TSBIRBV Ch 124

Chapter 124 A Stolen Kiss (1)

When he opened the window, a cool breeze brushed Yegyeol’s cheeks. Yet he smiled brightly.

Back in Cheonghae, he was in good spirits. How good, exactly? Enough that even Samrang—who was always at his heels—posed such a question:

“Why are you walking around smiling like that?”

Yegyeol countered with a question of his own.

“Does it bother you?”

“No. More like… it’s kind of scary?”

“Didn’t you barehand a spider on our last trip? With that kind of courage, you’re scared just because I’m smiling a little?”

Later, he’d learned it had been a venomous spider, rare for that season. It had been too good a chance to pass up capturing it.

“How is that the same thing?”

Samrang, in his usual slow drawl, shook his head.

“Actually, now that I think about it—if I ask, I’ll end up learning the reason for Lord Mun’s smile. And I really don’t want to know. So just forget I ever asked.”

“Then why did you ask in the first place?”

“Because every time I turn my head and catch sight of your face, it startles me. You don’t usually walk around smiling.”

Yegyeol thought he understood.

It was like suddenly finding the carved grimace of a guardian totem pole curling into a smile—unsettling, as if a ghost had tampered with it.

If he doesn’t want to press, then that’s a relief for me.

It wasn’t something he could tell Samrang anyway.

Still, Yegyeol quietly reflected on why he was in such a good mood.

First, there was the night in Hangzhou when he had laid bare his heart with Senior Brother. He had learned that the man hadn’t abandoned him in the past, but had left out of fear that young Yegyeol might be caught up in an assassination attempt. That alone made him feel as though he now stood on firmer ground.

Then there was what he had learned about Hwangbo Yulhui’s true identity. The shock of Senior Brother’s tie to the Hwangbo clan was great, yes—but at least it proved Je Haryang had no old lover tucked away.

Just recalling that fact made his chest swell with ease. He even felt magnanimous enough now to lend Hwangbo Yakrin the phrase “three wives and four concubines.”

On the surface, everything seemed to be going smoothly—at least, for Yegyeol.

But like a seesaw where one side rises as the other sinks, Haryang’s circumstances were not quite the same.

“By the way, when does my house arrest end?” Yegyeol asked.

Samrang, who was weaving something like a loose net, replied:

“Uh… a hundred years from now?”

“He must be really angry…”

“I’d say it’s less anger and more excessive worry.”

Samrang coolly assessed his master’s state.

When Yegyeol had gone to see Haryang upon returning from Sichuan, the man’s mood had been heavy. Likely because he’d just come back from a cold confrontation with the Black Ghost. It wasn’t that he seemed merely upset.

Rather, he looked deeply lost in thought.

“You didn’t go straight back to the manor as promised, but elsewhere. You had guards, yes, but what if something had happened?”

Lowering his gaze slightly, Haryang added:

“I want to grant you freedom, now that you’re grown, but as the master of Cheonghae, you must be cautious with your movements. A merchant without martial skill is the ripest target there is.”

“…I’m sorry.”

Yegyeol bowed his head. Knowing Haryang was fully aware of the truth yet still speaking so, it was hard not to accept it. It sounded like a warning born of bitter experience.

“For now, it would be best for you to remain in Cheonghae.”

“I’ll do as you say, Senior Brother.”

So Yegyeol agreed meekly.

That much counts as a decent result.

Haryang would be deliberating carefully. Whether to let things remain a hollow shell, or to overturn the board and mingle black and white stones.

While wandering through the garden, which had been filled with flowers during his absence, Yegyeol spotted Jin-yeong approaching from the opposite path.

The man carried a long wooden case, his face as prim and proper as ever in his scholar’s robes. He had clearly noticed Yegyeol, but pretended otherwise. Very like Jin-yeong.

Feeling more mischievous than pleased, Yegyeol strode forward. Samrang tilted her head, curious what scheme he was up to this time, but followed close behind.

“It’s been a while.”

“Lord Mun. I heard you had returned to Cheonghae. I am glad to see you in good health.”

If he could, Jin-yeong would have happily watched Yegyeol get scolded by Senior Brother front row. But his words were always polished, like someone who filled out endless forms in a fixed format every day.

One press and he spits out congratulatory phrases, two presses and it’s seasonal greetings, three presses and a politely venomous complaint reused from before.

“What’s that you’re carrying?”

“Ah.”

Jin-yeong lifted the long case slightly.

“It belongs to the master.”

Yegyeol arched an eyebrow. Of course he knew the case had an owner—he hadn’t asked out of ignorance.

Clearly Jin-yeong had no wish to reveal its contents.

But curiosity is the treasure of humankind.

Quickly deciding, Yegyeol said to Samrang:

“Samrang. Take it.”

Samrang froze mid-step, about to spring, and tilted her head blankly.

“Um, my duty is guarding you, not stealing or fleeing.”

“How rare—sensible words from you.”

Jin-yeong actually praised her. But it was far too soon to relax.

“But it does sound fun, so I’ll try anyway!”

Sliding forward, Samrang lunged into Jin-yeong’s arms. His expression sharpened instantly as he cradled the case close, then grabbed her with his free hand and threw her back. A skilled golden-rope technique, no doubt.

Though he always looked the bookish scholar, Jin-yeong was clearly a master in his own right—perhaps nearly Samrang’s equal. Otherwise, with one hand bound holding the case, he could never have countered so nimbly.

Where on earth does Senior Brother find people like this?

Samrang landed lightly, then flicked her foot, kicking sand toward Jin-yeong’s face. Hugging the case protectively, he swept his sleeve up to shield himself before the grit could hit.

Samrang seized the chance, surging forward with predatory speed. But Jin-yeong seemed to sense her angle, spinning out of reach.

He must have fended off her ambushes before—his movements carried the weight of experience.

All of it happened in the span of an instant.

Without an esper’s eyes, I’d never follow that.

Yegyeol clicked his tongue inwardly. Truly, martial artists were hardly human.

“Ah, still amazing.”

Samrang licked her lips, eyes gleaming. Her usual drowsiness had vanished, leaving a predator’s sharp gaze. She had long itched for the chance to cross hands with Jin-yeong.

Even her playful banter with Yegyeol must have been ploys to lull him.

“You’re as savage as ever.”

Jin-yeong brushed his sleeve clean. In an instant, the traces of combat were gone, leaving him once again the picture of a tidy scholar.

“Then I’ll take my leave. I must deliver this to the master.”

He tapped the case and bowed politely before withdrawing.

“Ugh, still ghostly as ever,” Samrang muttered, rolling her neck.

“He’s strong, too.”

“Well, he survived, didn’t he?”

The words slipped out before she realized how heated her tone was. Flustered, she added quickly:

“You know how rough Jianghu is. And, um, to build a trading group this big, all sorts of things happen.”

“…Hm.”

Yegyeol narrowed his eyes, studying her, then turned away as though letting it pass.

“Anyway… has the master been sleeping poorly lately?”

Samrang murmured curiously.

“…Not sleeping?” Yegyeol asked, startled.

“You know what that was?”

“Of course. A smoke-pipe.”

“A smoke-pipe?”

Like… a pipe?

Seeing Yegyeol’s confusion, Samrang explained:

“He’s always had trouble sleeping, so he burned herbs in it. Medicine doesn’t last long in his system, but the fragrance at least calms him. He always carried it. Though lately, I haven’t seen it.”

“I never saw him use one.”

Not just rarely—Yegyeol had never once seen Haryang with a pipe. He couldn’t even picture it. And yet, maybe it would suit him surprisingly well.

If an esper saw their own guide like that and failed to etch it into memory, they weren’t fit to be an esper.

“He stopped using it some time ago. Around when… ah, it must’ve been when he found you. No, wait—after bringing you back from Kunlun. That’s when he put it away for good.”

“…Oh.”

So, all his pushing—had it shaken him that much?

I hope he hasn’t suffered too much.

It was a thought no different than a cat pitying a mouse. But it wasn’t false.

As much as he wanted Haryang more unsteady and shaken, he also truly wished the man no pain as he came to Yegyeol’s side.

“You’re sure it was a pipe? With a case that long, couldn’t it be a sword?”

“His sword’s much longer than that. And he’d never let anyone else carry it.”

True enough. In any sect, the first rule drilled into disciples was never to let go of one’s blade. Dropping it in sparring was considered the height of disgrace.

“Then why didn’t you say so before I told you to steal it?”

“Aw, but if I told you, I’d lose my chance to fight Jin-yeong. Can’t have that.”

Truly, she had the enviable knack of never losing out.