Guide of the Sichuan Tang Clan C3

Chapter 3

Warm energy coursed from his hands into his arms, then into his chest, and finally into his heart.

It was unlike internal energy or qi—softer, gentler, and far more comforting. A serene warmth spread through him, and the wild currents within his body gradually calmed.

What in the world…

Never in all his years as a warrior of the Tang Clan had he felt such tranquility. The more diligently he trained in martial arts, the more diligently he consumed elixirs, the stronger his power became—but his internal energy only grew more unstable.

Tang Mujin, the direct heir of the Sichuan Tang Clan, had never allowed himself to relax. To keep his mind clear, he remained constantly alert. But the result was only growing exhaustion. Whether eating or sleeping, true rest was a luxury beyond his reach.

And yet… it’s easing this easily.

The realization brought a wave of powerlessness. He wanted nothing more than to fall to his knees and beg this impudent youth for more of that energy—to plead for it like a desperate man.

Mujin’s sharp gaze softened as he looked at the bold boy sitting atop him, his focus fixed entirely on their joined hands.

Tang Eunmyeong… that was his name, wasn’t it?

Most who lived in Sichuan bore the Tang surname. Their bloodlines had long since tangled and diluted, yet the name Tang Clan still bound them together as one. Eunmyeong was the same—just another young man of the Tang family. Nothing particularly notable, as far as Mujin knew, save for the fact that his father was a skilled physician.

And yet, why…

His throat went dry; his mouth felt parched. A low, animalistic growl rumbled from deep within his chest. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

What is this feeling?

Before he could even identify the strange energy, instinct took over. Without warning, Mujin tightened his grip on their interlocked hands and yanked hard.

“Ah!”

Eunmyeong fell forward with a gasp, tumbling straight into his arms. The moment Mujin enclosed him within his embrace, an overwhelming sense of satisfaction surged through him.

“Haa…”

He exhaled a deep, heated breath, wrapping Eunmyeong’s shoulders and head tightly within his arms. The warmth between them pulsed, and the flow of energy intensified wherever their bodies touched.

When Mujin’s hot breath brushed against his cheek, Eunmyeong squirmed. He’d grown more used to contact over the years, but physical touch—especially from a man this handsome—still made him flustered.

Holy shit.

His breath hitched as the other’s face drew closer—far too close. It was exactly his type. If the man had been plain-looking, Eunmyeong might’ve whacked him over the head and escaped.

Why does he have to be stupidly handsome?

With half-lidded eyes, Mujin gazed up at him. His focus was hazy, his movements slow, almost dreamlike. He leaned in as though to close the distance between them entirely.

“You…”

His voice was low and rich—sinfully enticing. He tilted his head slightly, a strand of hair falling across his elegant face as his lips hovered near Eunmyeong’s.

“Just what… are you…?”

“…”

“To make me feel like this…”

Before he could finish the thought, his head dropped limply. The arms that had held Eunmyeong close loosened and fell away. Startled, Eunmyeong caught him before he could hit the ground.

He must’ve passed out after his energy stabilized.

It wasn’t uncommon. Espers who’d been on the brink of rampage often lost consciousness after being guided—their bodies unable to withstand the abrupt shift from chaos to calm.

Used to such reactions, Eunmyeong gently lowered the man against a wooden pillar. But as he adjusted him, a thin trickle of blood slid from the corner of Mujin’s mouth.

“Uh-oh.”

Had he done something wrong? Why was this happening now? Frowning, Eunmyeong lightly tapped his cheek.

“Hey.”

“…”

“Are you alive? You’re bleeding a lot, you know.”

Blood continued to seep from the man’s lips. Panicking, Eunmyeong wiped it hastily with the back of his hand—

“Young Master!”

“You there! What have you done to the Young Master!”

“The Young Master’s coughing up blood! He collapsed after that physician touched him!”

The courtyard erupted in shouts. Warriors and physicians alike turned toward them, glaring. Among them was the man who had dragged Eunmyeong out earlier—his so-called father.

Eunmyeong…

The unspoken words hung heavy in the air.

The tension was palpable. Hands drifted to sword hilts. It felt like they’d slice his throat the moment he made a wrong move. Terrified, Eunmyeong raised both hands over his head.

“W–Wait! It wasn’t me! I didn’t do anything!”

“Seize him!”

“I swear I didn’t do a thing!”

Desperate, Eunmyeong shook Mujin’s shoulder.

“Come on, wake up! Please wake up, damn it!”

At that exact moment, Mujin coughed violently—and another mouthful of blood spilled forth.

The entire courtyard went still.

In the silence, Eunmyeong cursed inwardly.

Shit.

When he turned around, countless faces stared back—cold, furious, and filled with killing intent.

“Catch him.”

Eunmyeong spun on his heel and bolted in the opposite direction.

Jeongho was Tang Mujin’s most loyal servant.

Born of humble origins, Jeongho had grown up as a household servant of the Tang Clan. Being assigned to serve Mujin personally had been the greatest fortune of his life.

Mujin was different from the other young masters—neither warm nor especially kind, yet he treated his servants as people, not tools. When they fell ill, he gave them rest. When their families suffered hardship, he helped quietly, never seeking praise.

Jeongho had admired him deeply for it.

“From now on, your name shall be Jeongho—‘upright call.’”

It was Mujin who had given him that name: Jeong (正) meaning upright, and Ho (呼) meaning to call—to live rightly with every call of his name.

Every person deserves a name, Mujin had said simply.

From that moment, Jeongho had vowed to serve his master for life—until death, if he were permitted.

That same Jeongho would never overlook a stranger approaching his master. Even as he received emergency treatment from the other physicians, his eyes never left the pair.

“That one… that one there!”

Seeing the so-called physician clamber atop Mujin was bad enough—but then the audacious wretch dared to hold his hand!

He must have attacked while the Young Master was weakened!

When Jeongho saw the two locked in a suspicious embrace, fury ignited within him. That cursed brat! He could bear it no longer and pushed himself upright despite his injured leg—

Just in time to see Mujin’s body collapse like a puppet with its strings cut.

“Young Master!”

It was obvious. That wicked creature, Tang Eunmyeong, had done something unspeakable. How else could a man as strong as Mujin suddenly faint?

Our Young Master is no ordinary man!

Within the Tang Clan, none could match his willpower. He climbed the towering Sichuan mountain hundreds of times a day without so much as a grimace. And even while mentoring other warriors, he flawlessly managed his duties as the heir.

And yet, that puny brat had somehow rendered him unconscious.

As Jeongho shouted and pointed at them, the other warriors followed his gaze.

He was the first to reach Eunmyeong. The terrified youth stumbled backward before spinning and sprinting in the opposite direction.

“Stop right there!”

“If I stop, you’ll kill me!”

At least his lungs still worked; Eunmyeong managed to yell even as he ran. That only enraged Jeongho further, and he quickened his pace despite his limp.

For someone who spent his life sitting through Guiding sessions, Eunmyeong’s stamina was pathetic—he was caught in moments. Jeongho grabbed the back of his collar and yanked hard, breathing heavily as he glared down.

“You.”

Slowly, Eunmyeong turned his head to see Jeongho’s face twisted like a demon’s. He squeaked, hands waving in protest.

“I–It wasn’t me! I didn’t do anything!”

“Did nothing? Then why did the Young Master collapse? Are you saying he’s weak?”

Well, yes, apparently he was—that’s what Eunmyeong wanted to say. But seeing the sword at Jeongho’s waist, he bit his tongue instead.

He might have been terrified, but years of social maneuvering had made him quick-witted. As an S-Class Guide, he’d met everyone from the Director of the Guiding Center to government ministers.

He’d survived this long thanks not only to his power but also his silver tongue.

Eunmyeong swallowed hard.

“I–It could’ve just been… residual blood! You know, blood that was already circulating backwards! Sometimes it just… comes up!”

“Could’ve been?”

“I–I mean, that’s a way of speaking! It doesn’t necessarily mean it’s bad!”

Jeongho tilted his head, the tendons in his thick neck audibly creaking.

A human shouldn’t make sounds like that.

Eunmyeong stared up at him, eyes wide with terror, silently cursing the heavens.

Why a martial arts novel, of all things? Why not a romance fantasy… or a power-trip story where I’m overpowered and handsome?

Instead, he’d been tossed into this nightmare.

His gaze darted past Jeongho to the men standing behind him. They were all hulking brutes, muscles bulging beneath their robes like boulders pressing against fabric.

Like Espers mixed with gym rats… Every single one of them looks like they could bench a horse.

He nearly cried.

Lost in despair, he flinched as Jeongho grabbed him by the collar again. The grip was suffocating—words tumbled from his mouth on instinct.

“Look! Look over there!”

He jabbed a finger toward the patient he’d just treated.

“The Young Master’s eyes are open!”

“What?”

Jeongho froze, then turned sharply. The other warriors, like a pack of startled meerkats, all turned their heads as well.

“The Young Master’s awake?”

“Now?”

“Where—where?”

As they murmured in disbelief, Eunmyeong slipped free from Jeongho’s grasp, straightening his collar as he did.