TSBIRBV Ch 249

Chapter 249. The Runaway Disciple and the Reclusive Tiger (4)

Beneath the blazing sun, sturdy young men moved about busily.

“Ugh, we were supposed to pull weeds at dawn — why’d you sleep in?” one man grumbled, sweat streaming down his face.

“Who was the one drinking until dawn again?” another teased, his tone more playful than irritated.

“…My head’s pounding. Be quiet.”

The voice that rumbled in reply was more growl than speech, like a tiger’s low snarl. When they turned their heads, meeting the gaze of a man whose hair was half white and half black, their lips clamped shut into pinpricks.

The men who’d been bickering quickly straightened their postures and barked out sharp, disciplined replies.

“Yes.”

“Yes, sir.”

Though they still exchanged wary looks, itching to resume their squabble, the man seemed satisfied enough with the sudden quiet. He hefted the weeds he’d just pulled and walked out of the field. The bundle was large enough to look heavy, but he carried it as if it weighed no more than a puff of cotton.

The muscles flexing beneath his rolled-up sleeves were far too defined to belong to a mere farmer.

“They said this can be turned into compost if fermented properly… maybe I should ask Ah-woo,” he muttered, scratching the back of his head.

At a glance, he looked every bit the rustic farmer, but those who knew his identity watched in awe as he wiped the sweat from his face, their gazes feverish with admiration.

“That muscle movement when he wipes his sweat…”

“As expected, Brother Gweho — the one said to make even mountains and rivers tremble if he stands in demonic territory.”

“How could I ever learn a single move from him…”

This was Gweho Peng Munhyeong, a martial artist of the Peng Clan of Hebei — one of the top ten masters in the entire martial world. Though a righteous sect member by affiliation, his eccentricities were so notorious that even fellow orthodox martial artists tended to avoid him.

Yet, instead of breaking the heads of demonic cultivators as he once had, here he was — pulling weeds, tending crops, and carrying farm tools. It was an odd sight… and yet, strangely fitting.

In truth, those watching him in reverence weren’t ordinary villagers either — they were former mountain bandits from the Green Forest Road, who had given up their lives of crime half a year ago.

Living in this village, they’d learned to plow fields, sow seeds, water the soil, and pull weeds.

Leaning on his hoe, Gweho surveyed the field. Only the tender sprouts remained — every weed had been neatly removed, leaving the ground immaculate.

A faint smile curved his lips — not a gentle one, but sharp and dangerous, like a warrior deciding whether to snap an enemy’s neck or split his skull in two.

“Perfect.”

The satisfaction in his voice made even the weary men — who had collapsed from weeding under the midday sun — lift the corners of their mouths.

Most bore scars on their faces and carried the fierce air of men used to violence. Their smiles were unsettling, yet undeniably joyful.

“I’ll go throw this in the shade. You all go rest, grab something to eat.”

At his words, they responded eagerly.

“Yes!”

“Go ahead, sir.”

“Rest well, Brother!”

Gweho rose to his feet and strode off, light and easy, as though the heat and hangover from earlier were nothing but illusions.

A martial artist of his level could purge alcohol with inner energy. His earlier scolding was only meant to keep the men from brawling again — they had a habit of letting friendly banter turn into flying fists.

It had already been a year since Gweho had wandered into this strange little village.

He had come here after meeting a young man who shared the same name as an old acquaintance. Following the trail to what was said to be the youth’s hometown, Gweho arrived in Qinghai — only to find a village full of lifeless, spiritless residents.

“Why do they all look so lethargic?” he’d wondered.

Well — that was because they had once been bandits.

They’d been eking out a living collecting tolls on mountain passes until they foolishly crossed paths with a merchant caravan led by none other than Yegyeol of the Qinghai Trading Company — and got thoroughly crushed for it.

As punishment, they’d been used in a scheme against Tang Seoak and placed under Samrang’s watchful supervision.

Later, when Yegyeol met Gweho, he decided to use both the man’s name and his reputation for his own plans. With the help of his connections — and perhaps a little manipulation — he bought out an entire village that had once belonged to Haryang during his days as a wandering hero.

The previous residents had long sold their homes for good coin and left. To fill the vacant space, Samrang relocated the reformed bandits there.

In a sense, she had found them a new livelihood.

These ex-bandits, who once trembled at the sound of thunder — remembering how Yegyeol’s lightning had burned down their mountain lair — had truly washed their hands of crime. Yet farming in the harsh, arid soil of Qinghai proved difficult.

The land was near the desert and barren, which was partly why the original villagers had abandoned it so easily.

The reformed bandits, determined to live honestly, quickly lost heart.

Then Gweho appeared.

For all his fearsome reputation, he had an unexpected talent for cultivation — of the agricultural sort. Once a candidate for clan headship, Gweho had extensive knowledge of the Peng Clan’s vast lands and the methods used to manage them.

Realizing that the villagers might starve before “the second Haryang” ever returned, he drove them to farm under his guidance.

At first, the Green Forest men hadn’t recognized him as their superior. But Samrang’s agent quietly informed them of his identity — and, true to form, they submitted at once to his strength.

They might have bowed to him out of fear initially, but in time they grew to respect him. For all his intensity, Gweho was a man of loyalty, looking after those under his care. And since he believed these bandits to be “villagers of Haryang’s hometown,” he took particular care of them.

Thus began the strange agrarian life of Gweho Peng Munhyeong and the thirty-eight Green Forest disciples.

Whenever Gweho left the village for errands, he always returned, and the men, fearful of disappointing him, threw themselves into their farming with all their might.

In a way, they’d bound each other to this place.

Meanwhile, Yegyeol had no idea this was happening. He had intended to use this village as a means to build a connection with Gweho, but circumstances had led him elsewhere — deep into the Ten-Thousand Mountains.

Even so, by a mix of intention and coincidence, the village began to thrive on its own.

“There it is.”

From a distance, Yegyeol spotted the village — and the towering figure of Peng Munhyeong, the Recluse Tiger — working near its entrance.

“Peng Daehyeop’s hair makes him easy to spot,” Yegyeol murmured. “Even without approaching close enough to trigger a master’s aura, that half-white head gives him away.”

“Shall we go now?” Hongyeo asked beside him.

His companion this time was Yayul Hongyeo himself. Jinyoung had stayed behind in the Ten-Thousand Mountains, and Samrang was busy carrying out Haryang’s orders. Thus, for the sake of speed, Yegyeol had chosen Hongyeo as his escort.

Their escape from the mountains had been quite an adventure.

Leaving Taehyangjeon had been the easy part — all Hongyeo had to do was pretend that Yegyeol had official permission for an outing.

But things got trickier immediately afterward. When Yegyeol told those who inquired that he was touring Ilwol Shingyo’s inner halls with Samrang, suspicion flared. After all, he had “accidentally destroyed” more than one building during past strolls. To shake off the followers, Yegyeol had been forced to take several unnecessary detours within the Ten-Thousand Mountains.

So this is what they call karma… he’d thought bitterly.

He had even run into Jinyoung mid-loop — the latter smirking as he mentioned he was headed to Manmade for the next stage of their plan.

Of course, Samrang was a professional to the core.

[Just say you’re tired.]

When Yegyeol followed her instruction, immediately sitting down and claiming exhaustion, she led him to a shaded corner — conveniently one where a member of Muwoldang was waiting. Dressed in Yegyeol’s spare clothes and wearing a wig, the decoy bore a striking resemblance to him.

Once Samrang departed with the double, the real Yegyeol donned his disguise and slipped away alongside Hongyeo, who had just rotated shifts at Taehyangjeon. Hidden behind the broad-shouldered warrior, Yegyeol easily escaped prying eyes.

The final checkpoint was Manmade.

When they arrived, Jinyoung was already there, speaking with the area’s chief officer, who looked pale and overworked.

From what Yegyeol had overheard during the planning phase, this was all part of a “martial-style tax audit.” Thanks to that, the Manmade officer was too terrified and distracted to pay attention, letting Hongyeo and the “servant” pass without question.

Once mounted on Jeokroe, their steed, Hongyeo had commented that their timing and luck were perfect. The recent chaos following Bi Huyeon’s incident had thinned the manpower considerably, and even the one man who would have noticed Yegyeol’s absence first was currently imprisoned.

With Yegyeol seated in front, Jeokroe galloped across the narrow valley path, where sentries stood like black stakes, their spears gleaming in the sun. He could feel their sharp gazes scrape the back of his neck.

Not until they passed through the great iron-and-stone gates of the Ten-Thousand Mountains did Yegyeol finally exhale. As Jeokroe’s hooves struck the earth beyond, he instinctively turned back.

The massive gate was closing.

But what lay behind no longer frightened him. For a fleeting moment, he even felt the urge to return — then dismissed it and faced forward again.

Before them stretched a vast, endless desert.

Thus began their journey to Qinghai.

Jeokroe, already an exceptional steed, moved even faster with Hongyeo riding. Not even the desert sands could slow its hooves. Watching in awe, Yegyeol couldn’t help but whisper,

“We’d better hurry. They’ll realize we’re gone any moment now…”

He turned to Hongyeo.

“You remember our cover story, right?”

“Yes.”

Hongyeo hesitated.

“Are you certain we should… go through with it exactly as planned?”

“Of course. Let’s hear it once more.”

“Master Mun set out on a merchant journey but became lost in the desert. Seeking refuge from a sandstorm in a strange stone tomb, he encountered a miraculous opportunity and learned the Thunder Spirit Fist, the technique of the Lightning Emperor.”

“Good. And you?”

“I am a member of a nomadic tribe who, while returning from selling horses, was attacked by bandits and lost my companions. Master Mun, passing by the desert, saved me — and in gratitude, I vowed to aid his journey to the Central Plains.”

“And my purpose in the Central Plains is?”

“Having mastered the Thunder Spirit Fist — a technique completed by the Lightning Emperor in his final years but nearly lost to history — you are to attend the Martial Arts Tournament to declare that his legacy endures.”

“Perfect.”

Yegyeol clapped his hands together, clearly pleased.

Hongyeo, ever earnest and serious, didn’t take shortcuts — a trait that reminded Yegyeol of Haryang himself.

Still, he seemed slightly uneasy about this whole disguise mission.

“I know the titles are confusing,” Yegyeol added, “but once we meet Gweho, don’t call me Young Master Mun anymore.”

Hongyeo’s expression tensed, but he nodded solemnly.

“…Understood.”

Yegyeol could already tell he’d rather remain silent than risk addressing him wrongly. The man truly lacked guile.

I still don’t understand why he’s helping me, Yegyeol mused.

Just as Jinyoung had said, Hongyeo had seemed like the type to report to Haryang first. Yet the moment he learned of Yegyeol’s plan to run away, he’d volunteered to help.

Come to think of it, Hongyeo had been the only one who, from the very beginning — even back when Yegyeol was sent to Kunlun — had predicted that he would eventually return to Haryang’s side.

Maybe this time, it’s for the same reason.

His thoughts didn’t last long. As soon as Hongyeo let out a sharp whistle, Jeokroe surged forward, galloping straight toward the village.

Startled by the sudden arrival of strangers, one of Gweho’s men tensed and rushed to the gate.

When Yegyeol’s smile came into view beneath that distinctive half-white hair, Peng Munhyeong froze for a heartbeat — and then his eyes widened in disbelief.

“Could it be… you’re—!”

The sun caught his tanned face as he broke into a broad, bright grin.

Yegyeol reached out, grasped his extended hand, and said cheerfully,

“It’s me — Je Haryang.”

At that, Hongyeo simply squeezed his eyes shut.