The Poison Courtyard was still drenched in the scent of withering herbs when the sky turned an ashen hue. Morning had not yet broken, and already, blood had been spilled in secret.
Tang Yun stood alone, his figure veiled by early fog. A faint sheen of poison mist clung to his sleeves. In his hand, he held a single silver needle, coated in a venom so subtle even seasoned elders would need hours to detect it. That was the secret of Widow's Blanket — a toxin he had perfected quietly over months, by combining old knowledge with experiments on insects.
He had tested it last night. On a snake that slithered too close. The creature hadn't screamed, hadn't thrashed. It had simply stopped moving, its blood frozen in silence.
The Mission of the Shadows
From the shadows emerged a boy with a scar beneath his left eye Xue Ming, one of the outer disciples Tang Yun had quietly recruited. Once a pickpocket from the lower districts, he now served the youngest son in exchange for protection and hidden teachings.
"They've sent someone," Xue Ming whispered. "To test your reaction. Probably one of Tang Wuhen's shadow pets."
Tang Yun's eyes gleamed. "Where?"
Xue Ming handed him a slip of paper, marked only with a symbol: a serpent coiled around a blade.
"So predictable," Tang Yun muttered. "Wuhen never tests directly. Always through pawns."
He didn't flinch. Instead, he walked into the training grove an area usually reserved for younger disciples.
That was where the assassin would strike.
The Grove of Hidden Blades
The grove was unnaturally quiet, save for the rustling of grass and the distant call of a crow. Tang Yun stepped lightly, each footstep silent.
He didn't need to act weak today. This was a trap but it was also an opportunity.
As he reached the lotus pond at the center, a shift in the wind warned him.
Too late for most.
But not for him.
His hand snapped up, catching the edge of a dart that glimmered in the early light. It vibrated violently the mark of a needle imbued with qi.
From the trees, a figure leapt, dressed in gray, masked, moving like smoke.
But Tang Yun had prepared.
The moment the assassin's foot touched the pond's surface, it trembled. A glimmer of green rose from the water a mist born from special lotus powder Tang Yun had scattered earlier.
The assassin hesitated.
And that was enough.
Tang Yun's body twisted. Widow's Blanket flashed from his fingers three silver needles shot forward, embedding in the attacker's shoulder and neck.
The figure froze midair, dropped to his knees, convulsed… then fell.
Not dead. Not yet.
Tang Yun approached slowly, kneeling beside the fallen spy.
"You should tell your master," he said coldly, "that next time, send someone worth my attention."
He inserted a neutralizing agent near the attacker's neck a fake gesture of mercy.
The real poison would activate two days later.
Elder Tang Mo's Suspicion
By noon, the event had spread.
A spy had been found paralyzed, with no trace of who defeated him. Rumors swirled among the elders. Elder Tang Mo, seated in his jade chamber, listened in silence.
"Wuhen's people don't fail," said Tang Ren, his arms crossed.
"They do if the target isn't what he seems," Tang Mo replied softly.
He stood and walked toward his window, gazing at the distant courtyard where Tang Yun practiced alone.
"The boy is hiding something."
Tang Liansu, ever silent, finally spoke: "He used Widow's Blanket. The mutated variant."
Tang Mo's eyes narrowed. "Who taught him?"
No one answered.
The Patriarch Speaks
Far above, deep within the Poison Emperor's secluded tower, a voice echoed in meditation.
"In venom, truth is found, Each drop a test, each burn a vow. The blade is fleeting — poison is eternal. All who walk this path must lose their fear of silence."
Patriarch Tang Qingshan had not spoken publicly in years. His body was rarely seen, but his words were etched in every wall, every manual.
Yet that morning, a scroll bearing his latest verse was placed in the courtyard — a warning to the clan.
Those who understood the way of poison knew what it meant:
Someone in the clan had awakened something worthy of his attention.
The First to Bend
That evening, Tang Huian the Thousand Venom Scholar visited Tang Yun under the pretense of inspecting his vine.
He sat on the stone bench with an unreadable expression.
"I hear someone defeated a masked assassin," he said, sipping herbal tea. "Poison paralysis without killing. Clever."
Tang Yun gave a respectful bow. "There are many geniuses in our clan. I am not one of them."
Huian smiled faintly. "You hide behind humility well. You know you can't do that forever, right?"
Tang Yun looked up. "I know."
Their eyes met, and in that moment, something passed between them. Not alliance. Not trust.
Recognition.
Huian stood. "If you ever need access to the second level of the Poison Scripture Hall… tell them I sent you."
He left without waiting for a reply.
The Art of Silent Power
In the days that followed, Tang Yun trained relentlessly. Not in open fields. Not with weapons. But in silence.
He refined Widow's Blanket. Modified Dustless Thorn. And began work on his new technique Karmic Toxin Thread, a nearly invisible strand of qi laced with poison that could coil around an enemy's meridian and explode only when triggered.
He had failed nine times. Each failure burned his veins.
But he kept going.
Because he wasn't trying to beat his siblings in open battle.
He was preparing to end them quietly, completely, when the time came.
Unseen Council
The elders met in secret.
"Tang Yun is rising too fast," Tang Ren said. "Shall we restrict his access?"
Tang Liansu shook her head. "He is following the rules."
Tang Mo tapped the table with his finger. "Let him rise. Let the others feel it. If he is truly dangerous, someone will try again."
They agreed with reluctance.
The Spark of Fear
In one week, Tang Yun had changed from a forgotten runt to a whispered name.
Not because he shouted.
But because people who underestimated him stopped appearing.
And others began watching.
A disciple named Ru San disappeared after mocking Tang Yun in public.
The guards found no body. Only a pool of ink-black blood.
No one could prove anything. But everyone assumed one name.
Tang Yun.
The twelfth son.
The quiet one.
The most dangerous kind.
The Fangs Emerge
One night, as stars pierced the sky, Tang Yun recited another verse under the same withered plum tree.
"Not all who bleed are weak, Not all smiles are peace. In roots that rot, new life may creep, And fangs may bloom beneath."
The plum petals fell gently, covering the ground in silence.
He whispered to himself.
"This is only the beginning."
[Tags]: Reincarnation, Martial Arts, Poison, Scheming Protagonist, Cultivation, Weak to Strong, Anti-Hero, Cold Protagonist, Clan Wars, Hidden Identity, Revenge