The Outcast Writer of a Martial Arts Visual Novel-Chapter 145: Daseogak in Crisis - 5

I was partly to blame for how things had turned out.

This was the contingency plan I had prepared in case the Sichuan Tang Clan took issue with Storm of the Tang Clan. And now, that very contingency had exploded in my face.

Hwa-rin, to her credit, had told me that if the Tang Clan ever brought up Storm of the Tang Clan, I should use her as a scapegoat. But I never wanted it to come to that.

To prevent such a scenario, I had prepared a different countermeasure—a plan that didn’t involve using Hwa-rin as a shield.

One was to frame the protagonist Tang Jeong as a loyal patriot, who ends up sharing a night of passion under unavoidable circumstances—classic, textbook Colorful Chivalry logic. And the other?

To use the Remembrance Ring.

Back when I was on the road to the Seong Family Manor with Cheon So-hee, shadowing her assassination mission, we came across a man who had died at the hands of bandits before us. Among his belongings was a bracelet he’d guarded with great care—the Remembrance Ring.

Because the original story showed Tang Hwa-rin wearing a Remembrance Ring, I first assumed it had somehow fallen into my possession by accident.

— “Remembrance Ring? Why do you have that?”

— “Everyone from the Sichuan Tang Clan carries one, don’t they? You don’t, so I was just curious.”

While traveling with Hwa-rin, I’d casually asked why she didn’t carry one herself.

— “I don’t, okay? Only direct blood relatives get to carry one. That bastard Tang Geo-ho once told me if my martial skills improved enough, he’d accept me into the clan and give me one as proof. But he was probably just lying.”

So that’s how she was supposed to get it in the original story.

— “Ah. I guess I misunderstood.”

— “But then... how did you end up with one? Oh... right.”

Hwa-rin asked and answered her own question, then looked down with a guilty expression. Nice. Let her believe what she wants—that my “Poisoned One” friend gave it to me.

In the end, that blank Remembrance Ring wasn’t meant to end up in Hwa-rin’s hands.

So whose was it?

The answer was in the blood-soaked, nearly destroyed book that the dead man had entrusted with his final will. It had been ruined beyond recognition. Under normal circumstances, it couldn’t have been read.

— “The Fifth Assassin said he didn’t have time to restore the book and called for a specialist. They’ve already left, but if you have the book, I can restore it.”

So-hee... even while on the move, you kept your promise to help. Big bro is touched. Thanks to her, I was able to read the restored book at the Salmak hideout.

It was a diary. The diary of Hyang-ah, a courtesan from Joseon.

The author was a rising star, soon to be the Top Courtesan of Hubei. She hadn’t yet shared her first night with anyone, making her the object of desire for countless men.

The Maidenhood Auction. Who would buy her first night and “tie up her hair,” as the phrase goes?

Even for a moderately pretty courtesan, one night cost the price of a tiled-roof house. Then how much would it cost for a woman destined to become the most famous courtesan in Hubei?

The gossipers named their prices, but in the end, Hyang-ah’s first night wasn’t bought with money—it was bought with love.

— “Thank you for saving me. May I know your name, brave young master?”

— “Tang... Chui,” he replied.

A fateful encounter. They fell for each other at first sight. The name was an alias, but that didn’t matter when it came to love.

They loved passionately, shared their first night. The brothel was furious, of course. But the man neither paid the Maidenhood Price nor bowed in apology.

— “How can I put a price on my woman’s first time? Instead, I’ll save her from this fate.”

He paid even more money to buy her out of the brothel entirely. If her first night cost that much, imagine what it took to free her from her courtesan status altogether.

A prince who saved her. The man who took her first night. A hero who freed her from her cursed fate. How could she not fall completely for him?

They loved intensely—and inevitably, she became pregnant.

— “I have to leave for a mission now. But when I return, I’ll make you a proper member of my clan.”

“Tang Chui” was just an alias for that mission. He left her with a nameless Remembrance Ring—and that was the last she ever saw of him.

“He abandoned her without even trying to hide it.”

Hyang-ah was never acknowledged by the Tang Clan. When she heard months later that the man’s party had returned, she tried to find him—only to be turned away at the gates, never even getting to see him.

With nowhere to go, her belly swelling, the desperate woman chose to return home to Joseon.

“It’s more common than people think.”

Courtesans having illegitimate children was a regular occurrence.

A government official on a local appointment, a scholar on vacation, or a wandering martial artist saving a courtesan—these things happened. If the courtesan was lucky, she became a concubine. Most of the time, she was simply discarded. frёewebnoѵēl.com

The diary I read was just another one of those stories.

“The man who died back then... he was Hyang-ah’s son.”

Hyang-ah remarried in Joseon but died young of disease.

As she lay dying, in shaky handwriting at the end of her diary, she told her son to go to the Sichuan Tang Clan once he came of age and take the Remembrance Ring.

The boy grew up and traveled to the Central Plains, just like she’d said—but he never made it to Sichuan. He died on the way.

It was a bitter, tragic life. But for me, their tragedy had become an opportunity.

“A direct-blooded illegitimate child of the Tang Clan. I’ll say I was his friend.”

While writing Storm of the Tang Clan, I quietly muttered to myself. The “Poisoned One friend” I had mentioned to Hwa-rin—that would be him.

Even among direct bloodlines of the Tang Clan, once you go back two generations, there are plenty of children and grandchildren. Just like how we have tons of cousins showing up at Grandpa’s for the holidays, someone in the clan likely fathered a child with Hyang-ah.

“I’ll say I wrote Storm of the Tang Clan to deliver my dead friend’s keepsake.”

Everyone in the martial world knows: if you return a Remembrance Ring to the Tang Clan, you’ll be greatly rewarded.

If the Tang Clan ever came to Daseogak to confront me about the book, I’d be ready to cry on the spot.

“Sniffle... Actually, I wrote Storm of the Tang Clan to help my friend find his father. Tang Jeong is based on my dearest friend’s idea of a true chivalrous man—his father. Here! This Remembrance Ring! I’ve heard you reward those who return it, but I don’t want anything. Just... please take this to his father!”

Then they’d let me off the hook. I'd subtly appeal for mercy and they'd forgive me.

If Tang Jeong’s character wasn’t too off the mark, and if I had a reasonable motive for the Remembrance Ring, they’d stop bothering me about Storm of the Tang Clan.

That was the idea.

“Who knew Tang Chui would turn out to be the Tang Clan Head?”

I suspected something when he said it was a hidden affair, but I couldn’t wrap my head around it.

I mean, even if a direct-blooded Tang Clan member fathered a bastard child, the worst he'd get was a smack from his wife—not a barbarian’s wrist being crushed like it was fed through a hydraulic press.

Once the Pavilion Head started using terms like “hidden affair,” I finally understood the weight of the situation.

Of all people, I had to model Tang Jeong after the very Tang Clan Head who once chased the Lecher. I was innocent, but from the Tang Clan’s perspective, it made sense to accuse me of exploiting a private matter.

“If I claim it’s my dead friend’s Remembrance Ring, will they forgive me?”

That plan only worked because Storm of the Tang ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) Clan wasn’t too offensive. But this? This was a scandal.

— “My dear friend, who passed away, was actually the illegitimate son of the Tang Clan Head. Please, take this Remembrance Ring. Spare my wrist!”

— “You're not the Tang Clan Head’s illegitimate son. And your relationship with that friend is unclear. But you did write about a Tang Clan scandal in a book, didn’t you?”

I wasn’t the original owner of the Remembrance Ring. Could it really cover for me?

If my wrist were a rocket punch with a reload function—or if I had regenerating hands or a parasitic backup limb—maybe I’d risk it. But no. This wasn’t something I could just toss out lightly.

In the end, there was only one way left to protect my wrist.

“I’ll become the Tang Clan Head’s illegitimate son.”

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

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“What?”

“Whaaat?!”

“What do you mean?!”

Everyone in the attic exploded at my declaration of being the illegitimate son. But Hwa-rin, why are you surprised? You were nodding just earlier like you already figured out whose Remembrance Ring it was.

I quickly locked eyes with the Pavilion Head, making sure he wouldn’t notice Hwa-rin’s shocked expression.

“You—you’re claiming you’re the Clan Head’s illegitimate son?”

Shocking, isn’t it? I’m just as surprised. I literally made this up five minutes ago to save my own skin. But my face stayed calm and confident as I opened my mouth.

“Think about it. Isn’t it strange? How would Hwa-rin know about the story between Hyang-ah and the Clan Head?”

One-third of the blame for this mess goes to the developers who left the whole “Poisoned One = Lecher” setup unexplored. One-third to Ho-pil for writing Hyang-ah’s story into Storm of the Tang Clan as a backup plan. And the last third? To all those senior authors who loaded this genre with every erotic, tragic twist under the sun.

Come to think of it—Kang Yun-ho did nothing wrong. I’ve been framed!

“You’re a storyteller, are you not? You probably heard it somewhere—from someone who once romanced the Clan Head.”

The Pavilion Head looked at me with suspicion in his eyes. Fine. If showing him the Remembrance Ring wasn’t enough, I’ll just give him a story that only Hyang-ah could’ve known.

“It was a day when the winter chill had just begun to thaw, and the flower buds of spring were forming. In the middle of the night, with no one around, my mother, barely showing her pregnancy, knocked on a certain door after hearing that her beloved had returned. She wanted to see him. But what greeted her was nothing but scorn—‘Some barbarian whore bearing another man’s child dares to come here?’—and she was thrown out onto the cold, empty road.”

“And the one who said those words... was a Tang Clan warrior she’d often seen.”

That night, she returned covered in dust, fell into a feverish illness, and when she realized the Tang Clan had already left, she turned back to Joseon.

“How... how do you know that?”

“Hah! Who would I have heard that story from, if not from her herself? In fact, I should be asking you—how do you know it? Could it be... the one who turned her away that night... was you?”

“......”

Oh? Did I hit the mark?

The Pavilion Head avoided my eyes for just a moment. That was all I needed.

“You—You’re the bastard who turned away my mother?!”

I clenched my fists and took a big step forward, swinging them toward his face with righteous fury.

“Young master, please calm yourself!”

The Vice Pavilion Head quickly grabbed my arm and shoulder.

“Let go of me! Because of this bastard, my mother—!”

I shouted with genuine rage, staring down the frozen Pavilion Head.

Thanks, Vice Pavilion Head. I made the movement big on purpose. Knew you'd stop me.

“...This can’t be. But you—your hair is black.”

Ah, here we go. The “black-haired barbarian” card. I knew this would come up.

“There’s an old saying in the Central Plains. ‘Once a woman sleeps with a black-haired man, she never comes back.’”

“A warning to avoid filthy barbarians who seduce other men’s wives, no doubt.”

Ah yes. A classic interpretation from a certified barbarian-hating orthodox dogmatist.

“There’s another one. ‘It’s easy for a black-haired man to steal your wife, but hard for him to steal your seed.’ Know why that saying exists?”

“Because children born of black-haired barbarians usually have black hair.”

“And black eyes, too.”

That last one is less certain statistically, but in this case, Hyang-ah’s son had both black hair and black eyes.

“...The Remembrance Ring and that story. Fine. I believe you’re Hyang-ah’s son. But that doesn’t prove you’re the Clan Head’s. To me, it still looks like you’re just making this up to save your wrist.”

Middle-aged Detective Pavilion Head, sharp as ever.

Yeah. That would be the more logical conclusion. I mean, suddenly proclaiming I’m the Clan Head’s son at the most desperate moment? If I were in his shoes, I’d just shout “Then I’m your mom” and chop my wrist anyway.

It’s hard to believe. It sounds ridiculous, even to me.

But the thing is, the illegitimate child did exist. Hyang-ah and her son are both dead. And I’m the only one who knows their entire story.

“You don’t have to believe me. But if you truly serve the Clan Head, then you must bring me to him.”

I gently pulled my arm free from the Vice Pavilion Head and straightened my robe.

“Why would I take a liar with me?”

“Because I’m the one you’re looking for.”

This isn’t just about charming a tiger anymore. I’ve already stepped into the den—and now, there are too many tigers I have to fool.

“What do you mean by that?”

“You came to the Zhuge Clan to search for medicine, didn’t you? The only heir of the Sichuan Tang Clan is on the brink of death, and your clan couldn’t find a cure.”

I dropped that secret like it was no big deal—even though it was technically confidential Daseogak intel I’d gotten from a Society member.

“How do you know that?!”

To walk into a tiger’s den, I’d need more than just guts. Fooling one tiger wouldn’t be enough—I had to become a tiger myself.

So... what kind of tiger did I want to become?

I smiled like a young tiger who’d been waiting patiently for the pack leader to grow weak—then finally saw his chance.

“The Clan Head’s son is dying, and there’s no cure. So, tell me...”

“...Doesn’t that make me the only son the Tang Clan has left?”

The young tiger all others must bow to.

A being so sacred that even doubt becomes a crime.

Yes.

Let me become a tiger no one dares lay a hand on.