TSBIRBV Ch 163

Chapter 163 An Offer That Cannot Be Refused (9)

Jinyoung, who had held the door until Yegyeol stepped inside, Samrang, who had dropped all the parcels onto the floor of Haryang’s quarters, and the servants, all left at his command.

Yegyeol, who had eyes only for Haryang no matter who else left or stayed, strode closer, but the man stopped him.

“It would be best not to come too near. I extinguished it, but the lingering trace may still remain.”

“What is it you were burning, that you must be so cautious?”

Without hesitation, Haryang answered his disciple’s question.

“Sleeping incense.”

Since that was indeed the intended effect, it was not entirely a lie.

“If it only makes one a little drowsy, why worry so much?”

Though he already knew from Samrang that the pipe contained no ordinary leaf, Yegyeol feigned innocence.

“This…”

Haryang trailed off. He set the pipe down on its stand before finishing.

“This is truly a potent drug. You, no longer a martial man, could not withstand it.”

Yegyeol smiled.

His Senior Brother always spoke cautiously of his condition, careful not to name outright the fact that his dantian could no longer be formed. After all, was it not Haryang who had arranged a place for him in the trading company once he left Kunlun?

At the time, the gift had seemed overwhelming. In hindsight, it was clear: Haryang had wanted him buried in work, too busy to sink into despair over the body that could no longer be counted among the martial.

So why now, did he speak aloud the words “no longer a martial man”?

It was to press on the wound, to frighten him into retreat.

“And Senior Brother—you are fine with it?”

“I am still a martial man, am I not?”

“As if you had reached the realm of immunity to all poison like a sage! Even if recovery comes swifter, surely there must be aftereffects from such a drug.”

Haryang’s eyes fell to the pipe before him, a faint hesitation clouding his gaze.

“I will put you to sleep.”

Yegyeol had no intention of missing his chance to burrow into his Senior Brother’s arms.

Clearly, Haryang was wavering. His hesitation betrayed his inability to simply say yes.

“In Hangzhou, you slept so soundly, didn’t you? Perhaps I can help again this time. Yes?”

Pressed once more, Haryang shook his head slowly.

“This Senior Brother cannot endure your concern. I must redouble my training.”

The playful note in his voice carried a promise nonetheless.

Yegyeol’s face brightened.

“Then… will you go straight to bed?”

“You dragged all those gifts here and mean not to show me even one?”

The teasing question earned only a worried look in reply.

“You look so tired.”

He seized Haryang’s hand and all but dragged him to the bed.

“You can look at them in the morning. It will not be too late.”

Though the gifts had been carefully stacked, Haryang’s chamber was cluttered beyond precedent. Normally he would have ordered it tidied at once, but he could not release his disciple’s hand, and so let himself be pulled onto the bed’s edge.

There was no sign Yegyeol intended to leave until he fell asleep.

Even if I sleep, it may be dangerous.

Haryang gauged himself. He was not at his worst, but his nerves were frayed by the incident with the jiangshi. The pipe had calmed him somewhat, but whether he could allow another’s presence while his instincts slumbered completely defenseless remained uncertain.

Habits forged for survival spare no distinction between friend and foe.

“When you said in the carriage that you had dreamed a nightmare, you groaned a little.”

He suddenly spoke of what had happened on the road.

“Were you very uncomfortable?”

Puzzled why he would mention it now, Yegyeol asked, and Haryang pressed his lips shut for a time before answering.

“My nightmares are not so gentle.”

From beneath the bed he drew a short blade, its steel glinting cold and blue as he slid it partly free of its sheath. He pushed it back in, then held it out.

Yegyeol accepted it by reflex, his eyes wide with tension.

“What… does this mean?”

“If ever this Senior Brother should thrash, should lay hands on you…”

Haryang pressed down firmly over the hand that held the dagger.

“You must wake me, by any means. Do you understand?”

“…Leave it to me.”

Yegyeol, one of the last men on earth Haryang ought to trust, answered shamelessly.

“Then, just for a little while…”

Haryang patted his head a few times, then lay down, his position awkward for leaving one hand extended toward him. Yegyeol quietly pushed the dagger away from the pillow.

“Couldn’t I simply lie beside you?”

His eyes narrowed as he asked.

“It will be cramped.”

The bed itself was not so small, but Haryang’s build was large, and the manor’s furnishings were ill-suited to him.

“Then you can hold me like this.”

Even with the quilt between them, Yegyeol pressed himself against his side with brazen ease.

Haryang sighed in surrender and lifted the cover for him. At once, Yegyeol nestled in, resting his head on his Senior Brother’s arm.

There was not a hint of guile in his manner—only the guileless affection of a small animal burrowing close.

“Sing me a lullaby again.”

He asked shamelessly.

By now it was hard to say who was lulling whom.

“Was it not you who came to put me to sleep?”

“I only know we fell asleep together. I don’t know how you rested so well.”

Yegyeol was always full of ulterior motives, but he never made requests without at least some excuse or pretense.

“If we do as we did in Hangzhou, won’t it work?”

“…Perhaps.”

Haryang murmured to himself.

“But if it is the same as then, won’t it trouble you?”

His lips drifted close, nearly brushing Yegyeol’s. The implication was plain. Yegyeol’s lashes trembled.

This was not what I came for…

Biting back the urge, he raised his hand to cover Haryang’s mouth.

His fingers tingled as laughter slipped past those lips.

“Don’t tease. I only wanted you to rest well…”

“Mm. Yes. This Senior Brother was wrong.”

The gentle tone was like soothing a sulky child. Yegyeol settled against his arm and shut his eyes.

“Hurry, the lullaby.”

His desperate avoidance was obvious.

Haryang gave a dry laugh. Yegyeol’s intent was as plain as a rabbit burrowing its head in its hole while leaving its tail in the open—there was no anger to be had.

Instead of singing, he toyed with his disciple’s hair, making his ears flush, and asked:

“Were you very shaken by today?”

“A little.”

“Shall I ease your tension?”

At the suggestion, Yegyeol sat up, staring at him with wide eyes. Haryang chuckled.

“Do you think, by looking so intently, you can read my mind?”

“I can try… just try…”

“And what do you see?”

When asked, Yegyeol bit his lip.

“You seem… worried.”

“Of course. This Senior Brother is such a lacking man that he must always worry over his one disciple.”

Yegyeol thought of the time when Haryang had so many disciples he could not count them all on both hands.

“Don’t… don’t put your hand there, like last time.”

“I promise.”

The promise sounded like a flame’s red tongue flicking in the dark.

Rising, Haryang drew back the quilt and laid Yegyeol in the center of the bed. Stripped to a thin robe, his skin faintly showing, Yegyeol averted his gaze self-consciously.

Fingers brushed his shoulder, skimmed his nape. He shivered deliberately.

“Are you cold?”

The question feigned concern. He shook his head.

The touch that slid over his clothes was soft, yet firm. As a martial man, Haryang’s hands pressed the meridians and eased the knotted muscles, melting him through and through.

Of course—only by memorizing the Eight Extraordinary Meridians and acupoints can one learn cultivation methods…

He had steeled himself for roughness, but his body dissolved instead, so pliant he nearly forgot why he was there at all.

The touch slid down his spine, pressed between his shoulder blades.

“Does it hurt?”

Yegyeol shook his head.

“Not at all. You’re being so careful.”

“It feels as though, if I pressed too hard, you would break.”

His voice was heavy with worry. Yegyeol tilted his head and smiled.

“Oh, come now. I’m a grown man. I won’t shatter so easily.”

“Yes. You are grown.”

Plain words, yet they sounded laden with meaning.

Haryang’s half-lit face bore a shadowed smile.

“In Hangzhou I felt it too… your skin is so very soft.”

His hand slipped to caress Yegyeol’s throat.

“Senior Brother?”

Yegyeol caught his wrist in both hands, but Haryang paid no heed, turning him onto his back instead.

“…It feels as though, if I touched you, you would melt. I can hardly believe you are here before me.”

He drew Yegyeol’s hand upward. In trying to resist, Yegyeol only let himself be pulled closer.

With his disciple’s hand pressed to his cheek, Haryang murmured:

“Put me to sleep.”