Guide of the Sichuan Tang Clan C29

Chapter 29

The price of the prolonged intimacy was steeper than Eunmyeong had imagined. Cheongwoo did not stop at stuffing his arms full of liquor—he sent an entire cart piled high with it, adding that it was fine wine and should be savored sparingly.

“He’s not the sort of man with a bottomless capacity,” Cheongwoo murmured, forcing one last bottle onto the already overburdened cart.

As a result, what was meant to be a quiet drink with Mujin in a room grew into something far larger.

The servants Cheongwoo dispatched moved with crisp efficiency. From somewhere they produced dishes and laid them out one by one, setting chopsticks, bowls, and cups in neat order. In no time, the dining hall was filled with mouthwatering aromas and a gentle warmth.

“Hah…”

Holding a white porcelain bottle, Eunmyeong stared at the scene in a daze.

“This wasn’t part of the plan.”

He had only intended to share a modest drink with Mujin in his room. Alcohol would fill the silence, loosen tongues, and once Mujin was pleasantly tipsy, Eunmyeong could coax out his true feelings—especially why he kept rejecting proper guiding—before slipping off to the cave.

Instead, the drinking bout had turned into a banquet.

As Eunmyeong groaned softly at the sight of the feast spread across the table, loud voices burst in as those who had gone up the mountain poured inside.

“Liquor!”

“Waaah!”

The martial artists rushed in and claimed seats without a second thought. They looked nothing like when they had departed. Their training robes were torn in places, hair long since disheveled, arms, legs, and knuckles scraped raw as if they had rolled down a cliff.

Watching them tear into meat with bloodstained hands as though injuries meant nothing, Eunmyeong clicked his tongue.

‘Did they climb a mountain, or did they go experience life as beggars from the Beggars’ Sect?’

They ate with the desperation of true vagrants. How did one even end up in such a state? Accustomed to seeing them train in clean robes, Eunmyeong found their appearance jarringly unfamiliar. Those who followed behind were no better.

Amid the stream of bedraggled figures, a heavy thud echoed as someone hauled himself over the threshold.

“Uuugh…”

The sound was like a beast’s groan. It was Sowoon, the eldest. His inability to steady himself was alarming. Startled, Eunmyeong hurried over.

“Are you alright?”

“Li… liquor…”

Mumbling for alcohol, Sowoon lifted his head. Hollow eyes showed through his tangled hair.

“Why does your complexion look like that?”

“S-sul(liqour)… give me liquor…”

His face was yellowed, like a chronic drunk’s. He looked ready to be dragged straight to the infirmary, yet he only pleaded for drink. Staring blankly at Eunmyeong, his gaze soon drifted to the table.

“Liquor… I have to drink… to live…”

His legs trembling, he crawled toward the table. Once seated, he began pouring liquor down his throat as though it were a life-saving elixir.

“Uugh… ugh…”

He looked like a corpse reanimated by dark magic, gulping down drink after drink. The speed at which dishes emptied matched the speed at which bottles did. As if expecting this, servants at the back kept bringing more bottles and refilling plates.

It was less drinking than pouring alcohol straight into his stomach. After all, there was no poison older than liquor itself. The Tang Clan were resistant to poisons—and accordingly fond of drink.

As Eunmyeong shook his head at the bottles already rolling across the floor, a familiar voice called out.

“Hero!”

Jeongho entered the dining hall, greeting him brightly. Beside him stood Mujin. Unlike the others, Mujin looked immaculate, just as he had when he first set out for the mountain—robes neat, hair in place.

“I believe I told you to wait in your quarters,” Mujin said, stopping in front of Eunmyeong. Eunmyeong felt his gaze settle around his head. Swallowing, he instinctively looked away.

“This isn’t my quarters, is it?”

The follow-up made Eunmyeong’s heart race as though he had been caught in wrongdoing. Afraid his heartbeat might be audible, he pressed a hand to his chest.

‘What’s wrong with my heart?’

He hadn’t done anything wrong. Even if he had kissed Cheongwoo, Mujin had no right to be angry.

…Even if things had gone further.

‘Then why do I feel so guilty?’

He should have lifted his head and stuck close to Mujin—chatting, pouring him drinks, getting him drunk, and escorting him back to his quarters as planned. Yet right now, Eunmyeong could barely rein in his turbulent emotions.

A cool touch brushed his cheek.

“Are you unwell?”

Mujin gently cupped Eunmyeong’s cheek and lifted his face. The moment his serious expression came into view, Eunmyeong’s heart pounded harder.

Thump, thump—his pulse roared in his ears. Sensing something amiss, Mujin brought the back of his hand to Eunmyeong’s forehead.

“You don’t seem feverish. Shall we return to your quarters?”

“……”

“Would that be better?”

His low voice blended with the sound of Eunmyeong’s heartbeat.

“Tang Eunmyeong.”

Meeting Mujin’s gaze with trembling eyes, Eunmyeong felt a slow stroke across his forehead.

“You should answer.”

A gentle tap followed.

“Answer.”

That uncharacteristically tender touch brought Eunmyeong back to himself. This was no time for this. If he went back claiming illness, he would surely fall asleep without drinking properly.

Slowly, he shook his head.

“I’m just a bit dizzy.”

“Dizzy?”

“I was busy today, that’s all. It’s nothing worth worrying about—please, go sit down.”

Mujin’s gaze traced Eunmyeong’s face as though swallowing words he wished to say. Seeing no opening, he withdrew his hand.

“Very well.”

He passed by Eunmyeong at an unhurried pace. Their sleeves brushed, then parted.

“If you feel unwell, come to me at once.”

Despite his cool temperature, warmth clung to his words. After lingering on them for a moment, Eunmyeong headed toward the table.

Why did everything feel so complicated? Had he grown attached while chasing after Mujin to guide him? Or did it trouble him to deceive someone who looked at him with such concern? Each time he thought of Mujin, his chest fluttered like he had committed some great sin.

‘No. There’s no reason to feel like this.’

He hadn’t defined a relationship with anyone yet. There was no reason for his heart to feel heavy. Steeling himself, Eunmyeong sat in an empty seat.

“Hm?”

Unfortunately, the empty seat was beside Sowoon. Flushed-faced, Sowoon peered at him.

“That expression doesn’t look good.”

“I’m just hungry.”

“Hng, no, that’s not it.”

Drawing a deep breath, Sowoon leaned an elbow lazily on the table. With his other hand, he diligently poured liquor into both his own cup and Eunmyeong’s—an automatic reflex.

“I’ve seen that look before.”

Setting the bottle down, he suddenly exclaimed,

“Right! It’s exactly like when Yuj o got harassed at a tavern.”

“Hyung!”

Yujo cried out from across the table. Sowoon chuckled.

“That guy once got stuck between two courtesans at a tavern and really suffered, hahah!”

“Hyung! Stop it!”

Yujo waved his hands frantically, face burning, but Sowoon kept going.

“They say popularity has its troubles—caught between two, he was so flustered. He couldn’t even focus on training and got thoroughly beaten by the Young Clan Head.”

“Yujo?”

“Yep. Doesn’t look it, but he must’ve been born lucky—went on like that for a while.”

Sowoon’s hand traced a neat arc with the cup before setting it down again and pouring more. The motions flowed like water—clearly a seasoned drinker.

Two tavern courtesans. Comparing the Tang Clan Head and Young Clan Head to courtesans was hardly proper, but in terms of beauty, those two surpassed any courtesan alive.

‘And I really am caught between them.’

As Sowoon rambled on about love affairs, Yujo looked ready to cry. Clutching the bottle, he poured strong liquor into Sowoon’s cup.

“Please stop! Please! Close your mouth! Other people’s love lives—”

“Haha, so then—”

“Hyung!”

When Yujo tried to cover his mouth, Sowoon leaned back, still holding both cups. Handing one to Eunmyeong, he continued. The strong liquor sloshed in the cup.

“So what do you think happened? For reference, that guy liked Eunhyang, but Borum was better at music and cuter.”

My preference is Mujin, but the Clan Head kisses better and has more… charm. If one could call it charm. The image of Cheongwoo telling him to kneel between his legs flashed through Eunmyeong’s mind, and he stared blankly at the cup.

“Still, when Eunhyang smiled just once, his legs went weak.”

Mujin’s slanted smile overlapped with Cheongwoo’s face. Damn it. Eunmyeong closed and opened his eyes slowly as his thoughts tangled again.

The Eunmyeong who used to nag them relentlessly to get acupuncture lest their internal energy explode was nowhere to be found. Seeing him stare vacantly into his cup, eyes wavering, Sowoon snorted.

“Look at that—clearly a people problem.”

Sowoon casually grabbed Eunmyeong’s hand from his knee and placed it over the cup.

“There’s only one master who can solve that problem in this world.”

“…Who?”

“This.”

He brought the cup toward Eunmyeong’s lips. The pungent scent of strong liquor stabbed at his nose.