Fabre in Sacheon’s Tang

As my father-in-law rushed into the Four Harmony Pavilion, he initially headed toward my quarters but abruptly changed direction, heading instead toward the medical hall. His steps suggested that he wasn’t entirely sure where I was—or even what condition I was in.

“Father-in-law?”

“Huh?! So… So-ryong?!”

When I called out to reassure him, he turned and saw me sitting in the pavilion. His eyes widened in surprise before he strode over with urgency.

“So-ryong, are you all right? I heard you were unconscious, and I rushed here as soon as I got the news! They said you regained consciousness at the Nine-Tiered Gates, but should you really be moving around already?”

Gripping my arms, he began inspecting me from head to toe, his face a mix of worry and frustration.

I had heard from my sister-in-law that, in the midst of the Tang Clan’s recent crisis, fast-footed warriors had been sent to inform my father-in-law of the situation. However, at the time, I was still unconscious. He must have been told only that I was in critical condition.

“Yes, Father-in-law, I’m fine. Thankfully, I woke up after ten days.”

“Ten days!” he exclaimed, his voice rising.

I continued, showing him the scar on my arm, “I did end up with a scar like this, but I’m alive, and that’s what matters.”

“A scar?!”

As I revealed the wound caused by the Blood Cult elder’s attack, his expression darkened with anger. Every word I spoke seemed to deepen his fury.

“Those damned Blood Cult bastards!”

His outburst drew the attention of the family, and soon everyone began to gather in the pavilion.

“Father!” my sister-in-law called out, running up.

“Hwa-eun, are you hurt?” he asked, his tone softening.

“I’m fine. So… So-ryong saved me… saved all of us.”

“Really?! So-ryong did?” He turned back to me, astonished. “I’ll need to hear every detail.”

My sister-in-law, usually poised and composed, placed a hand over her heart and glanced away shyly as she spoke. While her cool demeanor as she wielded her whip had its own charm, this bashful side of her was undeniably captivating.

Her allure came from the contrast between her usual frosty expression and moments like this. It was genuinely heartwarming—at least until an intrusive thought crossed my mind.

‘Wait, why am I thinking about how beautiful a whip looks? That’s not okay…’

Just as I began worrying that my preferences were veering into questionable territory, my grandfather’s voice rang out from behind us.

“You’ve returned? Enough commotion—since the children are safe, let’s head to the main hall. I’ll share what needs to be said there.”@@novelbin@@

“Yes, I’ve returned. Understood. Venom Blood Squad, you are dismissed. Rest up!”

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

With that, my father-in-law headed toward the main hall, his steps as decisive as when he had stormed into the pavilion. After walking a few paces, he turned back to us.

“You should all come with me.”

“Yes, Father-in-law.”

“Yes, Father.”

Once in the main hall, we began recounting the events of the past few days. When I explained my confrontation with the Blood Cult elder, my father-in-law burst into laughter.

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

‘Ugh, I’m going to regret this. That’s so embarrassing.’

His laughter and tone left me unsure whether he was teasing or praising me. Just then, a servant’s voice interrupted from outside.

“Patriarch, the strategist has arrived.”

“The strategist? Ah, Zhuge Hu must be here.”

“Yes, Patriarch.”

“Send him in.”

“Yes, sir.”

The doors soon opened, and Zhuge Hu entered. My father-in-law, who had mentioned their old friendship, greeted him warmly. The two embraced like lifelong comrades—what they call "bamboo horse friends" here.

“It’s been a while, old friend,” Zhuge Hu said with a grin.

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

“My apologies,” Zhuge Hu said with a sheepish smile.

Once the greetings were exchanged, Zhuge Hu sat down, and the conversation quickly shifted to business—dangerous business.

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

“Of course. I sent word to the Alliance Leader, and he’s taking care of it as we speak,” Zhuge Hu replied.

“A spy?” I asked, confused.

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

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

“Exactly. So how would they have known the manual was in our Tang Clan in the first place?”

As the pieces fell into place, I realized the implications. The manual had only been known to a select few before it was brought to our clan. Outside the family, only Zhuge Hu, my father-in-law, Gu Pae, and two warriors were aware of its existence.

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

Though I had my doubts about some of the elders’ attitudes, they had proven their loyalty in battle. The idea of betrayal was hard to stomach. My disbelief must have shown on my face because Zhuge Hu chuckled.

“Haha! It seems you still need some lessons in trust, young man. A newcomer like you is bound to think up wild ideas.”

As I glanced around in confusion, my sister-in-law explained with a soft smile, “So-ryong, there’s no such thing as a spy in the Tang Clan.”

“What? How can you be so sure?”

Surely, no one is born a spy. It only takes one misstep or temptation for someone to be swayed. So how could she be so confident?

My grandfather, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke up.

“So-ryong, every servant, laborer, and warrior in the Tang Clan is one of us. No one in our clan would ever betray their family. Do you know why we can say this with absolute certainty?”

He explained that the Tang Clan, given its strict secrecy around poison techniques, thoroughly vetted even its most menial servants. Every candidate underwent extensive background checks, with even their extended families scrutinized. Only those with impeccable character were selected.

Once chosen, not only the individual but their immediate family was brought into the clan. Even then, there were strict rules: no one could leave the clan grounds for ten years, and any unavoidable 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… intense.’

The revelation about the selection process for the Tang Clan's servants had barely sunk in before an even more astonishing truth was revealed—the process for recruiting warriors was on an entirely different level.

They would purchase exceptionally talented children from parents who, in desperate times, often sold their offspring to survive. These children were then raised and trained to become warriors of the Tang Clan.

What’s more, the warriors were paired with the extended family members of servants or lesser branches of the clan, creating a tightly woven network of blood relations within the Tang Clan. This web of familial ties, or rather "blood ties," ensured loyalty to the clan. With their families rooted within the Tang Clan, there was no chance anyone would betray it by becoming a spy.

I had thought the Tang Clan’s poison arts were freely taught, but in reality, being chosen to learn those techniques was a testament to one’s loyalty, character, and abilities.

My wide-eyed astonishment must have been obvious because my sister-in-law’s amused voice cut through my thoughts.

“So-ryong, did you perhaps share Tang Clan secrets with the Blood Cult?” she teased.

“No! Of course not!” I protested.

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

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

She smiled knowingly. Everyone privy to this matter had already taken a truth serum to confirm their innocence. Of course, in the Tang Clan, even such a remedy was a poison. This was Sichuan’s Tang Clan, after all—a family where even the smallest roles were steeped in venom and secrecy.

I couldn’t help but shudder at the implications. The Tang Clan wasn’t just the most renowned poison-using clan in the martial world; they were the most meticulous and ruthless in maintaining their secrets.

“Then who’s the spy?” I asked.

“Obviously, it was someone within the Murim Alliance,” Zhuge Hu replied with certainty.

That narrowed it down significantly. Unlike the Tang Clan, the Murim Alliance was vast, making it much harder to pinpoint a traitor. Yet Zhuge Hu’s swift capture of the spy left me curious.

“How were they caught so quickly?”

Zhuge Hu explained that the usual process involved letters being routed through various departments, taking time before reaching the appropriate authorities. However, given the sensitivity of the situation, my father-in-law had directly contacted Zhuge Hu through a trusted elder from a lesser branch of the Tang Clan. As a result, only three people in the Murim Alliance had been aware of the matter.

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

“A servant.”

“A servant?” I echoed, unable to hide my disbelief.

***

I decided not to bring up the blue lizard today. The timing was all wrong, with the household dealing with death, spies, and Blood Cult assassins. Announcing, “By the way, I’m going to hunt for a lizard,” would have been incredibly tone-deaf.

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

After the discussions ended, I joined my sister-in-law in the pavilion to continue examining Bini, whose condition I had been interrupted from checking earlier.

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

Extending her arm, she waited for the centipedes to crawl from my wrist to hers. Watching them wiggle over to her, she smiled in relief.

“They’re moving just fine. That means they’re not seriously ill, right?” she asked.

“Probably not,” I replied.

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

Bini had transitioned to my sister-in-law smoothly, which meant she wasn’t suffering from anything severe. A quick inspection of her antennae and body showed no signs of fungal infections or abnormal discoloration.

“Most likely, Bini is just maturing a bit early,” I concluded.

My sister-in-law’s face lit up. “That’s a relief. They’ll grow into the three guardian dragons of the Tang Clan, so they can’t fall ill. Oh, and it looks like Bini is turning into a Black Dragon!”

“A Black Dragon?” I asked.

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

I chuckled awkwardly, agreeing out of politeness.

I had asked around previously to confirm whether her belief in the centipedes transforming into dragons was common. Surprisingly, everyone I spoke to affirmed it.

“Of course, everyone knows that centipedes turn into dragons after a thousand years,” one elder had said matter-of-factly. “They ascend to the heavens with a dragon pearl.”

Even Gu Pae and the Venom Squad warriors shared this belief, insisting it was why elders often advised against killing centipedes found in their homes.

If everyone believed it, who was I to argue? And besides, the idea of raising a creature that might evolve into a dragon wasn’t bad at all.

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

As we waited for my sister-in-law to finish feeding the centipedes, the sunset painted the sky in brilliant hues. Just then, the sharp whistle of a signal blade pierced the air, announcing an urgent summons.

We exchanged glances before leaping into action. With the elders still in the middle of their discussions, it fell to us to respond.

When we arrived at the Nine-Tiered Gates, about ten men in martial uniforms waited for us. Embroidered on their chests was a single character: Peng.

Their broad frames and rugged features gave them the appearance of bandits or mountain thieves. 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 speaking with him, don’t worry about etiquette or formalities, all right?]

‘What does that even mean?’ I wondered, bewildered by her warning. Was I supposed to ignore manners altogether?