In Chapter 337 of “The Tang Clan Chronicles,” Tang Mujin had made significant progress in his mastery of poisons. By learning to condense and refine the toxic and medicinal properties within his body, he achieved two major breakthroughs.

The first was developing a resistance to poisons. By gradually increasing the amount and concentration of toxins in his system, Tang Mujin was able to build up his tolerance. However, like any martial art, pushing the limits of what the body can endure required a long and arduous effort. It would still take considerable time before he could withstand the deadliest of poisons, like those of the infamous Inmyeonji.

The second achievement, which Tang Mujin found immediately useful, was expanding the variety of poisons he could handle. Previously, many poisons were intriguing and potentially useful, but their toxicity was too weak to be of any real consequence. For instance, the poison from peach pits was a prime example. Yet, by refining even these mild toxins within his body, Tang Mujin managed to give Hong Geolge a ten-day stomachache—a remarkable feat considering Hong Geolge’s usual resilience to such poisons.

Tang Mujin didn’t stop there. He believed that with enough concentration, even the poison extracted from peach pits could become lethal enough to kill a martial arts master. Moreover, it wasn’t just poisons he could concentrate. Take the fruit of the loquat tree, for example. While not used as a medicinal herb, it was beneficial for women with poor circulation. By concentrating its properties, it could become a supplementary poison that rapidly spread toxins throughout the body.

With this newfound ability to manipulate a wider range of poisons and combine them, Tang Mujin’s repertoire seemed limitless. After dedicating a full month to developing new poisons, he stretched and thought, “It’s time to start something new.”

The first task Tang Mujin undertook was teaching poison techniques to the clan’s physicians. Hearing that Tang Mujin would be instructing them in martial arts, the physicians gathered in the largest courtyard of the Tang Clan estate. They murmured among themselves until Tang Mujin appeared, silencing them with his presence.

A brief silence followed, broken by a young physician in his early thirties who raised his hand. “Master Tang, I am Shim Seohan from Shaanxi Province. May I ask a question?”

Shim Seohan’s introduction had a certain rhythm to it, and Tang Mujin nodded. “What would you like to know?”

“Is it true that you will teach us martial arts?”

Tang Mujin looked at Shim Seohan, who had joined the clan during the year Tang Mujin was away. Though not particularly accomplished as a physician, Shim Seohan had a solid, muscular build that made him look more like a martial artist than a healer. Tang Mujin imagined that if Shim Seohan shaved his head and joined a Shaolin temple, he would fit right in.

“Yes, that’s correct,” Tang Mujin replied.

Shim Seohan hesitated before asking, “Is it really okay for us to learn martial arts?”

“Is there a problem?” Tang Mujin inquired.

“I’ve heard that martial arts are not to be taught lightly, especially outside of a master-disciple relationship. I’m concerned that this might cause trouble for you, Master Tang.”

Tang Mujin chuckled softly. Shim Seohan was worried about Tang Mujin, but it was clear he was even more concerned about his own safety—a realistic and accurate concern. Learning martial arts through unauthorized channels could bring trouble to both the teacher and the student.

“That’s true,” Tang Mujin admitted. “There is someone who might not be pleased with me teaching martial arts.”

“Then…”

“But it’s fine. That person is already dead.”

Shim Seohan visibly relaxed at this reassurance. It had been seven years since the death of the enigmatic figure known as Gwai, yet Gwai’s memory remained vivid in Tang Mujin’s mind. He imagined what Gwai might have said if he had witnessed this scene.

“Never heard of such a thing, but at least it might help spread medical knowledge,” Gwai might have said. “Go ahead, just don’t ask me to help.”

Despite his gruff words, Tang Mujin knew that Gwai would have helped if asked, albeit with some grumbling. That was the kind of person Gwai had been.

Tang Mujin continued, “Besides, I’m not teaching you the extraordinary martial arts of the Qingcheng or Emei sects. What I’m offering is more than health exercises but less than supreme martial arts. I won’t be teaching sword techniques either.”

The physicians murmured among themselves. To the average person, martial arts often conjured images of swordplay.

Shim Seohan asked, “If we won’t be learning sword techniques, what are we learning martial arts for?”

“First, I’ll teach you the Xuanwu Gong, an internal energy cultivation method. You can call it Xuanwu Divine Skill if you like. The name sounds impressive, but as I mentioned, it’s not supreme martial arts. Like any internal energy method, mastering Xuanwu Gong will allow you to cultivate internal energy through breathing exercises, helping you avoid minor illnesses.”

This was an enticing prospect. Physicians, who frequently dealt with patients, often caught illnesses themselves. Ironically, while they treated others, they were also the ones who suffered from various ailments.

“Next, I’ll teach you the Ziyun Step, a useful movement technique. If you master it, you’ll be able to escape from most martial artists.”

Ziyun Step was a movement technique Gwai had taught Tang Mujin long ago. However, Tang Mujin rarely used it, having learned the superior Shadowless Step at the Shaolin Temple. While Shadowless Step was more complete as a movement technique, it wasn’t something he could teach the physicians. If they used it indiscriminately and encountered a Shaolin monk, they might find their limbs crippled.

“Then, I’ll teach you the Feixu Palm. If you master it, you’ll be able to handle local bullies and subdue patients who try to skip out on their bills. But don’t rely on it to face someone with a sword. I won’t be responsible if you get killed.”

The physicians laughed. They hadn’t expected to learn such high-level martial arts anyway.

“Once you’ve mastered the Feixu Palm, the next step is the Yudogong.”

“Yudogong? What kind of martial art is that?”

The physicians were puzzled by the name Yudogong, which sounded unimpressive—like a fleeing monkey. Tang Mujin had once thought the same, but in hindsight, Yudogong was one of the most practical skills he had learned.

“Yudogong is a technique for throwing objects. It’s essential that you learn it. In fact, I’m teaching you all of this to prepare you for Yudogong and the next lesson.”

The physicians listened intently as Tang Mujin continued.

“Finally, I’ll teach you poison techniques.”

The reaction to poison techniques was lukewarm, as expected. While the physicians had heard of Tang Mujin’s prowess with poisons, they had never witnessed it firsthand.

“Watch this,” Tang Mujin said, raising his right hand. A drop of clear liquid formed on his fingertip and fell to the ground. It looked like sweat, but as soon as it touched the earth, something unexpected happened.

The small, green grass that had been sprouting in the spring suddenly withered and died, as if winter had returned. The area affected was about five hand spans in diameter—a small or large area, depending on one’s perspective—but the speed at which the grass died was alarming. It took only a few breaths for the transformation to occur.

Even to those unfamiliar with martial arts, it was clear that this poison was extraordinary.

Tang Mujin’s demonstration didn’t end there. With a gesture, Hyungong brought forth a white-lipped deer. This deer, with its white facial markings, was a common sight in the Sichuan region and was as large as an average person.

Tang Mujin didn’t draw a sword or throw a punch. He simply placed his hand lightly on the deer’s forehead. Yet, the deer quickly collapsed, convulsing as if in a fit. The onlookers watched in silence as the deer soon stopped breathing.

Tang Mujin then drew a sword and cut open the deer’s belly, revealing its innards. The liver, which should have been bright red, was blackened, and the stomach was shriveled and dark brown.

”…” The physicians were speechless.

Tang Mujin explained in a cheerful voice.

“As you can see, poison arts are a fairly useful form of self-defense. They may not show results as quickly as a sword, but they have their own merits. Those who are suited to poison arts can wield them as freely as I do, while those who aren’t can still find other ways to use poison.”

“Other ways? Like slipping it into food… is that what you mean?”

“There are simpler methods.”

Tang Mujin pulled a dark cylinder from his sleeve. It was the first time in a while that the Rainstorm Needle had made an appearance, but none of the physicians recognized it.

Tang Mujin stepped back thirty paces and spoke.

“Please step back a little.”

The physicians, unsure of what Tang Mujin intended to demonstrate, complied and retreated ten to fifteen paces, distancing themselves further from the carcass of the white reindeer.

Holding the Rainstorm Needle in his right hand, Tang Mujin casually pressed a protrusion on its side.

Click.

The sound was so faint and unimpressive that hardly anyone noticed it. But in the next moment, smoke began to rise from the reindeer’s body. The Rainstorm Needle had been coated with Huagolsan.

In truth, Huagolsan is ineffective against living creatures. It’s more of a marketing gimmick. However, there was no better way to demonstrate the power of poison arts.

As soon as Huagolsan touched the reindeer’s blood, it generated intense heat. The smoke carried a metallic scent of blood.

In the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, the smoke dissipated. The reindeer’s body was left shriveled and devoid of any blood, a pitiful sight.

Tang Mujin carefully extracted a bone from the reindeer’s remains and rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger. The bone crumbled like dry soybean powder ground without water.

He then picked up a few needles embedded in the reindeer’s hide and showed them to the onlookers. Despite the dramatic results, the needles were so small and thin they were barely visible.

”···.”

Silence fell over the assembly.

Until now, the physicians had thought of poison as something like a small mushroom growing at the base of an old tree or a snake lurking to bite an herbalist’s ankle. Dangerous, yes, but they couldn’t fathom how Tang Mujin had made a name for himself in the martial world with poison arts.

What Tang Mujin demonstrated was on a different level—more subtle, faster, and more lethal than they had imagined.

Even those who weren’t physicians were equally astonished by Tang Mujin’s display of poison arts. The martial artists from the Demonic Cult were particularly shocked. The poison arts Tang Mujin had used when he escaped the cult were nowhere near as fearsome.

‘What happened to the head of the Tang family in the meantime?’

The physicians, staring at the shriveled reindeer carcass, each recalled different names and faces.

In their line of work, they often heard of colleagues who suffered misfortune for various reasons. Having medicinal herbs stolen was common. Some were beaten for failing to cure a noble’s illness, while others were stabbed for curing someone they shouldn’t have.

Sometimes, fear would lead them to close their clinics for a few days, but they couldn’t abandon their profession entirely. In those moments, they wished they knew how to wield poison like Tang Mujin.

Tang Mujin waited for the physicians to finish their thoughts before speaking.

“I’m not saying you must learn martial or poison arts. But for those who wish to, I will teach you. If you’re interested, please sit and cross your legs.”

A few physicians stood up. Some doubted their ability to learn martial arts, while others felt they were too old. Some, like Chusam, preferred to suffer harm rather than inflict it on others.

But the majority remained seated.

When dozens of physicians had settled in the courtyard, Tang Mujin began teaching martial arts in a way unimaginable in any martial sect or school.

Instead of guiding each person individually, he explained the breathing techniques of the Black Tortoise Divine Art verbally.

“Calm your mind and focus on your breathing. Inhale slowly over eight to ten heartbeats, then exhale at a similar pace. Imagine leaving a bit of the breath in your belly instead of exhaling it all.”

“Feel the breath brushing past the Yinjiao point, reaching the Lianquan and Juque points. As you exhale, when you sense a clear energy touching the Dazhui point, you’ve taken the first step, so straighten your back. The key is not to rush.”

Typically, when martial artists teach disciples, they meticulously guide them through the breathing process and the points it affects.

Tang Mujin’s method of teaching the Black Tortoise Divine Art seemed almost careless. Yet, it was the most efficient approach. The physicians didn’t need such detailed instruction.

None of the physicians gathered at the Tang family estate were unfamiliar with the meridians and acupoints.

Shim Seohan was the first to straighten his back. It happened less than half an hour after Tang Mujin began teaching the breathing technique. Tang Mujin placed his hands on Shim Seohan’s back, feeling the faint energy flowing through the acupoints, and nodded.

“You’re doing well. Continue with the breathing.”

Shim Seohan was already half-immersed in a trance. The refreshing sensation of feeling the energy in the air for the first time was irresistibly alluring.

Before the sun set, nearly half of the physicians in the courtyard succeeded in sensing the energy in the air.

It was an unusually rapid achievement, but Tang Mujin considered it only natural. Medicine and martial arts share many commonalities.

Tang Mujin planned to assess their talents by teaching them lightness skills, fist techniques, and poison arts. Those with sufficient talent would receive elixirs to develop their poison skills, while those lacking talent would be helped to use poison in other ways.

‘Things might progress faster than I expected.’

Watching the scene, Hong Geolgae spoke to Tang Mujin.

“Hey, didn’t you say you succeeded in completing the Small Heavenly Circuit on the first day the elder taught you the mental technique?”

“I did.”

“You always bragged about being a genius when you told that story.”

“Of course. It’s the undeniable truth.”

Tang Mujin replied calmly, nodding.

“Seeing the physicians quickly grasp the breathing technique, it seems you don’t have to be a genius to achieve the Small Heavenly Circuit quickly.”

“I’m a genius, and so are they.”

Hong Geolgae squinted at Tang Mujin.

“Does that even make sense?”

“Didn’t you know? Only geniuses become physicians. You wouldn’t understand since you’re not one.”

Nearby, Namgung Myung whispered to Hyun Gong, overhearing Tang Mujin and Hong Geolgae’s conversation.

“Isn’t it funny how he talks about being a genius when he’s the one lagging behind?”

“Just let it be. It’s kind of pitiful.”

The word “pitiful” rang out clearly.

But Tang Mujin chose to ignore the conversation.