Guide of the Sichuan Tang Clan C8

Chapter 8

It was the very question Eunmyeong had been turning over in his mind all the way here —

When and where did you obtain this Guiding ability?

If I say I just woke up one day and suddenly had it… that works, right?

He stole a glance at Cheongwoo’s forearm. One hit from that arm and he’d probably get launched straight into another world.

No matter how handsome the other man was, Eunmyeong had no plans of sacrificing his life.

Besides — who was he?

He was a Guide who had somehow managed to take leave three times in a single year despite everyone dreaming of such a miracle.

A master of desperate, soul-infused lies perfected through countless annual-leave request forms.

“I didn’t hide it — I suddenly obtained it.”

“Suddenly?”

Soul-infused lie, activate.

Drawing on the same energy he used when scribbling novel-worthy excuses on leave forms, Eunmyeong recited smoothly:

“I followed my father to Sichuan Grand Mountain to gather herbs. But I lost my footing and fell. That’s when I met a noble personage.

They tended to my injuries and escorted me down the mountain. Before parting, they gave me a bizarre pellet — a miraculous pill of some sort. I took it, and afterward… this ability manifested.

I tried to find them again, but they left no trace.”

A flawless tale delivered in one breath.

It was the opening formula of every wuxia novel he’d ever read — beautifully blended into a persuasive lie.

Cheongwoo murmured,

“So no secret scroll… no master.”

His expression was unreadable — half convinced, half skeptical.

To hide his tension, Eunmyeong lifted the teacup and drank.

“Your story lacks proof. Why should I believe you?”

Words clogged in Eunmyeong’s throat.

He had nothing — no mountain, no pellet, no mystical benefactor. Just nerves and hope.

His gaze wavered.

Terrible liar…

Cheongwoo gave a small, amused exhale.

“Do you know your father does not climb mountains?”

“…Sorry?”

For a moment, Eunmyeong blanked.

Who in wuxia DOESN’T climb mountains?!

He wanted to grab the author of this world by the collar.

“Though a physician, your father no longer gathers herbs himself. He has many disciples for that.”

Cheongwoo pushed the table aside. The grinding sound scraped through the silent room.

He looked down at Eunmyeong, who sat curled up like a rabbit meeting a predator.

Cute.

From the beginning, Mujin wasn’t even his concern.

Whether his brother lived or died meant little to him — they were not a sentimental pair, and replacing a young master was trivial.

He came only because Jeongho — usually a silent shadow behind Mujin — had begged with desperate eyes.

And all that chaos traced back to this small creature before him: Tang Eunmyeong.

“Then…”

Gathering himself, Eunmyeong spoke timidly,

“Then I can simply show you again. My ability.”

He peeked up for approval, eyes round and pitiful.

“Or… or we could go to the mountain. Together. To pick herbs…”

His lips puffed slightly whenever he spoke; he looked painfully earnest in his fear.

Cheongwoo recalled a passage from an old text — that small animals often knew they were cute, and weaponized it to survive.

Perhaps it was true. This one certainly does.

Suddenly, strong arms closed around him.

Eunmyeong gasped as he was lifted onto the man’s lap. A calloused yet gentle hand cupped his cheek.

“If I had to choose among the three, the first would suffice.”

“P-pardon?”

“It is too late to climb mountains.”

Cheongwoo’s face was far too close.

At this distance, a single breath could brush lips together. A strange tension hung between them.

“N-now?”

“Or shall we do it tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow works too—”

He immediately regretted the reflexive answer.

“Tomorrow,” Cheongwoo mused, “unless you wish to spend tonight in prison again.”

“…I’ll do it now.”

“Good.”

Eunmyeong realized belatedly that he was comfortably held — in the very arms of the man who had terrified him moments ago.

He had been swallowed whole like a naive animal wandering into a serpent’s coils.

I don’t… need to kiss him to show it. If I say that now, the whole place will riot… and I’m already in his lap…

He squeezed his eyes shut like a blushing bride awaiting a kiss.

Nothing happened.

He peeked.

Cheongwoo was laughing silently, shoulders shaking. Eunmyeong’s eyes narrowed in indignation — which only made him look more pitiful than threatening.

“You said we’d confirm it!”

“Your kissing skill?”

“My ability!”

He barked from inside the man’s arms, then immediately clamped his mouth shut, cheeks warm.

In truth, he might look harmless, but when cornered, the spark in his eyes shone sharp.

It was that spark that snared Cheongwoo’s attention from the start.

“Weren’t you the one who had to act?”

“I— it doesn’t matter who does it!”

“Good.”

Cheongwoo leaned in and claimed his lips.

Tongues brushed — then intertwined.

Moist sounds filled the room, breaths mingling, energy flowing with every glide of tongue and gentle bite.

The guiding warmth seeped into Cheongwoo like liquid fire, flooding muscle and marrow, addictively sweet.

No elixir rivals this.

Even millennial ginseng or rare spiritual jade could not deliver such intoxication.

Eunmyeong was dangerous — dangerously irresistible.

Cheongwoo finally withdrew. Eunmyeong stared dazedly, lips reddened and glistening.

“Besides Jeongho and Mujin, does anyone else know?”

“N-no…”

Cheongwoo wiped Eunmyeong’s lips with his thumb, voice low.

“Good.”

He opened a drawer and retrieved a green silk headband — the Tang Clan color. He tied it gently around Eunmyeong’s forehead.

“Otherwise, your lips would not remain intact.”

A sudden pull — Eunmyeong gasped as fingers brushed his nape, tying the ribbon with terrifying tenderness.

His heart hammered. His face heated.

Why am I like this? I’ve kissed strangers countless times for guiding…

Was it fear?

Was it him?

Or the fact that this man’s aura was steady even without touch?

“Done.”

He lifted Eunmyeong off his lap. Eunmyeong scampered backward like a startled squirrel.

Cheongwoo hid his faint smile as it vanished as quickly as it came.

“Treat Mujin. Speak of this to no one.”

He slid the table back between them — a formal barrier reinstated.

“Not even your father.”

“Why secrecy? If I tell everyone, I could help many more—”

He remembered the courtyard full of suffering martial artists.

Even if not kissing — a touch, a brief Guide — he could ease their pain.

Cheongwoo tapped the teacup.

“Do you not understand your position? If word spreads beyond Sichuan — imagine what would happen.”

Eunmyeong froze.

He had only considered the Tang Clan so far — not the world outside.

And in wuxia stories… nothing stays secret.

Every sect, every clan, every wandering sword saint heard rumors instantly.

“There are ears everywhere. Once word escapes, every warrior in the land will seek you.

Each will want to touch you — to claim you.”

He leaned forward slightly, voice soft but razor-sharp.

“Do you not see? You are a living…”

His brow lifted.

“Elixir.”

The teacup slipped from Eunmyeong’s fingers and rolled across the floor before stopping at Cheongwoo’s feet.

Cheongwoo lifted it calmly, setting it back in place.

It felt dreamlike — except it was not.

Damn it all.

Eunmyeong had become a walking panacea — a human miracle drug.

And miracles in wuxia worlds were hunted, caged, claimed.

He silently cursed fate.