The Fragile Successor and the Scent of Blood

“Did you come all this way just to see your big brother?”

What is he talking about? This is my room.

Tang Murin was hailed as a prodigy, but whenever he was with me, it seemed his brain stopped functioning before he spoke.

There was a reason why Tang Murin had doted on me, practically carrying me in his pocket since the day I was born. Shortly after my birth, I had hovered between life and death due to a mysterious illness.

I suspected that was why the “me” of my previous life had never heard of a ‘Tang Sarin.’ Perhaps the original Tang Sarin was fated to die back then.

The Clan Leader had moved heaven and earth to save me. At that time, someone suggested that unless I was entrusted to a high-ranking monk with great spiritual power, I would surely perish. Hearing this, the Clan Leader immediately rushed me to the Shaolin Temple.

Under normal circumstances, the Clan Leader was not a man to be easily swayed by the words of others. However, seeing me struggling for breath as if I were about to expire, he seemingly lost his ability to be picky.

Up until then, the Shaolin and the Tang Clan had no special ties, but the Abbot of Shaolin did not turn away the desperate Clan Leader. He entrusted me to his Senior Disciple, Great Master Won-hyun, who infused me with his inner power every single night.

I spent four years there before returning to the Tang family. Even after coming back, I fell ill frequently. The eyes of the Clan Leader and Tang Murin were often stained with tears whenever they looked at me.

To think I was so happy to be reborn as a Young Master of the Tang Clan after being murdered by the Mount Hua Sect Leader’s blade—only to find myself waiting for another death. It was simply absurd.

When Great Master Won-hyun sent me back to the Tang family, he gave the Clan Leader several warnings. Since I likely wouldn’t live long anyway, he advised against teaching me martial arts and urged them to let me live out my remaining days in peace. Even the Clan Leader seemed to think that having me back alive was miracle enough, harboring little hope for a full recovery.

I had fulfilled all my duties simply by staying alive.

Whenever winter arrived, I would return to Shaolin to stay in Master Won-hyun’s quarters for a month. Every time I left, the Clan Leader and Murin would get misty-eyed, uncertain if I would return alive. Naturally, they treated me like a precious jade, terrified that even a stiff breeze might blow me away.

Murin, who had come to visit, suggested a walk and led me outside.

“Are you cold? Your cheeks are red.”

He hugged me tightly and took off his outer robe to drape it over me. Murin was small, but I was even smaller, so the hem of his robe dragged on the ground.

“I’m not cold, Brother.”

“Your hands are freezing.”

Murin gripped my hands firmly.

In the end, I walked along dragging his clothes behind me like a train. While walking with me, Murin looked like a child who had absolutely nothing left to wish for in the world.

The reason he couldn’t take his eyes off me for a second was likely because of the thought that I had to head back to Shaolin soon. Even though there was plenty of time left, Murin seemed consumed by worries that I might not return this time, or that I wouldn’t survive the coming winter.

“I wish you weren’t so pretty. If something happens to you, your brother won’t be able to go on living. You must overcome this illness, Sarin.”

“Okay, Brother.”

“You really have to keep that promise.”

I answered several times just to put him at ease.

As we walked through the compound, we saw a group of maids and guards escorting someone in the distance. Murin suddenly froze in his tracks. He looked troubled. It took me a moment to realize that the person they were escorting was the Mother.

Though she was far enough away that her face wasn’t clear, I could recognize the pale complexion, the slender silhouette, and the ebony hair. We were too far away to offer greetings anyway.

Murin likely worried that she would ignore me, and that I would be hurt by the rejection.

“Shall we go to the cook and ask for some mooncakes?”

Murin stepped forward, skillfully blocking my line of sight as he held my hand and spoke. I nodded and followed him, asking a question.

“Brother, am I also Mother’s son?”

“Of course you are.”

“Really?”

Then what was the problem?

Seeing how much she disliked me, I had wondered if I was a child who hadn’t actually inherited the Clan Leader’s blood. If that wasn’t it, I couldn’t understand why she refused to even look at me.

“Could you be mistaken, Brother?”

“I’m not. I saw Mother when she was pregnant with you.”

“When I was in her belly, did Mother love me then?”

“O-of course. She was very happy to have you.”

He was still just a child; he couldn’t lie convincingly. Looking at Murin’s face, it was clear she hadn’t been happy even then. But I realized pressing Murin further wouldn’t yield more information, so I kept my mouth shut for now.

That didn’t mean I had given up. Who was I? I was the disciple of the Hao Sect Leader. I was only holding back because I was currently too young to start anything. Who would take me seriously if I started investigating now?

‘Setting everything else aside, the fact that she didn’t even visit when I was supposedly on my deathbed is definitely strange.’

As I sank into quiet thought, Murin spoke to comfort me.

“Don’t worry about anything else, just think about getting healthy. And trust your brother. I’m going to become stronger so that no one can ever make things hard for you.”

Did Murin know something when he said those words? Murin, who usually only knew how to smile brightly at me, had eyes that flashed with fierce resolve in that moment.

I nodded at him. After all, with this tiny body, there wasn’t much I could do besides being doted on.

I… I wet the bed.

The moment I realized it, I felt like my face was going to burst from the heat. Reincarnating as a child with the knowledge and experience of an adult isn’t all fun and games.

The “me” of my previous life would have certainly drawn maps on the blanket at this age, too, but back then, I wouldn’t have known shame. Now, however, the humiliation was so intense I felt like I could die.

I knew the moment I woke up. I tried to sneak the blanket to the laundry bin and soak it in water, but I was caught by the maid before I could even make it halfway across the room. The maid, seemingly realizing what I was up to, broke into a wide grin.

“It’s alright, Young Master. You’re still young; it happens. Quickly, let’s change your clothes first. It would be a disaster if you caught a cold in wet clothes.”

Just as she was about to change me, the Clan Leader walked in.

He never visited me this early in the morning, so I was wondering what was going on when a sharp, metallic scent of blood hit my nose.

“Sarin. You’re up early.”

Startled by his appearance, the maid bowed deeply.

“What is going on?” he asked her, sensing something was off. Without waiting for an answer, he strode toward me. Looking at me, he seemed to grasp the situation instantly.

While he examined me, I examined him. It wasn’t just the scent of blood; there was a heavy, concentrated odor of poisonous dust clinging to him.

Warriors of the Tang Clan train in poison techniques from a young age, so they possess a certain level of immunity, but I was different. The Clan Leader was a man who didn’t accept “youth” as an excuse, often dismissing weakness as the result of laziness.

I had seen Murin get scolded countless times for showing weakness while trying to endure poison. Yet, once again, an exception was made for me. When I raised my arm to cover my nose, he looked startled and flustered.

“It will be fine soon.”

He immediately began to inject his inner power into me.

“Are you alright, Sarin? I’m so absent-minded. I was so eager to see you that I didn’t think to change my clothes first.”

Then, he stared at me intently.

“This is strange. I’ve just finished executing a lethal technique of the Poison Palm; the toxicity should have been too much for you to handle. Even if I injected inner power, haven’t you already been exposed to the poisonous dust on my clothes? For someone with no internal energy, it would be natural for blood to flow from every orifice in your face…”

He then turned his gaze toward the maid. I realized instantly what he meant. The maid, who had been standing right there, was now pouring blood from her nose and mouth, unable to even speak.

The Clan Leader hadn’t even performed a technique here; it was simply the residual poison dust on his clothes that had done this. Yet, he made no move to treat the maid; he only stared at me.

“How is this possible?”

He couldn’t understand how I—a child with not a drop of internal energy or martial training—could remain perfectly fine in the face of his poison.

“Please let Langlang be treated first, Father.”

When I spoke out of concern for the maid, he shook his head.

“There is almost no toxicity left, so there is no need for a fuss. If a servant of the Tang Clan cannot even endure this much, they have no value in living. If they cannot withstand this, it is better they die. It is only when the weak die off that the truly capable can find their place.”

“Then who will take care of me, Father? It will take time for me to get used to someone else. There’s no guarantee they’ll be as good as Langlang. A maid should make me feel comfortable; will I be comfortable with a stranger?”

“…”

When he called for the maid with an annoyed expression, her face went pale as a sheet.