TSBIRBV Ch 116

Chapter 116 More Than a Drama (4)

Yegyeol and Haryang left Hangzhou and headed for the Yangtze River basin. This time the Jiaolong King did not greet them in person, but a boat she had arranged carried the two of them along the long, winding river.

The Yangtze cut across Chongqing and set them down on the outskirts of Sichuan.

Haryang watched the priest with the air of someone ostensibly checking on Red Thunder, who had traveled with them, while in fact he was lost in thought, observing Yegyeol.

Throughout the return from Hangzhou, Yegyeol had been unusually quiet.

Perhaps it was apt to say his mind had wandered elsewhere.

He had even, absentmindedly while eating, reached to stroke the thousand-year brain-shell net—so perhaps that description was accurate.

Still, Haryang did not press him with questions or work to pry into Yegyeol’s thoughts. He had an inkling of the truth.

He remembered Yegyeol, flushed and mellow in his arms.

Not the Black Ghost.

In his arms.

At one time Haryang had convinced himself that either way would do—if it meant returning Yegyeol to himself, it was acceptable. But the reality had proved far sweeter than he had anticipated.

“It is excessive,” he thought.

Their original relationship had been warped.

For Haryang, the position of elder brother had been his only tether to Yegyeol; yet that very connection had driven the priest to avoid him. Yegyeol had desperately sought someone other than Haryang, and fate sent him into the Black Ghost’s arms.

Haryang had come to realize this only after finding Yegyeol back from that embrace—pale-faced, tearstained.

He could no longer pretend that what he had thought whole and stable rested on secure ground.

“Desires, what are they?” he mused.

After all, it was still Haryang who soothed those desires.

On the night Yegyeol had secretly comforted himself and wept, Haryang had been there.

On the night Yegyeol confessed to the Black Ghost that he could not bring shame upon his elder brother, Haryang had been there.

On nights the priest, smiling bright and innocent, had asked for lullabies, Haryang had been there.

All those nights had belonged to Haryang.

Yet secrets he could not reveal to Yegyeol had accreted like scabs and become part of him.

While wearing the Black Ghost’s hide and coveting Yegyeol’s sweet body, Haryang had not known the source of his thirst; he had only taken what was in his embrace because he was thirsty. But now he understood.

He had become greedy.

The trip to Hangzhou had altered much.

“Elder brother.”

Yegyeol closed the distance in a purposeful stride and called to Haryang. He looked as if he had something to say.

“Yes. Speak,” Haryang replied with a gentle nod.

Yegyeol stated his intention plainly.

“I don’t think I should go straight to Qinghai; I ought to stop in Sichuan first.”

“Sichuan?” Haryang asked softly, and Yegyeol nodded.

“Seonye Workshop petitioned for trade. Their dyeing is among the best. It seemed promising—but they’ll need raw silk to dye, won’t they?”

“My, how busy you are.”

“You’ve been away a long time.”

The priest’s mild smile made it plausible that his concern was simply for the guild’s affairs. Still, Haryang smelled something familiar on Yegyeol.

It was deception.

The priest had been thinking elsewhere for a while. He had made a decision and masked it with the silk pretext—too obvious to be accidental.

Nevertheless, Haryang lowered his gaze.

He could not treat Yegyeol like any other liar or traitor; he was indulgent to the one priest he possessed.

Haryang reached and took Yegyeol’s shoulder, considering the most “natural” way to let him sit by his side.

‘He seems friendly with the Sichuan scion… I can casually expose the thousand-year brain-shell net,’ he thought. It would likely cause no harm; since Namgung Un’s name had come up, Haryang had deduced that the young scion’s character was upright and kind. In other words, as reliable as Kunlun’s old ways.

If Namgung’s house tried anything, Haryang would block it.

‘But if I tell the priest it’s dangerous, he’ll believe me. He always has,’ he reminded himself.

Then, under the pretense of protecting him from a revealed spirit, he could spirit Yegyeol away to the Ten-Thousand-Mountain sanctuary. Though Haryang had planned to conceal his truth and thus hadn’t taken Yegyeol there before, in reality it would be safer than the Central Plains—a place where devotees worshipped Je Haryang like a god.

‘…Though I will have to renounce the Qinghai guildseat for a while,’ he thought.

A faint smile flickered at Haryang’s lips as he remembered the vows he had once half-promised—to make the Qinghai guild one of Central Plains’ top three, or to build a ship for them. The smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

“Very well,” Haryang said, patting Yegyeol’s shoulder in encouragement and then slowly releasing his hold. “Then we must part here. I’ll hand over Red Thunder; go quickly.”

“No! Elder brother, you should still return to Qinghai—”

“Hush.” Haryang adopted a mock-stern expression. Yegyeol flinched and passed the reins.

“I will supply an escort. He will trail you unseen.”

“Is there an escort as swift as Red Thunder?” Yegyeol asked. Haryang flashed a subtle, ambiguous smile. Of course the Central Plains were wide and swift masters plentiful, but Haryang intended to follow Yegyeol himself.

“I’m not one to be an escort by trade. Still, Samrang is handling guild business in Sichuan on your behalf; meet her first. The escort will return to me after,” he said.

“Understood.” Yegyeol replied boldly and cheerfully.

“Then I’ll be waiting.” Haryang gladly played the role of the deceived elder brother.

“See you in Qinghai.”

Bidden farewell, Yegyeol mounted Red Thunder and rode without pause. Believing utterly in Haryang’s promise of an escort, he did not once look back.

Haryang followed at a distance—keeping hidden well enough that the priest could not sense him—and strolled leisurely into Sichuan’s Chengdu.

The crowds thickened, ideal for a shadowed pursuit. Yegyeol, who had promised to travel straight to Qinghai, walked into the largest tavern in Sichuan: Hwanghak Pavilion.

Haryang suspected he might have set a rendezvous with Namgung Un, and he extended his senses to scan the area; only the gatekeeper, however, showed the faintest sign of being a martial person.

It was still early; the rush of patrons had not yet come.

‘He said he met the Sichuan scion on his last day… so he didn’t receive a message from Namgung Un,’ Haryang noted.

Haryang kept an eye on Namgung Un. Two scions from Changchungbian and the Namgung house, who had returned without notable success from Kunlun, remained in Sichuan. Initially Haryang had assumed they were there to heal wounds received in battle with the Jiaolong King, but Namgung Un had secluded himself in the Okhyeong Gate.

Occasional messages flew over that sect’s wall; Haryang knew Kunlun had sent letters to persuade an insider. He now watched the Thunder Sword Dragon Namgung Un with interest.

‘If he did not come to meet the Thunder Sword Dragon, what is his purpose here?’ Haryang wondered. Yegyeol’s impulsive plan piqued his curiosity further.

He could not ask Yegyeol outright, for the priest had said he was bound for Qinghai. But Yegyeol had never seen Haryang as Je Haryang in front of others.

‘I didn’t think I’d need this so soon,’ Haryang admitted to himself.

Fingering the black-ghost’s Inpimask tucked in his bosom, Haryang’s eyes gleamed. He ducked into a nearby shop, changed his clothes, and returned to Hwanghak Pavilion. Two serving girls spoke as he approached.

“That guest in the private room—he asked for more wine to be brought?” one said.

“Already? There’s plenty in there, isn’t there?”

“Even bamboo-leaf green will do, just bring more…”

What?

Realizing the “private guest” was Yegyeol, Haryang frowned; he could not help recalling the last time the priest had drunkenly sought out the Black Ghost.

A serving girl, startled that the guest had not been attended to quickly enough and sensing displeasure, stepped forward toward Haryang.

“Show him to the room.”

“Is he alone?”

“Yes. The highest floor, if you please.”

“This way.”

As they turned the corner, another serving girl materialized.

“Sister, I’ll guide from here.”

“Ah, yes.”

[My lord.] The serving girl then took the guide’s place naturally.

The one who had stepped in to guide, who appeared at just the right moment when Red Thunder entered Sichuan, was Samrang.

Expecting Haryang’s retinue to trail behind, Samrang had arrived timely and Haryang asked his subordinate plainly:

[Do you have any medicine?]

[He didn’t use anything originally…] came the reply, Samrang bowing his head.

His meaning was clear: there was other medicine available.

Striding down the corridor, Haryang sent a brief transmission by spirit-word. The path to Yegyeol felt unbearably long.

[If it will damage the vocal cords, I don’t care what it is.]

Instead of the obvious warning that it would cause pain, Samrang produced from his sleeve a small white porcelain bottle and handed it to his lord as the door closed. Haryang noticed a red feather stuck in the lid—a sign Samrang used only for particularly potent concoctions—but he opened the bottle and drank its contents.

The poison rose in his gut like molten heat. Haryang swallowed the blood as if nothing were amiss, pulled on the Inpimask, and invoked Chukgolgong; his Je Haryang frame gradually diminished in size.

“Then withdraw,” Samrang murmured, bowing his head, and melted into the darkness. He needed no guide; he could sense where Yegyeol was breathing.

At last Haryang halted in front of a closed sliding door. Beyond the paper screen sat Yegyeol’s silhouette.

To Haryang, the outline was less a shadow and more like light tracing the priest’s contours.

Entranced, Haryang let his gaze follow Yegyeol’s silhouette, drew a deep breath, pushed the screen open, and stepped inside. A thick scent of liquor filled the room.

“Goodness. To think the Lord of Qinghai would be brewing his own drink,” he murmured.

Empty bottles littered the room—evidence that the drinking had started the moment he entered Hwanghak Pavilion.

“…Who is it?” a voice from inside asked.

Footnotes

 

 

1. Inpimyeon-gu (인피면구) — Literally “Inpi face-mask”; in context, a mystical or spirit-related mask associated with the Black Ghost. It can conceal identity and channel certain supernatural effects. 
2. Chukgolgong (축골공) — A martial technique mentioned in the text that compresses or constricts the body (used here to shrink Haryang’s visible stature); translated as a named skill rather than rendered. 
3. Ten-Thousand-Mountain / Sipmandeasan (십만대산) — A quasi-monastic or sanctuary location invoked as a place of protection; treated as a proper noun. 
4. Hwanghak Pavilion (황학루) — The name of the largest tavern/inn in Sichuan (literal: “Yellow Crane Pavilion”); preserved as a place name.