TSBIRBV Ch 167

Chapter 167 Heshi’s Bi (3)

The man’s breath, harsh and uneven, washed over Yegyeol as he pulled him close.

“I swore I would protect you—yet here I am, saying I will defile you.”

Haryang pressed gently against Yegyeol’s hand. Instinctively, Yegyeol spread his palm, and the man’s fingers slid between his own, locking them together. He tugged Yegyeol nearer, whispering low:

“I’ve said words no better than a beast’s. You should condemn me, spit on me. Curse me, resent me.”

The hushed murmur brushed against his skin like a phantom caress, sending a shiver down his spine.

“But I want Senior Brother, too. Doesn’t that make me an accomplice, not a victim?”

At Yegyeol’s bold words, Haryang smiled faintly.

“And yet, Yegyeol… this Senior Brother has still committed a wrong.”

That response—

Yegyeol blinked, startled by its strangeness.

“I will repay it with the rest of my life.”

For a statement supposedly born of guilt, it rang oddly.

“All you need do is receive.”

It was a declaration: he would not release Yegyeol until every ounce of his debt was repaid.

Vaguely, Yegyeol thought of the Black Ghost, who had once snarled about debts to be collected. No matter what role he played—hero, monster—at the core, Je Haryang remained the same.

Not a brute who plundered by force, but a man who drowned others in a deluge of tenderness impossible to refuse.

Too much sun and a plant would wither. Too much water and its roots would rot. And still, Haryang would never stop. He simply did not know how.

A love so overwhelming no ordinary vessel could hold it.

Only I can bear it.

Yegyeol had never felt he received enough love. He was always cold, always thirsty.

“Then… then what about Senior Brother?”

His eyes glistened as he gazed at him, but Haryang gave no answer.

“What if you end up hollow, emptied out?”

The man only smiled.

“Well…”

After a long look, he brushed the back of his hand against Yegyeol’s cheek and murmured:

“Then, when you’ve drained me completely, I’ll think about what comes next.”

“I thought Senior Brother knew everything.”

Yegyeol muttered in feigned sulk, to which Haryang replied:

“I never wanted to give myself to anyone else.”

He pressed his lips into the juncture of Yegyeol’s neck and shoulder.

“And so—I never did.”

Yegyeol felt his chest rise and fall with each breath, like listening to the heartbeat of a newborn beast. Haryang thought he could live an entire lifetime drunk on nothing more than the fact that Yegyeol was alive. Perhaps even into eternity beyond.

“So I will give myself to you.”

Only you.

Swallowing down the words he dared not say aloud, Haryang held his disciple tightly and whispered:

“Jinyoung is coming.”

“Ah.”

Lifting his head, Yegyeol realized dawn had passed; sunlight had crept in. When they first tangled together, there had still been the bluish hue of morning, but now true day had arrived.

The hour not of ending work, but beginning it. Both had duties to attend—but they had nearly forgotten them all, lost in their feral hunger.

Hands that had held him so tightly slowly released their grip.

With lingering reluctance, Haryang straightened Yegyeol’s clothes. He drew the collar together, tied the sash carefully, smoothed out every crease. Then, gazing at him with faint regret, he searched for anything else to fix.

At last his hand hovered at Yegyeol’s forehead, where a stray lock of hair had fallen. Yet it stopped midair, hesitant to touch bare skin.

“…Tch.”

With a sigh—half frustration, half longing—he flicked his hand. From somewhere, a simple wooden comb flew into his grasp. Haryang quietly combed through Yegyeol’s hair, careful, precise.

The tenderness betrayed the intensity simmering within. If he crossed even the slightest line, he would not be able to stop. So he combed and combed what was already neat.

“My lord.”

Jinyoung’s voice came from beyond the door.

Haryang did not answer. He studied Yegyeol as if etching him into memory before finally speaking.

“…So devoted.”

Slowly, he let Yegyeol go. His face was filled with yearning and greed, though it lasted only a heartbeat before vanishing.

“My lord?”

Again, Jinyoung’s voice pressed, and Yegyeol, annoyed, urged softly:

“Senior Brother, Jinyoung is calling you.”

“…I don’t want to go.”

The man who always seemed so mature murmured petulantly, like a child. The sight made Yegyeol’s chest swell.

“Go.”

Stepping forward, Yegyeol embraced him, rubbing his face against his chest, heedless of how his neatly ordered clothes wrinkled.

“Come back here tonight. I’ll be waiting.”

Haryang’s gaze was searching, anxious to know if those words carried deeper meaning.

To him, Yegyeol rose on tiptoe and pressed a kiss against his chin, then pushed lightly at his chest.

“Hurry.”

Only then did Haryang stride out. As he slid open the door, he looked back one last time. Yegyeol met his eyes and nodded firmly. Haryang turned away, leading Jinyoung down the corridor.

With a long breath, Yegyeol looked around. The room had furniture enough, but for a bedchamber, it felt bleak, barren of warmth.

So he resolved at last to carry out a plan long held.

He would move in.

“What are you doing?”

Arms full—pillows and clothes under his arm, a basin in hand for Baembaemi the snake—Yegyeol bustled about, earning a frown from Samrang.

“Moving.”

“Moving?”

Samrang’s brows knit in confusion.

“I went to Senior Brother’s quarters. It’s spacious. I’ll live there with him.”

“…Why would you…? You have this whole villa to yourself!”

“But if he’s not in sight, I feel uneasy.”

“What?”

To hear such words from the most independent man under heaven left Samrang dumbfounded.

“Truthfully… if Senior Brother’s not around, I lose my appetite. I can’t sleep. My body aches all over…”

“What kind of ridiculous malady is that supposed to be?”

Samrang—age thirty-five, self-taught healer—snapped back. With her deep knowledge of poisons and medicine, she often played physician when the lord required. Yegyeol’s words sounded like sheer nonsense to her.

“It’s an illness that only goes away when he’s near.”

For Yegyeol, it was the plain truth. In all the world, Je Haryang was his only weakness.

“My lord is not some elixir of immortality.”

Not an elixir—merely human. Or worse than human, for Je Haryang was the Heavenly Demon.

In the martial world, a Heavenly Demon was not a cure but the very root of countless afflictions. Even if he never thought to invade the Central Plains, the mere knowledge that one resided in the Ten-Thousand Mountains left sect leaders tossing in their beds with headaches, indigestion, hair loss, and night terrors.

Of course, orthodox sects would blame the Heavenly Demon for everything—stubbed toes, collapsing families, even the fall of kingdoms. Still, that did not make his presence any less suffocating.

And yet, this boy… no fear at all.

Samrang thought Yegyeol resembled a moth willingly plunging into flame—no, one that brought bedding with it to nest inside the inferno, declaring the warmth pleasant.

Her lord would never stop him. Those around them would only suffer for it. Within three months, Jinyoung would likely come to her clutching his stomach in pain.

Hongye will remain blissfully aloof, and I only care for amusement… but Jinyoung is too delicate for this.

Still, watching it unfold was… entertaining. Perhaps, she thought, it was her duty as a fellow human being to intervene, just a little.

“Of course he’s not an elixir.”

Yegyeol’s face turned grave.

“An elixir disappears once you consume it.”

“…Is that what matters?”

At her question, Yegyeol nodded firmly.

“Does the lord even know you’re doing this?”

She already knew the answer—he’d allow it regardless—but she asked anyway.

“No. He probably doesn’t even know I’m coming.”

Yegyeol’s tone was breezy. The last time he had snuck in while Haryang slept, he had ended up nearly strangled. That only convinced him further: he needed to stay closer, to watch over him.

He hadn’t planned to act like a runaway colt—but Haryang had said he liked him. So Yegyeol thought, why not indulge in a little recklessness?

“Wow.”

Samrang let out a genuine exclamation.

“In my life, I’ve never met anyone like you.”

It was pure wonder, though to Yegyeol’s ears, it carried a faint sting. Still, shameless as ever, he only shrugged.

“Thanks for the compliment. Now help me carry this.”

Around his neck, Baembaemi flicked its tongue, as if mocking Samrang. Normally shy and unwilling to leave Yegyeol’s wrist, the spirit-snake had grown used to Samrang after a few shared training sessions, and now sometimes showed itself before her.

“Give it here.”

Yegyeol, delighted, handed her some of the burden, and together they made their way toward Haryang’s quarters.

They passed servants several times as they shuttled back and forth. Though some looked puzzled, none dared ask Yegyeol what he was doing.

Strange lot, indeed.

Considering Haryang’s ties to the Black Ghost, it made sense he would not choose his attendants lightly. Still, their behavior sometimes felt alien to Yegyeol—perhaps a remnant of living in the modern world, where any oddity would be recorded on a phone in an instant.

At last, the moving was done. Yegyeol plopped down on a cushion by the door, waiting for Haryang’s return. Beside him, the brazier Samrang had fetched crackled with chestnuts roasting inside. He watched them slowly split open when—

Click.

The door slid open.

“Yegyeol?”