Black and White Martial Emperor

In the middle of the fun, the talk just... stopped.

Je Gal Ahyeon was taken aback, though she didn’t show it. Smiling, she gestured across the table.

“Sure—”

Right then, Ahyeon glanced at Yeon Hojeong for no real reason. She knew his social graces weren’t the best.

Unexpectedly, Hojeong nodded. Whoever the opposite party was, a larger table meant a natural chance to scan the surroundings.

“Have a seat.”

He hadn’t even finished when Tang Yangseon was already sitting down. Whether he knew they wouldn’t refuse or meant to sit regardless of their wishes, it was hard to tell.

Ahyeon asked with a smile.

“Are you from the Tang Clan?”

“That’s right.”

He dropped formality without hesitation. It sounded like a tone of speech baked in for life.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Ahyeon of the Je Gal Clan.”

“Je Gal Ahyeon?”

“Yes.”

“Pretty name.”

It was a blunt, daring line. Ahyeon tilted her head.

“Is it?”

“Mm. Your parents named you well.”

“Thanks for the compliment.”

Ahyeon pointed to Hojeong with her hand.

“Ah, let me introduce you. This is—”

“Don’t.”

“Pardon?”

“I know who he is. No need.”

Ahyeon’s eyes rounded.

“Oh? So you’ve met already?”

“He’s the First Young Master of the Yeon Clan, isn’t he?”

“That’s right. Then at least a greeting—”

“No need.”

“What do you mean, no need?”

Tang Yangseon shrugged.

“I didn’t come to see him anyway.”

Ahyeon was briefly nonplussed.

Quick on the uptake, she’d already realized his target was herself. She just hadn’t expected him to be this forthright.

Tang held out his empty cup.

“Pour me one.”

Uninhibited to the point of insolence.

Pouring a drink isn’t hard, but starting off by treating someone like a subordinate is bound to rub the other person wrong. Even Ahyeon—resolved to be as polite as the occasion demanded—found that tone grating.

“Here.”

She set the bottle in front of him.

Tang cocked his head.

“I said pour.”

Ahyeon smiled thinly.

“I don’t feel like it.”

“You don’t feel like it?”

“No.”

“This guy was happy to pour—why not you?”

He called him “this guy” to his face.

Hojeong ignored the address. From the moment Tang sat, his qi-sense had been sweeping the ranks of the younger generation gathered at the banquet. He had no intention of reacting to each prod.

Ahyeon did.

“This guy is my friend. He’s prickly, but he’s my friend.”

Tang laughed and asked:

“I could be a friend too, couldn’t I?”

“Anyone can be—if they have basic manners.”

“Oh?”

“Is that a Sichuan custom? Greeting strangers by telling them to pour your wine. If so, I’ve misread you and I’ll apologize. I still won’t be looking to get acquainted.”

Her smiling voice carried a blade.

Tang, eyeing her curiously, snorted.

“Pretty cute.”

“I get ‘good-looking’ now and then, but ‘cute’ is a first since I was nine. I’ll take it as praise.”

“In Sichuan I only ever saw well-behaved girls. One girl the same as the next—boring. You’re refreshing.”

From that one line, Ahyeon could sketch the life he’d lived.

In Sichuan, the Tang name is absolute. The Orthodox sects of the region—the Azure Castle Sect and the Emei Sect—kept themselves out of worldly affairs, being as much temple as school.

Which meant the Tang Clan was, in practice, the foremost house of Sichuan. As the Clan Lord’s firstborn, he’d have grown up having everything.

Indeed, Tang Yangseon hadn’t attended any of the younger-generation gatherings up to now. This might be his first time out in the world.

Ahyeon smiled, a little bitter.

“So the Tang Clan’s specialty isn’t only poison and hidden weapons.”

“Mm?”

“Would you leave, please? You’re making this unpleasant.”

“That won’t do.”

He tipped his cup.

“You haven’t poured yet. Take what I’m owed, then I’ll go.”

“...”

“Hurry and pour. I don’t need to toss you coin, do I?”

As if she were a courtesan in a pleasure house.

At that point, even Ahyeon couldn’t help getting angry. Nor could Je Gal Jun, watching from a distance.

Jun strode toward the table.

“Hey—”

And then—

“You.”

A dark line of shadow fell across Tang Yangseon.

Without turning, Tang said:

“You don’t stand behind a member of the Tang without leave. If you want to address me, come to my front and mind your manners.”

Namgung Hyun answered with a smile.

“I don’t take this gathering of the Seven Great Clans lightly enough to admit someone who lacks basic character.”

“What?”

“Stop being a nuisance and get up.”

“A nuisance?”

“Surely you don’t think that mush-for-brains of yours could refine the Tang Sect’s delicate arts while being too dense to grasp how rude you’re being.”

“Hah!”

“No need to drag this out. Don’t stir up useless trouble. Quietly. Stand.”

Tang shook his head.

“They say the world is full of fools who don’t know their place. My father was right.”

It was getting better and better.

Thud!

He slammed the cup down, rose, and turned.

His eyes found Namgung Hyun.

“Pale and pretty like a girl. What’s your name?”

“Namgung Hyun.”

Tang’s eyes flashed.

“Oh? I thought your presence wasn’t bad—and you’re Namgung?”

His father had told him: among the Seven Great Clans there are plenty not worth speaking to, but at least Namgung and Mo Yong are the real thing.

Tang didn’t swallow everything his father said whole. He respected him, but his own eyes and ears counted for a lot too.

The common judgment on the Tang Clan was fear.

That wasn’t confined to Sichuan. The Tang were in Sichuan and, at the same time, across the realm. In the martial world there wasn’t a single man who tangled with the Tang and then slept easy.

Power is fear. The most fearsome house in the martial world is the Tang.

Therefore the Tang are the true greatest under heaven. Look at his grandfather: among the Saintly Heaven Thirteen Seats, he was named the most terrifying master alive.

“If you’re of the Namgung—called First among Swords—you can afford a little swagger.”

“This is turning ridiculous.”

“But even First among Swords shouldn’t throw a fit before the greatest under heaven.”

Hyun couldn’t help a laugh.

“Greatest under heaven? Who’s that supposed to be?”

“Obviously my house.”

“You really don’t know how the world works.”

The smile vanished from Tang’s face.

His easy look went flat and cold, and that alone chilled the air.

“Kneel.”

“What?”

“I’ll give you a chance. Go down on your knees and apologize. Do it, and your insolence never happened.”

Hyun’s eyes went glacial.

“I thought you were just ignorant. Turns out you’re insane.”

Then—

“Greatest under heaven, is it?”

A clear, ringing voice rolled across the entire banquet ground.

Surprise crept onto Tang’s face. Hyun, by contrast, frowned.

What tremendous internal strength!

The inner power riding that voice was staggering. Just hearing it made your sternum hum.

Flash.

Hojeong’s eyes lit like fire.

“You shout ‘greatest under heaven’ before the house that coined the word? The Tang?”

A young man was coming down the steps, unhurried.

He looked easily six years older than Hyun. His features were refined, but unlike Hojeong or Hyun he wasn’t the kind you’d call strikingly handsome.

His build was as ordinary as his face. The clothes on his back weren’t particularly fine.

But the presence he put off was anything but ordinary.

Vmm. Vmmm—

The air itself seemed to tremble.

No one here was weak, yet most of them felt as if a faint ringing had started up in their ears.

“Sure, if it’s Namgung or Mo Yong I can see the case. But the Tang? I don’t follow.”

Tang’s face twisted.

That voice kept swelling and boring into his ears. The sensation was intensely unpleasant.

“I have heard it said, though—there are a lot of oddballs among the Tang. Looks like you’re one of them.”

Tang barked without thinking:

“And who the hell are you!”

His own voice came back brazen and loud.

Louder than he’d meant. Even he was taken aback.

It looked like an overreaction. A faint flush crept up his neck.

“Are you just young? Your words and your ways are clumsy across the board.”

“You—!”

“Listen close, young friend of the Tang who doesn’t know the world. In this martial world, you don’t throw ‘greatest under heaven’ around lightly.”

“I asked who the hell you are!”

“One more thing. Drop the temper tantrums—real or pretend.”

The young man smiled.

His looks were plain, but the smile was remarkably winning.

“You look weak that way.”

Tang couldn’t hold it in anymore.

Vmmmmm—

Hyun involuntarily took a step back. The reek that surged off Tang was the reason.

Poison?!

It was poison-qi. Not poison released into the air—his internal energy itself was of a poisonous nature.

Ahyeon cried out.

“Young Master Tang!”

Flap-flap-flap!

From a distance, a cluster of retainers came pounding in. Alarmed by the sudden spread of poison-qi, the bodyguards of the various houses were rushing over.

The young man looked to Hyun.

“Brother Namgung.”

“...”

“It’s nothing serious, is it?”

Hyun, displeased, gave a short nod.

“Then explain things to the guards who work day and night cleaning up after hotheaded youth. Set up a private table for them, too. This gathering is being hosted by your side, isn’t it?”

“...”

“I’m asking you a favor.”

“...Very well, Brother Ming.”

Even in his anger, he’d caught and answered the form of address.

Tang growled low.

“You—are you Ming Clan?”

“I am.”

The young man spoke his name.

“I am Ming Holim, Third Young Master of the present greatest household under heaven—the Ming Clan of the Nine Provinces.”

Tang snorted.

In front of Ahyeon he’d shown perfect composure, but not now. His explosively quick temper was being prodded by Ming Holim’s powerful presence.

“Ming ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) Holim? Never heard of you.”

“Which is why I say you don’t know the world. At least learn the names of the peers you’ll share an age with—that way you won’t blunder.”

“Blunder? Sorry, I don’t make blunders. My station doesn’t allow for them.”

Ming Holim looked at him with pity.

Tang’s face screwed up. If the man had cursed him out he could have borne it; that lofty, patronizing gaze was intolerable.

“...Don’t expect to walk away alive.”

“Y-Young Master!”

Han Homyeong’s shout carried from afar, but Tang didn’t stop.

Tssss—

A faint violet haze welled off his body. He was opening his poison arts in earnest.

Startled, Ahyeon stepped back—and caught sight of Hojeong.

He was still sitting there. He hadn’t even lowered the cup in his hand.

Ahyeon shouted, urgent:

“Young Master Tang! There’s someone right next to—!!”

And then—

Fweee! Thunk!

A razor whistle ripped the tension of the banquet clean in half.

Ming Holim found his own hand, raised to shoulder height, already clenched. In it was a shattered wine cup.

He looked to Hojeong.

Hojeong lifted his hand, face indifferent.

“Accident.”