TSBIRBV Ch 345

Chapter 345. The Returning Current (2)

“You’ve done wisely.”

Though his words referred to Yegyeol’s reckless behavior, the gaze Je Haryang cast upon him was nothing short of affectionate—almost proud.

“Jinyoung must have arrived before me. Did you see him?”

“Yes. He seemed busy, as always, buried in work.”

“I’ve burdened him with much in my absence.”

Murmuring to himself, Je Haryang strode forward.

Being carried back to the very room he had walked out of on his own feet—nestled now within his senior brother’s arms—felt strangely new to Yegyeol.

Jinyoung, who had caught sight of him entering the hall like a triumphant general returning from conquest, stood wordlessly and bowed to Je Haryang.

“My lord, you have returned.”

“You’ve done well in my stead.”

Je Haryang took his seat. From the weight in his voice, it was clear that serious discussion would follow. Any other disciple might have read the atmosphere and quietly excused himself.

But, as always, Yegyeol climbed straight onto Je Haryang’s lap without hesitation.

“Gyeol was just telling me an interesting story,” Je Haryang began.

It was the story of Lord Geum’s exploitation of Black Spot’s trading system—where goods were sold on consignment and payments passed discreetly from buyer to seller after commission.

“Yes,” Jinyoung said. “I only learned of it myself recently, but I’ve compiled the relevant details.”

Je Haryang studied the list Jinyoung had written in his sharp, precise hand.

“Some names I know. Others… are unfamiliar.”

A faint, inscrutable smile ghosted across his lips.

“The Wi-ji Clan’s roots seem to have spread deeply through the Central Plains.”

Jinyoung lowered his eyes.

In the age when the demonic sects flourished, none despised the righteous factions more bitterly than the Wi-ji Clan.

Even among the Ten-Thousand-Great-Mountains, they had been the most fervent advocates of annihilating the orthodox sects. To the Wi-ji Clan, the Central Plains were a land to burn and trample.

“Well,” Je Haryang murmured, “to win a war, one must know one’s enemies.”

There was a chill beneath his calm tone.

Yegyeol, sitting closest, should have felt crushed beneath that aura—but instead, he smiled brightly.

“In that case, we’re quite ahead of the game, aren’t we?”

At those teasing words, Je Haryang’s expression softened again, his usual warmth returning.

Jinyoung watched the exchange silently. No matter how many times he saw it, he couldn’t grow used to it—Je Haryang smiling like a human being.

To him, that face seemed carved from stone, a tide sculpted into a cliff—strange, otherworldly, and quietly awe-inspiring.

It was like watching a statue breathe.

“In a way, yes,” Je Haryang replied softly.

“I’ve heard of your achievements, Gyeol. Now it’s Wu-hyung’s turn.”

“I’m coming with you,” Yegyeol said immediately, his tone sweet but firm.

He smiled up at his senior brother, half delighted that Je Haryang was moving again of his own will, half desolate that each return home found him absent.

Beneath that, a thousand sharp-edged emotions clattered restlessly in his chest.

“A man who has nowhere left to lean,” Je Haryang murmured slowly, “should be one who turns to faith… yet with you beside me, I can never bring myself to look unhappy.”

Yegyeol fell silent.

He wanted to speak—but his throat burned with heat that made the words impossible to release. That warmth was too much; it might burn him if he opened his mouth.

Even Jinyoung, who hadn’t expected Yegyeol to be so thoroughly silenced, looked at Je Haryang with something like admiration.

“You returned sooner than I expected,” Jinyoung said carefully. “It seems your infiltration yielded results.”

“Not entirely fruitless,” Je Haryang replied with a faint smile.

“At least I’ll be able to keep my dignity before my disciple.”

“You never need to do that,” Yegyeol muttered, regaining his composure and feigning indifference.

Je Haryang ignored his protest and got to the point.

“The White Lotus Cult has sent secret orders to the Geumeo Workshop—to seal their gates.”

“What?”

Yegyeol clicked his tongue. “What impeccable timing.”

By all logic, the false Dragon King—who had attacked the Peng Clan—must have been a pawn of the orthodox factions. The evidence and witnesses would likely be within the Geumeo Workshop.

And yet now, they were closing their gates?

As one of the leading righteous sects, Geumeo’s declaration of seclusion meant the Martial Alliance could not interfere.

A sect’s seclusion was its own internal decision—cutting off all outside contact. Overriding that by the Alliance’s authority would be politically disastrous.

Nor could they prevent it using only the false Dragon King’s testimony. If Geumeo claimed to have already expelled him, they could simply deny all connection.

After all, even the most righteous sects were known to secretly disown disciples to preserve their reputation.

“If we could’ve stopped it earlier, it would’ve helped,” Je Haryang said. “But the message reached them before I infiltrated the Cult. The timing was… unfortunate.”

“Do you think the entire Geumeo Sect is obeying the White Lotus?” Yegyeol asked.

“That,” Je Haryang replied, “is what we must find out.”

From his sleeve, he drew a folded letter. The name Yeon Soso was visible on the seal.

“Fortunately, Wu-hyung happens to know someone with ties to the Geumeo Workshop.”

“Wait—don’t tell me…”

Yegyeol’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“Yes,” Je Haryang said, amused. “Yeon Soso.”

He brushed a finger lightly against Yegyeol’s chin, and the younger man promptly closed his mouth.

The Dragon King of the River Alliance, Yeon Soso—linked not by enmity, but by affinity to Geumeo Workshop?

“The rest you’ll hear from her directly,” Je Haryang said.

“My god… are we infiltrating the Geumeo Workshop?”

“Yes. You could go alone, but it would be best to bring a witness with authority in the Martial Alliance.”

“Someone like… Brother Peng?”

It was a perfect choice. He didn’t care about others’ opinions, was unmatched in negotiation, and his younger brother led the Peng Clan of Hebei.

“There’s also the Fierce Tiger,” Je Haryang mused. “He wouldn’t be a bad option.”

Yegyeol’s mind immediately spiraled—not from fear that the Fierce Tiger might uncover Yeon Soso’s true identity, but at the absurd image of a Peng heir proposing marriage to the Dragon King by accident.

“How unexpected,” Je Haryang added lightly. “I thought you’d mention Namgung Un.”

“Well, age still matters in the martial hierarchy,” Yegyeol said. “And besides, the Namgung patriarch is in the middle of a scandal.”

Pulling Namgung Un in while his family was mired in trouble would be unfair.

“Do you wish to help him?” Je Haryang asked.

“At least as much as he’s helped me.”

A flawless answer.

Je Haryang reached out and tapped Yegyeol’s cheek lightly.

He had long noticed that his disciple harbored a soft spot for Namgung Un.

“If that’s what you wish, then so be it.”

People often mistook Je Haryang for a gentle man, but in truth, he was not. He had simply lived so long without attachment that there’d been little for him to be unkind about.

“Jinyoung,” he said without turning, “send word to the Dragon King.”

“Yes, my lord.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Jinyoung asked, “Will you be returning to the White Lotus Cult?”

“I must,” Je Haryang said. “Until I secure medicine for my wife, I’ll need to keep up appearances.”

At the word wife, Yegyeol’s head snapped up.

“Wife?”

“Mhm. Forgive me for inventing an illness for you so suddenly.”

“Ah… ahaha…?”

Staring into Je Haryang’s serene face, Yegyeol went utterly blank.

Je Haryang’s hand brushed the bridge of his nose, then tapped playfully at the tip. Yegyeol finally blinked back to life.

“Come to think of it,” he muttered weakly, “I do feel rather… ill.”

Je Haryang’s soft laugh drifted through the room. Yegyeol had half a mind to tease him back—to ask, and who exactly is your wife?—but he had already lost that battle.

Mortified, he buried his face against Je Haryang’s chest, momentarily forgetting Jinyoung was still there.

“Then, I’ll go make contact with the Dragon King,” Jinyoung said promptly, rising to his feet.

The door slid shut behind him with a soft click.

Yegyeol’s grip on Je Haryang’s robes tightened, and the man patiently patted his back until he calmed.

When Yegyeol finally lifted his head, his face was composed—but his ears were red, the tender hue of spring blossoms just beginning to bloom.

Je Haryang laced his fingers with Yegyeol’s. It was, perhaps, a thoughtless gesture, but Yegyeol immediately ducked his head again, hiding his face.

Even so, the back of his neck glowed pink.

At the quiet sound of Je Haryang’s laughter, his shoulders twitched.

“Ah.”

Yegyeol reached up to touch his burning nape, letting out a soft groan.

“I feel like I’m getting stupider.”

“That wouldn’t be such a bad thing,” Je Haryang murmured.

“Stop indulging me in everything,” Yegyeol sighed.

“Was I too forward?”

“Not that…”

Muttering under his breath, Yegyeol grabbed Je Haryang’s collar and pulled him closer. The man leaned without resistance, and Yegyeol brushed his lips briefly against the tip of his chin before retreating.

It wasn’t quite a kiss—too quick, too hesitant. Yet Je Haryang found even that endearing.

“Jinyoung’s already given us privacy,” he teased softly. “If you’re going to do it, you should do it properly.”

This time, Yegyeol met his gaze squarely.

Ah, to hell with it.

He thought of the wooden case on the desk—the one that had once held the tobacco pipe—and of the night he’d seen his senior brother consumed by inner demons.

But now, those same dark eyes looked only at him—deep, warm, and calm.

As if whispering that all his fears had been lies.

I thought he’d finally healed…

Yegyeol’s hand rose to cup Je Haryang’s face. His fingers trembled for a moment, but steadied as soon as they met skin.

“Like this?” he whispered.

This time, his lips found their mark.

A kiss as delicate as butterfly wings, yet the energy that passed between them was searing—burning with the desperate heat that Je Haryang tried so hard to hide.

“Just… a little longer,” Je Haryang breathed, voice rough with hunger.

The muted joy and yearning in his eyes felt almost tangible.

Why did you hide this?

Swallowing the ache in his chest, Yegyeol smiled sweetly and whispered,

“Take me with you to the White Lotus Cult.”

“…Wouldn’t the Geumeo matter be more pressing?” Je Haryang asked gently.

True—no one knew when the Geumeo Workshop would close its gates.

But Yegyeol’s smile was unshakable.

“Doors are made to be broken.”

The answer defied all reason—and yet was entirely Yegyeol.

“I told you not to do dangerous things,” Je Haryang said, his voice betraying no frustration.

“But still. Please?”

He knew it was unreasonable, childish even, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t let Je Haryang go alone.

That was the only truth that mattered.

“Then let’s do this,” Je Haryang said after a pause, offering a compromise.

“If you wait patiently at the Geumeo Workshop, I’ll come for you myself.”

The “patiently” part was, of course, his disciple’s greatest weakness—yet Yegyeol’s eyes lit up instantly.

“Really?”

“Of course.”

Je Haryang’s tone was slow and certain as he tightened his hold on their joined hands, drawing Yegyeol gently into his arms.

“I promise.”