Guide of the Sichuan Tang Clan C18

Chapter 18

 

“The Young Master… with that beggar…?”

“You’re saying he personally dressed him?”

“What kind of… what kind of absurdity is this…?”

“M-my eyes. We must all cleanse our eyes. We’re clearly hallucinating—perhaps we’ve all inhaled poison mist…”

Frozen in shock, everyone began muttering to themselves. They looked from Mujin to Eunmyeong, back and forth, faces twisted with disbelief. Both men stood equally bewildered, neither knowing where—or how—to begin explaining such a scene.

Mujin pinched the bridge of his nose as though suffering from a splitting headache.

“Nothing ever goes smoothly.”

Among the murmuring crowd, only Jeongho seemed unaffected. Beaming, he waved at Eunmyeong so energetically it was as though his entire body wagged like a happy puppy’s tail.

“Hero!”

“Ah… yeah…”

Eunmyeong returned the wave awkwardly but shot him a warning glance toward Mujin. This was not the time.

Unfortunately, Jeongho, oblivious to all signs of danger, bounded closer.

“Can you hold my hand too, Hero?”

Damn it, Jeongho.

Every single person in the training yard went slack-jawed. In their minds, the connections between Mujin, Eunmyeong, and Jeongho tangled into something far more scandalous.

And then, someone—who really should’ve kept their mouth shut—whispered,

“A love triangle? Seriously?”

Mujin’s gaze snapped to the speaker’s head. If looks could carry inner force, that person’s skull would’ve been split in two. Pretending not to notice, Eunmyeong looked away.

The real problem was that among the onlookers… stood Eunmyeong’s father, Tang Namya.

The bag in Namya’s hand slipped, scattering his precious needles and herbs across the ground. He barely noticed, staring at the three young men with trembling eyes.

My son… in a love triangle? As the main character…?

Namya gaped soundlessly.

“Elder! When did you arrive?”

“Elder, we greet you.”

The others quickly bowed, recognizing him. Clearing his throat, Namya managed to compose his face and nodded curtly.

“I heard my runaway son was here.”

“What? Runaway?”

“Yes, the little brat spent the night out without even telling his old father.”

His expression twisted as he recalled the previous night. His son—who always snuck back in before curfew—hadn’t returned by dawn. After waiting half the night on the veranda, Namya finally stomped toward the main estate.

Where the hell did that brat go?

He wasn’t worried for Eunmyeong, but rather about what kind of trouble the boy might be causing. He searched everywhere—training yard, apothecary room—but found no trace. It was so late he even woke up the sleeping servants, apologizing gruffly each time.

By the fifth bow, his patience had evaporated.

Making this old man wander around at night? You’ll pay for this, boy.

Determined to smack some sense into him, he was heading toward the rear garden when a shadow passed in front of the moonlit wall.

Only one person in the main residence could move without being sensed by Namya’s trained hearing—Tang Cheongwoo, the Clan Head.

At this hour?

He froze mid-step. Midnight was hardly the time for casual visits. But Cheongwoo must’ve already sensed him, so Namya had no choice but to step forward into the garden and bow deeply.

“I greet the Clan Head.”

Cheongwoo returned a mild smile, the kind that chilled rather than soothed.

“What brings you to the back garden at this hour, Elder Namya? Shouldn’t you be resting?”

“I might ask the same. It’s late for the Clan Head to be out walking.”

“Even at night, a host should be ready to greet guests,” Cheongwoo said pleasantly.

It was then Namya realized—the man had known he was there all along, ever since entering the estate. He stiffened, embarrassed by the slip in awareness.

Cheongwoo waved it off. “Think nothing of it. I simply couldn’t sleep and came out for a stroll.”

“My apologies, then.”

“No offense taken. Rather, what brings you here so late?”

“Well…”

He scratched the back of his neck. Admitting he was searching for his wayward grown son was mortifying.

“My son hasn’t returned home… I was looking for him.”

“Ah, Eunmyeong,” Cheongwoo said with a small, knowing laugh. “So he didn’t tell you.”

The moonlight reflected in his eyes, gleaming faintly with amusement—a rare sight. The night wind stirred his long black hair, draping over his pale inner robe like ink spilled across parchment. His beauty was otherworldly, almost eerie.

Though Cheongwoo was known as one of the most skilled leaders in Tang history, Namya always felt the man was ill-suited to lead.

He doesn’t nurture people—he rules them.

Cheongwoo looked at the Tang Clan not with warmth, but with the cold interest of someone studying insects. He was more ruler than guardian.

Yet now, speaking of Eunmyeong, he was… smiling. Genuinely. The sight made Namya’s throat tighten.

“Didn’t Eunmyeong tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“Starting today, he’s serving as the attending physician to the Young Master—assisting with his treatment.”

Namya blinked.

“Attending physician? What does that fool know about medicine—?”

“It seems he neglected to send word home.”

Cheongwoo walked leisurely through the garden, his steps brushing the flowers open under the moonlight. His hand reached toward a single bloom.

“There’s no need to worry. It’s purely for treatment purposes.”

“I’m not worried. He’s a grown man now,” Namya muttered.

The flower snapped cleanly in Cheongwoo’s fingers. From its stem oozed a deep violet liquid like spilled ink. Damsaekcho—a poisonous flower. Anyone who ingested even a few drops of its sap would be bedridden for days.

Without hesitation, Cheongwoo lifted it to his nose. The sweet, faint scent drifted between them—less intoxicating than Eunmyeong’s, but eerily similar.

As Namya watched silently, Cheongwoo spoke again, his tone laced with quiet menace.

“If Eunmyeong disappears again without notice…”

“…”

“Come to my quarters.”

“…”

“He’ll likely be there.”

With that, Cheongwoo turned and left. Namya could only watch, unsettled.

The back garden of the Tang estate was filled entirely with poisonous flora—flowers that looked harmless but bled venom from root to petal.

Watching Cheongwoo move through them unharmed, Namya murmured under his breath,

“So the real poison wasn’t the plants after all.”

He sighed heavily, thinking of his son. How on earth did you end up entangled with a man like that?

Still uneasy from Cheongwoo’s words, Namya had come straight to the training grounds—only to walk into rumors of a love triangle. His temples throbbed.

No, wait… maybe it’s not a love triangle.

But as he looked at the three young men, the memory of Cheongwoo’s smile from the night before resurfaced.

Don’t tell me… even the Clan Head—

Oh, Eunmyeong. Namya rubbed his temples. Whether it was someone holding his hand, dressing him, or inviting him to their quarters, every single one of them seemed unhinged.

Good looks meant nothing if their heads weren’t screwed on straight. From a father’s perspective, not a single one of them was acceptable.

“Just thinking about it gives me a headache…”

“Father!”

The cause of said headache came bounding toward him—Eunmyeong, slipping out from between Mujin and Jeongho.

As soon as he moved, both young men’s gazes followed him automatically. Eunmyeong, oblivious, didn’t notice—but Namya did. Oh, son…

“Are you all right, Father? You look older since yesterday.”

“You little brat! I should’ve known I’d miss you just long enough to want to hit you again!”

Whack! Namya’s hand came down on Eunmyeong’s head.

“Ah!”

“You stayed out all night?! When you’re supposed to be attending the Young Master, you should at least notify your father!”

“Ah, r-right! I forgot to… uh, notify?”

“Yes, notify!”

Still fuming, Namya ruffled Eunmyeong’s hair with a few more rough taps. Ow! The young man rubbed his head, eyes watering.

Damn, that hurt!

He hadn’t used internal energy, but even so, a martial artist’s flick was no joke.

Was his father always like this? Eunmyeong couldn’t quite recall—his real father had died long ago, leaving behind only faint impressions from his mother’s stories and old photographs.

This Namya, however, looked worn—dark circles under his eyes, shoulders heavy with fatigue. Clearly, he hadn’t slept all night.

“You were worried because I didn’t come home?”

“Of course I was, idiot!”

Clearing his throat, Namya muttered, “Naturally I’d worry. You’re my only son, and you didn’t return home…”

It was strangely endearing. For all his gruffness, the old man cared deeply.

Namya gestured, and two attendants approached with baskets.

“In the Tang Clan, even a runaway servant must pay his dues.”

The baskets were overflowing with freshly gathered herbs, still caked in dirt.

“Wh—what’s this?”

Any tender emotion between them vanished instantly. Eunmyeong’s face went blank.

Labor…

He poked at the herbs helplessly. They were packed so tightly they nearly overflowed.

Hoping it was all a bad dream, he squeezed his eyes shut and reopened them—but the baskets remained. Damn it.

Fine then. If this was war, he’d fight back another way.

“I’ve made up my mind.”

“What now?”

Namya eyed him warily. Slowly, Eunmyeong lifted his head, expression solemn as a monk.

“From today, my name will be Namgung Eunmyeong.”

“You—!”

Smack!

Namya’s palm landed square on his son’s forehead.

Eunmyeong toppled forward, face-first into the basket of herbs.