Chapter 246: Bloodshed Follows an Uninvited Guest (3)

Mount Qingcheng was named for its trees, which were jade green and remained verdant year-round. The world knew the mountain less for its natural beauty, however, than as the home of the Qingcheng Sect, a sacred Taoist site.

Beyond the Fortune Palace, located at the entrance of the mountain, lay a vast lake known as Moon Castle Lake. Above the lake stood the Fifth Grotto-Heaven, the Heavenly Lord Cave, and the Shangqing Palace. Towering above them all was the Laojun Pavilion, which enshrined Taishang Laojun.

Countless Taoist temples were scattered throughout Mount Qingcheng, and together, they were known as the Qingcheng Sect. The sect’s martial artists usually scattered to their own temples to train in martial arts or cultivate their minds.

The landscape was humble, far from the grandeur befitting one of the Nine Great Sects.

In truth, the Qingcheng Sect ranked among the weakest of the Nine Sects One Gang in raw strength. Its Taoists numbered barely a few hundred, and its influence fell short of even the Tang Clan and the Emei Sect in the same province.

Still, no one in Sichuan considered the Qingcheng Sect to be inferior to the Tang Clan or the Emei Sect. Their numbers were smaller, but each individual was highly skilled. Moreover, rumors abound that the martial prowess of Sage Guang-Mu, the Qingcheng Sect Leader, was formidable enough to fall only slightly short of Heaven’s Summit’s Nine Skies.

Several dozen Taoists were stationed at all times in the Fortune Palace, the sect’s gateway. Only by passing their inspection could a visitor board a boat to cross Moon Castle Lake.

At the main gate of the Fortune Palace, a second-generation disciple named Jeong-Myeong yawned and stretched. “Uwaah! The pilgrims have all gone home. This is boring.”

“Careful, friend. What will you do if Sage Woon-Gwang catches you?” Jeong-Woon chided.

Jeong-Myeong paid him no mind and twisted his body. “You don’t honestly think Sage Woon-Gwang would come all the way out here?”

Woon-Gwang was Sage Gwang-Mu’s youngest disciple and the middle-aged martial artist who commanded the men of the Fortune Palace.

“You never know. You know it as well as I do. Sage Woon-Gwang inspects the guard posts without warning more often than not.”

“Tsk! Fine.”

Jeong-Myeong clicked his tongue and straightened his back. He was fidgety, but he knew getting on Woon-Gwang’s bad side would earn him a scolding so severe that he wouldn’t find his own bones afterward, so he forced himself to sit still.

“Anyway, I wonder how things are going out there.”

“Out where?”

“Ah, the war with the Silent Night. I hear it’s absolute chaos outside Sichuan Province.”

“Sigh! You’re right about that. We of the Qingcheng Sect are fortunate to remain relatively untouched by the fighting, but I hear the other Nine Great Sects are having a terrible time.”

“I suppose so.”

A shadow settled over both their faces. Sitting on Mount Qingcheng did not make them deaf to the world. They heard everything worth hearing from the pilgrims and the merchants who supplied the temples.

They felt as though the Qingcheng Sect alone had been spared this hellish world. Although a Taoist’s duty was to leave the secular world behind and cultivate the Dao, they still felt a vague guilt in choosing to remain uninvolved.

Suddenly, Jeong-Myeong caught sight of a group climbing toward the Fortune Palace. “Pilgrims?”

“At this hour?”

The surroundings had already gone dark. Even martial artists did not wander about at this time, and it was far less likely that pilgrims would be climbing a mountain so late.

“Who are they?”

Jeong-Myeong and Jeong-Woon gathered inner qi into their eyes to sharpen their eyesight.

SWISH!

“Gack!”

A sharp sound pierced the air, and Jeong-Myeong was thrown backward.

“Jeong-Myeong?”

Jeong-Woon’s pupils dilated as he stared at his fallen companion. A dagger was buried in Jeong-Myeong’s forehead.

Jeong-Woon screamed at the top of his lungs. “A-An ambush! Ack!”

He clutched his neck and collapsed, a dagger lodged in his throat. His limbs trembled violently for a moment, and then he was dead.

Taoists came pouring out of the Fortune Palace.

“An ambush?”

“Jeong-Myeong? Jeong-Woon?”

They stared at the two bodies, unable to hide their horror.

Meanwhile, the men who had thrown the daggers reached the Fortune Palace.

A middle-aged Taoist stepped forward. He was Sage Woon-Gwang, leader of the Taoists of the Fortune Palace, and he was furious. “Who are you bastards?” he shouted. “How dare you use an assassin’s trick on a martial artist of the Qingcheng Sect!”

The attackers had almost reached the main gate. Without a word, they swung their weapons at the Qingcheng Sect martial artists.

“Keuk!”

“It’s an attack! Get word to the Shangqing Palace quickly!”

At Sage Woon-Gwang’s command, a Taoist rang the emergency bell and sent up a signal flare.

“I don’t know who you are, but harming a Qingcheng Sect martial artist is unforgivable.” Sage Woon-Gwang roared and drew his sword.

A martial artist who looked to be in his thirties walked out from among the attackers.

He was Nam Cheon-Myeong.

“What is the Qingcheng Sect supposed to be worth?” he sneered.

“Are you the leader of these men?”

“You could say that.”

“Identify yourself!”

“If you want to know, find out for yourself.”

“Grr!”

Unable to stomach the provocation, Sage Woon-Gwang charged.

SHIIING!

A blindingly cold light split the darkness as he poured every ounce of his energy into a single stroke.

Gosebumps crawled up his spine. His body had sensed how terrible the enemy was before his mind did, which is why he was giving it his all.

Unfortunately, his attack did not so much as graze Nam Cheon-Myeong’s collar. Like a ghost passing through a wall, Nam Cheon-Myeong slipped by the attack and passed him by.

“Stop, you bastard!”

Sage Woon-Gwang turned to run him down, but his legs wouldn’t move.

What?

THUD!

His body came apart. It split from his shoulder to his waist, and his upper torso slid free of the rest of his body.

He hadn’t felt it happen. He hadn’t even seen his opponent move.

“Uwaaaack!”

Sage Woon-Gwang’s desperate scream rang across the night sky, torn from him only once he understood his own state.

Perhaps it was that scream that woke the sleeping mountain. Lights flickered on in darkened temples, and urgent bells rang out one after another across the quiet slopes.

Nam Cheon-Myeong surveyed it, muttering, “Fine mountain country.”

By then, the Hell Demon Squad had killed every Taoist guarding the Fortune Palace and fallen in behind him.

Beyond the palace, Moon Castle Lake stretched out before them, and several small boats were tied to a dock.

Nam Cheon-Myeong boarded one without hesitation. The boat moved off toward the middle of the lake on its own, as though something were drawing it.

The warriors of the Hell Demon Squad hurried into the other boats and followed him.

DONG DONG DONG!

The closer they got to Mount Qingcheng, the louder the bells rang, and the wider Nam Cheon-Myeong’s smile grew.

“Nice. Perfect weather for a bit of murder.”

Clan Head Tang Kwan-Ho’s residence was located in the deepest part of the Tang Hill Village.

True to his alias, the Myriad Poison Emperor, he was the finest poison master in the world.

The lights in his residence were almost always on. They went dark for perhaps two hours around dawn, but no longer. For this reason, some people called him the man who had forgotten sleep.

His doors were open around the clock, so anyone could easily meet with him at any hour. Compared to the other Five Great Clans, this made for a strikingly different scene.

Tang Kwan-Ho threw the window wide and looked out over the unlit sprawl of Tang Hill Village. A deep furrow formed between his brows.

Unlike other nights, he was finding it hard to keep his composure. His chest churned, and a sense of unease lingered in his mind.

“Hah! What is the matter with me? Am I growing so old that maintaining my composure is this difficult?”

He shook his head. He had never needed much sleep, but tonight it seemed he wouldn’t get any. In the end, he sighed, pulled a book from the shelf, and opened it.

Normally, he would have lost himself in it at once, but tonight, the characters would not come into focus. Eventually, he gave up on reading, too.

“Hoo...”

Just as the sigh left him, the door opened, and a beautiful woman entered.

“Grandfather.”

Tang Kwan-Ho’s face lit up at his granddaughter’s unexpected arrival. Wiping the worry off his face, he smiled broadly. “Mi-Ryeo, what brings you here so suddenly tonight?”

Tang Mi-Ryeo approached him gracefully. “I had some news to share, so I thought I’d stop by. Have you been well?”

“As you can see, I am in good health. And you?”

“Yes, as you can see, I am doing fine.”

Tang Mi-Ryeo smiled gently. In public, she always addressed him as Clan Head, but in private, he was her grandfather, Tang Kwan-Ho.

Officially, both Tang Gi-Mun and Tang Mi-Ryeo had been excommunicated from the Tang Clan. However, that was only superficial.

For three years, Tang Kwan-Ho had supported them both by every open and hidden means, evading the notice of Heaven’s Summit. The Northern Army was able to settle in the western highlands of Sichuan, out of Heaven’s Summit’s sight, because of his efforts.

Tang Kwan-Ho was what one might call the leader of the Sichuan murim. He held that much power and authority. Hiding Jin Mu-Won and the Northern Army was no big deal for him.

He smiled with satisfaction at the granddaughter he hadn’t seen in a long time. The time to let her go had long passed, yet he could not help but rejoice at seeing her again.

“Sit down.”

“Yes!”

“How is Gi-Mun getting on?”

“Uncle is...”

“Still living in his self-reproach?”

“He’s much better than he used to be. Still, he hasn’t let go of his guilt quite yet.”

“That child always had a soft heart.”

Tang Gi-Mun had not yet escaped the death of Myeong Ryu-San. In an attempt to put it out of his mind, he clung harder to poison. Perhaps because of that, his temperament had turned somewhat dark.

“And how is he?”

“He should have returned by now,” Tang Mi-Ryeo answered, her expression untroubled.

Looking at her, Tang Kwan-Ho could not hide his pity.

He was well aware that Tang Mi-Ryeo had feelings for Jin Mu-Won. However, the moment Eun Han-Seol appeared, she put those feelings aside. She simply lacked the confidence to wedge herself between the two of them.

A heart is not a thing a person can put in order just by deciding to. Although she sits there smiling as though nothing is wrong, I cannot begin to fathom how much it aches underneath.

Thankfully, she had been smiling more lately. When she fled here three years ago, her heart was shattered beyond description.

She had probably come to the Tang Clan to avoid seeing Jin Mu-Won’s face when he arrived.

“Mi-Ryeo.” Tang Kwan-Ho reached out and stroked her hair.

Tang Mi-Ryeo responded with a sweet smile. “I am all right. I truly am.”

“Yes, I know.” Tang Kwan-Ho smiled as well.

“Clan Head!” an urgent voice called from outside.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Cheol-Mun.”

“Cheol-Mun? Come in.”

A middle-aged man opened the door and entered. The man with blunt features and rough hemp clothes was Tang Cheol-Mun. He was Tang Kwan-Ho’s nephew in private and the Tang Clan’s Outer Hall Master in public.

Today, though, he did not spare Tang Mi-Ryeo so much as a glance.

Tang Kwan-Ho immediately sensed from his demeanor that something was terribly wrong. “What brings you here at this hour?” he asked.

“Something terrible has happened.”

“What?”

“The men dispatched to the Guangyuan checkpoint have been completely wiped out.”

“What?” Tang Kwan-Ho shot out of his seat before realizing he had moved. “Is that true?”

“It is. There had been no word from them in half a day, so men from a nearby branch went to investigate. Every disciple sent by the three sects was dead.”

“What about the culprits?”

“We have not identified them yet.”

“Have Qingcheng and Emei been told?”

“Carrier pigeons have already been sent out. They should know by now.”

“Summon all of the leaders at once.”

“Understood.”

Tang Cheol-Mun hurried out.

Left alone, Tang Kwan-Ho trembled.

“Grandfather?” Tang Mi-Ryeo called out, but he didn’t seem to hear her.

Tang Kwan-Ho closed his eyes. “So that is why I felt so uneasy,” he muttered.

A violent wind was rising over Sichuan Province. Ultimately, the wall built by the Tang Clan, the Qingcheng Sect, and the Emei Sect had failed to hold it back.