Guide of the Sichuan Tang Clan C31

Chapter 31

Eunmyeong was desperate.

Ten long years had passed since he had devoted his youth to guiding. He could not continue living as a guide even here.

Saving lives had been meaningful. There had been a time when he considered it a blessing—to be able to help espers suffering from unstable waves.

Faces of the espers he had guided drifted through his mind. Half of them were already dead. The ones who had gone berserk must have died as well. Thinking of the last esper he had been assigned to, Eunmyeong leaned his head against Yujo’s hand. His hair spread neatly over the back of Yujo’s hand.

“I just… want to live without doing anything.”

As desperately as an esper clung to guidance, Eunmyeong clasped Yujo’s hand.

“Somewhere no one dies. Quietly. Planting flowers, gathering wild greens… I want to live like that.”

“….”

“A place with no sick people. Please.”

“….”

“I want to live too.”

At the trembling voice, Yujo could not bring himself to speak. Had the work of a physician been that exhausting? Deep regret and weariness were etched clearly across Eunmyeong’s face. He looked like someone standing at the edge of a cliff, and all Yujo could do was offer his arm.

“All right, next!”

As if nothing had happened, Eunmyeong regained his liveliness, patting his own back with a thump thump before moving over to Sowoon beside him. Perched on the edge of the table, he pretended to place acupuncture needles again, repeating the same request—please train diligently.

“Even the Clan Head doesn’t nag this much.”

“What did you say?”

“N-no, nothing.”

Murmuring as if chanting a mantra, Eunmyeong half-lidded his eyes.

“Just keep doing what you were doing.”

So picky, even though you’re giving it anyway. Rolling his eyes, Eunmyeong began once more to breathe energy into them. Even while drunk, his instincts guided him to cradle the waves, gently smoothing out the tangled portions.

As he was tidying the scattered currents, a weight settled onto his knees. What? Looking down, he saw Jeongho resting his head there.

Short brown hair spilled across Eunmyeong’s lap, and beneath it, eyes stared straight up at him.

“Hero…”

Perhaps because he had drunk so much, Jeongho’s voice sounded lower than usual.

“Will you do it for me next…?”

The corners of his eyes drooped.

“I’ve been waiting for a long time…”

Jeongho rubbed his head against Eunmyeong’s thigh. The sight was like a puppy pretending to be hurt just to cling closer, and before he realized it, Eunmyeong nodded.

That became the signal. Others began piling in as well—leaning against his shoulders, back, arms, complaining that this hurt, that hurt.

“Mm, I’ll do everyone, so…”

Before he could even ask them to wait, someone’s hand slipped under his arm. In the blink of an eye, Eunmyeong was lifted bodily into the air.

“Huh?”

When he turned, he saw Mujin’s face.

“Why’re you angry again?”

The thought slipped straight out of Eunmyeong’s mouth.

Cradling Eunmyeong, Mujin turned toward the door. A dangerous air spread behind him, and the martial artists in the dining hall instinctively knew—this was not the moment to provoke him.

“Clean up the rest yourselves.”

With that, Mujin and Eunmyeong disappeared from the hall. Only the open door remained, letting in a cold breeze.

Sowoon, who had been staring blankly, finally spoke.

“Close the door.”

I knew this would happen. Clicking his tongue, he glanced toward the doorway once more. The image of Eunmyeong looking back at Mujin with a dazed expression floated through his mind, and Sowoon shook his head. Someone beyond saving anyway.

“Ugh, I’ll just drink. Too many useless thoughts.”

Young Clan Head… I’ll leave him to you.

Pouring the liquor down his throat, Sowoon swallowed the words he could never deliver.

The scenery changed too quickly. Passing through a door became a courtyard; blinking once revealed the rear garden. Each shift made his head spin.

“Urgh… Young Master, please…”

Nausea rose, and Eunmyeong buried his head against Mujin’s broad chest. His mind felt like it was being shaken loose from his body.

It was his first hangover since he’d turned twenty. Back then, not knowing his limits, he’d drunk recklessly with other guides and spent the entire next day half-dead. Someone had handed him a hangover remedy while he crawled across the floor, swearing he’d never drink again.

‘Ugh… th-thank…’

‘Take it with water. Swallow the pill first.’

That esper’s face—features scattered like a dropped steamed bun—came back to him clearly.

Ever since that day, Eunmyeong had learned the truth: when drunk, he spoke truths he should never say.

Please don’t let that happen again.

At that moment, Mujin stumbled, and Eunmyeong slipped toward the ground. Reflexively, he clung to Mujin.

“Huh, why does the ground keep coming up?”

“Tang Eunmyeong.”

“That’s weird… that shouldn’t happen… I learned in science class that it can’t…”

Looking down made him lose his balance again. Mujin grabbed his arm sharply.

“Can’t you stand properly?”

“I am standing properly… the ground keeps coming at me.”

Unable to steady him, Mujin wrapped an arm around his waist, sighing in exhaustion.

“…Ha.”

“It’s true… You’re always mean only to me.”

Curling in, Eunmyeong burrowed into his chest. The cool body heat felt nice, and he giggled like a child. The sharp scent of liquor made Mujin’s brow crease—yet his arms refused to let go.

What on earth is inside that small head…

Throughout the drinking bout, Mujin’s gaze had never left Eunmyeong. Each time he circulated his energy to dispel the alcohol, he saw Eunmyeong surrounded by others, touching them as he treated them. The memory sent a sudden surge of anger through him—strong enough to surprise even himself.

Why am I like this?

As the Young Clan Head, he should have welcomed Eunmyeong treating the others. Their martial prowess had improved markedly since Eunmyeong began frequenting the training grounds.

And yet, every time he saw Eunmyeong treating them, his mouth went dry and his blood boiled.

Deciding to put distance between them, Mujin loosened his hold.

“…It’d be better if you got down.”

Eunmyeong tilted his head, confused. His drooping eyes and pouting lips made him look more defenseless than ever.

When Mujin turned away, Eunmyeong spread his arms wide—and before Mujin could stop him, slipped right back into his embrace.

“This is mine.”

No matter how many times he pushed him away, Eunmyeong wriggled back in, warm and persistent, like a bamboo pillow stealing sleep.

“…Let go.”

“It’s mine…”

The way he clung so stubbornly mirrored how he had treated the others earlier, pressed close while placing needles. Mujin’s grip tightened.

Just then, Eunmyeong lifted his head from Mujin’s chest, cheeks squashed and words slurred.

“Can’t you just say I’m yours?”

“…What?”

“Just say I’m your esper. Then I’ll treat you properly, watch your martial arts, and… when the expedition’s over, I’ll put you back where you belong.”

He finished and let his head droop again. Mujin stared down at him, stunned.