TSBIRBV Ch 10

Chapter 10. Homeless, Templeless, and Now Guideless (3)

Twenty years.

Yegyeol rolled the words on his tongue, trying to taste their reality. The number felt hollow, absurd—like thunder from a cloudless sky.

Had the Primordial Lord himself grown angry at a Kunlun disciple who refused to return to his sect?

He had only thought that if he kept collapsing on the way up the mountain—if he gave his senior brother enough reasons to worry—then perhaps Haryang would finally give up on sending him back.

“T-that can’t be right…”

Coincidence or not, twenty years was also the exact number of years he had lived since being reborn in modern Korea.

“I swear upon our late master’s name,” Je Haryang said solemnly, “I do not jest, nor do I lie.”

The unrealness of it gave way to a creeping, visceral fear.

Je Haryang had seen him throw his body between the demonic swordsman’s strike and his own. He might not have witnessed Yegyeol’s final breath, but he had certainly seen him mortally wounded.

And now, twenty years later, a disciple bearing the same face, the same voice, stood before him. What could he possibly think?

A ghost? A monster?

In the Central Plains, there were martial artists who, upon reaching transcendence, could rejuvenate their bodies and appear young again. But to return unchanged—exactly as before—was impossible.

Even if he was an esper who could summon lightning, he was powerless before such logic.

“But, Senior Brother… you haven’t aged a day either. How could twenty years have passed?”

He looked up at Haryang with the desperate hope that the man might provide an explanation that would make this nightmare make sense.

Haryang studied his pale face quietly before offering a faint, rueful smile.

“That is because I encountered a fateful opportunity long ago.”

“…Ah.”

Yegyeol’s lips trembled. It didn’t sound like a joke. Haryang was not the kind of man who toyed with others.

“I truly didn’t know so much time had passed since the massacre,” Yegyeol said weakly. “I don’t even know why I’m here… or how.”

His face had gone from pale to almost blue. He had lied plenty before, mixing truth and fiction to survive—but this time, his words were all painfully, helplessly honest.

He was terrified to meet his senior brother’s gaze. He would rather face the underworld’s Mirror of Karma than those eyes. Yet he gathered what courage he had and looked up.

It was a plea. Please… believe me. Don’t think I’m insane again. Not you.

“At least if you return to familiar ground, your mind may settle,” Haryang said softly. “Kunlun has endured for ages—if any place can explain your condition, it would be there.”

Yegyeol bit his lip hard.

“Can’t I stay with you instead?”

The words slipped out before he could stop them. But once said, they left him strangely lighter.

“Twenty years… I don’t know what’s happened, or who’s still alive. If I return to Kunlun, there’ll be no one I know. I’d feel safer by your side, Senior Brother.”

He rambled without looking at Haryang’s expression.

“I’ll work for my keep—anything, chores, whatever the trading company needs. I’ll repay the cost of my medicine too—”

His fingers twisted nervously in his lap. He knew how pathetic he must look, begging like this—but pride was useless if it meant being sent away from Haryang.

He had to live first. Pride could come later.

“…I’m sorry.”

The older man’s voice was gentle but unyielding.

“You owe me nothing, Yegyeol. There’s no debt to repay—and no reason to stay here for my sake.”

It sounded kind. But it cut like a wall slammed down between them.

How could a relationship grow when there was no tie to bind it?

Maybe… I should go to Kunlun first. Keep some distance.

He bit down on his lip again. The more they talked, the more he felt Haryang’s resolve to send him away harden like iron.

To push further now would be like swimming upstream against the Yangtze.

He forced himself to agree silently.

“The times are dangerous,” Haryang continued. “Kunlun will be your safest haven.”

Yegyeol bowed his head. If anyone else had been sitting across from him, he would’ve bitten through his lip until it bled. Instead, he only nodded.

“You must be doing this for my sake,” he said quietly.

“I’m glad you understand.”

Haryang reached out and clasped his hand.

For a man who didn’t know what “guiding” meant, his timing was impeccable.

Just as Yegyeol felt his resistance ebb, Haryang added something unexpected.

“And don’t worry. You won’t be alone once you return to Kunlun.”

Yegyeol blinked slowly. Was he referring to another survivor of the massacre?

“I’ve already written to your master’s junior,” Haryang said. “Elder Baekyang Jin-in will be waiting for you.”

Master’s junior…?

The realization hit a moment later.

Baekyang Jin-in had been his own master in his previous life.

To think he had nearly forgotten the man’s existence! If anyone in the martial world could’ve read his thoughts, they would’ve called him a walking disgrace to the sacred bond of master and disciple.

“But won’t my master find me… unsettling?” Yegyeol ventured. “It’s been twenty years, yet I still look exactly like I did at seventeen.”

He subtly made himself sound younger. The more fragile and childlike he appeared, the more sympathy he could draw from Haryang.

And really—after twenty years, could Haryang possibly remember how tall he’d been? Even if Yegyeol had died for him back then, he’d been just the youngest, least remarkable disciple in Kunlun.

“Don’t worry,” Haryang said, voice calm and certain. “Your master will accept you without prejudice.”

His tone was strangely resolute, as though no other outcome existed.

Yegyeol tried to recall Baekyang Jin-in.

A gentle-faced Daoist with a compassionate air, he had taken Yegyeol as a disciple more out of obligation than intent. The boy had shown little promise, and so the master had largely ignored him.

They hadn’t been close. There was no affection there to speak of.

Which made his supposed willingness to welcome Yegyeol back all the more suspicious. Twenty years had passed, and yet his “young” disciple returned unchanged—what sane master wouldn’t be unnerved?

Still, it was something.

“I’m relieved Master survived the massacre,” Yegyeol said softly. “But still—”

He darted his eyes sideways, lowering his voice to a whisper.

“Senior Brother, you’re the only one I can rely on. I don’t trust anyone else. Being apart from you… it’s frightening.”

“I am not the saint you think I am,” Haryang murmured, almost to himself.

He leaned in slightly, his voice like a confession.

“Don’t put too much faith in me. Don’t depend on me so much.”

Yegyeol couldn’t help but laugh quietly. To say that, while literally holding his life in his hands—it was almost sweet, in its naivety.

But fine. If he was to be sent away, then he had one last question to ask.

“Once I enter Kunlun… will I ever see you again?”

His fingers clenched tightly atop his knees until the knuckles turned white. He wanted to sound casual, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him.

“…If we could meet again after all this time,” Haryang said gently, “then it must mean fate still binds us. So yes, I believe we’ll meet again someday.”

A lie.

Yegyeol sensed it instantly—not through any esper instinct, but because he knew Je Haryang. He caught the flicker of guilt that shadowed his eyes.

“Then… may I at least write to you?” he asked softly, head bowed in meek submission.

Silence.

He wanted Haryang to hesitate—to struggle with the thought of losing him. To miss him.

“You know how vast the Central Plains are,” Haryang finally said. “And I often travel for trade. Letters may not reach me in time.”

In other words—no.

Yegyeol slumped his shoulders dramatically.

Then I’ll just have to get myself expelled, too.

He looked pitiful on the outside, but his mind was already racing through plans for how to get kicked out of Kunlun. All of them, naturally, danced dangerously close to violating the sect’s sacred taboos.

Perhaps sensing the storm brewing in him, Haryang added gently, “Still, if you send me a letter… I promise I’ll reply.”

And if I end up with nowhere else to go, Yegyeol thought darkly, I can always curl up under your eaves until you take me back in.

“It may take time,” Haryang continued, “but if you can be patient…”

He averted his gaze, slightly embarrassed. When Yegyeol didn’t respond right away, he called softly,

“Yegyeol?”

He’d been too busy scheming to process what was said. But when the words finally sank in, his head shot up.

“Y-yes? Really? You’ll really write back?”

For once, the tears that filled his eyes were genuine.

Haryang had been right—the Central Plains were impossibly vast. There were no tracking devices here, no modern tools to follow him by. The idea of losing his guide forever had felt like being condemned to death.

If Haryang had refused even letters, Yegyeol would’ve had no choice but to become a criminal to stay near him.

But his guide—his too-kind, too-gentle guide—had saved him again.

“Don’t cry,” Haryang murmured, awkwardly stroking his hair.

Yegyeol made the sobs louder on purpose as he threw himself into the man’s arms.

Haryang stiffened for a heartbeat, then slowly, hesitantly, wrapped his arms around him, patting his back.

Do I look pitiful now? I hope so.

Because there was one thing Je Haryang didn’t know.

Yegyeol might have lost his home, his sect, and soon his guide—

—but he hadn’t lost the will to fight for what he wanted.

He was heartbroken, yes. But he hadn’t given up.