TSBIRBV Ch 106

Chapter 106 Mission Complete (2)

A breath caught in his throat in an instant.

Hidden by the table so Zhang Qi couldn’t see, Haryang’s hand curled over the back of Yegyeol’s hand.

[Let’s get up even now. I’ll handle the aftermath.]

At the gentle comfort from a man who hadn’t moved his lips, Yegyeol nearly swooned.

“No, but how is senior brother using Huiguang Heart‑Speech after being expelled from Kunlun?”

Soundless transmission, the mouth‑sealed inner‑voice method, can be used by any martial artist if inner power is sufficient; its drawback is that one can guess the content by reading lips.

What complements this is precisely Huiguang Heart‑Speech.

Unlike inner‑voice transmission, it conveys intent without moving the lips, but it isn’t widely used because it’s that difficult; it requires not only inner power but enlightenment beyond a certain plane.

Put another way, while others use public Wi‑Fi that can be hacked, Je Haryang alone is blasting 5G data to send a voice file.

“They’re lovely little ones.”

Instead of nodding to Haryang, Yegyeol addressed Zhang Qi.

Their nails were clean and they were dressed neatly—no doubt to receive guests—but the reek of misfortune could not be wiped from them.

“Do you have an interest in children?”

“The young are bound to be clumsy, yet you manage them well.”

Perhaps excited that the master of Cheonghae showed interest, Zhang Qi chattered freely.

“Their hands aren’t seasoned, but if taught from young they become faithful workers of the consortium.”

“…Faithful workers.”

Yegyeol smiled brightly.

“That’s quite tempting.”

He wasn’t frightened.

He was angry.

“Would the master need to fetch such half‑baked things to put to use?”

Haryang, who had been unable to hide his concern, now seemed to catch Yegyeol’s intent and played the loyal steward.

“Isn’t the Wu‑Sam Consortium’s method intriguing? They’re young and small, so they won’t eat much.”

The children, knowing they were being discussed, still stared desperately at the floor.

Abnormal, of course.

“My, the master of Cheonghae knows a thing or two. Indeed. And if food is tightened to a moderate degree as they’re taught, the speed of learning is very fast.”

“What price do these children fetch?”

Feigning unchecked curiosity, Yegyeol asked. If he would only say how much, he would go to the constables at once and testify that illegal trafficking was taking place.

“Price? In hard times, people send their children to cut one more mouth from the pot. We provide room and board and teach them work—families with many children are all desperate to send their young to our consortium.”

Zhang Qi’s palms rubbed together as he smiled; it was as cunning a face as could be. In the way he so plausibly justified exploitation, Yegyeol saw Crooked Ear of old.

“If we don’t protect you, you’ll all be abducted and sold. If you’re lucky and land in a rich house—maybe—but usually you’re sent as slaves to ships or islands. Can’t even run there. You know that?”

If one trembled and sobbed, Crooked Ear would peel up a disgusting smile.

“And if you eat too much or make too many mistakes, we throw you to the fish. You should be grateful we protect gutter brats like you. Got it?”

Worrying when the tip of the blade tapping his cheek would move to his ear, hearing that “today might be luckier than tomorrow,” he had to nod desperately.

Only then would Crooked Ear, satisfied, spit and snap:

“If you understand, hurry and fill those pockets.”

Some things are better unchanged.

If by chance Crooked Ear, reborn as Zhang Qi, had turned over a new leaf, the catharsis of smashing him into the floor would have dulled.

“Is that so?”

Yegyeol picked at the food like a man who had suddenly lost interest.

“You’re not eating much today.”

“Oh dear, are you? I’ll go give the chef a good scolding.”

“Our master is very particular about what goes into his mouth—don’t blame an innocent chef.”

“If he cannot suit a guest’s palate, he’s incompetent, no?”

“Well.”

Lowering his eyes, Haryang spoke—loud enough to be heard.

“A subordinate merely suits the master’s taste… It isn’t the chef’s fault.”

At Haryang’s subtle scolding of Zhang Qi, Yegyeol clucked his tongue. The timing—lest the man miss it—was slyly precise.

Deciding to act before Zhang Qi took it out on the hapless chef, Yegyeol spoke.

“My steward paints me a fussy man. When out among others, it’s natural I cannot live as in Cheonghae.”

While seeming to rebuke the steward, he was in truth reinforcing his quiet blame.

“Out of misplaced concern, I… My apologies.”

Even the direction of Haryang’s bow—toward Yegyeol.

Under the perfectly harmonized senior‑junior assault, Zhang Qi’s face flushed and paled.

“I shall step out for a moment.”

No shame could be worse, but bound by the contract, he seemed set on cooling his temper somehow.

As he moved to take one child with him, Yegyeol twitched his chopsticks.

“Ah—on your way out, have the children run an errand.”

“…State it.”

Perhaps swallowing his rising rage, Zhang Qi answered a bit slowly.

“The food is all cold—have it all taken away and divided among the servants; tell the chef to bring new dishes. The more meat, the better.”

“As if there were any question.”

Zhang Qi ground his teeth. Since the master of Cheonghae had asked for more food, he could not lay hands on the child.

He could call one out separately, but then he might be thought shabby in his treatment.

“A perfectly drawn‑up true nuisance.”

He even entertained the base thought: had the question about “price” been because he wanted to “buy” them himself? With that, he strode out.

In any case, any talk of deals over a few cups of tea had sunk; he would pour wine and get the guest drunk—and himself as well.

Wine, after all, turns even an enemy’s face into a nation‑toppling beauty.

When Zhang Qi and the children left, Yegyeol, who had been sitting primly, spread his sleeve. The golden snake’s snout slipped out, as if to ask: may I go? Tapping the table, he had the golden snake show itself fully; it coiled where Yegyeol’s finger indicated.

Instead of pressing to the door as before, Yegyeol asked Haryang,

“Are they gone?”

“Far enough, it seems.”

“Zhang Qi’s office was this way, yes?”

Before coming, senior brother had shown Yegyeol the plans of the Wu‑Sam manor. Rather than ask where he had gotten them, Yegyeol memorized the layout carefully.

“Yes.”

Counting off rooms since entering, Yegyeol realized they had been led to the second‑largest room. Just two partitions over was where Zhang Qi worked.

“If you mean to go yourself, I’d rather you didn’t. The sun is still too bright.”

“No need to wait for dusk.”

Bending to meet Baembaem’s gaze, Yegyeol whispered,

“Then—count on you again.”

On Yegyeol’s firm trust, Agent Baembaem deployed.

—

At the window of the room used as Zhang Qi’s office, a golden snake appeared.

Creeping along the sill, the snake coiled up a pillar and mounted the beam. Slithering along above, it froze.

There—under the roof—something warm, like a fresh mouse, passed. Flicking its tongue a few times, the snake resolutely turned its head and pressed forward. It was no ordinary snake, but a spirit creature; it knew to place purpose above instincts like greed for food.

Following the scent Yegyeol had named, the golden snake halted—heat from outside was approaching.

It hesitated; people rarely looked up, but this was the moment to decide for caution.

The Thousand‑Year Thunder‑Horn loosened the power in its tail wound around the beam. Plop—something fell onto the pile of cloth below.

Almost at once, the door slid open and a child appeared.

“What was that?”

Peeking in, the child judged nothing amiss and took some plain cloth from a drawer, then went out.

When the heat moved off, a small golden head popped up from the middle of the piled silk.

Thinking it a close call, the snake stretched its neck and looked around.

To minimize sound, it had dropped onto a heap of cloth—but this was its own rough ground. However able a spirit creature, advancing on slick fabric was impossible.

After a few tries at belly‑crawling, no matter how it worked, it went nowhere.

At last, the snake resolved to use its ultimate art.

At the tips of horns trim as a kitten’s teeth, current began to gather. Eyes rounding into triangles with the strain, it showered micro‑lightning onto the fabric that blocked its advance.

A streak of golden current flashed across the floor; the cloth burned through cleanly, losing its original shape. Proud of its success, the snake straightened its tail.

Usually, after one such burst it would go wobbly and hibernate even in midsummer; this time was different. Its capable benefactor had breathed thunder‑energy into it morning and night.

But it was too soon to be pleased.

A long black scorch mark had formed on the wooden desk under the silk; the snake, who had only meant to singe the cloth, studiously ignored it.

The human who followed its benefactor had said true infiltration should leave no trace—but sometimes, force majeure happens.

Reaching the desk it had aimed for, the snake nosed about and found a slit between books. Behind the books was a small groove, and there, something like what it had brought to Yegyeol the other day could be seen.

Clamping the ledger smartly in its jaws and pulling it out, the snake puffed out its tiny chest with dignity and headed back to the room where Yegyeol waited.

Mission complete again today.

“Now where did you get all this soot?”

Clicking his tongue, Yegyeol wiped the snake down.

Its tongue flicked. It could have told how hard the time had been. But the snake chose not to speak of its journey.

A true Thousand‑Year Thunder‑Horn does not boast of its own merit.

Instead, lifting its body upright, it looked up at Yegyeol, then raised its tail and touched it smartly to the corner of its eye. A resolve like that of a veteran of a hundred battles seemed to flow from it.

For a moment, wondering what that was, Yegyeol almost burst out laughing.

“A salute? Do you even know what that is?”

Come to think—he had, as a joke, returned a salute when the snake completed a mission successfully once.

Hugging the small, cool creature tight, Yegyeol set it in his palm and boasted to Haryang,

“Isn’t it truly clever—and adorable?”