TSBIRBV Ch 159

Chapter 159 An Offer That Cannot Be Refused (5)

“What do you mean by that?”

Yegyeol asked, his voice unsteady.

“Exactly as it sounds. Abandon the man who will never even turn back to look at you. Come to me—only me.”

Ha Ryang tapped lightly against his eyes as though toying with him. From the roughened touch, Yegyeol realized he had once again returned to the guise of the Black Ghost.

Cautiously opening his eyes, he found not Je Haryang, but the Black Ghost gazing down at him, veiled in the night’s shadow.

“You—”

As Yegyeol tried to speak, the Black Ghost caressed his chest, stoking his sensitivity. The ache of their still-fading lovemaking lingered, spreading sweetly through his lower belly.

“Don’t we fit together rather well?”

“If it’s only about sharing a body, isn’t that no different from what we already have?”

“I want more than that. Not just your nights—I want your days as well.”

Hearing the man who had devoured him even during working hours say he wanted his days too, Yegyeol nearly lost control of his expression.

At least a day has passed by now…

He hadn’t realized before, but Senior Brother could be rather shameless.

“You’ve sought to raise the Cheonghae Trade Association high, haven’t you? I believe I can be of great help with that.”

“…Ah.”

Yegyeol lowered his eyes.

“Just as with the Bigeomok seals, should trouble arise in the association, I’ll let you know before anyone else. I’ll lend a hand in resolving it as well. Not only in Sichuan—wherever in the Central Plains, the Black Market will shield you.”

The words sounded as if the entire Black Market lay within his grasp.

Yegyeol was struck by the realization that Ha Ryang not only manipulated the Cheonghae Trade Association, but the Black Market itself.

The man who should have been the greatest merchant under heaven… why did he enter the jianghu and suffer this way instead?

In his past life, he’d never imagined Ha Ryang skilled in business. He had only thought him the pampered young master of a wealthy household.

“You mean… the Black Ghost isn’t only in charge of the Sichuan branch?”

“Who can say?”

A serene smile carried the air of utter ease.

“And after giving me so much, all you want in return is an exclusive bond with me?”

Yegyeol asked, baffled. The Black Ghost answered smoothly:

“I’ll take whatever else I desire myself.”

There was nothing to say against that. It was the kind of reply that blocked any rebuttal from the outset.

“So, Young Master Mun—think only of yourself, and give me your answer.”

Leaning close, his lips brushed Yegyeol’s ear, his eyes, the bridge of his nose—yet never touched his mouth.

Yegyeol stayed still as if turned to salt, waiting for a kiss that never came, disappointment flaring when the man drew back instead.

It was deliberate—meant to leave him wanting.

This was, without doubt, an offer he could not refuse.

Every condition, from beginning to end, sounded laid out purely for Yegyeol’s benefit. Even searching for hidden traps, he knew none existed better than anyone.

The only card left unplayed was his true identity. And even that—Yegyeol already saw through.

It was not some shadowy outlaw across the table—it was the very Senior Brother Je Haryang whom he yearned for.

Had the man been just an ordinary guide, Yegyeol might have chosen deceit. Even if he closed his eyes to it, yielding to the Black Ghost’s proposal would have meant a lifetime without lacking guiding.

But what Yegyeol wanted was someone who would step back, let him choose, and still remain.

He wanted Je Haryang.

“…I cannot do that.”

Regret showed on Yegyeol’s face.

He was truly sorry.

Jinyoung had said it: that Senior Brother had been dragged into the Demonic Cult, forced to learn demonic arts, and then cast out of his sect.

Though the details were missing, Yegyeol could vaguely picture the suffering Haryang must have endured to reach that point.

To demand his everything now that he had barely begun to live again—such a disciple could only be a curse. At least if he were ordinary, Haryang might shake him off. But Yegyeol was an esper.

“I’m sorry.”

Sensing his sincerity, the Black Ghost slowly withdrew his hand.

“A pity.”

Yet though he said so, his face showed a touch of relief instead.

“To refuse me so firmly, are you not afraid? That I might kidnap you, lock you away… and your Senior Brother would never know.”

As if he wouldn’t. He would stay.

“Much later, he would discover only scraps through the black market, despairing that you had been sold away beyond reach.”

“You won’t do that.”

Yegyeol gazed at the Black Ghost. If Haryang truly meant to cut ties here, then he might not see that face again for some time. He resolved to look at it long, since in the end, both faces belonged to the same man.

“I can’t best you.”

With a rueful smile, the Black Ghost shook his head. Rising, he turned once at the door and asked:

“If your so-called Senior Brother perceives your heart and casts you aside, will I have my chance then?”

His stretched shadow lingered at the edge of Yegyeol’s bed, hovering close yet far.

“You’re persistent.”

There was no trace of shame or anger at rejection—only calm.

“It’s how one survives long in the unorthodox sects.”

His eyes urged Yegyeol to answer.

“If Senior Brother abandons me…”

Yegyeol murmured.

“I don’t know.”

The Black Ghost’s brows drew slightly together, weighing whether this left him an opening or hid some other meaning.

“I’ve simply never thought that far ahead.”

Why would he?

Espers might treat guides differently in every respect—but the fate of an esper discarded by their guide was always the same.

Ruin.

Yegyeol had found other guides in the Central Plains, but never imagined he could truly switch to one. Few espers even tried, for once cast off, most died—either swiftly, or slowly and in torment.

Yegyeol assumed himself bound for the latter.

The Black Ghost asked nothing more, striding away.

Rising sluggishly, Yegyeol peered out the not-quite-closed door. In the darkness of the Black Market’s halls, the man was gone without trace. He was, after all, Je Haryang’s shadow itself.

Closing the door slowly, Yegyeol leaned against it, then slid down until he sat hunched, hugging his knees. He whispered to his uneasy self:

You did well. You did the right thing…

His guide had not abandoned him. This was only a trial, a process of facing one another—it was not farewell.

He knew it in his head. Yet in his chest, unreasonable fear welled. Such was the terror of guides.

Or perhaps the truth was, in his past life, they had parted and wandered twenty years before reuniting—and that weight now pressed him like trauma.

He splashed his face dry a few times, then stood. His expression, clear and calm as if washed, looked free of thought.

He had practiced this often in front of mirrors, just to avoid appearing a lunatic to the parents he had gained by being reborn.

Best to find Samrang first.

“Congratulations. It’s a son!”

All was dark. He could see nothing, and the air on his skin stung.

Where is this?

I—I had blocked the blade aimed at Senior Brother and…

I died.

Thrashing his arms and legs, he felt no resistance. Did he even have limbs to move?

The world resounded with incomprehensible noise. Of it, one thing stood distinct—

Crying.

And it was his own throat that made the sound.

It felt as though he had screamed forever; he was exhausted. Realizing it was him weeping, he tried to still it, but his body would not obey.

What is happening?

Some demonic art?

They said the Devil Lords of the Demonic Cult wielded strange powers. Showing hallucinations was hardly unlikely.

Perhaps, true to their cowardice, they had laced their blades with poison, and this was the final illusion before death.

If so, I’d rather die quickly.

He had never known death could feel so powerless. He let his limbs hang limp and surrendered.

Time passed—an eternity.

In a world with no sense of time, only noise, he blinked by reflex and froze.

For the first time, he could open his eyes.

Shapes, black and white, blurred before him. Perhaps he was blind in death, discerning only vague outlines.

Something shaped like people murmured above him.

“They say babies open their eyes at different times… Still, to open them after a week, that’s a blessing.”

An incomprehensible language. At first, he thought it just noise. But recently, he realized they were exchanging some form of conversation.

“Why so impatient?”

“Well, you know. When all the other babies open their eyes, and ours is late, it worries me. Makes me feel guilty, too.”

“The doctor said he’s strong and healthy.”

“Yes, a filial son from birth.”

Yegyeol began to wonder if he was not trapped in an illusion, but in the afterlife itself.

“The birth registration? All filled?”

“Yes. I checked the name carefully too.”

“Check again. You can be careless sometimes.”

“Of course not. Our son’s name—I checked three times. It’s written right here. Yegyeol. Mun Yegyeol.”

“Oh, wonderful.”

They chattered and laughed.

If people could laugh here, perhaps it was not Hell.

“Look, he’s watching us.”

“Hello, Yegyeol.”

A gentler, softer voice waved at him.

“It’s Mama. Mama.”