TSBIRBV Ch 142

Chapter 142 The Oldest (4)

At Yegyeol’s words, Haryang’s eyes widened.

Uncharacteristically, he looked shaken.

“So—that’s why I invited Senior Brother. I wanted to dine with you alone and give you a gift.”

“Yesterday… was it Qingming?”

His voice, caught as though in his throat, carried disbelief.

Yegyeol nodded eagerly.

“Did you forget?”

Truth be told, Yegyeol had been half unsure if the surprise party would succeed. Haryang was sharp-eyed, and the manor was essentially within his palm. Yet to think he had even forgotten his own birthday—

It had truly become a surprise.

“Yes.” Haryang nodded slowly.

“…It’s been so long since anyone has celebrated me that I had forgotten.”

Yegyeol swallowed a sigh.

“From now on, I’ll remember for you.”

He pushed the prepared gift toward him.

“I’ve been roaming Seonyong lately to prepare this gift for Senior Brother. I only hope you like it.”

Looking dazed, unlike himself, Haryang reached out and untied the wrapping.

The gift was revealed.

“…”

He stared at the jade paperweight, his gaze faintly trembling.

Yegyeol did not press for a reply, only waited quietly.

Haryang’s fingertips brushed over the piece with such gentleness it was almost reverent.

Even if it’s jade, he doesn’t need to touch it that carefully.

Anxious, Yegyeol fixed his eyes on his lips.

“…It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

Only after a long silence did Haryang speak, his voice hushed and low.

“Thank goodness.”

Yegyeol exhaled in relief.

“There was a cloud pattern in the jade. The moment I saw it, I thought of Senior Brother.”

“Is that so?”

With interest, Haryang lifted the whole bundle closer to seek the pattern.

“You’re right. There’s a cloud here.”

At his soft exclamation, Yegyeol beamed.

“I’ll use it well.”

With careful hands, Haryang retied the knots and set the gift to the side, still smoothing the cloth as if loath to let it be damaged.

Seeing this, Yegyeol finally relaxed.

Looks like he truly likes it.

Haryang’s face still held uncertainty, as though he didn’t know what words were best. To smooth the awkwardness, he reached for the wine jug and poured.

Just as the cup was half full, he suddenly looked up.

“Wait.”

His expression was not wholly one of joy.

Yegyeol stiffened.

“Is something wrong?”

“You ran around from morning to prepare all this?”

“Yes.”

“And that’s why your face looks so worn?”

“No! That’s not it.”

Yegyeol flushed red. The man, fully aware of what truly unsettled him, only waited with a steady gaze that urged him to speak.

“I only lost a little sleep, that’s all.”

“And why was that?”

“Well… I’ve been going around so much these days.”

“So all those trips to Seonyong—were they to buy this?”

Worry crept into Haryang’s expression.

“No, I was working.”

Yegyeol waved his hands frantically, the excuse sounding like little more than a child’s protest.

“If Young Lord Namgung heard that, he’d be hurt.”

Though Haryang made no mention of watching him, it was clear he knew of Yegyeol’s time with Namgung Un—after all, both had been caught in the assassination incident.

“…I just borrowed his judgment a little. I’m not a martial man, and I don’t know how to judge good items.”

At his crestfallen tone, Haryang’s voice turned tender.

“But the one who knows me best is you, Yegyeol.”

His fingers stroked the silk cloth covering the jade.

“Unless… was it that man who chose it?”

“…No. Young Lord Namgung only introduced the shop.”

“I’m glad.”

Haryang’s whisper came low.

“Glad it was you who chose. That makes it more precious.”

It was pure truth, without a trace of pretense.

Yegyeol stared at him.

Why does he speak so beautifully?

He wanted to put a ring on every one of his fingers, to fill his life with more than he could ever use: cars that would never wear out, villas at every resort, even a private jet.

Yet all he could offer right now was a single jade paperweight.

Before Haryang, Yegyeol always felt small. His Senior Brother was a man who always held more than anything Yegyeol could give.

Pathetically petty.

He caught himself wishing the man were lacking, just so he wouldn’t leave.

“I had such a hard time finding something worthy.”

Yegyeol spoke almost petulantly.

“Is that so?”

“I thought of swords, but good ones take years to commission. Jewelry seemed too gaudy. Everything else, when I imagined Senior Brother using it, felt shabby.”

At his rambling confession, the corner of Haryang’s mouth tugged upward.

“When assassins surrounded me, I trembled, clutching it tight in fear it might break. And then I left it at the physician’s! If Young Lord Namgung hadn’t held it for me, I would have lost it.”

“So you owed him a debt.”

Haryang murmured quietly.

“I’ll have to thank him in return.”

Yegyeol studied his softened face. It was like seeing a splinter pulled from beneath the nail.

“…Still, you don’t look well. You shouldn’t drink.”

Clicking his tongue, Haryang drew the cups away.

“But—”

Yegyeol glanced longingly at the wine. To have it poured by his Senior Brother, only for it to be taken away, was a shame.

“No.”

Though he smiled, his voice was absolute. Yegyeol could feel the determination of someone who would never let his disciple drink, remembering the trouble it always caused.

Suppressing a laugh, Yegyeol nodded.

“Fine.”

In truth, he was thinking wildly—that he wished Haryang would control not only his drinking, but everything: his food, his clothes, even whom he met.

“You worked hard, going around with Young Lord Namgung for my gift.”

Haryang stroked his hair.

“But it was worth it.”

Though his carefully combed hair was mussed, Yegyeol’s smile was bright.

“Hearing you say you like it makes all the fatigue vanish.”

“Hmm…”

After a pause, Haryang grinned playfully.

“Even so, no wine.”

“Che.”

“My disciple, a drunkard.”

His tongue clicked in mock reproach, mischief in his eyes.

“I don’t drink that often…”

Embarrassed but not displeased, Yegyeol fussed with his hair.

“I only minded because this was what you brought for me.”

“Next time.”

Haryang whispered gently.

“There’ll be another chance.”

“You must keep that promise.”

Humming, Yegyeol lifted his chopsticks.

In the sunlight, sharing food and conversation, the memories of the bathhouse the night before seemed dreamlike.

Haryang, having taken the wine from him, refrained from drinking as well.

“When is your birthday, Yegyeol?”

The question came abruptly as he lifted his teacup.

“Me? I…”

Yegyeol didn’t know his birthday in his past life, only that in this life he was born in the seventh lunar month.

“Probably summer.”

At the word “probably,” Haryang’s mouth tightened, then softened again.

“I see. Then from Beginning of Summer to Beginning of Spring, we’ll celebrate every day.”

“Please… spare me.”

Yegyeol looked troubled at his Senior Brother’s affectionate but relentless persistence.

“My disciple went through so much for my birthday, and I should do nothing for his?”

Haryang feigned a downcast look.

“Mm.”

After hesitation, Yegyeol answered, “The eleventh day of the seventh month. A little after Lesser Heat.”

Haryang’s eyes curved with a smile.

“Then I’ll count the days until then.”

Murmuring “Lesser Heat, Lesser Heat,” his voice held excitement.

Though it was no great secret, Yegyeol had hesitated to share it, not knowing it in his previous life. Now, seeing how much joy it brought, he thought himself right.

For someone who liked it this much, what harm was there in telling?

“I won’t accept anything too extravagant.”

“I’ll keep it small.”

Haryang drew a little circle with his fingers.

At the sly wordplay, Yegyeol glared, and Haryang smiled mischievously.

“It’s already night.”

Dusk had fallen unnoticed.

“I’ve kept you too long, when you’re unwell.”

“No. Even without a drink, I’ve had such a good time.”

Rising, Yegyeol went to the door. Just as he reached for it, Haryang’s shadow loomed, hand closing over the latch to open it for him.

It wasn’t heavy, nor was he drunk, but such gestures always made Yegyeol’s heart itch.

“I could have opened it.”

“Let me do at least this much.”

Smiling, Haryang reached out. Yegyeol looked up in puzzlement.

“Here.”

Haryang brushed the back of his neck.

At the feel of his breath so near, Yegyeol flinched, but didn’t retreat.

“A hair was stuck here. Did I startle you?”

In his hand lay a pale brown strand.

“Not startled, just a little ticklish.”

Yegyeol answered sheepishly.

“I see… Your neck is very sensitive.”

His fingers smoothed over the nape, raising the fine hairs there.

There was no sensuality in his gaze, only a quiet scrutiny that made Yegyeol swallow hard.

Did he notice?