The Grand Protector approached Sam Anbul with a friendly smile.
“What brings you here today?”
“Oh, I just happened to run into you while passing by.”
“When you approach, I can’t help but feel a bit cautious. Makes me wonder if I’ve done something wrong.”
The Grand Protector joked, prompting a hearty laugh from Sam Anbul. It was unclear which part of the conversation he found amusing.
Turning to Tang Mujin, the Grand Protector continued, “Is this the young hero you brought along?”
“Indeed. He’s got remarkable talent and rare skills. You can call him Young Hero Tang.”
“If even Elder Sam Anbul speaks so highly of him, I suppose I should overlook the cheeky remarks I just heard.”
“Haha, would it be cheeky if I were aiming for your position as Grand Protector?”
“Is that how the story goes?”
Their laughter grew louder, and even Tang Mujin managed a sheepish smile.
It was clear from the way they brushed off Tang Mujin’s slip of the tongue that they weren’t the scheming types.
“Young Hero Tang, I hear you’ve been keeping busy without a break. Remember to take some time to rest. There’s nothing more important than a good rest.”
“I understand.”
The Grand Protector gave Tang Mujin a warm smile before stepping back to his place behind the sect leader.
Tang Mujin let out a small sigh. With the Grand Protector moving away, he felt a weight lift off his shoulders.
Every master he’d met so far had their own unique aura. Namgung Jinchun was sharp, as if ready to cut through anything, while Sam Anbul seemed like he might explode at any moment. But the Grand Protector’s presence was different—like the morning mist or a thick cloud. He naturally enveloped and pressed down on those around him, making him the perfect fit for his role. With someone like him guarding the sect, who would dare challenge the leader’s authority?
Calming his mind, Tang Mujin turned his attention back to the sect leader, who was speaking in a calm voice.
“—There’s nothing more important than moderation. It’s good to reflect on oneself before bed. Focus on the inner self rather than outward appearances, and on the afterlife rather than the present.”
A man in the audience raised his hand to ask, “What should we moderate, and how?”
“Moderate whatever you feel is excessive, as much as you can. If you love alcohol too much, drink less. If you have a quick temper, learn to control it.”
“Is that really enough?”
“If we demanded more, there wouldn’t be a single person left in the mountains.”
The crowd chuckled softly.
More questions followed, some about doctrine, others out of simple curiosity. The sect leader answered them all with the gentle demeanor of a neighborly elder. It felt more like a casual conversation than a sermon or doctrinal discussion.
“—As long as we know where we need to go, that’s enough. If you know your destination, you’ll eventually get there, even if you only watch your step.”
With each story he concluded, the sect leader shifted topics and moods, sharing amusing tales or folklore, and occasionally posing questions to the followers. When someone sought mediation for a dispute, he listened and offered wise counsel. He seemed more like a village chief than a sect leader.
Sam Anbul and Tang Mujin listened a bit longer before moving on.
“I expected the sect leader to be more authoritative. It’s surprising.”
“In a rough crowd, someone with a good sense of humor and a generous nature becomes all the more valuable.”
As they pushed through the crowd, they emerged onto a street lined with shops. The bustling street was filled with people, all in high spirits.
Tang Mujin quickly realized the reason for the lively atmosphere: the people were drunk.
Taverns and inns along the alley had large jars of purple liquid displayed out front.
“What kind of drink is that?”
“Wine made from grapes.”
“There’s such a thing?”
“Fruit wines are as common as grain wines around here. You’ll get used to it soon enough. Even the Emperor of Wei was fond of grape wine.”
Sam Anbul tossed a silver coin to a nearby innkeeper, who filled four large gourds with wine and handed them over. It was surprisingly affordable for wine.
Tang Mujin took a sip, finding the astringent taste unfamiliar at first, but he soon grew accustomed to it.
As time passed, the surroundings grew darker. The merchants didn’t close up shop; instead, they hung lanterns outside. Vendors appeared, selling snacks, most of which were surprisingly sweet and cheap.
“Since the first day I arrived, I’ve noticed the Demon Sect seems quite prosperous.”
“Though rice doesn’t grow well in the cold, the fertile land supports other crops. Western merchants frequently come and go for trade, so there’s no fear of hunger.”
“I see.”
“Of course, it’s not always this abundant. The excitement is because a festival is approaching.”
“A festival?”
“The Mani Sect’s annual festival, at the end of the agricultural off-season, is next month.”
The conversation paused. Tang Mujin and Sam Anbul sat at a corner of the street, watching the lantern-lit scene.
Sam Anbul seemed lost in thought, while Tang Mujin was reminded of the tavern alleys in Zhongjing.
Eventually, Sam Anbul stood up and spoke.
“As the Grand Protector said, there’s no need to rush. Rest when you can; it leads to better results.”
“Understood.”
“I’ll head back first. Take your time. I’ll bring you the byproducts of the jimsé within three days.”
As Sam Anbul’s figure disappeared, Tang Mujin rose and looked around.
The pleasant buzz from the wine and the distant sound of a lute lifted his spirits.
Tang Mujin approached a vendor selling candied fruits.
He didn’t particularly crave them, nor did he know their price, but he handed over a silver coin.
It’s a man’s instinct. When tipsy, there’s a desire to buy snacks and head home.
The vendor handed him eight skewers of candied hawthorn, each coated in sugar, filling Tang Mujin’s hands.
Tang Mujin thought of his father and Dan Seol-young. But since he couldn’t return to them now, he trudged back to the Poison Cave.
With each step, the gourds at his waist swayed, releasing a gentle grape aroma. Tang Mujin associated the scent with the name of the Demon Sect.
Upon returning to the Poison Cave, Mok Wana, who had been crouched in a corner, looked up at him.
She was in the middle of a meal, holding half-eaten wallnut pills in one hand, her right cheek bulging as she chewed.
Her gaze shifted to the candied fruits in Tang Mujin’s hands. Without a word, he handed all eight skewers to her.
“All for me?”
“They’re not mine.”
Mok Wana accepted them with an excited expression.
Crunch—the sugar coating cracked as she bit into one.
Tang Mujin also offered her a bottle of grape wine.
Mok Wana didn’t refuse, and she devoured all eight skewers, using the wine as a side drink. It was as if she’d never tasted anything sweet before.
Tang Mujin sipped his wine and asked, “You like sweets so much, so why do you only eat wallnut pills every day? Why not buy some in the village? It’s not like you don’t have money.”
Mok Wana replied briefly, “I don’t go outside the cave.”
“Why not?”
She didn’t answer, and Tang Mujin didn’t press further.
Instead, he shared various stories.
The fiery larch trees surrounding Sichuan every autumn. The luxurious tavern alleys of Zhongjing. The breathtaking views while sailing down the Yangtze River. The snow-laden Qinghai. The sticky sea breeze of Guangdong.
Mok Wana knew none of these places, but that didn’t matter to Tang Mujin. He wasn’t telling the stories to share them; he was simply reminiscing.
As Tang Mujin’s gourd emptied, so did his stories.
He lay down, propping his chin on his hand, and dozed off, eventually falling asleep.
Mok Wana gently adjusted his arm, making him more comfortable.
Of course, nothing special happened between them.
After a day of rest, they returned to their work.
Tang Mujin and Mok Wana focused on their experiments with the jimsé feathers Sam Anbul had brought, but they used them all without any significant progress.
They would have to wait a few more days for another supply of the jimsé’s venom.
Frustration built up. Nearly a month had passed since arriving at the Demon Sect, yet their research showed no progress.
The large jimsé perched above the sect leader’s hall remained as still as a statue, occasionally visited by other jimsé.
‘I don’t know when I’ll be able to return home.’
In the end, Tang Mujin decided on a bold approach. Since he couldn’t study the antidote for the airborne poison, he would expose himself to the poison and then ingest other herbs and toxins to develop an antidote.
Mok Wana tensed up upon hearing the plan.
“Isn’t it dangerous?”
“It’ll be fine. I won’t die.”
Dang Mujin approached the cult leader’s quarters with the utmost caution, inhaling the poison just enough to avoid danger.
As he had confirmed before, none of the poisons Dang Mujin had encountered were similar to the poison of the Jimsae bird. The poison was so unique that there was no similar or even opposite poison to counteract it. Using poison to suppress poison through antagonistic action was impossible.
This only fueled Dang Mujin’s ambition further.
‘If only I could get my hands on this poison.’
However, due to the poison’s interference with his internal energy, he couldn’t quickly expel it through breathing exercises and conduct repeated experiments.
Dang Mujin inhaled the poison once during the day and once at night, contemplating a solution.
About ten days later, he noticed something new.
Compared to when he first emerged from the cave, he could now approach much closer to the cult leader’s quarters.
In other words, his body was gradually building a tolerance to the Jimsae’s poison. At this rate, he might soon be able to approach the Jimsae itself.
‘Even if I can’t create an antidote, I just need to solve the problem.’
Dang Mujin shifted his approach, focusing on adapting his body to the Jimsae’s poison.
This was far better than trying to create an antidote. He could solve the problem while honing his poison skills.
Time passed, and one night, when Dang Mujin was within a hundred paces of the cult leader’s quarters, he sensed an unfamiliar presence.
‘Did I imagine it?’
He doubted his senses, as he had never seen another person or even a wild animal in the area.
But the presence grew clearer. As Dang Mujin held his breath and waited, he saw a figure wearing a conical hat approaching the cult leader’s quarters from afar.
His mind raced.
‘Who is that, and why are they going into the cult leader’s quarters?’
But more pressing was the question of how that person managed to enter the quarters.
The Jimsae perched on the roof, and the area around the quarters was thick with poison. Even Dang Mujin, who was accustomed to the poison, couldn’t approach recklessly.
Of course, if someone intended to die, they could enter, but the man with the hat didn’t seem to be on a suicide mission.
‘Whatever it is, that person seems to have a way to overcome the poison.’
Dang Mujin moved stealthily in the direction the presence had come from.
If there wasn’t a special reason, the person was likely to return the way they came.
Hiding behind a large tree, Dang Mujin pondered.
‘Is it presumptuous of me to interfere?’
Probably not.
Even if the cult leader wasn’t authoritarian, not just anyone could enter the quarters. If the person had nothing to hide, they wouldn’t sneak in during the dead of night.
Besides, a minor issue wouldn’t be a problem. Several people, including the Great Protector, the Three-Eyed Buddha, and the Old Man of the Iron Soul, knew why Dang Mujin was in the cult. They could smooth over most situations.
As he mulled over these thoughts, the man with the hat reappeared.
Dang Mujin scrutinized him, suspecting he might be a thief, but the man held nothing in his hands, and his clothes weren’t bulging. If he intended to steal, he had failed.
Dang Mujin then examined the man’s face, but all he could see was a large chin protruding from under the hat.
‘No, it’s not that his chin is big. His mouth is open.’
The man’s mouth was slightly ajar, holding something inside.
Between his upper and lower teeth, he clamped a gray orb about three or four inches in diameter.
There were two possibilities: either the man was a master of poison arts, or the orb had the ability to neutralize the Jimsae’s poison.
The man was approaching Dang Mujin’s vicinity. Dang Mujin instinctively reached for the needle case in his pocket but reconsidered.
‘Now’s not the time to use needles.’
With his poison reserves depleted, throwing needles with precision would be pointless.
Reluctantly, Dang Mujin placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. As long as he didn’t kill the man, any action could be justified.
Dang Mujin held his breath and waited.
As the man passed by, Dang Mujin swung the scabbard at the back of his head.
It was a clean ambush, and he expected it to succeed, but to his surprise, the man moved like lightning and blocked the attack.
‘Damn it. He’s a master.’
He realized it in that first exchange. The man had surpassed the pinnacle of martial arts. Dang Mujin felt his heart shrink with anxiety.
The man, sensing Dang Mujin’s martial prowess, smirked slightly.
Dang Mujin found the smirk incredibly irritating, as if it whispered, ‘Are you a first-rate fighter? How unfortunate.’
Dang Mujin tossed the scabbard aside and swung his sword horizontally.
The man with the hat deftly dodged Dang Mujin’s attack. A frontal assault wouldn’t work on someone who had thwarted a surprise attack.
‘I need to retreat for now.’
Unlike the man, who had a way to counter the poison, Dang Mujin had to fight while inhaling it.
As Dang Mujin tried to distance himself, the man anticipated his intentions and blocked his path to the village.
‘Cunning bastard.’
The man swung his sword with force, slashing from the upper right to the lower left in one swift motion. He followed with an upward slash and a deep thrust, each move flowing seamlessly into the next.
Instead of aiming for a fatal blow, the man forced Dang Mujin to move as much as possible, making him breathe more deeply.
Dang Mujin felt like a fish caught in a net, twisting and turning to defend himself.
To make matters worse, the poison restricted his internal energy, making defense even more challenging than usual.
As he dodged and parried, Dang Mujin noticed something odd. For someone who had surpassed the pinnacle, the man’s swordplay wasn’t particularly sharp.
‘Why is that?’
Dang Mujin scrutinized the man and soon found the answer.
The foundation of martial arts is breathing. Breathing initiates both internal energy circulation and martial techniques.
Every martial art has a suitable breathing method, and anyone unaware of its importance can’t be called a martial artist. Even a first-rate or experienced second-rate fighter rarely has disrupted breathing.
However, the man seemed to be breathing only through his mouth, not his nose. He drooled messily, unable to close his mouth because of the orb.
‘That orb must neutralize the poison.’
The orb appeared slightly darker than when Dang Mujin first saw the man.
But he couldn’t be sure. It was night, and the surroundings were very dark.
The man, perhaps realizing he needed to end the fight quickly, launched a powerful attack, exuding a murderous aura.
His sword, raised high, swung down with the force to cleave a mountain. Dang Mujin hastily rolled backward to evade the attack.
As he lay almost flat on the ground, his hand touched the dirt.
In that moment, Dang Mujin didn’t hesitate to grab a handful of dirt and fling it at the man.
“Eat this!”
The man blocked the dirt with his left hand, creating a small opening.
That was enough. As Dang Mujin reached into his pocket, his fingers brushed against a long object.
Two Heavenly King Needle Cases that Dan Seol-yeong had given him before his fight with the Three-Eyed Buddha.
Dang Mujin pulled out one of the cases and fired it at the man.
Thwack!
A loud sound echoed from inside the case, followed by dozens of metal shards and needles scattering at incredible speed.
Caught off guard, the man moved hastily, dropping the orb he had been holding in his mouth. The orb rolled over to Dang Mujin’s side.
At that moment, the man with the hat made a quick decision. Rather than continue fighting while inhaling the Jimsae’s poison, he chose to flee.
Of course, Dang Mujin had no intention of letting him escape.
‘I’ve trained in poison arts and adapted to the Jimsae’s poison for nearly two weeks. I can withstand it for a bit.’
Dang Mujin lunged forward, grabbing the man’s pant leg.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“Let go, let go!”
The man frantically reached out and kicked to shake off Dang Mujin, but his internal energy was poorly managed. The poison had infiltrated his body, and he couldn’t steady his breathing for fear of inhaling more.
As a result, both Dang Mujin and the man with the hat found themselves nearly unable to use their internal energy.
Dang Mujin clung to the man, twisting his legs with his arms and toppling him before climbing on top.
It was the first time since childhood brawls with friends that he had pinned someone down like this.
With their swords useless at such close range, the two resorted to throwing wild punches at each other.
For a fight between a proud first-rate martial artist and a master, it was rather unseemly. Fortunately, there were no spectators.
In this kind of brawl, the advantage lay with Dang Mujin, who was on top. As his fist connected with the man’s face, the hat fell off, revealing his face.
He had such an unremarkable appearance that it was hard to describe, but there was one feature that stood out: his nostrils were twice the size of an average person’s.
“With nostrils like those, inhaling poison would be the end of him.”
As the two men exchanged blows, the man with the straw hat managed to land a sharp elbow to Dang Mujin’s jaw, exploiting a momentary lapse in his defense.
In that instant, Dang Mujin’s vision blurred like a heatwave, and his mind went blank.
“Damn it…!”
Dang Mujin collapsed to the ground, while the man with the straw hat sprang to his feet.
But even he didn’t have the luxury to finish off Dang Mujin. He turned and fled in a hurry.
Lying flat on the ground, Dang Mujin thought to himself.
If I pass out here, I’ll keep breathing in the poison. This could be really bad.
He flailed his arms around, and when his hand brushed against something solid, he instinctively grabbed it. A round bead was now in his left hand.
His instincts screamed at him.
“Put that bead in your mouth right now! It’ll drive out the poison!”
But his rational mind shouted back just as loudly.
“Doesn’t that bead feel a bit damp? Remember whose mouth it was in! Think about that bead, soaked in someone else’s saliva! I’d rather die than put something that was in another man’s mouth into mine!”
Dang Mujin wrestled with the decision. Survival or pride?
In the end, he couldn’t bring himself to put the saliva-soaked bead in his mouth. Dang Mujin lost consciousness and went limp.