TSBIRBV Ch 5

Chapter 5. The Departed Must Return (4)

Yegyeol blinked, dumbfounded by Je Haryang’s shocking words.

“A… a merchant? You became a merchant?”

It was more startling than the fall of Kunlun itself.

To imagine Je Haryang—not a martial artist, not a disciple of Kunlun, but a merchant—was unthinkable. It was easier to believe the entire sect had perished than to accept this.

They say a child grows not by their parents’ will but their own—but this was something else entirely.

Kunlun would never have willingly released a genius like his senior brother. After the demonic invasion, the sect would have needed every ounce of Haryang’s talent to rebuild itself.

“Did something happen that day? Did your dantian get destroyed? Or… is it a permanent injury—?”

Yegyeol sat upright in a panic and reached out, fumbling to feel Haryang’s body. It was an astonishingly agile motion for someone the physicians had declared untreatable.

Caught off guard by such a sudden reaction, Haryang let him.

As Yegyeol tried to edge closer on his knees, he lost his balance at the edge of the bed. Even for an esper, moving blind was disorienting—he had no way to steady himself.

He felt himself tilting, falling.

“…Yegyeol!”

His face landed squarely against Haryang’s chest. His fingers caught on fabric—and in his panicked struggle not to slip, he realized he had torn it.

And then he realized—he could see.

“Ah…”

The bandage over his eyes had loosened during the commotion. His vision was still hazy, but it was enough to make out the bare skin before him.

White.

Kunlun’s disciples had always been sun-darkened from years of training on snowy peaks. The sunlight reflecting off the perpetual snows burned more fiercely than any summer field.

Haryang had been among the fairer ones—but never this pale.

So he truly isn’t part of Kunlun anymore…

The flawless whiteness of his skin made it real. No true warrior could have such an unmarked body.

A strange sense of loss swept through Yegyeol.

“Can you… can you see?” Haryang’s voice trembled slightly. He leaned in close, and the face that had been a blur upon their reunion now came into sharp focus.

A man as striking as carved jade, his beauty cool and distant.

In his past life, when the memories had begun to fade, Yegyeol could recall that face only in dreams.

The Haryang before him now was more mature, weathered by time—but the calm dignity remained.

“I can see. A little hazy, but… yes.”

“What miracle is this… Every physician said you would never see again.”

Relief, disbelief, joy, confusion—every emotion was written plainly across Haryang’s face.

Yegyeol’s gaze greedily traced every detail of it.

Even as a merchant, his body remained well-trained—his chest firm beneath the torn fabric. His reflexes, too, were as quick as ever; he’d caught Yegyeol before he fell.

Did he become a merchant because he lost his inner strength?

Yegyeol, who had no dantian himself, couldn’t sense another’s energy. In his past life, even as a trained martial artist, he’d never been able to gauge Haryang’s full level of mastery.

“I’ll bring the physician right away. First, let’s rewrap the bandages. No—close your eyes first.”

Yegyeol complied, shutting his eyes obediently. He could feel Haryang’s hands, careful yet tense, rewrapping the cloth.

Even in his hurry, Haryang was meticulous, his fingers trembling slightly.

I’ll ask about Kunlun later, Yegyeol decided.

Right now, recovering came first. His guide, fragile as he seemed beneath that calm exterior, might faint from worry if Yegyeol pushed too far.

Any esper knew: when dealing with your guide, appear harmless. Those who let their greed show too soon were often abandoned—and their regret could fill towers.

Yegyeol had no intention of becoming one of those fools.

“Agh… I’m dying here.”

“Check his pulse.”

Haryang returned with a woman whose casual tone immediately broke the quiet tension.

Hearing the unfamiliar voice approach, Yegyeol instinctively tensed, and Haryang’s calm murmur soothed him.

“This is Samrang. She means you no harm.”

“Hello there. I’m— ahem—Samrang, assistant to our merchant lord here.”

The moment she spoke, Yegyeol was reminded yet again—this was not Kunlun.

Among the Nine Great Sects, Kunlun, Shaolin, and Wudang never accepted female disciples.

“I don’t mind a diagnosis, but…”

He hesitated, then added softly,

“Could my senior brother… hold my hand while she does?”

Half sincerity, half mischief.

He told himself it was reasonable for a patient to seek comfort—but truthfully, he simply didn’t want to let go. Even with his eyes covered, he could sense where his guide was as naturally as a bird senses the wind.

“Would that be too much to ask?”

“Of course not.”

Haryang’s voice was gentle. He stepped closer, took Yegyeol’s hand, and even helped him sit up. Yegyeol leaned back slightly, the solid warmth of Haryang’s chest steadying him.

“Alright, I’ll check your pulse now. Don’t be startled,” said Samrang.

Her fingers were icy cold when they touched his wrist—so cold it sent a chill up his spine. He let her take his pulse only because Haryang was near; otherwise, he might have instinctively recoiled.

“…Oh? Am I really this good of a physician?”

Her tone was oddly flippant for someone making a diagnosis.

“Your meridians were all twisted before, but after a few days of rest, you’re practically fine! Even your bones have mended. How strange…”

“So he’s healed?” Haryang asked, his voice taut with hope.

“Still a bit weak, but yes—he’s like someone recovering from a bad cold. A few laps around the training yard, a good sweat, and he’ll be right as rain!”

That ridiculous prescription made Yegyeol doubt whether Samrang was a real doctor at all. Surely Haryang hadn’t brought a fraud into his home?

“We should check his eyes too. Where’s the nearest physician?”

“The closest is in Hongye. It’s a three-day ride, night and day.”

Hongye—another unfamiliar name. Yegyeol stayed silent, listening.

“Wasn’t there one about a day away?” Haryang asked.

“He moved to Sichuan after that gang incident a few days ago. The world’s gone strange—no place is safe anymore.”

Samrang clicked her tongue.

“Then tell Hongye to fetch the physician. If they doubt your word, say I’ve given permission.”

“Yes, sir.”

She left. The sound of the door closing confirmed her departure.

“Is that woman not a physician, then?” Yegyeol asked.

“She’s not, though she’s skilled in many things. She assists with my trading business.”

“How long have you known her?”

For a brief moment, Haryang’s hand—steady on Yegyeol’s shoulder—paused before gently lowering him back down.

“You are… very curious.”

It wasn’t reproach, merely a quiet observation, spoken almost to himself.

Yegyeol’s heart skipped a beat, but as Haryang’s hand stroked his hair soothingly, he relaxed again.

“A few years now,” Haryang added.

A few years.

Vague, noncommittal. Not as if he meant to hide anything—more like it simply hadn’t mattered enough to count.

Yegyeol’s curiosity deepened.

How much time has passed since I died?

He couldn’t wait for the physician to arrive. Once the bandages came off, once he could look into his senior brother’s eyes again, he would ask everything—every question he’d swallowed until now.

He squeezed Haryang’s hand tightly.

“Stay with me until I fall asleep.”

Sleep was creeping up again, heavy and soft.

Before darkness claimed him, Yegyeol saw, through the blur of his bandages, the faint nod of Haryang’s silhouette.

A faint smile touched Yegyeol’s lips as he drifted into slumber.

Haryang watched him for a long time, eyes lingering on the peaceful curve of his mouth, until the shadows lengthened and twilight began to settle outside the window.

He lifted a candle that one of the servants had left nearby and placed it beside the bed. But when he reached for a match, he found none. Clicking his tongue softly, he stared at the unlit wick.

He could have gone to fetch one—but he remembered the promise he had made.

I won’t leave him alone.

Checking that the bandages were secure, Haryang raised one hand.

A flame bloomed in his bare palm.

Sam-mae-jin-hwa—True Flame of the Threefold Focus.

Only masters who had reached the deepest level of cultivation could wield it. And here was Je Haryang, the so-called fallen disciple of Kunlun, conjuring that divine fire just to light a candle.

Carefully, so as not to wake Yegyeol, he touched the living flame to the wick. Only when the candle burned bright enough to banish the dark did he let the fire die in his hand.

Then he sat by the bed, the flickering light painting gentle gold across Yegyeol’s sleeping face.

For the first time in years, peace settled over him. As if all the chaos and noise of his life had dissolved into nothingness.

He often found himself imagining—if that boy had lived, grown up naturally—what would he have become? It was a habit, one of the few that comforted him.

He could not envision his own future, so he filled his lonely, endless years by dreaming of someone else’s.

Perhaps that was why, the moment they met again, he’d recognized Yegyeol instantly—not as a child, but as someone who had lived, changed, survived.

What had his disciple endured in all this time?

He had never been able to accept Yegyeol’s death. He had never gone to seek the body, never dared to confirm what his heart refused to believe.

By the time he finally had the freedom to choose—to face it—it had been far too long.

So he buried that boy and the memory of that bloody day deep within his heart, never expecting to meet him again.

And yet here he was—alive, though scarred and broken in ways that defied reason. His body bore marks of violence, his meridians twisted and dantian gone, the strength he once had reduced to frailty. His youth frozen, his eyes haunted by nightmares born from darkness.

And his impossible recovery…

“Sleep well,” Haryang murmured, his cool eyes softening as he brushed a hand over Yegyeol’s cheek.

“No more pain. No more nightmares…”

He could remember no lullaby worth singing. But if he could tear apart the darkness that hunted his disciple in sleep, that would be enough.

For Je Haryang, that was enough.