Guide of the Sichuan Tang Clan C16

Chapter 16

 

Mujin slept in the same upright, rigid posture that reflected his personality, and Eunmyeong slowly pushed himself upright. The silk blanket that had covered him slid soundlessly to the floor.

Listening to Mujin’s steady breathing, Eunmyeong crept closer, lifting himself lightly onto his toes so as not to make a sound.

He’s really asleep, right?

Casting a cautious glance his way, Eunmyeong sat quietly before him.

If Mujin woke up and caught him, there would be hell to pay. So he stayed perfectly still, waiting for the right moment.

“He’s pretty when he’s asleep,” Eunmyeong whispered under his breath.

The moment he opened his eyes, though, he turned into a walking blizzard.

The moonlight traced the outline of Mujin’s face, smooth and perfect like sculpted porcelain. Unbidden admiration escaped Eunmyeong’s lips. After gazing for a while, his eyes dropped to the flow of Mujin’s qi.

It was better to handle this now — once he woke, there would only be resistance and fury. Though the chaotic turbulence in his energy had calmed somewhat, the flow remained twisted. Eunmyeong sighed softly.

Permission to guide? he thought silently.

With that, he slipped a hand beneath the blanket and laid it gently over Mujin’s hand. His fingers were careful, reverent. Then, using both hands, he began to channel guiding energy into Mujin’s flow.

Minutes passed. His back started to ache, his neck to stiffen.

Just for a moment longer…

Watching the sleeping man’s expression, he slowly stretched out beside him. Curled up like a cat, still holding Mujin’s hand tightly as if it were a lifeline, he blinked drowsily. Sleep came easily.

Soft, rhythmic breaths escaped him, his body rising and falling evenly. The moment his breathing steadied, Mujin’s eyes opened.

So this is what you were up to…

He’d been aware of Eunmyeong’s every movement from the start. Ever since the boy had followed him into the room, he had been impossible to ignore. Suspicious, deliberate, sneaking about like a thief — Mujin had merely pretended to sleep, ready to strike if he sensed danger.

But all the boy had done was… take his hand. Carefully, almost tenderly. Like someone comforting a frightened child.

“…Hah.”

Feeling the faint energy brushing against his own, Mujin slowly sat up.

Sensing the movement, Eunmyeong murmured softly in his sleep and gripped his hand tighter. Mujin froze, startled into stillness.

He let out a helpless, breathy laugh.

“Such a tiny thing…”

It was absurd — that he couldn’t even move for fear of waking him. The reversal of their dynamic, from irritation to a kind of reluctant tenderness, was enough to confuse even Mujin.

“Mm… ngh…”

Eunmyeong muttered in his sleep, lips moving faintly. Then he rolled over, pressing himself closer.

“Mm… blanket… why do you get all of it…”

Perhaps chilled by the night air, he burrowed into the blanket, wrapping himself up like a silkworm in a cocoon. Only when he was entirely cocooned did he smile faintly, whispering, “Warm…”

Mujin just sat there, motionless, still holding his hand. For a long while, he didn’t move at all.

When Eunmyeong opened his eyes, the ceiling was bathed in golden morning light.

“Oh, shit.”

He cursed under his breath, sitting up. He’d meant to rest his eyes for a moment while guiding, yet had somehow fallen asleep till morning.

If Mujin had caught him like that, it would have been chaos. Heart racing, he looked around the room. Mujin was gone, only a neatly folded set of clothes remained on a chair.

“Phew. Dodged a bullet.”

He exhaled, pushing a hand through his messy hair—then paused. Something was off.

The spot by the door, where he’d been forced to sleep, was spotless. Which meant…

He looked down. The blanket covering him was not the thin guest one from last night. It was a luxurious silk quilt — the kind reserved exclusively for the Clan Head and the Young Master of the Sichuan Tang Clan.

“No way.”

Did Tang Mujin actually lay this over me?

“That guy? The same one who makes a scene at the slightest touch?”

He recalled Mujin’s perfectly composed sleeping face from the night before — straight posture, his long black hair lying smoothly across his chest, not a strand out of place. He looked like a man who would bleed in perfect lines if cut.

“Pfft. Probably couldn’t be bothered to touch me, that’s all.”

Maybe he’d just left him where he was. The theory was half right — but Eunmyeong brushed off the thought with a shrug.

The sun was already high. Knowing Mujin’s discipline, he was likely up before dawn for training. Best to leave before his energy became unstable again.

He slid the door open quietly. The corridor outside was empty. Last night, it had been bustling with servants and attendants, but now there was no one.

“Uh…”

Silence.

“Hello? Anyone there?”

No answer.

He frowned, turning his head toward a faint noise behind the wall — footsteps on wood, distant, hesitant. But no one appeared.

“Haa…”

A deliberate snub. He recognized it instantly. Even his modest home as a branch family had servants everywhere — so for none to be stationed near the Young Master’s chambers? Impossible.

It was the same as back then. When he’d first been rated S-class, he’d faced jealousy just like this. Backstabbing colleagues, guides who dumped all their work on him, skipped his meal breaks, whispered rumors — that he seduced his espers, that he slept his way through ranks, that his “aquarium” was as big as the Pacific Ocean.

After enduring that level of ostracism, this hardly fazed him anymore.

Guess there are more people here who think like that damn servant from yesterday.

Whatever the reason, that wasn’t the problem right now.

He looked down at himself. The white inner robe he wore was barely tied.

“…I can’t dress myself.”

He was doomed. His face fell.

Eunmyeong had always been catastrophically clumsy.

Not the Midas touch — the Minus touch. Anything he handled broke, crumbled, or malfunctioned.

And if his dexterity was bad, his fashion sense was worse. His espers had despaired over it countless times.

“Guide-nim, don’t you ever think something might be wrong?” one had asked nervously the moment he entered the guiding chamber.

It was during a routine session. Dragging the esper to his seat, Eunmyeong had shrugged.

“It’s way too late for that. The mistake happened when I was certified a guide—no, when I was born one.”

“…”

“And what’s wrong with my outfit?”

The esper’s expression had been pure horror. Pink hoodie. Lime joggers. A combination no sane adult would wear.

Proudly, Eunmyeong had puffed his chest, the cat printed on his hoodie facing outward.

“It’s cute. You’re just jealous.”

“There has to be a reason you’re doing this. Right?”

Eunmyeong swatted the man’s hand away. “Less talking, more guiding.”

“Why? Why do you keep dressing like that?!”

“Quiet, you’re throwing off the efficiency.”

“Just wear a shirt and slacks! You look good—why are you doing this to yourself?!”

“They’re not cute!”

Eventually, the esper gave up completely. During every session afterward, he’d simply avoided looking at Eunmyeong’s clothes.

Luckily, in the Sichuan Tang Clan, all the clothes were green, black, or white — impossible to mismatch. Nobody had yet noticed his tragic lack of taste.

But clumsy hands were a different matter.

“What kind of clothes even are these!”

Too many layers, too many ties, and far too many knots.

Half-dressed, half-assembled, Eunmyeong stumbled his way toward the training yard, his robe and belt slipping loose with every step.

“Ugh, seriously!”

How he missed T-shirts — the kind you could just pull over your head and be done with it. Who knew he’d long for modern clothes this badly? Grumbling, he clutched his hem and dragged himself forward.

By the time he reached the training hall, he was out of breath. Across the courtyard, Mujin stood with a wooden sword, sparring with other warriors.

“Ugh, even walking here is torture.”

He wiped his sweat, eyes fixed on Mujin. His energy flow looked calm today — likely because he was still focusing on basic forms.

“Hero!”

A familiar voice called out. Jeongho, one of the trainees, waved at him with a grin.

At the sound, Mujin, standing at the front, turned his head slightly.

“Uh, ah—yeah!”

Caught off guard, Eunmyeong waved back instinctively. Unfortunately, that simple motion made his loose robe slip from his arm and fall halfway off his shoulder.

Mujin’s eyes narrowed, sharp and cold.

That’s the pissed-off face.

Who made him angry this time? Eunmyeong blinked, looking around in confusion—completely unaware that it was, of course, himself.

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AHHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHHA I LOVE HIM