TSBIRBV Ch 184

Chapter 184. Pillow-Side Litigation (11)

“I should have brought you here long ago.”

Before Yegyeol could speak, Haryang pulled him close, pressing him down upon the bed, resting his chin on his disciple’s shoulder as he murmured:

“Say something… anything.”

The low rumble in his chest, resonating against Yegyeol’s body, was strangely chilling.

“This… this really is…?” Yegyeol managed to part his lips at last.

“The Shishan Range,” Haryang answered. “You stand in the very heart of the Sun-Moon Divine Cult, in the dwelling of the Heavenly Demon himself—Qinghyeong Hall.”

Yegyeol gently pushed him back and rose, turning to look out the window beside the bed.

The garden beyond was of a style he had never seen in the Central Plains—stone-heavy, with the soft murmur of flowing water, flowers blooming in hues far too vivid for the desert beyond.

Haryang, pressing close to his back, seemed to sense the unease in his disciple. He whispered, “Do you dislike it?”

“No… no, it’s just… I’ve never seen flowers like these.”

“If you wish, I’ll make it like Kunlun,” Haryang said readily.

“Snow can be gathered and spread… men trained in ice arts can be summoned to release cold air, the whole bound within a formation. It would not be hard to make a mountain blanketed in white. The flowers can be stripped, trees planted in their stead.”

There was quiet delight in his voice as he spoke.

“It’s fine,” Yegyeol refused firmly. But Haryang was not the sort of man to retreat so easily.

“Your hands are cold,” he said, gently kneading Yegyeol’s fingers.

“Why are you so tense?”

Yegyeol tried to withdraw his hand, but Haryang did not allow it.

“This foolish Senior Brother of yours is too clumsy… it seems I’ve frightened you.”

He drew the hand up carefully, breathing warm air over it, his gentleness unchanged.

At that, tears slid unbidden down Yegyeol’s cheeks.

Why am I crying now of all times?

If he wept, his Senior Brother would surely misunderstand. Yet his eyes betrayed him, flowing as though broken.

“So… in the end, I made you cry,” Haryang clicked his tongue. With his sleeve, he brushed the dampness from Yegyeol’s face.

“It’s all right. It will be all right. The first moments are hardest… but you’ll soon grow accustomed.”

He never once told him not to cry.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Yegyeol turned, face still wet, and asked.

“Why didn’t you blame me? Why didn’t you say it was all my fault?”

There had been one time—when Haryang’s hands had closed around his throat, lost to nightmares and the haze of medicine. Beyond that, never a single word of resentment. Not once had Yegyeol seen the glimmer of it. His Senior Brother’s guiding presence was always so steady, he would have noticed a lie.

“…For the past twenty years, I resented you often,” Haryang admitted at last, furrowing his brow.

Yegyeol’s eyes squeezed shut.

“…I hated you, I despaired of you—so much that it became sickening.”

Yegyeol remembered the choking grip from those nightmares, the guiding force that had dragged him once more to the threshold of death.

“And so,” Haryang continued softly, “now I wish for something else.”

Yegyeol’s eyes flew wide just as Haryang lowered his head and claimed his lips.

“Ah—mnh…”

There was no space to breathe, only the overwhelming press of his tongue, the greedy insistence of his mouth.

It was a kiss resolute and unyielding, as though declaring that he would give nothing but love—ferocious, unrelenting love.

Yegyeol’s hands fluttered helplessly, unable to embrace him, hanging useless at his sides.

“Live. Stay by my side as you are now,” Haryang murmured.

It was what Yegyeol had longed to hear more than anything.

His most fervent wish lay suddenly within his grasp—yet he dared not close his fingers around it. It burned too hot. To hold it would be to be consumed.

“Lord. Clan Head Gong awaits your judgment.”

Jinyoung’s voice came from outside.

Haryang clicked his tongue, rising with reluctance. For the first time, Yegyeol felt a flicker of relief at the distance.

“I’ll seal your points, but… you may awaken before I return.”

He pressed something soft between Yegyeol’s lips—a strip of cloth. Though it felt like silk, it was surprisingly strong. With practiced hands, he bound it behind Yegyeol’s head.

He did not look cruel, nor even fearsome, as he tied his disciple’s wrists with the same fabric and secured him to the bed. Only then did Yegyeol fully register that he was a captive of his Senior Brother’s hands.

And yet—he had chosen to yield. He could have resisted, but had not.

“I’ll return soon.”

Haryang tapped his disciple’s cheek gently, then drew him into a fierce embrace before stepping back, pained with reluctance.

He looked ready to leave—yet paused, gazing down at him.

“Just so you know…” He tilted Yegyeol’s chin with a finger.

“Even if you bite your tongue—you will not die.”

Yegyeol’s eyes widened.

It was not to stop him from calling out, then, but because he feared… self-destruction?

“Even if you bash your head against the wall, you will not die. Even if you slit your wrists, hang yourself, swallow poison, or throw yourself from a height…”

Haryang’s tone was flat, detached, as he listed method after method.

“…you will fail.”

There was certainty in his words, as if truth itself.

Why… why tell me this? Yegyeol’s eyes swam with confusion.

Would it not be simpler to let him try, and simply revive him after?

But the difference between ignorance and foreknowledge was profound. To walk blind into despair was terror. To know you would fail was resignation. It was the most efficient way to strip resistance at its roots.

Even bound and gagged, Yegyeol’s gaze screamed with questions.

As though reading them, Haryang smiled gently.

“There are many kinds of sorcery,” he said softly.

“…but none that can spare you the pain of death.”

A sound like an animal’s whimper seeped past the gag.

Feigning deafness, Haryang laid him down carefully, whispering, “Good boy. I’ll return quickly. Wait quietly for me.”

With that, he pressed the acupoint once more. Darkness descended, familiar now.

Even as it came, Yegyeol fixed his desperate gaze upon Haryang’s retreating figure.

This man who never surrendered his gentleness—even in such moments—had never seemed more alien.

Everything told him Haryang would never forsake him. And yet, for the first time, dread gnawed: what if he did not return?

Don’t go.

Please… don’t go.

Yegyeol woke. His head burned with unnatural heat.

He thought another dream had come—these past days, every time sleep had claimed him, the past had replayed itself.

But he was still in Qinghyeong Hall, the dwelling of the Heavenly Demon.

“Hhh…” He curled into himself, hips twitching.

Why… why am I so hot?

He examined his body.

It was akin to when he had once been poisoned by Dang Seo-ak’s drugs. Yet unlike the searing blaze that had consumed him at once, this was a slow flood of arousal, rising until he felt he might drown.

Espers aren’t supposed to succumb to drugs this easily. Then why…?

Thought itself became impossible, fog smothered by the heat.

A faint scent brushed his nose—like the smoke of Haryang’s pipe. Could it be? Had the very air here, saturated with his Senior Brother’s presence, stirred this reaction?

Absurd. Even an Esper would not unravel merely by inhaling a Guide’s scent. Normally.

But why now… of all times?

His nails scraped helplessly against the bedframe.

“Ahh—!”

He felt like a beast in rut. Unless the burning in his loins was relieved, his mind would split apart.

Unthinking, he rubbed against the mattress, seeking friction. But it was useless.

The gag silenced him; he could not even call for Haryang. His wrists were bound, robbing him of even solitary release.

The haze thickened.

“Hhh… hhh…”

He clamped his thighs together, writhing, straining for climax. But it was futile. There was an emptiness, an itch too deep.

Not from the front alone.

Always—always—Haryang had filled him completely. Only now did Yegyeol understand: without it, there could be no release.

Senior Brother… when will you come back?

His blurred eyes watered as he squirmed, drool trickling from the corners of his gagged lips.

And for the first time, he wanted nothing more than to cry.

Footnotes:

1. Shishan Range (십만대산, literally “Hundred-Thousand Mountains”) – A vast, desolate region associated with the Demonic Sect. Often depicted as the impregnable seat of the Heavenly Demon. 
2. Sun-Moon Divine Cult (일월신교) – A name often used for the Demonic Sect in wuxia traditions. It conveys religious devotion rather than just martial hierarchy.