TSBIRBV Ch 246

Chapter 246. The Runaway Disciple and the Reclusive Tiger (1)

“Anyway, it looks like the reconstruction here will be finished soon.”

“Well, it is the residence of the Cult Leader, after all.”

Haryang answered as if speaking of someone else’s house entirely. Meanwhile, Yegyeol began to wander about the construction site, which was still in its skeletal stage.

“I think it’d be nice to have a few crossbeams and pillars for Baembaem to climb around on. Not too cluttered, though.”

He tilted his head up toward the ceiling as he spoke, and Haryang silently nodded.

“I should’ve thought of that.”

“Oh, and the bathhouse that used to be here—I think it should be a little bigger this time. Maybe with a wide window so you can see the courtyard from inside!”

“So you liked the view of the snow falling, then.”

A faint smile tugged at Haryang’s lips. Ever since discovering that his gift hadn’t gone entirely to waste, he’d been in noticeably high spirits.

Still, Yegyeol didn’t let his guard down. The last thing he needed was for Haryang to mistakenly assume his disciple was growing homesick for Kunlun.

Remembering how quickly he’d been sent back to Kunlun after their reunion, Yegyeol rushed to add an explanation.

“It’s just that… it’s fascinating how the formations here can change the weather inside. I thought it’d be fun to plant different trees and flowers whenever I got bored and make a little garden.”

And just like that, the original reconstruction plan for Cheonghyeong Pavilion—intended to be faithful to its old design—was steadily being rewritten on the spot.

Yegyeol could almost hear Jinyeong’s desperate cries echoing from afar: “Please, have mercy on the builders!”

But Haryang didn’t stop him. He let his excitable disciple ramble and dream, indulgent as ever.

Though Haryang always paid close attention to everything, Yegyeol was not, by nature, a demanding person.

He never complained about his sleeping quarters, didn’t mind camping outdoors, and could handle long journeys with minimal fuss. Despite his love for good food, he often forgot to eat when left alone. He had a sharp eye for fine fabrics and well-tailored clothes, but would wear plain cotton without protest.

He’d learned through experience that having “no preferences” often just meant having no choice.

So when a disciple like that suddenly began voicing opinions about the reconstruction of Cheonghyeong Pavilion—just as he had fussed about Baembaem’s molting earlier—there was meaning in it.

It was his way of saying he wanted to stay.

And for Haryang, that was enough. Every word from Yegyeol now carried weight.

Realizing he’d been silently listening for some time, Yegyeol turned to look at him.

But the moment their eyes met, his words caught in his throat.

He found himself staring, lips pressed tightly together.

He wanted, instinctively, to doubt—yet those eyes, brimming with quiet affection, disarmed every ounce of cynicism in him.

So this is what it feels like to not know what to do with yourself, Yegyeol thought dazedly.

Every time he became aware of that tender emotion, it stole his breath away. He forgot how to blink, how to breathe—forgot everything but the awareness that those feelings were aimed at him.

And when that realization became too much to bear, he scrambled for an escape route.

“So… when are you going to Shanxi?” he blurted suddenly.

“Hmm…”

For the first time, the man who had calmly entertained even the most outrageous interior design ideas hesitated, smiling faintly, almost sheepishly.

Yegyeol caught on immediately—Haryang still hadn’t made up his mind.

“It’ll be evening soon. Let’s return to Taehyang Hall,” Haryang said mildly, an elegant deflection.

“Alright.”

There was no need to press him. Haryang would go, eventually. He always did what needed to be done.

The Senior Brother Yegyeol knew was nothing if not dutiful.

A warm hand slid down his bare back, and Yegyeol stirred with a languid sigh, eyes half-open. The hand kneading the stiffness from his waist and shoulders radiated heat.

At first, he’d thought Haryang was feverish—his body was always so hot—but later realized it was simply the result of channeling Yeolyang energy into his palms.

They say a decade changes a man, but still…

It astonished him how someone like Haryang could become so shamelessly indulgent.

“Mmm…”

The hand pressed lower, kneading into his thigh. The soft moan that escaped him was already soaked in exhaustion and warmth.

“S-stop… I wanna stop…”

He knew it was useless to whine, but he did anyway, voice trembling.

A low chuckle brushed against his neck, warm breath tingling against sensitive skin.

As his shoulders quivered, the man whispered softly against his ear, seeking permission with a dangerous gentleness.

“…Will you close your legs for me? I won’t put it in.”

It was foolish to even consider it. Trusting a predator’s promise not to bite while willingly stepping into its cage—but Yegyeol still perked up, voice shaky.

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

Drawn-out, coaxing.

Haryang kissed along his fingers—one knuckle at a time—leaving tiny wet sounds that made Yegyeol’s lips twitch upward despite himself.

Truth be told, Yegyeol was weak against Haryang no matter what he did.

“Really… the last time…”

The words carried two meanings: this would be the last time he’d indulge, and also the last time he’d believe the lie that Haryang wouldn’t go further.

The man rose over him, steady hands pressing into the bedding as he straddled Yegyeol. The world tilted—though it wasn’t a bed with springs, it might as well have been.

He’s too big…

Yegyeol licked his dry lips and squeezed his thighs together. Heat pressed between them, hard and burning.

As the man’s movements rocked against him, his whole body trembled. Every nerve wanted to respond, to yield—but just keeping his legs tightly shut was already a battle.

Even though slick warmth had already spread between them, the repeated friction stung with raw heat.

“Ah—ah…”

“Good boy.”

Teeth grazed his ear, a teasing murmur following close behind. Yegyeol felt weightless, like he was submerged in water, drifting high above the clouds.

Each time Haryang’s tongue touched his skin, another breathy moan slipped free.

Only after that storm of pleasure subsided did Yegyeol manage to sit up, leaning weakly against Haryang as he drank the water handed to him.

The guiding energy flooding his body left him strong yet oddly limp; beyond a certain limit, even strength became overwhelming.

“More water…” he mumbled.

Haryang refilled the cup and tilted it to his lips.

As the cool water eased his throat, Yegyeol’s mind began to clear again.

So this is what they mean by losing track of time in pleasure.

Haryang sat upright, slicing a peach. Yegyeol didn’t lift a finger—he just opened his mouth and accepted each bite that Haryang fed him. The ripe flesh melted instantly on his tongue, sweet juice sliding down his throat before he even thought to chew.

Watching his Senior Brother tenderly feed him like a baby bird, Yegyeol rolled his eyes inwardly. Maybe it was just him, but Haryang had been especially intense lately.

My Ten-Thousand-Great-Mountains runaway plan hasn’t leaked yet… right?

Yegyeol prided himself on being a careful troublemaker. If he ever got caught, it would only be after he’d pulled off the stunt—not before.

“How come you look worried?”

“Worried…”

Haryang trailed off, eyes darting aside in uncharacteristic hesitation.

“There’s… something weighing on my mind.”

Whatever it was, it clearly lingered. Determined to find out, Yegyeol grabbed his arm and gave it a little shake.

“Don’t look away. Look at me.”

The knife in Haryang’s hand trembled slightly.

“T-that might be… a bit difficult right now.”

Yegyeol blinked, then quickly realized why his Senior Brother was so flustered.

“Why?” he asked, pretending not to know.

Haryang closed his eyes briefly, voice low and rough when he finally answered.

“Because your face is… flushed. Like when you were younger.”

Desire, not complaint, colored his tone—and that made Yegyeol laugh softly.

With the guiding energy replenishing his strength so quickly, he felt almost playful.

If Haryang found it so unbearable, he could just pull him close and finish what he started.

Instead, the man gripped the knife like a lifeline, knuckles white. The peach in his other hand squished, juice spilling down his fingers.

The sticky liquid traced down his hand, glistening along each joint. It wasn’t Yegyeol’s fault his mind went somewhere indecent.

Taking the chance, he leaned in and licked the juice from Haryang’s hand—trailing his tongue from palm to wrist.

Haryang stiffened, but didn’t pull away. The knife clattered to the floor.

Ignoring it, Yegyeol took one of his fingers into his mouth, sucking lightly, letting his tongue tease every inch with slow, suggestive care.

When he finally released him, the hand was clean—and Haryang was staring at him, face flushed to his ears.

For some reason, Yegyeol felt a spark of wicked satisfaction.

“I just thought… the silk bedding might get sticky,” he said, feigning innocence.

A pathetic excuse, but Haryang’s gaze only deepened, dark and burning. There was no trace of restraint left in that look—only hunger.

Having neatly snared the mightiest man under heaven, Yegyeol smiled sweetly, pretending ignorance.

When Haryang tried to shift away, Yegyeol rested a hand on his thigh, trapping him in place. Then, meeting his eyes, he asked the question he’d been saving for days.

“You’re not planning to go to Shanxi, are you, Senior Brother?”