TSBIRBV Ch 251

Chapter 251. The Runaway Disciple and the Reclusive Tiger (6)

“Where did Gyeol go?”

Haryang’s voice echoed through the empty halls of Taehyangjeon.

Jinyoung, kneeling with his head bowed, kept his mouth shut and his eyes tightly closed.

The killing intent in the air was suffocating. The atmosphere was so dense that even breathing became painful. Like an insect caught in a spider’s web, Jinyoung knew there was no escape — yet some primal instinct for survival made his lips twitch as if to speak.

His lord’s obsession with Mun Yegyeol had long since crossed the line of normalcy. Every demon that haunted Haryang’s heart had been born from that boy’s death — how could it not consume him?

“For now, he’s headed toward Qinghai, but his ultimate destination appears to be Wuhan, the heart of the Central Plains.”

Beyond Hubei lay Henan, and beyond Henan — Shanxi.

“Let’s go together.”

The voice that wasn’t there echoed like an illusion.

He must bring him back.

Before it’s too late.

“Where is Hongyeo?”

“He’s traveling with Young Master Mun.”

At that, a visible tension eased from Haryang’s frame.

Since Jeokroe, the fastest mount capable of pursuing Yegyeol, was with Hongyeo, it meant his disciple hadn’t left the Ten-Thousand Mountains alone. Somehow, that single fact — that Yegyeol was under protection — gave Haryang an absurd sense of relief.

But the moment he felt that relief, he forgot how to breathe.

The air grew thin.

Suddenly, his vision warped as if the ceiling and floor were collapsing upon each other. The sense of direction vanished; though he knew his legs were still holding him upright, his body felt as if it were falling endlessly. A wave of dizziness came over him, his blood seeming to drain away.

Something surged up his throat. Haryang instinctively covered his mouth.

When he lowered his hand, it was smeared with red.

He had spat blood — the result of his inner demons surging up all at once.

As he stared at the crimson stain, he could almost see a small hand overlapping with his own. If he turned his head, he felt as though Yegyeol would be there, eyes wide in alarm, reaching out for him.

Haryang clenched his fist.

Of course, even if he did, he could never grasp that illusionary hand.

A low, bitter laugh slipped from his lips.

“Haha…”

How utterly absurd.

“My lord,” Jinyoung called hesitantly.

Despite his efforts to remain calm, his trembling voice betrayed his anxiety.

Without answering, Haryang raised a finger to his lips, silently signaling for quiet. He closed his eyes.

“……”

Strangely enough, he was calm — unnervingly so.

In fact, after spitting the blood, his head felt clearer.

Things were different now than when he had first brought Yegyeol into the Ten-Thousand Mountains.

If Yegyeol and the Dark Ghost had once shared only their bodies, then between Yegyeol and himself, it was their hearts that had intertwined.

Even now — even in his absence — Haryang could not bring himself to doubt that bond.

Yegyeol hadn’t truly left.

It was only that Haryang had failed to follow.

He slowly recalled the things that bound his own feet in place.

Everything in life had always been heavy — so heavy that he’d grown accustomed to the weight, never thinking to cast it off. The endless disputes and chaos of the world beneath the clouds had long since ceased to interest him. All of it was trivial.

He hadn’t even realized that this numbness was boredom.

“Samrang,” Haryang finally said, his voice quiet but sharp, “you’ve grown bold.”

Immediately, Samrang knelt and lowered her head.

“I’ve made an insolent choice and am prepared to accept my punishment.”

Her tone was unusually serious.

“Punishment, hm? Yet somehow, you don’t seem the least bit remorseful about aiding the disciple’s journey to the Central Plains. Am I wrong?”

Samrang said nothing.

She had listened to Yegyeol — and been persuaded. Kneeling before her lord now was not an attempt to erase her wrongdoing, but to accept the consequences of it.

“…This fool dared to act on her own judgment,” she said finally. “But no, I do not regret it.”

“You are not arrogant,” Haryang replied.

“I was complacent.”

He smiled faintly, almost self-deprecatingly.

He had been intoxicated — drunk on what was sweet and fragrant in his grasp.

‘Just wait and see.’

He recalled that day when Yegyeol had asked him to go to Shanxi together — how he’d hesitated to answer, fearing loss. And how the bold disciple had declared those words, head held high.

Even now, Haryang could feel the phantom ache in his jaw from when Yegyeol had headbutted him in protest.

He had laughed then, thinking idly that perhaps the boy would one day bring lightning down on Taehyangjeon itself — never imagining that his grand declaration would lead to this.

“My lord, there is something I wish to present.”

Samrang drew out a scroll and handed it to him.

Haryang unfurled it and blinked at the title written at the top.

“‘Travel… Itinerary?’”

The handwriting was clumsy but legible, the careful script unmistakably Yegyeol’s.

Beneath the heading stretched a detailed route — from Xinjiang to Qinghai, from Qinghai to Sichuan, then following the Yangtze River into Wuhan.

Where he would stay each night, what he would eat, how long each journey would take — every detail was written down.

Haryang was stunned.

“When… did he prepare all this?”

“He already had most of the route planned when he first mentioned the journey to me,” Samrang replied softly.

Even though Yegyeol had once traveled the long road from Hangzhou to Qinghai, the old Yegyeol who’d died within Kunlun would never have been capable of planning something like this.

Haryang remembered the disciple who used to chase merchant caravans, claiming he wanted to learn how to make money — the one who proudly declared he’d build Haryang a ship someday with his own savings.

To think that same boy had so meticulously prepared this journey… It made something in his chest twist strangely.

“I’ll eat well, sleep well, play well, and wait for you.”

Wait for you.

That final line. The words seemed to carry what he truly meant — simple, bright, and infuriatingly warm.

Even the ever-present smile that once came so easily to Haryang’s lips refused to surface.

The clarity he’d regained a moment ago now roiled with noise. His thoughts churned.

As his eyes traced the familiar handwriting, they stopped at one corner of the page.

A doodle — a tiny, childish sketch of lightning striking through clouds.

Haryang’s thumb brushed over it again and again.

“…Yeonjok,” he murmured.

As if anticipating this very moment, Jinyoung silently lifted a lacquered box from the side.

It contained the Yeonjok pipe, moved from Cheonghyeongjeon to Taehyangjeon ever since they discovered that Yegyeol reacted strongly to its smoke.

Without touching it, the lid flipped open.

The pipe flew into Haryang’s grasp as though drawn by gravity itself.

No flame was brought to it, yet a faint crackle of burning sounded from within. He inhaled the drugged aroma deeply and exhaled a long, steady breath.

White smoke coiled up, wavering like mist — his sighs given visible form.

The haze drifted through the hall, wrapping the chamber in ghostly pallor. Beneath that veil, Haryang’s face appeared even paler than before, his thoughts unreadable. His half-lowered lashes flickered once, twice — then he spoke.

“For now… let’s arrange for Clan Leader Gong to receive a pleasant visitor.”

His gaze swept over Jinyoung and Samrang, lingering for a moment on the empty space between them.

Hongyeo’s absence.

He would know where he was meant to be — with Yegyeol. Until he arrived, his disciple would be safe.

There were things Haryang had long delayed. Now, he would finish them.

Gong Hyeongwon awoke to the sound of iron chains scraping against the floor.

Two masked members of the Shadow Division were dragging a prisoner down the corridor.

As they stepped from the shadows, he caught a glimpse of the prisoner’s face — and nearly leapt to his feet.

Hyeon Soyang.

“My sister— Lady Hyeon!”

Without even glancing at him, the guards threw her into the adjacent cell and left.

“Sister! It’s me — Gong Hyeongwon! Can you hear me?”

But Hyeon Soyang remained still.

The woman who had once been both his elder and his comrade sat staring blankly ahead, unresponsive.

Gong Hyeongwon bit down hard on his lower lip.

He didn’t know when she’d been brought here — only that much time must have passed.

The Heavenly Demon had never once tortured him for answers. He was an indifferent man — so indifferent that he scarcely seemed to care for his own life.

Thus, Gong had assumed he would simply be left here to rot and die.

That was his mission.

But now — why had Hyeon Soyang been dragged in here?

To make me talk?

Gripping the iron bars, he asked in a trembling voice,

“Sister, what happened? Tell me!”

No response.

It was clear she could neither see nor hear.

Whatever had been done to her — she was now a prisoner within her own flesh.

“Please… answer me…”

Even as he begged, he knew it was useless. His hands tightened around the bars until his knuckles bled.

Once, he could have bent the metal barehanded. Now it didn’t budge.

She was cunning and calculating, he thought bitterly. If she’d been caught up in something, she’d have cut her losses and escaped.

That could only mean the Heavenly Demon had moved personally.

But the Je Haryang he knew was a man of eerie calm — one who seemed almost incapable of anger.

Since his capture upon returning from Qinghai, Gong Hyeongwon had heard nothing of the outside world.

He knew nothing of the young man named Mun Yegyeol, whom the Heavenly Demon kept constantly by his side.

He didn’t even know that, because of Hyeon Soyang’s hidden explosives, that same boy had nearly died.

“What is this…”

As he stared at his sister’s empty eyes, he froze.

A thin haze of white smoke was seeping through the bars, spreading across the cell like descending mist.

The smoke twisted into delicate arcs and ripples, swirling just above his head.

Gong’s trembling hands slipped beneath his robes. He hadn’t seen that smoke in a long time — but he would never mistake it.

It carried a scent — faint yet overpowering.

He was coming.

Not acrid, but rich — sweet, floral, and heavy enough to muddle the mind.

With his meridians sealed, even breathing the air was enough to make his limbs sink like lead.

They called it medicine.

But in truth, it was poison.

He tried not to inhale, forcing calm upon himself.

“I thought you’d be pleased to see a familiar face,” came a voice, sudden and smooth. “But you seem rather tense.”

Gong Hyeongwon’s teeth ground together.

From the darkness ahead, as if he’d always been there, the Heavenly Demon stepped forward.

“Smile,” Haryang said softly.

The end of the Yeonjok pipe tilted up under Gong’s chin. The heat singed his skin, the burn sharp and searing — but Gong didn’t utter a sound.

“I almost didn’t get to see you again before you died. Shouldn’t you be glad we meet at last?”

The world spun.

At first, Gong thought the Heavenly Demon was distorting reality somehow — until he realized the trembling came from his own body.

No matter how he tried to hold his breath, the scent slipped through his pores like venom. The fear that came with the man’s presence was paralyzing.

“H-how… how did Lady Hyeon end up here?” he managed to stammer.

“Bi Huyeon,” Haryang replied.

The moment their eyes met, Gong regretted asking.

Those eyes — sharply divided between black and white — were too clear, too alive. One could almost forget the abyss lurking within them.

It was as if the night itself were staring back at him.

“She’d been hiding the things you prepared for Bi Huyeon,” Haryang said.

Seeing his own reflection within those eyes was a strange sensation.

It was like gazing up at the heavens — knowing full well the heavens would never look back.

The Heavenly Demon never saw anyone.

Serving such a god had once filled Gong with emptiness — and resentment.

But now, he found himself praying not to be seen at all.

A trembling sigh escaped his lips.

“I was going to indulge you longer,” Haryang murmured, “but unfortunately, I no longer have the time.”

His tone turned sharp as a blade.

“Now then… shall we speak of your master — the one waiting for word from Shanxi?”