He spoke in a low voice, as if trying to control his emotions.
“There were children, too.”
“I know.”
“You said even if it doesn’t kill, it causes suffering. They didn’t harm us, and they acted with courtesy. I can’t understand why you went as far as releasing the Summer Poison.”
He let out a deep sigh.
“I tried to trust you, Lady Tang, and keep silent, but doubts have built up in my heart. It’ll become a problem sooner or later, so it’s better to resolve it now.”
Namgung Jin put down the cup, pointed at the piping, and asked,
“What were you thinking, releasing the Summer Poison?”
“The situation in the Northern Sea seems more serious than I expected, so I wanted to confirm a few things. How strong they really are, and whether there’s a strategist among them.”
“Their strength?”
“Yes. As you probably suspect, those people are definitely not the main force of the Northern Sea Ice Palace.”
Namgung Jin went quiet.
He, too, had judged their martial skill and been disappointed.
From the start, Namgung Jin had believed he recognized traces of the Bloodless Full Moon Sword back in the gorge.
Boom.
The tearing sound from the Northern Sea that had been approaching began to fade away.
Over that faint vibration, Sohwa spoke.
“With only that level of strength, they couldn’t have survived three years avoiding the Blood Cult’s pursuit. For some reason, the main force seems to have separated from them. That’s why I took the risk of showing the genealogy first—to make sure word of us reaches whoever holds real authority.”
“......”
“And as I said earlier, they consider sulfur poisoning to be a terminal illness, so they’ll come back to find us soon. They already know they can live if they come to me. While word spreads to their leader, I released the Summer Poison to draw some of the bloodline here.”
Sohwa’s voice remained calm.
“If we keep a few members of the Northern Sea bloodline here, even if their leader orders them to kill us, it will buy us time.”
Namgung Jin was silent for a moment, unable to process what he had just heard. Then, in disbelief, he asked,
“Are you saying you plan to take them as hostages?”
“Yes. I’ve heard that the Northern Sea Ice Palace bloodline feels bonds stronger than family. If some of them fall ill, they won’t harm us right away. And if things go badly, we can use that time to escape back to the Central Plains.”
“Lady Tang.”
“Yes.”
“How can you talk so calmly about poisoning people just to take them hostage?”
Sohwa’s gaze, which had been fixed on the window, turned back inside.
A cold silence filled the air between them.
She could sense Namgung Jin’s discomfort.
Turning back toward the window, she spoke again, her tone gentler.
“It’s not that I wanted hostages. I just wanted a safer way to talk. We won’t harm the Northern Sea bloodline—but we can’t be sure what’s in their hearts.”
Namgung Jin’s expression still showed unease, but he said nothing further.
After a while, he changed the subject.
“Then why did you need to confirm whether they have a strategist?”
“I thought there would be an internal structure among the Northern Sea bloodline. You can’t maintain a group for years with brute strength alone. Naturally, I assumed they’d have a strategist—but now I’m not sure.”
Perhaps there once was one, but that person was gone now.
Sohwa’s eyes dimmed.
In truth, that made more sense.
If the strategist was gone, it explained why the bloodline had fallen so low.
She sighed without realizing it and rubbed between her brows.
“If there were a strategist, we could gain much from them. But things aren’t going the way I hoped.”
“What?”
Namgung Jin asked blankly, his anger momentarily forgotten.
The strategist of any organization is usually its most intelligent and cunning member. Yet Tang Sohwa was saying that having one would make it easier to take things from them. It sounded absurd. An intelligent person doesn’t hand over their stores easily—only fools are tricked out of their treasures.
“...Why do you think the strategist would give us anything at all?”
Sohwa answered simply.
“Because the strategist would understand the value of the genealogy.”
“That document from earlier?”
“Yes.”
Sohwa nodded.
A normal family’s genealogy and the record of a great clan or palace were completely different in scale.
A genealogy records the founder’s ideals, their place of settlement, and the names of their descendants. It lists direct ancestors and successors, organizes members by generation, and sometimes includes their ranks or territories at the time.
Given the scale of the Northern Sea Ice Palace, its genealogy would serve as both the historical record and the ledger of the North.
Furthermore, large bloodlines often split into branches over generations, and each branch kept its own genealogy.
The records compiled by one branch were often enormous—not only names but wealth, offices, and sometimes even personalities and personal stories.
After the fall of the Sichuan Tang Clan, Sohwa had seen those who had split from the main house invoke their own genealogies to claim the clan’s inheritance. They used those documents to prove they were of Tang blood and absorbed the Tang estate as their own.
Namgung Hyun hadn’t even spoken to her about it; he simply allowed it. At the time, he was obsessed with punishing her and had cut off every line of support from the Namgung family.
He even brought the claimants before her to confirm them himself.
People she had never seen before presented genealogies showing that her family’s assets had been moved into their names.
The new “owners” immediately wrote those assets beside their own names—parading their connection to the original line before death, as if to flaunt they had inherited what was once hers.
But to Tang Sohwa, that inheritance was not just property.
It was the fabric shop in Shaanxi that had been Yehwa’s first business; the riverside house on the Yangtze where her father had stayed while searching for Tang Hak; the pavilion on Hainan where the Grand Elder had spent his final years.
Things she could never afford to lose—but all of them had been stolen before she even realized it.
Namgung Hyun’s humiliation had succeeded, and Sohwa still hadn’t forgotten that disgrace.
She relaxed her pale knuckles and tucked her clenched fist into her sleeve.
It was likely that someone had also taken the assets of the Northern Sea Ice Palace without the rightful master’s consent.
Judging from how things were going, checking the genealogies of the three noble families now ruling the North would reveal who had done it.
Some might argue there’s no need to complicate things with genealogy or lineage charts—that they should simply begin a new history as the successors of the Ice Palace.
It might sound easier that way.
But a true strategist would restore the erased names in history and reclaim all the ancestors’ inheritance. Only by doing so could they recover the Ice Palace’s assets that had been taken without resistance.
Time could not be reversed, but it was still possible to reclaim what remained and restore the {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} lost authority.
To Tang Sohwa, the inheritance had been something precious left by her family. But to others, it was merely wealth. There had never been a shortage of people who came sniffing after money, so objectively speaking, inheritance was just that—money.
And the Northern Sea Ice Palace needed money more than anyone.
The bloodline that had once belonged to the Blood Demon would inevitably have to wage war against him to reclaim their palace.
A properly restored genealogy would serve as proof to confiscate the Northern nobles’ wealth and as a tool to quickly secure military supplies for war.
If the strategist understood the consequences of restoring the Ice Palace’s genealogy, they would willingly share the method to remove the Blood Demon’s blood corruption.
'But still...'
Would this young heir of the Namgung Clan truly understand how a ruined family’s name is trampled—how heavy the heart must be to treasure a few sheets of paper just to restore it?
Sohwa doubted it.
He would probably think clinging to a genealogy was just an outdated formality.
“To you, Young Clan Head, a genealogy must seem like nothing more than a list of dead people’s names on paper.”
“No, it’s not.”
Sohwa’s eyes turned back toward the inside of the dispensary.
Namgung Jin seemed deep in thought, brows drawn together as if trying to understand her. He was staring out the window.
“That might never happen, but if the Namgung Clan were ever destroyed and I had to rebuild it, I wouldn’t be able to give up our genealogy easily either. If I had a record with the names of my household who died, I’d give anything to recover it—because we mustn’t forget them.”
To him, the genealogy existed to remember the sacrifices of his household.
Their reasoning differed, but the conclusion was the same.
“Still...”
Namgung Jin’s tone grew doubtful.
“It’s been so long since the Northern Sea Ice Palace disappeared. Would its genealogy really still exist?”
He turned his gaze toward Tang Sohwa. She nodded.
“Yes. The Blood Cult treasured the Ice Palace’s bloodline—they didn’t destroy the records.”
The Blood Demon had not only preserved the genealogy of the Northern Sea Ice Palace but also kept both the original and transcribed copies in the archives of Geumeunsan.
While staying in Geumeunsan, she hadn’t been able to read everything; there had been too much, and the archive manager had been painfully slow.
But when she once asked him, “If the Blood Cult keeps the manuals of Outland martial arts at Geumeunsan, how can the molds train?”—that Blood Cultist had mentioned the transcriptions.
The originals were stored at Geumeunsan, but several handwritten copies were made—one kept in the Bigo and others sent to the mold farms for education.
Not only martial manuals but even genealogical copies containing the founder’s preface were used to teach proper understanding of the Outland arts.
Since the Northern Sea mold farms were located in the North, they could be found without going all the way to Geumeunsan.
'...But even if I’ve reasoned this much, if the Ice Palace refuses to acknowledge it, it’s all for nothing.'
Sohwa felt a heaviness in her chest and looked toward Namgung Jin. He was gazing down at her, his face shadowed.
“...Do you still doubt me?”
Namgung Jin exhaled, shaking his head.
“No. On the contrary—I think it’s easier on my mind to just trust you. So I suppose my doubts are gone.”
“That’s a relief.”
“I’m not sure it is. Because now I think you’re a frightening person.”
She couldn’t see why that was bad.
Tang Sohwa had almost never met anyone who wasn’t afraid of her. Even the grotesque Heukcheon Amgui often grew tense in her presence. No one had ever seen her as “safe.”
In any case, Namgung Jin’s claim that his doubts were gone seemed true. He didn’t ask any more questions.
The noise from the Northern Sea had faded as well.
Thinking the conversation over, Sohwa closed the window and took out a cloth from the drawer. As she began cleaning the side table where she had poured water, Namgung Jin reached for the cloth instead.
“I’ll do it.”
“No, I’ll handle it.”
“You’ve been thinking too hard. Sit down and rest your mind a bit more.”
“I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not, but I’ll do it. It’s not just plain water—could be dangerous for you, Young Clan Head.”
Namgung Jin immediately let go.
Then he frowned.
“...Were you planning to serve that tea again?”
“They came here already suspicious of us, so of course I refused. If they really insisted on drinking it, I would’ve just pretended to spill it. But why do you keep asking such things?”
Sohwa lifted her gaze while wiping the table. When their eyes met, the Young Clan Head gave an awkward smile.
“Mm, you must be tired. Finish that and rest. I’ll tidy up the rest.”
Whether he meant it or not, Namgung Jin straightened up and began organizing the bed and the desk with precise movements. He even went to the corner to fetch cleaning tools, as if planning to sweep.
'Well, he saw everything himself—his head must be full, too.'
Cleaning helped clear the mind.
He, too, probably had a lot to think about, so Sohwa quietly gave him space.
There would be much to do from now on; they both needed to clear their heads and conserve their strength.
Though Namgung Jin neither cleared his mind nor rested that night, Tang Sohwa never knew.
