Serpent Beneath the Skin

The night after the feast was long, but not silent.

Whispers passed like wind through the Tang outer sect. Disciples speculated. Elders worried. Servants pretended not to hear what they heard: That Tang Yun had crippled an elite disciple, Tang Huixin, with a mere flick of his sleeve.

That he'd dared defy Elder Liansu and survived.

That he had become something more than a shadow on the wall.

At dawn, Tang Yun stood in the rear garden of his courtyard, sleeves rolled up, palms coated in faintly glowing green dust. Around him, dozens of herbs had been arranged in a serpentine pattern each one reactive, each one poisonous. At the center of the spiral, Xiaomei knelt, grinding dried Night Bell seeds.

"Enough for ten vials," she reported quietly, voice steady despite the smell.

Tang Yun nodded.

"Good. You've improved your wrist movement. The ratios will be exact."

She lowered her head slightly, cheeks flushed with pride.

But Tang Yun's attention shifted beyond her.

A soft crunch of footsteps in the frost-lined grass.

Tang Feiyan stepped into the courtyard, her expression unreadable. Her robes were cleaner than usual, marked with the insignia of the Tang Clan's Inner Courtyard Supervision Hall a position of watchful neutrality, yet also dangerous in the wrong hands.

"Tang Yun," she said flatly. "You've made enemies."

He sipped from a new cup of tea, crafted with Qi-controlling ginseng. "Not enemies. Cowards who thought I'd stay small."

Feiyan exhaled slowly. "The clan elders are no longer ignoring you. Tang Mo's silence is no shield now. The Grand Hall has summoned you."

Tang Yun raised an eyebrow. "Formal hearing?"

"No," she said. "A blood oath banquet. In three days."

He went quiet.

That was no ordinary event. A blood oath banquet was both political theater and trap designed to "unite" the clan, but more often a power show for inner disciples and high elders to dominate weaker branches.

"Then it's begun," he murmured.

"The Great Eight Clans are watching. Even the Zhao Clan sent a shadow agent."

Feiyan stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Tang Huixin had backing from the third elder. You humiliated him."

Tang Yun smiled faintly. "He screamed like a pig."

Feiyan snorted despite herself, then handed over a sealed scroll.

Inside were names. Four disciples. Three elders.

"Potential assassins," she said. "They'll strike before the banquet."

Tang Yun's fingers tightened around the scroll.

Feiyan turned to leave, pausing at the gate.

"One more thing," she said. "Your brother, Tang Yao, the Ninth Young Master... he returned yesterday."

A flicker of cold passed across Tang Yun's eyes.

Tang Yao. The golden boy. Born with dual meridians, a prodigy trained in the Kunlun Sect for five years. Favored by the main branch. Last he heard, Tang Yao was in the Late Meridian Opening Realm full realm above him.

"Interesting," Tang Yun said. "Was he told about me?"

Feiyan looked over her shoulder. "He requested your head before dinner."

Elsewhere – The Western Courtyard

Tang Yao stood at the center of a wide, open square, shirtless, hands clasped behind his back. He had grown taller, sharper, like a blade tempered by clean air and refined qi.

Before him knelt an elder and three disciples, all bruised.

"The Poison King," Yao said, repeating the title slowly. "What a ridiculous name. Is the clan truly so starved of heroes?"

"He's dangerous," the elder whispered. "He crippled Liansu and Huixin."

Tang Yao's eyes narrowed.

"I will burn his name from the tablets myself."

Three Nights Later – The Blood Oath Banquet

The Grand Hall was alight with lanterns. Rows of tables shimmered with silver dishes. The air smelled of roast lotus duck and wolf meat stew. But beneath the feast was tension so thick, it dulled the appetite.

Tang Yun arrived last.

Wearing black robes with silver embroidery and his jade serpent token, he walked like a shadow along polished stone tiles. Every eye turned to him. Some with contempt. Others with concealed curiosity. A few with fear.

At the high table sat the clan patriarch, Tang Jinhai, flanked by four elders. A throne-like chair stood empty beside him.

Tang Yao occupied the seat to his right.

"Well met, twelfth brother," Yao said, smiling.

"Older brother," Tang Yun returned smoothly. "Your bones still hold?"

Yao chuckled. "We'll test that soon enough."

Tang Jinhai raised a cup.

"To unity. To blood. To strength."

All drank.

Then the speeches began praising the old values of the Tang, honoring ancestors, condemning arrogance in the young. Subtle barbs. Indirect attacks.

Tang Yun did not speak.

But he moved.

One by one, subtle threads of poison qi slipped from beneath his sleeves, weaving into the cups, the meats, the wine. Not to kill.

Just enough to itch. Just enough to numb tongues. Just enough to mark.

Those who drank without resistance were noted. Those who twitched, resisted, or neutralized it were enemies.

It was a silent census.

A web forming beneath the table.

End of the Banquet

As people departed, one by one, Tang Yao remained seated.

"So you've learned tricks, little brother."

Tang Yun stepped to him. "You've learned arrogance."

Yao rose, his qi rising like wind over mountains.

Late Meridian Opening Realm.

But Tang Yun's eyes glowed green.

Mid Qi Awakening.

The gap between them was a canyon.

Still, he met his brother's gaze without fear.

"You were chosen," Yun said softly. "But I was forged."

Tang Yao's smile faded. "Then prove it."

[End of Chapter 35]

[Tags]: Reincarnation, Martial Arts, Poison, Scheming Protagonist, Cultivation, Weak to Strong, Anti-Hero, Cold Protagonist, Clan Wars, Hidden Identity, Revenge