Guide of the Sichuan Tang Clan C6

Chapter 6

Surviving in the Sichuan Tang Clan! — what a goldfish of a novel it had been. Fragile, fleeting, and full of death.

In that story, several characters were introduced as protagonists, yet most of them died halfway through the plot.

One of them had been Jeongho’s Young Master — Tang Mujin.

Tang Mujin, a direct descendant of the Tang Clan of Sichuan, had shown remarkable talent in martial arts from an early age.

Despite the Tang Clan’s reliance on poison and hidden weapons — tools that made its warriors weaker in direct combat — Mujin excelled in swordsmanship and spear techniques, compensating for his clan’s greatest weakness.

A man of exceptional ability, he had held a central role in the novel’s middle chapters.

Only to die halfway through, after falling into energy deviation.

The ones to blame were the clan’s elders. Their ambition was to create a supreme master, one who could elevate the Tang Clan’s name above all others in the martial world. And Mujin had been the perfect vessel for that dream.

The elders had secretly fed him powerful elixirs — the Grand Elixir Pill, Thousand-Year Snow Ginseng, and countless other medicinal tonics said to grant immortality to the weak and immense internal power to martial artists.

All in a short span of time.

But too much of anything is poison. When a vessel is filled beyond its limit, it overflows.

And so, the dutiful Mujin — who had traveled across the land for the clan — succumbed to his own surging energy, dying from the internal explosion of his qi.

He wasn’t alone. The story was a massacre.

It was as though the author had become obsessed with energy deviation — nearly every major martial artist died from their internal energy rebelling against them.

And in the end… everyone perished.

The final chapter had brought annihilation — a Heavenly Demon descended upon the martial world, eradicating all life.

Among the dead was a minor character named Tang Eunmyeong.

That’s me…!

The thought of dying again sent a chill down his spine.

Having already experienced death once, nothing terrified Eunmyeong more than facing it again.

I don’t want to die. Not again.

He could still recall the sensation — the way his breath stopped, the way his heart fell silent. The cold grip of death seeping into his bones.

He’d made a promise to his mother — to live happily in the next life — and he wasn’t about to break it.

“No, no… it’s too soon to give up.”

He shook his head and drew a deep breath.

Whatever this world was, he had to survive it.

With renewed determination, Eunmyeong crouched and began tracing letters into the dirt.

Demonic Cult War.

Below that, he wrote down every name he could remember — the characters who had appeared in the novel, including Tang Mujin and Jeongho.

Had they survived, both would have played crucial roles in that war.

Played crucial roles…?

Eunmyeong’s eyes widened.

Then all I have to do… is keep them alive.

Scanning the list, he circled five names — all characters known to die from energy deviation.

If that was the cause, then Guiding could prevent their deaths.

Meaning I can save them.

He drew connecting lines between the names and the words Demonic Cult War, then added a new word beside them in large, rounded letters—

Retirement.

After that war, he would retire. Live quietly. Leave the Central Plains behind.

That was his dream and his goal.

“Hehehe.”

Just imagining it made him laugh.

There were no nations here, no pensions, no bureaucratic systems — no need to live as a public servant or a healer chained to duty.

Sure, if he saw someone on the verge of rampage, he’d probably step in, but if he hid away deep in the mountains, even that temptation would vanish.

“I’ll just save them and run!”

Let them deal with the Demonic Cult War themselves.

Satisfied with his plan, Eunmyeong grinned wickedly. As long as he survived the major death flags, he’d slip away to his own little paradise.

While he was still chuckling over his brilliant scheme, he heard footsteps approaching.

Looks like Jeongho did his job.

He could already sense the approaching storm of agitation in the air — an aura of anger and suspicion.

“Alright then…”

He swept his foot across the dirt, erasing the writing.

“Time to make my exit.”

He blew gently at a loose strand of hair falling before his face. It lifted and fluttered — light and easy, just like his mood.

Eunmyeong was bound tightly with rope as he was escorted out of the dungeon.

The moment he stepped outside, a cool breeze brushed through his hair.

After three days, he could finally breathe in the open air again.

It was oddly refreshing.

For someone who’d worked constantly without a day off, even imprisonment had felt like a sort of twisted vacation.

He remembered once joking to himself:

If some crazy guy ever locks me up, I’ll just play along and enjoy the break.

Unfortunately, no one had ever obliged him.

Instead, he’d lived and died as a diligent civil servant, faithfully Guiding Espers and saving lives until the bitter end.

Some months, he’d smile at the steady pay in his bank account; others, he’d cry from exhaustion, too busy to spend a single coin.

“Ah… what a tragic life.”

He sighed aloud. The nearby guards threw him suspicious glances.

One of them — the apparent leader — gave him a push on the shoulder.

“The Clan Head awaits.”

“…Right. Let’s go then.”

Of course, they were going.

He sighed once more and began walking.

Ahead loomed the grand Tang Clan manor — a towering three-story hall, vast and imposing, befitting the clan’s renown.

Every tiled roof bore the Tang insignia, and the upward-sweeping eaves gave the building a sharp, watchful elegance.

Despite its age, the structure showed no sign of decay. Every line was measured, every angle perfect — so perfect, in fact, it felt unnervingly calculated.

That’s the Tang Clan for you.

Poison and hidden weapons were not meant for open battle.

They thrived in silence — weapons of patience and precision, used only when one’s opponent least expected it.

In the Tang Clan, a single mistake meant death.

To miss one’s chance was to lose one’s head.

And so they pursued perfection — ruthlessly.

The dirt path soon gave way to smooth stone.

Eunmyeong raised his eyes as polished steps appeared before him.

Lining the staircase were men clad in green robes — the signature color of the Tang Clan.

Even from afar, Eunmyeong could distinguish their rank through the resonance of their energy.

At least Elder-level…

Torches flickered on both sides of the path, their light dancing over stern faces.

And then he saw him — the man standing at the center.

Eunmyeong’s gaze drifted to his chest, where a faint, deep-blue flame-like aura pulsed steadily.

While the others’ energies ebbed and flowed unevenly, his was calm — unnervingly calm — like the still surface of a lake.

That’s… impossible.

When Eunmyeong finally met his eyes, he forgot to breathe.

An invisible weight pressed down on his shoulders, his chest, his very bones.

His knees buckled.

“Ah—!”

He crumpled to the ground, trembling, yet unable to tear his gaze away.

The Clan Head…!

Tang Cheongwoo, Patriarch of the Sichuan Tang Clan.

His eyes gleamed in the darkness — the gaze of a predator watching its prey.

But what truly shocked Eunmyeong was not his aura.

He’s… young?

Older than Mujin and Jeongho, certainly, but compared to the elders beside him, he looked remarkably youthful — perhaps in his early thirties.

Despite the black inner robe and dark green outer garment, his frame was broad and commanding.

Every line of his body spoke of strength and authority.

His features were sharp — thick brows, narrow eyes, and a proud, straight nose.

His hair, tied in a single knot, was adorned with the Tang Clan’s green ornament — the symbol of the Clan Head.

As he turned slightly, the jade piece caught the light and shimmered.

“Jeongho.”

“Yes, Clan Head.”

Jeongho stepped forward from among the other guards and bowed deeply.

“You said the Young Master collapsed because of that man. Is it true?”

“…Yes, it is. However…”

Jeongho’s eyes darted nervously toward Eunmyeong. His hands clenched and loosened repeatedly.

Cheongwoo’s voice deepened, cutting through the tension.

“I asked what you think of him.”

“That is…”

Jeongho faltered. He’d followed Eunmyeong’s instructions but hadn’t been told what to do after.

As he hesitated, Eunmyeong’s thoughts raced.

The ruler of Sichuan…

The novel hadn’t described Cheongwoo much, but what little it did say was clear:

He was a man of absolute power — the King of Sichuan.

If Eunmyeong wanted to survive, he needed to intrigue him — to make himself impossible to ignore.

“He is… suspicious, that much is true. But—”

“Then you should speak with me directly.”

Eunmyeong cut him off before he could dig them both into a hole.

“Hm?”

“It’s me you’re curious about, isn’t it?”

Cheongwoo’s gaze turned toward him — sharp, icy, and heavy as steel.

Instinct screamed at Eunmyeong to look away, to bow, to hide.

It was the same primal fear one felt before a beast of prey.

But he didn’t.

He raised his chin and met Cheongwoo’s eyes head-on.

The more defiant he appeared, the better.

No one else in this clan would dare speak to the Clan Head like this.

First things first, he told himself, get him to listen.

Even if it meant provoking the tiger, he had to make the tiger look his way.

And so, with a calmness that barely masked the pounding of his heart, Eunmyeong began to speak.