TSBIRBV Ch 277

Chapter 277. Cause and Effect (4)

A shadow fell across the sleeping man’s face.

When his breathing steadied into a soft rhythm, Yegyeol—who had been turned toward the wall—rolled over in his sleep. The silk blanket that had been pulled up to his cheeks slipped down, revealing the tranquil face beneath.

Haryang, kneeling beside the bed, reached out. His fingers brushed Yegyeol’s cheek carefully, tracing down with his thumb. Yegyeol wrinkled his nose faintly.

Haryang froze, holding his breath for fear he had woken him—but instead, the sleeping man leaned into his palm, nuzzling softly as if in a dream. His lips curved faintly in an unguarded, blissful smile.

You…

That defenseless, pure expression—unaware of anything, stripped of all caution—was both beautiful and cruel.

How could someone look so gentle, so fragile, lying before a man capable of doing anything?

“I only meant to tease you,” Haryang whispered, a strained smile tugging at his lips. “But I seem to be the one suffering instead.”

He lowered his head and pressed his lips to the smooth, pale forehead before him—soft as the moon reflected over a still lake. The faint sweetness of skin mixed with something elusive, maddeningly intoxicating.

I shouldn’t have touched you.

A bitter smile crossed his face.

From the Ten Thousand Mountains to Wuhan, he had lived with this restless fire burning through him—days and nights spent sharpening his resolve, losing and regaining his sanity in turn, all for the moment he could seize his disciple again.

And yet, when he finally had him within reach… this quiet, lukewarm happiness was what he had longed for most.

Shhh.

A soft, hissing sound cut through the stillness. Haryang turned his head toward it.

Beambeam, coiled at the foot of the bed, was staring at him with clear displeasure.

Though the golden serpent showed no open hostility—it must have recognized him even beneath the human mask—its tail thumped against the blanket sharply, a warning as clear as speech: That’s close enough.

Only then did Haryang realize how reliable a guardian his unsuspecting disciple had brought along.

With calm eyes, he raised a finger to his lips.

Just this once… keep my secret.

He mouthed the words silently, not daring to disturb Yegyeol’s sleep. The serpent’s unblinking gaze didn’t waver.

Haryang carefully pulled the fallen blanket up to Yegyeol’s chest, then lay back on the opposite side of the bed.

Satisfied, Beambeam curled back into a coil and rested its head atop itself.

Haryang lay there, watching the sleeping face for a long time. Before he knew it, he was counting the delicate lashes that fanned over Yegyeol’s cheeks. He gave a quiet, helpless laugh.

It seemed this night, too, would offer him no sleep.

When Yegyeol opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was the face of the man beside him—fast asleep, their noses nearly touching.

Of course.

Even unconsciously, he must have inched closer to his guide in the night.

He glanced around quickly.

His second-most-trusted guardian—Beambeam—was still asleep, curled comfortably near the foot of the bed.

No wonder; with two warm bodies beside it, the little creature had dozed off without a care, its duties forgotten.

I’m doomed.

Yegyeol held his breath, afraid even the smallest sound might wake the other man. Slowly, painstakingly, he began to edge backward—yet his eyes stayed locked on Black Ghost’s face.

And then, the man’s eyes opened.

“Uwah—!”

Yegyeol startled so hard he reacted before thinking, pushing him away in panic. He hadn’t meant to—he’d only tried to put some distance between them.

Too late, he realized his mistake.

Black Ghost wasn’t just any man—he was Haryang. A master of the transcendent realm. You could shove at him with both hands, and he wouldn’t even budge.

But reality defied expectation.

His eyes widened slightly—and then he fell right off the bed.

“…Huh?”

There was a dull thud as he hit the floor.

“L-Lord Black Ghost?!”

Yegyeol scrambled upright, dragging the blanket with him in a flurry. The sudden motion woke Beambeam, who lifted its head in confusion.

“Ah… damn…”

Still half-asleep, the man groaned lowly.

Flustered, Yegyeol crawled to the edge of the bed. Haryang sat up slowly, rubbing his head with a faintly dazed look.

“I-I’m sorry! Your face was just—right there!”

The words tumbled out before he could think. He reached out instinctively to help him up—then froze halfway, remembering the cold weight still circling his wrists.

The manyeon-hancheol shackles.

“I really am sorry—ah!”

Before he could finish, Black Ghost reached out and tugged lightly at the chain between them. Yegyeol lost his balance and tumbled forward, landing squarely atop the man on the floor.

“Ugh—!”

Their chests collided; through the loose fold of the man’s robe, Yegyeol caught a glimpse of his scarred skin, and the faint red mark where his hand had pressed too hard.

He should have pulled away immediately—should have—but for one fleeting second, he looked.

Weeks of restraint since the Ten Thousand Mountains burned away in that single heartbeat, his body remembering all too vividly the nights they’d spent tangled together.

Even that brief contact sent reason fleeing.

Haryang’s lips curved faintly as he murmured, voice low and rough from sleep—like after a night of sin.

“…Good morning.”

Reality came crashing back. Yegyeol jerked upright awkwardly, but before he could fully rise, a firm hand on his waist drew him back down.

If Haryang didn’t want him to leave, leaving was impossible.

“There’s something I’d like to ask,” he said softly, the corners of his mouth lifting in a lazy smile.

Yegyeol froze. For a moment, he thought the man might kiss him—realizing the thought, his nape flushed crimson.

He managed to steady himself, though their faces were still painfully close. Haryang, of course, noticed.

“C-could we—talk after we stand up?” Yegyeol stammered.

Instead of answering, Haryang pulled him a little closer. His touch was gentle, yet resolute.

Yegyeol pressed a hand to his chest to push away, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. Their legs were practically entangled now, and it was taking every ounce of willpower not to react.

He sighed, resigned. “Fine. Ask.”

If nothing else, he wanted to get this over with.

“Je Haryang,” came the quiet words.

The shock hit him like a blow.

“I heard,” Haryang continued, his voice still calm, “that you’ve been using that name at the Dragon–Phoenix Assembly. I’d like to know why.”

You’re asking that now?

He’d expected the question eventually—but not like this.

And it wasn’t like he could run. They were alone, his hands were bound, and as far as Haryang knew, Yegyeol still didn’t realize who Black Ghost really was.

Best not to think too deeply.

“I wanted to hide my identity as the head of the Qinghai Trading Guild,” he said quickly.

A soft laugh answered him—quiet but sharp.

“Is that so?”

The smile in his eyes was almost predatory. His scar, stretching faintly as he grinned, made him look more dangerous than ever.

He reached out, tilting Yegyeol’s chin up with a fingertip.

“Don’t lie.”

Even lying beneath him, Yegyeol felt cornered—helpless against that gaze.

“There must be a reason it had to be that name.”

The name Je Haryang carried little glory now—only scars. Using it would bring not honor but trouble: unwanted attention, curiosity, resentment. The closer Yegyeol drew to victory at the Assembly, the more perilous it would become.

A man as clever as him wouldn’t have chosen it without purpose.

Haryang wanted to hear the truth. No—he needed to hear it from Yegyeol’s own lips.

At last, Yegyeol dropped his gaze and muttered, almost to himself,

“…Because it’s the name of the swordsman I admire most.”

Sincerity slipped through despite his attempt at composure. Reverence and long-held longing colored every word.

For a moment, silence.

Yegyeol couldn’t bring himself to meet his eyes.

Of course, there was more to it—he had his reasons, goals, plans—but to confess that to the man himself was far too mortifying.

He hadn’t even achieved victory yet; without accomplishment, his admiration sounded like empty flattery.

Until then, it was just an intention—nothing more.

“I see…”

Black Ghost’s voice came low, almost to himself. The faintly charged air between them dissipated as he straightened, composure regained.

Yegyeol let out a small sigh of relief.

“Since your hands are bound,” the man said mildly, “allow me to serve you myself.”

Or maybe not relief after all.

“It’s all right, I can—ah!”

Before he could finish, he was lifted effortlessly into the man’s arms. Yegyeol quickly drew his chained hands against his chest, minimizing contact as much as he could. The manyeon-hancheol rattled lightly between them.

“No bath today,” Haryang mused, his eyes glinting with amusement as he studied Yegyeol’s tense face. “But I assume you’ll at least allow me to help you dress?”

There was a teasing lilt to his voice. Whether he was truly joking or simply enjoying Yegyeol’s flustered reaction was impossible to tell.

“You could just unlock these,” Yegyeol countered flatly, lifting his wrists.

Their gazes met. Black Ghost said nothing—but his silence was answer enough.

“It was you who asked me to bind you,” he said at last, lips curling faintly.

“The night’s over. You can unlock them now,” Yegyeol said firmly.

Black Ghost blinked once. Twice. Then smiled.

“No.”