Guide of the Sichuan Tang Clan C15

Chapter 15

 

Eunmyeong threw himself forward, clutching Mujin with both arms. He looked up urgently, eyes wide with alarm. The waves of energy entangled around Mujin’s chest pulsed in disarray.

“You can’t use it yet! And why are you using force on a civilian?!”

“…Civilian…?”

Mujin’s voice came out low and uncertain, but Eunmyeong didn’t hear it. His gaze was fixed on the chaotic energy radiating from Mujin’s chest.

Despite all the guiding he had done so far, the flow of Mujin’s qi remained a twisted, knotted thread. What Eunmyeong had managed was nothing more than trimming away the frayed ends — a temporary fix, not a cure. Watching the turbulent waves, he protested in frustration.

“If you think about it, it’s my fault for refusing to come earlier. He was just doing his job!”

“You… refused?”

The moment those words fell, Mujin’s expression hardened. So he’d refused? When he’d been making such a fuss about not wanting to come—now he was upset because Mujin had come? Irritation prickled through Eunmyeong as he snapped his head up.

“What? Why?”

“…”

“You don’t like that I said it? That I didn’t want to go with you?”

“What nonsense are you spouting?”

Mujin’s brows furrowed, his face subtly shifting—as if caught between confusion and disbelief. Even in his stoic composure, Eunmyeong could read him clearly.

That’s his flustered face.

Not all anger looked the same. There was the sulking kind, the irritated kind, the kind that burned quiet. After staring at that face while he slept, Eunmyeong could recognize every subtle difference.

Yet, as he still refused to let go, the situation grew awkward. Servants and attendants had begun to gather, whispering as the Young Master himself became embroiled in the commotion.

“You’re really going to keep this up?” Eunmyeong tilted his chin toward the crowd. “If you keep going, the Clan Head’s going to hear about this.”

At the mention of Clan Head, Mujin’s jaw tightened. His eyes flickered over the servants, then back to Eunmyeong. Without another word, he dropped the servant’s arm like it was trash.

The servant stumbled backward, wheezing. Mujin looked at him with cold disdain and gestured sharply.

“Remove him. I don’t want to see him again.”

“Y-Yes, Young Master.”

The servants bowed deeply, their shoulders trembling just like the punished man’s.

With that, Mujin turned and strode up the stairs. The night wind caught his hair, dark strands fluttering behind him.

“Ugh, what a nasty temper,” Eunmyeong muttered under his breath. “Maybe qi deviation just happens to people with bad personalities. Not inner energy—it’s just rage bursting out of them.”

He sighed deeply, watching the broad back move away. “If that’s the case, I don’t think I want to fix the rest either.”

He exhaled another weary breath. “Guess it’s just my fate.”

Even in death, his fate was exhausting. When he turned, the servants were still bowing, shoulders trembling. Whether it was them or him, they were all shrimp caught in the same tide, dragged around by the whale that was Tang Mujin. He felt almost sorry for them.

“Good luck out there,” he said lightly.

“Yes, Young Master,” one answered in a small voice.

With a polite bow, Eunmyeong trotted after Mujin, climbing the stairs. No one noticed that Mujin’s steps were slower than usual that night.

When Mujin entered his chamber, the first thing he did was seize the bedding laid neatly side by side.

Blanket, mat, and pillow — all of it.

He gathered them up and flung them to the farthest spot possible, right in front of the door.

Far enough that no touch could reach him.

Eunmyeong blinked at the sight of his bedding lying at the threshold.

“That’s… a little too much, isn’t it?”

“What is?” Mujin asked flatly.

“It’s literally at the door. The servants will step all over it when they come in.”

Mujin glanced toward the bedding, then murmured as if in thought, “That’s fine.”

The calmness of that answer made Eunmyeong’s blood boil. Mujin sat back down without another word, and it felt like facing an immovable wall.

It was a battle of persistence. Mujin had no intention of letting him move even an inch closer, while Eunmyeong refused to sleep right under a drafty door.

It’s freezing there!

How was he supposed to sleep like that? He’d grown up treated as a rare, precious guide—he couldn’t just curl up by the door like a stray dog. He looked at the bedding again, then at Mujin, gauging his mood.

“Just… a little closer?”

“No.”

“Really, just a little.”

“I said no.”

Heartless bastard.

Eunmyeong narrowed his eyes, rising onto his toes. He took one careful step forward.

“…”

When no voice came, he took another. Heel first, no sound.

That’s fine, right?

One step became two, then three. Hearing no protest, he grinned and tugged the blanket toward him.

“…Tang Eunmyeong.”

“Ah!”

He dropped the blanket with a yelp. The pillow rolled away, hitting the floor with a soft thud. When he turned, Mujin was right in front of him.

Dressed in white martial robes, his long black hair spilling over his shoulders, his face cool as frost — if not for his build, he could have been mistaken for a vengeful ghost.

“So my words amuse you now?”

“N-no, that’s not—”

“The Clan Head said to share a chamber, not a bed.”

Still, Eunmyeong jutted his lip out.

“He didn’t say we couldn’t either.”

“…”

“Want me to go ask him to clarify?”

He blinked innocently, and Mujin’s frown deepened into visible strain.

“Or maybe I’ll ask if we can sleep together too.”

The veins at Mujin’s temple stood out sharply, his breath turning ragged.

“Get. Out.”

He grabbed the nearest pillow with lethal force, as though strangling something.

“Out. Now.”

The blanket Eunmyeong had worked so hard to drag over was hurled straight back to the door.

“Ah!” he squeaked, scrambling after it.

That foul-tempered man! Hugging his bedding like a scorned bride, Eunmyeong pouted while Mujin calmly straightened his own sheets and lay down. Even his blanket was flawless — not a single crease.

He’ll probably die tidying up his deathbed too.

A guide who was refused, a warrior who threw his guide out — what a cursed story this was turning out to be.

With a huff, Eunmyeong rolled to the center of the room and stretched out dramatically, shutting his eyes like a protester staging a sit-in.

“What are you doing,” Mujin’s voice came from the bed.

“Compromise! I’ll stay this far, okay? It’s not even that close!”

“No.”

“Then—then I’ll cut my belly open, I swear!”

Eunmyeong smacked his stomach for emphasis. “I said I’ll do it!”

But before he could say another word, Mujin unsheathed his sword — and that shut him up.

The night stretched on. Eunmyeong lay awake, staring into the dark.

Was it because the place was unfamiliar? He wasn’t usually picky about where he slept. He turned toward the window.

No, it’s probably that bastard.

He glanced over at Mujin, who lay silently beside the window, eyes closed. In the end, between his threats and Mujin’s sword, it was clear who had won.

The window was open just enough for a cool breeze to drift in, carrying the soft rustle of leaves. The night here was unlike the city’s — quieter, purer, untouched by light.

In the darkness, Eunmyeong’s mind wandered back to what he’d left behind: the world that never truly slept, where the hum of cars and distant alarms filled the air. The center, crowded with espers and guides alike.

He wondered about the espers he’d once tended to. Did they have new guides now? The Center was always short on them, and as an S-class guide, his absence must have hit hard.

But at least they still have guides.

Here, there were none.

This world had only espers—warriors who trained endlessly, hoping their inner energy wouldn’t one day consume them.

And here… he’s all alone.

Maybe that’s why his eyes kept finding Mujin.

Seeing someone enduring pain so quietly, so familiarly, stirred something in him. After all, he had spent years watching people like that — those who suffered in silence until someone helped them bear the burden.

He wants to beg for guiding so badly.

Espers were drawn to guides by instinct — survival, need, desire. The one person who could steady them was the one they could never ignore.

Mujin, proud and rigid as he was, must have been fighting that very pull — the rising heat, the trembling energy. For a man who’d lived only through martial discipline, such emotion was alien.

He would have to be approached slowly. Gently.

Until he no longer realized it was happening.

Footnote

• Qi deviation (주화입마 / Juhwaipma): A dangerous condition in martial cultivation where unstable inner energy drives one into madness or self-destruction.