TSBIRBV Ch 51

Chapter 51 The Beast-Faced Tiger (1)

A man with hair half black and half white sat slumped by the roadside. His thick, dark brows and once-broken Roman nose gave him a fierce, unforgettable profile; more beast than man, a middle-aged predator.

Not even under a tree’s shade, he squinted into the sun while gnawing noisily on something—then paused, lifting his head.

Sniffing at the empty air, he spat. A peach pit, dented with teeth marks, clattered to the ground.

“Mm. Burning smell.”

Flaring his nostrils a few times, he scratched the back of his head, then rose with lazy purpose.

“This way?”

— — —

“All of these are jujube trees?”

Climbing the hill Samrang had scouted, Yegyeol couldn’t help his awe—there were quite a number of trees planted.

“Apparently the local lord once loved jujubes and had many planted,” Samrang said. “But he fell ill and departed for convalescence, and this land was put up for sale.”

“Now this makes me worry for Senior Brother…”

“What brings up our lord all of a sudden?”

“If he assigns someone as capable as you to me, won’t that leave him overloaded without a right hand?”

For a second, Samrang thought Yegyeol was buttering her up—but the troubled look on his face was painfully sincere.

“Jinyoung’s judgment must be slipping,” she thought, clicking her tongue inwardly.

“What? Thought I was flattering you?” Yegyeol asked, eyes bright as stars.

Samrang was speechless. He was like an infuriating little brother she’d never had. Mischief pricked up in her too.

“Even if I step away, nothing will happen to our lord,” she said suddenly.

“Why?”

“Because my work is so discreet that, if I vanish, no one notices the gap.”

Yegyeol was scandalized.

“I’m practically dating Senior Brother, but it’s so discreet that even he doesn’t know— is that what you’re saying?”

“Fine, fine. If you don’t want to tell me, keep your secrets.”

“It’s the truth,” she muttered, as he sighed and turned. Her smile at his retreating head was wicked.

“Come on, Baembaem.”

Yegyeol raised his right hand. The golden snake coiled around his wrist slid its head out, and when he stroked its snout, it tilted back like a purring cat.

“It’s time for you to shine.”

Sensing the power building in him, Baembaem’s scales began to glimmer.

Yegyeol approached a jujube tree and studied it.

This would be his fourth time using power in full. If he lost control, he might burn the whole mountain. And yet—he didn’t feel afraid.

“Just in case, you should step back,” he told Samrang.

When he turned, his eyes flickered with an animal gold.

Samrang swallowed. She had glimpsed that gold once before—when he burned the mountain fortress. This was no illusion; the current swirling through his gaze was clear as a wound.

“Is it the spirit beast’s influence? Or fallout from those twenty lost years?” Her thoughts raced.

“Good luck,” she breathed.

Even as she retreated, Yegyeol kept that gold from his eyes.

At some point he had begun to “see” a pale, human-sized haze, especially when focusing or calling power—it grew sharper.

He suspected it was bioelectric signaling, the kind he felt from unorthodox masters. Even a Soul-Eater using Ghost-Feeding Arts could not fully mask bioelectric flicker. If he trained this “sight,” he might even spot grandmasters in stealth.

“Start by testing on martial artists like Samrang who kill their presence by habit,” he decided.

When her presence vanished entirely, he faced the tree and slowly closed his eyes.

One tree at a time.

He had never been taught how much strength to draw, or how wide an area to set—he simply could.

“Let’s make top-grade lightning-struck jujube wood and climb into the Three Great Trading Houses of the Central Plains!”

With that cheerfully worldly cry, Yegyeol opened his eyes. As they flashed a clear, molten gold, yellow lightning lanced down from the bright blue sky.

Once. Twice. Three times. And—

“Oh…”

Samrang’s voice drifted over—hard to tell if it was awe or dismay.

Before Yegyeol stood a jujube tree, charred into a pillar of coal. The shadow of a jujube had climbed its own trunk and devoured it whole: black, lifeless.

Samrang prodded it. The black timber collapsed into ash. Burned clean white-hot.

Yegyeol scratched his jaw, sheepish.

“Let’s see… Used too much juice?”

Samrang’s eyes narrowed. Yegyeol, shamelessly tapping Baembaem’s nose ridge, said,

“Less power next time. Lightning too strong and the whole tree cooks.”

More teasing than scolding.

He knew he was the one who overdid it; Baembaem, giddy from eating all the excess current its master spilled, was as happy as a well-fed cat.

“What a pity,” Samrang said with a sly grin. Yegyeol’s shoulders jumped.

“I’ll get it next time.”

“Of course.”

“This is the road to the Three Great Trading Houses! Some trial and error is expected!”

“Just now you sounded like you’d do it in one go.”

And, she did not add aloud, “You already qualify.”

Hugging Baembaem, Yegyeol reached toward the second tree.

But who is satisfied on the second cup?

“Ah.”

He sighed. This time the bark turned gray and the core glowed like magma—red and molten.

“Too weak, maybe…”

“Oh, it’s fine. We still have 106 trees left. Though we did go from 108 to 106.”

As Samrang crowed with glee, Yegyeol looked at her sourly.

Seeing her delight, he shielded Baembaem’s head with a hand.

“Baembaem. Don’t listen. It’s fine to make mistakes. Teasing Baembaem is mean. If Samrang invites you somewhere, don’t go. If she asks for help, don’t help. Alright?”

Samrang paled.

Even a spirit beast—could it really understand? She had watched Baembaem and Yegyeol’s uncanny rapport up close too long to dismiss it.

Right then, Baembaem seemed to nod. Instinct that had preserved her for over a decade shoved Samrang to salvage her fate.

“Y-Young Master Mun, you can do it! The road to the Three Great Trading Houses is long and hard—but you’re a genius!”

She pumped her fist.

“Our Baembaem can do it too! The brightest serpent in the Central Plains—no, the brightest spirit beast!”

“You’re so transparent,” Yegyeol muttered, shaking his head before turning back to the trees. There were many left, as she’d said.

Only one way forward—experiment until it worked.

“Success!”

Bright as citrus, he cried out. Before him stood a jujube tree perfectly struck by lightning.

Using a reference chunk of lightning-struck wood Samrang had brought, he had roasted it evenly. He was used to pouring everything out in a blast; modulating power uniformly had been hard work, but now he was getting there.

“This one looks right.”

As he stroked the wood, Baembaem, who had been “acting” as the lightning-caller all along, twined around his wrist and did a wiggly little dance. It looked like boneless writhing, but Yegyeol felt its delight.

After all, every time they erred along the way, the excess charge went straight into Baembaem’s belly. Minimal environmental damage, a full serpent, fooled Samrang’s sharp eyes—three birds with one stone.

“Never thought I’d be playing with fire like this—not even as a kid,” Samrang sighed, exhausted. Beside her sat several buckets that had once been full of water.

When the struck trees caught and the flames tried to spread, she sprinted to douse them—at first enough with what they’d brought, later requiring qinggong just to ferry water fast enough.

“In the middle—no. Forget it.”

If they hadn’t met that guide—Namgung Un—Yegyeol might have run out of power.

“Think Namgung Clan is handling the fight?”

“Seems it’s still ongoing. Latest word: the Jiaolong Ship captured the Tang vanguard that rode ahead. On their way back, Tang’s men saw masked martial artists moving hostages from the Jiaolong Ship to smaller boats, tried to stop them, and loosed fire arrows to pin them.”

“A dogfight then,” Yegyeol said.

“The Tang clanmaster personally redirected arrow fire toward the river pirates.”

“And Namgung accepted that move?”

“Yes. But Namgung Un insists there are still hostages aboard and is pushing a rescue.”

Yegyeol paused, rubbing Baembaem’s brow.

“…Am I that hostage?”

“Yes.”

He had treated Un decently enough to secure leniency about Baembaem—more effective than expected, it seemed.

“So trusting, the Namgung heir…” he murmured.

Samrang was dumbfounded.

“You like him, then?”

How anyone could see the Thunder-Sworded Dragon as a naive hero baffled her.

“No. Listen. Most prodigies are rotten seedlings. But Namgung Un—he has true chivalry. We were essentially strangers, yet he pretended to be fine just to reassure me. Even injured, he played decoy while the Azure Corps saved others…”

He clicked his tongue—but without displeasure.

“It reminded me of Senior Brother in Kunlun days.”

“Ah—so, the Thunder-Sworded Dragon feels like your former lord.”

“Exactly. In those years, Senior Brother was the very model of a knight-errant.”

Yegyeol’s eyes sparkled.

— — —