Guide of the Sichuan Tang Clan C32

Chapter 32

“Everyone else seems to accept treatment just fine…”

Eunmyeong muttered while staring at the ground. They were words he had pressed deep into his heart for a long time. Whether in the training grounds or briefly within the residence, Mujin never left him the slightest opening.

He could see it clearly—the turbulence in Mujin’s inner energy growing more and more tangled—yet he was unable to guide it. Anxiety gnawed at him, but he dared not speak. What if he irritated Mujin and ended up being refused even the little guiding he was allowed now?

Eunmyeong’s lips jutted out again, the mouth that spoke nothing but truth.

“Thinking about it just makes me mad.”

His pronunciation was suddenly crisp as he lifted his head sharply.

“This won’t do.”

The way he glared with unfocused eyes was brazen to the extreme. A bad premonition rose. Every time Tang Eunmyeong’s eyes lit up like that, an incident followed. Mujin rejected it outright.

“No.”

“Do you know how much I’ve held back all this time?”

“What are you doing?”

Mujin’s voice was firm, like a master muttering instinctively when his puppy vanished from sight.

Before he could even push him away, Eunmyeong’s hand moved. Slowly, it traced the bulging vein along Mujin’s arm. The sleeve was pushed back, revealing solid muscle beneath.

With half-lidded eyes, Eunmyeong dragged his gaze down Mujin’s arm. Muscles carved in precise lines testified to relentless training.

“…You didn’t even let me see it all this time.”

Guiding worked far better on an arm than just holding hands. The surface area was wider—better in every way. Fixing his gaze there, Eunmyeong licked his lips.

“I seriously thought I’d die holding back every night. You wouldn’t give me even an inch. Honestly.”

“….”

“All I did was fiddle with your hands and suffer for it.”

He was speaking purely about guiding, yet Mujin’s mind went blank. The word touch expanded grotesquely in his head.

What is he even saying right now?

Meaningless phrases flooded Mujin’s thoughts—holding back, wanting to touch. His rigid body trembled as he forced his lips to move.

“Do you even know what you’re saying right now?”

“Of course I do!”

“…What?”

“I’m saying I wanted to touch you, obviously!”

As calmly as if stating a fact, Eunmyeong moved his hand up—this time to Mujin’s neck. Like handling fine porcelain, his fingers slid down, lower and lower.

A broad chest. A chest perfect for holding, perfect for gripping—the holy ground of guiding.

And Mujin’s chest was on an entirely different level from any esper Eunmyeong had met. Spear, sword, throwing blade—Mujin trained in all of it. Dense muscle packed his chest, shifting visibly beneath the fabric every time he breathed.

When Eunmyeong’s hand moved, the chest depressed and sprang back. The resilience alone promised how effective guiding would be.

It worked so well even when he was unconscious.

If only he’d stripped him bare and just held onto that chest—it would’ve been healed already!

Thinking that sober Eunmyeong would have been horrified, he instead looked at Mujin with genuine regret, stroking his chest. Tears nearly welled at the thought of all the guiding he’d missed.

“Damn it, I should’ve grabbed this chest sooner.”

“…Tang Eunmyeong.”

“This chest—seriously—it’s totally mine.”

“Get a hold of yourself.”

Exasperated, Mujin grabbed Eunmyeong’s wrist and tried to pull him away. Eunmyeong clung desperately, refusing to let go.

“It’s mine…!”

“Are you even in your right mind right now?”

“It fits my hand perfectly—it’s mine! My chest!”

It’s the perfect size! If I put my hands here and hug you, it fits exactly!

With unfocused eyes fixed on Mujin’s chest, Eunmyeong shouted at the top of his lungs. This lunatic—! His voice was loud enough to carry over the wall. Mujin hurriedly clamped a hand over Eunmyeong’s mouth.

With one hand, he restrained Eunmyeong’s flailing arms and slammed him back against the wall. Eunmyeong’s struggle subsided.

Their breathing rang loud. Their shadows stretched long. The distance between them vanished in an instant, and Eunmyeong panted.

Mujin’s face was right there—close enough for their breaths to mingle. For a fleeting moment, Mujin tilted his head as if to kiss him.

“Did you act like this in the dining hall too?”

His low voice echoed.

It was like cold water being thrown over him. Eunmyeong looked up at Mujin with shaking eyes. In the darkness, Mujin’s gaze burned fiercely.

They were far too close. Eunmyeong could see every movement of Mujin’s lips, every subtle change in his eyes.

Mujin was looking straight at him.

Just meeting his gaze made Eunmyeong feel bound.

“Did you claim the others as yours too?”

The growling question filled the air. With his free hand, Mujin slowly stroked Eunmyeong’s cheek.

Cold energy seeped in.

“Tang Eunmyeong.”

“….”

“You should answer.”

He tapped Eunmyeong’s cheek twice in urging.

Eunmyeong slowly shook his head. Mujin’s expression eased—just slightly.

His patience was reaching its limit. When had it started to crumble? When he learned Eunmyeong could treat others too? Or when he saw him grinning foolishly in the dining hall?

That was why he’d kept his distance.

Every time that small figure ran around, unfamiliar emotions reared their heads—emotions he had never felt before.

I want to grab him and lock him in my residence.

The thought first surfaced when Eunmyeong began roaming the training grounds under the excuse of treatment.

I want to hide him so no one else can see.

Tie him to my bedside so he waits for me alone.

Every time Mujin saw Eunmyeong trimming herbs, or sitting in the sunlight on the veranda, those dangerous urges resurfaced.

And when he saw Eunmyeong being struck by an elder, the desire to make him cry finally forced Mujin to admit his madness.

He thought avoiding contact would fix it. Keeping things distant. Minimizing treatment. Surely Tang Eunmyeong would give up first.

But Eunmyeong was stubborn. And before he knew it, Mujin was fixing his clothes every morning.

He could no longer endure it. Nor could he stop.

Mujin exhaled deeply.

Eunmyeong’s heated breath brushed against him. Trapped, Eunmyeong looked frantic.

A low growl escaped Mujin’s throat.

“I need to know why I feel so wrong.”

His hand slid downward. Fingertips traced Eunmyeong’s neck, moving lower. When they reached the knotted sash, Eunmyeong flinched.

Without hesitation, Mujin grabbed his waist. The same place Yujo had held to steady him.

“…Ah.”

“Why my mood turns filthy every time another man touches you.”

The hand moved more intimately. Eunmyeong swallowed reflexively.

From waist to thigh—precisely the inside of the left thigh, where Jeongho had rested his head earlier. Mujin tapped it deliberately.

“Why, after spending so much time with them, I still want to cut them down every time they touch you.”

This time, he seized Eunmyeong’s thigh hard. Pain exploded like a lash. Eunmyeong cried out.

“Aah! Young Master…!”

“I need to know why my heart is this confused.”

The place Mujin touched burned hot. His hand was cold—yet heat surged through Eunmyeong.

Before he knew it, heat filled Eunmyeong’s eyes too. Mujin continued, staring into them.

“You said you were dissatisfied because I wouldn’t accept treatment. That you had energy to spare, enough to tend to others.”

“Y-Young Master…”

“Lift your head. Look at me properly, Tang Eunmyeong.”

Mujin warned softly.

“What happens if I take you as much as I want.”

A large hand cupped Eunmyeong’s face. Their lips collided, bodies flooding with warmth. Eunmyeong’s eyes flew open.

Mujin bit lightly at his lower lip. As it parted, his tongue slid in without mercy—yet it moved gently inside, caressing rather than conquering.

Sweet.

Sweeter than any Tang confection. Mujin couldn’t stop kissing those lips. Once loosed, the reins could never be pulled back.

“Mm…!”

Eunmyeong gasped, and only then did Mujin regain his senses. As if punishing himself for stopping, he bit Eunmyeong’s lower lip lightly before pulling away.

A thin strand of saliva stretched between them. Their ragged breathing echoed in the dark.

“You weren’t the only one holding back.”

Mujin murmured, wiping Eunmyeong’s lips.

“You wouldn’t know what it took for me to push you away.”

“….”

“If I crossed the line and gave you my heart…”

“….”

“When you disappear, I’d be the one who’d suffer.”

A lock of hair had fallen across Eunmyeong’s forehead. Mujin brushed it aside, letting out a quiet laugh.

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

His low voice sank deep into Eunmyeong’s chest.

The hair Mujin had tied that morning trembled.

Or perhaps—what trembled was Eunmyeong’s heart.

There was no wind at all.