Chapter 12

It was an awkward predicament. In truth, Mujin wanted nothing more than to fling Eunmyeong off him, yet he could not predict what might happen if he so much as laid a hand on him. Feeling his heart pound as if in seizure, Mujin issued a low command.

“…While I’m speaking kindly—get off.”

“Nope.”

“…Tang Eunmyeong.”

“Yes?”

“If you don’t get down… I’ll strike your head.”

His neat voice darkened. A faint grinding noise leaked from between his clenched teeth.

But the graver his tone grew, the more Eunmyeong’s competitive streak flared. He lowered his arms even further, hugging Mujin like a child clinging to a teddy bear.

“You can only hit my head if I get off first. So if I stay here forever, you won’t be able to hit me at all, right?”

“Tang Eunmyeong!”

“Okay, okay, shhh!”

Chattering back at him, Eunmyeong slid one leg between Mujin’s, deepening the contact. Mujin’s lips pressed shut.

See? Who told you to run?

Watching Mujin’s expression shift by the second, Eunmyeong thought sourly. If he had just obediently received guiding, none of this would have been so troublesome.

He had run around so much searching for him these past days that it had already exceeded his yearly exercise quota. Normally he would take an elevator to avoid a single flight of stairs—so all this running was nothing short of a personal calamity.

Eunmyeong pulled his chest away and looked down at Mujin. The man still refused to meet his eyes, stubbornly presenting only his profile.

Ridiculously handsome, too.

The straight bridge of his nose, lips firmly shut, the thick neck visible beneath—handsome in a clean, almost striking way. Eunmyeong, weak to handsome men, knew he could never torment this one too long.

He had to release him before he truly sulked.

With both arms still caging him in, Eunmyeong leaned back. Only then did Mujin finally turn his head.

“Young Master, how long are you planning to run from me, hm?”

“…”

“Let’s just… work together peacefully, yeah?”

At the street-ruffian tone, Mujin lifted his eyes sharply. As if that glare would intimidate him—Eunmyeong scoffed and continued.

“You know you’re not fully recovered yet. If you want to return to your former condition, you need more treatment.”

“I don’t need it.”

A faint crease formed between Mujin’s brows. It was subtle, yet Eunmyeong had been looking at his face long enough to notice.

“I’ve managed just fine without such nonsense.”

“Then from now on, manage just fine with this nonsense. Yes?”

“I said enough.”

Still so stubborn. Eunmyeong glared; was this what people meant by “face privilege”? He wanted to smack those lips that repeated the same words over and over.

I can’t leave him like this.

Irritating as he was, the pulse of his energy made it impossible to ignore him. After all, in the future Demon-Sect War, this man might be the one to save him. Sighing, Eunmyeong clutched his collar.

“Is this a Tang-clan thing?”

“What?”

“Why do none of you listen?”

“What did you just—”

Before the sentence finished, Eunmyeong grabbed both of Mujin’s cheeks. Cold skin met his palms.

“What is this—!”

Mujin’s face flushed with shock. No one had ever dared touch the Young Master’s face like this; even the elders would not.

Eunmyeong’s insolent hands squeezed and released his cheeks repeatedly.

“This lunatic—!”

Unable to endure it further, Mujin’s hands shot up. His fingertips brushed Eunmyeong’s robes—hands raised as if to throw him off, yet they hovered uncertainly around his waist.

That desperate hesitation made Eunmyeong shout, voice cracking.

“Touch me! I said, touch me!”

At his limit, Eunmyeong grabbed Mujin’s hand and yanked it toward his body. Then he lifted his own robe.

“What are you—!”

As the pale line of his stomach was revealed, Mujin’s eyes widened. Before he could curse again, Eunmyeong pressed Mujin’s hand firmly against his waist.

“There! Just like that!”

He pushed guiding energy through the point of contact. The warmth that traveled up Mujin’s palm was foreign enough that a low groan escaped him.

“Damn—!”

“See? It’s nothing.”

Nothing? Hardly. Mujin could not pull his hand away; he squeezed his eyes shut. The energy he felt was far stronger, far more intoxicating, than anything he had imagined.

This—this was why he had avoided Eunmyeong. The moment that fierce, potent energy entered him, it felt as if everything he had built might shatter. His clan, his cultivation, his pride—all eclipsed by the maddening urge to cling to the man before him.

His eyes reddened, heat burning through them as he stared down at Eunmyeong.

“Now you’re someone who can’t live without me, Young Master.”

“Have you taken leave of your senses?!”

With a mischievous grin, Eunmyeong looked up at him. What frightened Mujin was not only the energy—it was that face, the soft round features that refused to leave his thoughts.

As his resistance faltered, peace settled between them. Eunmyeong focused on guiding; Mujin focused on observing him.

A breeze carried the scent of blossoms from the rear garden. Just as Mujin was about to pull his lips away—

“It’s rather inconvenient for you two to be doing this in front of my residence.”

The voice was familiar. Before Eunmyeong could recall whose it was, Mujin shoved him backward.

“Ah—!”

Eunmyeong rolled across the ground, dust flying into his mouth and nose. He coughed hard and blinked grit from his eyes.

A moment ago he had been lying atop a beautiful man; now he was sprawled like a vagrant from the Beggars’ Sect. Beside him, Mujin stood immaculate, hands folded, posture flawless.

“You’ve arrived, my lord.”

“Ah.”

The scholarly composure made Eunmyeong scoff. He had just been grabbing Eunmyeong’s waist—and now he looked as though he had been reading a Confucian classic. Feeling unjustly wronged, Eunmyeong glared at him.

Unbothered by the hostile look, Mujin dipped his head politely.

“My Lord.”

“How is your body?”

Though he asked Mujin, Cheongwoo’s gaze drifted to Eunmyeong still on the ground.

“I’m not fine.”

Dusting himself off, Eunmyeong stood before Cheongwoo. He looked up—and the moment their eyes met, every complaint he had rehearsed died on his tongue.

He had meant to demand why Cheongwoo never showed his face. Why he had left him with his father. Whether he truly intended to treat him like a serf. But his throat locked as he stared into Cheongwoo’s face.

As if reading every unsaid thought, Cheongwoo spoke.

“Good. You seem well.”

A faint smile lifted his lips.

Cheongwoo looked different today. His hair was tied up, adorned with several green jade hairpins. Each time he moved, the decorations chimed softly.

It was excessive ornamentation—but it suited him painfully well.

“I’m glad to see you lively. I was worried.”

At the word worried, Mujin’s expression shifted. Since when did the Clan head use words like that?

Just then, Cheongwoo’s hand brushed lightly over Eunmyeong’s shoulder.

“There is dust.”

“…”

“I cannot allow dust to enter my residence.”

With that, Cheongwoo turned away, green silk fluttering behind him.

Behind him, Mujin cast a strange look at Eunmyeong—specifically at the shoulder Cheongwoo had touched.

“If you behave like this in the courtyard, it only puts me in an awkward position. Come inside.”

Without a sound, he entered the residence. Mujin followed. Eunmyeong remained frozen in place.

What… was that?

It felt as though something enormous had just passed by, yet he couldn’t name it.

Every time I meet the clan head, it feels like I’ve been bewitched…

Unthinkingly, he touched his shoulder. The spot where Cheongwoo’s hand had passed still tingled—whether from inner qi or the Tang Clan’s poison, he couldn’t tell. The sensation of his touch lingered vividly.

Only when a servant gestured urgently did Eunmyeong snap out of it.

“Oh—coming!”

He hurried up the stairs, his footsteps loud in the courtyard unlike the two men before him.

How had he ended up in this room again?

He pressed his palms over his eyes. Sitting across the low table from Cheongwoo, with Mujin at his side, only made memories of that kiss resurface.

This is where the table slid aside… and where we kissed…

Unlike his first visit, the table now held several sugar-soaked fruit confections. Yet Eunmyeong’s attention was fixed on memories rather than food.

Not a peck—a kiss…

His face grew hot, as though he had been drinking. Gods, I’m losing my mind. He pressed harder over his eyes. Even in darkness, that moment replayed vividly.

“Are you unwell?”

The cause of all this chaos—Cheongwoo—addressed him.

“Are you pressing your eyes because they sting? Or is it that you won’t look this way?”

His deep voice followed. Mujin’s gaze also swept over him, but Eunmyeong could not lower his hands; he feared that eye contact would reveal everything.

At that moment, the cushion beneath him slid.

In an instant, his seat moved directly before Cheongwoo.

Eunmyeong lifted his head.

Cheongwoo’s face was right in front of him.

“Now I can finally see you properly.”

“…”

“You don’t seem hurt. Let me take a look.”

Cheongwoo tilted forward, one hand lifting Eunmyeong’s chin.