Guide of the Sichuan Tang Clan C45

Chapter 45

So—Mujin was watching Eunmyeong’s mood.

He was holding onto Eunmyeong’s hand tightly, as if afraid he might let go, yet Eunmyeong could feel Mujin’s gaze hovering around his forehead, hesitant and restless. He looked like he had a lot he wanted to say, but Eunmyeong deliberately kept his mouth shut.

You haven’t even apologized—why should I worry about your feelings too?

Planting his gaze straight ahead, Eunmyeong walked toward the training grounds. Mujin adjusted his pace to match, walking alongside him in silence.

The moment they appeared hand-in-hand, all eyes in the training grounds turned toward them. Each face carried a different floating question mark.

So they’re just making it public now?

Wait, weren’t they already official?

Did they ever even try to hide it, honestly?

Exchanging looks, the onlookers slowly approached. Curiosity abounded, but no one dared to speak easily, afraid of earning Mujin’s wrath.

In the end, the one who took the plunge was Sowoon. His curiosity outweighed his fear of Mujin. Fidgeting, he stepped forward. Whether from heat or nerves, his ears were flushed red.

“Uh… I heard from Jeongho that the two of you are… um… in a romantic relationship.”

“……”

“Is that true?”

After finishing, Sowoon swallowed hard. If it wasn’t, he’d probably be rolling around the training grounds all night as punishment.

Behind him, murmuring had already begun before an answer was even given. The Tang Clan members split neatly into two camps:

those insisting there was no way two men—especially the elder’s son and the Young Master—could be dating, and the hardliners arguing that if that were true, then how did they explain the kiss?

Naturally, the leader of the hardliners was Sowoon.

If this isn’t love, then everything I’ve ever called dating was just child’s play.

Anyone who stood even a little too close to Eunmyeong drew sharp looks. Worse, anyone who so much as received a light touch from him ended up subjected to Mujin’s “special training.”

The decisive evidence was Mujin’s gaze. Even now, he was looking steadily at Eunmyeong. Calm, but unmistakably different from how he looked at other martial artists.

The Mujin who used to regard others like a cold-blooded snake was nowhere to be found. The way he looked at Eunmyeong was warm—like sunlight spilling across a wooden floor.

At Sowoon’s question, Eunmyeong rolled his eyes before glancing up at Mujin. At that moment, Mujin spoke.

“Yes. Fortunately, our feelings aligned.”

Without a hint of hesitation, he raised the hand he was holding.

“As you can see.”

So natural it was shocking. Eunmyeong stared, stunned—had this man soldered his face shut while he wasn’t looking? Not even blinking as he lied.

Standing beside Sowoon, Yujo looked at Eunmyeong. Meeting that mix of confusion and shock, Eunmyeong mouthed silently:

So?

What about it?

It was the only answer he could give—he didn’t want to actively claim they were dating, but he also didn’t want to deny it outright.

Ignoring everyone’s confusion, Mujin tugged Eunmyeong along toward one side of the training grounds.

The moment the familiar wooden floor came into view, Eunmyeong quickly let go and slipped off his shoes. This was the spot where he trimmed herbs while Mujin trained, sometimes giving acupuncture to the martial artists.

Leaning back against a pillar, Eunmyeong noticed Mujin just standing there.

Why isn’t he leaving?

No matter how long he waited, Mujin didn’t move. The man who usually trained relentlessly wasn’t even glancing toward the grounds—his eyes were fixed only on Eunmyeong’s feet. Letting out a low sigh, Mujin finally bent down.

He picked up Eunmyeong’s discarded shoes and neatly placed them under the platform, even turning them so they’d be easy to slip into.

What are you doing?

Tidying shoes was one thing—they were supposed to be “lovers,” after all. The problem was that Mujin then sat down on the platform himself.

Perching to one side, he reached for the drying herbs. Like someone holding such a thing for the first time in his life, he awkwardly began tearing at the stems. His movements were clumsy and heavy-handed.

“Tang Mujin-ssi.”

“……”

“That’s not how you do it.”

Only then did he look up at Eunmyeong. The herb in his hand had lost half its body. Despite the tragic result, Mujin remained calm.

“…That’s how you did it.”

“When did I ever do it like that?”

“Didn’t you say to cut the bottom?”

He seemed to be recalling the method Eunmyeong had taught him before. Even so—

“Who told you to cut that much? Did I say to chop it in half?”

Eunmyeong’s lips jutted forward in a pout. Already full, they stuck out even more—and Mujin’s gaze lingered there.

“And if you cut this much, what are you supposed to eat? Huh?”

Watching him mumble angrily was better than seeing him clamp his mouth shut. Especially when that pouty expression made his lips push forward—it was distracting.

Mujin eventually shifted his gaze back to the herbs. Can’t you just eat less? His furrowed brow carried a faint trace of grievance.

“You never said how much to cut.”

The childlike excuse made Eunmyeong press his lips together.

I shouldn’t have said anything.

Dragging over the basket of herbs Namya had left behind, Eunmyeong set it on his lap. The herbs were vivid green—stubbornly tough.

He twisted off the roots and stripped the leaves. Crunch, crunch—the harsh sounds made Mujin, who’d been watching closely, touch the drying herbs again.

The fully dried herbs crumbled to powder in his grip.

Every time he touched them, they disintegrated. When the wind blew, the powder scattered, and Eunmyeong brushed his lips clean with a phut-phut.

Mujin didn’t stop trimming herbs until every last one laid out had vanished.

Even after that, Mujin’s strange behavior continued.

After lunch, he sat on the platform again, trimming herbs—then started touching the basket Eunmyeong had already finished.

A large man bent over carefully laying out herbs was both ridiculous and oddly unfamiliar. He even looked like he might hit his head on a pillar—yet his expression was serious as he aligned them neatly.

“What’s wrong with him?”

Eunmyeong muttered, poking Yuseong’s cheek. The child, lying with his head on Eunmyeong’s leg, giggled.

“You—hey! You’re laughing at your hyung?!”

Gasping, Eunmyeong hugged the child tightly. Lowering his head, he caught that uniquely childlike scent—warm and peaceful.

“That settles it. I’ll eat you!”

“Eek! Heeheehee!”

Opening his mouth wide over the round belly made Yuseong burst into laughter. He squirmed to escape, but it was useless.

“Y-you can’t eat me!”

“Oh yeah? Watch me!”

His words slurred as he pressed his lips to the child’s belly, making Yuseong laugh even harder. Small hands wrapped around Eunmyeong’s neck—asking to be held.

Holding the child, Eunmyeong shifted upright again. Something dark blocked his view.

“Young Master?”

Mujin was sitting right in front of him, the herbs fully dried. Blocking the sunlight, he looked more tired than usual.

Eunmyeong glanced at his fluctuations—nothing severe enough to require guiding. Then it wasn’t that. His gaze moved to the dark shadows beneath Mujin’s eyes.

Yuseong squirmed and lifted his head.

“Young Master…?”

Mujin’s brow arched slightly, irritation flickering. Sensing it, Yuseong buried his face back into Eunmyeong’s chest, clinging tightly.

Mujin’s eyes flashed.

In the next instant, the child was lifted into the air.

“Huh?”

“Stop bothering him.”

Sliding an arm under Yuseong’s armpits, Mujin lifted him with ease—so steady he might as well have been the boy’s father. One solid arm supported the child’s bottom, a large hand patting his back.

Yuseong whimpered briefly, wanting to keep playing, but soon quieted. Resting his head on Mujin’s shoulder, he fell asleep.

Even while holding the sleeping child, Mujin paced slowly in front of the platform—watching the training martial artists, yet repeatedly glancing back at Eunmyeong.

Left with nothing to do, Eunmyeong passed the time slipping his toes in and out of his shoes.

Maybe I should forgive him.

The awkward herb-trimming, caring for Yuseong—it was all him watching Eunmyeong’s reactions.

For someone so upright to go this far…

His anger, once burning hot, began to soften. Even the sweets and warm tea beside him had been placed there silently by Mujin.

They still had to keep up the act of lovers—staying this distant wasn’t good for him either. Without realizing he was making excuses, Eunmyeong slipped on his shoes.

Hearing the footsteps, Mujin turned toward him.

“You’re not resting more?”

“You worked all day, Young Master. What’s the point of me resting more?”

Eunmyeong opened his arms—asking for the child.

Instead, Mujin stepped straight into them.

By the time he realized, Eunmyeong was hugging Mujin. Startled, he tried to lower his arms, but Mujin pressed closer.

“Then treat me.”

Like a child seeking comfort, Mujin rested his head on Eunmyeong’s shoulder.

“I couldn’t sleep. My head hurts.”

“……”

“My stomach’s unsettled too.”

Using the same hand that had patted the child’s back, Mujin took Eunmyeong’s hand.

“Touch me. It’s true.”

He guided Eunmyeong’s hand to his back. Caught in an accidental embrace, Eunmyeong bit his lip.

“…You seem fine.”

“Look more closely. I’m running a fever.”

“You’re cold, Young Master.”

Mujin tilted his head to look down at him. His handsome face came into view.

Like a large dog whining softly, Mujin loosened his gaze and looked up at Eunmyeong. Faced with that unfairly beautiful expression, Eunmyeong grabbed his clothes without realizing.

“Treat me, hm?”

“……”

“I’m really hurting.”

Letting out a low groan, Mujin shifted again. His lips brushed unmistakably against Eunmyeong’s shoulder.

This damn seduction tactic.

Pushing energy into him, Eunmyeong cursed his own fragile heart.