted, his voice rising sharply.

I went on, showing him the mark on my arm. “It left a scar like this, but I’m alive, and that’s what counts.”

“A scar?!”

As I revealed the wound from the Blood Cult elder’s assault, his face hardened with rage. Each word I spoke seemed to fuel his anger.

“Those damned Blood Cult bastards!”

His roar drew the attention of the household, and soon family members began gathering around the pavilion.

“Father!” my sister-in-law cried out, rushing forward.

“Hwa-eun, are you injured?” he asked, his voice gentler now.

“I’m fine. So-ryong saved me… he saved everyone.”

“Truly?! So-ryong did that?” He turned back to me, amazed. “I want to hear everything that happened.”

My sister-in-law, normally so collected and dignified, shyly averted her gaze and placed a hand over her heart as she spoke. While her cool precision with a whip had its own appeal, this flustered side of her was undeniably attractive.

Her charm lay in the contrast between her usual icy composure and moments like these. It was genuinely touching—until a stray thought interrupted me.

‘Wait, why am I admiring how beautiful a whip looks? That’s not right…’

Just as I started worrying that my tastes might be shifting in a strange direction, my grandfather’s voice cut through from behind us.

“You’re back? Enough noise—the children are safe. Let’s continue in the main hall. I have things to discuss there.”

“Yes, I’ve returned. Understood. Venom Blood Squad, stand down. Get some rest!”

“Yes, Patriarch!” the squad replied in unison.

With that, my father-in-law marched toward the main hall, his steps just as resolute as when he’d stormed in. After a few paces, he turned back to us.

“All of you, come with me.”

“Yes, Father-in-law.”

“Yes, Father.”

Inside the main hall, we recounted the events of the past several days. When I described my encounter with the Blood Cult elder, my father-in-law burst out laughing.

“You let him poison you and then made him drain your blood? And then you said, ‘I’m your natural predator’? Ha! That’s audacious. Truly bold.”

‘Ugh, I’m going to cringe at this later. That’s so embarrassing.’

His laughter and tone made it hard to tell if he was mocking or praising me. Then, a servant’s voice interrupted from outside.

“Patriarch, the strategist is here.”

“The strategist? Ah, Zhuge Hu must have arrived.”

“Yes, Patriarch.”

“Show him in.”

“Yes, sir.”

The doors opened shortly after, and Zhuge Hu entered. My father-in-law, who had spoken of their long friendship, welcomed him warmly. The two embraced like the oldest of companions—what people here called “bamboo horse friends.”

“It’s been too long, my friend,” Zhuge Hu said with a smile.

“How have you been? You’ve been so scarce since your promotion that I only see you when trouble strikes,” my father-in-law replied.

“My apologies,” Zhuge Hu answered with a somewhat guilty grin.

Once the greetings were over, Zhuge Hu took a seat, and the talk quickly turned to serious matters—dangerous ones.

“So, did you catch the spy?” my father-in-law asked bluntly.

“Naturally. I sent word to the Alliance Leader, and he’s handling it as we speak,” Zhuge Hu responded.

“A spy?” I asked, confused.

My father-in-law smiled at my puzzled look and clarified, “Didn’t the Blood Cult infiltrate us to steal the Venom Claw Manual?”

“Yes, they seemed to consider it extremely important.”

“Precisely. So how would they have known the manual was here in our Tang Clan to begin with?”

The pieces clicked into place as I understood the implication. The manual’s existence had been known to only a handful before it was delivered to our clan. Outside the family, only Zhuge Hu, my father-in-law, Gu Pae, and two warriors were aware of it.

“Could it have been one of the warriors or perhaps an elder from the clan?” I asked hesitantly.

Although I had questioned some of the elders’ attitudes before, they had demonstrated their loyalty in combat. The idea of betrayal was difficult to accept. My disbelief must have been evident because Zhuge Hu chuckled.

“Haha! It seems you still have lessons to learn about trust, young man. A newcomer like you is bound to imagine all sorts of wild possibilities.”

As I looked around in confusion, my sister-in-law explained with a gentle smile, “So-ryong, there is no such thing as a spy within the Tang Clan.”

“What? How can you be so certain?”

Surely, no one is born a spy. It only takes one wrong choice or moment of weakness for someone to turn. How could she be so sure?

My grandfather, who had been quiet until then, finally spoke.

“So-ryong, every servant, laborer, and warrior in the Tang Clan is one of us. No one in this clan would ever betray their family. Do you know how we can be so certain?”

He explained that the Tang Clan, given the strict secrecy surrounding their poison techniques, subjected every potential servant to rigorous vetting. Each candidate’s background was thoroughly investigated, including their extended family. Only individuals with flawless records were chosen.

Once selected, not only the individual but their immediate family was brought into the clan. Even then, strict rules applied: no one was permitted to leave the clan grounds for ten years, and any necessary absences—such as attending a relative’s funeral—required an escort of Tang Clan warriors.

“When someone joins the Tang Clan, they swear an oath: unless they die, they never leave.”

‘That’s… severe.’

I was still processing the strict selection of servants when an even more startling truth emerged—the process for recruiting warriors was on another level entirely.

They would buy highly gifted children from parents who, in desperate circumstances, often sold their offspring to survive. These children were then raised and trained to become Tang Clan warriors.

Moreover, these warriors were married into the extended families of servants or lesser branches of the clan, creating a dense web of blood relations within the Tang Clan. This network of “blood ties” ensured unwavering loyalty to the clan. With their families deeply embedded within the Tang Clan, no one would ever betray it by becoming a spy.

I had assumed the Tang Clan’s poison arts were freely taught, but in reality, being chosen to learn those techniques was a mark of proven loyalty, character, and skill.

My stunned reaction must have been obvious because my sister-in-law’s amused voice broke through my thoughts.

“So-ryong, you didn’t perhaps share Tang Clan secrets with the Blood Cult, did you?” she teased.

“No! Absolutely not!” I insisted.

“Then there’s no one in the Tang Clan who would spy for them. It’s been nearly ten years since we last brought in anyone new.”

“But still… isn’t it possible for someone to make a error?” I ventured cautiously.

She smiled knowingly. Everyone with knowledge of the matter had already been given a truth serum to verify their innocence. Of course, in the Tang Clan, even such a remedy was a form of poison. This was Sichuan’s Tang Clan, after all—a family where even the most humble roles were infused with venom and secrecy.

I shivered at the implication. The Tang Clan wasn’t just the most famous poison-using clan in the martial world; they were the most thorough and ruthless in guarding their secrets.

“Then who was the spy?” I asked.

“Clearly, it was someone within the Murim Alliance,” Zhuge Hu stated with certainty.

That narrowed it down considerably. Unlike the Tang Clan, the Murim Alliance was enormous, making it far harder to root out a traitor. Yet Zhuge Hu’s rapid capture of the spy left me curious.

“How were they found so quickly?”

Zhuge Hu explained that normally, letters passed through multiple departments, taking time before reaching the right authorities. However, due to the sensitivity of the situation, my father-in-law had contacted Zhuge Hu directly through a trusted elder from a lesser branch of the Tang Clan. As a result, only three people within the Murim Alliance had been aware of the matter.

“So who was it?” I asked, still intrigued.

“A servant.”

“A servant?” I repeated, unable to conceal my disbelief.

***

I chose not to mention the blue lizard today. The timing was completely wrong, with the household consumed by matters of death, spies, and Blood Cult assassins. Announcing, “By the way, I’m going lizard hunting,” would have been profoundly inappropriate.

As the saying goes, even in a temple, those who can read the mood might earn themselves a meat dish. Timing was everything.

After the discussions concluded, I accompanied my sister-in-law back to the pavilion to continue examining Bini, whose condition I had been unable to check earlier.

“Cho, Hyang, Bini, come here,” my sister-in-law called softly.

She extended her arm, waiting for the centipedes to crawl from my wrist to hers. She smiled in relief as they wriggled over.

“They’re moving well. That means they aren’t seriously ill, right?” she asked.

“Most likely not,” I replied.

She had been reassured earlier when I explained that creatures like insects, fish, and lizards often refuse to eat when unwell. Normally, Bini would eagerly climb toward her, but if she were sick, she wouldn’t move at all.

Bini had transferred to my sister-in-law without issue, meaning nothing was gravely wrong. A brief inspection showed no fungal infections or unusual discoloration on her antennae or body.

“It’s most probable that Bini is simply maturing a little early,” I concluded.

My sister-in-law’s face brightened. “What a relief. They’re destined to become the three guardian dragons of the Tang Clan, so they mustn’t fall ill. Oh, and it seems Bini is becoming a Black Dragon!”

“A Black Dragon?” I asked.

“Yes, since she’s turning black, don’t you think? It would be wonderful if Cho became a White Dragon and Hyang a Red Dragon.”

I offered an awkward chuckle, agreeing out of courtesy.

I had asked around earlier to see if her belief about centipedes transforming into dragons was widely held. Surprisingly, everyone I asked confirmed it.

“Of course, everyone knows centipedes turn into dragons after a thousand years,” one elder stated plainly. “They ascend to the heavens with a dragon pearl.”

Even Gu Pae and the Venom Squad warriors shared this conviction, insisting it was why elders often advised against killing centipedes found at home.

If everyone believed it, who was I to disagree? Besides, raising a creature that might evolve into a dragon sounded rather impressive.

‘A dragon is definitely more impressive than a centipede,’ I thought.

As we waited for my sister-in-law to finish feeding the centipedes, the sunset washed the sky in vivid colors. Suddenly, the sharp whistle of a signal blade cut through the air, signaling an urgent summons.

We exchanged a look before springing into action. With the elders still deep in discussion, it was up to us to respond.

When we reached the Nine-Tiered Gates, about ten men in martial uniforms stood waiting. Embroidered on their chests was a single character: Peng.

Their broad shoulders and rough-hewn features gave them the look of bandits or mountain brigands. My sister-in-law’s urgent voice reached me through a subtle transmission.

[So-ryong, that’s the patriarch of the Hebei Peng Clan! When you speak with him, don’t bother with etiquette or formalities, all right?]

‘What does that mean?’ I wondered, baffled by her warning. Was I supposed to discard all manners completely?