TSBIRBV Ch 130

Chapter 130 A Stolen Kiss (7)

 

Yegyeol strolled through the garden where he had once, on a whim, torn up and handed over a handful of plants to Jin-yeong.

Lately his heart felt like jelly—soft and trembling—so he found it impossible to sit still in his room. He was on the verge of madness with curiosity over when and how his senior brother might barge in.

He thought looking a little anxious in front of other people—especially in front of Je Haryang—might not be wholly unappealing, so he paced the garden in circles.

‘Shouldn’t the reply I sent the Black Ghost have come by now?’

Before returning the bundle of gifts including the lumen gem, Yegyeol had sent a letter to the Black Ghost. In it he’d politely requested that nothing like that be sent again.

“Oh?”

At that moment a servant approached Samrang, who was watching him from beyond the garden and had professed a dislike of floral scents. The servant handed her something, and she strode over toward Yegyeol.

“A letter from Sichuan.”

“About time.”

Half dazed, Yegyeol muttered and opened the envelope.

‘What is this…?’

It was not the threatened admonition or bargaining note he had expected, but a short poem:

“When the crow cries and hides behind the willow blossom,

Since you are drunk, stay at my house;

When the incense in the box of fragrant wood rises,

Two streams of smoke will join and reach the immortal realm.”

Yegyeol clicked his tongue.

‘Wasn’t this Li Bai’s “The Soldier Yang”?’

The reason he recognized the poem—which, in his previous life, had been about as far as his classical-literature knowledge went—was because of the classical-Chinese tutor he had found after reincarnation. In middle school the teacher had set a project: choose three favorite classical poems and recite them. The poem in question was one of the few that kept coming up. Its lines carried a sly hint of erotic intimacy.

‘Now I see why my senior brother chose this.’

He’d been in the Black Ghost’s arms twice while drunk—slept beside him, shared his body. The image fit the poem well enough.

Still, the Black Ghost had not strewn luxury gifts where Yegyeol’s senior brother could see them merely for a connoisseur’s whim.

‘This is extortion.’

A threat to reveal whatever relationship Yegyeol had with the Black Ghost to his senior brother if pushed. Samrang watched as Yegyeol crumpled the letter hard. He promised himself he’d smooth it out later, then looked up.

“Have you found someone to escort the lumen gem and the other gifts back to Sichuan?”

“It’ll take a while; we need an escort of some caliber.”

“Can’t you speed it up?”

“We were only able to move because His Lord learned of it. Fighters above a certain rank can’t be swayed by coin or favor.”

Without Haryang they couldn’t resolve the Black Ghost matter; but because Haryang already knew, they were pressed. Struggling to tuck away his complicated feelings, Yegyeol lowered his eyes and muttered, “It’s stifling.”

“Then go to Sichuan yourself…” Samrang teased as if testing him.

“I won’t. Who would that be for?”

Yegyeol bit his lip and turned away. But Samrang remained planted in the same spot, sulky.

“Why are you still here?” Yegyeol asked, annoyed. She extended her hand.

“Give it to me.”

“Give you what?”

“The—letter.”

Samrang didn’t say it directly; she just pointed at the envelope in Yegyeol’s hand.

“You should discard it.”

“No.”

Yegyeol shook his head firmly.

“Then burn it?” Samrang tried again.

“No.”

Yegyeol slipped his hand behind his back and nodded toward Samrang.

“I’ll handle it myself. Go on.”

“You thought I’d steal it…?” Samrang asked, one hand to her chest, mock-wounded, though her expression remained lax and unreadable.

“I never suspected that of you. I trust you.”

“You—trust me?”

Yegyeol answered earnestly, as if this were no small thing. “If I intended to hide it, do you think I would have brought it to you in the first place?”

Samrang nodded sullenly, and Yegyeol tucked the letter—Haryang’s calligraphy, but altered into the Black Ghost’s hand—into his sleeve with a bitter little smile. It was a rare collectible, he thought.

‘Why didn’t I think to collect letters earlier?’

He should have realized sooner that he could keep both Haryang’s letters and the Black Ghost’s—analog treasures, he lamented.

“All right… I’ll go out.”

Samrang wrinkled her nose. “To see Namgung Un again?”

It was true that recently Yegyeol had been spending time in Seonyong with Namgung Un.

“I’ll at least be in Seonyong,” he said, shrugging. Meeting Namgung Un wasn’t the real goal—he simply wanted an excuse to stay away from Sichuan despite the lifted travel ban, to avoid giving Haryang the impression he’d rush off. Call it an alibi; since Namgung Un was the only person he knew in Seonyong, it was handy.

Yegyeol had fortune on his side: Namgung Un, scion of one of the Five Great Sects, had leisure enough to entertain him. That saved effort—no need to invent reasons to be together. If using someone’s goodwill felt exploitative, Yegyeol only felt the faintest twinge of conscience; otherwise, everything proceeded according to plan.

“Also, it would seem odd to pretend you couldn’t leave Cheonghae when you plainly know Namgung Un is in Seonyong. You have no other acquaintances here.”

“If he’s of one of the orthodox sects, hearing the succession heir’s name is enough to send everyone running barefoot.” Samrang retorted acidly.

“Honestly, I thought so too.”

“Then why do you keep agreeing to Namgung Un’s invitations?”

“Oh, that.” Yegyeol waggled the sleeve that hid the letter. “I need an excuse to claim I can’t leave Cheonghae because I must meet the Namgung heir.”

“Ahh…” Samrang admired the trap Yegyeol had set for himself. Without knowing that the Black Ghost and their lord were the same man, Yegyeol had a talent for turning others’ plans inside out.

“Do you think the head of the Black Ghost’s branch would fall for such a shallow trick?” Samrang scoffed. Watching her lord entangle himself entertained her—though she also remembered that Jin-yeong had recently taken Haryang’s incense pipe. That was not a good sign.

Born among the Demonic Cult’s experiments, Samrang knew all too well the fates of the test subjects: most died quickly. The Cult treated the cost of producing battle instruments from human bodies as a small price for progress, and when failure mounted and even hardliners expressed unease, the Master persisted until results came. The Master’s engineered soldiers—zombies that would never tire and crawled to obey orders so long as limbs remained—were the horrifying outcome.

Yet the Master was never satisfied. He sought ever more perfect specimens. After the fall of Kunlun, all the spoils attracted the Master’s attention; he took every captured Kunlun prisoner to his labs. Samrang had never believed any of them would escape Twelve Thousand Mountains alive—until one did. Too many had died. One survived, and had lingered far longer than anyone expected.

“I’m not trying to deceive you.” Yegyeol turned his head and said, “I’m asking you to be fooled.”

“Hmm… if that’s your wish, then.” Samrang gave a response neither here nor there and fell silent. Even she, usually so composed, was unsure what her lord would do—whether he’d tighten his grip on Yegyeol as the Black Ghost, or reveal himself and claim the disciple outright. Either way, escape seemed doubtful.

“All right. I’ll make ready for your outing.” Samrang returned to her duties.

“Good to see you again.” Namgung Un smiled when Yegyeol entered the teahouse.

“Thank you for the welcome, Un. I must be brief.” Yegyeol bowed playfully.

“Still, you came this far—don’t keep me waiting,” Namgung Un said.

The young lord’s eyebrows knitted in curiosity. He had always spent time alone with Namgung Un when he came to Seonyong.

“I’ve come to buy a gift for someone I owe,” Yegyeol admitted. At that, Samrang’s eyes nearly popped out of her head.

‘Why on earth would he do a thing like that?’ She wondered. Buying a gift without even knowing the full truth Haryang had hidden—what perfect timing. Samrang briefly considered counting how many tails her lord had. He behaved on the surface like a gentle, dutiful disciple, but his timing and ability to navigate moments with uncanny balance were extraordinary. Even Jin-yeong had been suspicious of Yegyeol’s sudden appearance.

Before Samrang’s suspicions had deepened, Yegyeol added in an innocent tone, “It’s almost the person’s birthday.”

Ah. Samrang breathed a quiet sigh, and a thought occurred to her: ‘So that’s why the incense pipe surfaced…’