Chapter 44 Though the skin of his face split cleanly in half, not a single drop of blood flowed.
"G-good heavens!"
The women, seized by fear, turned their heads away—
The worn outer layer peeled off weakly, revealing skin of an entirely different color beneath. Namgung Chu-myeong hurriedly raised a hand to cover his face, but there was one who did not miss even that fleeting instant.
Namgung Hui-myeong's lips trembled as if he could not believe it.
"…A human skin mask."
In his eyes, tangled with confusion, countless emotions churned.
Shock, astonishment, suspicion, denial, doubt again, realization…
"This."
He drew rough breaths, staring in disbelief. At last, Namgung Hui-myeong reached the answer he had never wanted, and killing intent bloomed clearly in his eyes as he laid Yeo Il down on the floor.
"This…"
With a face like a yaksha, he drew his sword.
"You, you bastard—I'll tear you to pieces! Since when did you start toying with Elder Brother Chu-myeong!"
"Hui-myeong!"
As confrontation erupted, screams and shouts filled the air. Someone fled; others chased after them.
Did they know?
In truth, not a single drop of Hongyu had been mixed into Namgung Hui-myeong's wine bottle.
It was Yeo Il who poisoned Namgung Hui-myeong's bottle.
More precisely, Jin Cheong-ak had done so under her orders.
[…When everyone's attention is on me, secretly mix this into Namgung Hui-myeong's food.]
Before entering the banquet hall,
that was what Yeo Il conveyed to Jin Cheong-ak.
[And the one on the left is the antidote. If either I or Namgung Hui-myeong is poisoned, at least six drops must be poured into the mouth.]
Had only Namgung Soyo collapsed, the banquet would have ended as nothing more than a noisy incident.
But if Namgung Hui-myeong also fell within the scope of the "poisoning," the situation changed.
Namgung Jeok-myeong would no longer restrain himself.
At the mention of an antidote, Jin Cheong-ak's brows twitched. Then, as if understanding her intent, he accepted the two vials and naturally concealed them within his sleeve.
[Interesting. But do you truly need an antidote? It isn't the criminal's body, after all.]
[…Do not forget. The antidote must be administered within half a gakh at the latest.]
How much time remained until half a gakh passed?
Amid the chaos, Yeo Il slowly opened her eyes. In the disordered scene, only Jin Cheong-ak was looking at her.
But he did not move.
He merely gazed down quietly, his expression unreadable. Seeing his calm face reminded her of their first meeting long ago—
"Cough."
Blood surged upward once more.
She knew well what he was thinking.
He's watching to see whether I'm dying… or recovering.
Those who reached the same realm as Yeo Il generally obtained bodies immune to all poisons.
But her enlightenment remained incomplete. She could not be certain she would recover.
Without the antidote, she might linger at death's threshold for days before her breath finally ceased. Jin Cheong-ak would wait precisely for that moment.
He approached.
Within her blurring vision, only his face remained clear. He bent down, knelt on one knee, and stroked her cheek with a warm hand, letting out a faint laugh as though amused by the situation.
If Jin Cheong-ak betrayed her, Yeo Il might die.
Just like this—meaninglessly, without even fulfilling the purpose for which she infiltrated the Namgung Clan…
"Yeo Il."
But perhaps.
"You are sometimes foolish in the strangest ways."
Perhaps crossing death's boundary like this—
"Haha… When you look at me like that, how could I not want to save you?"
Just before her eyelids closed,
a fiercely bitter scent flooded into her mouth. It was the antidote entrusted to Jin Cheong-ak.
Feeling the liquid pool unswallowed at the back of her tongue, Yeo Il closed her eyes in peace.
Three years ago, at the edge of Xinjiang.
Snow lashed through violent winds that day.
The old house, leaning crookedly under relentless cold gusts, groaned as drafts wailed through it like the lament of a vengeful ghost brushing constantly against the ears.
Yeo Il merely watched the old man sew—skilled hands guided by oddly crude technique.
It had already been a year since the old man took in the half-dead Yeo Il.
[Hmph, tch. What rotten luck—what kind of rag comes rolling in here.]
This eccentric old man grew quiet only at times like this. When sewing.
Perhaps because he owned so few clothes. Yeo Il was little different, so whenever he sewed, she observed carefully like this.
Until she heard footsteps crunch slowly through the snow.
"Grandpa."
"..."
"Is that someone you know outside?"
In such dangerous lands, only two kinds of people sought out a reclusive eccentric like the old man.
Debtors. Or enemies.
But to Yeo Il, the old man's reaction that day felt strange.
Unlike usual, his expression stiffened. He straightened his posture and adjusted his hair and collar.
Brushing dust away would not turn a beggar into a noble, yet seeing the wild old beast fuss over propriety felt unsettling.
"You are not to come out."
Even that added warning.
People often wished to look when told not to, or act when forbidden—but Yeo Il felt only brief curiosity toward the unexpected guest and the old man's reaction. As always, her interest soon faded.
Even if her interest faded, sound did not.
Stepping outside, the old man greeted the visitor.
"I greet the Eldest Young Master."
The uninvited guest called Eldest Young Master replied,
"Rise."
Rise? Had that eccentric old man actually knelt? Astonishing.
"You have grown splendidly in the time since I last saw you, Eldest Young Master."
"Have I? I have grown taller, at least. It has been three years since we last met, so that is only natural."
The guest sounded relaxed.
His slow, drawn-out tone carried the natural authority of someone accustomed to commanding subordinates.
Was he once a guard serving some young master?
But the old man was no ordinary guard.
"I did not expect the Eldest Young Master to come all the way here."
"I did not expect to search even rat holes to find you. Well, that is life. Overcome one hardship only to face another waiting ahead. Such is my elder brother."
"I see signs of inner growth. And how fares the First Eldest Young Master?"
First Eldest Young Master. The title sounded strange. If one was the Eldest Young Master, then simply Eldest Young Master; if Sogaju (Clan Heir), then Sogaju (Clan Heir). Even a newly risen third-rate family would not use such a designation.
"How should I know whether that troublesome man fares well or not."
"An awl in a sack will always pierce through. His instincts are unusually sharp. Unless one side reaches its end, he will pursue the Eldest Young Master relentlessly."
"Why not kneel before my elder brother and offer loyal counsel? Tell him this younger brother has no ambition and desires none—that it would be better to leave me alone."
"How could I, a traitor to the sect, dare offer counsel to the First Eldest Young Master? The moment our eyes met, he would draw his sword and hunt me down."
So the old man was a traitor to his sect.
The other man laughed lightly. It was not joyful—rather weary and faintly annoyed.
"Shall we end the greetings here?"
"..."
"Let us speak of the real matter. My elder brother wishes greatly to see you. As his younger brother, I cannot delay any longer."
"…You speak calmly of offering this humble one's head."
"For a sect traitor such as yourself, that alone is mercy. If you comply quietly, I will not touch the one residing inside."
At that moment,
Yeo Il rose with her sword in hand.
Her steps did not pause even once as she flung open the paper-covered wooden door and stepped into the snow-filled courtyard.
The old man's guest was a man who would not yield before any martial artist. Behind him stood three or four martial warriors whose auras felt ominous and formidable.
Truly, he possessed the dignity befitting the title of Eldest Young Master.
He was also strikingly handsome; though dressed simply in a fine black robe and black hat, an extraordinary presence surrounded him.
"You mad girl!"
"..."
"In this blizzard, have you frozen your brain? What lunatic maiden walks around with her chest exposed like that!"
Yeo Il slowly lowered her gaze at the old man's scolding. Between the open front of her baeja, a glimpse of cleavage showed—but hardly enough to justify such outrage.
"Am I a maiden?"
The old man's eyes flared as he pointed at her and shrieked.
"Is that what matters right now, you crazy wench! Go inside and put proper clothes on!"
"I don't have any. You were mending them."
"Ah—ugh, you hopeless…"
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