The Eldest Daughter of the Sichuan Tang Clan Protects Her Family

Chapter 31: The Difference Between a Sect and a Clan

Jeomchil’s eyes widened in surprise. “W-wait!” She must have misheard. “Miss Sohwa suggested I be sent away?”
“Yes.”
“B-but why? She seemed to think highly of my skills. Why would she…?” Had she taken pity on her? The thought made her stomach churn.

Tang Min, watching her, smiled slyly. “She said you would become one of the greatest in the world.”
“What? That’s ridiculous…”
“Indeed. I agree. You’re nowhere near that level. You’re clearly weaker than me.”

“…” He looked her up and down, his eyes narrowed in appraisal. “Look at you. Your expression changes with every word. You’re a hundred years away from achieving a tranquil mind. You have some talent, yes, but that’s all.”
Her eyes narrowed as well, mirroring his expression, and he chuckled.
“Anyway, they’re not sending you away because you lack talent. It’s quite the opposite, actually. So, dry your tears.”

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “So, it’s the Wudang Sect?”
“I can’t teach you the techniques of other sects, but I’m familiar with their styles. I think you’d be a good fit for Wudang, but Sohwa disagrees. Well, there are other sects interested in you. You can go elsewhere if you wish, but I think Wudang is the best choice. Ahem, let’s move somewhere more comfortable to discuss this further…” He suddenly stopped, his gaze shifting towards the entrance.
A maid entered the pavilion, bowing respectfully to Tang Min before turning to Jeomchil with a smile. “Miss Tang Sohwa wishes to see you. I see you had a prior engagement. May I ask when you might be available?”

Jeomchil looked at Tang Min, her eyes pleading. He understood.
“Go ahead,” he said, his voice slightly strained. “We can talk again tomorrow morning.”
She immediately jumped to her feet.

Tang Min, as if worried she might change her mind, added, “Child, the Wudang Sect is the best fit for you. Wudang! It’s not that I want to see that Arrogant Old Coot groveling at your feet. This is for your own good. If you choose Wudang, I’ll reward you with… to help you surpass your master…”
“Elder Tang Min.” The maid, sensing another rambling tangent, interrupted him politely, turning towards him with a smile. She bowed deeply, her perfect etiquette a silent yet effective way of silencing him.
He cleared his throat and waved his hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, go ahead. Forgive my rambling.”

Confused, Jeomchil looked from the maid to Tang Min, then, following the maid, hurried out of the pavilion.
Her steps were unsteady, whether from the rain-slicked ground or her own anxiety. As she reached the main hall, her clumsiness worsened, her feet slipping on the polished wooden floor.
She slowed down, carefully placing each foot before the other, then stopped abruptly.
Through the railing, she saw a small bamboo grove, the slender stalks swaying gently in the breeze. And amidst the bamboo, she saw the clan heiress.

She walked towards the reception hall, her steps now measured and cautious.
“Miss.” The maid, as usual, simply announced their arrival, her words brief and to the point, her demeanor calm and respectful.
‘Does she dislike talkative people?’ Jeomchil wondered, then tilted her head slightly. ‘But Elder Tang Min talks a lot…’

As she pondered this, Tang Sohwa turned towards her, her long, silken hair flowing like a dark river against her pale face. Their eyes met, and Jeomchil was captivated by her striking features: long, almond-shaped eyes and full, red lips. Though seemingly unadorned, she possessed an undeniable elegance, a beauty that commanded attention, not with gentle warmth, but with a chilling intensity that made Jeomchil instinctively shrink back.
Tang Sohwa’s gaze fell to the small puddle of rainwater at Jeomchil’s feet. “I was going to ask how you’ve been, but…” Her gaze slowly rose, meeting Jeomchil’s. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was laced with amusement. “…it seems you haven’t been well.”
“It’s the rain! I was going to wash up and change, but I didn’t want to keep you waiting…”

Tang Sohwa nodded slightly, then turned away, offering no further words.
Jeomchil shifted nervously, glancing at the maid, then back at Tang Sohwa, but they both ignored her.
After a long, uncomfortable silence, Tang Sohwa spoke.

“He’s late.”
“Perhaps it’s the rain,” the maid replied with a faint smile. “He doesn’t mind getting himself wet, but he can’t bear to see his creations damaged.”
Tang Sohwa chuckled, seemingly agreeing.

Then, they heard the sound of hurried footsteps. They turned to see an old man rushing towards them, clutching a large wooden box, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
Jeomchil’s eyes widened in recognition. It was the old man who always watched her from the pond.
“My apologies for the delay, Miss. I had to repack everything.” He reached the table where Tang Sohwa sat and placed the box before her.

She glanced at the box, then turned to Jeomchil.
“Miss.”
“Yes?”

“Come and open it.”
“What?”
Sohwa smiled. “In the Tang Clan, when a disciple begins their formal training, they receive a weapon crafted by Elder Yoon. He has an uncanny ability to calculate wind resistance and adjust the weight and balance of a weapon to perfectly match the user’s movements.”

Though there were more skilled blacksmiths within the Tang Clan, capable of forging stronger and sharper weapons, even blades so thin they could slice through silk with a touch, the Tang Clan warriors, upon graduating from their basic training with wooden practice weapons, all received a weapon crafted by Elder Yoon.
He was a master craftsman, renowned even beyond Sichuan, who specialized in creating swords for dancers. It was said that his swords flowed like water in the hands of a skilled dancer, their movements enhanced by the perfect balance and weight. When asked about the secret to his craft, he would simply say that each individual moved differently, their muscles and bones unique, their movements distinct. He merely observed their movements, adjusting the weight and balance of his creations accordingly.
Intrigued by his reputation, the previous Tang Clan Head had brought him to the estate, a surprising decision considering the clan's insular nature. He had tasked Elder Yoon with creating training weapons for the young disciples, hoping to improve their technique, and the results had been remarkable.

Receiving a weapon from Elder Yoon was a privilege reserved for Tang Clan members. Sohwa had obtained her father’s permission to commission a sword for Yeon-a. Having used an ill-fitting sword for so long, her grip was calloused, her movements unbalanced. She needed a properly fitted weapon.
Elder Yoon smiled at the bewildered Yeon-a and opened the box for her. “Whether you join the Wudang, Mount Hua, or any other sect, they will provide you with a sword. However, their swords will be different from the one you’re used to. It would be beneficial for you to become accustomed to a lighter blade.”
Mesmerized, Yeon-a approached the box and peered inside. Her eyes widened in surprise at the slender blade, less than half the thickness of her current sword. “…This is for me?”

“Yes. It’s yours.”
Silence.
Yeon-a, her face flushed with a mixture of surprise and confusion, stood speechless. Elder Yoon, unable to bear the awkward silence, glanced at Sohwa. “Miss, may I explain?”

“Go ahead.”
As if waiting for her permission, he pulled out the sword.
Shing. The blade, drawn from its dark green scabbard, shimmered in the sunlight. Yeon-a’s eyes lit up.

He held the sword in his right hand, then switched it to his left. “I observed your movements. You seem to be ambidextrous, equally skilled with both hands. And despite using such a heavy sword, your movements are remarkably swift. Your arm strength is quite impressive. However, you seem to be overcompensating for the weight, putting unnecessary strain on your muscles. A lighter blade will allow for greater speed and control, conserving your energy. So, this sword…” He launched into a detailed explanation of his creation, his voice filled with pride.
Yeon-a listened intently, nodding like a eager student, her gaze fixed on the sword.
Sohwa, watching the excited craftsman and the enthralled young swordsman, smiled inwardly. A swordsman was a swordsman, regardless of age.

When he offered her the sword, she hesitantly reached out and grasped the hilt.
Her eyes instantly changed, sharpening with focus. She lowered the tip of the sword towards the floor, testing its balance, the blade twisting slightly, catching the sunlight. It was a small movement, yet the atmosphere in the room instantly shifted, charged with a sudden intensity. She had unconsciously channeled her internal energy into the blade.
Delighted by her reaction, Elder Yoon asked, his smile widening, “It’s light, isn’t it?”

“…Yes. It feels like I’m holding nothing.”
“Indeed. That’s the feeling you should have when wielding a sword. The one you’ve been using is too heavy. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Every disadvantage has its advantages. Your strength has improved significantly. Now, you simply need to refine your control, your precision.”
Yeon-a shifted impatiently, eager to test the new blade.

Sohwa, watching her, stood up. She had heard that Yeon-a had been practicing relentlessly since arriving at the Tang Clan estate. She must be itching to try out her new sword.
“You’re dismissed,” she said, hoping to send them on their way.
“Already?”

Sohwa nodded.
But Yeon-a, instead of leaving, frowned slightly. “Is there… anything else you wanted to discuss?”
Anything else?

Had she missed something? As she searched her memories, Yeon-a’s eyes suddenly reddened.
“I… I don’t understand you.”