Guide of the Sichuan Tang Clan C14

Chapter 14

 

Cheongwoo’s hand approached and brushed against his lips with the same care one might show a piece of fine porcelain.

The touch of his fingertips was ticklish. It felt as though time itself had stopped; the world around them fell silent, and all of Eunmyeong’s senses narrowed to the sensation upon his lips.

Just as he had brushed Eunmyeong’s shoulder outside the residence, Cheongwoo pressed gently and moved his lips across his own.

“Have you not wondered,” he murmured, “why my tongue slipped between your lips?”

It was a question that cut straight to the heart.

To dismiss it as something that just happened—that he had merely been dazed by Cheongwoo—felt far too dishonest even for him.

After all, as Cheongwoo said, even a light kiss would have been enough to prove his ability.

No matter if he was called a “child,” Eunmyeong was not such a fool that he couldn’t recognize another’s affection.

There was no doubt that Cheongwoo felt something toward him—quite a lot, in fact.

Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, he wasn’t yet sure.

But now wasn’t the time to dwell on that.

There were more pressing issues at hand—like the matter of Tang Mujin, who had just stormed off.

Bracing himself, Eunmyeong shot back curtly,

“…I haven’t thought about it.”

“Is that so.”

“Yes, and I won’t. Not now, not ever.”

He answered quickly, then snatched up his teacup. Like a man escaping danger, he drained it in one gulp and rose from his seat.

“Well then, I’ll go attend to the task you’ve assigned me.”

Before a reply could come, he hurried toward the door. Just as he was about to cross the threshold, Cheongwoo’s voice halted him.

“Do think of it sometimes.”

When he turned, their eyes met.

Cheongwoo smiled faintly—the same way he had when their lips first met.

“Otherwise, I might find it rather unfair.”

“…”

“I find myself wondering about it quite often.”

What a snake of a man.

Unreadable, and yet, if he let his guard down for even a moment, Cheongwoo would coil around him. His very presence tangled up Eunmyeong’s senses; every time he came near, his heart went wild.

Afraid his flushed face might give him away, Eunmyeong said nothing and simply fled. His hasty footsteps echoed down the corridor, while a soft, amused laughter drifted from within the room.

He followed a servant through winding paths toward Mujin’s residence.

Compared to the Clan Head’s quarters, Mujin’s pavilion stood at a distance and was vast—spacious halls for receiving guests, a private training ground, gardens, and a chamber for council meetings. Eunmyeong couldn’t take it all in with a single glance.

Damn, this place is ten times bigger than mine.

The “Tang Eunmyeong” he now inhabited had lived in a modest annex—just enough for treating patients and tending a small garden.

It made sense. Tang Eunmyeong was from a branch of the family, while Tang Mujin was mainline blood.

In Sichuan Tang Clan, blood came first. The gap between them was no less than that between a commoner and a noble.

No matter the world, it’s always the same.

This cursed hierarchy again.

Even before he died, there had been the same divide between espers and guides—threefold difference in pay, at least.

He remembered that trembling rookie esper who, within a month, showed up to work driving a bright yellow Lamborghini, and Eunmyeong ground his teeth.

“Will you not proceed?”

The servant leading the way turned and frowned, his expression tight with impatience.

“You should hurry, or you’ll be late.”

Eunmyeong stared right back, unbothered by the irritation on the man’s face.

Looking at him somehow brought Mujin to mind—that infuriatingly stoic face that flared up even at a touch.

He’s definitely going to be annoyed. That stubborn bastard.

He looked so composed, but his temper was another story. Even when ordered by the Clan Head, he’d left with that stiff face and slammed the door on his way out.

“Ugh, I can already see where this is going…”

Eunmyeong glanced back the way he’d come.

Cheongwoo’s quarters gleamed faintly in the distance.

“Well, I can’t exactly go back that way either.”

That road would only mean more trouble. He clicked his tongue, eyeing the pavilion.

The servant’s expression twisted upon hearing his muttering.

Red, then pale, his face shifted through shades of anger and disbelief.

How dare a branch member…

The words slipped from his trembling lips before he could stop himself.

“Insignificant branch-born…”

“Hmm?” Eunmyeong looked up.

“If the Clan Head gave you an order, you should’ve gone at once. How dare you dawdle?”

“…”

“So insolent. What was the Clan Head thinking, placing someone like you near the Young Master!”

A branch nobody—that was all Tang Eunmyeong was. His only noteworthy traits were his physician father and his pale, delicate looks.

And yet, somehow, both the Clan Head and the Young Master had turned their eyes toward him.

Now, with orders for him to live beside Mujin, the servant’s patience had finally snapped.

Do you know how hard I worked to even set foot in the Clan Head’s residence?!

To serve the Clan Head was the highest of honors. He had clawed his way up from the very bottom—only to see this upstart gain favor overnight.

And that shameless face of his!

As jealousy burned through him, the servant’s body trembled.

Eunmyeong stepped closer, peering at the man’s contorted expression. His face was red, ready to burst like a bomb.

He’s not even an esper. Why does he look like he’s about to explode?

Eunmyeong, unfortunately, had a knack for provoking people.

Those who knew him back at the Center had called him “that kid with no sense at the worst possible time.”

Tilting his head, he waved a hand in front of the servant’s face.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“…”

“There’s no focus in your eyes. Hmm… that’s not good.”

Should he… guide him? But he wasn’t even an esper. Eunmyeong scratched his head, glancing at the man’s chest.

“No inner energy either… maybe I should just stick a needle in?”

Did I even bring my acupuncture needles?

“Hold on, I’m not great at finding pressure points yet, but if I stick it deep enough, it usually works—”

“Do you have any idea who I am?!” the servant roared, face crimson with fury.

“You’re… a servant, right?”

Eunmyeong’s tone was calm—deadly calm. The servant nearly staggered back, clutching his neck.

“Y-you—!”

“You’re a servant. I’m a guest.”

Bullseye. The truth cut deep, twisting the servant’s envy even further.

His body shook as if about to combust.

“You insolent wretch! I’ll bring you before the Young Master this instant for punishment!”

He seized Eunmyeong’s arm with brutal force.

Before Eunmyeong could protest, the man dragged him forward in heavy strides.

“Ah—!”

The pain shot up his arm—it felt as though it would be torn off.

Even without inner energy, the servant was still the Clan Head’s man; strength-wise, he was leagues above the frail Eunmyeong.

“Ow—! Let go!”

He struck the man’s hand again and again, but it wouldn’t budge. Each yank of his arm drew another cry.

“Let go! Let’s talk about this!”

“Get a little attention from the Clan Head and you think you’re someone now? Hah! This is why we don’t show leniency to branch scum.”

The man’s eyes were now unfocused with rage. Servants nearby gasped but dared not intervene.

Should’ve just gone with the damn needle!

He regretted not pulling it out earlier. Just as he was being hauled along—

Someone grasped the servant’s wrist.

Before the man could even see who it was, his wrist was twisted sharply the other way.

“Argh!”

With a shriek of pain, he turned back—

“Who dares—who the hell—!”

“Who allowed such commotion in my residence?”

A low voice rippled through the air.

Eunmyeong’s eyes widened at the familiar sound.

It was Mujin.

He stood behind them, one hand still gripping the servant’s wrist. Unlike before, he wore plain white training clothes, the pristine fabric catching the dim light.

“I never permitted such behavior.”

His expression was stone-cold as he tightened his grip. Veins rose along his forearm, stark against pale skin.

“S-So… Young Master!”

The servant’s face went from red to ghostly white.

But worse was his arm—Mujin’s grip was cutting off blood flow, turning it a bruised, dark purple.

“P-please… let me go…”

The man groaned and begged, but Mujin’s gaze stayed fixed—not on him, but on Eunmyeong’s arm.

The sleeve was wrinkled, crushed in the struggle. His eyes darkened.

This was bad. Eunmyeong could see the flow of energy flaring inside him—volatile, sharp.

“You dared…”

Just as Mujin’s hand began to glow faintly with gathered qi—

“Don’t!”

“…!”

He was still not fully healed—!

Eunmyeong threw himself at him without thinking.