Episode 215: The Tang Family Head

When Tang Mujin stepped out of the guest room, the first thing that caught his eye was a large straw hat mingling among his companions.

It’s rare to see someone wearing a straw hat indoors, and even rarer to see someone eating with one on.

Tang Mujin quickly scanned his surroundings and recalled that the siblings, Jeong Taeryeong and Jeong Okryeong, had left Wuchang the previous evening.

He let out a sigh of relief. He had managed to avoid the most awkward encounter that could have happened in this situation.

As he lingered, trying to assess the situation, Hyeon-gong, ever perceptive, turned around and gestured for him to join them.

Hyeon-gong subtly shifted to the side, making space next to him. It was an invitation to sit.

“I wasn’t planning on sitting,” Tang Mujin thought.

But it would be rude to refuse a seat that had been made for him. With a slight reluctance, he took the spot next to Hyeon-gong.

“Hyeon-gong, what’s going on here?”

“What do you mean? We were just having breakfast together.”

Just yesterday, their relationship hadn’t been this friendly. Tang Mujin glanced at the table, trying to gauge how long this camaraderie had been going on.

The Blood Rain Guest was on his second bowl of porridge, clearly hungry, while Hyeon-gong’s bowl was half-empty.

In contrast, Namgung Myeong, Hong Geolgae, and Wang Jincheong had no porridge bowls in front of them. The innkeeper was just bringing their bowls over.

Breakfast porridge is usually prepared in advance and served warm when guests arrive.

This meant that, aside from Hyeon-gong and the Blood Rain Guest, the other three had just joined the table.

“Did they get caught up with Hyeon-gong too?” Tang Mujin wondered.

Just as he was about to ask for an explanation, Hyeon-gong, with a playful tone, addressed the Blood Rain Guest.

“Brother… Oh, my! Look at me, I should be calling you ‘sir,’ but my words keep slipping.”

The Blood Rain Guest responded with a resigned smile.

“Call me whatever you like.”

“Haha, Brother Jang, is that alright?”

Tang Mujin witnessed a historic moment.

His friend, only two years older than him, was now on friendly terms with a martial arts master well past his sixties.

In the history of the martial world, such a situation was unprecedented.

Yet, Tang Mujin felt a sense of relief. At least the title hadn’t devolved to something as casual as “Hey, Jang.”

He nudged Hyeon-gong and whispered, “Hyeon-gong, did you know him before?”

Tang Mujin hesitated over the title, unsure of what to call the Blood Rain Guest.

The man didn’t seem fond of his nickname, and calling him “Brother Jang” like Hyeon-gong felt too familiar.

“Huh? No way. I just came out for breakfast and saw Brother Jang eating, so I sat down for a chat.”

That couldn’t be all. Tang Mujin eyed Hyeon-gong’s half-empty porridge bowl.

In the short time it took to eat half a bowl, Hyeon-gong’s silver tongue must have worked some magic.

“Anyway, what’s going on here? Isn’t this all a bit sudden?”

“I can see why you’d think that. But from what I hear, Brother Jang’s situation is quite unfortunate.”

“Unfortunate?”

If there was one word that didn’t fit a martial arts master, it was “unfortunate.”

As far as Tang Mujin knew, such masters didn’t lead unfortunate lives. They were more likely to make others’ lives unfortunate or end them.

But Hyeon-gong nodded.

“Yes, it seems he’s been misunderstood by many.”

Wang Jincheong, Hong Geolgae, and Namgung Myeong all looked uncomfortable, their eyes darting around.

None of them seemed willing to join the conversation. Tang Mujin decided to speak on their behalf.

“What kind of misunderstanding?”

“People think Brother Jang is a villain! Can you believe that?”

Tang Mujin decided to be direct.

“With a nickname like ‘Blood Rain Guest,’ he might not be a villain, but it sounds like he’s led a rough life.”

Instead of answering, Hyeon-gong looked at the Blood Rain Guest.

Despite his nickname being mentioned, the man didn’t seem angry.

The Blood Rain Guest asked the group, “What are your nicknames?”

“Sword of the Ascending Dragon.”

“I don’t have one yet.”

“Neither do I.”

Hyeon-gong, Namgung Myeong, and Hong Geolgae answered in turn.

The group’s attention turned to Hong Geolgae, silently urging him to reveal his nickname, “The Dog of the Nine Provinces.”

But Hong Geolgae clammed up like an oyster.

Finally, Tang Mujin spoke.

“I’m the Righteous Dragon.”

The Blood Rain Guest’s expression turned curious.

“Righteous Dragon? A doctor, then? I heard from Hyeon-gong that you created the Storm Needle.”

It seemed Hyeon-gong had fully entered the stage of calling him “Brother.”

Having heard this question at least ten times before, Tang Mujin answered casually.

“Yes, that’s right. I’m originally a doctor. I just picked up some blacksmithing along the way.”

“Can you create something like that with just a little practice…? But that’s not the point. Righteous Dragon, who gave you your nickname?”

“I don’t know who started it. People just began calling me that.”

“Right. Like you and Hyeon-gong, nicknames are given based on one’s deeds. But I gave myself the nickname ‘Blood Rain Guest.’ It doesn’t really reflect my actions.”

Did he give himself a nickname he didn’t like? Tang Mujin didn’t press for an explanation. It seemed the Blood Rain Guest wasn’t finished.

“I suppose I should start from the beginning. I met my master when I was much younger than Wang here. He saw potential in me and took me as his disciple.”

“The finest gems shine even in the mud. No martial artist could overlook young Brother Jang.”

Hyeon-gong interjected smoothly, his flattery flowing like water, bringing a smile to the Blood Rain Guest’s face beneath his hat.

“Yes, I had quite the talent and soon caught up to my master’s level. But when I was about fifteen, my master died in a duel.”

“Oh no. What did you do then?”

Just then, the innkeeper arrived, placing a bowl of porridge in front of Tang Mujin.

The Blood Rain Guest stirred his spoon in the porridge before setting it down to continue his story.

“I just thought it was sad that my master died. But then the villagers came to me, asking when I’d avenge him. They spoke as if it was only natural, so I thought I had to do it.”

The villagers’ reaction was quite typical. If a master is killed, it’s the disciple’s duty to seek revenge.

But the Blood Rain Guest was naturally rejecting that notion. Tang Mujin considered pointing it out but held his tongue.

“I didn’t want to go. At first, I kept putting it off, but eventually, I couldn’t delay any longer. So I found my master’s killer and… killed him.”

“It must have been a fierce battle.”

The Blood Rain Guest shook his head.

“Not really. I swung my sword six or seven times, and he died with a look of disbelief.”

“Well, who could stand against Brother Jang?”

Hyeon-gong’s flattery was seamless, delivered with a calm demeanor that made it seem like he was stating an obvious truth.

Even Tang Mujin’s companions, who had known Hyeon-gong for years, were inwardly impressed.

The Blood Rain Guest continued his tale.

“After the revenge, I was about to leave when the killer’s disciple glared at me and asked for my nickname. He seemed to assume I had one, so I made one up on the spot: Blood Rain Guest.”

“But you don’t like that nickname now, do you?”

“Back then, I was just a teenager, excited from my first kill. I thought it sounded cool. I never imagined it would become so well-known.”

The Blood Rain Guest gave a bitter smile.

“Nicknames like ‘Sword of the Ascending Dragon’ or ‘Righteous Dragon’ are fine. They’re even better if you’re from the righteous martial world. But in the unorthodox world, a nickname like ‘Blood Rain Guest’ is troublesome. Decent people avoid me, and only those looking to make a name for themselves come after me. I had to wield my sword to survive.”

Tang Mujin interjected.

“So, in the end, you did become the Blood Rain Guest.”

“I haven’t killed as many as you think. I’ve faced hundreds of challengers, but only killed five. Killing makes it hard to sleep at night.”

“Ah, I see…”

The Blood Rain Guest fiddled with his porridge bowl.

“I’m tired of it. If I don’t kill the challengers, they come back. If I do, their friends seek revenge. In the unorthodox world south of the Yangtze, they challenge me. If I cross north, the righteous martial artists come in droves. It’s an endless cycle of violence.”

“People seem to recognize you by your hat. Why not take it off?”

“No, it’s better to keep it on. Somehow, they always find me. Those who’ve seen my face try to spread the word. I end up having to kill them.”

The Rainy Wanderer let out a weary sigh, the kind that only a swordsman worn down by life could muster.

“The grudges in the martial world are terrifying. I never wanted this revenge in the first place. I should have never sought to avenge my master.”

He turned his head, peering at Tang Mujin from beneath his wide-brimmed hat.

“Anyway, I need the Storm Blossom Needles for my retirement. Can you help me with that?”

“Retirement?” Tang Mujin echoed, puzzled. Hyun Gong stepped in to explain what the Rainy Wanderer meant by “retirement,” and Tang Mujin quickly grasped the concept.

Tang Mujin fiddled with the Storm Blossom Needles at his waist. Before leaving Wuchang, Jung Taeryeong had returned them, claiming they were too much for him to handle.

“How many of these needles do you need?”

“Well, it seems like you can fire them three or four times. A hundred would be ideal, but I’d settle for fifty.”

Tang Mujin shook his head.

“That’s impossible. Do you know how long it takes to make just one? And the materials aren’t easy to come by. It could take years to gather everything.”

Most martial artists would demand them regardless of the time it took, but the Rainy Wanderer visibly deflated. His reaction made it clear that he understood it wasn’t feasible.

Feeling a twinge of guilt, Tang Mujin gently suggested, “Why not form your own group? From what little I’ve seen, you seem like a decent person. If you taught martial arts, people would flock to you. Your disciples could support you in your later years.”

The Rainy Wanderer replied in a somber tone, “I tried that. Gathered about a dozen people, but they were all from the dark side of the martial world. They expected me to be ruthless and kept suggesting we kill people. It was too much, so I slipped away.”

“Ah, I see,” Tang Mujin replied, understanding the predicament.

The Rainy Wanderer was a man of great talent, yet the life of a martial artist didn’t suit him. He would have been happier tilling the land than wielding a sword, more at ease being underestimated than revered.

Just then, Hyun Gong nudged Tang Mujin, signaling with his eyes. Tang Mujin understood immediately—he was suggesting they take the Rainy Wanderer back to the Tang Family Clinic.

There was no real reason not to. The clinic already housed many outcasts, including those from the demonic sect. One more wouldn’t make a difference.

The only concern was the possibility that the Rainy Wanderer harbored dark intentions. But Tang Mujin leaned towards accepting him. He had learned one truth in life: not everyone who appears good is truly good. Most are, but among them are deceitful hypocrites, worse than ordinary villains.

However, among those who seem down-and-out, like the Rainy Wanderer, there are no hypocrites. Only those who are naturally clumsy and can’t hide it remain in such a state.

That’s why Tang Mujin liked people like that, like the ones sitting around the table with him now.

He thought to himself, “The only sane ones at this table are me and Wang Jincheng. I hope Wang Jincheng doesn’t get influenced by the others.”

After organizing his thoughts, Tang Mujin spoke to the Rainy Wanderer.

“Why don’t you come with us?”

“Where to?”

“The Tang Family Clinic… No, it’s grown too big to just call it a clinic now.”

With a confident smile, Tang Mujin declared, “Let’s head to Chengdu in Sichuan Province. To the Tang Family Manor.”