The Sichuan Tang Clan—feared for their poison, admired for their martial arts—was one of the Five Great Families. A pillar of the orthodox sect, their name echoed across Murim. But this story is not about their glory, nor their wars against demonic or unorthodox sects.
This is my story.
My name is Tang Jiung, firstborn son of Tang Jinhu, who was once poised to become the next patriarch of the Tang Clan. But he gave it all up. Love, they say, is powerful enough to sever bloodlines. My father defied the elders when he refused to marry into the Namgung family. Instead, he chose my mother—a waitress at an inn in Chengdu. He would visit her often with his friends, sometimes under the guise of business, but it was always for her. That's how the story goes, as told by both of them.
His decision cost him his future in the clan. He was stripped of his title and exiled from the family. No inheritance, no protection. Just the woman he loved and the hope of building something new. They moved to a village just outside Chengdu, where I was born. He never once looked back with regret—or at least, not in front of us.
Despite the exile, my grandfather—Tang Xuansheng, former patriarch—would visit us. He was a towering man, sharp-eyed even in his old age, and carried himself with a presence that demanded respect. He often sparred with Father in the yard, laughing and grumbling in equal measure. I would watch from behind the door, heart pounding with excitement. It was in those stolen moments that I first fell in love with martial arts.
I begged Grandfather to teach me.
"I'm sorry, grandson," he would say. "You're not officially part of the Tang Clan. Until that changes, I cannot teach you our breathing techniques. But maybe one day, if your parents allow it. For now, I'll just have to keep beating your father so you know what greatness looks like!" He'd laugh, sometimes catching himself when he almost insulted my mother. "Ah, but I've come to terms with his choice. A little. Thanks to you and your siblings."
That conversation happened more times than I could count. Each time, my hopes were raised, then gently put down. My father never entertained the idea of teaching me either. He'd change the subject or walk away. He wanted a different life for me—one free from bloodshed and clan obligations. I respected that… or at least, I tried.
By the time I turned ten, I had five younger siblings—two sisters and three brothers. Our home was filled with noise, laughter, and the occasional chaos that came with too many young children. My mother spent her days cooking, cleaning, nursing the youngest ones. Father was gone for long stretches, working as a guard for merchant caravans.
Being the eldest meant stepping up. I helped with chores, cooked when needed, and played the role of big brother and second parent. But when I found a moment alone, I'd sneak into the woods and practice. I tried to replicate the stances and techniques I'd seen Father and Grandfather use. My footwork was sloppy, my punches unrefined, but I felt alive every time I moved.
Other boys my age were already enrolled in martial arts schools. I would watch them spar in open courtyards, their crisp uniforms bearing the crests of reputable sects. Jealousy simmered inside me.
"Life sucks," I muttered one day, panting after a rough training session in the woods. I punched the air. "It's so unfair! Just because Father gave it all up, why do I have to do the same?!" I slammed my fist into a tree, bark cutting into my knuckles. "Why is he so strict? Why does Mother just go along with it?! I want to be strong too!"
I screamed into the wind. Those were words I would never utter again.
A week later, everything changed.
Father didn't return from one of his assignments. Rumors reached us—bandits, a deadly fight, grievous wounds. A few days later, I woke to a knock at the gate. I opened it to find my mother's lifeless body lying in the dirt, her clothes soaked in blood, sword wounds slashed across her side.
The world collapsed. I didn't cry. I couldn't. I had five siblings staring up at me, confused and terrified.
Grandfather came soon after. He stayed with us. I learned that he had stepped down as patriarch years ago, passing the role to my uncle. Now, he spent his twilight years helping raise the grandchildren of the son he had once banished.
He was older, slower, and visibly tired. There was more gray than black in his once-vibrant hair. Lines etched deep into his face. Some nights, I'd see him sitting alone on the porch, gazing into the stars as though he were searching for answers.
I found work washing dishes at an inn in Chengdu. It paid little, but it was enough to keep us fed. I walked the two hours each day, rain or shine, and rushed home after my shift to help with the younger ones. Grandfather cooked, cleaned, and tended to the garden. Some nights, after everyone was asleep, I'd sneak out and watch him train. He moved slower now, but every strike was clean. Every breath controlled. Even in his old age, he was a warrior.
I stood behind a tree, heart pounding. I didn't think he ever noticed me.
But of course, he always did.
Years passed. I was nearly twelve. So-yeon, my second sibling, began showing interest in martial arts. She would copy my movements, ask questions, and beg Grandfather for stories. I didn't discourage her. I couldn't. I knew what it felt like to be denied that dream.
With what little money I saved—and with Grandfather's help—we enrolled her into a martial arts school in Chengdu. The day she began training, I held her hand and walked her to the gates. She beamed with excitement.
"Make them remember your name," I said, smiling. "Show them what a daughter of Tang Jinhu is capable of."
Grandfather placed a hand on my shoulder. "Come to me tonight, once the others are asleep. I have something for you."
That evening, after dinner, I watched So-yeon recount her day at training with joy on her face. I felt pride—and a twinge of envy. But it didn't matter. She was happy. That was enough.
Later, I stepped into the courtyard. Grandfather stood beneath the moon, tall and still like a statue. His back was straight, but there was sadness in his silhouette.
"Come here, child," he said.
I approached slowly.
"There is much I regret," he said. "I couldn't change the rules for your father. And now, watching you take his place in raising his children... perhaps this is how I atone."
"You don't need to do anything more," I said. "You've done so much already."
"Even so," he said, placing a hand on my shoulder. "I will teach you what I can. I will give you the Tang Clan's breathing technique, and the basic martial arts passed through our bloodline—daggers, poisons, hidden weapons. The foundation. The rest will be up to you."
I stared at him in shock. "But... I don't have time. I can't master these alone. No elixirs, no teacher—just me."
He laughed. "Your father learned with less. And I will help with your qi circulation. My time is short, but this, I can leave behind."
And just like that, my dream—the one I had locked away—began to flicker back to life.
From that night onward, we trained under the stars. Grandfather taught me to breathe, to feel the flow of qi in my body, to mold it, to sharpen it. I learned what it meant to be third-rate. I read manuals late into the night, practiced the stances until my legs gave out, and carved my path without shortcuts.
He never called himself my master.
"I'm just a grandfather," he said once, laughing. "Fulfilling a promise before I go."
He passed away months later.
The Tang Clan held a grand funeral. Lanterns stretched across the streets of Chengdu. Warriors of every sect paid their respects. I watched from afar, hidden in the crowd, knowing we were still exiles despite our blood.
My siblings and I mourned in our own way. But life continued. It had to. Death had become too familiar. I kept training. So-yeon advanced quickly in her school. The younger ones found their own passions.
By then, I was twenty. Hardened by grief, shaped by duty.
That was the day the sky turned blood-red.
Screams echoed for miles. The land trembled. Murim descended into chaos.
That was the day they appeared.